#they had all been aggressively searching their chests trying to find for half an hour

[predninja]

Sorry, Dar, but I gotta immortalize your color blind ass xD Returning Pike is green, not blue

The Amen coop has so many stupid moments~

[wooataes]

Pretty Coincidences (Part One)

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: Strangers to ??? AU, angst, mentions of cheating, mentions of plane crashes, swearing

Summary: Choosing to run away from your problems on an impromptu trip to Italy may be the best decision you’ve made in your life thus far.

A/N: a belated birthday fic for the beautiful Jeonghan and also a belated birthday fic for my fave Carat friend Zan 💜

Masterlist

Part Two?

To say you were heartbroken was an understatement.

You feel almost dead inside as you sit in the backseat of your Uber, unshed tears tempting you to break the flood gates. How the fuck did you get here, in an Uber on the way to Incheon Airport running away from your responsibilities and problems?

The answer was Geumjae.

Forty eight hours ago, you were happy. You were happy and in love with your seemingly loving boyfriend of four years, Geumjae, in the talks of buying an apartment together and Geumjae planning to pop the question to you this coming Christmas in front of both your families. That was, until, you decided to take the afternoon off from your office job, feeling unwell and in all honesty, wanted the comfort of your boyfriend and your bed.

Instead of finding your loving boyfriend making soup for you in your apartment, you were greeted to the sounds of aggressive lovemaking coming from your personal bedroom. That scumbag was using YOUR bed in YOUR apartment to sleep with other women?! No fucking way.

Now, you’re not a pushover or a pussy. On the contrary, you proved to yourself that you’re the opposite; storming into your bedroom and throwing out your new ex boyfriend and his flimsy little side-piece, who you vaguely recognized as your now ex-best friend, who was trying to stammer some sort of apology. You didn’t hear her as she spoke though, only throwing both him and her out of your apartment with nothing but the clothes on their backs, which at that moment, was none at all, leaving them to rush to his car as quick as possible without being seen, as you curled up on the living room floor in hysterics.

After a long night of tears, a whole tub of ice cream, half a bottle of wine and burnt clothes, photos and bedsheets, at the ripe time of 2:43am, you feel the sadness within you seep into a seething anger.

Screw this guy! You don’t need him! You can do a lot better and deserve someone who will love and treat you right! Who else can treat you better than yourself?

In a half-tipsy wine drunk state, you grab your laptop and start typing travel options in your search bar.

You had always dreamed of wanting to go on a trip to see Italy ever since you met Geumjae, and for four long draining years, your requests were always rebuffed with a ‘I can’t afford it’ or ‘why don’t we try local?’ Well screw that. You’re newly free and have the funds saved, as well as PTO from your job. After sending a long and misspelled message to your boss, you rise from your spot on the floor to march into your room to pack your bags.

Forty eight hours later, you were miserable, angry and betrayed by two of the closest people you know, but you also felt surprisingly free, as if a weight had been lifted off your chest as you stepped inside Incheon Airport to make your way to your flight to Italy.

You settle into your seat with a tired sigh. For once, you’re actually happy you got seated in an Emergency Exit row. You’re not as enclosed as the others which means more leg room, and instead of having two people beside you, you only have one. Double win. The less people you have to interact with, the better. You hope that the unlucky person who was destined to be sat beside you isn’t a talker; hopefully they are just as tired and done with the world as you.

You take a quick glance at your reflection from your front facing phone camera, wincing at the miserable girl you faced. Your hair is pulled back into a ponytail, several strands having found their way out of the loose hair tie securing your locks and falling over your shoulders haphazardly. You have massive bags under your eyes, which isn’t surprising since you have barely slept since you found your trash ex. You hope that you’ll be able to catch up on your sleep during the twelve hour flight to Italy.

After heaving another sleepy sigh, you lift your head to the side to see a hooded figure placing a bag into the overhead locker before sitting down carefully beside you and pulling his hood back to ruffle his fluffed up hair out of his eyes. Your cheeks tinge a dusty pink as you take in the mystery man’s handsome good looks, suddenly feeling self conscious at your appearance. After giving the gorgeous man a small smile in greeting, (which he returns without hesitation) you shrink slightly into your seat, your brain beginning to work overtime as you feel an overwhelming urge to apologize about your half assed looks. The man is in an almost identical outfit to yours, but you can’t help but resent your new seatmate at how much better he looks than you. Then again, he probably hasn’t had his heart ripped out of his chest and then stomped on by his ex-girlfriend within the last two days. You were so consumed in your own self deprecating thoughts you didn’t notice the pretty man looking at you expectantly.

“Sorry, did you say something?” You blink, eyes wide.

“That’s okay.” The man smiles. You blush. Dang, why did he have to be so pretty? “I was just asking if you had enough room there.” He gestures to the armrest between you both. “I can scoot over a little bit if you need.”

“O-oh.” You stutter, shaking your head quickly. “No, you’re fine, really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.” You nod, giving him a little smile. “I will apologize in advance though, I am 100% going to sleep for this flight.”

“Damn,” he sighs dramatically. You tilt your head in questioning. “You’re going to sleep and let me be the only one to have to save the plane and all these passengers if a disaster happens?”

You’re caught off guard as a giggle passes your lips, your smile growing as the man chuckles with you. You didn’t know how badly you needed to have a laugh.

“I do apologize,” you hum. “But getting my beauty rest is more important than the well-being of the plane.”

It’s the stranger’s turn to laugh along with you, and you feel relieved that the joke lands.

“Hmm, I’ll keep that in mind.” He nods thoughtfully. “Did you need to be woken from your beauty rest when the meals come by?”

You blink in surprise. How thoughtful. “Uhh.. if it’s no trouble?”

“None at all.” He’s surprisingly chirpy at this hour of the morning. “We are the backbone of this flight. We need to keep our strength up.” He winks at you and smiles as you laugh again.

“Fair point.” You nod gently as you fasten your seatbelt, the flight crew beginning to prepare you for takeoff.

You wait for a moment to see if Pretty Man will continue the conversation, but when he settles in and starts looking for movies on his tv, you let your eyes flutter shut, sleep taking over you before you even feel the plane take off.

You feel yourself being shaken gently an hour later as you stir, rubbing at your eyes with a little yawn. Pretty Man is smiling warmly at you.

“Hey.” He mumbles. “Sorry, they’re giving out breakfast.”

“S’fine.” You yawn again, smiling politely at the flight attendant as she passes your meal over. “Thanks for waking me, uhh..”

“Jeonghan.” Pretty Man - Jeonghan offers, and you nod with a little smile. “You’re welcome…”

“Y/N.”

Your eyes open slowly, yawning out as you start to take in your surroundings around you, the PA system announcing that the descent into Rome will begin within the hour. You sit up slightly and run at your eyes tiredly. Your eyelids still feel heavy, but after having slept for a solid 10 hours, only having been woken up from Jeonghan to eat in between with minimal conversation, you feel like you’ve rested enough.

“Did you manage to keep the plane in one piece while I slept?” You joke, Jeonghan chuckling in response.

“Only barely.” He sighed dramatically, hand on his chest. “I think you owe me for the next flight.”

“I think I do.” You humor him as he laughed.

“So, what brings you to Italy?” He asks after a moment of silence as you glance out the little window beside you.

“Mid-life crisis?” You offer with a laugh. Jeonghan only raises his eyebrows in concern. “Long story short,” you start fiddling with your fingers, nibbling your lip. “Just got out of a long term relationship and I’m long overdue for a holiday. So, I just packed up and left for Rome to forget about the real world for a while.” You wince, not even looking at Jeonghan to know that he’s giving you a look of pure pity.

“Wow, I’m sorry to hear that.” He frowns.

“Ah, it’s fine.” You shrug. It wasn’t. Not in the slightest. “Was probably for the best.” You’re lying, you know you are. “What about you?”

“Ah,” he rubs at the back of his neck. “A friend of mine offered for me to go on a trip here with him. He flew out a few days ago, so I’m meeting him here.”

“That sounds exciting.” You smile as he hums in agreement.

“Definitely.” He smiles back. “Well, I hope that Rome treats you well.”

You hope it does too. “You too.”

It could just be your excitement, but you truly think that the Italian air is just as healing to you as the place itself. After parting ways with Jeonghan and making your way to your hotel right in the middle of the bustling city of Rome, you think you can feel the cracks in your heart begin to heal, if only slightly.

You take in a deep breath as you walk along the pavement that runs through the city of Rome, taking in the sights of small local stalls selling jewelry and knickknacks, a content smile on your face. You’ve been here for only a day but you feel more like yourself than you have been for the last four tiring years. You adjust the strap of your handbag over your shoulder, fixing the sleeve of your flowy floral dress as you let the sunshine warm your body. Your phone has been left behind in the hotel room, having been blown up since you have landed in the foreign country from your ex. The messages were deleted as soon as they were received and the numbers have been swiftly blocked by you, only providing updates to your parents and your boss that you arrived safely and you will contact them if anything new happens.

You lift the disposable camera that sits around your neck by a strap up to your face, snapping a quick photo of a gelato stand on the corner, your smile growing as your stomach rumbles. You could use something sweet.

“Buongiorno,” you speak quietly, stepping up to the man behind the gelato stand. The man smiles back at you as you take a nervous breath. “Uhh… vorrei un gelato piccolo in cono, per favore.” You smile hopefully, hoping that you didn’t just accidentally insult him.

You release a breath as the man smiles happily at you, leaning down as he begins to take out a cone and ice cream scoop, making your gelato with precision.

“Grazie!” You beam as you pass him your money, taking the cone gratefully. You bow your head in thanks to further show your appreciation, and the man chuckles, bowing his head back.

As you turn, you let out a yelp as you run into a body behind you, almost causing you to drop your new cold treat. Luckily, you’re able to compose yourself quickly and bow your head just as fast.

“I’m so sorry!” You pause before your brain catches up. “U-uhh.. m-mi scusi!”

“Y/N? Is that you?” A soft voice responds, and you freeze.

You lift your head quickly to the owner of the voice, your eyes widening as you see an all too familiar face smiling excitedly at you. His chestnut brown hair is pushed back, his bright smile being just as blinding as when you first met him all those years ago in middle school, who went on to be your good friend for five years before life caught up with you and you naturally drifted apart.

“Seokmin? Lee Seokmin?” Your smile grows with him as he almost immediately scoops you up into his arms, spinning you around in circles. You squeal out a laugh, your free hand holding onto his shoulder. “Yah!”

“What the heck?!” He laughs with you, squeezing you tight once he places you back onto the ground. “What are you doing here?!”

“I could ask you the same thing!” You giggle happily.

“I’m on a trip with a hyung of mine! We both had some time off and wanted to go somewhere warmer.” He chirps, looking you over with a smile. “What about you? Where’s Geumjae?”

You freeze at the mention of his name, biting down on your lip. “Um.. I’m here alone, actually.” You attempt to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. “We broke up. Not too long ago actually and messy. So, I guess this is my way of coping.” You shrug.

“Oh no, I’m sorry I brought it up.” He pouts, rubbing your arm comfortingly. “So you’re here alone?”

“Yep.” You pop the P with a little smile. “But it’s only my second day here and I’m happier than I have been in the last four years, so that’s a plus.”

“I’m glad.” He smiles warmly at you as you nod.

“Dokyeom-ah!” A second voice enters the conversation. “What’s taking so long?”

You turn your head and take a step back with wide eyes as you come face to face with Pretty Man; Jeonghan. He looks more put together than you both did at the airport; now sporting a pair of black skinny jeans with a plain white t-shirt and a leather checkered jacket. He looks just as surprised as you do, taking in your outfit.

“Sorry hyung,” Seokmin smiles, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as you hold your cone now with both hands. “I ran into a friend from school! Hyung, this is-”

“Y/N. The one who left me to fend for myself to save the plane all on my own.” He sighs and places his hand on his chest.

“That was you?” Seokmin gasps.

“Yah!” You glare playfully. “You said it was okay!”

“I only said that to make you feel better about the fact that you willingly let me save us all.”

“It was one bout of turbulence.” You huff before Jeonghan smirks playfully at you. “I won’t keep you guys, you probably are waiting to get some gelato.”

“What? Are you sure?” Seokmin frowns. “You can tag along with us if you wanted, I’m sure hyung wouldn’t mind?”

“No, it’s okay, really.” You give him a little smile. Jeonghan frowns. He can see right through it.

“You’re just going to walk around by yourself?”

“You say that like I haven’t done it before, Min.” You laugh.

“I mean, yeah, you did it on campus but… you’re in a whole new country. I think I’d feel a lot better if you had at least one friend to keep you company.” He insists.

You hesitate, biting down on your lip. He does make a good point.

“How about this,” Seokmin offers. “You don’t have to spend every day with us. Why don’t we meet up once a day? I can take some great photos for your Instagram to show Geumjae that you’re thriving without him.”

“Geumjae?” Jeonghan tilts his head. Your face turns red.

“The Ex-boyfriend.” You hum, looking down.

“He never deserved you.” Seokmin rubs at your shoulders comfortingly as he sees the dismay on your face.

“Ah, thanks Min.” You smile. “I’ll take you up on that offer, only if it’s okay with you and Jeonghan. I don’t want to intrude.”

“You could never. You’re always welcome. Right, Hyung?”

“Of course.” Jeonghan nods with a smile at you.

“Thank you guys.”

“It’s no sweat, really! The more the merrier!” Seokmin beams. “We’re going to the Trevi tomorrow if you want to meet us there?”

“Sounds good.” You hum, waving your hand. “I’ll message you?”

“Sure.” He nods as you begin to walk away.

“See you then.”

As soon as you’re out of sight, Seokmin turns towards Jeonghan with raised eyebrows.

“Ohh Dokyeom-ah,” Seokmin mocks Jeonghan. He starts to blush. “I swear I made her laugh. She was just too cute.”

“Shut up.” He grumbles, glaring at the younger man.

“I can’t believe my school pal is the Cute Girl from your flight.”

“I said shut up.” He hissed. Seokmin just smirked at him with a giggle.

[cold-heart-warm-writings]

What the Ouran Members Would Bring to the Gift Exchange:

Heads up, this is aggressively long at 1k words, but it was a blast and a half to write, so enjoy!

Honey - He’s been forever banned from bringing sweets because he either a) eats them all on the way home from the store, b) eats them at home in the middle of the night, c) eats them all on the way to the party, or d) guilt trips whoever gets his gift into giving him the tasty snack. Thus, Honey is NOT allowed to bring anything edible -  Honey brings the largest, fluffiest, and pinkest stuffed animal bunny that money could possibly buy. 

Mori - Baby chickens - this guy loves his animals, and assumes that naturally everyone else also loves animals, right? He hadn’t been watching his roosters and chickens as closely as he thought he’d had, and baby chickens hatched! So, he brought the joy of life to the gift exchange. This year it was held at the twins’ place, and Kyoya made the mental note to put in NO LIVE ANIMALS ALLOWED AS GIFTS OR IN MY HOUSE in the invitation note when it was his turn to host the next year.

Kaoru -  A collection of his favorite books, teas, and candies. He was hesitant at first because some of the books meant a lot to him, and he was sensitive about being teased about the things that truly meant something to him. He still went with this gift though because it would be fun to enjoy now that it was cold outside, and they all couldn’t go out as much as they wanted.

Hikaru - A giant chest full of magic and prank toys. Some are quite expensive and others are cheap, commoner ones that he’d been researching for a few weeks. It’s an odd gift for the exchange, but they are all odd members, and Hikaru actually put a surprising amount of thought into the gift. 

Haruhi - A bento box. Haruhi was desperate for ideas on what to give the richest people she knew, the ones who had just about anything they could possibly desire. As the day for their first gift exchange drew nearer, and was thinking of ways to get out of the event, she overheard the twins discussing how much they wanted to try her cooking again. Whether a planned overhearance or not, Haruhi thought that a bento box would be a great idea. When thinking it over, the only one who wouldn’t like the box would be Kyoya, and even though her luck in regards to the club was 50/50 for good or bad, she liked the 5 out of 6 chances that someone would be thrilled. She searched everywhere for a cute present shaped box, all green with a red bow. She carefully cooked the rice, rolled the omlet, and put the food together nicely. Haruhi also made some cookies and placed them in a pretty bag to go with the bento. It was a lovely gift, and, as expected, the most fought after gift at the exchange.

Kyoya - A crisp new dollar bill. There is a graph of How Recently have the Club Members Annoyed Me to How Much the New Bill Will Be constantly tallied up in his head. He even, out of boredom, created an app for that sole purpose of being able to show the chart to Tamaki when Tamaki accused Kyoya of going cheap on them all. The 25 recent calls in the span of an hour the week previously about a play by play of making snowman and then Oudette eating the carrot did not help in Tamaki’s favor. Kyoya also gets away with just giving money because, well, he’s Kyoya, and because he does actually go to the bank (or at least, sends someone), and he can make the argument that it’s essentially the same as going to the store. Really, Kyoya should have been a lawyer, everyone that has any other complaints about the money, eventually gives up.

Tamaki - A portrait of the entire Host Club smiling and frolicking while playing Kick the Can, painted by himself. He said he’d taken classes for months in order to perfectly capture the liveliness and love between all of the members.

Bonus: Who ended up with what?

Honey: Hikaru’s chest of pranks. He can’t wait to find more ways to torment his brother.

Mori: Haruhi’s bento box - He drew the last number, and used his Ultimate Steal to steal the bento even after it had been locked in by being stolen too many times. He ate a cookie at the exchange ever so smuggly, gave his compliments to Haruhi, and then finished the rest the next day while studying. It was by far the best food he’d eaten all week. 

Kaoru: Kyoya’s money. He was thinking of buying a new game with it. He’d seen one in the store, and it would be more enjoyable to play knowing Kyoya had bought it. But then Haruhi messaged in the group chat after the party to let everyone know she’d made it home safely (so they wouldn’t follow her home to make sure of it themselves, most likely), warned them all to be careful in the snow, and wished them once again happy holidays. Kaoru decided at that moment that he really didn’t need more money. He broke the bill down into smaller bills and placed them in Haruhi’s bag when she wasn’t looking throughout the next two months for her to find later. That was like a gift in itself to him when she grinned at having found an extra bit of money she hadn’t realized was there before.

Hikaru: Kaoru’s books, teas, and candies. Kaoru was puzzled because Hikaru could just borrow his, but Hikaru shrugged and took his gift quietly. He’d been feeling a little distant from Kaoru lately, and reading what he enjoyed might help Hikaru find that connection he was craving.

Haruhi: Honey’s bunny. She’s actually quite excited for it, and uses it as a resting cushion when she watches TV and studies. More often than not though, she falls asleep and has the sweetest, softest dreams shrouded in pink.

Kyoya: Tamaki’s portrait. He didn’t particularly want it, he claimed, but he knew it would go for enough money on their auction page to support club activities for nearly a month. The portrait is now hanging in a corner of his room.

Tamaki: Mori’s baby chickens. Tamaki is not known for his ability to think things through, restrain himself, or full picture thinking. He adopted the baby chickens and promptly made them his entire family’s problem.

[starlessskies94]

Consequence (Joel Miller x OC)

Summary: What if Joel survived his injuries from the Abby and Fireflies attack but ends up with really bad amnesia. He can’t remember his wife, Ellie, or the Outbreak; only before. How will his family bring back the man they once knew?

Pairing: Joel Miller x OC

Notes: HEYYYYY Guess who's back??!! It me!! I just want to say a HUGE thank you to all you lovely readers; the support for this story has been unreal and I'm eternally grateful for it; I literally couldn't even put it into words. I'm doing a lot better now and I'm in a much better head space and ready get back into the wonderful world of this story. I have slightly changed a sentence in chapter 11 (The flashback of winter) just to include Ada's medical knowledge because it was bugging me that I missed it the first time. It's just a little change and it doesn't really change the chapter in any. It was just something I needed to change from a writers POV if that makes sense. Anyway thank you for sticking with me for so long; you incredible people make my day with your support/comments etc… its readers like you that really keep me motivated to continue writing so thank you for that.

I hope you enjoy this chapter and it doesn't disappoint as it's taken me a while to get back into the swing of things so hopefully I'm not too rusty and it's not a let down. Love yous lots hope you enjoy the chapter ❤️

Chapter Fifteen

They’d been driving for what felt like hours and they were running out of road. Tommy had managed to follow Joel’s tracks from the gate, although at times it had been difficult with the rain washing most of them away. Eventually they followed their way out towards the ski lift outpost; only to be greeted with disappointment when they found the place empty. There were signs of life however; muddy boot and hoof prints dried to the floor from the storm that had now passed. The crumbs of half eaten carrots litter the ground and open cans of stew left scattered along one of the tables near the recently lit fire pit. Dina moved to inspect it; taking a hold of the spoon left in the pan, both stuck together by the burnt remains of the leftover stew sticking to the bottom of it.  

“Well; at least we know he was definitely here.” Dina joked awkwardly trying to lighten the mood a little. But Tommy didn’t see the funny side; his nostrils flaring in frustrated anger as he stomped forward kicking at the table, sending the empty cans sputtering across the floor. 

“Goddamn it!” He yelled. The sound echoing through the dead quiet. Ada and Dina both flinched at the outburst. The older woman moved towards him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder in a feeble attempt to calm him. 

“Taking it easy Tommy.” She tried but he threw his shoulder aggressively, shrugging her away as he whipped around on his heel to face her. “Easy?!” He barked. “We keep just missing him, how the fuck are we supposed to find to him when he had a two day head start?!” 

Ada signed deeply trying to ignore the sting of Tommy’s spurn. She knew he didn’t mean it. He was tired. They all were. And frustrated and worried about Joel. It was hard not to lose your temper at the situation; especially one that was more of less of their own making. She and Tommy blamed themselves for basically driving Joel away from Jackson in the first place. Even now Ada was rerunning their last conversation over and over again in her head. Her guilt twisting in both her stomach and tightening within her chest at all the things she could’ve said instead. But that kind of thought would get her nowhere now. She needed to focus on the here and now. And the only thing that mattered was bringing Joel home. 

She took another breath; her eyes searching the room for any more signs that Joel may have left behind. “We just have to be smart about this.” She wondered aloud as she continued looking. “When we move on, we have to be certain we’re headed in the right direction.”

“And how the hell are we supposed to do that?! Huh?” Tommy scoffed bitterly, throwing his hands up in defeat. “We don’t even know where Joel’s going!”

She turned back towards her brother in law; her mind scrambling desperately for an idea or a lead. Her eyes staring down intensely at the floor before glancing back up at Tommy. “Well maybe he’s going back to Boston? You talked about your time in the QZ right?” She offered hopefully. Tommy’s lip curled in disdain at her idea; pacing back and forth. 

“I told him but that don’t mean he listened.” He dismissed. “And I doubt he’d head back home to Texas… he knows there’s nothing there anymore. I’ve been, I’ve seen it. The house is wrecked and it’s been picked clean.” 

The room fell silent at Tommy’s condescending tone as Ada bit her lip to keep from saying anything that might just aggravate the situation. Her eyes glancing across towards Dina who was looking around the back of the room; obviously trying to keep out of the way. Ellie had stayed by the door at first but now was kneeled down behind the remains of the cafe bar; pulling through the drawers and cabinets. Throwing away any junk that didn’t aid in her search for Joel. Her heart ached as she watched her. The teen hadn’t uttered a word since leaving Jackson. It was clear even now that she blamed herself for everything, she was so tired of this. The Fireflies had caused them nothing but grief and anger ever since she’d met them. Even years later, after the fuckers had disbanded they were still tearing apart her family and she despised them for it. 

The thought made her pause for a moment. Wait…the Fireflies…Joel's letter; her stomach dropped at the realization.

“Then he’s going after the Fireflies!” Dina announced, speaking her thoughts before she could voice them herself. Ada offered the girl a broken smile in spite of herself, a wave of relief that at least someone was on the same page as her.  But once again…Tommy only scoffed bitterly at the suggestion. 

“And why the hell would he go after the people that tried to kill him?!” He spat, pulling a face at Dina as she backed down to sit on the one the couches. Her head hung in shame like a child that had just been scolded. Ada’s blood was beginning to boil now at his attitude. She stomped over towards her brother in law; standing toe to toe with the man. Her dark eyes staring him down as her patience was beginning to wear thin. 

“Think about it, everything goes back to them for him.” She explained trying to keep herself calm. “I told him what happened and what he did to save Ellie. But he still couldn’t get his head around exactly who the fireflies were and what they meant.” She took a breath clenching her fists by her side, almost daring Tommy to shoot her down again. But the man just scoffed in her face and damn if she wasn’t tempted to punch the condescending bastard in the nose all over again!

 “Great! That’s just fucking great! He’s going after the Fireflies which means he could be anywhere by now! We don’t know where the fireflies were even headed!” 

“Yes we do! You said you got word they were in Seattle.”

“Rumors, Ada, I heard rumors. Nothing concrete. And it don’t matter anyway, that was between me and a few of the boys on lookout. I never even told Joel about it!”

Okay, now Ada was getting pissed with him. She trembled with anger; her eyes wide and nostrils flared as she once again stood toe to toe with Tommy. Her fist somehow managed to unclench as she instead pointed her sharp finger into his chest; her voice quivering. “Well I don’t see you coming up with any ideas!” She yelled into his face.” You just keep shooting down everyone else’s!”

“Because I’m trying to make sure that we know where we’re headed. We can’t go running in any damn direction, just hoping we stumble into Joel by accident.” They were practically nose to nose now; almost growling at each other like challenging wolves about to snap at each other throats for the kill. Eyes blazing with anger and frustration that had no outlet except aimed at the person in front of them. 

“She didn’t say we should!” Dina said defensively as she tried to pull them apart. It was a futile attempt however, both were stubborn and both were angrily still glaring at the other. Until Ellie slammed one of the chairs against the floor to grab their attention. 

“For fucks sake enough! God this arguing is getting us nowhere! Everyone just shut the fuck up okay?!” She growled. The room grew quiet again. The tension dissipating as Ellie glared at the both of them, until eventually they backed away from the other. Both awkwardly cowering like wounded animals. Clearly embarrassed of their childish behavior. They glance at one another with an apologetic look in their eyes. They knew  she was right. They were the adults and they were acting like moody teenagers. While the actual teenagers seemed to be the only ones with their heads on straight. Ellie took a breath as everyone turned to look at her. She sighed once again as she gestured to the record book that was left open on the table in front of her. Ellie didn’t know why, she just knew it was Joel who’d left it there. Her eyes running across the writing from happier times. She glanced back at others with tears welling in her eyes. “I know where Joel’s going… he’s heading back to Salt Lake City.” She said with unshakeable certainty. 

“What? You mean back to the hospital? Why the hell would he be going there? The Fireflies quit that place years ago.” Tommy pointed out gently. But Ellie was in no mood to argue anymore; shaking her head defiantly. 

“Put yourself in his place…Joel’s trying to remember things. He wants to get his memory back; if you were him where else would you start?” She explained and in that moment everything clicked into place. 

“Holy shit you’re right. He’s trying to retrace his steps! Ellie you’re a fucking genius!” He beamed, a broken laugh of disbelief leaving him as his eyes lit up.  “Everyone back in the truck, we move now we might be able to catch him up.” 

No one wasted a second as they scrambled to their feet; all four rushing back towards the door and out into the truck. She didn’t know how she knew but she was positive that was where Joel was heading. After all, it was exactly where she had gone for answers herself and it was also the place where mournfully she had lost him all those years ago; perhaps now it would be the place where she finally got Joel back again.

[noteguk]

bad behavior | jjk | m

This is in the same universe as “bad influence.” It can, however, be read as a stand-alone. 

— summary; in which staying late to volunteer at a self-help meeting was the best decision you made in a while. 

— contents and warnings; smut, the endless adventures of badboy!jk x goodgirl!reader, public sex (in a church…), dirty talk, fingering, degradation (name calling) but also praise, unprotected sex, clothed sex, creampie, cum play, there is a window and also reflections, rough sex, cockwarming, jk being a lil shit because that’s his main personality trait, jk smokes (only mentioned), enemies to fuckbuddies: dawn of the first day 

— words; 8.2k

— author’s note; for the anon that asked how their first time was like ;) join me as we explore the lore of this godforsaken couple 

It was your mother’s idea for you to find a new place to volunteer. According to her, it had been a long time since you experienced “the invigorating energy of community work” — last time was when you were trying to level up your college application — and it could really “soothe your anxious soul” during the trying times of college finals. Apparently one tutoring program and two research projects weren’t enough to distract you, but you could see where she was coming from. 

In the end, you accepted. The old places you used to volunteer in had either shut off their programs or were just too far away from college for you to consider. At first, you decided to follow your mother’s suggestion and tried to work with children — “small miracles”, as she called them — in a local daycare. Which ended up being a terrible idea. 

You liked giving back to the community, you really did, but it wasn’t long until you realized that working with infants hasn’t been your wisest decision, and that children weren’t miracles at all. You got tired of going home covered in paint and with pieces of playdough entangled in your hair, and that was when you weren’t unlucky enough to get hit with other, less clean fluids. 

So you eventually gave up — both on the daycare and on the faint idea of one day going into pediatrics — and searched for a new place. After having to yell your way through retirement homes, and getting fed up with washing people’s sidewalks, you finally settled in a program that was flexible and light enough for your intense college hours: preparing (and then later cleaning up) a room that was reserved in a local church for weekly meetings. 

The entire ordeal took about two to three hours off your day, and more than half of it was spent as free time: waiting for the meeting to end, cramming piles of information in a small room next door. You didn’t really know what the meetings were about since they changed practically every month — they were, at first, a support group for teenage mothers, then it became an AA meeting, then a group for drug users trying to quit. Lately, you were starting to think that the church just gave away the room for whoever had the money to rent it, so it wasn’t a surprise when it was reserved for a motivational speaker to give confidence lessons. 

You had researched the guy, some old dude with an unpronounceable name and a sketchy background, and found exactly the type of person you had expected. Yes, you were in the house of Christ, but you were still being heavily judgmental of the fact that he was giving those talks when he had no qualifications whatsoever, and was probably making bank off all the self-help books he regurgitated at least twice a year to prey on vulnerable people. You did share your worries with the administrative office of the church, but they ultimately fell on deaf ears, and you gave up on the idea of kicking his ass out of the holy grounds anytime soon. 

It was after one of those pseudo-motivational talks that you walked into the empty room, ready to clean everything up before rushing back to your place, where your roommate had promised to greet you with some wonderful takeout. The chairs were still placed in a circle on the center of the room, where they had been since forever, and you made sure to align them perfectly before you moved on to the litter that had been thrown around the place. 

One good thing about those self-help meetings was that they were a lot cleaner than a lot of other attendees, so the “picking up the trash until your back started to hurt” part passed by surprisingly fast. You had just moved on to the snack table, analyzing what you could still save, when your soul almost left your body. 

“Hey, you,” you heard a known voice behind you. “What are you doing in here?”

You swiftly turned around, heart thumping violently against your ribcage. You didn’t know how you hadn’t let out the biggest, most blood-curdling scream ever, but that was just the first of many miracles of the night. “Jesus Christ,” you wheezed out, taking one hand to your chest. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like this.” You swallowed dry, some part of your brain recalling that he had asked you a question. “And I’m volunteering here.” 

“I didn’t sneak up on you, you’re just jumpy.” Jungkook scoffed, leaning against the doorframe with that stupid playful smirk curling up on his lips. You didn’t know they allowed demons inside the church. “And of course you are.” He rolled his eyes. 

Maybe a few months back, his mocking tone would’ve stung a bit more. However, you had been tutoring Jungkook for about three months then, suffering through endless sessions of his whining and complaining, and you’ve grown used to his passive-aggressive antics already. You learned that Jungkook was a shark seeking for blood, waiting for any crack that would allow him to jump into a perverse little joke — about how you behaved, your priorities, or even the color of your highlighter. You, of course, always stood your ground and threw his comments right back at him — which was his initial plan, as you’ve come to realize. Jungkook enjoyed playfully arguing with you, and you thought that it was another level of strangeness and masochism you simply didn’t have time to dissect. 

Still, Jungkook (shockingly) wasn’t the terrible person you once thought he was. Every once in a while — when he was trying to talk you out of teaching him — the conversations you two would have were actually mostly pleasant, and he wasn’t awful to hang around when he dropped the whole badass persona to act like a real human being. You would even dare to say that Jungkook could be actually funny at times, and not in the bitter, sarcastic way he usually was. Sometimes, you dared to think, he could actually be reasonably nice. And also kind of cute. Even hot. 

But you would never actually admit any of that out loud. Or even to yourself, really. 

“And you?” You asked, turning back around to face the table full of half-eaten food. That looked like a battlefield, and you could already tell that there were only a few survivors left standing. “What are you doing here? Repenting?” 

Jungkook chuckled dryly. “You wish. My parents want me to quit smoking,” he said. You could not see him, but you could hear him walking closer to you as you fumbled with the large Tupperware. “We settled on this crap instead of a forced intervention.” 

You scoffed. Most of the food before you was unsalvageable — some of the cupcakes had been bitten once and then placed back, and you wondered how someone like that could function in society. “You don’t seem very motivated to quit,” you mumbled. 

Jungkook clicked his tongue. “I don’t really care.” 

His voice was much closer to you, and you felt the air leaving your lungs for a pitiful instant. You convinced yourself you had only gotten scared again. “You should care about the growing possibility of lung cancer.” 

He shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s not really on the top of my list of priorities at the moment.” 

“And what is?” You asked. 

“Amongst other things…” he trailed off and, suddenly, he was standing besides you, pointing at the chaotic pile of sweets. “I actually came back to grab another one of those cupcakes. The chocolate ones are great.” 

You didn’t know why, but his comment broke the odd tension that you didn’t even know that was there, clicking you back into your previous mentality — the one that you just wanted to finish cleaning up so you could leave soon. “All yours,” you told him, “grab as many as you want.” 

Jungkook hummed in satisfaction, reaching out to grab one special brown cupcake — an untouched one, thankfully. “I love when you talk dirty.” He almost moaned before shoving the cupcake inside his mouth, taking a huge bite off it. Dramatically, Jungkook rolled his eyes and sighed in delight. “These are fucking great.” 

You chuckled, glancing at his direction. Jungkook was dressed in all black, like he usually was, and you were starting to recognize a newfound admiration towards his constant use of leather jackets. What? He looked good. “I’m glad the self-help sessions are paying off,” you commented, swiftly placing the cupcakes inside the transparent container. 

Jungkook was paying attention to your actions now, like he noticed you were there working for the first time. “What are you doing with the rest?”

“The church will probably donate it, give it to the homeless or something.” You shrugged. “Or they’ll eat it, I don’t know. I just clean up the place and leave.” 

Jungkook laughed at that, taking another monstrous bite from his cupcake and throwing himself on one of the nearby chairs. Your eye twitched a little at the thought that he had ruined your perfect circle, but you’d have to fix that on your way out. “Sounds absurdly boring,” he sang. “And they’re not even paying you.” 

You sighed. “After all the places I’ve volunteered in, boring is a blessing,” you told him. You had just placed five hot dogs in the container, and you were starting to wonder if it would be a good idea to feed people in need with those suspicious sausages. “But, yeah, you probably don’t care about any of that.” 

“You don’t know what I care about,” Jungkook said matter-of-factly. You didn’t know if he was trying to tease you, but his voice came out so soft and monotone that you couldn’t really be mad about it. It was true, after all: you didn’t actually know what he cared about. Sometimes you thought that he could read you better than you could read him. “Want me to stay here with you? This place is probably empty already.”

You could not hold back your laugh at that, turning around so you could look at him. “Are you offering to be my bodyguard? In a church?” 

Jungkook pouted. There was a thin line of chocolate on the side of his lips, which he quickly licked clean. “I’m trying to be nice.”

You giggled, turning back towards the disgusting food. The rest was mostly trash, but you were happy enough with the amount you had managed to find in a good state. “That’s new.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked. “I’m always nice.”

“Always is a strong word.” You smiled, closing the lid of the Tupperware. You had managed to fill three small containers with the leftovers and, honestly, that was a big victory. “But you can stay or you can leave, I don’t mind. I’m almost done anyways.” 

He frowned. “Is that your answer?” 

You turned around. “What? You want me to beg for your company?” You smiled. “You’re mistaken if you think I’d ever do that.”

“I’m staying.” Jungkook crumpled up the piece of cupcake wrapping and threw it in the trash can besides your body. He watched you for a moment as you started to throw the leftovers away, your back turned to him and a distracted look on your face. When he broke the silence again, you were throwing the last piece of bread in the bin. “Why are you volunteering?” 

“Because I like giving back to the community.” 

Jungkook sneered at your words. “Seriously now. Don’t lie, we’re in a church.” 

“I do, actually,” you stood your ground. There was a vague sound of crickets coming from the half-open window and the low buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you, but, other than that, the city was covered in absolute silence. Perhaps that was why you felt so at peace. “But my mom told me it would be a good thing to keep myself relaxed. You know, take my mind off college stuff.” 

He hummed, and you heard him getting up from the chair. “You always do what your mom tells you?” 

You met his gaze. “Didn’t your parents make you come here?”

He smiled. “Not the point.” 

Before you could hold yourself back, your lips were curling up. Again: Jungkook wasn’t absolutely awful to be around when he actually acted like a human being. “When she says something I agree with, yes,” you told him. “My ego isn’t bruised when it comes to following someone’s idea.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re saying that mine is?”

“I didn’t say that.” You smirked and turned back to the table. You started piling up the used plastic cups, already eyeing all the used plates, forks and knives that you’d have to throw away. The daycare had better eating manners than that. “Thought we were talking about me.” 

“We were,” Jungkook agreed. One of his inked hands moved to the table, and you were about to tell him that he could eat more of the cupcakes when you realized that he had started to reach for the discardable plates, throwing them away. You really didn’t think he’d help you. “Finals are coming up, though, and you care about that shit. Shouldn’t you be using this time to study or something?”

“I study while you’re out here listening to becoming your real self or, I don’t know... waking up the giant within,” you said. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” 

He hummed, his nose cringing up at the disgusting remains of food that stuck to the plastic forks. Jungkook seriously didn’t know how you could do that for fun. “You know there are better ways to relax than cleaning up a dusty room, right?” 

“Probably,” you agreed. The cups were already in the trash, alongside with the plates, and there were only a few crumpled up napkins to get rid of before you tasted the sweet nectar of freedom. “But here I am. That’s what I chose for myself.” 

“Literally any other option would’ve been better,” Jungkook pressed on. “Isn’t that obnoxious friend of yours in cheer or something?” 

“Who? Jisoo?” You smiled at him. No one had ever called her obnoxious, but you couldn’t say that the title didn’t fit. Jisoo could be really… intense when it came to standing up for what she believed in. “She is. She invited me to join her already, if that’s what you’re gonna ask, but it’s not really my thing.” 

“It’s a shame,” he mumbled, leaning against the table. It was a beautiful miracle how clean that room had become just by getting rid of the piles of gross food, and you had proudly thrown the last piece of paper inside the trash bin when Jungkook spoke up again. “You’d look really hot in that outfit.” 

You stopped in your tracks, taking a second to digest the claim he had so mindlessly thrown your way. Just like all-things-Jungkook, a pleasant conversation could not last long, so you weren’t even surprised that he managed to ruin that talk with such a fuckboy-esque comment. 

Also like all-things-Jungkook, he managed to awaken a reaction out of you that you didn’t even know could be there. With a faint heat in your cheeks and a frown blossoming amongst your features, you actually felt a little bit of... satisfaction with the fact that he thought that you’d look hot in that skimpy outfit. At the same time, you wanted to slap yourself for falling into his charms so easily. 

In that conflicting turmoil of emotions, all you could say was a monotone, “You cannot be serious right now.”

Even if you kind of wanted him to be serious. 

“I’m being dead serious,” Jungkook didn’t back down, much to the elation of your ego. You felt like a schoolgirl being recognized by her crush, and the idea alone made your stomach curl onto itself. What the hell were you even thinking about? Yeah, Jungkook was pretty hot, but he was also kind of a douche and you didn’t want to get involved with that mess of a person. Or at least that was what you were trying to convince yourself of. “I mean…” he continued, “you’re even rocking this knee-level dress right now, can’t even imagine how you’d look if—“ 

“You can shut up now, Jungkook, thanks,” you interrupted him. Because you didn’t know how to act when he was so blatantly flirting with you, you switched back to the same passive-aggressive behavior that you had given him for the past three months. Call it self-preservation, call it panic, but your mind simply didn’t know where to go from there. “And I’m also done here, so you can skidaddle back to whatever swamp you came out of.” 

“Awn, don’t be mean, princess.” He pouted. Jungkook was a master at getting you worked up, and you had just given that to him on a silver platter. Maybe if you had mock-flirted back, he would’ve baked away. You would never know. “I was just fucking with you, you’re too easy to tease.” 

You pressed your lips together, hip touching the corner of the now empty table. “You were pretty much harassing me,” you said playfully. 

“I was not.” Jungkook smirked, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his pants. When had the two of you gotten so close? There was barely any space between your chests. “But it’s okay, I’m not gonna compliment you anymore, don’t worry. You don’t have to be so defensive.” 

“I’m not being defensive,” you said, defensive. 

“What, is it the church setting?” He raised his eyebrows, taking a look around. “Is it making you uncomfortable?” 

“No,” you answered, crossing your arms before your chest. Jungkook followed the movement and his gaze got stuck on the shape of your breasts for a second too long, making a newfound wave of heat rise up to your cheeks. “Not as much as you’re trying to make me uncomfortable right now.” 

He chuckled. “You do look cute when you’re shy,” Jungkook teased, taking a step towards you, and you took another one back, pretending you were just going to lean against the table. You sat on it in a weird diagonal position, with one leg still on the ground and the other dangling over the edge. Jungkook was so close that, when he spoke again, voice just above a whisper, you could feel his breath on your skin. “If you don’t want me here, just ask me to go and I’ll go.” 

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. The atmosphere was filled with electricity, your body drowning in the warmth of his presence, the sharp seriousness in his dark eyes, and you could not bring yourself to say anything. Did you want him to leave? 

No, you realized in a rush of adrenaline, you didn’t want him to leave at all. 

Jungkook raised one of his eyebrows. “Hm? Nothing?” He smirked, placing himself between your legs. Every nerve of your body was screaming for you to touch him, to just wrap his mouth with yours, and you simply could not respond to any of its commands. “You’re full of surprises.” 

You found your voice at that comment, heart hammering against your chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re a smart girl, you can figure it out.” Jungkook placed one strand of your hair behind your ear, his gaze flickering down to your chest. From where he stood, he could see the beautiful mounds of your breasts peeking under the fabric, licking his lips at the sight. “Can I at least say that I like your dress?” 

Jungkook’s palm slithered up your knee before you could even react, moving towards your inner thigh and raising your dress along with it. His touch was electrifying, and you found yourself craving more of it, a sigh caught on your throat at the tenderness of his hot skin. 

“Something tells me that your compliment isn’t so innocent,” you told him, leaning your head back slightly so you could hold his gaze. “Aren’t you gonna complete that and say that I would look better without it?”

Jungkook chuckled. “The idea is compelling, I’ll admit it,” he said, rubbing soft circles on your skin. His other hand slithered around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “But don’t need to take it off to fuck you.” 

Your eyes grew wide at that, brain short-circuiting. You frankly couldn’t believe that was happening — the fact that Jungkook was so shamelessly trying (and honestly succeeding) to initiate sex with you. In a fucking church too, of all places. “What- what did you say?”

“You heard what I said.” His stare didn’t falter. Jungkook was looking at you like he could eat you whole, and you seriously wouldn’t mind if he tried to. You'd deal with the social and psychological implications of that another time. “Just tell me to stop and I’ll do it, princess. No hard feelings, promise.” 

This time, you spoke out and the firmness and certainty in your voice surprised even yourself. “I don’t want you to stop.” 

“No?” His voice sounded like honey, so deep and melodic even through the thick layers of his sarcasm. You had never heard him get so serious, so focused, and the thought that it was all for you was igniting a fire inside your guts. “You wanna get fucked in a church?” 

You bit your lip, blinking up at him. The point was: you wanted Jungkook, of all people, to fuck you. The fact that it was in a church was just the cherry on top, and you didn’t care about it as much as you should — your mom would be weeping blood if she knew what was going on, but you weren’t planning on telling anything to anybody. “And what if I do?” You asked back teasingly. 

Jungkook smiled, knocking the breath right out of you. You could only hope that you didn’t look as horny as you felt, because your pride was still on the line. “Told you that you were full of surprises.” He pushed one of your legs open, making you lose your support on the floor. Now, both of your feet were dangling off the edge, body trapped between his strong arms and thighs on either side of him. “Are you a virgin, baby?”

You shook your head, and your voice reached you a bit later. “No.”

“Naughty,” Jungkook said, leaning in. He stared at you like a lion stalking its prey, his gaze lingering on your parted lips before, at last, he tilted his head to the side, deciding to move towards your neck instead. “But if you have the taste I think you do, you probably had some lame missionary sex with some goodie-two shoes.” 

When he started kissing your neck, you almost forgot to give him a response. You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan, instead producing a low, shaky sigh. “And if I did? What’s the problem with some lame missionary sex?” 

“No need to get mad, I’m on your side here,” Jungkook said, one of his hands navigating up your waist, between the valley of your breasts, before grabbing your boob. That time, you couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped you. “Did he make you cum?” 

“Sometimes,” you said, slightly flustered. You didn’t think you’d be discussing your sexual history with Jungkook, but, well, there you were. “He was alright.” 

“Only sometimes?” Jungkook chuckled, the vibrations of his deep timbre vibrating through the sensitive skin of your neck, his thumb grazing your nipple. The heat between your legs only grew, your entire body practically begging to feel more of him. “That’s a shame, I could do better.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start getting cocky.”

“I never stopped being cocky,” he responded without hesitation. Well, he was right. “And I do have a good track record.” 

“Doubt it,” you said, the ghost of a smile lingering on your lips. You knew that you were playing a dangerous game, pressing right at the weak spots of his inflated ego to see how he would react. Perhaps you’d be luckier trying to poke a bear with a short stick. “You wouldn’t know the difference between a real and fake orgasm even if it hit you in the face.” 

Jungkook leaned back and looked at you for an instant. You knew he had caught onto your challenge straight away. He liked it as much as you did, there was no doubt about that. “Let’s see, shall we?” he asked. There was no denying the devilish aura that was all around him now, suffocating you with its tempting heat. “How long do we have?”

“I’m locking up the room tonight,” you said, watching as his eyes sparked with an emotion you could not decipher. “But I wanna get home before ten. Have homework.” 

You could see him fighting against the natural urge to ridicule you for saying something like that at such an odd time, but, at the end, he managed to avoid it. “More than enough time.” Jungkook placed one hand on the back of your neck, gaze darting hungrily toward your lips. “Come here.”

And then his mouth was on yours, and everything else was white noise. Jungkook kissed you much slower than you had anticipated, taking his sweet time caressing your mouth with his; hands exploring the curves of your body and teasing their way underneath your dress. He sighed heavily against your mouth when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, his soft tongue poking out and entering your mouth perfectly. Jungkook was a good kisser, you had to admit it, and he got your knees weak sooner than you’d like. 

His body was hot and firm against yours and you could feel the outline of his abs underneath your fingers as you trailed your hands down his torso; his quick heartbeat drumming on your palms. Jungkook’s breathing got heavier as you hooked your fingers on the hem of his pants and tugged him toward you. Instantly you noticed the outline of his hard cock against your inner thigh. 

Then, something switched. Just as you had reached out to touch his hardness, squeezing it lightly underneath your fingers, Jungkook groaned against your mouth and bit down on your lip. You had barely any time to react before he was pulling away from the kiss, gaze darkening. 

“Such a tease,” he mumbled hoarsely, his breath hitting your mouth in soft waves. His hand was hovering over your heat, his middle finger pressing down on your sensitive nub, making you whimper. “You don’t know what you do to me.” 

Jungkook was much quicker than your thoughts and, within a second, the motion of your panties being pushed aside made you fumble closer to him; your hands holding tightly onto his shoulders when he finally decided to touch you. 

“Fuck,” he groaned next to your ear, making your mind go blank for a split second. The teasing motions of his digits brushing your entrance were enough to make you whimper, hips thrusting forward in a failed attempt to make him move further. “Look at this, you’re soaking my fingers. Wanna get fucked that bad?”

But he didn’t let you respond. The sudden intrusion of two fingers inside your pussy made your back arch, nails digging in the leather of his jacket as Jungkook opened you up. “I—” you tried to speak, but it was hard to think when he started pumping his fingers in and out of you. The sounds of your wetness were a filthy symphony filling the quiet atmosphere. “Jungkook, what—” 

“God, that’s so tight,” he groaned, speaking through clenched teeth. His voice was enough to shut you up at the spot, a frail moan dripping from your lips. “Relax, baby, you’re too tense. Let me take care of you, alright?” 

You nodded, eyes drifting shut as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you. You hated to admit it, but Jungkook was already winning against your ex by a long shot: the way his digits brushed inside you, gradually moving apart to stretch you, got you searching — begging — for more. You were sure you could cum around his fingers and, when he curled them up and they dragged against your sweet spot, the idea became a lot more palpable. 

“Jungkook, you’re taking too long, I’m gonna cum like this,” you complained, chest rising and falling under the waves of your upcoming orgasm. You could feel it building up in your stomach, ready to snap, and you didn’t want it to happen around his fingers. “I wanna feel you.” 

Jungkook breathed out at your needy request, placing a kiss against your jaw. “I’m just getting you ready for my cock, baby,” he said. A loud moan dripped from you when he unceremoniously added a third finger, your legs trembling on either side of his body. “I don’t know if you can take it.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, only half aware of the fact that your voice sounded more like a whimper than a serious comment. “I can.” 

He smirked wickedly. You really were pushing his buttons. “We’ll see about that,” Jungkook responded. 

Within a second, right as your orgasm was about to wash over you, he removed his fingers from your pussy. The frustrated moan you let out was quickly swollen by him, his mouth rogue against yours and the sweetness of his tongue intoxicating you — probably those stupid cupcakes, you thought. 

“Turn around for me,” he asked. 

You quickly did as he requested, putting your feet on the ground before turning your back to him, hands leaning on the table. Jungkook placed one hand on the curve of your spine, pushing you down until you had your chest against the surface, ass perked up and pussy in full display for him. There was a gush of cold air against your flesh when he pulled up the fabric of your dress and tossed it over your waist, exposing your lower body for him.

The boy hummed at the sight, one of his legs kicking your feet apart so he could position himself in the middle of your thighs. “You’re pretty all around,” Jungkook commented, one of his palms grazing your asscheek before grabbing it. His motion was harsh, needy; earning a whimper from you. “Knew you would be.” 

Through the dense clouds of your desire, there was still some part of you that managed to make fun of that situation. “You spend your free time thinking about my ass?”

“Won’t answer until I have a lawyer present,” he joked. 

You felt his fingers hooking around the fabric of your panties, pushing it further to the side so you had your cunt fully exposed for him to see. The drumming of your heartbeat almost drowned out the low groan he produced at the sight of your flushed heat. 

“Princess, your pussy is dripping so much…” Jungkook trailed off, one of his fingers tracing a line between your lips. He felt the urge to eat you out, to lick you completely clean and make you cum on his tongue, but he decided that would have to wait for a different time. “Is this all for me?” 

“Yeah, all for you,” you said, weak. There was a thundering exasperation building up inside you, motivated from your denied orgasm and from the way that Jungkook was taking his sweet time. 

“Good girl,” he mumbled and your chest was filled with pride. “Can’t wait to fuck it.” 

“Then don’t wait,” you practically begged. “Just rush.”

He removed his finger from your heat. “Shh… be patient,” Jungkook told you and you swore you could practically hear the smile in his voice. You could hear him shuffling behind you, the sound of his zipper opening echoing around that still room. “I’m gonna give you whatever you want.” 

You whined at the abrupt feeling of his warm cock rubbing between your folds, its tip hitting your clit after every languid thrust. “Fuck,” you cried out, shaky. Jungkook wasn’t lying when he said that he was big, his length was so thick that you were starting to get second thoughts whether you could take it or not. Not that you would ever admit it out loud. “Just put it in, Jungkook.” 

But Jungkook was having way more fun just teasing you. “Pussy’s so wet for me.” He breathed out, his hands tightening around your hips. You felt him throb between your folds, and the sensation got you searching for air. “You’re soaking my cock, baby. You want it that much?”

“Y-Yeah.”  

Jungkook hummed, leaning in so he could place a kiss on your shoulder. “I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve to be fucked, princess,” he promised, his length still rubbing between your folds. He was so hard and heavy that your mind was spinning, your lungs drowning in expectation. “Gonna fuck you so well that you’re never going to forget it. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” your voice was a pathetic moan, and you hated your body for betraying you so easily. “Yes, please.” 

After another pec on your shoulder, Jungkook leaned back. “Be loud for me, alright?” He asked. “Can you do that for me?”

You swallowed hard — what were the chances that someone would hear you? You had no idea. “Yeah, whatever you want, just fuck me.”

“Whatever I want? That’s a dangerous thing to say.” He moved around behind you, making you flinch when you felt his cock align with your dripping entrance. The anticipation was driving you insane. “Might have to see if you’re up for it another time.” 

There was an answer somewhere in your mind — you could swear there was — but it was quickly forgotten the second that Jungkook pushed himself inside you. The drag of his cock was a delicious torture, streching you out and filling you up to the brim until you were shaking under his touch, both of you moaning at the sensation. 

“Oh my god.” You breathed out, hands turning into fists on the table. Your cheek was pressed against the polished wood, hot breath creating small white clouds on the surface. 

Jungkook released a shaky sigh when he felt you clenching around him, your body desperately trying to move closer to him. “Fuck, baby,” he hissed, his hands holding onto your hips for dear life. Gradually, he moved himself away from your pussy just so he could slam back inside, marveling on the way you trembled at the feeling, crying out his name in the prettiest of whimpers. “Your pussy is so fucking tight. Squeezing my cock so well.” 

Took you only an instant to realize that you were absolutely addicted to the feeling of his cock inside you, the heavenly push of his hardness in and out of you as he slowly started to set a pace. “Oh my god, I’m—” a pitiful hiccup interrupted you, turning your voice into a sharp cry. “That’s so good, Jungkook.”

Jungkook chuckled behind you, his thrusts starting to pick up speed. Your eyes closed in endless bliss, every part of your brain focused on the sensation of his fat length stretching you up. “Told you I’d be, not my fault you didn’t believe me,” he said, but you could tell that his confidence had started to wear itself thin — he, too, seemed to be much more focused on the way that your bodies met. “Do you touch yourself, princess?”

You almost didn’t know how to answer him, a deep heat rushing up to your cheeks. “W-What?”

“When you’re alone, baby,” he practically hissed. You were bouncing on the table then, your body jerking up and down as he fully pistoned his cock inside your heat. “Do you play with your little pussy?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, embarrassed. “S-Sometimes.” 

“Show me how you do it,” he requested in-between huffs, lust dripping from every syllable. Jungkook spoke to you like a siren, effortlessly inducting you to comply with everything he wanted. “Come on. Don’t be shy, I wanna see you play with yourself for me.” 

You didn’t even know if what you were feeling was shyness, but there was a veil of hesitation that covered your actions. As your hands moved downwards, one of them clenching around the fabric of your dress and pulling it up while the other trailed over your mound, you felt strangely vulnerable, exposed. At the same time, you wanted to do what he asked you to, wanted him to wash you over with compliments until your mind was going blank. 

So you closed your eyes and focused on the sensation of two of your fingers coating themselves in your wetness, then their pressure on your clit. You whined at the feeling, pleasure exploding in your veins as you started to rub yourself, tracing small circles on your sensitive spot. There was no way you could ever reach that sensation again, the sweet motions of your fingers combining perfectly with the thrusts of his hard, fat cock inside you. You were doomed. 

“That’s it… just like that, baby,” Jungkook whispered, obsessed with the sensation of your walls fluttering around him. You had gotten so tight that he thought he would see heaven at any second now. “Feels good?” 

“Y-Yeah, so good...” you struggled to get out, “feels amazing, Jungkook.” 

“So perfect for me,” his praise shot straight up to your core, making you mewl under him. God, the way that you were tightening around him was going to drive him insane. “You feel so fucking good, I can’t stop fucking you.” 

Jungkook took one of his hands to your neck, using it to guide your body upwards until you had your back pressed against his chest; his hot lips assaulting your neck. The new position made it so much easier for his cock to drill inside you, reaching even deeper and hitting sweet spots you didn’t even know you had. It wasn’t long before you were moaning out, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you. 

“Just take a look at that, baby,” his voice broke you out of your hypnotized state.  “Look at you. Such a good slut, just taking everything I’m giving you, touching yourself for my cock… fuck. Could watch you like this forever.” 

You had to take a moment to understand what he was talking about, and then you saw it: the window. It stood silently across the room from you, half open, and the glass combined with the darkness of the night gave a perfect reflection of the two of you. You could see yourself, the mess you had become, as Jungkook pounded in and out of you and your fingers worked on your clit; the darkness of his hungry gaze as he followed the motions of your body against his. 

Even if you cried out at the sight, your body freezed up a little at the thought of someone walking by and seeing that private spectacle. The possibility itself was minimal — the window gave way to the side of the land, where a big, thick fence separated it from the nearby houses; most of the ground covered by large trees and bushes — but it wasn’t zero. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the humiliation that would come from being seen like that. 

He, of course, noticed your change of demeanor right away, and you could see in the faint reflection that he had smirked at that realization. “What is it? Are you worried someone is going to walk by?” Jungkook almost groaned against your ear. His cock continued to pump ferociously in and out of you, and you couldn’t even understand your own thoughts for a moment. “That someone is gonna see you get fucked like a good slut?” 

“It’s not—” a moan cut your sentence short. Not like you knew where you were heading, anyways. 

“No one is gonna see you like this, know why?” Jungkook was grunting, his fingers tightening around your throat. You cried out at the feeling, your cunt clenching around him in a way that got him fucking you even harder. “Cause this is all for me. Just for me.” 

Then he was pushing you back on the table, your chest crashing against the wooden surface and his hands yanking you by the waist. Jungkook was fucking you so hard that your worries left you as soon as they arrived, your mind a turmoil of desires and broken exclamations that didn’t give space to anything else but him. 

“You look fucking gorgeous like this, stuffed with cock,” he marveled at the sight. There was a known wave of pleasure hovering over you, ready to crash at any given moment, and you stopped rubbing yourself just so you could prolong its arrival. “Wanna see you cum for me, make a mess for me, baby.” 

The words left you in a confusing, broken order, “Jungkook, I can’t… too much… can’t...” 

“Shhh, you can,” he was slowly easing you into your orgasm, his cock drilling in and out of your pussy. Jungkook fucked like a machine, fast and precise, and you didn’t think you’d be able to forget that anytime soon. “You told me you could take it, so now you’re gonna take it. Don’t you wanna be good for me?” 

“I- I want to… I’m so close,” you cried out, pressing your forehead against the table. You didn’t know how it hadn’t broken yet, with the way that Jungkook was fucking you so mercilessly hard. “I’m so, so close.”

“Cream my cock, baby, come on,” he urged you on, his member throbbing inside you at the thought. Your legs were so weak that you knew you’d fall facedown on the floor if he wasn’t supporting your weight with his strong arms. “Be a good girl and cream my cock for me.” 

And that was it. That was all that you needed to push yourself over the edge, submerging you in ecstasy and making you squeeze him so deliciously. “J-Jungkook!” You moaned out his name again and again, unsure of how loud you were being, but also not caring as much as you should. Jungkook realized he loved hearing you call his name more than anything else. “Fuck! Oh my god!”

“That’s it, baby,” he moaned back, his thrusts a sloppy, uncoordinated mess. He was hypnotized by the view of your cunt hugging him, your wetness dripping down your thighs as you rode out the last seconds of your orgasm. “Pussy’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect— gonna cum too.” 

You gasped out at the sensitivity that was starting to spread, every movement shaky as you tried to push yourself against him. “Yes, please.” You looked over your shoulder, meeting his hooded gaze. Jungkook looked like a god, his dark hair sweaty and messy and his lip trapped between his teeth. That image would plague you forever. “Cum inside me, please.” 

He groaned loudly, eyes closing for a second. “Fuck, that’s so fucking hot,” he hissed, chest heaving with anticipation. You knew he was close, everything pointed to that, and all that you wanted was to see him reach his high, using your body like it was just a doll for him to fuck. “Didn’t know you’d want to be filled up with cum, princess.” 

“I’m full of surprises.” You smiled — a pretty, fucked-out smile that got Jungkook grunting like a madman. “I want your cum inside me, Jungkook, please.” 

“Gonna fuck you full of my cum, don’t worry— Shit.” The sounds he was making were heavily: those breathy, high-pitched moans that echoed all around you; broken by deep grunts that had your thighs shaking. Jungkook fucked himself in you like he was meant for it, throwing his head back and closing his eyes as he finally found his orgasm. “Fuck! That’s it, fuck—”

Jungkook called out your name and mixed it with praises and curses when he came, spilling himself inside your pussy. You sighed at the feeling, taking in the blissful sensation of having his hot cum spilling out of you, dripping down your legs as he continued to thrust inside you, milking out his orgasm. 

At last, he started to wince from sensitivity. His body collided against your back, his heavy breathing fanning your neck as he tried to collect himself. “Fuck, baby,” he mumbled, “you’re amazing.” 

“You’re not so terrible yourself.” You could not help the smile that appeared on your lips, nor the way that you melted against the surface of the table, drowning in his heat. 

Still, you couldn’t stay there for much longer: it was already a miracle that no one heard the chaos going on in that room, and you weren’t trying to push your luck for the night. Especially since you had a pile of homework (and possibly — now cold — takeout) waiting for you at home. 

You raised your body, leaning against your elbows. “I have to leave,” you told him, taking one of your hands to lay on top of his tattooed one, trying to ease his grip from your waist. “Now if you could just…” 

“Shhh, shhh,” Jungkook hushed, unrelenting. He was much stronger than you, and your muscles were too weak for you to try and do much, so you eventually gave up. “Stop moving. Let me feel you around me for just a bit more.” 

You frowned. “Why?”

“I like it,” he said simply. His breath was a faint caress against the skin of your neck, and you didn’t have much fight left in you. “We all have our tastes.” 

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so weird.”

“Don’t kinkshame.” Jungkook pouted, then pressed a kiss against your shoulder. “You just begged me to fuck you in a church, remember?” 

“Yeah, I guess I don’t have much place to judge.” You laughed dryly, then looked over your shoulder. “Why is your cock still hard? How long is this gonna take?” 

Jungkook groaned, clearly annoyed. “Shut up and enjoy the moment.” 

~ 

The so-called moment lasted about two more minutes (which was kind of impressive, you thought) before Jungkook softened and slipped out of you. You hated to admit but you kind of liked the feeling of having him still inside you, completing you as his lips danced around your neck; fingers tenderly playing with your hair. You never thought Jungkook would be so gentle after fucking you like that, but you guessed that you weren’t the only one that was full of surprises. 

Jungkook, apparently, also liked to admire his work. After he had slipped out of you, he made you sit back on the table just so he could stare at his own cum dripping out of you, a glimmer of satisfaction in his dark gaze. He had pushed his white release back inside you and smirked up at you, asking, ever so kindly, for you to go home like that, filled with his cum. 

You, of course, promptly accepted it. 

“By the way,” he called when you two had already stepped out of the church, enveloped by the coldness of the night. There was only one solitary light pole illuminating his features, making him look like one of the saints in the chapel — nothing but fake advertisement, in your opinion. “Wanna know how much I got in that immunology test?”

“How much?” You asked. 

“Eighty two.” Jungkook smiled brightly then, and you found yourself joining him. “Never saw a grade so high in my life. And that counts all the times I’ve cheated too.” 

“Seems like the tutoring sessions are paying off.” You crossed your arms before your chest, the hem of your dress swirling around your knees. The night was weirdly peaceful after everything that had taken place. 

“They are.” He nodded. “I’m looking forward to the next one. Helps that my tutor is kind of a hottie too.”

You scoffed. “So I’ve heard.”  

“And, by the way?” 

“Yeah?”

“You would look better without it.” He pointed at your dress, a sly smile already sprouting on his lips. “Hope to see it next time.”

“Good night, Jungkook.” You rolled your eyes, already turning around — yeah, like there would ever be a next time. 

~ 

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

TAGLIST: 

@taehyungieskith​ @fan-ati--c​ @btstrasht​ @crazy4myself​ @sashimi-mochi @ft-multi @kooafraid @dianaaviny @ggukkieland @cryinginmypromdress @kissestothesky

[yanderemommabean]

Mermaid? Yandere mermaid?! Shake mermaid (merman) yandere?! Protective, bitey, siren boi?!

You stir in the waters slowly, feet kicking to keep you afloat while looking to the sky as the sun begins to set. You didn’t want to leave the serene waters, the cooling sensation on your skin mixed with the near weightless feeling made you feel inner peace that didn’t come with everyday life.

You’ve been here for hours, skin warm and definitely burnt to an extent (sunscreen has never worked for you, no matter what, you always set sun damage) so you should at least give in and take a good nap right? Let your cells heal what they can before the burning sensation really kicks in and you regret ever existing at the same time as the sun?

You shake your head and splash back into the waters, wanting to be care free for just a bit longer while your friends pack up and clean. The waters here are secluded, deep and still during the day, save for a few small fish that pass by your feet or some bugs that won’t fuck off from landing on you.

“Dude! Seriously, you know swimming at night is dangerous!” one calls out, waving to try and get your attention, but you just dip your head back and let the water block out the noise of their nonsense. Yeah ok bad idea for your ears, but hey short time solution! You don’t want to go back to the crowded camper with noises that make your skin bristle and people who don’t understand low-social battery. You don’t hate your friends, no, but they seem to think they always know what’s best for you and having alone time wasn’t on that list.

Backstroking, you ignore their growing cries to get you back on land, something about the fish aren’t safe at this time or some bullshit. Whatever, you’ll get to them in a minute. You just wanted to relax a bit more before putting on a smile and pretending to give a shit about the festivities they had planned for tomorrow.

OK maybe you’re cranky from no good food but hey, they’re the ones who can’t cook.

While basking in the hunger induced anger you created, a tug was felt on your ankle. Wet, slimy almost, firm grip tugging you under the waves. You suck in a breath in panic, a yelp being cut off while your head goes under and you take in water. Below the surface, in the now darkened depths with scattered moonlight, you meet the eyes of a creature who drains the color from your face.

Big, black eyes, curiously looking at you. Human like, finger- like appendages grasping your calf and tugging you closer. You’re horrified, fighting to break free only for another arm to come up and grab you, holding you under. The beast's eyes are wide with wonder and awe as they hold onto you, letting go abruptly and letting you rocket back to the surface.

Coughing and sputtering, you feel your lungs burning while trying to call for help, your friends rushing to the waters in a rescue attempt. “Help! S-somethings got me!” you cry out, seeing the whites of your friends eyes in a slight moment of hope, only to be yanked under again, this time more aggressively. You clench your eyes shut, water surrounding you no longer comforting, but suffocating. Webbed hands come up to cup your face, lacing something around your neck. You hold your breath as you kick, however it’s useless. The zero-gravity effect makes any actual possibility of a painful contact a fantasy. You soon wear down, dread overcoming you as your body forces open your mouth to try and take one last breath. Eyes shooting open, you are met with the black voids of the creature before you.

And you’re in awe at the fact you can breathe. You, a human underwater, can breathe. No, no you’re just dying! You’re just hallucinating from lack of oxygen and are about to pass on! Right? No chance is given for you to gather yourself, behind you another being wraps their arms around you and begins to swim downwards to the abyss below, moonlight dissipating into nothing.

The last thing your eyes can make out are the kicking feet and splashing arms of your friends searching for you, helpless and horrified.

“Shh shh” One shushes, cupping your face as you’re brought to a small cave. Your chest was glowing a bright blue, illuminating some of the area as you were laid upon a sandy bank, like that of a grotto. Their heads poke out, watching you gather your senses to the best of your ability, kicking the sand as you cry out for help (in vain, but hope can cause a person to do crazy things).

“N-No danger” a voice croaks out, wincing at the echo your terrorized voice made. They didn’t like knowing you were scared, and the rest of the pod felt the same. More and more heads pop out of the water to observe you, wondering why on earth you were so scared.

Your chest felt like a drum, tight and beating much too loudly. They can TALK? Oh fuck they can talk- and in your language! What the hell is happening?! You just wanted an extra five minutes to swim, that’s all you fucking wanted! Why? Why is life doing this to you?! What is happening?!

You clench your hair and try to stop the ongoing panic attack, tears rolling down your cheeks in frustration and confusion, building up and coming to a head. You let out one more anguished sob before falling to the sand, passing out entirely.

“They’re scared, they don’t know what’s going on” one murmurs, crawling up to the bank and petting your hair back. “We definitely need to explain ourselves, but they can’t take much more stress. What’s our plan?”

The pod talks in chitters and clicks, debating on how to care for you and how to explain their actions. The crystal on your chest thrums with each passing second, indicating your current state of health while the merfolk observe and debate. Some fingers come up to play with your hair, or to feel your soft skin as you are moved to a more comfortable area they could still reach.

They’ve waited a long time to find a new member to join their species, magic being the only way they can reproduce, and seeing a cute, delicate human just waiting in their territory was too good of an opportunity to pass up. It’s a sign! You’re meant to be with them, become one of them and live a new life in the deep!

Of course you wouldn’t exactly take the news well. You passed out just from hearing them talk, you wouldn’t exactly be in a state to comprehend their needs and their dedication to keeping you with them. But they’re prepared! A newcomer is needed, for many reasons.

They survive by having bonded mates, yet cannot reproduce without the help of magic. And to be lonely and have no one to bond with is killing them, literally. They have to have a lover to survive, a second (and in some cases, a third) half to stay alive and well and merry!

One of the merfolk will choose you as their bonded mate, but only if you don’t try to leave. A mate leaving will end a life quicker than a harpoon in some cases! Other cases, it’s agonizingly slow and painful. They can’t risk you, a lovely specimen, leaving and dwindling their numbers even more. They need to make a plan to keep you, whatever it takes.

You’ll learn to love your new marine life! Just give them a chance, will you?

(-Mommabean, hi I wrote this at 4 am and on little sleep! Tell me what you think! )

[inkykeiji]

the clock is ticking, running out of time

characters: shigaraki tomura

genre: smut and angst

notes: AAAAAAH HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOMURA!!!!!! sorry i seem to write angst for all of my faves birthdays ehehe. this is technically set in the touya-nii universe!! | title cred: birthday by katy perry

warnings: 18+ minors dni, cheating, implied stepcest/pseudo-incest, toxic relationships, the slightest hint of degradation, noncon/dubcon video recording, extreme feelings of guilt

words: 4.4k

synopsis:

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not,”

“I didn’t come here to talk about Touya,” you say gently, letting your dress drop down as you straighten up. “Let’s—Let’s not think about him right now, okay? Today is your day, and I want to focus on you. Forget about Touya,”

A deep frown mars his face, his nose twitching again. It looks like he wants to say more, but then your hands are on him, roaming across his bony chest and sliding into the tufts of silvery-blue hair at the nape of his neck.

“It’s hard to buy a gift for someone who already has everything,” you’re continuing softly, gazing up at him through your lashes, so close your noses nearly bump together. Sweet breath wafts over his face, a tongue darting out to lick at his lips, as if he’s trying to taste it. “So I thought…I thought the best gift I could give you is me,”

And suddenly, Touya’s wiped from his mind.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

That’s the thought that’s been looping through your head for the past forty-five minutes, for the entire bus ride from Touya’s apartment to Tomura’s, for the walk from the bus stop to his condo complex, for the thirty-seven seconds it takes him to answer the door.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

But you want to.

It’s been months since you’ve seen him last, months since you spent the night with him, months since you’ve spoken to him at all.

4:06. The glowing numbers glare up at you from the screen of your phone, unable to stop obsessively checking your phone, mentally calculating the time you have left over and over again, even though you’ve already meticulously planned this outing down to the very second.

It’s rare for Touya to be out for an exact amount of allotted time, but when he mentioned that he had a three hour full body check up with his doctor that just so happened to be scheduled on Tomura’s birthday…Well, it was too convenient for you not to seize the opportunity.

The door swings open, breaking you out of your thoughts, and your name leaves his lips in a gasp, crimson eyes searching your face in disbelief. A beat of silence passes before he speaks again. “What’re you doing here?”

“Wanted to see you for your birthday,” you say simply with a shrug and he blinks several times, still staring at you incredulously. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?”

And for a moment you’re terrified you’ve made a grave mistake, terrified that he doesn’t want you here, that he thinks the risk is too big—Touya will murder the both of you if he finds out—too dangerous, his body gone rigid in the doorway, breathing stopped.

But then a brilliant smile is splitting his face, and he’s pulling you into his arms, crushing you to his chest as his fingers curl in the material of your dress.

And you—you practically collapse against him, sighing out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. He still smells exactly the same, just as you remember—like cheap cigarettes and watermelon bubblegum.

The scent evokes thick unfurling remorse, sinking heavily in your stomach, the mantra you’ve been repeating to yourself for the past few days immediately flowing through your mind, a desperate attempt to reassure yourself, to reason with yourself, to justify this decision.

Because you both deserve closure, don’t you? After everything that’s happened? After leaving him without a trace, without so much as a phone call or a quick text to at least let him know you’re okay?

Because Touya’s cheated on you how many times throughout the first six months of your relationship? One more teeny tiny instance of infidelity—the last one, you promise yourself—shouldn’t hurt, so long as he doesn’t know about it.

Right?

Really, this does nothing to dispel the culpability churning in your chest. No, Tomura’s bright boyish smile does that all by itself, sincere in the way it’s stretched across his face as he tugs you inside.

And...And suddenly, none of it really matters. Not in that moment, at least. Suddenly, all of those statements are rendered true; Tomura does deserve this. Suddenly, you realize just how much you’ve missed him.

“I have to be quick, I’m sorry,” your voice cracks under unexpected emotion, but Tomura doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, ecstatic over the fact that you’ve come to visit at all.

“That’s fine,” he’s saying as his hands roam your body, kneading and squeezing with surprising gentleness, eyes shining and wide as they follow his touch, as if he can’t believe you’re here, can’t believe you’re real.

It has your heart shattering in your chest, jagged shards puncturing your surrounding organs, burying themselves deep within you, never to be dug out. A lump lodges itself in your throat, voice frail and full of spit as you speak around it.

“I missed you so much,” the words rush from between your lips without your permission, and Tomura pulls back, smile fading as his gaze searches your face.

For a moment, you can tell that he wants to berate you for disappearing without any contact at all, can see it shining clear as crystal in his eyes as they narrow, as eyebrows knit and his nose scrunches, and you nuzzle your face into him. Guilt, a different kind than that which Touya evokes—this type lighter than the dense acidic guilt that sticks to your insides like thick tar any time sapphire sears through your mind, this type bitter and saturated with melancholy—roots in the pit of your stomach.

“I—I’m sorry I haven’t been able to text,” you mumble meekly, tears pricking your eyes. “Touya—”

“It’s okay,” he cuts you off with surprising softness, fingertips still trailing up and down your spine. “I figured. Uh, how is he? Like, how…How was he?”

The brand of those five letters, now fully healed, scald your flesh, blistering bright and hot as if you had just been branded again. With your bottom lip sucked between your teeth, you contemplate just outright telling him—he’s going to see it eventually either way, but you’re worried about ruining the mood a little too early.

No.

Better to rip it off like a band-aid, to get it out of the way now, instead of interrupting your birthday festivities later.

Your chest swells with a deep inhale, exhaling the words slowly.

“He was…” Livid. Furious beyond belief. Deeply hurt—distressed, distraught, dismayed. Visibly shaken up. In more pain than you’ve ever witnessed before. Terrified. “Upset. Naturally.”

Tomura waits for you to continue, speaking after a few moments of silence. “And?” he prompts, knowing Touya didn’t let you get away with a mere verbal warning, knowing you have more to say.

“A-And—” you bury your face against his neck, hot tears leaking from your eyes and staining his skin as they squeeze shut tightly, forcing the quivering words from your throat. “And he—He, um, he branded me,”

“What?” The word is just a huff of breath as large hands curl around your shoulders, yanking you from the sanctuary of his body so he can scrutinize your face, flashing crimson flying across your features. “He what?”

“His name,” you whisper, eyes still shut, face screwing up in distaste, the words bitter on your tongue.

“Where?”

“My ass,”

“Let me see,”

Eyes snapping open, your head begins to shake, motions cutting off when your stare meets his glare. Reluctantly you turn, flipping your dress up as you bend over a bit, pulling your panties down just enough to show him the slightly raised letters etched into your flesh forever.

Save for the soft, choked noise that sounds in the back of his throat, silence blankets the room, atmosphere suddenly stale and suffocating.

You glance back at him after a few beats, when your chest is beginning to burn from holding your breath in your lungs, and the sight that you are met with has your chest tearing itself in half, ribs caving in, giving way to the deep, dark ache swirling at the very core of your body.

Crimson eyes gleam in the setting sun, a thick layer of tears catching in the golden rays streaming through the window. It’s almost pretty in a way, brilliant ruby that shimmers and shines in the waning beams, practically glowing. But those beautiful, beautiful eyes are transfixed on your bare flesh, unblinking stare etching itself into your skin much like the letters Touya left behind.

His chin trembles just a little, front teeth sinking into his bottom lip in an attempt to halt it, head nodding in minuscule motions, barely noticeable, almost as if he’s confirming something to himself, affirming some unsaid thought sailing through his mind—almost as if he’s blaming himself.

“Fucking bastard,” he spits, though the words are wobbly, lacking heat and coated in sticky saliva. Using the sleeve of his black shirt, he wipes at his nose almost aggressively, quelling it’s twitching as he exhales harshly, nostrils flaring, before he sniffs twice and rolls his shoulders back, gaze finally meeting yours.

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not,”

“I didn’t come here to talk about Touya,” you say gently, letting your dress drop down as you straighten up. “Let’s—Let’s not think about him right now, okay? Today is your day, and I want to focus on you. Forget about Touya,”

A deep frown mars his face, his nose twitching again. It looks like he wants to say more, but then your hands are on him, roaming across his bony chest and sliding into the tufts of silvery-blue hair at the nape of his neck.

The glittering scarlet lace barely obscured by your thin dress singes itself into your flesh as his palms cascade over it, tracing every dip and curve of your body as they slide down to grope your ass.

You had bought the set for this occasion specifically—using cash you had stashed away, of course; Touya regularly checks your bank statements and credit card—with the intention of letting Tomura keep it, as a present.

“It’s hard to buy a gift for someone who already has everything,” you’re continuing softly, gazing up at him through your lashes, so close your noses nearly bump together, sweet breath wafting over his face, a tongue darting out to lick at his lips, as if he’s trying to taste it. “So I thought…I thought the best gift I could give you is me,”

And suddenly, Touya’s wiped from his mind.

He surges forward, foreheads bumping together from the strength, and crushes his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, nimble fingers curling in the hem of your dress and yanking, pulling the material from your body in one erratic motion.

He’s just as enthusiastic as he was all those months ago, large hands settling on your lace-clad hips as he guides you—back, back, back, stumbling over your own feet a little as he shoves forward, teeth clacking as his tongue tangles with yours, interspersed drool pooling at the corners of your lips.

A soft cry of surprise leaves your lips as he roughly spins the two of you so he’s the one reversing, collapsing in the overstuffed gaming chair abandoned near his desk and hauling you down with him, wheels rolling against the hardwood from the force.  

His lips are plush and chapped, kisses messy with strings of viscous saliva, and you’re reminded of how fun kissing Tomura is, playful giggles spilling from one mouth into another consistently breaking the flow as eager hands paw and pull, snapping the clasp on your bra and haphazardly discarding it, your fingers toying with the silver button of his charcoal jeans.

“Get on with it already,” he groans, impatient and entitled as ever, exactly how you remember, hips rutting up into you clumsily as hands travel up your torso to knead your breasts much too hard. And even though it shouldn’t, his predictability inspires a burst of intense warmth in your chest, burning bright like a tiny sun, heat seeping into your blood and flooding your veins as more involuntary giggles pry their way out of your mouth and into his.

“Think that’s funny, huh?” he asks, and although his eyes are fierce and sharp as they scrutinize your face, there’s a playful little grin decorating his lips, slender fingers tweaking a peaked nipple and snickering at your resulting yelp.

“Just missed you, s’all,” you mumble against him, lips dragging along his jaw then trailing down his neck, tongue peeking out to give kitten licks at self-inflicted scars and tugging pathetic little half-whimpers from deep in his throat, rough and uneven as he tries to swallow them back down.

There isn’t enough time for thorough prep, your only form of foreplay consisting of his cock being rammed down your throat—just get it fucking wet, he had demanded—hips stuttering as he desperately tries to keep from bucking while your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in spit.

“Fu-Fucking stop, or I’m gonna cum,” Large fists tangle in your hair, trying to yank you off his cock with a pathetic little whine. Gaping pupils outlined by a fine ring of scarlet observe the way your shining lips pucker around his girth as your mouth slides up, grip on your strands already loosening as his chest heaves, completely absorbed by your actions, breath escaping slightly parted lips in sweet little puffs.

A little tongue flicks against the slit as you reach the tip, placing an obscene openmouthed kiss to the head before pulling away completely. Your mouth hovers an inch above it, allowing a large glob of sticky saliva to dribble from your mouth onto the head, then kissing it again, pressing slippery lips to heated silky skin.

“Jesus Christ,”

The curse is nearly a moan, and you look up from your place between his thighs, batting your eyelashes and offering him a tiny smile. His eyes glitter as he gazes down at you, chest rising unevenly under the force of ragged breaths, a thumb swiping across your cheek in a manner that’s almost awestruck, as if he can’t believe you’re here.

“Get on my cock,” he orders a moment later, when the aching between his legs draws him back to reality, hips jerking up in reflexive, instinctive micro-movements, gleaming cock bobbing with the action. “And take your fucking panties off,”

It’s a little awkward and a lot uncoordinated, trying to maneuver yourself onto his lap while he slouches in that ridiculous gaming chair, unable to quell the way his hips prematurely thrust the moment you’re hovering over him, legs folded and cramped on either side of his thighs.

Pathetic little whimpers leak from your lips as his slick cock stretches your ill-prepared hole, cunt stinging as it struggles to adjust to the sudden breach, your nails digging into the lean muscles of his shoulders as a hiss is spit between clenched teeth.

But the moan he emits, deep and satisfying as you sink down on him, how his eyelashes flutter shut and his head knocks back against the headrest as he bottoms out, long ivory neck and prominent Adams apple on display, and the way massive hands grip your hips, fingertips digging into your soft flesh as he forces you to begin bouncing almost immediately, make it all so worth it.

Because he’s still so pretty, lids lifting a moment later to reveal dazzling ruby gazing at you in an almost voracious manner through thick dark lashes, glued to your face as he memorizes every micro-expression that transforms your features, the way your eyes roll back and eyebrows twitch, the way your mouth forms around those cute little gasps of his name that his rough thrusts punch from your chest.

“Did’ya miss my cock?” his breath is already coming out in short little pants, hips grinding urgently against yours, lacking any kind of finesse or rhythm. “B-Bet’cha did,”

“Uh-huh,” your head nods jerkily, hips rocking just as desperately into his as if to confirm your statement. His cock is pretty, too—a darker pink than Touya’s, half an inch shorter but just as fat, thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Dick drunk already?” he teases, and you’re positive his voice was meant to be more rancorous, but the large grin it’s spoken through, as if he’s proud of himself, chest nearly swelling with it, dilutes it, disintegrating the bitter shell that was supposed to coat the words. His tongue clicks, fluffy tufts of hair bouncing a little as he shakes his head. “What would your precious niichan think?”

You don’t answer—can’t answer—because it’s already so much, uncoordinated thrusting almost teasing in a way, the head of his cock unintentionally grazing that spot buried deep inside of you, the fleeting sensation mixing with that of the taboo, of the naughtiness of the situation, mewls spilling from your lips.

And you wish, so desperately, that you could take your time, that you could enjoy such amateurish gyrating, crude movements giving way to sloppy squelching that makes your stomach swoop and cunt throb as your clit glides against his pubic bone, but the mention of niichan reminds you of your finite amount of time and you lean back, soft palms finding the edge of his desk, fingers curling tightly around it.

Tomura’s bare feet planted on the hardwood keep the chair from shifting as you begin to really ride him, starting with slow, hard rolls of your hips that have cute little grunts hitching in his chest, bright eyes darkening as they watch, lids drooping a little, your movements increasingly gaining speed with each rock forward of your hips, leaning back against the desk and using it for leverage.

Blunt nails bite into your skin, and you want to remind him not to leave marks, but the words won’t keep their shape as they gurgle in your throat, evaporating into moans that break with each rough buck of his hips.

He finds a rhythm with you quickly, though, your lust-hazed mind dully noting that he’s better than before, the thought conjuring sudden, fierce spears of jealousy that slice through your chest, jaw clenching.

“Fuck, you—you’re still the best I’ve ever had,” he practically whines out, like he’s reading the thoughts on your face, but his voice is genuine, strained and hoarse with the confession. “Will probably always be the best I’ve ever had,” his sentence fades into a growl, almost as if he’s angry about it, hands squeezing your hips.

Nevertheless, you’re unable to stop the little smile those words paint across your lips, giggling breathlessly as bubbly warmth tingles in your chest, a sense of shameful pride rushing through your veins.

“Yeah?” he seethes in a huff, eyes narrowing. “Bet you’re proud of yourself for that, little slut,”

You are, you’re nodding, tongue rendered useless as his hips piston into you, cockhead repeatedly slamming against your cervix, reaching deeper and deeper and deeper the further you lean back, until the sharp edge of the desk is cutting into your back.

“I know you are,” he sneers, callous tone emphasized by his brute force as he fucks you. “V-Vain little bitch, happy she’s ruined me—ruined sex for me, forever,”

It’s getting harder for him to speak now, words punctuated by half-baked whimpers and swallowed, stifled moans, the sentiment under his speech accentuating pleasure for the both of you, dirty humiliation only making everything that much more intense, heady and addicting as it intoxicates your bodies, your minds, your souls.

“S-So the least you could do,” he begins in a keen, pace faltering as he squirms under you, yanking his phone from his back pocket. “Is give me something to—ah, Christ—remember you by,”

You should tell him no. You should cease all bouncing on his cock the moment he presses that little red button on his screen, the moment the flash next to the camera turns on, signaling it’s recording. You should.

But you don’t. You don’t, because he’s right. Because that guilt returns, seeping up through the floor of your stomach and spreading to your other organs, chest tightening as it reaches your heart. Because you took something from him, something he’ll never be able to get back, purely for your own selfish gain, just to get back at the man you love, and that isn’t fair. That will never be fair.

Instead, you look straight into the lens, hips beginning to ride him almost viciously, pushing out your chest further, bouncing tits on display as they heave with your lewd moans of his name, begging him to fuck you, begging him for his thick cum, and oh please, Tomura, please, give it to me, want your cum so bad, need your cum so bad, please!

He chokes on his own groan, the hand holding his phone beginning to shake slightly as the other finds its place on your hip again, his own thrusts pumping wildly as he spits expletives through gritted teeth, your pathetic little mewls egging him on.  

“G-Gonna cum?” he whines out, almost as if he’s begging you to say yes, the needy canting of his hips indicating that he’s about to, too, crimson searing into you as you nod messily. “Fucking do it, then, cream all over my cock like the good little whore you are,”

And you’re powerless to stop the loud cry that rips from your throat as your cunt clenches around him, only half of his name escaping in a yelp before your own shuddery gasp cuts you off, choking a little on the intense inhale, air sharp as razors as it rushes down your throat.

He follows less than a second later with a ferocious growl of your name, potent cum filling your aching little cunt, phone clattering to the floor as both hands grip your hips and force you to continue milking him until both of your bodies are shivering from the overstimulation.

You collapse against him, sweaty body melting into his, muscles quivering in exhaustion. Long arms encircle you, cradling you to his chest in a way that’s almost tender, phone laying forgotten a few feet away.

It’s just as nice as it was the first time, being swathed in his embrace, a gentle sigh slipping from between your lips. Nimble fingers trail up and down your spine, pressing into the notches, tracing the smooth, soft plains of your skin.

“Wish you could stay,” he mumbles into your hair, so quiet you nearly miss it—would have missed it if not for the vibrations in his chest.

Me too.

You want to tell him, want to express the same sentiment, to make it known that you desire the same thing, but the words tangle in your throat, that sticky brand of guilt that is specifically Touya refraining them from leaving your lips, yanking them back down into your chest with painful hitching breaths every time you try to speak.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Tomura coos, pulling back a little to cup your face and tilt it up, big thumbs swiping across your cheeks as they catch glistening teardrops.

He doesn’t say anything—there is nothing to say—instead dipping his head to press his lips chastely to yours in the softest kiss he’s ever given you, mumbling his thanks for the birthday present a moment later.

There’s so much more you want to say, so much more you want to ask, but there’s no more time, opting to kiss him again in response, praying that it conveys all the things you can’t, all the things guilt won’t let you.

And then you’re scrambling off of his lap, collecting your dress off the floor and hastily pulling it over your head, turning back to find Tomura standing, holding out his hand, soaked lace in his grasp.

“Keep them,” you whisper, curling his fingers into a fist around the dainty material. “Happy birthday, Tomura,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

You have forty-five minutes before Touya arrives home—that’s cutting it close, you were supposed to have a full hour, but Tomura’s arms were so warm, his gently rising chest so inviting, his entire aura so comforting, that you had allowed yourself to indulge, just for a moment, to let your eyes slip shut and exhale a soft sigh of contentment, snuggling into his embrace and inhaling his distinct scent deeply, holding it in your lungs for a moment, wishing it would stay, wishing it would stick to the gummy walls, take root and find a home there, wishing you could keep a piece of him with you, always.

The water scalds your skin as you step into Touya’s glass shower, hands instantly reaching for Touya’s bodywash and squirting a generous amount in your palm.

You lather your entire body with it, until every inch of your skin is covered in foamy white suds, until your flesh has been scrubbed raw, the sharp scent—something woodsy and musky, like a crackling campfire of burning hickory wood, smoky and sweet—enveloping you entirely, stinging your nose.

It sticks in your throat and invades your lungs, as if cleansing you from the inside out, and you choke on it, are suffocated by it, little gasps and coughs falling from your lips while nails claw at your neck.

That dull ache returns as you rinse your skin, throbbing incessantly at the very core of your body as you watch the last remnants of Tomura swirl around the drain, infused in the soapy water.

It shouldn’t hurt this much, you’re thinking to yourself as your fingers massage shampoo into your scalp. It shouldn’t, but it does, a painful lump lodging itself in your throat, expanding a little more every time you try to reason with yourself until it’s gagging you.

Something stings your eyes—soap from the shampoo as you rinse it from your locks, or maybe the potently fragrant scent from Touya’s bodywash, you try to convince yourself, that lump sprouting tiny spikes and viciously slicing into the gummy walls, that lump forcing saliva still containing traces of Tomura to collect in your throat, that lump reminding you that you’re a fucking liar.

It’s fine. It’s fine. Touya doesn’t need to know everything, does he? What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? And it was only a one time thing, wasn’t it? It’s alright, isn’t it?

These are the questions that cycle through your mind obsessively, running laps in your skull as you absentmindedly towel off your dripping body in your niichan’s bedroom, the gentle buzz of your phone snapping you out of your reverie.

For a moment, you’re terrified it’s Touya, texting you to tell you that he knows, you little slut, scrambling to snatch it off of the nightstand as trembling fingers hastily unlock it.

It isn’t Touya.

It’s Tomura.

best birthday present of my life, hands down. thank you. i love you.

The resounding slam! of the front door has your entire body flinching violently, the heels of Touya’s heavy boots thumping against the tile as he kicks them off mingling with his smooth voice as he calls your name.

It’s with watery eyes and painful little sniffles catching in your chest that your quivering thumb jabs at that tiny little trashcan in the corner of your screen, watching through blurry vision as the entire conversation disappears into the ether, gone forever—though those three glowing words that concluded the text are etched into the very tissue of your brain, where they will remain, forever.

[wizardofrozz]

Echoes of the Past

Bucky Barnes x Super Soldier!Reader, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, James Rhodes, Vision, Wanda Maximoff, Sharon Carter, mention of Peggy Carter

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: swearing, flashbacks, mention of nightmares, mention of past torture, mention of background character death (canon)

Chapter 2

2 years later (2016)

(Y/N) woke with a start, tumbling out of her bed and landing on the floor with a shout. Panting, she stared up at the ceiling, the real world slowly coming back into focus as her nightmare faded into a dull memory again. The echoes of Bucky’s screams and the pain of phantom fists still haunted her dreams, leaving her more exhausted than when she fell into bed the night before. On top of the constant nightmares plaguing her sleep, chasing down tips of Bucky’s location that lead nowhere haunted her waking hours. God, she was tired. (Y/N) sucked in a pained breath, opening her eyes, immediately squinting at the blinding sunlight washing over her face. She barely had a second to roll to her knees when she felt the vibrations on pounding footsteps under her back.

           “Hey!” Steve burst through her bedroom door, frantically searching each corner of the room before his eyes settled on her. (Y/N) slumped forward, bracing herself on her knees, letting out the breath she’d been holding.

           “Damnit, Steve,” she panted, pushing the stray pieces of hair from her face.

           “Sorry, sorry,” Steve mumbled, relaxing his stance. “I heard a yell and got worried.”

           “Nightmares” was all (Y/N) offered before using the edge of her bed to climb to her feet. Steve hummed in acknowledgment, leaning against the doorframe and scratching at his bare chest.

           “I, uh, actually was going to come wake you. Nat called, and we’re needed at the compound,” Steve yawned, rubbing a fist in his eye, stumbling back a step.

           “I’m not an Avenger,” (Y/N) countered, dropping back onto her bed with a grunt as she tugged the scrunchie from her hair.

           “Doesn’t matter, apparently,” Steve sighed, aggressively rubbing his sleep mushed hair. (Y/N) bit down on the scrunchie between her teeth a little too hard, her hands freezing with half of her hair pulled back. It was only a glimpse of the memory, but that was enough to force her to choke back a sob.

Steve mumbled about taking a shower as he disappeared up the steps and (Y/N) watched him go with a pained look before she faced Bucky again. He had pulled his hat off, aggressively rubbing his hair, trying to get rid of the inevitable hat hair he was sporting, as he wandered towards the couch.

(Y/N) swallowed down the pain, feeling the empty hole in her chest grow a tiny bit more; Steve hadn’t noticed her faraway look, and she thanked whoever was watching over her. She quickly finished gathering her hair into a bun, haphazardly wrapping her scrunchie around it, and dropped her arms.

           “Do I really have to go,” (Y/N) whined, tilting her head back, pouting her lips.

           “Yes.” Steve’s word was final, his tone leaving no room for argument, and (Y/N) couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.

           “Aw, Stevie, are you using your Captain voice with me,” (Y/N) giggled, biting her lip to stifle a smile.

           “Have I ever told you how much I didn’t miss you being an asshole,” Steve huffed, rolling his eyes playfully. A laugh burst from (Y/N)’s lips sending her tumbling back onto her pillows, clutching her stomach, and it felt good to laugh like that again. Steve stayed in the doorway, a soft smile forming as he watched her laugh for what felt like the first time since the ’40s.

           “Oh, shit,” (Y/N) wheezed, sitting up again, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “I needed that.”

           “Get dressed,” Steve snorted, disappearing down the hall. (Y/N) sat staring at the empty doorway for a few minutes, trying to hold onto her improving mood before slipping out of bed to find clothes.

The entire table watched Secretary Ross’ figure disappear down the hall, plunging the room into silence.

           “No,” Steve snapped, pointing at (Y/N) without looking up from the booklet in his hand.

           “I didn’t even open my mouth,” (Y/N) replied, her voice pitching up as she glanced around the table.

           “I could feel you waiting to,” Steve huffed, his eyes still scanning the small print. (Y/N) threw her arms up, letting them fall against the table with a thud but stayed quiet, waiting for something to happen. Tony was the first to move, his chair scarping against the floor, and immediately, the rest of the table shared looks before slowly getting to their feet and following. Tony pulled his jacket off, throwing it with little care before flopping down on a nearby couch. (Y/N), Vision, Wanda, and Natasha hesitantly settled on the free couches while Steve dropped into a chair facing them, Sam and Rhodey lingering over his shoulders. (Y/N) stared down at the floor, feeling out of place among the group, still wondering why she was even there; Sam and Rhodey’s arguing fading into an annoying buzz in the background.

           “I have an equation,” Vision spoke up, drawing everyone’s attention.

           “Oh, this’ll clear it up,” Sam snarked, crossing his arms.

           “In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.” Vision glanced around the room as he finished, his mechanical eyes never lingering on any one person for too long.

Steve looked up from the booklet for the first time, his forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows moved towards his hairline. “Are you saying these are our fault?”

           “I’m saying there may be a causality,” Vision clarified, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. Conflict…breeds catastrophe. Oversight,” Vision paused, glancing down at his lap. “Oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

           “Boom,” Rhodey cut in, turning a challenging look on Sam. (Y/N) looked around the room, watching the expression on everyone’s face, feeling even more out of place the longer this went on. Her eyes landed on Steve last, sucking in a deep breath, already anticipating Steve’s choice and knowing where that left her.

           “Tony,” Natasha tried, raising a brow at him, “you’re being uncharacteristically nonhyper verbal.”

           “It’s cause he already made up his mind,” Steve added calmly, tilting his head.

           “Oh, you know me so well,” Tony replied, sitting up again.

           “Steve, I think this is a conversation I should step away from,” (Y/N) cut in, drawing the entire room’s attention.

           “Stay,” Steve hissed, narrowing his eyes.

           “No,” (Y/N) challenged, baring her teeth. “I’m not a hero. I’m a liability that the Avengers keep tabs on for your sanity.” (Y/N) got to her feet, twisting her head side to side, sighing when her neck cracked and turned her eyes on Tony. “Lump me in with whatever Steve decides.” Tony blinked at her, his jaw twitching before he gave her a curt nod.

           “(Y/N),” Steve started, reaching for her as she walked past him.

           “You know where to find me, Cap,” she called over her shoulder. Once she rounded the corner, she could hear Tony’s muffled voice again, but she didn’t care to listen closely to what he was saying; she just kept walking. (Y/N) made it to the first floor before she heard footsteps behind her; she stopped, rolling her eyes, already knowing who she’d find. “Steve…” she trailed off when she saw him.

           “She’s gone,” he whispered, his eyes taking on a stormy gray color as tears welled up. It took (Y/N) a few seconds to bounce back from the mood change and realize who ‘she’ was.

           “Oh god,” she whispered, closing the gap between them, catching Steve in a tight hug as his knees gave out.

(Y/N) stood at Natasha’s side as she watched Steve walk off with Sharon, his shoulders sagging under another layer of grief.

           “Peggy was a good woman,” Natasha sighed, looking over at (Y/N), a frown creasing her face.

           “She was. I didn’t know her that well, but she made a trip to see me after Bucky fell. That meant a lot to me,” (Y/N) sighed, her lips pulling into a thin line. It felt like her chest was being cracked open, the sting of new cuts over her heart making her want to throw up and she needed to change the subject. “So, you’re going to the UN?”

           “I am,” Natasha admitted, huffing out a quiet laugh. “He should go too.”

           “I know,” is all (Y/N) could say as she stared at the door her best friend disappeared through.

Sam and (Y/N) wandered down the street, the dreary London weather bringing down their already sour moods. (Y/N) shivered, her legs covered in goosebumps as the damp air moved over her exposed calves; Sam raised a brow before pulling his hands out of his pockets, shrugging his jacket off, and settling it around her shoulders.

           “Thanks, Sam,” she beamed, tugging the jacket tighter around her.

           “Course,” he hummed, glancing around the busy street. “Wanna grab a coffee or something while we wait for Steve?”

           “Samuel, are you asking me on a date? My heart belongs to another,” (Y/N) teased, resting a hand over her heart. Sam bent forward under the force of his laugh, clutching his stomach, his laughter echoing off the buildings surrounding them, drawing the attention of bystanders.

           “I see why Steve likes having you around,” Sam chuckled, bumping shoulders with her.

           “I’m a joy to be around,” (Y/N) giggled, smirking at Sam. “But I could go for some coffee.”

           “Then shall we,” Sam offered, presenting his arm to her. (Y/N) looped her arm with Sam’s, smiling up at him and letting him guide her down the quiet street. After walking a few blocks, they found a small coffee shop, and (Y/N) sighed as the warmth settled on her skin. Sam pulled her towards the barista, who was leaning against the counter watching the TV mounted above her.

           “One moment,” the barista hummed, never taking her eyes off the TV.

           “What’s so important?” Sam grumbled in (Y/N)’s ear, rolling his eyes. She shrugged but looked up at the TV, squinting as she caught the tail-end of the headline, and her heart sank when the breaking news headline flashed across the screen again.

           “S-Sam,” she stammered, smacking his chest blindly.

           “What?” Sam hummed, looking down at her. (Y/N) pointed at the TV, still unable to take her eyes off the name in bold letters across the bottom of the screen. “We gotta go.” Sam pulled her out of the coffee shop, holding her on her feet as she stumbled after him, her eyes locked onto the news report until she couldn’t see it anymore.

           “They think Bucky did it,” was only a broken whisper as Sam pulled her along.

The three stood behind Sharon’s couch, their eyes glued to the news report; (Y/N) was reeling, her mind still not accepting the information.

           “Damnit,” Steve hissed, wiping a hand over his face.

           “It couldn’t be him” (Y/N) argued, fidgeting with the collar of her dress.

           “I hate to break it to you, but he isn’t the man you think he is,” Sam argued, crossing his arms.

           “That’s the thing, you don’t know him. I know the kind of man he is,” (Y/N) snapped, turning blazing eyes on Sam.

           “Sorry, but I’m not convinced. He’s a broken, confused man that’s been torn down for 70 years. You have no idea what we’re dealing with.” Sam raised a brow at her, daring her to challenge his logic, and oh, it lit a fire in her that she thought had been snuffed out a long time ago.

           “You know nothing about him, Sam,” (Y/N) growled, taking slow, calculated steps towards him. “Bucky is one of the best men I’ve ever met, and if he’s really behind this, it’s the Winter Soldier. I don’t care how many times he’s been taken apart and rebuilt; James Barnes would never hurt innocent people.”

           “Guys, that’s enough,” Steve tried, attempting to pull (Y/N) back.

           “How can you be so sure?” Sam pressed, his brows pinched together, pity written all over his face.

           “Because I watched Hydra tear him apart time and time again,” she choked out, resting a hand over her throat, taking a shaky breath, “watching him lose himself until nothing was left and up until the end, he never wanted to hurt anyone.”

           “Alright, enough,” Steve snapped, stepping in front of (Y/N), blocking her view of Sam. “We need to get to Vienna.”

           “Yeah,” (Y/N) breathed, wiping a hand over her mouth, shaking away the memories threatening to rear their ugly heads.

Sam and (Y/N) sat at the café’s counter, sipping coffee as they waited for Steve to get back from looking for Natasha.

           “I’m sorry,” Sam mumbled, glancing over at (Y/N).

           “It’s fine,” she sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. “I can’t blame you; I’m biased.” (Y/N) gave him a weak smile that only lasted a few seconds before her face fell again, not having the energy to keep up the act.

           “You still love him,” Sam stated over the lip of his mug.

           “Never stopped,” she whispered, tracing the woodgrains in the counter.

           “Alright,” Steve cut in, appearing between (Y/N) and Sam, nearly sending (Y/N) flying off her stool.

           “Fuck, Steve, did the serum turn you into an assassin too,” (Y/N) scolded, resting a hand over her pounding heart.

           “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking at her over the top of his sunglasses.

           “Whatcha got?” Sam probed, turning to get a better look at Steve.

           “Well, (Y/N), you’re going with Nat,” Steve started, pulling his sunglasses off and resting them on the bill of his hat.

           “And where am I going with Nat?” (Y/N) twisted around on her stool, leaning against the counter, staring up at Steve, raising a questioning brow.

           “Wherever she takes you,” Steve replied cryptically, glancing around the coffee shop.

           “Don’t pull that shit with me, Rogers,” (Y/N) hissed, pinning him with a dirty look, crossing her arms.

Steve met her eyes, holding her gaze before looking down at his shoes, sucking in a ragged sigh. “You know they’re going to find him. Nat said she’d try to get you in to see him when they have him.”

           “What about you?” Steve shifted nervously, keeping his eyes glued to his shoes and refusing to meet (Y/N)’s eyes, and Sam snorted, shaking his head.

           “I can’t,” Steve hummed, scratching at the back of his neck, glancing up through his lashes.

           “Bullshit,” (Y/N) scoffed, shaking her head.

           “I need you to trust me,” Steve begged, bringing his huge hands up to rest on her shoulders. (Y/N) met his pleading eyes and felt her resolve faltering when the chance to see Bucky again was within reach.

           “Please be careful,” she sighed, letting her shoulders fall.

           “Thank you,” Steve beamed, surging forward to press a quick kiss to her cheek. “Go find Nat; she should still be wandering around near the front of the building.” (Y/N) took a deep breath and nodded, sliding off her chair and resting a hand over one of Steve’s and squeezing it before stepping away. She looked over her shoulder when she reached the door, watching Steve whisper to Sam and praying he wasn’t going to do something stupid, even though she knew it was pointless because there was a good chance that’s exactly what he was planning.

Chapter 3 | Masterlist

Taglist:

@itsafansworld07​ @youracidqueenmina​ @witch-of-letters​ @spookyparadisesheep​ @blackbirddaredevil23​ 

[an-ocean-blue]

One of those days.

Just me trying to write out some crappy feelings. Not read through again so might be completely crap. Yeah.

Unknown Female x Daniel Ricciardo

Fluff - Caring for his girl.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed looking out over water in the distance not really seeing anything. He’d left cracked the window in the morning as he left and the cold draft coming in left goose bumps on your skin but you didn’t really care about the cold. You didn’t really care about anything as you sat there. Your legs drawn up against your chest as your head rested on your knees. You could feel the quiet tears run down your face as you sat there.

You weren’t even aware of how long you’d been sitting there inwardly chastising yourself for being like this when he was around. You always tried to keep this part of yourself from him, letting it come out when you were alone and he was off half way around the world racing. But right now you just couldn’t stuff it back in. It wasn’t like anything had happened to trigger this in you, it just overcame you and you were powerless to fight it right now as the sobs started to shake your body. Your breathing laboured as you wrapped your arms around you knees even tighter just wanting to vanish in the moment.

Part of you knew it was good to let it out, for just a second. Just a second was enough for you to create enough breathing room to be able to pack it all back in and get on with your day without anyone noticing anything. Just another second you told yourself trying to steady yourself.

You are startled as you suddenly hear the front door slam closed as you look at the clock. You’d been sitting there for well over 3 hours. You immediately straighten up and rub aggressively at your eyes as his cheerful “Honey I’m home” reaches your ears. You try to stand wanting to make your way into the bathroom and lock it. This way you could have a quiet shower and pack everything away before you had to face him, but you end up moving so fast you slip on sheets that were on the floor sending you tumbling to your hands and knees.

It's not even the pain of the fall that bursts the dam of everything you were trying pack back in but more the embarrassment and utter proof that you were definitely not good enough for him; or anyone for that matter. You just sink to the floor on your side and try to curl up into a tiny ball as the quiet tears fell. You hear him come open the door but as you’re on your side beside the bed from the other side of the room he didn’t see you at first and you let out a breath of relief as you hope his search of the apartment is slow enough that you might have a chance to play this off. But your breath is too loud as it makes him turn and walk in the room finding you in a ball on the floor. “Fall out of bed again cluts?” he jokes as he moves to help you up, not even realizing you are crying. “hey princess, no don’t cry what’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?”. He asks kneeling down with you, the cheerful sunshine immediately vanishing from his voice.

You just shake your head as you try to turn away from him rubbing harshly at your eyes trying to make the tears stop. “It’s okay, I’m fine just give me a second” You feel him flinch when you turn away from him and you look at him through your tear and his unsure expression breaks your heart. “Im sorry, Im so sorry” you choke out shaking your head and turning back in on yourself. “Baby no it’s okay, just talk to me. What happened?”. Softly he reached his hand out to touch your cheek but letting his hand hover just shy from your face his eyes still unsure if you wanted to be touch. You gently move your head so his hand cradles your cheek and you just feel the relief running through him. His thumb gently stroking the tears off your cheek as he moves his other hand to your back softly running his fingers over it. “Im sorry” is all you can mumble out as you feel him shift over you, his strong hands gently gathering you up off the floor and putting you back on the edge of the bed.

Your body is still shaking as he turns to the pile of laundry in the corner that you were supposed to and another wave of failure just rushed over you as the tears kept flowing and you covered your face with your hands as more apologies fell from your lips. “I love you princess” he whispered as he gently pulled your hands away from your face and guided them through the sleeves of the sweater he’d worn the last day or so enveloping you in his scent. “Lay back” he said softly as he guided you to lay on the covers before climbing over you and folding his body along your back pulling you gently against him holding you as close as he could.

You fold one hand under your head and wrap the other around your middle. He rest one hand on top of your head, his fingers playing in your hair as the fingers of this other hand softly ran up and down the outside of your thigh. “I’m sorry” you try again only to gently be sushed as he presses his lips gently against your temple. “No, need to be sorry sweetie. Just let it go, you’ll feel better for it”.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he whispered softly after the tears ran dry and your breathing had started to even out. “Just one of those days” you sigh and pull his arm from your thigh and lace your fingers together on your stomach. Just him being there for you he was exactly what you needed right now.

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x reader (part 7)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 2.5k

warnings: um just implied smut and fluff and a reference to bdsm I guess?? but it's pretty chill overall

Liked by starkcosmetics and others

y/n.y/l/n okay first of all, it takes an act of god to get a picture of this guy smiling, but it’s always worth it.  he really changed everything for me and I can’t thank him enough for that.  so happy ❤️ 

View all 9,208 comments

caroldanvers 😍😍😍

flowercrowny/n oh my god this is so sweet i’m gonna cry

1 HOUR AGO

He smiled as he stared down at the post you’d made, remembering how much effort you’d put into finding the perfect picture (in your opinion; he thought he looked kinda dopey in it) as well as writing and re-writing your caption.

The speed at which your post gained likes and comments was inconceivable to him; even more impressive was the speed at which gossip rags were picking up the story.  Sure enough, his phone’s alerts to new headlines about you were not only going off like crazy, but had started to include news about himself as well.  

Y/N Y/L/N Shocks With Romantic Instagram Post, Confirms Dating Rumors

You’ll Never Guess Which Hollywood Starlet Is Dating Her Driver

Who is James Barnes?  Everything We Know About Y/N Y/L/N’s New Beau

Skimming one of the articles, he was impressed at how much information they’d managed to get without actually getting anything from you or him.  Born in Brooklyn, disabled Army veteran, worked a list of odd jobs before becoming your driver and bodyguard.  ‘No social media presence, prefers to keep a low profile’ one of them said; you can say that again, Bucky chuckled to himself when he read it.

He found another from People and didn’t particularly appreciate that it spent half the time going through all your past exes and rumored partners (turned out ‘rumored’ is a fancy word for ‘a bunch of fans deluded themselves so hard that it somehow turned into news without any proof necessary’).  But he still smiled when he got to the part that was actually about you and him.

‘The relationship is pretty new but they’re so happy together,’  a source close to the couple reported.  

Close indeed; that statement came from your publicist, who he’d never even meet.  

���He’s a very private guy and she’s got this huge following, so they’re sort of an odd couple in that way, but she knows her fans are respectful and will let them have their own life outside of the spotlight.’ 

Bucky wasn’t sure that the respectfulness of fans was such a given here, but he hoped you were right.  To be fair, they’d been very sweet on your original post insofar. 

However, when he scrolled to the bottom of the celebrity magazine articles and realized they had their own comments section, he discovered that they were a little less forgiving than the ones on your Instagram.  

Is this the best she thinks she can do?  So sad tbh :(

a military guy…. yikes, she could get any guy she wants and she goes for a murderer. 

He looks like a hobo that found a coupon for a free haircut lol

I don’t buy it, I know she’ll always love Pietro!

Pietro being your former co-star that so many of your fans were convinced was actually your soulmate.  From what he’d heard from you, those speculations had made things so uncomfortable between the two of you that it killed your friendship.  Those were nothing, though, compared to the comments about someone you actually had dated.

she’s obviously not over sam… they were so good together

He’d better watch out for her ex, he still likes tweets about her and they have so much chemistry

Wait, she’s not still with Sam Wilson??  I could’ve sworn they’d been dating for, like, five years.

You were scrolling through your phone with a smile as you walked past where he was sitting on the couch, and he just couldn’t help himself from asking even though he knew it wasn’t the best idea.  “Do I need to worry about this Sam thing?” he blurted out, trying to play it cool and not sound too anxious.  “People are really obsessed with you two…”

“Sam and I…” you sighed, staring off into space for a second.  He made himself anxious imagining what you were thinking about in that moment.  “I haven’t talked to him in… years?  I think it’s just because our relationship was so public that people are still talking about it.  And it had a lot of gossip material— we did a movie together, people thought it was sweet that we got together during production, it was great promotion for the picture… and from the outside, we made a lot of sense for each other.  But he has his own problems.  I loved him, but… he wasn’t ever going to be a one-girl kinda guy.”

“But you’re not just any one girl.  You’re… you know, you,” he emphasized.

“You’ve been reading too many headlines,” you shook your head as you sat down beside him.  “Please don’t turn into one of those guys who thinks of me as a celebrity first.  Before that—” you pointed to your own name where it was bolded on his screen in the trending topics page of Twitter— “was popping up on movie posters and in gossip magazines, it was just my name.  And I’m not perfect.  Not even close.”

Bucky sighed and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him and holding you tightly.  “And before I knew you were famous, or rich, or incredibly talented, I was totally obsessed with you just for who you are.”

“You’re too fucking amazing,” you sighed as you held his face and gave him a gentle kiss— the kind of kiss that instantly melted his heart and banished his worries.  When you pulled back and looked up at him with a smile, it was like everything else just… faded away.  “Don’t read the comments, okay?  None of them matter.”

He smiled and brushed his thumb over your cheek, overwhelmed by not only the softness of your skin but of your spirit as well.  In all his life he’d never been handled so… gently, with so much care.  “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he mumbled, not even really realizing he’d said it aloud until you gave him a beaming smile.

“I can’t believe you’re my boyfriend,” you giggled pridefully.

“Seriously?  I can… very easily believe it,” he scoffed.

“I just mean… you’re so…” you searched for the words.  “You’re actually good to me, that’s the thing.  I’m not used to that.”

“You deserve the world,” he assured.  “I’m just gonna keep trying to give you as much of it as I can find.”

He watched his hand trail over your face, down your neck and to your chest where he played with the hem of your t-shirt.

"It's odd to know there are millions of people who are jealous of me,” he admitted quietly, remembering some aggressive comments from some very angry dudes who had apparently also watched your nude scene a few too many times.

"Do you like it?  Do you like how it feels to know you're making them angry every time you touch me?"

"Couldn't care less," he refuted.  "Nobody else matters when I'm touchin' you."

“Do you maybe wanna… touch me a little more about it?” you smirked, opening your legs slightly in invitation.

“Always.”

//

Bucky had, thankfully, not let the newfound fame get to his head.  In fact, he had demanded that the two of you hunker down in the house, since he feared that going out would lead to being recognized.  What he apparently hadn’t anticipated was that that might not be enough.

“Will you get that?” you requested when the gate buzzed, too wrapped up in the book you were reading to answer the intercom.

He hopped up and held down the button to communicate with the gate speaker.  “Who is it?” he asked.

“I’ve got a delivery from Anjappar Chettinad on 23rd?”

Bucky didn’t even reply before hitting the green button and granting access to the driveway.  BEEP BEEP BEEP! you heard the gate signal its opening, and the car pulling around up to the door.  Bucky didn’t open it until there was a knock, greeting the delivery guy with a smile and the necessary cash.

“I’ve got a lamb korma, hyderabadi mutton dum biryani and an order of— woah,” the man suddenly stopped, staring at Bucky’s face.  “Are you—?’

“Hungry?  Yes,” he frowned.

“You’re the guy dating— holy shit, congrats man,” he beamed, smacking Bucky on the shoulder pridefully before leaning in with a mischievous smirk.  “Say, is she a freak or what?”

“She is,” you piped up from the couch, making both men turn their heads; but one was chuckling while the other looked mortified.  “You better not have forgotten my paneer pakora or I’m gonna chain you up and whip you.”

“Uh, I— no, I got it right here,” he promised weakly, handing the bag over to Bucky and starting to dash away before Bucky grabbed his arm, making the smaller man whimper fearfully.

“You forgot the money,” Bucky reminded him gruffly, stuffing the bills into the driver’s front pocket.

Finally, he let go, and the delivery man instantly pulled away, rubbing his arm and looking a bit like a kicked puppy as he went back to his car and drove away.

“You didn’t need to scare him that bad,” Bucky chuckled.

“I could say the same to you!  Grabbing somebody with the metal arm like that will put the fear of God into them pretty fast.”

“I didn’t mean to grab him that hard,” he admitted, examining the prosthetic hand as he came back to the couch with the bag of food, handing it to you while he focused on watching his motorized fingers curl and uncurl.  “I think I need to get this thing recalibrated… it’s been bugging out lately.”

“I dunno, it was working just fine last night,” you smiled, remembering how delightfully cool those fingers felt inside you.

Bucky seemed to miss it entirely, though, as he stared off into space.  “I can’t believe I got… recognized.”

“You’re a star,” you winked.  “And not just with random delivery drivers.  I’ve had a lot of press requests, everybody wants to be the first one to get nice pictures of us together— we’ve had a dozen event invites as a couple.”

“Seriously?!” he scoffed, snapping back to reality slightly enough 

“Yeah, and look what came in same-day mail this morning!”  You leaned over to shuffle through the mail on the side table before finding and handing him a letter in a gold-embossed envelope, watching him read what you knew was inside.

The Hollywood Foreign Press Association extends an invitation to Y/N Y/L/N and James Barnes to the annual Grant Banquet in support of the Young Artists Fund.

“It seems like a good first event for us,” you explained.  “Relatively small and low stakes, it’s for a good cause…”

“Are you sure I’m ready to be, you know… seen?  By people?” 

You scoffed, hardly believing how insecure he could be sometimes.  “You look great, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Will I have to talk to anybody other than you?” he asked, grimacing as if that were a form of brutal torture.

“Probably,” you admitted.

His frown deepened.  “What if I say the wrong thing?”

“I’m not that worried about you,” you smirked.  “You’re a lot better at this stuff than you think you are.”

“I don’t have anything to wear…”

You smirked, a little too proud of yourself, when you remembered the email your publicist had forwarded to you just this morning.  “Hugo Boss will pay you $1500 to wear one of their suits on the carpet.”

“They’ll pay me to wear free clothes?” he repeated with wide eyes.

“Yeah, that’s one of the cooler things about fame,” you laughed.  “I make a grand every time I wear this watch outside!”

“I guess I should send them my measurements then…” he trailed off.  “Any chance I can get in on that watch deal?”

“No, but you can make $50 by getting papped at Jamba Juice.”

He paused for a moment, scratching the back of his neck as he thought.  “Is the smoothie comped?”

“I don’t know.  Do you want me to ask?”

“...kinda…” he admitted with a shy smile.  

“Well, I will, and I’ll RSVP to this invite saying we’ll be there next week,” you decided as you started to open up the food, but Bucky stopped you by reaching for your hands.

“Are we really doing this?” he asked.

“If you want to,” you mitigated.

“Of course I do.  I guess I have to accept that you’re actually willing to be seen with me,” he chuckled.  “It’s just sort of hard to believe.”

You leaned in and kissed him; it was meant to be a casual, reassuring peck but he held you closer and you melted into him, moaning softly at his touch as you started to climb into his lap.

“The food’s gonna get cold,” he reminded you with a mumble against your lips.

Unfortunately, your literal hunger was a bit too strong to ignore, even with the growing intensity of a metaphorical hunger for Bucky.  “Alright,” you relented, getting off of him and returning your attention to the meal on the table.  “Just know that I really, really want to be seen together, in public, just in case anybody missed the news about us already.  I’m not embarrassed by you or afraid you’re going to do something dumb.  I…”

One of those words that can’t be unsaid started to bubble up in your throat and you coughed, banishing the thought.

“I really like you.  I think we have something special.”

He smiled gently, giving you one more kiss on the cheek.  “I think so, too.”

//

Since this was slightly less of a big deal than a premiere or press tour, you had managed to convince your styling team to let you dress yourself, which was why he was laying on the bed and talking to you through the bathroom door while you put on your gown.

“Do you want me to hire a new driver?” you prompted him, voice muffled slightly as he imagined your head covered in the fabric, trying to navigate through the dress.  “I don’t want you to feel… I don’t know, like a servant?”

“A servant?  You’re still paying me,” he reminded you.  “You are still paying me, right?”

“Yes,” you laughed, “but still, I would hate it if you felt like staff.  You’re my boyfriend!”

(His heart still fluttered every time you said it.)

“No new driver,” he decided.  “I can drive just fine, and considering how things went between us… let’s not open the door for anybody else,” he smirked, making you laugh in that way you did when he made a stupid joke but you still liked it somehow.

“Okay, sure, but what about being my bodyguard?  Is that too weird?” you continued.

“God no,” he scoffed, “if anything I’m gonna be better at my job than ever.  As your boyfriend, keeping you safe is my job, but since keeping you safe was already my job… it’s, like, doubled-up now.”

He lost his train of thought when you opened the door.

“How do I look?” you asked as you stepped in and gave him a spin in your new dress.  Your whole body was draped in red silk, with the exception of your back which was almost entirely exposed, as if it were begging him to run his fingers down your spine.

“Like everything I ever wanted,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

And it was so odd that you questioned his desire to drive you, because those moments where he could steer with one hand and rest the other on your thigh, when he could catch a glimpse of you looking out the window at the city rolling by, when he got to listen to you ramble about something to kill the time during a drive; those were his favorite moments, and he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

After a relatively brief trip, you arrived at the venue, and all of a sudden he was doing what he’d fantasized about more than he’d like to admit: escorting you down a red carpet.  It was almost overwhelming— yelling, chattering, reporters speaking into camera, flashes going off in every direction—

“Hey,” you whispered, bringing your hand up to his cheek and instantly taking all his attention.

“Hey,” he returned.

“Just follow my lead,” you instructed.

“That was the plan.”

[wheresmybuckyhoes]

Are you done

Summary: You and Bucky end up trapped in a room together and you lose your temper

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Swearing, angst, aggression

Fear not winter’s children, for the next part will contain all the smut and sex pollen you can ask for, just please interact so I know if you actually want a part 2!

‘This is all your fault’ you snarl at Bucky as he pounds and pounds at the thick metal door caging you in like wild animals.

 ‘If you had just listened to me for once in your god damn life we wouldn’t be stuck in this fucking room’ you continue, pacing up and down the tiny room. Why did Bucky just blatantly refuse to listen to you whenever you were paired to go on missions together. He always listened to Steve, or Sam, or even Tony for fucks sake. You had worked so hard on this one, spending weeks alone gathering intel and planting bugs, only for his stupid ass to go and ruin it all. It was his fault that he hadn’t just stayed outside like you had asked him to, allowing the door to close, trapping you both inside.

Your eyes flickered over the few possibly useful things in the room: A vent on the ceiling, a broken code panel and a huge metal door. ‘Stop that’ you commanded Bucky as you turned to glare at him with crossed arms. Bucky said nothing in response and continued to beat the door. ‘That’s not going to help us Bucky, stop’ you repeated, frustration rising in your voice. It may have been uncalled for, but the mix of anger and claustrophobia coursing through you caused you to rush towards him, shoving him sharply in the chest.

He blinked at you. Your eyebrows furrow together in annoyance as Bucky barley budges from his spot and simply continues to pound uselessly against the door, the clanging sound echoing around the small room. It was too much for you, and you were not having it today. You were finally done with his bullshit. You push him again, harder this time, enough so that he slightly loses his balance and stops his endless banging. He turns to look at you with an irritated glance before turning his back to you and looking around for any sign of weakness in the infrastructure of the door and wall.

‘Are you kidding me’ you ask, almost laughing as your body scrambles to find an appropriate way to respond to his behaviour. ‘Bucky we need to think for a second can you just turn around and stop...stop moving for a se...second BUCKY’ your breathing had become rough and uneven, and for the love of god WHY couldn’t he just sit still for a SECOND.

‘SAY SOMETHING’ you scream at Bucky’s back, fists balling up either side of you. ‘YOU ARE TO BLAME, BUCKY. You had ONE job. ACT AS MY FUCKING LOOKOUT AS I SEARCH EACH ROOM. BUT NOOO, THE BIG BAD WINTER SOLDIER COUDNT POSSIBLY TRUST ME OF ALL PEOPLE TO CARRY OUT THE SIMPLEST OF TASKS SUCCESSFULLY. JUST HAD TO GET INVOLVED, YOU WITH YOUR...YOUR BIG METAL ARM AND STUPID MASK AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON...’ you had lost it and were projecting all of the week’s frustration at Bucky, and he was not having it.

As you continued to throw a temper tantrum like an annoying child, Bucky whipped his head around, body quickly following, and backed you right up against the door with his vibranium hand covering your mouth. You could almost taste the metal as your cries were muffled, feeling the impact of the cold wall on your back. Your eyes widened in shock at first before quickly transitioning into a look of anger as you tried to throw a pathetic punch at Bucky’s face, but he quickly caught your arm with his enhanced reflexes. For a still moment, you looked aghast between your caught fist and Bucky’s narrowed eyes. Before you could say or do anything, he flipped you over onto the dusty floor, kneeling on your back and pinning your arms behind you. This one hurt a bit.

You were shaking slightly, rather trembling, breathing heavily. ‘Are you done?’ he asked calmly as he leant down towards you, applying the slightest bit of pressure on your back making you whimper. ‘I said’ he repeated as he took his time to annunciate each word ‘Are. You. Done?’ You nodded helplessly as Bucky took some off his weight off of you, not quite wanting to move yet fearing you would try to unsuccessfully lash out at him again. He finally got off you and you rolled onto your back, wiping away the ghost of a tear. He held out his flesh hand for you, which you took carefully, feeling yourself effortlessly hoisted up. You shuffled back half a metre until you were leaning against one of the dull walls, sliding down and pulling in your knees in shame.

You sat in silence for what felt like hours as Bucky continued his search for a way out of the minuscule room. He had tried to reach the vent on the ceiling to no avail, and had given up trying to break through the seemingly invincible door. Meanwhile, thoughts were rushing through your head at a million miles an hour. Would Bucky hate me now? Do I deserve to be an avenger if I can’t even keep calm? What would Nat say if she saw how pathetic I had acted? Finally Bucky had seemed to give up. You heard a quiet sigh followed by heavy footsteps and you felt a presence lower itself beside you. After a few a minutes of more silence, you felt a hand reach out, tilting your chin up gently so you were gazing up at Bucky. He was looking at you with some sort of sympathy behind his eyes, an unfamiliar emotion to catch him showing towards you. You lowered your knees as he in turn lowered his hand, looking into those blue crystalline eyes and feeling so, so guilty.

‘I’m...’ you tried to speak with a shaky breath as your eyes found the floor once more ‘I’m sorry, Bucky. I know it’s not your fault, I don’t know what came over me to shout like that’ you whispered. Silence. You swore right then if Bucky was ignoring you again and not answering that this time you would actually punch him hard and...wait no, not quite silence, but a strange hissing noise. Your head snapped up to look at Bucky, who was staring all winter soldiery at something. ‘B...Bucky?’ You asked, following his line of sight to the cloudy white substance seeping in through the ceiling vent. ‘What the fuck is that?’ You asked, a tone of concern rising in your voice as you noticed Bucky’s whole body tense up, the plates of his vibranium arm whirring as he moved to get up.

‘Shit’ Bucky cursed, a panicked look flickering across his face. ‘Please not this. Anything but this. DON’T DO THIS TO HER’ he pleaded as you scrambled up onto your feet, feeling your heart rate increases exponentially. ‘What is it Buck, your scaring me. Do what to who?’ you questioned, usually confident voice hushed and timid.

‘It’s... no it can’t be...’ Bucky turned to face you, a mix of sadness and horror plastered on his face as he placed both his hands on your shoulders in an almost protective stance. ‘What...’ you trailed off.

‘sex pollen’

-> Read part 2

[sleeping-on-cracking-ice]

Y/N gets attacked and Chishiya is sure she will handle everything but when he sees her later there's blood everywhere, later he finds out that attackers actually cut her cheek really deepy and she will probably have a scar. He feels guilty and try to make it up by bringing something special (like cute pictures of cats bc he remembers when she quietly told Kuina that she loves cats) and from that day he is always trying to make sure that Y/N is doing fine. (2/2)

Of course! Here you go!

A Ginger Cat | Shuntaro Chishiya

{Alice In Borderland Masterlist}

Characters(s): Chishiya (ft. Kuina, OC, Ann)

Summary: You get hurt during a game, but Chishiya thinks that you can handle it yourself. Later when he discovers that you were injured more worse than he thought, he brings you something to cheer you up

Warnings: swearing, blood

Word Count: 4.6k

*reader is female

The registration room had an eerie aura, you swore you could’ve heard a pin drop in there. Nothing was moving except the occasional piece of dust flying past in the breeze. You stood with your back to the wall, glaring up into the bright florescent light that had seemed to become an all too familiar ongoing theme of these homicidal games.

The wall was cold and rigid along your spine, but you put up with the small sharp pain. There was nowhere else to wait, besides on the disgustingly dirty floor. You had to gain as much rest and strength before beginning the game.

Kuina sighed heavily to the right of you, glancing at the game phone she had picked up a few minutes prior and rolling her head back against the wall in boredom. Chishiya stood next along from her, earbuds lodged in his ears and blasting loud music while he held his gaze strictly on the ground in front of him.

“Come on,” Kuina groaned, stretching her hands above her head. “When is this game starting? We’ve been here for a solid half an hour.”

She walked to the entrance of the registration room and peeked her head out the door. “I’m surprised no one else has come. Maybe it’ll be just us,” she suggested, turning back to you and Chishiya.

“That sounds great, until it’s a game of hearts,” you bluntly stated, fiddling with the fabric of your shirt. Chishiya and Kuina both turned to you, sudden concern on their faces at your accusation.

The room fell quiet once more, until a familiar voice echoed through the room from all your phones simultaneously.

“Registration is now closed,” it spoke. “Game: Mice, Cats and A Dog.”

You frowned at the strange game name, having heard nothing like it before. You felt a feeling of relief wash over you as a five of clubs card conveyed itself on your screen. You were anxious you had accidentally manifested it to be a hearts game with your sly comment earlier.

“Rules: Players are the Cats. There are three live Mice to catch, each hiding in different areas around the building. Once found, the Mice must be killed using your own preference of weapon that is available on the table in the registration room.”

All three of you glanced towards the small table positioned next to the phone table that was scattered with small weapons that would hardly be enough to hurt a human. You had been wondering why they had offered such shitty weapons.

“Although, you must avoid the Dog’s gaze, for it will kill the Cats on sight.”

Your heart dropped at that last statement. You were to be hunted.

“You have an hour to kill all three Mice and return to the lobby with the bodies. If you fail to do so, all exits around the building will be closed and several more Dogs will be released and finish off the remaining players. You have ten minutes to position yourself in the building before the Dog is released.”

The list of rules on your phone screen shifted to a timer for ten minutes, already beginning to count down. You turned to Chishiya and Kuina.

“Any strategies?” Kuina asked, looking between you and Chishiya.

You pursed your lips in thought. “Split up. That seems like the most logical option. It will be quicker to find the Mice then,” you proposed, crossing your arms over your chest and scanning over the small map nearby that disclosed the layout of the deserted hotel the game was taking place in.

“But then the “Dog” will have more of a chance to find us if we split up,” Kuina argued. Kuina always focused on the safer route to ensure everyone’s survival rather than the easiest.

“No, it will be worse if we’re together, cause it can kill us all at once,” you retorted, walking over to the weapon table and starting to scan your options.

“I agree with Y/N,” Chishiya spoke up, pushing himself off the wall and strutting over to stand next to you and help pick a weapon. “I played a game very similar to this one. The best option is that we separate. Only then do we have a chance of finding the Mice in the time limit.”

Just as he said it, the phones all announced you had nine minutes left until the hunter began searching for you.

“One mouse each, and if you find yours early, keep searching so we can speed up time.”

You nodded at Chishiya’s command, snatching a small hammer and a pocket knife from the table for your weapons. You all walked out of the registration area (the front desk of the hotel) and into the empty lobby, watching as the hanging chandeliers glistening against the moonlight shining through from the obnoxiously big windows.

If anything could have gotten worse, you had to find tiny mice in a huge hotel in the complete darkness of night.

***************

You took to the upper bar.

The area in itself didn’t seem that big. But when you found it, you realised that it would be incredibly hard to find a single mouse in the cracks and small spaces between all the furniture. The eerie aura didn’t help much.

You sighed in frustration after searching underneath yet another couch. “What the fuck is this game? How the fuck am I supposed to find a rodent in a huge place like this?” you whispered angrily, flopping down on the couch dramatically.

It had been around forty-five minutes since the “Dog” had been released, but you have always been quite confident in your escaping and hiding strategies, so you weren’t too worried. The only thing you were concerned about was finding a mouse. Chishiya and Kuina had to have caught theirs by now.

A small scuttling noise cut you from your thoughts. You snapped your head towards the bar, where the sound was emitting from. A wave of excitement filled you, becoming hopeful that the noise was the mouse you were searching for.

You stood from the couch and quickly walked towards the bar, making sure not to make too much noise in case you alerted the rodent. The noise seemed to have come from behind some bottles beneath the counter. You crouched down on your knees and looked along the shelves, scanning for any sign of movement.

“Come on little mouse,” you taunted, becoming frustrated. When you noticed the flash of illuminated eyes staring holes into you through the glass of a tequila bottle, you quickly snatched the neck of the bottle and pulled it from the shelf, locking eyes with a desperate mouse with it’s back half stuck in a mouse trap.

The mouse shook violently against the trap, letting out small squeaks of pain and glaring at you with fear in it’s eyes. Although, it’s most noticeable feature was a large cross that almost seemed burned into it’s lower back. The cross had no fur or skin along it.

“This has to be one of them,” you reassured yourself, reaching to pull out the small pocket knife.

You picked up the mouse trap and hissed as the mouse managed to nip a part of your finger in defence. “Little shit,” you muttered, before pressing the point of your knife against the mouse’s back and pushing in harshly to kill it.

You hoped that you would just end it’s life and that would be that. But of course, the game had to throw in some sort of twist.

As you stabbed the small rodent, a impossibly loud screeching sound emitted from it’s tiny throat, making you drop the creature in shock and cover your ears.

The animal screeched and screeched, pain dripping from it’s cries that echoed across the room angrily. You began to panic, realising that there’s a chance the hunter could hear you. But maybe that was the point.

“Shut up!” you yelled over the mouse’s cries. You pulled the knife swiftly from the mouse’s fur and continued to repetitively penetrate it’s skin, mercilessly making it shut up while blood splattered across your angered face.

You breathed heavily once the room had fallen silent once again, staring down at the mutilated dead rodent. For a short moment, you felt bad for ending it’s life so unpeacefully.

Your head snapped up to look over the bar when sudden heavy footsteps made their way down the hall outside the bar. Your heart leapt to your throat and you turned to press your back against the bar, keeping your head down so whoever it was couldn’t see you.

You cringed as you picked up the remains of the mouse, holding it tight in your hand so you wouldn’t drop it. If Chishiya and Kuina had finished their halves, all you had to do was get to the lobby and you would be fine.

You placed your spare hand over your mouth to quieten your breathing, listening to the footsteps of the stranger who brought themselves into the room. The rapid movement of their feet made you anxious. You had never encountered a hunter that could run as fast as that.

You heard them flip a few tables over, hearing glasses smash against the walls aggressively. You closed your eyes tightly in realisation. The attacker was trying to make it harder for you to leave quietly if you were in there.

When the room fell quiet, you slowly peeked your head over the top of the bar. You managed to catch sight of the hunter themselves.

They seemed to have resembled the body of an older male, fit and tall. They had long, baggy pants, a black t-shirt while holding a machete that easily was as long as your arm. But most oddly, they wore a mask that conveyed a snarling German Shepherd.

The hunter was preoccupied over by the lounged area, looking behind the back rests of the couches and underneath coffee tables.

‘If I stay here any longer, they’re guaranteed to find me,’ you thought to yourself.

You decided you were going to attempt to leave. You had more of a chance of surviving by running than hiding.

You lifted your legs and trudged towards the edge of the bar, ducking underneath the table that was placed at the end before slowly rising to your feet. A quick glance down at your hand was enough to reassure you that you hadn’t dropped your ticket to a few more days of staying alive.

You kept your eyes locked on the hunter, making sure they didn’t turn their back as you were trying to leave. You thought you had almost made it before you miscalculated your step and tripped over a shattered glass on the ground, making you stumble forward and a loud noise erupt from the impact from your shoe to the glass.

As soon as you regained your balance, you didn’t even bother checking if the hunter had heard, you knew they did. You immediately took off running, holding your pocket knife in one hand in fear. You weren’t even halfway down the hall running towards the lobby before you heard the Dog’s footsteps behind you, trailing close and fast.

“Chishiya! Kuina!” You screamed out, picking up your pace and holding the body of the dead mouse close to your chest to make sure you didn’t drop it.

There was no way they were going to help you now, especially against someone like that. You were on your own for now, so you put faith in your own legs to carry you all the way down to the lobby.

Your heart was racing as you almost fell down the flights of stairs, so desperate to get away. At some point, you glanced upwards and saw your pursuer on the flight above you, making you feel sick.

“Fuck,” you gasped out, quickly scrambling down the darkened stairs. The blood of the mouse’s corpse seeped through your fingers as you held it in a tense fist, dripping down your arm grotesquely.

As you neared the ground level of the hauntingly big hotel, you stumbled as you jumped the few remaining steps and saw a sign that had an arrow labeled “Main Lobby” pointed to the left. You took in that direction, glancing behind you to see the “Dog” hot on your tail.

But unfortunately, you took too long to look at the sign. The “Dog” quickly caught up, grabbing an aggressive fistful of the back of your shirt and yanking you backwards towards them. You were too scared to scream. The air was forced from your lungs as you were pulled back, landing on the ground with the “Dog” suddenly standing over you, feet planted on either side of you.

Before you could even think, their machete plummeted down towards your face, making you flinch your head to the right, narrowly avoiding the blade. Although, the edge of the sharp metal managed to graze your cheek, creating a long gash along the side of your face.

The “Dog” continued to attempt to stab you in the face, stumbling above you as you attempted to kick their legs out from underneath them. In a sudden desperate attack, you kicked with all your might at their locked knees and they let out a yelp of pain as their knee buckled harshly backwards. You took the opportunity to run, not even giving them a second glance. You knew they’d already be back on their feet, after you again.

As you neared the humongous room that was labeled the lobby, you saw Chishiya and Kuina by the big doors that led inside. They seemed to have been banging their fists against an invisible force, separating you from them. The game must have locked them in when they placed their dead mice in the box that was located in the centre of the huge hall.

Their faces changed their hopeful expressions when they saw your pursuer, the blood running from their cheeks, making them pale. As soon as you entered the lobby, passing through the invisible force with ease, they followed behind you quickly.

“Hurry! Throw it in!” you heard Chishiya cry to you desperately behind you. You glanced back to see him slowing down, holding out his taser towards the “Dog” in case they managed to reach you. The electric light of his taser lit up significantly in the darkened room.

Once you reached the small white box placed on the table in the centre of the room, you shoved the disgusting remains of your victim inside, watching as it landed on top of two other mice.

Everything froze. The “Dog” immediately stopped running, dropping to their knees and face-planting onto the ground in front of Chishiya. All three of you stopped in shock, heavy breaths filling the air. Had you done it?

“Game Clear. Congratulations.”

The collar around the “Dog’s” neck exploded, blood splattering the walls and coating the gorgeously patterned carpet with it’s own artwork. You had seen it many times before. Once more couldn’t hurt.

“Took you long enough,” you heard Chishiya smartly remark. You glanced towards him, raising an eyebrow. He looked smug, as always. Not a single scratch on him.

“Give me a break, I had to face someone three times the size of me,” you remarked, rubbing your face tiredly. Your adrenaline had calmed, and now the pain of your deep gash on your cheek settled in. You hissed as your palm grazed it, pulling back and looking at your hand to see blood across it.

“Shit,” you rasped out, wiping your hand on the material of your pants.

“You okay Y/N?” Kuina questioned, walking over to you. You shook your head, dismissing her. “Yeah I’m fine. Just a small gash. It’ll heal soon enough,” you reassured.

“Are you sure? That looks quite deep,” Chishiya commented, strutting over and using his hand to push your chin to the side so he could look more closely at it. The feeling of his hand placed so gently on your skin made your heart suddenly race, and you panicked and pulled your head away before he could even see your wound.

“No, it’s fine,” you insisted, attempting to hide your embarrassment. “Let’s go back. It’s getting late, and I’m tired and hungry.”

***************

You stood in your bathroom, attempting to wash your clothes that you wore at the game earlier. You were soaking and scrubbing them in the bathtub. No matter how much blood seeped from the fabrics, it never seemed to be clean enough.

You grunted, annoyed and tired. Kuina said she was going to spend some time out nearby the pool with Arisu and talk to him about his game. Chishiya didn’t say where he was going, but you assumed it would be the roof or something away from everyone else.

A wet feeling along the side of your neck made you suddenly flinch and hit your skin, worried it was a weird bug of some sort. But your eyes widened when you brought your hand back and saw the concerning amount of blood spread across your palm.

You stood up from the side of the bathtub and leant against the sink, looking to the large mirror. “For fucks sake,” you sighed out as you caught sight of your large gash again. “This has been bleeding for hours. How do I make this stop?”

You winced as the moist towel you used earlier was once again dabbing along the skin of your face, collecting up the annoyingly large amount of blood percolating from your cheek. You were becoming afraid that it wasn’t going to stop at all, but you were too stubborn to go to Ann for medical help.

You’ve seen her weird dissection obsession, so you felt uneasy putting the trust of your health into her hands.

The blood dripped quicker the more you attempted to clean it up. Soon, there were miniature blood puddles scattered around the sink as you kept trying to clean them.

*********** “Hey Usagi, have you seen Y/N?”

Chishiya was making his way around The Beach searching for you. He usually liked spending his late nights having a drink with you in a quiet corner of the ground floor pool. Although, he hadn’t been able to find you and he was getting worried. You usually were either down in the lobby or with Kuina after games.

“No, I haven’t. Sorry Chishiya.”

He huffed annoyed, thanking Usagi and walking away from the dance floor. He thought he should check in your room as a last resort, but if you weren’t there, that’s when he would really worry.

He slowly made his way up the multiple flights of stairs, passing by a few people on the way. During the walk, he zoned out in his own thoughts, his mind filing with you.

How would he ever tell you how he felt? He believed you only saw him as a friend, an annoying one at that. Especially since you happen to banter a lot with him. The thought made him smile, he loved that you didn’t take his bullshit seriously and treated it like a game.

‘How do I let her know that I truly do care for her?’ he asked himself, fiddling with the drawstrings of his white hoodie as he strolled down the brightly lit hall. He hadn’t ever been the best with emotions, so how could he show that he was genuine about his romantic feelings towards you?

When Chishiya reached your room, he lifted his fist to knock on the rotting wood, freezing suddenly. Why was he hesitating? He’s done this so many times before, why was he suddenly nervous? He shook his head, embarrassed for catching himself in these thoughts. He had worked himself up again.

He knocked on your door loudly three times before calling out to you. “Y/N? You in there?” The silence that followed his call made him anxious. He knocked again, this time more persistently.

“Coming!” he heard your muffled voice call through the door. He stood back from the door as you opened it, giving you a small smile. But it soon disappeared from your face when he locked eyes with the bloody tissue that you held to your cheek.

“Hey Chish,” you groaned out, lazy eyed and turning back into your room, leaving the door so he could come in. Chishiya rushed to you quickly. “Wait, Y/N. What’s going on? Why are you hurt?” he asked frantically, pulling on your shoulder to get you to look at him.

You brushed his hand off of you. “It’s fine. Just a small gash from the game earlier. It started bleeding again,” you said, giving him a stare.

Chishiya shook his head and cupped your face, avoiding your cut, to have a closer look. “No Y/N, that doesn’t look okay. It’s bleeding way too much.”

You stayed still as he replaced your hand holding the tissue on your face with his own, being as gentle as he could as he cleaned the blood gathering around the gash.

“Here, sit down on the bed,” he muttered, indicating towards the end of your bed. You both shuffled over and sat down, Chishiya still holding the tissue on your face.

You could feel his hot breath against your lips as he examined your wound. His dark eyes glistened in the dim light of your hotel room. He looked ethereal. But he took a quick glance towards your eyes, snapping you from your daze. You hissed as he caught a bit of the gash on the tissue. “Sorry,” he apologized, moving his hand to your chin to readjust your position.

He then sat up and walked towards the bathroom, walking quickly so the blood of your injury didn’t drip too much. As he was there, you heard a soft gasp. He probably had found the blood-covered sink and towels.

He returned back with a clean towel that he found in your bathroom cabinet. He held a somewhat annoyed expression on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me this? If I knew it was this bad, I would’ve helped you out.”

You shrugged your shoulders. To be honest, you weren’t too sure why you didn’t tell Chishiya or Kuina. It just didn’t seem that big of a deal.

“You’ll need some stitches,” he concluded, holding a clean towel underneath your cut. “Also, stop using tissues to clean the blood. They flake easily and can stick to your injury.”

You nodded, looking down in embarrassment. You wish Chishiya didn’t find you like this. You hated making anyone else worry about you when it wasn’t entirely necessary.

“Look at me,” he demanded, bringing your head up with a gentle hand on your neck. Your breath got caught in your throat as he wiped around your cheek, cleaning up any excess blood.

“Come on. Let’s get you to Ann,” he said, standing up and holding his hand out for you.

You took his hand and he pulled you up playfully, making you almost stumble into him. You glared at him. “Wow. Even when I’m injured you’re still a bully,” you teased. Chishiya smirked and winked at you, making you roll your eyes.

And yet, the whole way to Ann’s medical room, you didn’t let go of his hand.

***************

You woke as the sun hit your eyelids, illuminating your room with bright rays of light. The sun was strangely gorgeous that morning, so you woke up in a good mood.

You sat up and stretched, letting out a large groan as your bones popped in your back. Although a wince made its way onto your face as you yawned, making the skin of your treated gash stretch.

Chishiya had told Ann to place a protected medical patch on your cut, since he thought it would be better than just leaving it in case of it getting infected or worse during your next game. So for the time being, you had a flat piece of cotton taped on your face. Ann said to only leave it on until it had certainly stopped bleeding through, as well as to change it around two or three times a day.

When your eyes finally adjusted to your surroundings, your sight landed on a strange scene in front of you.

At the table on the end of your bed, there was a small plushie of a ginger kitten. The makeshift fur on the stuffed toy was slightly dirty and it was missing a bead for an eye, but it still remained strangely comforting.

You crawled to the end of your bed and reached out to grab the plushie, bringing it close to you and looking over it for anything. Who knows? Someone could have put it in your room as a trap.

But it was proven safe when you noticed the small, neat writing on the end of the kitten’s tail, which read ‘Chish’.

You chuckled at the childish toy, realising Chishiya must have snuck it into your room while you were asleep.

“Idiot,” you laughed, “Can’t tell me he likes me as his friend but he can put enough effort into finding a stuffed cat in the Borderland for me.”

It felt special, because you knew Chishiya would have had to go into deserted Tokyo to find such a gift for you. You looked on the table and saw a small piece of paper. You frowned and reached out for it and opened it.

‘Here’s a stupid plushie for your troubles. Kuina said you liked cats so I thought you’d feel better with this xx’

You laughed at his half-hearted message. Chishiya never was that good with words, but he didn’t have to be in order for you to understand how he felt towards you.

Although the plushie was a bit beaten and battered, it still brought such a sense of home to you.

***************

You sat in the lobby, watching everyone scuttle around. Your usual drunken party group passed through every now and then, which was always good entertainment.

You jumped as you felt a pair of hands suddenly grip onto your shoulders, quickly moving to your eyes and covering them.

“Guess who?” the stranger asked cheekily, making you relax when you recognised their familiar, cocky voice.

“Get your hands off me Chishiya,” you giggled, pulling on his hands and turning around so you would face him. His face held a big smile across it, which was so unlike his usual neutral expression.

“What’s got you so happy?” you questioned, raising your eyebrow. Chishiya pulled away from your face and jumped over the back of the couch so he was then sitting beside you.

“Nothing, I’m just happy to see you,” he admitted, laying his head on your shoulder comfortably. His boldness was rather prominent then more than you had ever seen.

“How’s your cut?” he asked, looking up to examine the patch on your cheek. You shrugged it off. “It’s fine, not too bad now.”

Chishiya smiled, and suddenly leaned forward and left a lingering kiss on your good cheek, making your eyes widen at his action. “That’s good,” he gushed and continued on like he didn’t do anything.

“Yeah. Um...” you muttered awkwardly while rubbing the spot on your face where he kissed. “I wanted to say... thanks for the gift earlier,” you said, placing an arm around his shoulder comfortably.

Chishiya beamed happily, but tried to hide his blush by turning away from you. “No problem,” he mumbled out, trying to sound like he didn’t care.

You laughed at his response. Chishiya may have not been that good with words, but he didn’t need to be for you to notice that he really loved you.

[collapse-and-comfort]

Love your blog! Can I ask for a sick fic with some comfort? The whumpee ignoring symptoms and pushing on until they collapse. So the caretaker carries them to bed, and looks after the whumpee the next few days. The whumpee is weak and scared because they’ve never been that badly sick. But they don’t want to go to hospital (maybe bad experiences before).

🌡🤒🌡Thank you so much!!! Sorry this took so long. It just kind of kept going and ended up being a little over 4K words! I hope you enjoy! (I'm going to tag @lurkingwhump because I know you were interested in a story like this! I'd also be remiss if I didn't mention @i-write-whump because her prompts were constantly on my mind while I was writing this.) 🌡🤒🌡

Whumpee watched their interviewee’s retreating back. They’d been less a lead and more an aggravation. The beat of an eighties pop song made their headache (and their mood) worse and they closed their eyes and pinched the bridge of their nose.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Whumpee said as they tapped a thumb on the table and tried to ignore the growing ache in their throat. “Let’s go.”

They walked back to Whumpee’s apartment to review information. It amounted to tirespinning and tail chasing. The longer the evening went, the more difficult it became for Whumpee to concentrate. They tossed a file onto their coffee table with the rest of the information they were pouring over. They leaned back on their couch and closed their eyes. No matter how they tried to will their headache away, it continued to compound itself. An ache and a chill were working their way into Whumpee’s body. They didn’t need to look at Caretaker to know they were watching them with questions on their tongue and concern in their eyes.

“Getting late,” Caretaker said.

“Late” was several hours ago.

“Mmhhm,” Whumpee said without opening their eyes. They weren’t taking the bait. “You’d better get going. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Right,” Caretaker said with a dubious quirk in their brow. They left, but they gave Whumpee ample time  to reconsider, to tell them they needed a break, or help. Or something.

Whumpee sat on their couch in silence as the chill in their body intensified. They refused to believe they were getting sick. Allergies, exhaustion. Had to be. They couldn’t even remember the last time they were ill. Whumpee groaned as they heaved themself up. The room spun and they closed their eyes until the dizziness passed. A string of expletives played in their head as they found their way down the hall and into the restroom.

They dry swallowed some pills that had likely exceeded their expiration date and they avoided catching sight of the flushed, hollow-eyed specter they would see if they looked in the mirror.

They didn’t bother struggling out of their clothes before curling up beneath their covers and dropping into a fitful sleep.

Whumpee woke to someone banging - no, just insistent, undemanding knocking the way their partner always did - on their door. They pawed at their nightstand in search of their phone, but it was nowhere to be found. They peeled their eyes open and wondered how long Caretaker had been knocking. They disentangled themself from their covers and slowly rolled their way off the mattress.

Too hot, they thought as they willed themself, one foot after the other, to make the distance from their room to their door.

When they opened up, Caretaker stepped in with a coffee in each hand. Their affable expression faltered when they looked at Whumpee. If Caretaker noticed Whumpee was wearing the same clothes they’d been dressed in the previous evening - and of course they did - they didn’t mention it.

“Shit,” Caretaker said as they handed Whumpee a cup. “Guess I should have brought you tea instead, huh?”

“As long as it had sugar in it,” Whumpee said before clearing their throat and grimacing at the sensation and the way their voice rasped. “Just give me a minute.”

---

“We can pass this off,” Caretaker suggested by mid-morning. They could. They knew several of their teammates were dying to sink their teeth into this case and there was no harm in letting them.

They watched as Whumpee rested their head against the passenger side window. Whumpee didn’t respond, but Caretaker knew what they would say. They couldn’t put this on hold; they had to finish it. Besides, I’m fine.

“Right,” Caretaker said. They felt as though that one, marginally passive aggressive word, was becoming their personal mantra. They couldn’t make Whumpee do something they didn’t want to do, and while they’d never seen Whumpee with so much as a sniffle, they knew Whumpee would run themself into the ground regardless of whether or not they had a job to do.

God forbid you take care of yourself, Caretaker thought.

The day wore on like that. Caretaker doubted the small measures Whumpee was taking to make themself less miserable - resting or rubbing their eyes, pulling their coat tighter around themself - were cries for help. Each time they asked Whumpee if they were okay, they were rewarded with a glare or a surly shrug.

The evening found them back in Whumpee’s apartment. Caretaker had grown genuinely worried about Whumpee. They watched as Whumpee stared at the same paper they’d been holding for the past ten minutes. They shut their eyes and slouched forward in their chair before closing their eyes. Caretaker frowned at the way Whumpee’s jaws were clenched, the way their shoulders were bunched, and the way their face was flushed. Whumpee’s clothes looked rumpled and uncomfortable. Not exactly surprising since they were the same ones they’d been wearing the previous day.

“You’re half asleep, Whumpee. Why don’t you at least change into some fresh clothing?”

They expected a brusque reply, but Whumpee put down the paper and nodded without looking at Caretaker. That set off warning bells.

Whumpee used the coffee table to steady themself as they rose and Caretaker reached out to help when they saw how badly Whumpee’s arms were shaking.

“I’m fine,” Whumpee muttered as they stood to their full height.

“Bullshit,” Caretaker said as they stood too. They’d spent the entire day watching Whumpee suffer needlessly and they’d had enough. “You can’t keep pushing yourself.”

Caretaker waited for Whumpee to tell them how they’d be better in the morning, or they’re just tired, or...

Whumpee swayed on their feet and their eyes rolled back before their knees buckled and dropped to the floor with jarring force. Caretaker swore as they quickly closed the distance between them and caught Whumpee’s upper body before they could fall the rest of the way. Whumpee let out a distant-sounding moan as their forehead rolled on Caretaker’s shoulder. As Caretaker held Whumpee’s chest against their own, they were shocked at the heat rolling off of Whumpee.

How the hell did Whumpee let themself get this bad?!

Caretaker didn’t berate Whumpee for neglecting themself. Rather, they gathered Whumpee in their arms. There was a flash of confusion, then annoyance on Whumpee’s face. Caretaker pretended they didn’t see the latter emotion.

“Just gonna get you to bed,” they said.

Then possibly to the hospital, they added in their head.

Whumpee didn’t put up a fight as Caretaker carried them back the hall and to their room. Caretaker angled themself so as not to run Whumpee’s head into a wall or door frame. They were unsurprised to find that Whumpee had left their covers a tangled mess. They set Whumpee down and helped them into a seated position while they straightened the covers as best they could. Caretaker circled back around to where Whumpee sat and all the aggravation they’d felt at Whumpee for not taking better care of themself fled them completely.

Whumpee’s arms hung at their sides, their mouth was part way open and their eyes were glassy. Without worrying about Whumpee’s sensibilities, Caretaker put their palm on Whumpee’s forehead.

“You’re burning up, Whumpee,” they said. That Whumpee was running a fever was far from surprising, but the sickly heat that was coming off of them was no less worrying to feel. “Jesus, how long have you been sick?”

“Few days,” Whumpee said. They looked up at Caretaker with wounded pride and they tried to pull away when Caretaker cupped their neck with their hands.

“Sshh,” Caretaker said as they gently pressed their fingers against Whumpee’s throat. They winced at how swollen Whumpee’s glands felt beneath their fingertips.

They frowned and idly swept a damp lock of hair from Whumpee’s forehead and decided what to do.

“Okay,” they said. “Is there anything we need to bring with us to the hospital?”

Whatever indignation and bravado were left in Whumpee disappeared. Whumpee’s eyes went a little wider and they shrank back from Caretaker as they drew in several sharp breaths as they shook their head.

“No. No hospitals.”

“Whumpee, you passed out and you’re running a high fever. I really-”

“No!”

Whumpee tried to stand, but Caretaker stopped them before they could land on the floor again. Caretaker put one hand on Whumpee’s shoulder and held onto one of Whumpee’s arms, trying to hold them as steadily and as gently as possible.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Caretaker said. They kept their voice low as Whumpee landed back on the bed and began to struggle. “Easy, Whumpee. Hey, it’s okay. Calm down. It’s okay. Hey, hey, look at me.”

Whumpee’s energy flagged and finally, their wary, fever-bright eyes found Caretaker’s.

“That’s it, Whumpee.”

Caretaker knew Whumpee had a thing about hospitals, but they never would have guessed it was this bad. Had their fever amplified that fear, or had it simply laid it bare?

“No hospitals.”

Caretaker sighed and nodded. It wasn’t going to do either of them any good to drag Whumpee, half out of their mind with a fever, into an emergency room. Maybe they could talk Whumpee into it if it came to that. Or maybe they’d call an ambulance. Caretaker let go of Whumpee’s arm and rubbed their shoulder. Their heart went out to Whumpee when they felt their breathing hitch beneath their palm.

“Okay,” Caretaker conceded. “No hospitals. But we have to get your temperature down. Where do you keep your thermometer?

“I’ve never been this sick before,” Whumpee said. Their voice was thick and apologetic as they dropped their gaze.

No thermometer, then, Caretaker concluded as they alternated between rubbing and patting Whumpee’s shoulder.

“Okay, what about some Tylenol?”

Whumpee paused and thought about it.

“Above the bathroom sink.”

Caretaker located the bottle. Empty. They sighed, discarded it, and moved to the kitchen. They rummaged through Whumpee’s fridge, but settled on taking them a glass of water. Whumpee sat where they left them.

“I want you to drink some of this,” they said as they pressed the glass into Whumpee’s hands. “I’m going to go pick up a few things, okay?”

Whumpee looked from the glass and back up to Caretaker. They nodded and took several sips of water before setting the glass on their nightstand. Caretaker took note of the way they winced each time they swallowed.

““Do you think you’d be more comfortable in different clothing?”

Whumpee gave them a tired mmhmm and tried to lift themself again.

“I got it,” Caretaker said as they put up a staying hand. “Let me help.”

Whumpee directed them to the bottom drawer of their dresser. Caretaker selected a pair of black athletic shorts and an overly large gray tee shirt. Whumpee didn’t protest when Caretaker helped them out of their old clothes and into the new ones. Whatever energy Whumpee had was depleted and they allowed themself to be helped down to the mattress without complaint. They used one arm to unevenly pull their covers back over themself. Caretaker refrained from helping them pull the covers more completely over them.

They didn’t want to leave Whumpee like this for any amount of time, but if they were going to help them, they needed to. Caretaker fetched Whumpee’s cell phone from the living room and put it on the nightstand next to the water.

“I’ll be back soon, but if you need anything, just call.”

All told, it took them about a half an hour for them to visit a drug store and a convenience store - both within walking distance - to gather what they needed and return. They organized everything on the counter, then took the immediate essentials to Whumpee’s room.

Whumpee was asleep beneath their covers and the water sat, untouched, on the nightstand. Caretaker regretted that they needed to wake them up. They put a hand on Whumpee’s forehead - still far too warm - then patted their cheek.

“Hey, Whumpee,” they said. “I need you to wake up for a minute, okay?”

“Mmm?” Whumpee mumbled as they looked up at Caretaker with bleary, half-lidded eyes.

“Just gonna get your temperature,” they said as they held up the oral thermometer they’d bought.

Whumpee frowned.

“It’s clean,” Caretaker said, though they doubted that was Whumpee’s objection. They leaned down and put the tip of the thermometer to Whumpee’s lips. “C’mon.”

Thankfully, Whumpee did as they were asked.

“Keep it under your tongue,” Caretaker told them, letting memories of their mother be their guide.

Whumpee kept their eyes closed while the thermometer worked, but they opened them again when the beepbeepbeep sounded. They reached for the offending instrument, but Caretaker halted them.

“Just leave it for a sec,” they said. Part of them didn’t want to see the reading, didn’t want the numbers to force their hand with Whumpee’s care.

They removed the thermometer and turned it so they could see the segmented, digital numbers.

“One-oh-three point nine,” Caretaker said, frowning at the thermometer as though it were to blame.

Not great, Caretaker thought, though they knew it could be worse. They tried to remember if they’d seen Whumpee eat anything the past couple of days. They picked up the new bottle of Tylenol, but paused when they saw Whumpee’s face. Whumpee’s jaw clenched as they clumsily wiped a tear away, They crouched down at Whumpee’s side - the pills rattled as they did so - and they put a hand on Whumpee’s arm.

Caretaker cursed themself for not stepping in earlier, for not seeing just how sick Whumpee was, for not making Whumpee take better care of themself. The latter was easier said than done, of course, but now it seemed the confirmation that they were sick was too much for Whumpee to bear.

“Okay,” they said, speaking more gently than they could ever remember speaking to Whumpee. Overt tenderness, or any other sort of tenderness for that matter, had never been a part of their dynamic. Whumpee let themself sniffle and that led to a coughing fit. Caretaker seated themself on the mattress next to Whumpee and patted their back as they waited for the coughing to pass. “It’s okay. I know this sucks. We’ve gotta work on getting your temp down, though, so I want you to take these pills.”

Caretaker helped them lean up and take the pills.

“You need to drink more, too,” Caretaker said, careful not to sound like they were scolding them. They wondered how much longer Whumpee would have let themself go without some sort of aid. A niggling thought worked its way into Caretaker’s mind. There was the very real possibility Whumpee had never had anyone to care for them in this way.

Caretaker gave Whumpee’s forearm a squeeze and then stood.

“Be right back,” they said.

They returned with a cool, damp washcloth. Caretaker swept Whumpee’s hair back and put the cloth on their forehead.

“Cold,” they murmured without opening their eyes.

“I know,” Caretaker said as they sat down on the edge of the bed. “Just don’t want your brain to get cooked.”

Whumpee hummed in agreement and laid still. Their breathing evened out and Caretaker removed the cloth when it had taken on as much of Whumpee’s body heat as it could. Whumpee didn’t stir while Caretaker repeated the process several times.

Once they were sure Whumpee was resting soundly enough, Caretaker went about the business turning their case over to other, equally competent hands. They didn’t look forward to telling Whumpee, but they’d cross that bridge when they had to.

When Caretaker returned to  Whumpee’s room, Whumpee was curled on their side. Their mouth was open and their breathing was deep. Caretaker risked placing the back of their hand on Whumpee’s forehead. Still warm, but it was better.

All was quiet until just after one in the morning. Whumpee stirred and Caretaker sat upright in the recliner in the corner of the room. Whumpee rolled onto their back and pawed at the covers.

“Hey,” Caretaker said as they walked over to the side of the bed. They put a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder and shook it a little bit. “You good, Whumpee?”

Whumpee’s eyes slid open and settled on Caretaker. It took a moment, but Caretaker could see the memory of the evening return to them.

“Too warm,” they rasped.

“Fever’s breaking,” Caretaker said with a nod as they helped Whumpee off with the covers. To Whumpee’s chagrin, Caretaker got their temp again, though that time it was a much more agreeable ninety-nine point eight.

“Don’t have to stay,” Whumpee mumbled as they rubbed a hand over their face.

Yes I do, Caretaker thought.

“It’s no problem,” they said with a shrug. “Besides, I know your WiFi password. Can I get you anything?”

Whumpee swallowed and grimaced as though there was a bad taste in their mouth.

“Drink?”

Caretaker brought them ginger ale, more pills and chapstick. Whumpee was quick to fall back to sleep after that.

Whumpee’s fever spiked again in the morning, though it was nowhere near as harrowing. What worried Caretaker was how pliant Whumpee had become. Just more evidence of how run down they’d let themself get.

After they took a shower, Whumpee set up camp in the living room and Caretaker took the opportunity to change the bedclothes. It was a small thing, but sometimes those provided the most comfort. Caretaker knew they were well on their way to becoming a mother hen, but they couldn’t quite bring themself to care.

Caretaker waited for the inevitable questions about work, but they never came. Caretaker wondered if Whumpee already knew what they’d done. The day wore on and Whumpee alternated between dozing and trying to watch whatever brainless actioner Caretaker opted to play. Their blanket was on. Their blanket was off.

Caretaker intermittently cleared away tissues when they began to accumulate around Whumpee. Caretaker plied them with a steady stream of drinks (Tea with honey seemed most effective.), and in the early evening, despite their declaration that they weren’t hungry, Whumpee managed to eat some soup. Caretaker extended a hand to take the dishes away when Whumpee was done. Whumpee started to say something, but their words fell off and they looked down at their lap when Caretaker took the dishes from them.

Caretaker wanted to reassure them, but they knew whatever they said in that moment would sound useless and patronizing to Whumpee. Maybe the best thing they could do was give Whumpee some alone time. At least for as long as it took Caretaker to pick up some things from their own place.

When Caretaker got back Whumpee was ready for bed. Caretaker regarded them. Their cheeks were flushed again and their eyes were glassy. Caretaker asked them the same questions they’d been asking them all day. How’s your throat? You okay? Do you need anything?

“I’m just tired,” Whumpee said as they started off with shuffling steps towards their room.

“Okay.” Caretaker calculated the time they’d remind Whumpee to take more pills like the world’s most proactive medi-minder. They chewed their lip as they watched Whumpee go. They hoped they got some rest. “Let me know if you need anything.”

That night, Caretaker dozed in the couch, but a single whimper from Whumpee’s room woke them. They crossed the room and fumbled for the lamp’s switch. The golden light revealed Whumpee, sweating and tangled in their covers. Their eyes were dazed and frightful; their mouth opened and they let out a pathetic groan as they pulled themself toward the edge of the bed.

“Whumpee,” Caretaker said as they put a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder; they were looking at them, but they weren’t seeing them.  “Hey, Whumpee.”

“Nonono,” Whumpee said. Their voice was far off, but it sounded no less distressed. “Stop Don't Please. It Hurts. N-”

Whumpee came awake and they panted as they braced themself on their elbows. They recoiled from Caretaker’s touch with a whimper and their feet worked at kicking their covers away.

“It’s okay, Whumpee,” Caretaker said. “Ssh. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe, Whumpee.”

They risked putting a hand back on Whumpee’s shoulder. They reminded themself to stay calm for Whumpee’s sake. A sob escaped Whumpee as they fell onto their side, breathing hard. Their feet stil moved ineffectually under the covers.

Caretaker pulled the blankets off of Whumpee and they stopped trying to escape whatever was hunting them. Caretaker grabbed the thermometer and the tissue box before sitting down next to Whumpee and began rubbing the curve of their shoulder.

“It’s okay,” they repeated. “Shshsh. Just a bad dream.”

Was it, though? How dramatically had their fever spiked?

After a bout of coughing, Caretaker offered Whumpee a tissue. Whumpee blew their nose before Caretaker tried to get them to take the thermometer in their mouth. Whumpee turned their face away and pursed their lips. Caretaker might have found humor in the sheer petulence of the gesture had Whumpee not looked so scared.

“C’mon, Whumpee. I’ve gotta see your temp.”

“No,” Whumpee said as they reached with a weak hand, trying to bat away the thermometer.

Caretaker caught Whumpee’s clammy hand and lowered it to the bed.

“I’ve gotta know how bad it is, Whumpee. It’ll just take a minute.”

“Don’t…” Whumpee said as they looked at Caretaker with unfocused eyes. “Don’t take me to the hospital. I can’t be there.”

“I’m just-”

“I can’t.”

Caretaker took a breath. They couldn’t let Whumpee work themself into a lather.

“You’re just coming out of a nightmare, Whumpee. Just give things a minute to make sense.”

“I-”

Whumpee cut themself off; Caretaker hadn’t said whatever they’d expected to hear.

“Just focus on me for a minute. Can you try to do that?”

They nodded, blinked and looked at Caretaker as though they were actually seeing them. Silence fell between them. Whumpee took a deep breath and rested their head back on their pillow and stared at the opposite wall.

“Okay,” they said finally. They allowed Caretaker to place the thermometer under their tongue. It seemed to take an eternity for the thermometer to beep. Caretaker took it back and before looking at it, they prayed to whoever or whatever might be listening that they didn't have to get Whumpee to a hospital.

“One-oh-two point six,” Caretaker said with relief. “That's not so bad. Just a bad dream that did a number on you.”

The lines of Whumpee’s face relaxed and they rested on the pillow, but some sort of melancholy had taken the place of Whumpee’s fear. It was an equally disheartening sight.

“Need anything?” Caretaker asked after they went through the routine they seemed to have established in nursing their friend.

“No.”

“Okay, ” Caretaker said. “Just let me know if you do.”

Caretaker stood and pulled a blanket back over Whumpee, who took its edge in their hand and pulled it to their chin.

“Wait,” Whumpee said when Caretaker turned.

Caretaker paused and looked back at Whumpee.

“Can you…” Whumpee looked at them, their eyes begging Caretaker to understand. “Can you stay?”

What had they dreamed that had them so rattled?

“Of course, ” they said. They settled back down next to Whumpee and swept Whumpee’s hair out of their face. “Whatever you need.”

Whumpee slept late the next morning and Caretaker took the time to tidy the apartment and ask for updates on the case. It had been solved.

When Whumpee came out into the living room, they made a beeline for their recliner. Though Caretaker was constantly present, they exchanged few words and Caretaker could tell Whumpee was putting effort into avoiding their gaze. The news that the case had been resolved seemed to do little to cheer them.

After cleaning the lunch mess, and doing dishes Caretaker sat on the side of the couch that was closest to Whumpee.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Whumpee said without taking their gaze off of the TV.

“It’s no problem.”

More silence. Whumpee dozed off and Caretaker channel surfed.

Caretaker chose a book from Whumpee’s shelf.

Caretaker read the same sentence five damn times before giving up and putting the book on the coffee table.

Whumpee jolted awake with a gasp. Their fingers dug into the armrests and their eyes darted over the room as though they’d woken up somewhere entirely foreign. They cursed and let out a harsh breath.

Caretaker guessed embarrassment, and not sickness, colored Whumpee’s cheeks.

“It’s fine,” Whumpee said before Caretaker could ask.

Whumpee stood, shakily at first, then walked to the kitchen. Caretaker knew any attempt to help them would be rebuffed, so they waited for Whumpee to stare into the refrigerator before they selected a bottle of water before moving back to their seat.

Whumpee sat and sipped.

Caretaker needed to address the elephant in the room. Or at least let Whumpee know the elephant could stay where it was.

“We don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Caretaker said. “But I hope you know you can if you need to.”

Whumpee’s fingers worried at the armrests.

“I do. I do know. I’m just not used to...” Whumpee’s voice was low but solemn as they gestured toward all the signs of care that had been taken on their behalf. “... to any of this.”

Caretaker wanted to pull them close and tell them how sorry they were to hear that, that they never needed to hesitate to ask for help. They didn’t know what they could possibly say to make it better. Instead, they flashed the easygoing smile that had been missing from their features for the past couple days.

“Well,” they said. “Get used to it.”

[apixrl]

DRIVER'S LICENSE.

katsuki bakugou x fem! reader

WARNING(S): angst. cheating. swearing because it's bakugou.

word count: 4.5k

song: drivers license // olivia rodrigo (i wonder why...)

note(s): so i captioned this *at the time of writing* 'hello and welcome to i've had the worst two weeks ever so i wrote a katsuki oneshot to cope' and it's probably one of my most personal pieces of writing tbh

"-come Tuesday and we'll potentially see an end to this heavy downpour of rain. Temperatures will be on the rise to around-"

The talk on the radio cut short at the jab of your finger, heaving a great sigh which faded into the muffled pitter-patter of rain from outside. The streets had been showered with heavy downpours for the last week or so, no sign of sun or a still and restful day. Notwithstanding the miserable outdoors, the windscreen wipers on your car never ceased in their duty to grant you a clear view of the road ahead. And whilst you were grateful for their devotion, it didn't feel clear in the slightest. In fact, the road had never felt so blurry.

Shivering against the cold night chill and tucking your knees cosily to your chest, you eyed the raindrops on the windows. They raced against one another before they dripped down to your car's body, their glossy presence obvious thanks to the many hues of street lamps that surrounded them. You could have watched them for hours, being honest. Something about the droplets of water battling it out quite enticing. Anything to take you away from the cruel reality you were living in.

Your heart ached and yearned. But to no avail, the one you ached and yearned for didn't love you back.

Not anymore, at least.

Just the mere thought provoked a pulsating pang to resonate throughout your entire body. A pang filled with grief and sadness. Anger and hurt. You missed his sun-kissed face on the sunny mornings. You missed his eyes and how they gazed at you from across the room. You missed the smiles and laughter he would only show for you and you alone. The sense of glee and euphoria that came with that honour. Yet all of it was gone and there was no way you could get it back.

The memories of what had been triggered more waterworks. Hot, salty tears dug at the corners of your eyes and trickled down your face. Your motionless car concealed your cries and sobs. Every thrash against the wheel as you questioned to nobody in particular what went wrong and why. How you didn't see the signs sooner. What you could have done better. When he stopped loving you. If he ever planned to stop loving you. Whether it would have hurt more if you found out sooner.

All these questions with nothing to answer them.

Katsuki Bakugou had always fascinated you. From the very moment you met. You accompanied your friend on a double date, and he was the guy who she matched for you. Whilst he originally acted as though a blind date was the last place he wanted to be, underneath the aggression you could tell there was something much more genuine and true.

And your assumptions were correct. Truth be told, Katsuki Bakugou was one of the most genuine and truest people you had met (at the time). Once it was just the two of you, he allowed his true colours to unveil. Through the smallest of kind gestures that still haunted your mind to this day. Then upon confrontation, as you bid each other goodbye at your back door, his denial resulted in a flirtatious contest which then proceeded to an intimate night that changed your life forever. From there your mind was set.

He was the one.

Emphasis on was.

So blinded with a fairy tale love you grew so accustomed to, you never saw it coming. Never in your two-year relationship - that had so much strength and commitment built on top of it, never did you think that Katsuki Bakugou would throw it all out of the window like it was nothing. Disregard your loyalty and adoration for a drunken one night stand that slowly became an occasional hookup. Which soon became a mandatory pastime once a fortnight. Then twice. Maybe more than that. You wouldn't put it past him with what you knew now.

He kept it from you for nearly six months. Six months. The only reason you discovered his lies and deception was because you were let off early one night from work. You worked a night shift, see. Your last job had fallen to shambles, and it was temporary whilst you searched for a new one. And whilst that did take a toll on your relationship with Katsuki Bakugou, mostly finding time for intimacy since his working hours were during the day, none of that gave him any right to go and do what he did.

That wasn't one of the only reasons, you knew that for sure. There were other motives for his lack of loyalty. But you were never told. After you froze at the sight of another woman under his hold and stormed straight back to your car to flee. After he chased you down the flights of stairs in nothing but baggy pants into the streets of a twilight Musutafu. After you screamed into the darkness and belted your fists against his chest. Fists that were driven with rage and hurt and every emotion that burned like the hottest of fires and froze like the coldest of ice. He never even told you. He never made an effort to address it. Nor had he attempted to call or even try to visit your Mom's house - where you stayed as you searched for a permanent place to live. Just because you retreated for your car and cried that it was over, he never tried. But that didn't mean you weren't allowed an explanation. An apology. Something to give you a form of closure and a reason to move on. But you never did.

That wasn't even what hurt the most, either.

As silly as it was, the thing that hurt you the most was the very car you sat in.

EIGHT MONTHS AGO . . .

The red glow of traffic lights hit Katsuki's vermilion irises as he stared dead ahead at the long line of vehicles, the ash-blond heaving a sigh into the air. His finger tapped impatiently against the steering wheel he gripped with one hand, the spare rested casually against your upper thigh affectionately.

"I can't believe we have to sit through this torture just to go to some damn party," Katsuki grumbled, taking a glance over at you. His brows furrowed when he met you peacefully slouched down, nose dug into your phone as you presumably played some sort of game to pass the time. Like you had no care in the world for your predicament.

"It's your best friend's birthday, love," You mused back, Katsuki surprised you even listened based on your focused expression directed towards your phone. "It's not like we can just miss it,"

"Yeah, but we could have missed all this pain by taking the train instead of driving across town during rush hour,"

"Trains are icky, the seats would have ruined your suit and my dress," You pointed out, looking at the blond over your screen, sending him a sweet smile. He cocked a brow, a smirk creeping its way onto his lips as a scoff of a laugh broke out between them.

"Right, and laying down like a sloth is gonna help keep your dress uncreased?" He returned, amused at your realisation. At his comment, you sat up faintly and pouted your lip.

"Driving means more time to play Gravity Pops, and so does traffic,"

"Seriously? That's the game you're playing? You're such a dumbass,"

"Yes! I'm in the top 11% globally! I need to get to number one!" Was your protest, your arms flailing ahead of you briefly for dramatic emphasis. Katsuki clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, though the small smile plastered over his lips betrayed his initial reaction. Unable to deny your determination, he spoke with confidence and almost a sense of pride.

"Number one, hm? Clearly rubbing off on you aren't I?"

"In a way, yes,"

"That's my girl," Katsuki remarked, earning a giggle from you that was uplifting to hear. It was there your attention went back to your phone, but Katsuki wasn't done. "So, speaking of cars, Y/N," Hearing his chosen tone - which sounded suggestive, you eyed him closely. Hesitant to reply as you had a sense of what he planned to say.

"...Yes?"

"Have you thought any more about getting your driver's license yet?"

Called it.

"...No,"

"What?" Katsuki began, tilting his head. He was surprised that he felt surprised. You had said those words in regards to this topic countless times. Still, he persisted. "Is that a no meaning you haven't or no meaning that you don't want to?"

"Both?" You half-guessed, sheepishly grinning at the look you were sent. "Look, cars scare me okay? And so do roads. And people. My nerves wouldn't be able to handle it! I can barely communicate with people face to face, so me being on the road is a recipe for disaster!"

"I know but -," Katsuki exhaled sharply, understanding your reasoning. You had voiced these concerns when confiding to Katsuki about your fears of the road. Something built and corrupted from social media as well as phobias and fears in general, it was a battle you had yet to overcome. You wanted to drive but was terrified of messing up or causing chaos on the road. Potentially inflicting harm to someone and yourself. You still weren't sure what triggered it all, but over the years it had manifested into something quite irrational, to say the least. Katsuki had been supportive of it and whilst he truly would love to always act as your personal taxi - you couldn't hide from it forever. It wasn't his job to keep you in your comfort zone. That, and he couldn't always be there for you that way. What if he was miles away and you had somewhere urgent to go like the hospital? "It's not as scary as you think. I know it's hard to believe that but seriously. The freedom you get from driving is amazing,"

"I'll think about it a little longer, okay?" You said with hesitancy, looking at Katsuki for a sign of confirmation. He nodded in defeat, knowing you probably needed more time and felt put on the spot. So he averted his eyes back to the road to check if the traffic had moved at all. It had not.

"Okay," Katsuki said. "But I can't be your taxi service forever,"

"But I like you being my taxi service," You jokingly said, a little sadness in your tone. "Your road rage is funny and I like watching you get out of the car and walk to my door after pulling up in my driveway,"

"What do you mean?" Katsuki asked, catching the twitch of a smile on your face upon saying those words. It struck his interest in what you could mean.

"You know, like when you say you're coming to pick me up?" You explained. "You pull up at my driveway and I don't know... simple things like that just remind me of how much I love you. It's dumb really, but it's important to me,"

"Really?" Katsuki questioned in disbelief. How something so small and meaningless could mean so much was puzzling. He couldn't understand why it was so special to you. But that didn't invalidate it in any shape or form. So he pushed that aside, replacing his wonder with gratitude. He returned to your bashful and flustered features, feeling a smile grow on his face.

"Yeah," You said, shrugging to downplay your words. "I love you. Stuff like that means a lot to me,"

"I love you too, even though you're a dumbass," Katsuki said, humbled by what you had said. The two of you shared a gentle exchange, your hand grabbing hold of Katsuki's as you gave it a squeeze. He squeezed back, and silence ensued. Had he realised such a thing sooner, then Katsuki would have pulled up in your driveway much more than he had been doing. But at that a thought struck his mind, victoriously smirking as he had an idea on how to potentially sway your worries. Or begin swaying it. Something was better than nothing, after all. "But what if I wanted you to pull up in my driveway one day?" His words caused you to look over at him in curiosity, hearing the seriousness in the question. It caught you off guard momentarily, having to contemplate as you gradually concluded that he had a point.

"Well one day, maybe I will," You vaguely replied and sat up a little bit. The hand holding yours pulled back and lifted to land on your shoulder, gripping reassuringly tight.

"I hope you do, I'd like to get in on this driveway action," He joked and smirked, faith riddled in his expression. You giggled ever so slightly, tempted to lean forward and peck Katsuki on the lips in thanks, but never a thing was to happen as the alerting red light from outside switched to warm amber.

"Ah!" Katsuki yelled in triumph, his attention leaving you swiftly as he got back into the driver's seat. Giving you no opportunity to respond to him and overall ruining the moment. "Took fucking long enough!"

The light turned green, and he set the car in motion, leaving you with your thoughts and the words he had uttered that day as the traffic stood still.

All your efforts, all your time devoted to getting over your fear of driving and the road as a whole... all of it was pointless. You did it for him. You promised him you would overcome your fears and better yourself. He built that motivation up brick by brick until you could grab hold and seize control. He wasted all that time to get you to reach such a stepping stone only to abandon it once it was through.

Just so you could pull up in his driveway, just like he requested. And what did you get in return when you finally did? A stab in the back and the loss of your other half.

You wiped your eyes via the sleeve of your hoodie, dampening the cuffs. Sniffling and exhaling a shaky breath, your gaze landed on nothing in particular. Yet somewhere within your clouded mind, you found interest. As that was where your gaze remained for a certain amount of time. You weren't sure how long exactly. It could have felt like an hour and only been five minutes. Or it could have felt like five minutes and was actually an entire hour. Either way, the clock ticked on and didn't wait for you to stop.

It was a good thing you had pushed your fears down and rose above them. It just pained you that you didn't even do it for yourself. Without Katsuki Bakugou, you never had any intentions of doing so. As a matter of fact, you had set out to take the train or bus for the rest of your life. Hell, you were going to use a bike and scooter if you got desperate. Had he even acknowledged how much work you put in just to get where you were? Was all that effort part of the reason why he decided to cheat? There was absolutely no telling. Absolutely no telling at all.

You wondered what he was doing now. Was he laid in bed resting peacefully? Out with his friends for a boy's night only? Maybe cooking his favourite curry? Possibly on a late-night jog despite the harsh weather? It never stopped him other times.

Did he ever think about you? Regret what he did and the actions he took? Had he ever considered apologising? Would he ever apologise? What if he was celebrating the fact you were no longer in his life? Had there ever been any love there for you in the start? Did he ever actually want you to get your driver's license because he believed in you? Or was it so he could get rid of you with much more ease? Make his departure less severe and less selfish? A way to justify his choices because it's not like you were hopelessly left to suffer everyday life now that you had a means of transport. Was he really that cruel?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sharp jingle of your phone, the device lighting up as it sat in the passenger seat to your left. It took two or three rings for you to glance over at it, E/C eyes sore and drained from crying out. You squinted them to read the caller, seeing the name 'Work' fade in and out on the brightly lit screen. For a second or two you argued back and forth on whether to even bother picking up. Something about reaching across for your phone requiring a magnitude of energy you no longer possessed. Having spent it all on your cries of agony and the deprivation of your old life as a whole.

However, you had ignored your work in the last couple of weeks too many times now. So many times that pulling the same stunt again would probably risk you losing your job. It's not like your work was interested in why you felt such overwhelming pain... all they cared about was you turning up to do what you were hired to.

So using a forceful hand, you leaned over to pick it up. You fumbled to grip your phone and accepted the call with a dainty tap of your thumb. Then you blinked away your tears and subtly sniffed, pressing your phone to your ear to address the caller.

"Hello?" You practically croaked, quick to clear your throat and push any signs of upset down. It was presumably dry from how much you'd cried in the last two hours.

"L/N! Hey! Glad you finally picked up!" Unlike the droll and unvarying tones of your boss, the person on the other end was much more lively and greeting. So much so you could only assume it was none other than your work colleague, Etsuko. Probably the only person you genuinely liked where you worked, and the only person who made the time pass by faster. "I was worried you were gonna leave me on answer phone again,"

"Hm, what? Oh right. Yeah. Sorry about that. Haven't been feeling too great," You lied, even though it wasn't a complete fib. You hadn't been feeling great at all. You had never felt so rock bottom. It all just originated from your mind over anything else. But when did work care about that?

"Sounds like it, I hope you've been okay!" Still cheery as ever, Etsuko followed up with a laugh to fill the silence you created by not saying anything. "Is everything well? It's nothing serious, is it?"

"No. It's not. Just some dumb cold I caught," You excused. "I'm better now, though," Slouching down in your seat, you decided to ask the question that had been roaming your mind the last minute or so. "So why are you calling?"

"Oh, right!" Etsuko said. "Mr Kobashigawa was just wondering when you planned on coming back - for schedule reasons and to get people to fill in for your shifts,"

"I er...," Not entirely sure how to answer, you stuttered as your words cowered away in your attempt to speak. "I don't -,"

"It's okay, he doesn't need an answer yet," Etsuko reassured. "Maybe in the next day or two, though? He wasn't really specific, being honest,"

You sighed at the guilt brewing in your stomach. You weren't even sick for crying out loud! Why were you lying just so you could wallow in your own sadness?! Like that was going to change anything! Sitting around and crying wasn't going to give you what you wanted. You weren't getting him back. Katsuki Bakugou wasn't yours anymore. He made that clear by cheating. By making minimal effort to give you an explanation. By causing you so much pain with little care or concern. Why couldn't you get it through your thick skull that your feelings didn't matter anymore?! That they were being wasted on a lost cause. A lost relationship!

"Well I mean -," You started, running a hand through your hair as you tread carefully on your words. "I could come in tonight? Has Mr Kobashigawa got someone to fill for me yet?"

"Um... no? I don't think so?" Etsuko answered, uncertainty in her voice. "Let me go check. Be right back!" And with that, the line fell dead. The call didn't end, just Etsuko placing the phone down to get an answer for you. Leaving you all by your lonesome once more.

Reflecting, you could see the logic in your thoughts. The best course of action would be to hold your head up high and live life the way it was before. When you were happy. Just... excluding the factors that actually made you happy. Which was him. Wouldn't that be healthier than crying all the time?

Yes, it would. But was it what you wanted? Not really.

"L/N!" The voice in your ear startled you to the point you nearly dropped your phone, panicking through a gasp as you fiddled to grab hold of it again.

"Wa-! Careful you nearly scared me half to death!"

"Oops, sorry!" Etsuko giggled softy, sounding as perky as ever. "I'm just excited to tell you that nobody's filling in your shift! You can still come in for ten-thirty!"

"I-I can?" You asked. After an upbeat 'yeah!' filtered through your ears, you considered your options. Remaining in the serene, quiet confines of your car with only the downfall of rain to accompany you sounded like utter bliss, given how you felt. But you felt an internal kick up the backside which told you - no... demanded you to just get over this moping attitude of yours and look on the bright side. To get over the lack of closure and simply... move on.

Yeah... if he found out you were an utter train wreck thanks to the damage he inflicted; Katsuki Bakugou would probably revel in it. He had a history of gaining pleasure from other's misfortunes... or it was rumoured he did (during his younger years, anyway). You had never wanted to believe it but you couldn't find a reason to refute it anymore. After all you had been through, it seemed to fit his character and personality more than ever. So with that fact apparent, you held a firm forefront and searched for a determined tone, and made your answer to your friend.

"You betcha I'm coming in! I'll see you in half an hour!"

Too enthusiastic? Probably. Still, it was better than acting pessimistic and hopeless. No matter, however, because that was exactly the attitude Etsuko had been hoping for.

"Alrighty!" She exclaimed, smile audible in her voice from the other end. "I can't wait to get our dynamic duo going again! I've missed you!"

"Yeah, me too, 'Suko," You hummed in agreement.

"Great! Catch ya later my partner in crime,"

"Heh. You too, dumbass," You found a reason to smile from her childish behaviour, though your choice of wording seemed to hit a nerve. It did more than that, it practically reverted all that confidence and progress you had made in the last ten minutes of being on the phone. All from one innocent word that escaped your lips.

Dumbass.

That's what he used to call you.

The phone call had ended without you even noticing, your phone still pressed to your ear as a small buzz sounded into it. You stared dead ahead, flashes of all the times he had said that word to you running through your memory. It was his form of a pet name. Some might see it as a little degrading on the surface, but you never minded. Once you learned the deeper meaning of the name, it became something equivalent to the likes of 'Sunshine' or 'Angel'. If anything, you ended up preferring it to those sorts of nicknames. Hence why Katsuki Bakugou had called you it on so many occasions.

No. Stop it. You can't let something like that bother you. Not after the efforts you just went to. Stop. Shaking yourself out of it, you returned to reality and permitted your phone to drop onto your lap. Your hand once holding it gripped onto your steering wheel, the other following shortly behind to do the same.

"I love you too, even if you're a dumbass,"

That rung in your head one final time, tormenting and mocking your present. The things you'd be willing to do to hear him say that to you one last time...

"No," You firmly shook your head, banging it lightly against the headrest to return yourself to reality. An attempt to knock those words to the back of your mind where you could lock them in a securely tight safe for the rest of eternity. "Just... just don't think about it. Easy. Just focus on what you're doing now," You reached for your keys which sat in the ignition, taking hold and turning them ever so slightly. Your car stirred to life, engine rumbling and the dials lighting up in a form of warm greeting. "You're going to work. No more feeling sorry for yourself,"

No more feeling sorry for yourself.

Your eyes set themselves on the road ahead. The vacant, dark and solitary road that didn't wait for you to make your decision. Life moved on after all, so if you were going to do anything - it was to catch up and take the winning lead.

So despite your circumstances; your inner desires and wishes and begs for what you wanted back but to no avail would ever get, you pulled out of your parking space (which had long exceeded the time limit, thankfully nobody was around to see) that drowned in pitiful rains of the night, and began to make your way down the street. In search of a place better than the one you were trapped in.

An endless road that wasn't all that clear, you were going to tackle it. Not for anyone else, unlike the last time you met difficulty and hardships. No, no, no. This time it was for your sake. All the mental energy to recover and become a better version of yourself, in the endgame it was all for you. You could push past all the deceit and lies you had been told and you could push past your normality which was him. Katsuki Bakugou. The man that hurt you as nobody had ever done before. You could create new normality without him.

A thought of forever he created and destroyed, resorted to driving alone past his street, never to be thought of again.

[novelconcepts]

Prompt: Jamie is the one who finds Dani locked in the closet. Dani is still having a panic attack and Jamie helps her.

Time slips away when you're out of your head, Dani has found. It moves so much faster--so much slower--so much less correctly with blood pumping at a dizzying rate. With black spots marring her vision. With her breath caught, tangled in a fisherman's net of sharp inhale, hold, hold, bare exhale, she can't think. There are tears dewed on her eyelashes, and fingers folded into shaking fists, and she is little more than the repetition of her own weight meeting the door--again--again--again--

It's open, she realizes, and wonders how long it has been open. Not long, certainly. Not with how forcefully she's been hurling herself against unyielding lumber. Certainly, she would have--

Well. Tumbled out as she is now, a horrible muddling of limbs and purple sweater and mascara scraped down her cheeks. The breath she has been clawing for still won't quite come, not even with the door hanging open and the soft light of Flora's bedroom pouring inside.

Not even with strong hands catching her by the shoulders, a voice speaking low and smooth into the silence left in the wake of her screams.

"Hey. Hey, now. Hey, you're out, you're all good."

She blinks once. Twice. The world as painted by hysteria is neatly bisected, right down the middle. On one side: the mirror, his solemn face, the horror of being locked in with him. On the other: butterflies on the walls, a dollhouse in the corner, cool air rushing against her flushed skin.

Dark curls. Bright eyes. The gardener from lunch, the one with whom Dani still hasn't held a real conversation.

Jamie.

"What," she tries to say--what are you doing here, you left hours ago, you shouldn't be here--and can't get any further. What, echoing between them, strangled on the end of a sharp inhalation that refuses to fill her up. Her throat is closing. There is a boulder lodged against her windpipe, another sinking down against her chest. She is, she realizes, folding her hands together so hard, her knuckles stand stark against the front of Jamie's overalls.

"Kids," Jamie says--a one-word question. The panic swells higher as Dani realizes she does not know. They were there, turning the key. They were shouting through the door. And then...then...

"Don't know," she wheezes. "Don't know--I--"

Jamie grits her teeth. Her eyes dart back toward the door, her body still tilted entirely toward Dani. "You all right if I...?"

Dani nods, a rapid bird-flutter of a gesture that sends her sour stomach heaving. She gropes backward for Flora's bed, sinking onto the edge of the mattress. Jamie watches her with an expression she can't quite read, her jaw lifted, her shoulders set.

"Back in a sec. Promise."

Dani shuts her eyes, scrounging for breath, listening to the steady thud of boots striding out of the room. Her fingers sink into Flora’s bedspread, her elbows pressed to her knees as she struggles to keep from folding completely in half. Who will that help? She's out. She’s out, and there’s plenty of air out here, and she’s--

Hands, gently brushing her arms. She peels her eyes open, hating how swollen they already feel, hating that faint whistle at the back of her throat that says her lungs still aren’t quite doing their job. Jamie is kneeling on the floor, looking at her with absolutely none of the tight unease from lunch. Her expression is surprisingly warm, though creased with concern, and her hands do not fall away from Dani’s arms. 

“Found ‘em,” she says. “They’re fine. What happened?”

Dani draws as deep a breath as she can manage, unseeing eyes rooted to the front of Jamie’s shirt beneath her scuffed overalls. The neat rectangle of navy cotton swells out--in--out with Jamie’s entirely-stable breaths. She finds herself blankly trying to mimic the beats, relieved and embarrassed in equal measure when Jamie seems to realize what’s happening and begins breathing with intent. In. Hold. Out. Hold. Again, again, until Dani’s heart finally catches up with her brain. 

“Better?” Jamie asks. Dani, uncertain how much time has slipped away with this woman holding her by the elbows, setting a pace for slow, even breaths, nods. “Right. Good. Now: what happened?”

A flash of movement tugs at her attention, pulling her eyes to a point over Jamie’s shoulder. Miles and Flora, leaning against the doorframe, their faces ashen. She swallows hard. 

“We’re sorry,” Flora says quickly.

“It got stuck,” Miles adds. There is a furtive look to his eyes that says even he does not expect her to believe this. Dani swallows again.

“Bed.”

There are more words in her--big, angry, panic-throttled words--but she wouldn’t let them fly even if Jamie weren’t here. That isn’t how you deal with kids. That isn't how you deal with traumatized orphans. 

Not even when they pull stunts like this. 

“Honest,” Miles starts to say. She closes her eyes, scrubs her hands over her face. Her palms are hot, her newly-caught breath stuffy. She wants to stay in the cupped enclosure of her own hands forever. 

Flora makes a tiny hiccuping noise, the precursor to tears. Jamie’s hand flexes around her arm. Dani bites her tongue until the throb of pain cuts through the memory of his glasses, his glasses in the mirror, I was in there with him alone.

“We,” she says in as level a voice she can muster, “will talk about this in the morning.”

Jamie is looking at her, she realizes. Jamie, leaning back into a crouch, is watching her with the wary concern of one waiting to see if a rabbit will escape a snare unscathed. Dani gives her a very small nod--I’m okay--and she pushes to her feet, claps her hands, turns on her heel.

“Right. You heard her. Bed.”

Dani removes herself from Flora’s bed, still shaking even as she tucks the tiny girl under the covers. Jamie stands back, almost to the door, watching the proceedings as if half-believing she’ll have to take over at some point. 

No, thinks Dani with hot embarrassment. This is her job, not Jamie’s. Jamie even being here is more than her job description. Even still floundering at the end of a panic attack, Dani can do this much.

“I really am sorry,” Miles mumbles, blankets pulled up to his chin. Dani searches his face. Not a single beat of a lie there now; he looks perfectly miserable, his cheeks bright with shame. She exhales, hoping her voice will hold. 

It does. Barely. “Get some sleep. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

He rolls over, face mashed against the pillow. Dani drags in an unsteady breath, holds it as she closes in on the door, the light switch, the hallway. 

“All right?” Jamie asks again when the doors have been closed and the children tucked away. Dani presses her face to her hands, groaning. 

“Yeah. Yes. I’m sorry, that was--”

“Sorry?” Jamie repeats blankly. “What’ve you got to be sorry about? Didn’t lock yourself in there, I’d wager.”

No. No, she hadn’t. And tomorrow, she’ll have to pull herself together better than this--locate the mask of the Polished Au Pair, who is good with even the most difficult of children, who doesn’t scream herself hoarse and bruise up her shoulder trying to get away from memories held behind glass--

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Her voice is brittle, the words edged. Jamie only looks at her steadily, hands in her pockets, not taking so much as a step back. 

“Left my flat key. Ring broke this afternoon--must’ve skidded under something out in the greenhouse. I was going to check when I heard the, ah. The...” She trails off, looking almost embarrassed for the first time--embarrassed not for herself, but for Dani, who had indeed been scraping her throat raw with shrieks. Dani grits her teeth. 

“I have a--”

She’s not sure what she’s going to say next; a condition? A phobia? The absolutely horrific poor fortune to be haunted by her ex-fiance in every reflective surface? Jamie holds up a hand. 

“Doesn’t matter,” she says. “Not unless you want to talk it over. Do you?”

Dani shakes her head. Truth be told, she’s wrung out--her head is pounding, her hands numb from being squeezed into such uncompromising fists. Jamie looks unsurprised. 

“Then it’s your own,” she says easily. “You share it on your time. Christ, Poppins, think it’s the first time kids have reduced a grown woman to tears?”

There’s plenty to unpack here--Jamie’s kindness, in letting it slide; Jamie’s careless phrasing, as though she expects minor doses of aggression from perfectly well-mannered children every day; Jamie’s expression, even, holding firm on Dani as though she’s the only real thing in this house. Dani finds herself landing on something else entirely.

“Is that...mud?”

There are, she sees now, footprints. Wrapping down the hall, leading down the staircase, all the way to the front door. She frowns, following them at a slow clip, her legs still trembling. Jamie follows. 

“Wasn’t me,” she says, as if Dani holds accusations on her tongue. “Hannah says this happens sometimes. Maybe one of the beasts taking the piss?”

“Maybe.” The prints are larger than either child could make on their own, Dani thinks with a plummeting sense of alarm. Large, and staggered, and odd. Still. Kids. Jamie’s probably right--it’s likely just a prank. A silly trick to test the new au pair’s mettle. 

She turns her head, surprised to find Jamie still looking at her. “I’m sorry. Did you need help finding your key?”

Jamie shrugs. “Nah. I know the way. And if it’s not where I figure, I’ll just post up on the couch for the night. Hannah won’t mind.”

Dani smiles faintly. “There are so many bedrooms, I’m sure you could--”

Jamie flaps a hand. “Don’t like sleeping in beds that don’t belong to me. Couch’ll suit me fine. Anyway, maybe I won’t need it. Night might have a little good luck left in it yet.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to...” God, she’s so tired. What is this impulse to play hostess, even with her bones twisted to exhaustion and a thunderstorm ringing in her head? “I mean, you could...stay. I could get you a drink?”

Jamie smiles. It’s the first true smile Dani’s seen on her lips since flicking water on the kids at lunch, and it doesn’t just light up her face--it revolutionizes her entire body. All at once, Dani remembers how she’d felt watching this woman stroll into the kitchen this afternoon: like a song she’s been humming under her breath for a lifetime. 

Heat twists up her neck. She clears her throat. 

“I think,” Jamie says gently, “I should let you get to bed. Tomorrow, maybe. If you’re up to it.”

She leaves the rest of the offer unspoken--tomorrow, maybe you can tell me what really happened--and Dani understands, somehow, that if it never comes up again, Jamie won’t mind. Jamie doesn’t seem the sort of woman who is rocked by much.

“Thank you,” she says, walking to the front door, leaning awkwardly against the enormous slab of wood as Jamie steps outside. “For--anyway. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Jamie says, and though this woman had frowned at her this afternoon, wariness cutting grooves through her dirt-smudged face, she is nothing but warm now. Warm and more than a little bit beautiful, with moonlight scudding off her hair. 

It’s been too long a night for that, Dani warns herself. Too long a life for that, probably. Certainly nothing she’s prepared to deal with right now. 

“One more thing,” she adds, unable to help herself, even as Jamie crunches over gravel with hands swinging loosely at her sides. Jamie doesn’t quite stop, only turns at the waist with an inquisitive eyebrow raised. Dani smiles weakly.

“Poppins?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, and Dani is so tired. So tired, she must be imagining the light tinge of pink around the woman’s cheeks. “You know. Julie Andrews.”

“Sure,” says Dani, who can’t think of a single actress she less embodies in this moment. “Right. Of course.”

She can’t help grinning a little, falling into bed a few minutes later--still in sweat-damp clothes, her boots barely kicked to the floor--with the scorching awareness that the surly gardener has just given her a nickname. Possibly because she doesn’t actually know Dani’s real name, sure--but a nickname, all the same. A nickname, and a warm smile, and the impression of long fingers wrapped gently around her arm. 

Tomorrow, she’ll handle the kids. Put her foot down. They need to know, right off the bat, that she won’t stand for this sort of thing. She needs to know it, to prove to herself she can still do this, just as she’d insisted to Henry Wingrave. Tomorrow, she’ll talk to them the right way--steady, calm, no accusation in her tone--and give them a suitable punishment. 

Tomorrow. 

Tonight, Jamie’s shining eyes, slouched shoulders, accent curled around Poppins almost let her forget the horror of being locked in with a ghost.

[amiedala]

Something More (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 1: INTO THE STARS

Rated: Explicit (not this chapter, but future chapters will be)

Warnings: light descriptions of violence

Summary: Meeting the Mandalorian was like colliding into the rest of your life at a moment’s notice. Like oh, there you are. It was both jarring and familiar at the same time, like stepping into a minute with no intentions and stepping out of it in deja-vu. You had always been told you made too much out of everything, that you blew up every circumstance to fit some kind of grand destiny, some huge significance. If anyone asked, you’d swear up and down this was different. It was different. The Mandalorian sweeping you off your feet and out of your back alley haunts and narrow escapes was something kismet. Something cosmic. Something more.

Or, a slow burn love story across the stars featuring you, Din, and your little green baby. With love, angst, lust, and everything in between following you across the galaxy.*this deviates from canon for the most part, the plot begins at the very end of season 1 and will deviate for about half of season 2! there is LOTS planned for this (i already have 19k words written & will be posting regularly) so i hope you all enjoy!! <3 muah*

this is 1000000% completely inspired by the incredible behemoth SUPREME Mandalorian fic Rough Day by our lord & savior @no-droids but it will have its entire own plot & more of a slowburn in both love & smut, specifically for suffering long haul romance lovers like myself!

i already have 19k words written & will be ATTEMPTING to post updates regularly (and if i get excited about getting new chapters up, they might come early. i'm gonna try to post Saturday evenings every week, extenuating circumstances notwithstanding <3

hope you enjoy!!! more to come VERY SOON!!!

Meeting the Mandalorian was like colliding into the rest of your life at a moment’s notice. Like oh, there you are. It was both jarring and familiar at the same time, like stepping into a minute with no intentions and stepping out of it in deja-vu. You had always been told you made too much out of everything, that you blew up every circumstance to fit some kind of grand destiny, some huge significance. If anyone asked, you’d swear up and down this was different. It was different. The Mandalorian sweeping you off your feet and out of your back alley haunts and narrow escapes was something kismet. Something cosmic. Something more.

You met him on Nevarro. You weren’t even supposed to be there. You were supposed to be back in the Mid Rim by that point, long gone from your last mission gone sour. Your ship had broken down and you narrowly escaped a crash landing, and you’d hiked for hours through the unyielding lava fields for the closest town, with nothing but a handful of credits and the clothes on your back. Somehow, miraculously, you were able to grab the last of your water and your mother’s necklace from where it was hanging on the dashboard before the magma had bubbled up and claimed the better half of the old X-wing before you could go back in for more.

“Dank ferrik,” you seethed, and the curse felt alien under your tongue. There was no one out here to hear it but yourself, the lava, and the sulfuric air, anyways, so you grumbled out a few more before the ship fully sank into the magma in front of you.

The ship itself wasn’t a big loss—you’d only gotten it because it was the cheapest after you lost your own to that smuggler, but being stranded on a planet that was so aggressive towards any sort of survival wasn’t the best circumstance in the galaxy. But here you were, stuck, unmoored, anchorless, on a planet not known for anything except its rivers of lava and a bounty hunters’ guild you’d heard about and tried your best to stay away from. That town was the only landmark you had, though, so you begrudgingly trekked across Nevarro’s molten surface in search for any form of civilization.

The sky had started to slip off into darkness, and the small flecks of the other Outer Rim planets glistened lightyears away from where you were hiking when you stumbled over something and nearly fell into what you assumed was a dormant vat of lava. It was only when you scrambled away from the hot pocket of ground that you realized it was a stormtrooper helmet. A stormtrooper helmet with a head still in it. You gasped and skittered away, pushing off the heels of your hands to get upward as fast as you can, not even registering the heat eating through the skin of your palms. You didn’t have a weapon—the old blaster you’d carried for the last few years had been eaten up with the X-Wing—and as your eyes adjusted to a collection of white armor and bodies on the ground, you kicked yourself from not prioritizing the gun over getting out unscathed.

You didn’t scare easy. You grew up on a slowly abandoned Rebel base back on Yavin, and even after your parents’ deaths, you were surrounded by a legion of people who took care of you and taught you how to fight. Really, you were good at getting out of sticky situations that looked too dire to survive—take the crash landing an hour back for example—but you had a giant blind spot of earnestness to believe the people you went into business with were being sincere. That’s how the ship had crashed in the first place, you exchanged a repair of your original starship with providing Alderaanian liquor to a smuggler and his droid back on Dantooine who had both cut and run with it before fully repairing the vitally broken control panel. It was a rookie mistake, which you definitely weren’t, but he had just seemed so earnest in his need for the alcohol, and your fatal flaw was that you always trusted people who needed help. Even to your own detriment.

It had been your downfall back home, and at least twice when you were adventuring through the Outer Rim, and when you narrowly escaped a Deveronian when you had first started out on your own, because you were too close to a scumbag in friend’s clothing who fumbled the bag and left you for dead. He even stole your ship, then, and you had to make a series of sordid deals to get off Polis Massa, let alone find a place where you could crash safely for weeks before you could work up enough credits to get the X-Wing, which was, quite ceremoniously, dead now.

You shivered with the realization that you might be in danger, too. There were so many bodies scattered across this ridge and the next, and a handful of crashed TIE fighters. The sight of them didn’t strike fear into you—they never really had, you were raised in the Alliance and you could outfly the Empire since you were six years old—but they made you feel uneasy. Nevarro didn’t have a Rebel base, and you had never met someone in the Alliance who was from the planet. With the obvious show of Imperial affiliation and the bounty hunters’ guild, Nevarro was seedy enough that it kept you on edge as you walked, hopefully towards a town with people who didn’t want anything more from you than an easy job.

It must have been near dawn when you finally made it to the edge of the town. It was at best shot to all hell and at worst absolutely obliterated. Your heart sank. There were more dead suits of white armor scattered across the dirt and sand. There were helmets on pikes that looked far too fresh. Your hand twitched near your thigh where your blaster was usually strapped. All of this was a bad idea. You shouldn’t have left the blaster in the ship. If you were really playing the game of regrets, though, you never should have helped the smuggler. You should have paid the fifteen more credits to get the X-Wing fixed on Tatooine instead. You should have stayed on Yavin after your parents died and shouldn’t have been so earnest to make it on your own and—

“Hey.” The voice came from behind you, and you whipped around so fast your hair fell from where the clasp had been hanging on to nothing but a prayer since your crash landing. You shook it away from your face, eyes squinted at the figure that seemed to materialize behind you. “Where are you from, pretty thing?”

“Coruscant,” you lied through your teeth. The name of the planet you’ve been trying to avoid for years burns a hole through your belly.

“You don’t belong in a place like this.” He stepped into the light, and he wasn’t human. You didn’t know what he was, exactly, but his tone made your skin crawl. You held your ground.

“You’re right. I don’t. I’m looking for a mechanic.”

“I’m a mechanic.” Like hell he was. You clenched your jaw, trying to look menacing. The grease and sweat from the hike there was smeared on your face, your pants had gotten ripped while climbing out of the crash. You didn’t like how his eyes fixated hungrily on the flesh of your exposed thigh, and you had to shake the thought away while you walked into a voice much more brazen than your own.

“Do you know how to fix an X-Wing?” You stepped forward, and the Rebel insignia on your necklace glinted in the low light. Around these parts, after the fall of the Empire, you’ve heard Rebels strike fear into the local folk. Suddenly, the guy took a step backward, and you reveled in your menace for a split second before you realized someone was standing behind you.

He didn’t speak again before he took off. You stuttered, the sudden appearance of the figure behind you catching in your chest, and it rose to a cut off yelp when a red blast knocked the one who had hit on you off his feet, spiraling over a stormtrooper body, falling to the rocky floor. Dead. He was dead. You spun, praying that your heart hammering in your chest was just leftover adrenaline and not a signifier of a new threat.

Standing behind you, outfitted entirely in silver reflective armor, was a Mandalorian. “Nevarro doesn’t have mechanics.”

You squinted. You were completely taken aback by his presence, his hulking realness, but suddenly his statement overpowered your revelry. “I find that hard to believe.”

“That X-Wing crashed out there is yours.” It isn’t a question. His voice is deep, a baritone that spreads warmth even blocked by the modulator in his helmet. You’d only heard of Mandalorians in stories, legends, around the campfires growing up. You didn’t expect one to ever materialize in anything other than myth, let alone stand in front of you, electric.

You nod. Did he follow you all the way to town?

“You aren’t looking for a mechanic.” His voice is so sure, so big. Your world spins on its axis, the feeling foreign and familiar all at once. He had spoken three sentences to you, and already, you felt that dizzy, magnetic pull that you tried to convince yourself was there much more often than it was.

“I…” You trail off, staring up at his visor. He seems larger than life, much larger than you, at least, and for some reason, the hugeness is cutting off all of your words before they can fully form. “No. I need a way off this planet, though.”

“Can you fly?”

You balk at his question, annoyed—obviously, you could fly—and then remember the only track record you have in the Mandalorian’s eyes is your ship, crash landed and then immediately swallowed by lava. “I’m a pilot. A runner. I’ve been flying since I was six years old.”

He takes a minute, completely silent. The noise of the scattered stormtrooper bodies around you suddenly seems deafening. You aren’t scared of him. You think. Your heart is still hammering, but it’s nothing like the fear that rushed through you when the alien talked to you a few minutes ago. It’s different—not adrenaline, exactly, and not fear. You place the feeling when it washes over you again, warm and unexpected—Excitement.

“Okay.” He moves, and you startle. You didn’t realize the conversation was over.

“Uh,” you stammer, “Do you… do you need a pilot?”

“No,” he says, over his shoulder. His strides are long. You step forward, almost pulled after him, then stuttered to a stop. “But I might be your only ride out of here.”

“Oh,” you manage, and then follow him. The dim light spreads over the horizon as you walk, stunned into silence by his own, trying to mimic his step, his quiet. It doesn’t happen. You’re clunking along beside him, the noise made even louder by the silence in his gait. “I’m not picky, where we go, you know—I was heading away from the Outer Rim, so I’m in no rush to get back there, but—I mean, I’m thankful that you’re taking me anywhere—”

“I can’t pay you. But you don’t have to pay me, either.”

You blink, feet stuttering to a near stop, buffering before you remember to keep following him. “I’m sorry?”

“You can fly, right?”

You blink, eyes darting up to the back of his helmet. It might just be the modulator, but there’s no air in his voice, no struggle to cross the hard, hot terrain. It’s impressive. “I can, but you thought you didn’t need a pilot—?”

“You were a rebel.” His voice is curt. Quick.

Your eyebrows furrow, looking down at the insignia on your necklace and then back up at him. There’s a dry breeze over the molten moors, and his cape catches in the wind. It flutters. It’s the first sign of something gentle about him. It’s the memory you take with you for months later, savoring it for when he’s leaving you on the ship while he goes and catches his bounties, one by one. You cling to it in the long lapses of time where he doesn’t offer you anything but silence. You’ll hold onto it, a butterfly of a memory, for weeks—until he offers you something softer, something warmer. Something real.

You don’t know that in the moment, though. Right now, he’s asked a question, and you’re struggling to answer it honestly. “I was.”

“You don’t scare easily.”

It’s like he’s putting together these impossible puzzle pieces of your life. How is he guessing this? He’s known you for maybe ten whole minutes. It swells in your chest, a thunderbird of a thing, and you don’t know why.

“I’d like to think so,” you manage, as he tilts his helmet back to search you for your answer. Your breath hitches in your throat at the thought of his eyes on you, and you wonder what color they are. Maker. Where did that come from?

“Good.”

A ship seems to materialize out of nowhere, but it seems more likely that you were so caught up in the mystery of the Mandalorian and keeping your gaze locked on him that his ship was in the periphery of your vision. You follow him, still confused, up the descended gangplank. Sitting in the middle of the ship is a tiny green baby, with eyes ten times the size of its nose, with peach fuzz lazily dusting the top of its head. It’s holding a tiny silver ball in its three-fingered hands, looking up at the Mandalorian with outstretched arms.

You watch, in stunned silence, as the giant hulking silver figure crouches down to pick up the baby, meeting its little coos with soft words right back. It’s as soft as his cape fluttering in the wind, an unexpected, fleeting feeling of warmth. You don’t know what to do with yourself. The warm breeze buffets the small of your back, ruffles your loose hair. You just stand there, entirely enamored with this tiny green baby in the Mandalorian’s arms, speechless.

“You don’t scare easily,” the Mandalorian repeats.

You shake your head. “Nope.”

He holds the baby up to you. “How about now?”

You blink, confused. “Am I supposed to be scared of it?”

“Him.”

You take a tentative step forward, gaze flickering between the two of them, wondering what would have happened if you had crash landed literally anywhere else, at literally any other time. Something big and ceremonious swells somewhere deep in your chest.

“I’m not scared,” you finally say, and when your eyes find his visor again, you hope he knows you mean you’re not scared of either of them. You could be—most people with common sense are struck with fear at the sight of meeting a Mandalorian, especially one associated with such a widespread bounty hunters’ guild—but fear just keeps getting pushed away as the seconds pass. A small voice in the back of your head whispers that this is another mistake of being too trustful, but the larger half of you knows how to handle yourself if you find trouble. Besides, he has a tiny alien kid, and something tells you the Mandalorian wouldn’t put the baby in a situation that he deemed unsafe. As the door zips shut behind you, you step forward into the ship—into the place you’ll eventually make your home—heart still hammering on and on, thrumming as the three of you lift off of Nevarro’s surface and into the stars.