#without anybody being able to stand up to him or having the patience to tell him anything | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fanfic-scribbles · 3 years ago

Text

Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #captain america fanfic #reader insert #stucky x reader #mcu reader insert

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neon-junkie · 4 years ago

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Bound

Summary: With none other than General Grievous locked away in a cell aboard your cruiser, you enter his cell in an attempt to both pester and interrogate him, but it's hard to resist toying about with such a large prize, especially when he's bound and willingly on his knees for you.

Pairing: General Grievous x Female Jedi Reader

Word Count: 2588

Rating: NSFW

Tags: yes he has a cock, Cyborg/Human, sub!Grievous, dom!Reader, Humiliation, Degrading, Dirty talk, Handcuffs, Height difference, First time, Enemies with benefits, Power play.

Notes: I've never written Grievous before so sorry if it's off :^( I also haven't really proof read this so pls holla if you see any mistakes. kthxloveubye xxx

Who would have guessed that you, a simple Jedi Knight, not yet to honour the rank of Master, has successfully captured none other than General Grievous himself. Yes, you, a Knight who has not long passed her training; it would be foolish of the Council not to give you the title of Master now, not when you have one of the most powerful weapons in the galaxy onboard your ship, bound and locked away in a cell, guarded beyond belief. If only your own Master could see you now - proud is an understatement, and you can feel their radiant energy flowing through the force, expressing their fondness through ways that words cannot express. However, you can't let this victory get to your head. You have a long way back to Coruscant, no doubt with other battles along the way. But for now, the road is steady, or as steady as it can be in hyperspace. After a well earned nap and some food, you decide to play with your dessert, heading down to the ships cells to taunt the barely organic being. It's not wise of you to poke and prod at a beast that could snap you in two, but he's unable to when he's bound like this, on his knees in his cell, both sets of his arms in cuffs behind his back.

You order the guards to wait outside, leaving you and that monster alone in the echoing cell. You're here to 'interrogate' him, and the Commander laughs before leaving you to it, encouraging you to do your worst. General Grievous doesn't look up at first, but now that you're stood directly in front of him, he can't help but glare up and meet your gaze. "Ah," Grievous sighs. "The Jedi that brought me to my knees. Here to cause more damage?" he questions. His voice is a drone - a low hum that bounces around your chest, and you can only assume that he was intentionally made to sound so monotone. "Possibly," you blankly reply. There's a pause. Grievous looks over his shoulder, scouting around the room, and quickly becomes irritated when you make no move to attack him. "Well?" he questions, snapping his head back around and peering up at you. Despite being on his knees, Grievous almost meets your level, his eyes meeting your shoulders. "What are you waiting for?" he snaps. You've heard about how Grievous does possess the ability to be patient, but in a position such as this, it's no surprise that Grievous is on edge, awaiting his next attack, presumably from you. But rather than cause more damage to his already decaying body, you reach out and cup his chin. He feels exactly how you'd expect, cold and hard, sending a chill down your spine that is cut short as Grievous yanks his head away from your grasp. You reach out again, but this time run your fingers along his fin-like cheek panels, watching how they flutter in retaliation to your light movements. "What are you doing?" Grievous questions, and despite not being able to show much emotion, you know he's raising his brow in a questionable manner. "I'm just being curious," you explain as you continue to run your fingers along the thin metal plates. Grievous seems nervous, uncertain on where this is going, but he allows you to toy with him, both out of defeat and curiosity. "I didn't know you droids had the ability to feel," you state. "I'm not a droid," Grievous spits, pushing your hand away with his cheek. "My Master rebuilt me with a nervous system, giving me the ability to feel pain, and failure, if I come across it." "Like right now?" you question with a soft laugh, and begin grinning when Grievous looks away. He continues scowling, staring into the corner of the room as you run your fingers along his mask again. However, as your light touches move from his face, down his neck, Grievous begins to show more signs of nervousness, and something else. "It seems you can feel more than pain and failure," you state. Grievous retaliates, shuffling his body away from your grasp and letting out a low, frustrated, droning hum. "Don't touch me like that," he hisses, and refuses to make eye contact again. From what you've seen in battle, Grievous enjoys eye contact when he knows he's got the upper hand, earning a sadistic pleasure as he comes across victory. However, he's bound on a Jedi cruiser, returning to the council, with a Knight exploring him in ways that he hasn't yet felt in this armoured body. You rest your hands on your hips, staring down at the General. "You've never felt anything but pain before, have you?" you question. "I have, but not for a long time," Grievous willingly tells you, his molten gold eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. There's silence - the nervous, suspenseful kind that can make anybody tremble if dragged on for too long. Grievous continues looking out into nothingness, staying away from both your touch and gaze, but for some unknown reason, he follows your next order without question nor protest. "Stand up." Grievous rises, towering over you, his hands still bound behind his back, lacking his cape. He finally looks down at you, and for once, Grievous straightens his back, puffing his chest out, as if to remind you of exactly who you're ordering about. There's a high chance that he could overpower you at any second, especially now that he's up on his feet, but Grievous noticed your lack of lightsaber when you entered the room, and it's hard to hold anybody hostage without a weapon pressed to their throat. For now, Grievous continues to have the losing hand, and curiosity has him hooked on where you're taking this. Again, you reach out, and this time you run your fingertips along his chest. You feel him hold his breath, causing him to lightly cough when he finally lets it out. He's nervous, isn't he? And you can also sense eagerness, although you're unsure if his eagerness is to get out of this situation, or dive deeper into it. You begin to wander, slowly pacing around his body, your fingers following as you walk. They move from his cold chest, running along his built shoulders and dipping down his arms, then begin their journey across his wide back. Grievous stands tall, proud, as if he's showcasing the prize that he is - the prize that you were lucky enough to capture. As you come back round to his front, you make eye contact with the cyborg; his eyes are piercing, dominating, with a tint of submission in them, seeing as you're clearly in charge here. He watches as you run your hands up his other arm, meeting his shoulder, and then dip back down his chest. This time, you continue trailing south, and the lower you go, the more Grievous slouches his back, his face eventually pressing on your shoulder. You run your fingertips over the brim of his codpiece, and Grievous hums in admiration, his eyes falling shut. For a cyborg, he's tense, and let's out a desperate whine when you hook your finger over the armour and lightly tug on it, teasing its removal. Grievous moves his head along your shoulder, burying it in the curve of your neck, the thin panel of his cheek pressing against yours. His eyes remain scrunched shut, his breaths long and deep, and you're almost certain that he's attempting to nuzzle you. You tug on his codpiece again, and Grievous speaks up. "Remove it," Grievous orders, humming directly into your ear, attempting to be dominant, but desperation clouds his tone. "I'm the one who gives the orders here, General." Grievous lets out a frustrated whine, and as punishment for his lack of patience, you take your time, running your fingertips around the brim of his codpiece for longer, often dipping your hands down to play with his thighs. Once you're satisfied with how long you've made Grievous wait, you begin unfastening his codpiece, uncertain on what you'll find. The metal armour is cast to the floor, hitting the ground with a clank, exposing something that you'd never expect to see. Grievous moves his head off your shoulder, straightening his back and tugging on his binds. You tut him whilst your eyes remain fixated on that. Grievous picks up on your confusion and questions why you've stopped. "I wasn't expecting that," you explain, reaching out to grasp a hold of Grievous's cock. He hums, and dips his head down to watch as you explore his length. He feels leathery, not quite droid-like, but far from organic, and from the way Grievous is reacting, you know he can feel everything that you're doing to him. "I have made my own personal adjustments to my form, adding things that my Master doesn't need to know about," Grievous explains. "And have you put them to use?" "Not yet."

Grievous continues to hum, but his tone begins to soften out, sounding more like a purr. He attempts to rest his head on your shoulder again, letting out a deep sigh as you stroke his length, and he's stopped as you raise your other hand and gently press it to his face. "On your knees," you order, making direct eye contact. Grievous lets out a frustrated, croaky groan as he allows himself to submit even more, surprisingly to Jedi scum such as yourself. His length slips from your grasp as he moves, and once he's settled on his knees, he peers his head up and watches you, awaiting your next order. "Now lie down." As Grievous moves into position, you reach beneath your tunic and begin taking off your pants, kicking your boots off first and discarding your lower half clothing in a messy pile. Despite Grievous being bound, with his hands trapped between the floor and his back, he's still intimidating. His size doesn't help, towering over you even when his back is arched, and he somehow feels even bigger as you straddle his hips, his cock pressed against your inner thigh. Needless to say, straddling Grievous is somewhat uncomfortable, with an array of rough and sharp edges poking and jabbing you; it takes a while to find a comfortable position, but once you've got it, you raise your hips and begin sliding down onto his length, using your spit to help slick yourself up. From the way Grievous fits, you assume he's designed his length to fit humans, which makes you wonder what he'd have planned if the tables were turned. Grievous lets out a deep, gravelly sigh, his chest slowly rising and falling as you slide down onto him, getting use to the feeling of something man-made inside you. Well, you're no stranger to sex toys, but this is taking things to the next level, isn't it? He's impatient, almost instantly bucking his hips up, urging you to move and knocking the wind from your lungs. Grievous chuckles at your sudden yelp, and you return the favour by slamming down onto him, making his piercing eyes go wide as he comments "bold move." You rest your hands on his chest, the cold metal beneath you sending a shiver down your spine, as if to remind you who and what you're fucking. Regardless, you begin rolling your hips, attempting to find a pace where you're not being jabbed by his cyborg figure. It takes some time, but you find rhythm, and Grievous seems happy too as he rolls his head back against the floor, breathing heavily. Normally, Grievous's breathing is loud, sharp, and metallic. However, this is different, similar to the purr he was doing earlier, but slightly human, as if this sensation is reminding him of his Kaleesh days. His eyes are scrunched shut, his crimson skin seeming brighter than usual, despite the cell being dimly lit. Molten gold eyes soon meet yours again, and you're certain that if he could, he'd be blushing right now. Grievous watches as you ride him, rolling your hips in a way that brushes his cock over your g-spot with every thrust, making your arms shake as you attempt to hold yourself up over his body. You can tell Grievous is enjoying watching you fall apart, slowly struggling to keep your pace up - it's not every day that you get to enjoy such pleasures, so your stamina is low. "Unfasten my binds," Grievous both suggests and orders, and grunts when you frown at him. "Why?" "So I can take over. I see that you're failing to keep a constant pace." "I'm not falling for that," you roll your eyes. Does he really think you're that stupid? "Ughh," Grievous grunts once more. He unexpectedly begins to move, shifting his legs so that his feet are flat on the floor, his knees slightly raised. You only get a brief moment to hold onto his chest again before Grievous begins bucking up into you, merciless and unforgiving, ensuring that your inner thighs are going to be bruised for days, leaving his mark on you. You're not surprised that Grievous has found his own way to take over. Neverless, this means less work and more pleasure for you, so why complain? "Better?" Grievous asks smugly, knowing exactly what your answer is going to be. "Y-yes," you attempt to reply, unable to talk from his quick pace, let alone breathe deeply. "I might keep you," you comment, your eyes peeking open to watch Grievous's reaction. He doesn't reply verbally, letting out a low groan as his eyes fall shut, both refusing to make eye contact with you, and engulfing himself in pleasure. "Would you enjoy that?" you question, prodding at him even more when he fails to reply. "I didn't think the mighty General Grievous would enjoy being degraded all the way down to a Jedi's pet." This time, Grievous does open his eyes, but remains silent, picking up his pace even more in an attempt to silence you. It works, minus your pants and groans; you hope that Clone guards outside can't overhear this, but then again, who are they to judge? You've come across them in more questionable situations than this. Grievous's pace is unbelievably quick; it seems he's not just a hardened war machine. He's wheezing slightly, no doubt from all the effort he's putting in, and it's more than enough to bring your orgasm closer and closer. You're almost screaming when you climax, instantly over-stimulated from his vibrating pace, falling limp against Grievous's cold, metal chest. To your surprise, he slows his pace, soon coming to a halt and chuckling at the state you've wound up in. "Too much?" Grievous complacently comments, making you pout as you raise your head to meet his piercing gaze. "Did you cum?" you question, uncertain if he even has the ability to imitate that. "Not yet." "Shame," you sarcastically shrug, and begin picking yourself up, sliding off Grievous and relying on your bruising, shaky legs to keep you upright. "What?!" Grievous yelps, growling as he watches you dress yourself, stumbling every so often from exhaustion. "You can't just discard me like that!" Grievous states. He continues glaring as you fasten his codpiece back on, forcing yourself to bite back a laugh from the whine Grievous makes when his still-hard cock is completely ignored, trapped behind his armour. "I can, and I will," you grin. "Besides, I can sense that we've reached our destination..."

#swwriting #general grievous #grievous x reader #general grievous x reader #star wars #the clone wars #star wars fanfic #nsft #smut #f!reader #female reader #fem reader #general grievous x you #star wars fanfiction #jedi!reader #cyborg #cyborg/human

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years ago

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@evilteddybear requested: I always love a LWJ/WWX fic where the sect leaders, especially Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, and Lan Qiren, come to the Burial Mounds and see what it's like before attacking, try to negotiate.

Thanks for the request (and your patience in seeing it filled), hope you like it!

[Masterpost] [Ao3]

“Xiongzhang.”

“Wangji. I don’t like it any more than you do but it’s going to be the best solution for everyone.”

The weight of his brother’s glare is nearly a physical blow but Lan Xichen is used to it and stands firm. It helps that he can distract himself from the heat of it by focusing on the long trek down to the bottom of the staircase of Jinlintai. With Jin Guangyao busy for the afternoon Lan Xichen had offered to take Lan Wangji into the city for the day, though now he’s wondering just why he had though that would be a good idea in the first place. Now at least, he supposes, they have the excuse of going off to purchase paper fine enough to be suitable for an invitation for Wei Wuxian to attend his nephew’s one-month celebration.

“I will take him the letter myself,” Lan Wangji states, voice pitched low and steady. Though it’s an obstinate, unmovable tone that Lan Xichen has heard far too many times before, he can’t help but feel that it’s his duty to put up at least something of a token argument. He can never seem to argue with anyone but Lan Wangji, but even then he almost always ends up bowing out as gracefully as he can under the strength of his headstrong brother’s will.

“Wangji, it’s not safe…”

“Wei Ying will not hurt me.”

“I didn’t say that he would.”

“The Wens are not a threat.”

Lan Xichen sighs heavily and pauses as they reach a landing to close his eyes against the inevitability of his little brother getting to have his way. He always has until the day Wei Wuxian left with his band of Wens, and Lan Wangji has been doggedly pursuing him – whether Wei Wuxian is aware of it or not – ever since. He’s never done well with not getting precisely what he wants when he wants it, and Lan Xichen adores his brother and the fact that he’s grown up being given what few things he has wanted without much thought. However in this moment, for this situation, he can’t help but privately wish deep down that his brother knew how to practice the same sacrifice that Lan Xichen himself makes when it comes to those he wishes to protect.

“If you doubt me you may come with me.”

“Wangji-“ Lan Xichen cuts off with another sigh as his brother simply walks away, his piece said and his interest in the conversation clearly exhausted. They both know very well that he’ll do what he wants, and Lan Xichen will allow it. Which is why, in the end, it’s no surprise at all that Lan Wangji makes his way to Yiling with his invitation tucked safely in a qiankun pouch, nor is it particularly surprising that Lan Xichen has accepted Lan Wangji’s sort-of-bluff of an invitation to go with him. What isa surprise is that Nie Mingjue had elected to join them when he’d caught wind of where they were going and why.

“Mingjue,” Lan Xichen attempts to soothe now as the man in question paces back and forth in the confines of their room. In the interest of keeping the peace he had taken it upon himself to make sure that Lan Wangji got to have his own space, but any notions that Lan Xichen may have had about utilizing the relative privacy this arrangement affords to Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue have so far borne no fruit whatsoever. “I warned you that this would be a matter of patience, you didn’t have to come with us.”

“What? And let you both walk into the lion’s den? Of course I had to come.”

“Wangji and I are far from helpless, Mingjue, and he is certain that Wei Wuxian won’t harm us.”

“He’s the only one.”

“He’s not, I-“

“Xichen I will walk all the way back to Qinghe right now if you can honestly tell me that you’re completely and utterly certain that Wei Wuxian won’t hurt anybody!”

Xichen lets out an uncharacteristically audible sigh at that and fixes Nie Mingjue with one of his Looks that always make the man cave. “Even if I could meet those terms I wouldn’t want you to go back to Qinghe. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other.”

“Can we stay on task here?”

“We are. We are waiting for someone to leave the Burial Mounds so that we may approach them in town rather than appearing threatening by attempting to infiltrate their settlement on the mountain. There is nothing to do now but be patient. What about our current activities are not on task?”

“We need to use this time to strategize. Plan. Things may go wrong. We may need to protect Wangji, he may need to protect either of us. We don’t know what we’re in for.”

“Mingjue.”

“Xichen.”

“This is not a battle, nor a war. We are approaching a young man – a young man Wangji trusts - who hasn’t done anything dangerous in a year so that we may invite him to a family event. Please sit down and relax.”

Nie Mingjue finally stops his pacing to turn a betrayed glare on Lan Xichen, but as with Lan Wangji he’s well used to absorbing Nie Mingjue’s frustration and neutralizing it with the soft, reassuring lines of his smile. Nie Mingjue has never been able to stay angry with him – or even near him – for longer than a few heartbeats anyway, and Lan Xichen watches the tension bleed from his broad shoulders with his next blustering exhale.

“Wangji believes that our presence may alarm the inhabitants of the Burial Mounds should we be allowed to enter their wards. You will need to remain calm in such a case so that we can show that we bear them no ill will.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nie Mingjue grumbles and Lan Xichen’s heart aches a bit for Nie Mingjue, so level-headed when it matters but so hot-headed when it shouldn’t. Nie Mingjue meets his gaze and then groans, covering his face with both hands and tipping his head back a bit as he says, slightly muffled, “Don’t give me that look, Xichen, that’s not fair. How do you always know how to get your way?!”

“It would be significantly harder to have my way if you didn’t know in your heart that I’m right. This is a delicate situation, Mingjue, we can’t let past anger cloud our judgement now. Wangji has been here before and he says that what’s going on here isn’t what everyone says it is. We’re only here to keep him safe on his errand and see things for ourselves, alright? Now is not the time to declare the continuation of Jin Guangshan’s blood feud with the Wens.”

“Yes, fine, fine! I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”

“And no glaring.”

“Xichen!” Nie Mingjue manages an affronted look for only a scant moment before it too fades into grumbling acquiescence as he resumes his pacing. “Fine. As little glaring as I can manage.”

“Thank you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I love you.”

“Xichen!” Lan Xichen laughs softly to see Nie Mingjue’s blush overtakes his handsome features, turning his entire face a lovely shade of red as he splutters his way through returning the infrequently-expressed sentiment and accepts kisses that thoroughly distract him from any lingering anger.

It takes two full days of waiting before Wangji suddenly stands and strides off right in the middle of their morning meal. The behavior is so unusual that Lan Xichen is instantly worried, though as he stands to follow – with Nie Mingjue hot on their heels – he relaxes ever so slightly to see that Lan Wangji is heading straight for a young man Lan Xichen recognizes dimly as Wen Qionglin. He reaches out instinctively to rest a restraining hand on Nie Mingjue’s arm when he feels the man tense next to him, but though the Ghost General looks a little wary upon spotting Lan Wangji he doesn’t look hostile. In fact, he looks as timid and soft-spoken as he had when Lan Xichen had seen him during the lectures in Cloud Recesses. The only hint that he can see that something is different than it was then is the pallor to his skin and, just barely visible through the curtain of his mostly-unbound hair, thin spiderwebs of black cracks on his neck that creep up towards the underside of his jaw.

It takes some convincing from Lan Wangji before Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue are allowed to approach, and then further convincing from Lan Xichen before Wen Ning agrees to let them all come up the mountain. He takes the invitation Lan Wangji presents with gentle, steady hands and holds it as gingerly as one would expect someone to hold little Jin Ling himself, and once again Lan Xichen finds his heart aching – this time for the cruelty of the world that always seems to touch the gentlest of souls.

The trek up the mountain is slow and hot, but the further they get from the town the colder things get. The sensation of the sun on his skin is still there, but it somehow brings him no warmth. The shade cast by the twisting, barren limbs of the trees seems wan and thin, and yet the chill he feels in their shadows reaches into his bones with clawed fingers of dread. The soil becomes loose and dusty under their feet and before too much longer he can feel resentful energy crawling along his skin, seeking weakness. That sensation, at least, passes almost as soon as he notices it and he realizes they must have passed through the wards. Things grow, if possible, even more gray and sere from then onwards, though by the time he can begin to hear sounds besides the wind through dead, hollow trees there are a few with some life in them. A few gnarled leaves on some of the branches in the underbrush, a few trees bearing small fruits.

They pass the first field for planting before they see anyone to till it, though the next field has a figure bent to their task. They sit up straight to watch them pass and Wen Ning offers a little wave to the figure who nods back, wariness etched into every line of their posture. Lan Xichen chances a glance at Lan Wangji to find him facing staunchly ahead, fist held behind his back and his eyes glued to the invitation in Wen Ning’s hand.

“Wei-gongzi should be tending to his field this time of day,” Wen Ning says in his typical soft stammer as they approach what seems to be the heart of the settlement. There are more people around now, all going about various agrarian tasks with varying degrees of vigor. Lan Xichen is about to ask what he means by field when he looks ahead again and spots it, shocking in the gray landscape around them – a bright green space dotted with soft pink petals, and a man in shades of black and grey bent over it with his trousers rolled up to the knee.

It’s clear that Lan Wangji is aching to go to him but they’re stopped before they can go any further by a small young woman suddenly in their way, her feet planted and her arms crossed over her chest.

“Wen-guniang,” Lan Wangji greets with a salute as Wen Ning offers a quiet, “Jie..”

“A-Ning. What are they doing here?”

There’s a beat of silence that Lan Xichen abruptly realizes it’s his responsibility to fill, despite this being Lan Wangji’s errand.

“Wen-guniang,” he greets with a salute of his own that Nie Mingjue copies at his side a beat later. “Wangji has an invitation to extend to Wei Wuxian, and Nie-zongzhu and I agreed to accompany him.”

“An invitation?” At her prompting, Wen Ning hurries to hold out the document itself for her to take, which she does with another skeptical glance at the three of them before she opens it to read the contents. Lan Xichen watches her face for some sort of reaction to the news that Wei Wuxian is invited to Jinlintai, but if she has any sort of feeling about it she does an admirable job of hiding it.

“Wei Wuxian!” she calls without looking away from them. Lan Wangji’s spine stiffens and goes miraculously straighter, as if Wei Wuxian’s name alone is enough to electrify. The man in question waves a mud-stained hand in their general direction without turning around.

“What is it, Wen Qing? A-Yuan is playing with Popo right now.”

Lan Xichen glances up at Nie Mingjue at that with a question in his expression though he knows Nie Mingjue likely doesn’t understand that any better than he does. Nie Mingjue isn’t even looking at him anyway, as it turns out. Instead he’s looking around what they can see from where they are – a crumbling stone structure built into the side of the mountain. Crude wooden huts made from the subpar lumber available in the twisting dead forest around them. Tired farmers in clothes that look one hard winter away from falling apart. And over it all the pall of death and decay that’s inescapable in the midst of a field that had once been, as the name suggests, nothing but a hill of bones and restless spirits.

“You have…guests.”

Lan Xichen looks ahead again in time to catch Wei Wuxian whipping around so quickly he nearly falls off his perch at the edge of his ‘field’ of lotuses, thriving right there in the middle of the Burial Mounds, against all odds.

“Lan Zhan!” he squeaks, looking utterly shocked to see Lan Wangji, let alone him or Nie Mingjue. “What are you-“

“Rich-gege!!!” A tiny voice suddenly cries and Lan Xichen is startled to see a small blur come running from the direction of one of the other fields to plaster itself against Lan Wangji’s leg.

“Hello A-Yuan,” he says softly, almost too softly for Lan Xichen to hear, and he drops his hand down from behind his back to pet the top of the boy’s head, smoothing flyaway hairs back from his little face.

“A child, Mingjue,” he whispers, though the volume can’t hide his horror. This is the ‘band of Wen rebels’ the Jin Sect is so afraid of? This is who remains as the target of their revenge and hatred?

“I see him,” Mingjue replies quietly, jaw working with a little flutter of the muscles in his cheek. “I see them.”

“Rich-gege Xian-gege said you wouldn’t come back but you did!! Pick up, please!”

Lan Xichen wonders if it’s possible for his eyes to go any wider as Lan Wangji reaches down without hesitation to curl his hands under A-Yuan’s reaching arms and, heft him up onto his hip where the boy promptly clings and lays his head down, seemingly content to hug and be held.

“Lan Zhan what are you – what are you all doing here?” Wei Wuxian tries again as he stumbles out of the mud of his pond to traipse across the space between them, cleaning his hands rather ineffectually on his robes hiked up around his hips. When he draws level with Wen Qing she holds the invitation out to him with a look in her eyes that Lan Xichen can’t quite decipher. It’s the first time she’s taken her eyes off of them since she had intercepted them, and Lan Xichen is a little embarrassed to realize he’s relieved to no longer be the subject of her sharp attention.

“They brought you this. You can go see your sister.”

“What?!” Wei Wuxian scrambles to open the letter, eyes flying across the page as he reads whatever it was Lan Wangji had written – knowing him it’s probably as bare-bones as possible, conveying only the necessary information and nothing else. It doesn’t take him long at all to look back up from the page with suspiciously shining eyes. “Is this real?”

“Mn. It was agreed upon.”

“Jiang Cheng agreed to this? And Jin Zixuan?”

“Mn.”

For an alarming moment Wei Wuxian looks like he’s in desperate need of a place to sit, but he rallies quickly and all of a sudden his smile is absolutely blinding, the way it had been once when he’d been a younger, much more carefree teenager coming to study in Gusu. When his smiles had turned Lan Wangji’s ears red and made him glare daggers through whatever poor wall or floor or passing disciple happened to be in his line of sight.

“Oh. Oh wait come in, come in, you’re making everybody nervous out here,” he says with a laugh that doesn’t sound..entirely genuine, but another glance around the settlement proves that he’s got a point. The Wens are all watching them now, tasks forgotten in the need to watch for approaching danger. “Lan Zhan sorry about A-Yuan, he probably won’t be willing to let go for a while.”

“No need.”

“Aiyah. Fine, fine. Come in. Wen Qing and Wen Ning, you too. Come on, let’s go,” he says and just like that Lan Xichen realizes with amusement that they’re all being shepherded into…a cave. It’s a spacious cave, the dilapidated remains of the palace built into the mountain, but it is still effectively a cave. There are tables set up in what’s clearly a communal dining area and Wei Wuxian bustles ahead of them to swipe some accumulated dirt from a couple of the benches before gesturing for them to sit.

“Ah Zewu-Jun, Chifeng-Zun, apologies for my manners,” Wei Wuxian says with a salute for both of them that Lan Xichen is quick to smile away. “We’re not exactly ah…equipped for visitors such as yourselves, I’m sure you understand.”

Lan Xichen takes a seat at the table between Nie Mingjue and Lan Wangji, who has now transferred the child clinging to him to his lap where the boy sits looking at the two strangers to him with wide, curious eyes.

“Xian-gege, Rich-gege brought friends this time,” he observes and earns himself an affectionate ruffle of his hair from Wei Wuxian.

“He did! And they’re very important friends so behave for Rich-gege, alright?”

“A-Yuan is better behaved than you are, Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing retorts in what Lan Xichen is sure is meant to be their usual banter, though it comes out flat and, if he’s not mistaken, too stressed for the joke to properly land. Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does then he is still adept at charging through any sort of tension with his usual charm.

“So rude, Wen Qing, we have guests,” he says with a little flourish as he finally takes his robes down from where they’re hitched up and pats them into place where they belong. It becomes even more apparent how threadbare they are with the full length of them on display. He sits down quickly enough and the Wen siblings move to stand behind him, arms crossed protectively over their chests though rather than looking intimidating, as he’s sure other people would find them, to Lan Xichen they just look…afraid.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says softly, and though Lan Xichen knows his brother well enough to know that there’s a whole thought tucked into those two words, he doesn’t know them well enough to know what those thoughts are. And that is strangely disconcerting, to realize that there’s an entire facet of his brother that he doesn’t understand anymore.

“Lan Zhan, not that I’m not pleased to see you, of course you know I am. But why are you here?” Lan Wangji flicks his gaze towards the invitation now stowed safely in the front of Wei Wuxian’s robes and the man rests a hand gently over it, though his resolved expression doesn’t waver. “This could have been delivered by post, or by messenger. The townspeople know Wen Ning, they would have gotten it to him if you had left it for us. Why did you come here in person? And - no offense Zewu-Jun, Chifeng-Zun, but..why are you part of this too?”

“Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning speaks up softly, surprising everyone else in the room. “I don’t think you’ll be safe in Jinlintai.” It’s something of a non-sequitur but somehow the thoughts must be connected, and Wei Wuxian muster understand how they are judging by the way his entire demeanor changes into something much more alert.

Lan Xichen sighs softly as Wei Wuxian’s sharp gaze fixes on them, but it’s Nie Mingjue who speaks up first.

“Jin Guangshan wants your amulet.” It’s bold and barefaced in the way that Nies tend to be and though Lan Xichen is used to it, it still makes him feel a bit squirmy and anxious in the pit of his stomach to hear something so unpleasant laid out so plainly. Not that he’ll ever let it show, of course.

“Well he can’t have it. Next.”

“He thinks the Wens here are dangerous.”

“Clearly we’re not. Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and I are the only cultivators here. Besides, we’re barely feeding ourselves, let alone preparing to take on the Jins. Next.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji cuts in, and this agonized tone, at least, Lan Xichen recognizes.

He interrupts before they can begin any sort of argument. “Wei-gongzi. During the discussion of whether or not you should be present for Jin Ling’s celebration, Jin Guangshan presented concerns about both the amulet and Wen-gongzi. You can’t deny that these are valid concerns for those whom you consider to be enemies.”

“I don’t have enemies unless they make themselves my enemy,” Wei Wuxian shoots back, all trace of boyish excitement gone from his face now. “None of you were there that night in Qiongqi Pass. Did any of you even visit the work camps Jin Guangshan put the Wens in? Did you see, with your own eyes, the field of corpses they created because they knew that the cultivation world would turn a blind eye?” There’s ringing silence for a moment before he repeats his demand. “Did you?!”

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing warns, low and quiet.

“If Jin Guangshan is so bored of watching over Lanling and sending his cultivators to protect the interests of his own Sect then by all means, create an enemy of me. I knew what I was doing when I took these people away and brought them here. I know what people say of me, and of the Wens, do you think I don’t? Words are nothing. Fear is nothing. But if someone acts against me and those I’m sworn to protect, can I not defend myself? Can I not defend them?!”

Lan Xichen curls his hands into slow fists on his knees under the edge of the table as Wei Wuxian makes a wild gesture in the general direction of the rest of the settlement, beginning to look desperate as he works himself up.

“You saw them with your own eyes. They’re just farmers, they’re just regular people, the kind that we’re supposed to protect! Popo plays with A-Yuan to keep him occupied while we work in the fields and Fourth Uncle makes wine from the fruit that grows here and everyone here is just trying to survive, yet you would rather see them all dead for the sin of having once been related to a man who has already been killed for his crimes?”

“Xian-gege,” A-Yuan says softly from his perch in Lan Wangji’s lap. Lan Xichen turns an agonized glance on him to find him reaching out for Wei Wuxian with one chubby little hand, his eyes still wide though now it’s with something like concern rather than the curiosity of before.

“A-Ning, take A-Yuan back to Popo,” Wen Qing instructs. Her brother obeys with a nod, reaching down for A-Yuan even as the boy tries to cling to Lan Wangji.

“Want to stay with Rich-gege!”

“I will come find you soon, A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji promises with something fierce and immovable in his eyes. “Go with Wen Ning.”

There’s a quick flutter of activity as the child allows himself to be carried away, and as Lan Wangji shifts his weight to get comfortable again Lan Xichen doesn’t miss the way he subtly positions himself a little closer to Wei Wuxian. It’s hardly noticeable, but it puts him on the same half of the table as Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing still standing behind his shoulder, and when Lan Xichen meets his brother’s eyes he knows precisely whose side he will stand on should it come to that.

He desperately hopes that it won’t.

“This invitation to Jin Ling’s celebration is a trap, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian asks and unlike the boyish cheerfulness of before, or the anger of mere moments ago, his tone is now as cold and blank as the stones outside.

“No,” Lan Xichen protests, though it’s undercut significantly by Lan Wangji replying with a simultaneous (and much more convincing), “Yes.”

“Lan Zhan?”

“Jin Guangshan wants the amulet. He knows you will not miss a chance to see your family. He will demand you hand over your amulet and Wen Ning to show that you are no longer a threat to him, and if you refuse I do not know what he will do.”

“He just wants to destroy the amulet and the…weapon,” Nie Mingjue cuts in, gruff and clearly unhappy with the way things are going but it is, surprisingly, Wen Qing who rises to meet him.

“You can’t seriously tell me you buy that? That a man like Jin Guangshan can be handed something powerful and decide, out of the goodness of his heart, to get rid of it,” she snaps, eyes once again cutting and her hands clutched in her sleeves where her arms are crossed. “And that ‘weapon’ is my brother, who, in case you haven’t seen, is in full control of himself and his thoughts. He counts as one of us, and destroying him now would be to finish the murder that those guards at the work camp didn’t finish.”

An uncomfortable silence drops in the wake of her anger and in it Wei Wuxian rises slowly from the table to stand next to Wen Qing, his arms crossed over his chest as well. Lan Xichen can’t help but flick a cautious glance at the hand closest to the flute tucked into his belt but at least for the moment it doesn’t seem like he’ll be reaching for it.

“If you’ve come as nothing more than Jin Guangshan’s messengers then I’m taking you right back down the mountain, one way or another. I’m protecting these people, and that is not up for negotiation. You can tell Jin Guangshan that yourself.”

“Wei Ying-“

“Lan Zhan this isn’t directed at you. It’s them.”

Lan Xichen blinks slowly as he realizes that Lan Wangji’s subtle positioning hadn’t gone unnoticed by Wei Wuxian after all. Or, he supposes, it’s equally likely that Wei Wuxian simply trusts Lan Wangji. Despite their differences, their arguments, it’s possible that Wei Wuxian sees now how ardently Lan Wangji wants him to be safe. How far it seems he’s willing to go to ensure it.

“So what’s the deal, if we leave you keep Wangji here as leverage?” Nie Mingjue barks. Lan Xichen’s eyes go wide as he abruptly realizes he’s lost all control of this conversation and it is heading in a dangerous direction much more quickly than he could have expected.

“Lan Zhan is free to come and go as he pleases, he won’t hurt us. He allowed you to come here with him this time so I assume he trusts you to do the same. But if seeing the truth is going to do absolutely nothing to change what you want and what you’ll help Jin Guangshan accomplish in wiping the Wens off the face of the earth then we’re done here, and you will not be welcome back.”

Lan Xichen can’t deny the dread settling thick and heavy in the pit of his stomach, and only a small portion of it has to do with the resentful energy in the air. Wei Wuxian has proven himself time and time again as a formidable opponent, and while Lan Xichen doesn’t think that it’s necessary to see him as an enemy he knows that the majority of the cultivation world would disagree. It’s plain to see, though, that even should that be the case there’s no force on earth that could turn him aside from the path he’s on. He said it himself – his purpose now is to protect the Wens, and if the cultivation world sees that as a reason for him to die alongside them then he will.

“We’ll help you,” he promises. Rash, perhaps. Uncharacteristically sudden of him, perhaps. But it’s actually not really, in the end. Lan Wangji has been worried about Wei Wuxian ever since that banquet in Jinlintai and his disappearance with the Wens later the same night, and so Lan Xichen has been worried about his brother since the same moment. And not only that, but he still remembers Wei Wuxian as he had once been. Where now it seems everyone wants to paint him as a devil, as an evil mastermind, as a cruel and power-hungry tyrant amassing an army of the dead, all Lan Xichen can see is a young man whose heart has always been kind, who cultivates with evil things he can’t understand but who’s using it to keep a group of helpless people safe. It is not such a sudden change of heart for him to wish to see everyone around him treated well and fairly.

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue says, startled by his declaration, but Lan Xichen puts a hand on his knee beneath the table, a silent promise to explain himself later.

“We’ll help you. The Lan Sect. What do you need?”

Wei Wuxian is staring at him, mouth hanging open rather comically, and so it’s Wen Qing who speaks up after a moment though Lan Xichen can see in her eyes that she doesn’t trust him yet.

“Food. Blankets for A-Yuan and for the elderly at least. And we want to be left alone.”

“These are the only demands you have?”

“What else could you possibly offer us, Zewu-Jun?”

“Fertile land,” Lan Wangji supplies, eyes beginning to alight with the first dangerous edges of hope. “Protection. Homes.”

“In Gusu?” Wei Wuxian cuts in to ask. There’s weight behind that question, a hostility, but when Lan Wangji looks at him all Lan Xichen can see is his desperation.

I want to bring a man to Cloud Recesses, his brother’s voice echoes softly in the back of his mind. Bring him there and keep him safe.

“It would not have to be permanent, necessarily,” Lan Xichen supplies, hand tensing a little more on Nie Mingjue’s knee when he feels the man shift restlessly beside him. “But it could be. None of this should have happened to you and your family, Wen-guniang. Will you allow the Gusu Lan to begin attempting to make reparations?”

Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing look at each other but whatever passes between them in their glances is beyond Lan Xichen’s comprehension.

“I will think about it,” she replies after a moment and Wei Wuxian turns on his heel to put his back to the rest of them, effectively hiding whatever expression he makes in response. “Come back in three days.”

It’s a clear dismissal and so Lan Xichen stands, Nie Mingjue at his side. Lan Wangji doesn’t move, his eyes fixed firmly on Wei Wuxian’s back, but he doesn’t seem to be included in the dismissal anyway. Wen Qing simply leads them to the doorway again where Wen Ning is standing patiently on the steps outside, likely to keep any eavesdroppers away.

“We’re escorting Zewu-Jun and Chifeng-Zun back to town,” she informs him and he falls in quickly at her side.

“Where is Lan-er-gongzi?” Wen Ning asks with a concerned glance over his shoulder. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. He and Wei Wuxian might finally be ready to stop acting like they don’t want to be together,” she replies so flippantly that Lan Xichen is suddenly grateful for Nie Mingjue’s hand at his elbow as he stumbles ever so slightly on the uneven terrain in response.

“O-oh,” Wen Ning stammers out and Lan Xichen is abruptly sure that if it were still possible he would be blushing. “Well that’s nice I suppose. Is Wei-gongzi going to go to Jin Ling’s one-month and see his sister?”

Wen Qing glances back at them at that, though what she’s measuring them for Lan Xichen isn’t exactly sure. “Whose idea was it to have him there?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Wangji’s.”

“Oh yes then I daresay he’ll go no matter if it’s a trap or not,” she remarks so dryly that she actually gets a chuckle out of Nie Mingjue, which is startling to say the least. Lan Xichen looks at him, trying to gauge what he’s thinking, but he’s got his expression carefully locked into stern, unreadable lines. They continue on in silence down the mountain and back to their inn in the town. Only when the Wen siblings have departed and he and Nie Mingjue have retired to their rooms does he unbend enough for Lan Xichen to see that he’s deep in thought.

“Do you think Jin Guangshan truly means to destroy the amulet?” Nie Mingjue finally asks when Lan Xichen has waited him out long enough for him to speak his mind.

“In all honesty no, I do not. At least not right away, and power corrupts. We already know he is a man of vices, it’s no secret that power is one of them.”

“Can you really offer the Wens land and protection without consulting anyone else? The elders, your uncle?”

“It will have to go through more official channels I suppose to actually begin the movement – we’ll need to send resources to keep them clothed and fed while travelling and cultivators to keep them safe, after all. But yes, that is something I can offer them. I will make my case to the elders with what we saw here today, Wangji is my witness, and you could be too. They’re nothing but humble citizens who simply bear the curse of an unfortunate name through no fault of their own. So many Wens have already paid the ultimate price for what Wen Ruohan has done. There’s nothing and nobody in this last remaining group to be so afraid of that they must be eliminated. The only part that should worry the rest of the sects is that Wei Wuxian is at the helm, but their fear of him is slightly misguided as well. I believe once Uncle and the rest of the elders know the truth they will allow such peaceful people to live and work in Gusu.”

“Hm. Well alright then, the Nie will support you.”

That pulls Lan Xichen up short and he stares at Nie Mingjue with undisguised shock. Nie Mingjue at first only raises an eyebrow at him, but after another moment he exhales sharply and shakes his head as if bedeviled by a fly.

“I still don’t like the Wens but I can’t in good conscience lead them to the slaughter. If you want to protect them, then protect them. And I’ll protect you. Maybe we can finally take Jin Guangshan down a notch or two in the process, I definitely won’t be opposed. Nor do I think Jiang Wanyin will take much issue with it either, not if it can get him his brother back. And we already know Jiang Yanli will support anything that repairs Wei Wuxian’s reputation, and Jin Zixuan will support anything that makes Jiang Yanli happy. I’d say the winds are in our favor if we act too quickly for Jin Guangshan to counter it.”

Lan Xichen can still only blink as Nie Mingjue finally cracks his expression to smile ever so slightly and offer him a wink.

“You should have agreed to strategize with me days ago, none of this would have been so surprising, I thought it may become an option. Now it’s just up to Wangji to talk Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing into agreeing.”

“I believe he will find it in himself to be persuasive, and Wen Qing at least is quite sensible. I believe she understands their position well and knows that it is not sustainable for much longer. Or that even if it were, it would be better if their people could get the care and treatment they need to thrive, not just to survive. I believe they’ll agree.”

“Well we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t return once during the three days Wen Qing asked for them to wait. On the morning of the fourth day Wen Ning returns for them to bring them back up the mountain where they find Lan Wangji kneeling in the dirt with A-Yuan perched happily in his lap chattering away to Wei Wuxian, who is sitting far closer than necessary to listen as the rest of the Wens bustle around them, hurrying from field to field at a much quicker pace than mere days ago. Wen Qing meets them again at the entrance to the main clearing, arms once again crossed over her chest as she eyes them up like a hawk studying its prey.

“We accept. We’ll all come to Gusu with everything we can carry to start things anew.”

And just like that Lan Xichen gains a new branch of his family in the most unlikely of places.

#the untamed fanfic #Wangxian #Nielan #Lan Xichen #Lan Wangji #Nie Mingjue #Wei Wuxian #Wen Qing #Wen Ning #Prompt fill #I hope this works!#@ everyone who's sent in a request over the last couple of weeks:#I see the requests I promise and I'm trying to come up with stuff to write haha #It's been a busy couple of weeks

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strange-lace · 4 years ago

Text

Macaque

I was in the mood to make more content for Inverted AU, so here’s a short-ish fic of how episode 9 would go in this AU with Macaque, Wukong, and MK! Enjoy the shadowpeach!

Another demon defeated but still no sign of Sun Wukong. Macaque let out a sigh before rolling his shoulders to bring relief to tense muscles. Oh well, he'll just have to keep looking, not like he hasn't been at it for years now. At least this city he wandered to was quite nice with pleasant people, nothing too out there aside from demon attacks.

"Hey! Hey you! Shadow monkey man!" Macaque wouldn't deny that the sudden voice made him jump, considering he was on top of a pretty tall building. Apparently not tall enough to stop the young man from climbing up the side, somewhat out of breath yet that didn't deter from the determined look on his face. He simply brushed his messy hair out of his eyes and adjusted his teal backpack, which looked surprisingly heavy. Macaque couldn’t help but be somewhat curious as to what was in that thing.

Wait was that the Monkey King's staff in his hands?

Indeed it was, he'd recognize that weapon anywhere.

“Ah, you must be the Monkie Kid I’ve been hearing so much about, am I right?” That got him a look of suspicion before the young man also seemed to remember the staff in his hands, causing him to let out an amused huff at his own paranoia.

“Yeah, the staff kind of gives it away, don’t it? Name’s MK though. Now whomst is you? Most of the time, demons who ask me who I am are five seconds away from trying to kill me.” Macaque couldn’t help but chuckle at that, already finding that he was starting to like this little guy and his attitude. Perhaps if a person like MK was chosen to wield Wukong’s staff, then perhaps that meant his love had finally started turning things around for the better. Maybe it meant he finally stopped being someone he wasn’t all for the sake of keeping a memory alive.

“The name’s Macaque, though, the Six-Eared Macaque is actually my full name. But what brings you up here exactly bud? I doubt you’d climb up this high just for anybody.” MK’s face showed that he wanted to argue that point out of principle before remembering his purpose for coming up here.

“Simple, teach me.”

Wait what?

“What what?” MK scoffed at the question.

“I want you to teach me to fight, like how you fought that demon back there. I don’t intend on leaving you alone until you do and that is a threat!” Macaque didn’t doubt that he meant it that way and could very easily follow through on that. Sensing he wasn’t going to get out of this, he let out a sigh before giving MK a smile.

“You sure your mentor won’t have a problem with me teaching you?”

“Bold of you to assume Wukong’s disapproval will stop me.”

“Well alright then, I think we’re gonna get along just fine, bud.”

---

“I see what you’re trying to do, you’re afraid of holding back and giving your enemy the opportunity to win. But the first strike isn’t the most important one. Every strike counts. Other people may tell you that patience and focus don’t matter but a fool allows himself to rush without restraint. While you have power inside you, you have to use it carefully. Take the power to defend others, not just destroy those who stand in your way. You’re not a weapon kid, you wield the weapon above all else.”

---

It started with a fairly innocent question from MK after one of their training sessions, him slowly going through a water bottle given to him by Macaque while the monkey made them something to eat. He needed a distraction to stop himself from taking over the cooking, years of feeding others making him feel guilt the moment someone else took over.

“So Mac, how exactly do you know the Monkey King?” To his credit, Macaque only fumbled the slightest bit at that sudden question and was able to save the plate before it crashed to the floor.

“Oh um well… funny thing about that is, well… we used to be together actually. Like y’know… together-together,” he explained while he plated their food, wincing internally at how awkward he sounded. With his back towards MK, Macaque didn’t notice him go tense and grip the couch arm so tightly that the wood underneath cracked at the pressure.

“Used to be together, huh? What happened?” Macaque couldn’t help but shiver at the chill which traveled down his spine. MK’s voice was perfectly even and calm yet he was filled with an overwhelming fear that warned him to not turn around and remain perfectly still until the danger passed.

His ears twitched at the sound of sparks behind him, magic power permeating through the air.

“I… I messed up honestly. We had an argument about something, I don’t even remember what it was so long ago. But I had to leave to just get some space and air before I said something I’d regret, something I couldn’t take back. It was only meant to be a couple hours but some stuff out of my control happened and by the time I got back… Wukong was gone. I had been looking for him for centuries after that and then… well then you found me.”

“What, you hoped getting on my good side would mean that you’d win the Monkey King back?” His tone promised nothing good if Macaque kept digging himself a deeper hole.

“No! No, nothing like that at all. I don’t expect Pe-...Wukong to take me back or anything like that. I just… wanted the chance to apologize to him is all. If he wants anything to do with me afterwards, then I want that to be his choice. Nothing more, I swear.”

MK remained silent behind him before the sudden tension in the air dissipated as quickly as it appeared. Macaque let out a sigh of relief, slowly turning around to see MK still sitting on his couch, placing the staff back in his ear nonchalantly.

“Fair enough, sounds like you both were just idiots who don’t know how to communicate. If you actually intended on using me to get to the Monkey King, you’d have actually mentioned him during our training and yet you haven’t. And you can’t lie to save your life anyway. Just don’t be an idiot again alright? Monkey King… Wukong, he’s a mess and I don’t think he could handle thinking he’s been abandoned again.”

Macaque could feel his heart break at the idea that his Peaches, his love, thought that he had left permanently. He wanted nothing more than to run to him now and make things right. But that was Wukong’s decision to make, nobody else’s.

The two ate their food in silence after that.

---

Sun Wukong may have supposedly “lost his edge” but he was by no means dense or oblivious.

And while he was certainly happy about his successor’s vast improvement over the past couple weeks, a part of him sensed something was off. Like his successor was hiding something from him. And those moves he watched MK use to absolutely demolish the old mural, the Monkey King swore he had seen them before.

But it couldn’t possibly be. He hadn’t seen him in centuries. Not since he… left, like everyone else.

“I’m impressed, my boy! Tell me, how did you do that? Have you been seeing another mentor perhaps?” Wukong asked, his typically serene smile straining the slightest bit at the idea of his son student learning from someone who wasn’t him. The sensible part of his brain was gently poking at him, reminding him that it seemed silly to get upset about such a thing as, if anything, MK had appeared significantly calmer during their training compared to when they started. This could be a good thing, it told him.

Yet it was silenced by the majority of his brain which ran on fatherly protectiveness and had immediately been plagued by images of the worst case scenario. A demon had approached MK, promising him to make him stronger while also poisoning his student as a bid to turn him against the Monkey King before stealing his powers or, Heavens forbid, harming him.

No, Wukong refused to even allow a chance of that happening, logic and reasoning be damned.

“Hey, you’re the one always going on about ‘patience and focus’, I’m just finally putting what you said into practice,” MK answered, the picture of being casual which only set off further alarm bells within Wukong’s head. But before he could question him further, MK’s phone dinged to tell him of a new text message which he quickly read over, his eyes widening slightly at the message.

“Welp, looks like I gotta cut things short for now Wukong, something came up and I gotta head out. See ya later! Don’t forget to eat something tonight and sleep, I will know if you don’t.” And with that, MK was off through the hole he had created in the wall where the mural was before the Monkey King could get a word in edgewise.

Wukong waited long enough to allow MK to get a reasonable distance away before transforming into a bird, flying after his successor.

Something fishy was going on and the Monkey King was determined to find out what it was.

---

“Why exactly are we climbing up to this giant mountain again Mac?” MK wheezed, hating to admit it but this hike had genuinely winded him despite all his training. He had immediately gone to Macaque’s place the moment he got his text only to be told to follow the six-eared demon, leading them to where they were now.

“Well, consider this your ‘final exam’ bud! I want you to use everything I’ve taught you to fight against me, no holding back. Think you can do that?” MK couldn’t help the twitch at the corners of his mouth at the sight of Macaque’s genuine excitement as he explained, all six ears twitching while his tail was wagging like a dog. A demon who was centuries old and had fought countless powerful demons had no right looking that endearing, but here MK was looking with his own two eyes.

MK gave a chuckle before straightening himself out, wordlessly pulling the staff out his ear.

“You sure you’re comfortable getting your ass kicked by me, Mac?” With a smirk, Macaque summoned his own weapon in a flash of purple with the beginning of two shadow clones pooling at his feet. They shyly peeked from the ground from behind their master.

“Oho, a couple training sessions with me for a month and you think you have what it takes to defeat me, bud? Well then, bring it Monkie Kid!” MK didn’t hesitate to charge forward with Macaque mirroring him, weapons at the ready and adrenaline already running through their veins.

“Enough!”

A sudden force landed in between them with enough force to send them both flying backwards.

MK and Macaque recovered in time to see who decided to interrupt their duel.

Both of their hearts nearly stopped at the sight of the enraged Monkey King but for vastly different reasons.

“You have 5 seconds to explain yourself for trying to harm my-” Wukong’s rage quickly deflated as the dust cleared enough for him to truly see who it was he had thought was attacking MK. “Mango Flower?”

“Um… hello again, Peach Blossom. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Macaque joked, voice weak as he restrained himself from acting out of bounds even if he wanted nothing more than to gather the other into his arms. It had been so long, far too long.

He nearly broke at the sight of tears beginning to form in Wukong’s eyes.

His resolve finally shattered as the Monkey King ran towards him, arms outstretched, and before Macaque knew it his legs were moving on their own. The wind was knocked out of him at how tight Wukong squeezed him yet he returned the embrace back with gusto, ignoring the groaning of his ribs. He simply buried his face into the other’s fur, the smell of peaches still there even after all these years. Faintly, Macaque realized he was also crying once he felt a wetness on his cheeks.

Macaque let out a squeak in surprise as Wukong picked him up in the hug and spun him around, the sound of his laughter echoing throughout the mountain. The sight of such unabashed joy on his face was enough to make the six-eared demon to start laughing too, joy contagious in the best of ways.

MK would deny it unless under the threat of death but he couldn’t help but smile as he watched the two monkeys get lost in their own little world. It made the guilt which nagged at his chest at having to manipulate the two to make this meeting happen ease up, seeing how happy the two were.

“It’s been so long…” Wukong whispered as he placed Macaque back on his feet, gently cradling his face as if afraid that if he stopped touching the other, that he’d disappear again. “But, why are you here? I had thought that you hated me, isn’t that why you…” Macaque went stiff in shock before taking the Monkey King’s hands into his own.

“What? No! If anything, I thought you hated me for leaving instead of talking things out and that’s why you were gone when I came back. I always intended on coming back to you Peaches, I swear on it.” Wukong’s eyes went wide at that, extremely close to crying again a second time that day. “I had been looking for you for centuries now to apologize.”

And now the warm feeling was gone, leaving MK to bite down on his staff to stop himself from screaming at how much those two had failed at the simple of communication.

“We’ve both been absolutely foolish, haven’t we?” Wukong couldn’t help but laugh at it all, which only worsened as he noticed all six of Macaque’s ears turn red in embarrassment.

“Yeah, I guess we have been-” His words were cut off as the Monkey King grabbed his scarf, pulling him into a sudden kiss that made Macaque jolt in surprise before he practically melted into the other’s arms. A purr rumbled in his chest and neither noticed their tails wind around each other.

The sound of MK clearing his throat, loudly, was enough to get them to break apart in embarrassment.

“If you two are done being romantic idiots, I have to beat the shit out of Macaque to prove that I’m better than him. I mean ace my ‘final exam’.” The grin on his face showed that he was lying through his teeth.

“Don’t think I forgot about all your trash talking, young man. How about it Peach Blossom? You willing to go all out with me and the kid?”

Wukong’s face was the epitome of ‘Every part of my body wants to say yes but I shouldn’t.’ He was already terrible at saying no to MK and now with Macaque’s endearingly earnest face, he knew he was done for, at least with these two working together now.

“...Oh alright.”

The two mutual cheers at his agreement made Wukong feel slightly less guilty in letting his lessons go for a brief moment. But not completely.

But that was okay, Wukong was used to living with constant guilt.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #inverted au #shadowpeach #mk #macaque #sun wukong #my writing #fanfiction

268 notes · View notes

bbhyeoliskooks · 4 years ago

Note

Can I request an angst where Yeonjun breaks up with you but then wants you back a few weeks later?

«❝ 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 ❞»

Yeonjun was the one to break up with you, so why does he want you back now?

➸ check part two out here !

«────« ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

Pairing: Yeonjun x Reader (female)

Genre: 5 cups of angst and maybe 2 cups of fluff ?

Warnings: harassment, alcohol consumption, cussing, yeonjun is a big jerk in this :ccc, cliffhanger ending, not edited so if i make a mistake... oopsies

Song: I’ll Never Love This Way Again

(I wasn’t sure if I could do a happy ending, but you just have to find that outtt 😌😌~~ i’m so sorry that it came so late too ! i just didn’t expect there’d be tons of assignments this week??? anyway, if you want me to make a part two, of course i can ! requests are always open 🥺💓)

«──── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

Everything was fine.

When Choi Yeonjun made the first move under your favorite spot in the whole world during the time both of you were stargazing, you felt his smile brush up against your lips as you kissed him to your heart’s content. Finally, the boy of your dreams was yours. You hadn’t thought this would be coming for a long time, but you were so happy it turned out this way instead of a permanent, platonic friendship- one that was simply excruciating whenever you saw him and his adorable, fluffy cheeks. Warm infatuation flowed through your veins making you kiss him deeper, allowing him to be in your arm’s embrace while your heart swelled in joy. This was love.

You knew deep in your heart that everything was fine and was going to be fine, for that matter.

Said boy gently cupped your cheek, and you melted into his touch under the glistening, white moonlight. He was so warm, you never wanted to lose that even if you gave up the entire universe to be with him.

He was happy.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach while you fondly gazed at his pure, bright smile, not being able to look away from his brown eyes which captivated you every single moment of the day. In a crowd of people, you were sure he’d be the one person you’d look at, and not to mention the only one. He was for you, and you were for him. He loved you, and you loved him. What difference was it going to make if you made it official?

And so you were too.

“I love you, Y/N,” he murmured so softly he wondered if you actually heard it.

You had.

“I love you too, Yeonjun.”

Everything was fine.

Up until now.

Call you cheesy or anything else, but all you wanted to do for the day was drop some food off at your boyfriend’s house before going out to a few of your classes. Your boyfriend of eight months, actually. You doubted that anybody else numbered their months as an anniversary, but who was counting? It had been a while since you seen each other due to studies and exams, so you assumed that this would be the perfect time to visit him for a couple minutes while he’s having troubles on a few assignments. Easily, a couple minutes could turn into hours and you’d find yourself missing class unintentionally.

Although at the same time, spending time with your boyfriend was the best! And he’s made you smile so much these past months that you were really starting to understand why you loved him so much. Those sparkling eyes which held all the starts from the Milky Way Galaxy in them, those sweet lips which never failed to calm you down whenever your patience wore thin, and that sweet heart that protected you from all evil in the world. Point is, he was the perfect boyfriend and there wasn’t even once a time where he would hurt you! After all, you knew that he loved you so much as well. He promised he would always be right beside you, and the Choi Yeonjun never ever goes back on his promises.

Entering the house with the spare key he gave you for emergencies, you hesitated for a few seconds when you heard his voice ripple throughout the silent kitchen. Was this right? It wasn’t an emergency, but what if Yeonjun was really hungry and needed you? You could picture his pouty lips whine whenever you asked him if he wanted something to eat, and the imaginary sight made you grin with delight. Still, you were unsure if you could just budge in without his permission. Like the loving boy he is, he assured you every time that it was okay, managing to convince you in the near future which was technically now that he adored in whenever you planned a surprise visit for him.

You shut the door softly, enough for it not to create any sounds that could signal you arrived. Knowing how much Yeonjun loved when you came over by the way he kept encouraging you to come over whenever you had free time, you made sure not to make any sound in order to be the sunshine in his day. It could too much for other people, but hey! Seeing him happy because of you made the pride in your chest grow, like you were on top of the world. Just a simple visit would do, right?

“Yeah Bin, I just think they’re really clingy, don’t you agree?”

His velvety voice caused you to stand still in your spot, paralyzed as your mind was reeling with a variety of thoughts. Your excitement instantly burned down in flames, your curiosity growing as you slowly inched around the familiar kitchen. Luckily you weren’t noticed, albeit that was good since you didn’t have the desire to be seen anyway. Who was he talking about? Could it be someone you know?

“Nowadays, I don’t see them as much, and I’m so happy I don’t. Like, who would want to come home to that thing? If we lived together, I sure as hell know that I wouldn’t be able to stand a minute with them, if not much more than a second.”

The pounding in your chest grew faster with every single second that passed, for if he caught you, you knew that he would be extremely disappointed. As a couple, it was important to trust each other, and especially when one of them needed their privacy. But the wonder of who it was was far stronger, overpowering the fear of being caught. Yeonjun would definitely hate you for this if he ever found out, but that didn’t mean he had to know. You felt like you were doing something by listening to him, an impending feeling in your gut which only signaled trouble.

“I think I’m getting tired of them. All they do is wear my clothes when they know they have their own and cry to me about their problems every single night. They’re always like this and that, making you do things that you don’t want to do. It’s really annoying, you don’t understand,” he added as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Your heart sunk to the ground, shattering into a million yet heavy pieces once you registered who they were talking about.

It was you.

Yeonjun chuckled at your newfound misery, not acknowledging you were there as he traced his finger over the marble counter. “And don’t you try to defend them, Soobin. I know you guys are good friends, but if you dated them then you would really know how stupid they are. To be honest, their problems turn out that way just because they’re such an idiot. Who knew I would be stuck with a dimwit like them?!”

He burst into laughter, but you heard nothing from the other line. Internally, you thanked Soobin for not finding humor out of the situation, but there was a bitter taste in your mouth as you heard him tell more and more about what he hated about you.

Was it that easy to say?

Too tired to hear the rest, you gently shut the door, leaving as soon as he made another joke about your affection. The bag of food clanked against the porch loudly, causing the shutter of the windows to flicker inside the house but you didn’t care anymore if he came out to see you like this. He said you were pathetic, and that’s what you are. If you can’t even do one thing, then why even try due to the fact that you aren’t good enough for him? Your eyes were betraying your will now, welling up with tears of disappointment in yourself. You should’ve known, you should’ve known! Look what happens when you depend on people too much, this is all your fault!

You went home like a fool with your stunned voice not permitting you to say anything about what you heard from him. Maybe if you just endured it a bit more, he would come to realize that you were only doing what you did since you loved him with all your heart. This couldn’t be your boyfriend, perhaps he was stressed with all of the exams they’re giving. This wasn’t him, it just couldn’t! How could he say all of that?

He was for you, and you were for him. He loved you, and you loved him. That was that.

Certainly everything was going to be okay... right?

«────« ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

Just like Yeonjun wanted, you did everything in your power to make sure that he was comfortable with his own space. You placed the stolen clothes you loved to wear whenever you missed him during the time you knew he wasn’t home because of dragged out classes. You didn’t text or call him as much, knowing that he would probably get annoyed if you bothered him too many times to count on both hands. You didn’t plan surprise visits anymore when you had the time, choosing to coop yourself in your bedroom as you waited for him to say something- to say anything.

Maybe he would actually come talk to you, right? It’s been almost three weeks since you’ve seen each other. Maybe he would notice the missing piece in his life which was you, right? He always told you he adored whenever you called him your soulmate, as cheesy as it is. Maybe he would at least explain why he’s being like this, right? He strove to do the right things in your relationship even if it cost him his pride. It was because he loved you.

That’s what you thought.

He didn’t, and you were left shattered in pieces. Disappointment clouded your heart as you thought well of him, the hope in your chest gradually becoming less and less each day for the time the two of you did not speak. Instantaneously, you felt terrible about yourself, understanding why he thought of you to be so clingy that it was almost suffocating.

All the while, that ended up with the two of you getting even more further apart.

You hated it, but what hurt the most was that you weren’t sure if he cared about you anymore.

«────« ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

“Hey babe, can we talk today? I need to tell you something, so meet me up at Moonlight.”

When Yeonjun asked you to meet up with him at your favorite spot, the one you both deemed to be your place, you were absolutely thrilled to see him. It was nearing four weeks since you haven’t seen each other which was quite surprising to you; you never knew how well you could hold up without him in the first place. Moonlight was the code name for the place you both ended up confessing to each other since it was incredibly vivid in your hazy memory. You couldn’t help but remember Yeonjun’s bright smile directed towards you when you mentioned the name.

Jittery, you made sure to put on the perfume he gifted you on your first month anniversary, spraying it just enough so that it wouldn’t overwhelm him. It was no wonder that you wanted to look your best for him, for perhaps he would finally tell you that he loved you again! You’ve been waiting for that day since forever, patience becoming frayed from the anticipation that consumed you every single day.

Your nerves were practically a scrambling mess as you walked yourself there, hoping that everything with Yeonjun was doing well. Gosh, you missed his fluffy cheeks so much and his cuddles you swore you were going to go crazy. His scent was no longer on your pillows and you had to admit that you really missed it. But really, this was a good sign! You knew that everything was going to be fine, just fine. He was going to be right by your side, right by your side where he would stay but why was this gut feeling in your fluttering stomach trying to convince you differently?

When you arrived there, heart thumping as you watched his head peek up instead of staring at the ground, you suddenly felt your eyes gather up with tears. It was pathetic to cry in front of him, but you missed him so much that just seeing him made your whole world feel complete. As always, he looked perfect when his eyes found yours, looking you up and down and staring to see if you’ve changed one bit.

You waved at him shyly, words becoming stuck in your throat as you took in his beauty that never failed to amaze you. A smile struck your lips, stepping towards him with bravery even if you were scared you were doing something wrong. He wasn’t smiling like usual, so maybe something happened in his personal life? You wanted to be there for him through times like these. However, all you had to do now was hope for the best once he spoke up.

“Y/N, I...”

His voice faltered when he stared at your gentle expression, unable to find the courage in what he was going to say.

How was he going to break it to you?

“Yeonjun,” you stated simply, raising an eyebrow at why he was so vulnerable all of a sudden. His breath became heavy when you mentioned his name but he remained strong, standing as tall as he could to finally say-

“Y/N, I’m breaking up with you.”

... What?

He’s breaking up with you?

You couldn’t comprehend what he was saying, all the words going through one ear and out the other.

There was no way. There was no way he was breaking up with you. You were for him and you were for him. He loved you, and you loved him. There’s no reason why he would be leaving you right now, he just couldn’t do that!

He sighed, shaking his head at your dumbfound expression. “I just... I just I don’t think we’re right for each other. We don’t have any interest talking to each other anymore, and you know how easy it is to give up, right? That’s what we should do, and I know you’ll definitely find someone else.”

You still weren’t able to say anything, shock taking over you as your eyebrows furrowed and tensed up. Since when was he like this? He said he never gives up on anything, so why is he giving up on you now?

“You’re a great person and all, but I have to break up with you, alright?” His velvet voice which you swore loved you just as much made every single hope and dream die in your soul, the words he said breaking your poor heart even further.

You couldn’t possibly understand- you just couldn’t!

He was for you and you were for him. He loved you, and you loved him. It’d always been like that! You kept repeating over and over again in your head, trying to convince yourself that this was a bad dream that you needed to wake up from.

He didn’t say anything else, the sudden silence deafening your ears as you did your best to conjure up something to say.

“B-but why...?”

But why? All the sympathy from before drained from his heart once he heard those words and he couldn’t contain himself, chuckling at your misconception. Why couldn’t you get it through your thick head that he was being the right one here? It was the hard truth, you needed to realize that like he did.

“You can’t be serious, can you? It isn’t that hard to understand, I’m just saying that we should break up once and for all,” the boy muttered under his breath.

Was it that easy to say? Was it that easy to break someone you loved? Was it that easy to hurt someone you thought the world of?

The anger built up from weeks before rushed in you and you charged up to him, punching him in the chest with all you had to give. It was too weak to feel anything, honestly. He couldn’t help but smirk at your fragility.

“Yeonjun, how could you do this?!” You heaved, voice becoming stronger without realizing it. You threw another punch, strength failing you over and over again. “I gave everything to you!” You hit him again. “I did everything in my power just so that you’d be happy!” You hit him again. “I went against my own heart in trying not to contact you as you’d like, but it all came down to this?” He watched tears one by one trickle down your cheeks as your voice thinned with hopelessness, but he just wasn’t able to feel anything.

“You just weren’t good enough.”

It was like that one phrase set you off, and you clung to him like a fool, taking his freezing hands into yours while the atmosphere became thick with tension. Perhaps if you could’ve done something from the past the way he liked it, he wouldn’t leave you. Perhaps if you just worked on yourself and your appearance a bit more, he would actually find something to love. Perhaps if you just tried harder, everything would be fine. But why? Why had all your efforts gone to waste just like this?

“What can I do then? What can I do to make you love me again? Tell me, please! I want to fix everything, I have to fix what we have!” You gripped his shirt as hard as you could, your knuckles turning white from how hard you were doing so. His scent which gave you euphoria every time you sensed he was near had now turned sour, making your stomach churn with dead, exhausted butterflies you weren’t sure how to clean up.

There was no remorse in Yeonjun’s heart as he stared down at you, combing his fingers through his hair in frustration. This was much harder than what he had assumed, but you’d eventually move on, right? He honestly couldn’t say that he cared, and it was a bit funny to see how desperate you were.

“I don’t love you anymore, Y/N, get over it,” he said before pushing you away towards the tree you used to have dates under.

You then stumbled on your feet, almost falling over due to dizziness which numbed your senses. The thorny-like bark of the tree slit a few cuts on your arm, making you groan with tears in your eyes. You searched frantically to where he could be, eyes easily falling upon his body, where every single second you witnessed became excruciating both physically and mentally. Your chest twisted with unbearable agony while you watched him leave, walking out of your life as if it was the easiest thing to do. The splinters dug against the flesh of your skin, but you couldn’t care less. He was leaving. He was leaving, and you were just allowing it to happen.

“Yeonjun, please don’t do this to me!”

You hoped he would hear you.

“I know it’s all my fault, but please don’t leave me!”

You hoped he would just listen.

“I want you to stay, Yeonjun! Please!”

You hoped he would know how much you loved him so much to the point where you would die without him.

“Yeonjun, I still love you!”

But it didn’t work.

“Please...” You reached out to him in desperation that he would come back, but the once familiar figure slowly but surely left your life, taking your torn heart without giving you one, last glance.

«────« ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

To say you were a wreck was an understatement.

If an absolute pathetic mess who didn’t take care of their hygiene as they laid in bed all day, going through several tubs of ice cream was enough to say that you were a wreck, then that was it. But clearly, that in itself was not good enough just like what he said. You were terrible, clearly in shambles after what he had said to you. Faults upon faults kept piling upon the bitter taste of your tongue no matter how much you tried to distract yourself by doing the things you loved. In this situation, it seemed that hobbies didn’t work at all. The things you did had no purpose without him. It would only come out as second best, and you could even say this was the worst you’ve ever done them. All of it came down because of the breakup. How could you live without the boy who made you so happy every single day?!

So in turn, it had to be your fault for doing this. It had to be your fault because you tried so hard and yet it just wasn’t good enough. You caught yourself thinking that if you just changed yourself a little, maybe then everything could be different, and the two of you could be happy in love like always. That only weighed on your heart because you knew you were such a fool for him, hopelessly devoted for something that would never come.

Plus, it was bad enough that no one cared about you so much to even look after your well-being even if you felt terrible about getting help. Showing sympathy was the worst option ever since it only reminded you of how your ex would shower you with love and affection whenever something abominable happened to your heart. Looks like that wouldn’t happen now.

Soobin tried calling you a lot after he heard that Yeonjun broke up with you, but you didn’t give him any chance to talk to you. If he did, then you would burst into tears at his voice saying something along the lines of the words, ‘are you okay?’ Obviously, you wouldn’t be able to handle it if he saw you like this- like a sobbing mess that no one else could ever love.

A day passed of watching shows you used to love, and that didn’t work either. No spark of light passed your eyes while you gazed upon the screen you and Yeonjun used to share, laughing about your favorite characters who you would give the world to but were honestly too stupid to realize that they caused the problem in the first place. You weren’t able to help the tears that gathered up like puddles in your eyes when you saw Yeonjun’s favorite character, the one he adored all the time whenever you two watched tv together.

Every single place you looked at, it would only remind you of him. The couch where you two would cuddle all the time, and the one where Yeonjun slept on if you forced him out. Sometimes when you both were having a bad day, some things would lead up to another with shouting and angry eyebrows due to the cause of each other. Although that would be solved in no time and more times than necessary, you would find yourself sleeping on top of his chest so he’d wake up to you apologizing to him. With lots of soft kisses too! He said he loved you, and that was that. You loved him too.

Really, you couldn’t go a day without him so why was it so different now? What happened to the loving boyfriend Yeonjun used to be?

Just a day after he broke up with you, you found your spare key you gave to him right in front of your house, waiting expectantly for you to pick it up as if it was nothing special. Just the sight of it was enough to bring you tears and you threw it over the streets as if it was nothing. It didn’t get very much far though, but the only thing your mind screamed about was Choi Yeonjun this, Choi Yeonjun that, Choi Yeonjun every-single-where. If it was something from him, you wanted nothing to do with it! Except maybe his sweaters and pillows that still had the scent of him, yeah.

It would be strange if someone found it right on the black pavement your driveway, huh? And definitely used it to unlock your house in the wee hours of the night. Wait! And not even bothering to knock on the door before coming inside with the key that they found too. That would be totally strange...

It seemed the idea got to Soobin when he showed up to your house without you knowing, being smart enough to use the key to open the door. You awoke to his gentle voice luring you out of bed at like two in the morning, apparently just checking up to see if you were okay. Once hearing that, you sobbed onto his white sweatshirt, pretty much feeling bad that you wrecked both his mood to the max and his poor sweater that was victim to both your spit and tears.

A bleak outcome became of this even if he assured you so many times that it was okay. His shoulder and shirt in the upcoming days were your soggy tissues for the moments where you cried, but that gave you much ranting to let out anyway. Soobin couldn’t believe his very own best friend had the audacity to do this, but it wasn’t his business to do anything but help. He didn’t mention anything to Yeonjun who laughed about your ashamed expression when he listed the reasons to your shortcomings, though it wasn’t like he cared enough about him to see for the time being. He didn’t tell you either, for he didn’t know how you’d react. What he knew mostly was that you were busy cursing Yeonjun and his perfect, white smile that still very much caused flutters to your heart.

Little did you know that Soobin’s everlasting, sweet kindness would get you somewhere farther than what you could’ve ever expected; even if it meant eating tubs of ice cream just to make yourself feel better.

«────« ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

Time goes too fast for your brain to comprehend.

It’s been... almost one month since that very day.

That very day where Yeonjun broke up with you, marking it a month anniversary of where the love of your life crushed your entire being. That very day where you promised yourself you wouldn’t ever love again. That very day where you realized what the true meaning of what love really is.

So far, you haven’t heard about Yeonjun. Soobin didn’t tell you anything- which you were thankful for- otherwise you would’ve had a mental breakdown about his fluffy cheekies or the bright smile you so longed to have back. Likewise, he said he didn’t mention anything about you to Yeonjun, but you knew the boy was doing well without you. It’s been a long, rough month and you were obviously itching to move on, but that was what broke you the most.

You did your best to avoid him. You ripped every single photo you had of him in your albums although it caused you so much pain, you burned every single sweater you still had left in your closet for safekeeping, you threw all of the anniversary gifts he gave you- even the promise ring so that you wouldn’t go insane. Even you were surprised at how much you could do by yourself in trying to move on. And little by little, you could tell it was working. Soobin was proud.

In classes that you were with him, you made sure to sit at the end of the room so that he wouldn’t dare to notice you. Sometimes you’d find yourself staring at him whenever the teacher droned on and on, but luckily you got back into the lesson by engaging yourself by drawing in a few of your old notes to study from. The long hallways were crowded with tons of people, so there’s no way he’d see you too! You made sure of that. At lunch, you instead went to restaurants to waste some time until the next period started again. You made sure everything was perfect. You did everything in your power not to see him.

Passing period was just for a while, and you met up with Soobin who seemed to be a mess with his black hair all over his eyes. You bit back laughter at his ignorance.

“Thank you so much for helping me Soobin,” grinning, you passing him some bread from your lunch bag that you knew he would like. He accepted it generously, gnawing down on it as he shot you one of those eye smiles he knew you were weak for.

"Of course! You’re my friend, why wouldn’t I help you? Also this bread is much more yummy than Yeonjun’s cook-” speaking of the devil, you caught sight of the boy with blue hair (something you admired as you stared at him) who was walking in your direction. His head was turned to the side as he laughed with his friend, but that laughter was enough to shatter your heart all over again

Grabbing Soobin, you pulled him out to the other hall where luckily Yeonjun wouldn’t be able to see you two if he didn’t go there. You hoped he wouldn’t. He would see how you weren’t over him yet! One of you, you couldn’t discriminate between them, sighed. Your heart was thumping way too loudly in your chest in which you were sure anybody could hear it and you teared up, laying a shaking hand over your chest. That was a close one. That was so close, he could’ve seen you like this- like such a mess who wasn’t good enough.

“It’s because you saw Yeonjun, right?” Soobin’s hands gripped your arms as you suddenly felt overwhelmed with dizziness. What happened to your posture and your stature? You shook horribly, nodding your head at his words. Again, there was a bitter taste in your mouth as you avoided Soobin’s eyes. He must’ve been disappointed in you, but you just couldn’t do it.

“Yeah. I saw him again, and he could’ve seen me,” you spoke softly only he could hear it, clear tears of agony becoming one puddle onto the hard ground.

You weren’t sure if you could handle seeing him. You couldn’t allow yourself to after how hard you’ve been working.

Soobin just pursed his lips, pulling you in for another embrace of his. He doesn’t mind giving them to you whenever you needed it, and seeing you like this hurt him just as much as it did when you saw Yeonjun. Nonetheless, you were surprised at his manner despite the sadness that clouded your vision. You were expecting him to reprimand you since you were doing so well and this could be the next big step, but he didn’t. You knew that was only because he was only worried for you anyway.

What you didn’t know was that when Yeonjun turned the halls to see the two of you holding each other in the dark while you did your best not to make any sounds, he glared at Soobin who found him in the corner of his eye. In response, he furrowed his eyebrows back to him, laying his chin comfortably on top of the head as if it was what he always did. They both stood there for a few moments as your chest heaved up and down with heart-wrenching sounds of hiccups that echoed through the hallway, but not one of them dared to move moved. Yeonjun then shook his head, turning away as his loud, mocking steps were practically silent to you who sobbed on the one you knew you depended too much on. Soobin noticed that his annoyed expression was brimming with green, monstrous jealousy, obviously at the sight. But he didn’t want to tell you.

You didn’t stop yourself from crying until the soothing voice above reminded you that it was finally time for your next class. Pulling yourself together was the hardest thing to do in that moment as your stomach coiled with a churning spin. You wanted to throw up as regret bubbled in your fake smile. How would you ever move on if Soobin didn’t feel the need to help you?

Future you would’ve definitely gave her everything just to tell you that Soobin’s help failed.

«────« ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

Was it too early to say that you totally regretted coming here in the first place with Soobin?

All these people dancing upon each other and making out in whatever they could find weren’t your thing. Every place your eyes landed upon was something you definitely needed the eye bleach for, it was too disgusting for you to even glance at once in a while. It could be the drinks that are making people like this, but where was their modesty? You wanted to choke from how much they shoved it in your face that they were happy. That’s also due to the fact that they made you feel extremely single as well, but not the point!

Instead you were standing near the “punch” table, staring down at your drink since it was so much better to look at instead of people eating their faces out. Some of the boys tried to get you notice them, but you paid no mind to them. No amount of catcalls about what you chose to wore or the seductive snickers they sent your way could pull you out from your trance of the hypnotizing cup. None of them were as cute as your standards anyway... which was still Yeonjun.

A cup wouldn’t hurt tonight. Just one cup would be fine, wouldn’t it? You winced at the taste, nose scrunching up with disgust when you downed it again. It was hasty to put some more in the cup while you poured the most you’d ever done before, taking no time to repeat the same action. You knew that in a couple of minutes- hours or so, you’d probably end up drunk and alone on the dance floor, but who cares. No but seriously, who cares? Not even yourself, so maybe once you could actually find a distraction which, or for that matter, who makes you feel better.

One cup.

Two cups.

Some things led to another and what surrounded you became blurry, hazy, and too raggedy to make sense of.

You weren’t expecting to hear a familiar voice from out the corner send shivers down your back, prodding at your heart as you almost spit back your drink into the same cup.

It was in no doubt, him.

A lump appeared in your throat, making you choke on your own spit. Soobin lied, that rat lied to you! Was it on purpose or that he really didn’t know? You sure had to give it back to him by socking him in the stomach once you made eye contact with him. Otherwise they were having a date here, but you knew Yeonjun well enough that he wouldn’t do this from your past experiences.

However, that wasn’t the point! You got back to your surroundings, taking sneaky glances at who you’d been dreading to see this whole month.

“Please, no! It can’t be him!” You whisper-shouted to no one, holding your breath as the same scent with the same voice inched closer to you in slow steps. It passed through your nose, making your stomach churn with anxiety as you heard his *feet draw nearer and nearer and nearer to you. You could feel the breath in your lungs depleting as your eyes widened with fear, too paralyzed in your spot to move away. Was he going to hurt you even more now?

Move, please! Just move your legs and leave!

“Y/N, baby...? Please tell me that’s you,” Yeonjun gently called, getting closer with slow stomps and an aching heart in mind. He took in your bored facial features, the thumping in his ears getting louder and louder as seconds passed. It had been a while since he clearly took a look at you; in response, his mind clearly blowing over with a thousand questions per minute. This had to be an illusion, tricking him that it wasn’t the you he was searching for this entire time. Maybe he was drunk, but it just couldn’t be something that wasn’t there! Who else could it be other than the one person he’d been pining for, for a month?

It was you, the only person he’d ever loved.

The word baby pricked your ear, and you turned to the side to see Yeonjun with tears in his eyes. They were sparkling from the lights all over the house where you could clearly see them, and you cringed, looking away from him. What a sight you didn’t ever want to see for the rest of your life. It only made things worse, obviously! This urge of wanting to baby him while asking him had to be suppressed or else you wouldn’t know what would happen. You were doing so well. You couldn’t give up now.

“Y/N? Why are you here? I thought you’d be home studying like you always do,” the boy muttered, his eyes focused on your every action as if you’d disappear any second. He was right, you completely wanted to disappear from his sight. Still, you didn’t want to look back at him in fear that your streak would end in a demise.

“Nothing, and it’s none of your business anyway. Please, leave me alone.”

He only shook his head at this- or what you assumed from the peripheral vision of your eyes- and jerked a thumb at the red solo cup you were holding. You decided to gaze at it intently like you had been doing this whole time, bringing it up to your lips when he shouted something right in your ear. It was quite different than what he was murmuring earlier, and you almost dropped the cup from your already shaking hands.

“Y/N, stop drinking! I told you it wasn’t good for you, don’t you remember?”

Yeah, but that was back then.

You shakily sighed, clenching your eyes shut. If you wouldn’t allow yourself to look at him, then let’s not do any of this at all. A headache would soon become of this, if his nagging voice kept annoying you any longer.

“It’s an acquired taste, you idiot. Just leave me alo-”

"Please, listen to me,” he cut in, easily begging in favor of you. Too curious to hear what his request was, you didn’t say anything.

“I don’t know how to start this off but... I know I’ll never love this way again, just like I do to you. Y/N, can’t you see?! I’m dying without you.” He moved closer to you and you looked down at the floor, too shaken up to say anything. His breath was near enough that you could feel it right against your forehead while he looked directly at you with piercing eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, the words of help stuck in your throat as your poor heart hammered in your poor, wrenching chest.

He then held out his arm towards you, one so desperate you felt it through his heart that he wanted to let you hold on. You looked away from that too, not wanting the urge of finally seeing him to enrapture you like always.

“There’s no one else who can ever replace you. It’s me for you and you for me like we’ve always said... can’t you see it too?” His words were too affectionate to get away from now. What was this warm feeling you received upon hearing that? Gulping nervously, the last part of his words resonating in your mind before he drew one, last breath.

“I need you,” he delicately whispered.

There must’ve been glue beneath you, for you were trapped in that claustrophobic spot in the corner. Of all the words he could say, he just had to hit you right in the chest where everything ached... Suddenly, it had become so silent you could hear a pin drop. Your ears had to be tricking you. There was no way Yeonjun could ever say that to you, after all the things he did to you a month ago. He had to remember that, right?! You can’t go back to him no matter what he says! He doesn’t love you. He never did.

“I’m leaving. Have the cup if you want it,” you shoved it into his hands and right off the bat, he dropped it like it was nothing. A deep, permeating frown was on his face and he grabbed your hands with his warm ones, holding it as if it was the only thing he ever wanted to do. His thumb stroked the top of yours, clinging on tightly in desperation as if begging you to spare one more glance at him before this love was somewhat forbidden, somewhat over.

“Y/N, I know I messed up pretty bad, but please. Please, be safe out there. I won’t hold you back anymore. Tell me to take you home, and I’ll do it. I need you, just please,” He held onto your hand, his fingers tightly wound with yours and your eyes widened. Why did he have to sound so genuine?

“Have a good night, Yeonjun,” you glanced at him for the first and last time to see a glistening tear run down his cheek. He was the same. Yeonjun was the same. All the way to his forehead and lips, he was just Yeonjun. His messy, blue hair was still just as charming as your eyes ran through it. His lips were like you left them, and you could do anything just to show him how much you adored them again. His pure eyes were still like the last time you saw them, innocent and sweet like it held no true matter of what the world was like out there.

It broke you just as much as the last time you saw him. He and you were finally meeting each others’ eyes, but not in a way you ever expected. You wanted to be free from him by the time you saw him again, so that he’d realize you were doing well without him even if the case was far from that.

And you wanted to say that it was what he deserved but why in the hell was your heart saying so much differently?!

«────« ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

By the time you got out of where Yeonjun currently was, you could feel yourself losing breath even if you hadn’t walked very far. It was true that you walked as best as you could because the legs which carried you across the dance floor simply felt like dancing jelly; all the while you kept cursing yourself internally for even making a dry conversation with him.

The air felt tense now. You felt as if you could no longer relax inside that same house for any longer. Soobin wasn’t anywhere to be found, but you didn’t truly search for him in the first place because this was one night where you wanted to enjoy yourself for a little while.

Maybe some drinking would help it like it had done earlier. You wouldn’t have to worry anymore about Yeonjun if you just changed your mindset due to the drinks! Wobbling, you gripped onto one of the cups that distinctly wasn’t yours and took a few swigs out of it, hoping it would help ease your nerves.

Three cups. His smiling face appeared in the cup, and you winced at the bitter taste. Why were you torturing yourself with this bitterness?

Four cups. Well, looks like you were okay, you guessed.

Some things led to another and here you were. At the dance floor where you were swaying to the music the dj put on whether it was romantic or made to have a blast.

Throwing your hands up to the sky like all the other people were doing, you realized you were having so much fun- for a couple of minutes or even a couple of hours, you weren’t sure- until two, sly hands gripped at your waist. You instantly cowered away with widened eyes, backing away from instinct when they forcibly pulled you back in.

“Hey, sweet cakes,” they slurred quietly, their breath repulsed with beer mixing in with the tacky scent of cologne they chose. You immediately noted that it was a male’s voice, scrunching your nose up at the rudeness he plainly owned. The audacity he had to come up to you like this instead of introducing himself with a tender voice. And a pet name straight off too?! Give you a break.

It made you think about how Yeonjun always treated you nicely, naturally acting like a gentleman whose kindness made your heart swell with love.

“Hey, asshole, could you leave me alone?” Despite the fear rushing through your veins, you made sure to stand firm like everything was okay. Sooner or later, he had to get the hint. And if not... you glanced at your heels, then catching a look at his crotch. But we could say that was only Plan B if nothing else worked out.

He chuckled at what you assumed to be your insolence, a cocky grin crossing his attractive and confident face that only made you want to throw up.

“Aw, don’t be like that! I saw you dancing right across the room and I knew I had to get a piece of that,” he muttered, getting closer to you by each step. You couldn’t help but groan at his terrible advances towards you.

“Well, I don’t care. Leave me alone, please.”

The man sighed, rolling his eyes at your words. You hoped that with that action it meant he was finally leaving you alone, giving you the peace you so hopelessly needed after the whiplash that took place with your ex. But he only got close to you, an uneasy grimace taking place instead of the pretentious, arrogant grin from before. Your stomach bubbled with anxiety this time, not feeling much too comfortable in the moment to dance again.

“Help! Someone, please!” No matter how much you kicked at the bottom area of his body (and missing them completely since your aim terribly sucked when you became drunk), he wouldn’t budge to your surprise. You tried squirming away due to the resistance of being a damsel in distress like every saving person needed to be, but the man would clearly not move with all your efforts!

He puckered lips swiftly while you hurriedly tried to move away with the best of your abilities. You were sure as hell you couldn’t get out of there even if you used all the strength that was left in your body. With the wall pressed up against your back and the looming arms that trapped you in, there was no way you could leave without pleasing him. He was getting way too close for comfort and you closed your eyes shut, no longer feeling the courage to shout at anyone through the blasting music.

“Now, how about you give me a kiss from those pretty-”

“she said leave her alone, you asshole!”

In one, sweeping moment which had you off your feet, you felt someone’s back brush against your front while you squealed with a deadening fright. At the very last bit of being harassed, you never would’ve expected to be saved by the one and only who you thought was never going to come back. Hastily you opened your eyes, only to see Yeonjun whose chest was heaving up and down from how fast he ran just to protect you.

“Leave her alone or else I’ll be forced to do something much worse- something more horrendous than you could ever imagine.”

Seeing how tall Yeonjun was in comparison to him, he muttered something under his breath before moving along to another direction. And just like that, he was gone. Gone to another place where you hoped never to see him again to bother either of you.

You internally thanked the heavens, eyes tearing up from how grateful you were to not have been physically attacked.

Yeonjun speedily turned back to you, his face blooming into a worrisome expression. Lips forming into a pout, he cradled your cheek, checking everything from your face to your arms which were shaking terribly in order to be sure you were unscathed.

Even if you hated him so much at the moment, even if you thought he was a dreadful person for hurting you, even if what he was doing could be because it was the right thing to do and not because he loved you, this was the Yeonjun who you fell in love with in the first place. He was right in front of you again and no matter how much you wanted to back away from him, you couldn’t deny that he was your precious knight in shining armor.

“Yeonjun, thank you- I’m scare...” Your brain wasn’t able to form a comprehensive sentence, words jumbled together to create a nonsensical grumble you were sure he couldn’t understand. He just cooed at you softly, taking you into his warm arms which felt just as cozy as his sweet heart. Your face subconsciously buried upon his chest, nuzzling into it as he gently patted the top of your head.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m right here. There’s no need to worry. I’m right here, and I’ll always be right here.” His hug this time was made for you, and you happily sighed with a newfound relief. Tighter, you clung onto him, hoping he didn’t mind. A part of you knew that he didn’t care because he kept pressing those soft kisses he knew you adored onto the crown of your head.

Your brain was yelling at you that this was wrong, he could be toying with your heart again, but everything felt so right. Your heart wasn’t corresponding to your mind, telling you something the sober you wouldn’t be able to understand.

You were safe at last.

The both of you stayed like that for a few minutes with you sniffling into his embrace before he lightly rubbed your shoulder.

“Come on, baby, let’s go home to make you calm down,” he took your hand into his tenderly, treating it with the utmost respect. After all, it was what you deserved after all of that trauma.

All the way he made sure you were alright strolling beside him, protecting you like the world depended on it. His scent was too addictive and you followed him, holding his hand tightly while a soft smile became of his face.

Before you knew it, his steps led you to his house.

«────« ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

“Yeonjun, stop! You know I’m-” you erupted with an intermittent series of laughter, giggling over and over again whenever his fingers accidentally traced against your stomach. He was busy carrying you to wherever he was taking you, whining about how you didn’t deserve less from sleeping on somewhere comfortable.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” he giggled along with you, nuzzling his nose against yours. Anybody else who saw this could see that you both were clearly an affectionate mess, touching one another whenever they pleased.

Sooner than later after all that messing around, he laid you down on top of the bed as gently as he could, setting you down as if you were a fragile vase. His fingers lingered at your side before he cleared his throat, instantly pulling away at how quiet the atmosphere had gotten.

It was hard to see his face now; the dimness of the room and not to mention the side effects of being drunk disrupting your normal vision, but you could still see how intent he was on gazing at you. You grew shy at how long the duration of time he chose to stare at you with keen eyes, looking away compared to your strong, resistance persona from before.

Yeonjun found this little bit to be endearing, sketching out your whole, entire face in his head. To your adorable, button nose, to your cheeks which he oh so wanted to pinch, and to your lips that he was too afraid to kiss without permission, everything was simply perfect- a masterpiece that cannot be described in words. If it was up to Yeonjun, he would never look away because he was afraid he’d lose you again.

But this wasn’t right.

If he was there, it would only hurt you like you said earlier. His heart was screaming at him to let you know that he loved you more than anything else he’d ever laid eyes upon, but no, that wouldn’t be right either. He wasn’t sure how you’d react once he told you that. You’d leave him and rightfully so.

Even if he was drunk as hell, he knew you wouldn’t be too comfortable sleeping with him once you sobered up in the morning. Besides, it was his fault- he doesn’t get to treat you like the way he did before since he really has no right to.

Sighing, he turned to go until something grabbed onto his hand. His eyebrows rose up, but he didn’t allow himself to look back or else he’d betray all his morals.

Like he expected, you were the one holding him in place, your fingers sliding against his as they squeezed tightly.

“Yeonjun... stay? Just for tonight?”

«────« ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ────»

A soft, genuine smile spread throughout his face as he turned over on his side, immediately expecting to touch someone that kept him company from last night. It had been a while since things were arranged like this, a month if he remembered correctly in his hazy mind. This was something he’d been desiring for such a long time already... he was going to make the most of it even if it was just a little bit.

Wait a minute... his fingers danced throughout the covers, eyebrows turning into a frustrated furrow and he finally realized what was happening.

But- but you were there with him last night! You weren’t an illusion! Your voice resonated through his head along the lines of asking him to stay, but you just weren’t there.

Panic swept throughout Yeonjun’s body as his eyes searched the whole entire room for any sign of her, looking at the door which was wide upon unlike last night.

“I messed up,” he groaned as he raked his fingers through his messy hair, heart dropping to his stomach as if it had weighed 1,000 pounds. His shaking, cold hand plummeted upon a pillow that was still warm and coated with her warm scent he always adored coming home to whenever he had a rough day.

But you were no longer there. You were gone.

“I lost her.”

---

Posted: 2/15/21- 6:30pm

Tags:

#txt fluff #txt angst #txt requests #txt reactions #txt imagines #txt scenarios #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun angst #yeonjun requests #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun scenarios #txt ff #txt fic #txt fanfic #yeonjun ff #yeonjun fic #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun x reader

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agent-cupcake · 3 years ago

Note

You know, you've written a lot of your thoughts/hcs/etc on how various characters would behave as yanderes and so on, but I've never seen you talk about yandere readers before and I feel like that's an interesting subject to consider? Especially for 3H - you have a treasure trove of damaged boys to attract obsessiveness from girls who are convinced they are the ONLY one for them and it's their duty to drive away competition/threats/anyone they want.

Okay it's time to be toxic. I’m not going to go for all the guys, just the ones who immediately came to mind.

Dimitri: I joke quite often that I would be yandere for Dimitri. It all started when I brought up killing the girl he danced with at the White Heron Ball and quite frankly it's only spiraled from there because doesn't the Savior King Dimitri deserve to be adored and worshipped? Doesn't he deserve someone who wants the best for him and only him? Doesn’t it only make sense for him to be with someone who understands his mental issues and is willing to offer him unconditional support and patience? Doesn't he need someone with unwavering loyalty who will do anything no matter what the cost for his sake? It'd be so easy too because he's super dependent, desperate for affection, and clueless so if you just nourish those traits and constantly downplay his discomfort/suspicion of you driving away anybody who you feel is a threat by saying that this is how relationships just are, that it's just because you love him so much, that you're just looking out for him, what's he gonna do? It's not like he'd have any solid basis for knowing how relationships are supposed to be. Besides if he gets too upset you can threaten to leave him just like his mother did, I'm sure that would work to get him back in your arms (where he belongs). Yeah, that’s a little fucked up but it would be so much worse for both of you in the long run if you were apart. Being too aggressive or overt about your obsession would definitely make Dimitri wise up so it'd be better to go with love bombing. This would be good because it really lets you prove your devotion to Dimitri and makes it easier for him to just laugh off and excuse your disturbingly possessive behavior. His friends would be potentially problematic, but they're not always around and Dimitri's private enough that he probably wouldn't volunteer information about you to them. If you told him that it made you very upset and uncomfortable when he was friendly with the girls from his class, he’d most likely stop for your sake. Bonus round, have his babies. What is he going to do, abandon the mother of his children? Dimitri?!? No way. Of course he wouldn’t do anything to risk breaking his family, but neither would you! After all, this is all because you know Dimitri better than anyone which means that only you can love him.

Sylvain: Sylvain being manipulative and cheating on you after you try and prove your love to him through conventional means causing you to snap and kill hurt the girls, throw his lies back in his face, and prove that you're the only girl for him by preying on his emotional trauma with women is really something to consider. Why try to resolve toxic situations with love, compassion, and open communication when you can use blood and abuse to keep him with you? Play the part, be snarky, witty, flirty, be super hot and cold to keep him intrigued, give him the best fuck he's ever had, really show him that you don't care about his Crest, you just want to love possess him. Maybe even do the whole "I don't care who you're with, we both know you belong to me" to really engage him in those super fun mind games. Make everyone else acknowledge that you're the perfect girl for him, get them all to vilify him for continuing to be such a womanizer and breaking your heart. But, like, why stop there? Encourage him to retaliate, to be mad at you. Tease him for being so disgusted and angry at you when all you want, all you've ever wanted, was for your hearts to beat as one and then later act confused because of course you wouldn’t make light of his feelings like that, that’s horrible. All you want, all you’ve ever wanted, was for him to acknowledge that your adoration for him is true. Really break him until he gives you the whole “I’ll let you chain me up so I never even look at another girl” schtick. This might seem awful, but so is he! Reform can be difficult and if he’s going to be happy, he has to be made to understand why his behavior was so bad and the consequences of it. Because it’s not like you’d act like this if you had any other choice, it’s not like you’d continue once the two of you were truly together, of course you wouldn’t treat him so cruelly once he vowed himself to you and only you. And, really, I think it’d be a lot easier once he understood that and you got to prove your love to him through raw, unadulterated affection. Spend every day adding onto the list of why you love your Sylvain.

Claude: Claude being more than aware of the ole' saying "don't stick your dick in crazy" and then doing it anyway because he has a proclivity for the fiery, forbidden, and oh-so temping call of danger would be the perfect set up for a very bad predicament. You’d have to play some mind games to really convince him that he’s the one seeking you out, he’s the one who’s got it bad, he’s the one who wants to have you. In other words, you’d have to give him a challenge. But, you know, if it’s a game, you’d have to play back because you’re doing this for him, because you love him, because you want him to realize that he loves you, too (Uno reverse Claude’s yandere behaviors, basically) so obviously you’d have to eliminate any obstacles and taking out anybody who could be a potential threat. Get him to open up about his dreams, his past, his feelings. As it goes with basically all of these affection-starved men, make him feel loved for who he is. You know, if you were really good, you could probably even get him to give up on everything else for your sake. I mean, I loathe the ending but he does that for Lysithea. Pull a Tangled on Claude and make him believe that you’re his new dream as he mostly certainly is yours.

Felix: Sweet Felix. So oblivious but so difficult. A man who would provide the ultimate and most dangerous yan rival of them all: the thrill of the fight. In a lot of ways, I think he’d be like Dimitri. Mostly just because he’s so dense when it comes to love of any kind. But he’s also not as emotionally desperate or dependent so you wouldn’t really be able to use that against him. The similarities come from Felix’s equal amount of inexperience with romance which opens up a lot of possibilities for you convincing him that certain behaviors are normal. You can even bring up how his cold emotional state (something I believe he’s insecure about) is what forces you to be so overbearing, how badly it hurts you. You don’t necessarily mean to be so cloying but you’re so afraid of losing someone else you love so much (another insecurity of his). After all, there is nobody in the entire world who is like him, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, (three for three with his insecurities) and how irreplaceable and precious he is to you. These examples are kind of “soft” when it comes to using his insecurities against him, but you could go further with them assuming you were sure that it wouldn’t drive him away. Not knowing and having to work on assumption would always be a pretty big reason to control yourself in how you went about manipulating him because Felix is stubborn and prideful and pushing him too far would only hurt the both of you. It’s actually kind of funny because as opposed to the traditional yan mindset, it would be in your best interest to get Felix to form relationship bonds with others (but definitely not any of the girls he’s so popular with) because that would be a bargaining chip when convincing him to stay with you.

Ferdinand von Aegir: Ferdinand is, honestly, so easy for this. Like, I feel as if I don’t even need to talk about the details. You show him some affection and he’s yours. Bury him in love and praise. Tell him that it makes you unhappy when he talks to other girls or prioritizes his work over you and then reward him with boundless warmth and devotion because of course he would bend over backwards to make you happy. He just wants to be needed and treasured, to love and be loved. He’s already got the poetry and the ring and of course he wouldn’t mind getting married right away it’s true love, why would you wait?

Yuri: Yuribird is the forbidden darling. You’d need to be running on 100% love because he’d sniff out and ditch you at even the smallest whiff of deliberate obsession. But you know what he wants? More-so than the other guys, in some ways. He wants to be known and loved for who he is. In the face of genuine affection, he doesn’t stand a chance. Still, you’d have to be measured about this stuff. If you were jealous and got rid of your rivals yourself, Yuri would be disgusted and leave you. And you can’t hide that sort of thing from him, either. You’d have to go all in on the manipulation but only in the most honest way possible, that’s the only way past his defenses. Get him to prioritize your feelings first so he feels guilty talking to people or acting in ways that upset you. Reward him for putting you above everyone else. Constantly remind him that you’re the only one who knows and understands him, who loves him for who he is. Get him so emotionally fucked that even if his big brain logic is telling him that you’re toxic and horrible, he can’t stand the thought of being without you. He’d give up crime, it’s not like he even particularly likes it. Set up the perfect life for him, something domestic and sweet and warm, something he’s never had worries he doesn’t deserve, something that keeps him away from others. The goddess only knows how much he deserves a happy dream for once, and you’re the only one who can understand and provide that for him.

#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #sylvain jose gautier #yuri leclerc #claude von riegan #felix hugo fraldarius #ferdinand von aegir #fe dimitri #fe sylvain #fe yuri #fe claude #fe felix #fe ferdinand #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #yandere #headcanons #yandere headcanons #quality content only on my blog

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letarasstuff · 4 years ago

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When everybody turns into an oracle

Summary: Nothing puts more pressure on you than other people teling you your grade will be perfect, because behind that stands so much more than a number on a sheet of paper. Same goes for Spencer's daughter.

Warnings: School, grades, angst (there is fluff and a badass moment), fear of failure/disappointing someone

Wordcount: 1.5k

✨Masterlist✨ __________________________________

“I really pooped this quiz. What about you, (Y/N)?” Before the teenager is able to answer, another classmate comes up from behind the two. “She’ll get a 100, like always.”

“I-I don’t know. Question two and three really got me there, I’m just happy to pass it.” The little group of people around her groans.

“You always say that.” “And get a perfect score”, the first one adds, “Just stop to make us look bad, because we really do have to worry about passing this class. What do you have to worry about? Getting straight A’s like that. I really want your problems.”

(Y/N) just keeps it quiet. She stopped a long time ago trying to defend herself. ‘I am on my way to the BAU’, she shoots a text to her father and exits the school building. Today she doesn’t take the train. There are too many noises and all she wants is some peace.

The words of her classmates echoes through her head. Yes, she always has a good score and she intends to keep it up. She is just doing her best, right? Her problems have to be still valid, don’t they?

“Ahh, Wonder Baby. I thought you forgot about us and decided you are too cool to hang out with us”, Derek calls out after her as soon as he spots his godchild. “Nah, Uncle Derek. Nobody can be too cool to hang out with you. I just hadn’t had much time because of school work. But there are only two weeks left before spring break starts and the only thing I have to do now is waiting for my results.”

“Right, Spencer told us you are stressing yourself out about those. Your last quiz was today, wasn’t it? The one you dread the most apparently?” Emily joins the conversation. “Uh, I did. But don’t get your hopes up too high, I really don’t have a clue what I did there. The grade can range between passed to 100.”

“Naw, Smartypants, you say that every time. What are you afraid of? Telling us you are real smart? Don’t be humble, we work with your father. We know how to handle geniuses.” Derek isn’t exactly helping her with that. (Y/N) just turns red and tries to change the subject. “Uh, no. Another thing: Where is Dad?”

“Spencer went to pick some reports from the M.E. in D.C. who helped us on the last case. He should be back in half an hour. But Penelope wants to see you, something about trying new vegan cookies she baked last night”, JJ informs (Y/N) as she passes the group to drop some files off.

For the remainder of the day the teenager hides out in the lair, blocking any human reaction out with her earphones. She just can’t handle any more insensitive stuff like earlier. Later her father picks her up to go home together.

“So, Emily told me you didn’t do well on your test today? Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks, choosing his words carefully as he prepares dinner with his daughter sitting at the kitchen table and watching him. The doctor knows the pressure created by asking his daughter about school related topics.

“I don’t know. Everyone keeps telling me I’ll get a perfect score and I think it’s admirable that all of them turn out to be able to look into the future. How do they know better than me what I get?”

It’s months of pent up stress and anxiety finally making its way up to the surface. (Y/N) tries to fight the tears down. “I really don’t understand this. I get asked how I did, I tell them I don’t feel good about the test and then they talk over me every single time. And when I say I don’t know it, I say it to not get anybody’s hope up high. I don’t want to disappoint anybody.” Finally tears stream down the teenager’s cheeks.

“Oh Sweetheart”, Spencer makes his way over to her and engulfs his daughter in a hug. “Shhh, don’t cry. I know it’s incredibly difficult to live up to their expectations, but you don’t need to. You don’t need to impress them, because their opinion doesn’t matter. Neither your classmate’s, your teacher’s nor the team’s. Not even mine should be important to you. Also, it doesn’t matter what you do, I’ll always be so proud of you, words can’t even describe it. There is literally nothing you can disappoint me with. You pushed and still push through so much crap and still you don’t fail to amaze me. You can never fail to amaze me. You can fail any class and become a professional card counter, I’ll still be proud to be your father. Please don’t cry over something you shouldn’t care about.”

They remain like this for several minutes, grasping each other until (Y/N)’s tears eventually die down. “I just want to be something more than just the smart girl with the good grades. I don’t want to feel like a two dimensional side character in a show, only there to provide the main characters with knowledge. I don’t want to be Velma, River Song, Frozone or Domino from Deadpool 2. I don’t want to be overlooked like this anymore.”Finally talking about her deepest insecurities lets her feel like a weight is lifted off her shoulders.

“And you are so much more”, Spencer encounters, “Some people just choose to ignore it, because you are so much more than their small brain with a low capacity is able to comprehend. They just pick the trait they understand the easiest. But never stop being you. Stay loud, stay complicated and, if you want to stay, uncomfortable for them. The right people will take the time and effort to get to know the real you, not just a copy others think you are. I know, it takes a great amount of patience to wait for them, but it’s worth it in the end. You hear me?”

(Y/N) looks up at her father, a small smile forming on her face. He would walk to the end of the world if it means to see it. “I hear you, Dad. Thank you so much.”

This night the teenager doesn’t get a lot of sleep. There are many thoughts that want to be, well, thought through. Still she wakes up and goes to school with a new amount of confidence.

This sadly only lasts until her first period. The teacher, one who is typically known for grading student’s work pretty fast, gives back yesterday’s quizzes. A small tumoult ensues as everyone compares their scores with each other.

(Y/N)’s anxiety rises into the unmeasurable until her teacher puts down her worksheet without a word. Confused she looks at the B- sitting at the dotted line, where the grade is supposed to be.

Now, a B- isn’t bad or anything, but she spots several answers her teacher didn’t tick as right or wrong. He must have oversaw them. Deciding to ask him about it after class, she puts it away and focuses on the material he is teaching.

So there she is, waiting for other classmates asking their questions regarding the quiz until it’s her turn. Meanwhile her lab partner Masey comes up to the teenager. “And, how did you do?”

“Uh, I got a B- bu-” “Oh my god, I’m better than the class nerd. I’m better than The Brain. Casey, I got a higher score than (Y/N)! I think you, too! Wow, I didn’t know I’m that smart. But no worries, (Y/N). I can explain this unit to you later, so you can do better next time.” This is the final straw for her.

“Hold on a sec, Masey. I’ll get that A, because Mr Harries didn’t see some of my answers. And just for your information: I didn’t ask you about your grade last time, because I knew you would poop that one after trying to explain it to you for four times while I got another A. Like every single time until now. Stop trying to appear cleverer than you are, it doesn’t suit you as much as these pants don't, because they are at least two sizes too small.”

The line finally moves up and (Y/N) is able to show Mr Harries his mistakes. He apologizes profusely, admitting that he maybe was too tired to grade these last quizzes and rewrite the B- to an A.

With her head held high she walks past her classmates, a content smile on her face.

It may be a long road to accept that you can’t be perfect and your grades don’t have to be, but forget this for a second and appreciate the feeling you get proving someone wrong like this.

Taglist:

All works:

@agentshortstacc

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid x teen!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #x daughter!reader #x teen!reader #emily prentiss #derek morgan #spencer reid #jennifer jareau

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rawbins-undertale-blog · 3 years ago

Note

This is a slight TW question, so feel no obligation to answer:

How would horrortale Sans react to an S/O with an eating disorder?

TW for eating disorder(s) (nearly only ARFID is spoken about, anorexia is mentioned)

If I missed any tags you think I should've included, please tell me.

This may sound a bit strange, but I’ve actually been wanting to write something for this, specifically because I suffer from an eating disorder. I’m not comfortable writing anything with an eating disorder (or any disorder in general) I personally don’t have, mostly because I don’t have the time to give it the proper research it deserves, so I’ll be writing about a lesser known eating disorder, that being ARFID. Let me explain it so people who don’t know what it is will, uh, know what it is lol

ARFID - also commonly called “Selective Eating Disorder” - stands for Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder. A lot of people with it are characterised as being “picky eaters”, but it goes to a point where it’s seriously unhealthy and crosses a line that makes it into something more serious. It has to do with sensory processing issues, rather than self-image issues (though self-image issues could also play a part in it I'm pretty sure, but it’s not the main “motivation”). Most people with ARFID actually wish they could go up in weight, but can’t because they can’t make themselves eat. I, for one, desperately wish I could just eat like a normal person, both because it’s very… not convenient to only have around 20 or less meals I can eat (and that list is slimming down as I grow tired of my safe foods*) and also I’m skinny enough to match Papyrus in looks, which isn’t very confidence-inspiring when you’re supposed to be a human and not a sentient magical skeleton, believe it or not. Whereas a person without ARFID could eat most things, including things they don’t really enjoy eating, somebody with ARFID might not be physically able to. For example, I literally throw up food that I don’t like (and I’ve gagged while eating food I do like due to seeing somebody eat something I don’t like and/or just smelling other food nearby). When I'm to try a new food, I have on more than one occasion gotten anxiety attacks. That’s how bad it can be.

*a "safe food" is food you know you can eat without panicking/throwing up/getting triggered in one way or another

I’ll be basing these HCs off of myself, so keep that in mind. You’re free to point out misinformation (and I, in fact, encourage you to point it out if I somehow got something wrong) but I ask that you stay respectful and don’t make fun of this. I doubt it would happen, but this topic means a lot to me and is really serious. So yeah please don’t be rude or invalidate people. Anyways onto the headcanons (which aren’t in the usual format, sorry if that bothers you)

Dusk (HT Sans) wouldn’t really understand. He’s able to eat pretty much anything (not like he had much of a choice for a while) and food is important… But he’ll try to understand. Especially because he can accommodate you. He’ll be fine eating the same meals, however “boring” they are, over and over because like I said: not a picky eater. Any food is good in his book. So long as you’re not restricting him and his food intake and so long as you aren’t dying from starvation and/or malnutrition, you’re free to do whatever.

It does annoy him when you go to social gatherings and you can’t eat the food because it’s not one of your safe foods. He’s not going to let you just starve yourself when there’s perfectly fine food just waiting for you. Not gonna lie, he’s pretty insensitive the first time this happens. Basically, he’ll pull you over when he notices you’re not eating anything and try to convince you to eat. Starts out really gentle and encouraging, but when you don’t budge he becomes increasingly agitated and insistent until he hisses that you’re making a fuss over nothing. Needless to say, you aren’t thrilled and it starts a pretty serious argument that probably ends with you either leaving, starting to cry or blowing up at him. He feels bad when it’s all said and done and apologises, because he realises after some thought that he wasn’t being helpful and he decided to do more research again. Even if he forgot it all like he did the first time he tried researching ARFID, it would have been worth a shot. After that, he’ll instead pack food with him for you whenever you go somewhere. It doesn’t matter if it’s “socially acceptable”, because like I said, you’re not starving if he’s got something to do with it.

He’ll also, after coming around to realise the best he can do to help you isn’t trying to push you out of your comfort zone forcefully, try to make sure there’s always at least one of your safe foods available. Don’t get me wrong though, he’ll still encourage you to expand on your list of safe foods. He’s got memory issues so he sometimes forgets, which he feels really bad about, but he has multiple alarms set to make sure you eat properly for the most part. (He’s got an alarm for nearly every minute of the day and he has his calendar full of things as mundane as “make sure s/o eats” and “do laundry”, by the way.) I have a tendency to skip lunch because I simply don’t like food, but he’d put a stop to that lol

To summarize, the whole thing with you having an ED starts off with the two of you having a rocky start before Dusk comes around to be really good at handling it.

Anyways sorry if you meant an ED like anorexia. I know most people write about things like that, but like I said: I’m not really up for writing things that I have to pour hours of research into to make sure I portray it respectfully and accurately because I don’t have that time or patience. (Or attention span, tbh.) Also, I literally hadn’t heard of ARFID for like… the majority of my life, I’ve only known it’s a “thing” for like. A few months. I really thought I was the only one who was so picky with my food and it made me feel alone and isolated (ESPECIALLY after I went to a "specialist" (not sure if she was actually a specialist anymore because her technique to get me to eat was to give my a small glass that I'd pour sauce into to try it every time it was served which obviously didn't work lmao) to help me when I was like six and she said she’d “never seen somebody this bad” before not giving me a diagnosis (as far as I know)), so if anybody with undiagnosed ARFID is reading this:

you're not alone. I know it’s difficult to deal with this - it can be humiliating and embarrassing and horrible and terrible in so many ways - but you can do it. It’s so hard, so fucking hard to step out of your comfort zone and try to expand on your list of safe foods, but you can do it. I believe in you. You aren’t alone and you can learn to have a healthier diet, please just try. I’ll be honest in that you’re probably never going to completely overcome this, ARFID is something that likely stays with you forever, but you can make it into a smaller problem. You can turn it into something so much smaller and inconsequential that you won't encounter any more embarrassing situations where you can't eat what you're given. To a point where you won't have to use the excuses "I already ate", "I'm not hungry", etc anymore. It’ll take time and patience, but you can do it. Don’t give up, okay? <3

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xxgwenstacyxx · 2 years ago

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Spare the Rod - Chapter 1

Summary: After the war against Kronos, Nico is cursed with obedience by Demeter. Unable to leave the camp or tell anybody about his dilemma, Nico’s only hope is for somebody to figure out what has happened.

Too bad nobody at camp knows him well enough to tell that something’s wrong.

°°° °°°

Nico had almost made it past the camp border.

He should have just taken a short-cut through the shadows – he would have, had he felt physically able to – but the battle against Kronos had drained him, and he hadn't wanted to risk fainting as soon as the shadows spat him back out. He hadn't had any other choice than to sneak out at night like a thief.

Except she'd been waiting. And though Demeter was not feared in the way other Olympian deities were feared, Nico had spent too much time among immortals to believe he might trick his way out of whatever conversation she desired.

The goddess of the harvest demanded an audience, and Nico was in no position to decline.

"My lady." Nico forced his body into a bow as low as his tired muscles would allow.

Demeter looked almost exactly like she had on the rare occasions he'd seen her in the Underworld, only closer in size to a mortal than a goddess. "Already off to your next grand adventure?"

Something in her voice told Nico he needed to tread very, very carefully.

"The battle is won," he said slowly. "I've done what I could."

"Yes. The battle." She sniffed. "Do you know how long it took to clean up all the wheat I had to grow out of monsters? Nasty little crops they made. No nutritional value."

Nico thought of all the funeral shrouds they'd burned over the past week. Of how he would have left days ago, had there not been another, and another, and another demigod to honor. It wouldn't have felt right to leave without witnessing their rites of passage to the Underworld.

But gods forbid Demeter needed to clean up a wheat field or two.

"We are very grateful for your assistance, my lady," he bit out, though he could tell that he wasn't doing a good job sounding genuine. "Yours and your daughter's, as well."

"Oh, she would have been far better off sitting out this horrid mess in the castle. But no, Hades just had to cave." She rolled her eyes carelessly. "Any self-respecting god wouldn't have bowed to some half-blood's pestering, but he's always been–"

"I wouldn't have needed to pester him if he'd agreed to help from the start," Nico snapped.

Some part of his brain was screaming at him to stand down. To fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Demeter wasn't intimidating like Ares, or Zeus, but she still had the power to vaporize him.

Another, angrier part of him had spent days at the funerals of people he'd felt die in battle. He'd had no time to heal, he hadn't slept – how, when he had no cabin of his own, and he most certainly wasn't going to creep people out in the Hermes cabin – and he had no patience left to placate a goddess who'd done the bare minimum and now dared to complain.

Demeter clicked her tongue in displeasure. "In previous times, half-bloods still had respect for the gods. Especially their parents. If you were my son, you would have known not to overstep after being told no."

"Times changed," Nico said curtly, still ignoring the part of his brain blaring alarm sirens at him to stop. "These days, respect needs to be earned."

"And what is that supposed to mean, child?"

"Back in the day gods may have been worshiped just for existing, but maybe it's time you made an effort now that your kids were the ones to save Olympus."

Demeter frowned and crossed her arms. "I do not appreciate your attitude, boy."

"I'll live." Nico turned on his heel, drunk on sleep-deprivation and righteous anger.

Demeter made a disapproving sound with her tongue. "That won't do. Turn around. Don't turn your back on me again."

Nico had no time to debate whether to obey her before his back went rigid and his body turned on its heel without his permission. A shiver ran over his spine over what he had just done.

Demeter gave him a look of consideration. "I can tell that scolding you will not do any good. Your father has been far too lenient with you. Typical."

"My lady.” Nico did his best to keep the alarm out of his voice. “I apologize for stepping out of line. It has been a long week, and–"

"Oh, no. My dear, you've had attitude problems long before this whole mess with Kronos started."

"If you will just allow me to request an audience with my father–"

"Like you've 'requested audiences' in the past? Bursting into the palace whenever it suited you? But of course you would. He let you. No, Nico, I rather believe we're past letting your father handle your parenting." She made a thoughtful expression.

The foreboding sensation in his gut morphed into one of terror. Nico tried to reach for the shadows for a swift retreat, not caring if he lost consciousness afterwards, but he was frozen in place.

#pjo #nico di angelo #percy jackson #my writing #pjo fanfiction

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gravesightings · 4 years ago

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jealousy meter - masked slasher edition

masked slashers jealousy hcs + how to quell their anger.

Asa Emory / The Collector

controls his temper really well but the vibes he gives off just screams murder.

if you’re being hit on, he’ll step in before ushering you behind him. sarcastically asks the stranger if they needed anything.

if they're persistent, asa will get more ....uncivil by the minute. he won’t start a fight though.

if they touch you - he’s going to be PISSED. now it’s personal. he’ll waste no time in prying their filthy little fingers off you.

again, he won’t start a fight but he’ll have any notable features memorized so he can deal with them later on.

rating: 8/10. won’t publicly fight anyone but this man holds grudges. touching you = stuffs them in a trunk for his own twisted amusement. might even show it off to you if he’s feeling particularly immoral.

solution: distract him. cling to his arm and take his attention away from the poor idiot who tried flirting with you. not usually a fan of pda but he’ll have an arm around you for protection. no amount of sweet-talking will stop him from abducting the creep later on though.

Brahms Heelshire

unsurprisingly gets jealous of the only other person you get to talk to.

who takes this long to drop off some groceries? why can’t he take a bloody cheque and just fuck off already?

somehow, in some way, he’s going to figure out how to get that fool out of the house without being seen.

was he... hitting on you? gasp! THE NERVE-- starts breaking objects in other rooms. scatters rat corpses all over the man’s car.

brahms will either be grabby hands at you as soon as you’re alone or just stubbornly keep you in his arms until you make him feel better.

rating: 10/10. hates it whenever the grocery boy drops by, especially when he’s blatantly checking you out. especially if he’s still breathing. AWFUL tantrums during and afterwards.

solution: praise him while showering him with affection. hold him tight and tell him how much you love him. kisses make his anger melt away fast. let him glue himself onto you until the next week or he’ll get upset.

Bubba Sawyer / Leatherface

thinks he’s not exactly ideal boyfriend material and he knows how much you prefer not being a cannibal.

big boy sad. initially gets mad when he sees someone flirt with you, but he’s plagued with insecurities. maybe you wanted someone normal and nice-looking. maybe you’re sick of living with the sawyers.

snaps out of it if he sees you uncomfortable. bubba is quick on his feet! don’t worry he’ll save you!!! literally saws the man in half.

creeper? dead. meat? acquired. yee? haw. he’ll quickly check to see if you’re okay. doesn’t quite understand if you freak out on him.

chainsaw go brrr. bubby doesn’t hold grudges and he’s not mad at you or ...whoever this guy was! he’s a simple man: he sees a problem, he saws it in half.

rating: 5/10. not above keeping you in a room to avoid unwanted attention. just gets sad and insecure a lot. tries to “save” you from everyone.

solution: just as easily swayed. please keep reassuring him otherwise he’s just going to keep tearing himself down. usually just reminding him how much you love him will work but why not give him some extra cuddles while you’re at it?

Jesse Cromeans / Chromeskull

very possessive. confident in himself and your relationship but gets an ego boost every time he successfully adds to his body count.

he sees a threat, he eliminates it. simple as that. jesse has more patience than the rest but his violent tendencies tend to get the better of him.

very observant so he’s most likely already blocking you from a creep. uses his towering figure to lowkey cover you. what is he doing, you ask? oh nothing, dear. pets you.

if they still stupidly pursue, he’ll be an asshole about it. “exit’s that way, pal.”

if a stranger tries to reach out for you - it’s game over. let’s just say he might not care if his partner has a weak stomach.

rating: 10/10. bathes in the blood of your fallen admirers. if he feels especially sinister he’ll let them live to pour salt on their wounds. snogs you in front of them after he’s broken both their legs.

solution: literally nothing. jesse’s just the type to kill people for fun. trying to reassure him would just feed into his ego.

Jason Voorhees

believes that his protection is the only thing he can offer you so if he happens to fail at that, he’s going to blame himself for the longest time.

if you’re within the stranger’s reach, alarm bells are rapidly going off in his mind. too close. they might hurt you. silently hopes you run away.

they might not even be able to get a word out honestly? being tackled by jason voorhees probably feels like being hit by a train.

if he’s somehow preoccupied with other trespassers and found you a bit late, he’ll see red as soon as he discovers a horny trespasser had been harassing his beloved!

full speed ahead! all aboard the jason train!

avoids killing in front of you if possible. at the best of his days he’s still questioning why you even stay with him. you’re not afraid of him now but you might change your mind if you see him off someone with his bare hands. it’s a risk he’s not willing to take.

rating: 7/10. similar to bubba, he often tries to “save” you from everyone. he’s also got a lot of insecurities himself so he might keep you in his cabin as an absolute last resort.

solution: heavy dose of TLC. jason’s indifferent towards verbal affirmations - he’s seen people lie all the time. the best way to reassure him is through actions: holding him, mending his clothes, helping around the camp, etc. it’s the little things that have the biggest impact on him.

Michael Myers

the most possessive out of the bunch. stalks you all the time because he’s mike myers and that’s what he does.

hates people and tolerates you at best. people around you though? ick. talking to you and smiling at you? disgusting. doesn’t even smile at you himself, but it’s not like you expect him to. and that’s why you’re his tolerable little thing.

flirting with you? VILE. he’s already made his way inside the premises. mikey is going to back this person into a corner and take his sweet time.

also stalks anyone you meet regularly. don’t be surprised if they rant to you about the harmless but unsettling encounters with a “masked man.”

you are not free from michael’s wrath. he’s going to mark you up in any way he can. if he’s feeling especially territorial he might even show up maskless at your workplace to “pick you up.” (cue him rawing you in the nearest restroom.)

rating: 100/10. AWFUL. he’s gone off the charts, folks! all you need now is a leash and a collar and you’re all set. luckily this hasn’t crossed his mind yet.

solution: bold of you to assume he’s doing this for you. you better believe mikey’s just doing this for his own satisfaction. this man is simply a asshole and nothing can stop him.

Thomas Hewitt / Leatherface

middle man tommy is both insecure and possessive, but he does genuinely care about you. unlike bastard hands mcmike.

very similar to bubba. he’s haunted by his insecurities and believes well in the fact that others can offer a lot more for you than he can.

he won’t jump in with the saw right away, but he’ll immediately come to your side. just kinda stands there and looks as menacing as possible, just silently daring them to try something.

he’ll make sure to put himself between you and the stranger. if they persist then he’ll get to the wrangling. won’t kill them if hoyt isn’t around but won’t let them go unscathed either.

lowkey gets clingy after the ordeal. you need to be in his sights now at all times. won’t keep you around the gore but he’s always within earshot.

rating: 9/10. more likely to keep you in a confined space for safekeeping. you’re too good for this world and tommy’s not about to let anybody hurt you.

solution: very similar to jason, he needs a HEFTY amount of TLC. more actions instead of words. would probably get emotional if you whisper sweet nothings to him though.

Vincent Sinclair

very insecure and would bend over backwards for you. doesn’t get possessive but worries you’ll get tired of him.

he’s also going to convince himself that you’re much better off with a “better-looking” boyfriend that can give you a normal life.

if a victim starts flirting with you, he's already close by, listening intently. wax man sneaky. he’ll knock them out mid-conversation and pull them away from you. saves them for last so they can watch all their companions get waxed.

if they touch you though, he’ll jump in and disembowel them in two seconds flat.

either way - he’s not going to turn them into wax figures. please don’t ask him why. he’s too ashamed to admit his jealousy.

rating: 6/10. stews in his own insecurities and sulks a lot. only time he’ll get angry is if someone touches you inappropriately - then he’ll get extremely violent.

solution: keep him company. seriously, you don’t even need any sort of activity. just do your own thing in the basement while he works on his art and he’ll be more at ease. (but he also enjoys random kisses throughout the day too, he’s just too shy to ask.)

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years ago

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The Great Madripoorian Snake Off

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: M Word Count: 3950

Summary: All Sam argued was that Bucky shouldn't have to pretend to be the Winter Soldier. He never suggested Bucky pose as his husband instead.

The Baron—with his garage of vintage cars and his popped-collar bullshit—starts getting a little too comfortable. Somewhere between his prison cell and his private plane, he begins to act as though he’s the one running the show, so when he states, despicably blasé, that Bucky will need to go undercover as the Winter Soldier, Sam tells Zemo no. Not as forcefully as he forbade him from speaking earlier, but firmly enough that Sam thinks it’s clear that he won’t be changing his mind.

“But it’s the only way,” Zemo says, spreading his hands. “As the Winter Soldier, he is a very believable bodyguard.”

“Maybe he doesn’t need to act like a bodyguard,” Sam argues.

“A show of strength is—”

“Is that really what we need? I thought we were trying to fly under the radar. If we’re advertising Bucky’s capabilities like that, doesn’t that make us a target?”

“Yes,” Bucky mumbles, mostly staying out of it.

Sam’s irritated that Bucky’s not standing up for himself, not pushing back against Zemo’s half-baked plan. Having Zemo here is a lot to deal with, Sam gets that, but if they don’t fight him on this shit now, he has a bad feeling they’re going to regret it when they end up in a firefight. Whatever. He’ll speak up on Bucky’s behalf to save them both grief in the near future. He hopes Bucky would do the same for him.

“Whether or not you acknowledge what he is…” Zemo begins again.

“Who,” Sam says, gaze flicking to Bucky’s face, which is tilting down as he avoids eye contact. “Who he is.”

“…you have the risk of aggression.”

“Buck?” Sam checks. He stares until Bucky’s eyes dart up to meet his. “You gonna keep your cool in there?”

“Best behaviour,” he promises. His blue eyes are suspiciously steady, like always.

“That means,” Zemo translates with a finger raised to complement his interjection, “he’ll react whenever and however he feels he needs to. There is no guarantee it will align with your own conduct.”

“Yeah, man, I know,” Sam snaps.

Like he needs Zemo to explain Bucky to him; Sam knows Bucky. He knows he’s stubborn at best and a reckless hot-head at worst, but he also knows Bucky’s working on that. There’s no need to state how little Zemo expects from Bucky right in front of him. If anybody’s gonna complain about Bucky’s aggravating habit of doing the opposite of whatever Sam wants him to, it’ll be Sam.

He’s still glaring at the Baron when Bucky shifts in his seat, hands clenching in his lap. Sam’s eyes go to the fists, then up to Bucky’s face.

“You see that?” Zemo asks, sounding deeply amused as he nods towards Bucky. “He’s going to insist on playing a bodyguard.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ignore him,” Bucky says, quick and low like a kick to the ankle.

“He’s ready to jump to your defense,” Zemo says. He’s grinning, propping his elbows on his armrests and lacing his fingers—looking like the villain he’s already been sentenced for being. “He shows a strong instinct to protect you.”

“Put Bucky with me then,” Sam says reflexively. He glances at Bucky. “If that works for you.” His gaze slides back to Zemo after Bucky’s subtle nod. “If you don’t dress him up like he’s the Winter Soldier and make him act like he’s the Winter Soldier and have him take goddamn orders from you like he’s the Winter Soldier, who’s gonna know? We’re counting on people not being too perceptive, right? That’s why I’m using this Smiling Tiger dude’s identity instead of a made-up one.”

“That’s true,” Bucky says. His tone is gruff as he backs Sam up. “You can’t have it both ways, Zemo. Either we’re both pretending to be real people or neither of us is.”

“I don’t understand,” the Baron says affably, looking between them with a smile. This plane’s gotta hurry up and land before Sam gives in to the urge to stick Zemo’s head in the toilet and flush. “Smiling Tiger and the Winter Soldier are both real people.”

“No. They’re not.”

The silence strains with the pressure behind Bucky’s words. It feels to Sam as though Bucky’s just thrown up a forcefield between himself and Zemo, forbidding him access to the Winter Soldier. Sam can see the disappointment on Zemo’s face, but that asshole will have to wait to express it because the plane’s easing into its descent, circling over Madripoor before setting down on a private airstrip outside the city.

From the hangar, Zemo conducts a short, hushed phone call while Sam watches him with crossed arms. Doesn’t seem to be anything sinister for the moment, because the only result of the call that he witnesses is the arrival of a narrow selection of men’s clothing—including a pair of garish suits. The man who brings the garments laughs with Zemo while Sam and Bucky change in the bathroom off the hangar’s office.

When they see each other, Sam appraises Bucky. His outfit is dark and nondescript. Pricey in its details, but forgettable to anyone who doesn’t have good reason to look closely. (Sam tears his eyes away.) In contrast, Sam’s been urged to choose between the brightly-patterned suits. Layers of fabric and layers of necklaces to top it off. Not exactly Sam’s choice if he were to dress himself in anything on Zemo’s dime, but the Baron insists, flashing him a photo of Smiling Tiger to strengthen his case for bold fashion choices.

“I thought we were making characters up,” Sam says when he looks away from the screen, fiddling with his jewellery.

“This will be easier,” Zemo swears.

He dismisses his contact and the three of them—Zemo, Sam, and Bucky—walk out of the hangar, heading for a bridge with swooping arches and the lights of Madripoor beyond. Apparently, a car will catch up with them. They have until that time to work out their cover without anybody listening in.

“So I’m supposed to be Sam’s bodyguard?” Bucky checks. “Is that what’s happening?”

“You can’t be Smiling Tiger’s bodyguard,” Zemo answers, dismissing it with a wave of his hand.

“Why not?” Sam demands.

“Smiling Tiger is never seen with a bodyguard. Everyone knows he has them, but they remain at a distance.”

“Why’s that?”

“Arrogance, most likely,” Zemo says with a smile that Sam would definitely call arrogant. “Smiling Tiger affects an untouchable persona. The presumption of invincibility may not allow him to enjoy a terribly long life, but what committed criminal does?”

“You’re doing alright so far,” Bucky remarks flatly.

Sam sighs and gets them back on track. He’s already fed up with Zemo and these heeled shoes suck, so he’s losing what patience he had.

“What’s Bucky’s role then?” he asks. “We’re sticking together. If you get us some clandestine meeting with somebody who can tell us about the super-soldier serum, we’ll have to be able to explain who Bucky is.”

“Whoever he is, he’s in your orbit, not mine,” Zemo says. “That’s what you decided on, even though my plan would have worked flawlessly—”

“I don’t have any sympathy for you not getting to play puppet master with the Winter Soldier. It’s not necessary, just you looking for any chance to fuck with Bucky’s head. How about you get over it and show a little of the craftiness that helped you break out of prison?”

“Thanks to me,” Bucky notes.

“You want a new plan?” Zemo asks. “Ok. You’re together.”

“No shit we’re together. Like Sam said.”

“No, no,” Zemo says, smiling like he’s about to be a real dick. “You can be Smiling Tiger’s boyfriend. No—husband. That could be useful.”

Bucky stops in his tracks and Sam grips Zemo’s arm to force him to halt as well.

“But...” Bucky says.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, though Bucky doesn’t get any further in words. His eyes are considerably more expressive, but Sam can’t read them, the emotions flying past too quicky, a kite flipping around in a strong wind.

“It allows James to be near you,” Zemo tells him, “and would explain any protective gestures. It’s the simplest solution. Tell me I’m wrong. I know you enjoy doing that.”

“You’re wrong.”

But Sam isn’t so sure about that. They all begin walking again and, by unspoken understanding, allow Zemo to drift slightly ahead. Bucky moves silently to Sam’s side.

“You think this is a good idea?”

“For the record, I don’t like it,” Sam says.

“Neither do I. We’re almost outta time though.”

Sam looks sideways and narrows his eyes at Bucky’s determined expression.

“You’re not fighting this very hard. Is it because you and Zemo have been in cahoots since the prison?”

“We’re not in cahoots.”

“Then why are you so fine with this?”

“It’s better than being the Winter Soldier,” Bucky says.

“The nickname’s a downgrade though,” Sam quips back. Could be a bad time for a joke, but if they’re doing this he can’t have Bucky going into it with that bleak attitude. They need to be more at ease with each other.

The thought alone makes him want to shove Bucky from this bridge and lean over the side to watch the splash.

“Mr. and Mr. Smiling Tiger,” Bucky says miserably. “Fuck.”

“For all I know, Zemo’s making this guy up,” Sam hisses, glancing at the Baron’s back, “so I have to use a stupid name and wear a stupid suit.”

“Seems a little petty for Zemo.”

“He’s gonna try to break us with the small stuff, just you watch.”

“You’re being paranoid,” Bucky tells him.

“That’s exactly what somebody who’s in cahoots with Zemo would say,” Sam accuses. “He’s been working on you since you left me out in the hallway and went in to meet him in his cell alone.” He tugs on the hem of his fitted jacket. “Gotta be vigilant.”

“Whatever you say, Smiling Tiger.”

“You know, I don’t want to hold hands with you, but I’ll do it just to irritate you more than you’re irritating me.”

Bucky glares at him.

The hand-holding is supposed to begin and end as a bluff, but when they get in the back of the car together and Zemo twists around in the passenger seat to give them a significant look, Sam figures he’s trying to get some show of affection out of them. Zemo’s obviously paid the driver—and the hired guns flanking the car on their motorcycles—but this is Madripoor, where competing interests pay competing sums for tip-offs; Sam can admit to himself that, not too far from here, multiple somebodies probably already know Baron Zemo and Co. are in the city. Any one of Zemo’s hires could be reporting on them. He swallows and inches his hand across the middle seat towards Bucky’s.

Zemo gives him an approving nod and a dorky ok sign that makes Sam roll his eyes. When he’s facing forward again, Sam bumps his hand into Bucky’s. With a jerk, Bucky goes from staring out his window to down at their hands.

“Just do it, man,” Sam says under his breath, glancing at the side of the driver’s face.

“Nothing I want more,” Bucky says with zero enthusiasm. He flips his hand over for Sam to grasp and adds, “Babe.”

Just for that, Sam intertwines their fingers to make the hold as intimate as possible. He sees Bucky’s jaw tighten, but before he can probe his staring eyes for meaning, Bucky’s looking out the window again.

Not letting go immediately goes from part of the act to a competition between them. Sam catches the driver peering at the two of them in the rear-view mirror and yanks their joined hands over so the back of Bucky’s rests on his thigh. In obvious retaliation, Bucky clamps Sam’s hand securely when the car rolls to a stop in Low Town, forcing Sam to scoot across the back seat and climb out Bucky’s door.

“You could look a little happier about this,” Zemo suggests, motioning to their rigid arms while they maintain a squeezing hand-hold, as if the Baron’s about to attempt to red-rover his way between them.

“That better not be you telling me to smile,” Sam warns.

“I thought Sam’s nickname was supposed to be ironic,” Bucky says.

“What do I know,” Zemo says. He raises his hands in a gesture of harmlessness—that Sam absolutely does not buy—and leads them up the street.

“He’s not wrong,” Bucky turns his head to mutter as Sam’s gaze roves over a series of seedy deals conducted right out in the open. “You could loosen up a little. You look mad. It’s suspicious.”

“Oh, I could loosen up?” Sam shoots back. “Try wiping that death-stare off your face for five minutes.”

“Hey, I’m allowed to look like this. I’m acting protective, remember?”

“Well, maybe I look mad because your hand’s all sweaty.”

“It’s your hand that’s sweaty!”

“Uh, no.”

“You want me to switch hands?” Bucky asks, eyes boring into Sam’s and startling him because, beneath the exasperation, there’s unmistakable fear. Could be the situation, or the fact that they’re kinda putting their lives in Zemo’s hands here, or that he expects Sam to recoil at even the suggestion of clasping his Vibranium hand like a lover would.

“Yeah,” he says. “Gimme the other one.”

They stare each other down until Bucky shrugs it off, refusing to switch. Sam hopes he knows that he would’ve, that it doesn’t need to be a big deal, and that it’s probably just all Zemo’s talk of manipulating Bucky into playing the part of the Winter Soldier that has him extra wary of his own prosthetic. His Vibranium hand is currently covered by a leather glove and Sam’s glad the Baron can’t see the sleek metal when he looks back at them with greedy eyes full of an agenda Sam’s certain they only know a piece of.

“Almost there,” Zemo tells them.

“I’m gonna try not to attract attention,” Bucky says quietly, making Sam stop with him before they can enter the bar. “I might not talk much.”

“That’s fine,” Sam assures him. “We’ll let Zemo take the lead. You just stay close, alright?”

Bucky nods and they duck inside, following the back of Zemo’s high collar as they weave through a crowd of disreputable characters. It’s packed in here. Sam tries to keep his chest out, his head up, his body moving like this suit is type of thing he wears all the time. Bucky releases his hand to walk behind him, leaving Sam’s palm clammy and cold.

When Sam stops abruptly to let Zemo reach the bartender first, Bucky walks into him. Honestly, his solid presence is a relief and Sam shuts his eyes to reset for a second before turning his head partway.

“That a knife in your front pocket? I thought we were being inconspicuous.”

“It is inconspicuous,” Bucky replies, brushing past him to stand at his side instead of right against his back. “Nobody’s gonna know it’s there unless I have to pull it out.”

“I know it’s there.”

“I wasn’t counting on you pressing your ass against it.”

Sam opens his mouth, but all he can do is make a disgruntled noise before Zemo’s turning away from the bartender with a smile to wave Sam and Bucky forward.

“Ah,” says the Baron. “Will you join me, Smiling Tiger?”

Repeatedly telling himself to keep his shit together, Sam comes up to the bar, leaning an arm on the surface. He isn’t expecting pushback from the bartender, but maybe Zemo doesn’t have quite as much clout in Madripoor as he imagines; the bartender holds Sam’s eyes for a moment before glancing pointedly to Bucky. Sam can feel Bucky hovering at his back.

“My husband,” Sam states. Probably best to keep his answers short. He might look like the real Smiling Tiger, but he has no idea whether or not he sounds anything like him.

The bartender just stares back, then drops his gaze to Sam’s hand, splayed on the bar top. Shit. He knows what the man’s thinking: no ring. Although Sam’s totally good with leaping out of the back of airplanes, being required to improvise with words has him panicking. If he and Bucky had thought to come up with an excuse for why a guy like Smiling Tiger—who’s evidently comfortable being decked out in jewellery—wouldn’t wear a wedding ring, he could deliver it now, but without rehearsing? He’s not a smooth or practiced liar.

Defensively, he draws away from the bar and feels his shoulder hit someone. Bucky. Sam looks from where his shoulder is pressing into Bucky’s chest, then up to his eyes. Wordlessly, he asks for assistance. Bucky leans forward to make his voice heard over the noise of the room and Sam exhales slowly in swift relief. But that’s until Bucky says to the bartender, “Just between you and me, Smiling Tiger says he won’t wear a ring until I find him something that looks better wrapped around him than my mouth.”

The bartender doesn’t react. Sam’s trying not to either, but the expression Bucky petrified onto his face when he spoke can’t look natural. He glances at Zemo, who appears to be unequivocally enjoying their sloppy storytelling. Lifting a glass, the Baron toasts Sam and Bucky.

“Newlyweds,” he says.

With titanic effort, Sam manages a tight approximation of a smile, then angles his face away to speak to Bucky.

“Why the hell would you say that?” he groans.

Bucky gives him a brief glance before returning his gaze to the inscrutable bartender. He fucking beams at him, at the same time replying to Sam from between his clamped teeth.

“Because we’re deeply in love.”

“According to you, the only thing I’ve been deeply in recently is—”

“The usual, Smiling Tiger?” the bartender asks, cutting off Sam’s mumbled conversation.

He nods and the man puts his back to them as he prepares whatever Smiling Tiger’s signature drink is.

“I believe it,” Zemo offers, murmuring into his drink as he tips it back.

“We didn’t ask,” Bucky tells him.

Sam can still feel Bucky standing there, making casual contact that alters slightly as he speaks. What is he doing? Shifting to put himself between Sam and Zemo? The Baron might’ve been right about his protective instinct, though Sam’s sure as hell never noticed this before. No, Zemo’s gotta be wrong. These are extreme circumstances—stressful circumstances—and he and Bucky are just putting their backs together (figuratively), ready to defend against an attack from anyone but each other. That doesn’t mean anything except that they’ve been in combat together and developed a certain amount of dependability and, alright, trust.

“The chemistry is there,” Zemo continues casually, dissecting after being blatantly told not to. “The history, the tension. It’s absolutely electric.”

Zemo is spared the merciless comeback forming in Sam’s mouth when the bartender slaps an entire dead snake down in front of them and starts to gut it. Even Bucky flinches against him. Sam can’t remember the last thing he ate, but he has a bad feeling he’s going to be reminded any second when he ralphs it up between his fancy shoes.

“Hey,” Bucky says, grabbing his arm and turning him away from the bar.

Sam wants to knock his hand away because he can’t break character now. This could be some kind of test, ordered by the person Zemo brought them here to make contact with and carried out by the bartender. Sam needs to be unfazed by this and he’s taking shallow breaths through his mouth (because what he doesn’t need to do is find out what that snake’s corpse smells like), striving to regain his composure.

And Bucky… well, Bucky just has to fuck that up for him.

Vibranium fingers take gentle grip of Sam’s jaw as Bucky tilts his head and plants a firm kiss on his lips. Sam hates that this is easier to improvise than a spoken lie. And he’d be lying to himself if he couldn’t admit that he’s thought about this. A dozen times, just today. He grabs Bucky by the hips, hauling him against him. In his head, thoughts and stimuli are unfolding and collapsing like his wings—the thick slicing sound of the bartender’s knife, Who the hell does Bucky think he is, kissing me out of nowhere?, the puff of air leaving Bucky’s nose and hitting Sam’s cheek, All of this is Zemo’s fault, the soft feel of Bucky’s bottom lip between his teeth, Fuck that, Zemo’s not getting credit for this, the ridge of the knife in Bucky’s front pocket as it pushes against Sam’s thigh. That is still the knife, isn’t it?

When Bucky breaks it off, he looks a little dazed. Sam wants to laugh and tell him, Hey, that was your idea, but there seems to be a lag in his ability to banter. At the sound of a glass being set on the bar behind him, he recalls what was going on right before Bucky initiated that kiss and from what, therefore, Bucky was trying to spare him.

“Thanks,” Sam mouths.

Holding his gaze, Bucky nods.

Sam rotates to find a shot glass with something distressing floating inside. His stomach lurches like a student driver’s ride as he stares at the slimy lump in the glass. Bucky moves around him to prop an elbow on the bar, excitement in his eyes, clearly ready to watch Sam swallow whichever organ the bartender just harvested for his consumption. What a dick. So much for Bucky protecting him.

It makes Sam shudder just to close his fingers around the glass, but when he catches Bucky looking like he’s suppressing a laugh, he suddenly knows exactly what’ll make him feel better.

“I hate for you to waste a good snake,” Sam tells the bartender. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bucky’s face fall. “You’ve got plenty of choice pieces left. Pour another one of these for my husband.”

With the final word of his order, he takes his hand from the bar to smack Bucky’s ass.

“I was just starting to think about forgiving you for breaking Zemo outta prison and you had to look at me like you can’t wait for me to down this snake drink,” Sam says, focusing on Bucky while the bartender takes his knife to the snake a second time.

“So this is the punishment?” Bucky asks.

“I believe it’s more of a trust exercise,” Zemo offers. Oh, that’s right, he’s still here. Between the nastiest drink-making process he’s ever witnessed and making out with Bucky, Sam actually stopped being aware of Zemo. “Really, it’s symbolic, James. Sam would like for the two of you to go through this together, to strengthen your bond with a shared experience. The gesture is quite moving.”

“Can we get one for the Baron too?” Bucky requests as the bartender sets his drink in front of him. “Wouldn’t want him to feel left out.”

Zemo attempts to wave it off, but Sam piles on with an “I insist,” and apparently an insistence from Smiling Tiger is worth more than the manners of a backpedalling Helmut Zemo in this city. Or the bartender doesn’t like the Baron either.

“We’re gonna talk about that kiss later,” Sam informs Bucky, ignoring Zemo’s expression of pure dread.

“Why don’t we talk about it now and skip the—”

“Because I said so.” Sam raises his shot glass in Bucky’s direction. “Cheers.”

Watching Bucky reluctantly lift his own drink from the bar, Smiling Tiger finally smiles.

#my writing #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #Helmut Zemo #Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes #sambucky

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thran-duils · 4 years ago

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Use All of Me (P.11)

Title: Use All Of Me (Part Eleven) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark Mob!Steve Rogers. The Avengers are heroes saving the world but in this AU, they are also permitted by the powers in charge to have less than favorable business underneath their guise of mere superheroes. Steve and Tony are at the helm, keeping their empire’s wealth in check, both devious and perilous if crossed. Steve takes a liking to the reader at a party and it may be her undoing to her autonomy choosing to go home with him. Words: 2,711 Warnings: Dark AF, angst, emotional/mental abuse, smut, breeding, death Author’s Note: As some of my midwest friends have poked fun at, a freeway to me is an interstate, like I5 and I90. A highway to me refers to state routes or highways with stop lights along it at certain spots. I know it’s not a huge deal but I like to explain cause it’s definitely regional and sets the scene of what I am thinking of when I’m writing.

Part Ten || Part Twelve || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

“I need somebody, ANYBODY, to get in a car or something and get to Grand Central terminal right now.”

Steve was on multiple way call with the team that answered the phone, sitting in the passenger seat while Natasha sped down the freeway. Tony had separated from them, heading towards the Avengers facility where he could have more cameras which gave him more eyes. Facial recognition was granted at the facility grounds on a larger scale of satellites too unlike his house.

“You wanna tell us what for?” Rhodes asked perplexed.

“Y/N left,” Steve snapped. There was a chorus of murmurs from all ends of the phone call, generally ignored by Steve who was too hot headed to acknowledge their concern. “I don’t know where the hell she is going. But Nat heard her whispering to her friend in the bathroom about taking a train. To god knows where.

“Do we know it’s going to be Grand Central?” Sam inquired calmly.

“No, not for sure! But I want it covered. As soon as possible! They got a half hour head start or so from my house. Nat and I are going to Penn. That’s where the Amtrak is. Tony’s accessing surveillance, using facial recognition.

“What do you want us to do if we find her?” Bucky asked.

“Don’t hurt her,” Steve ordered.

“Well, no shit,” Bucky cut in, unable to hold back his sarcasm. “I meant, where do you want us to—”

“She’s with one – or two, I’m not sure – of her friends,” Steve interrupted, strained. “Try to make it as quiet as possible. I don’t want it all over the evening news. Just—get Y/N away from there.”

“What about her friends?” Clint pointed out.

“I’ll deal with them later,” Steve got out in a surly tone. “Call me if you find her.”

<><><>

You laid across the backseat of the car, examining your nails.

“I really don’t like you having no seatbelt on,” Natalie said for what felt like the tenth time since you had escaped past the gate of your house.

“I’ll sit up when my back hurts,” you responded, stretching one of your legs as far as you could towards the ceiling. You grunted when you felt a pull in your lower abdomen.

“We are out of the gate, Y/N. And away from cameras. We are on a highway.”

“There are still cameras. But I know. It’s been like an hour.”

You were tingling with anticipation, threatening to eat you alive. You half expected Natalie to slam on her brakes at any seconds because Steve landed in front of the car in the lane. You doubted though he would want to put you in danger and that could cause a huge accident.

Would not want to hurt his precious cargo, you thought to yourself darkly.

Yua sighed from the passenger seat and looked back at you around the seat. She had decided to come with the pair of you and had been filled in on the situation after you had successfully gotten through the gate. You almost snorted at the absurdity of the fact all you had to do was wear a hood and one of Steve’s baseball caps to shield your face and make sure to not make eye contact with the guards meandering around the gate. Holding the backpack in your lap had helped to hide your stomach.

“Y/N. Sit up. Please. Stop making Natalie get worry lines, it’s starting to stress me out. It’s not like they won’t be looking for Natalie’s plates in the cameras if they have access outside of New York.” You were sure Tony did. His company was worldwide. “I don’t think them seeing your face is going to make any difference. They saw you get in the car on the surveillance tapes at your house by now.”

You exhaled heavily, knowing she was right. You imagined Steve seeing the tapes and turning around to tear a door of his hinges, hurling it across the room. You would laugh at the imagery if it did not simultaneously terrify you. Sitting up with some difficulty, you patted Natalie’s shoulder who thanked you.

The two of them had turned their phones off – you had left yours behind. You were sure Tony would figure out how to track theirs but yours was definitely compromised. You did not even want it on you, choosing to leave it on the entrance table by the front door.

It was scary. You could not stop thinking about how angry Steve would be – was. It was present tense now for sure. He had to have figured out you were missing by now. Otherwise, Wanda, Bryce, and Patricia were completely inept, which you knew was not the case.

Staring out the window, you watched the trees go by trying to think about the nature walks you could go on without watchful eyes around the cabin. It lulled you into some sense of relaxation.

<><><>

Steve stormed through the terminal, his eyes watchful on the crowd for anything that screamed Y/N from behind or a profile. His eyes zeroed in on the back of a woman’s head and he changed course quickly, coming up to her, shoving his way through the crowd much to some people’s annoyance at being shoved aside. He grabbed her arm and whipped her around when he was on her.

She cried out in half fear and half pain.

It was not Y/N.

“Sorry,” he said not sounding sorry at all. “Thought you were someone else.”

She glared at him, rubbing her arm. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Steve bit back a comment, turning from her without a word.

“Hey, aren’t you Captain America?” someone asked him from a few feet away. That caught the woman’s attention, as well as others.

Steve shot the kid an annoyed look and said clipped, “Not right now, kid. Sorry. I’m busy.”

He took off again before anyone could say anything else, god forbid ask him for an autograph or a selfie. His heart was hammering, searching desperately. He came to a stop, staring out over the crowd. Hope she was here was dwindling fast. He felt like his chest was going to explode from the myriad of feelings coursing through him right now.

I’m not seeing her, Natasha texted him. He had sent her the opposite way from him, telling her to check the female bathrooms that direction. He was getting similar texts from the group at Grand Central too and he could not stand to look at his phone anymore, shoving it into his back pocket furiously.

He ran his hand through his hair, tugging on it near the ends in frustration. He took one more stroll down the terminal, scouring it to make sure he had not missed her. Natasha appeared and without a word went into the bathrooms to cover her bases.

When she appeared again, she was empty handed. She approached him slowly, with caution, his gaze burning into her.

“I shouldn’t have left the house,” Natasha said, shaking her head. She looked disappointed and guilty.

“You couldn’t have known it was going to be right then,” Steve said tightly. He had little patience for coddling someone else’s feelings right now but extended the gesture briefly because it was Nat. His face hardened, shaking his head slightly. “I’m gonna tell them I’m heading home to speak to that bumbling idiot I call my security guard.”

<><><>

Natasha had barely got the car into park before Steve threw the door open and made a beeline for the front door of his house. The door bounced off the wall with the sheer force he threw it open with. Natasha followed him, far more collected. She grabbed the door, closing it, eyeing the hole the doorhandle had made into the wall. She shook her head before following Steve towards the living room.

Bryce stood up from the couch on sight seeing Steve. Wanda did as well, far less stricken looking than Bryce though. She looked concerned.

“Did you—” she started to ask Steve, but he cut her off, all his rage radiating towards Bryce as he stormed in.

“How the fuck did you let this happen?” Steve roared at Bryce.

“The front gate didn’t catch her—” Bryce tried to pass the buck onto the other men, but Steve was not having an ounce of it.

He was towering over Bryce now, Bryce trying to not fold in Steve’s shadow. “I don’t care about the front gate! She shouldn’t have even been able to get into the car!”

Blubbering, Bryce tried to say, “There were a lot of women, Mr. Rogers. She was starting to say goodbye to them all—”

“You didn’t think to be outside? To keep an eye on her? Not even for a second? That didn’t cross your mind?”

“I didn’t expect her to leave.”

“Now that—” Steve snarled, pointing threateningly in Bryce’s face, causing him to flinch. “I find to be an egregious lie!”

“S-s-sir?”

Steve moved closer if that was possible, his nose inches from Bryce’s. Bryce visibly gulped, trying to not break eye contact with him. Steve’s voice was dangerously low, “Do you have something to tell me, Bryce?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

“Bryce. I am giving you one chance to be honest with me: Did Y/N ask you for help to leave me?”

Bryce’s forehead was covered in a sheen of nervous sweat. His eyes darted nervously to Wanda who was standing nearby, watching the scene unfold curiously. She did not move to help, and he was forced to focus back on Steve knowing Natasha would not help him under any circumstance.

He licked his lips nervously and exhaled shakily. “Yes. But—”

He did not get to finish because Steve had taken a step back, cocked his arm back and socked him straight in the face, knocking him backward. Bryce yelped in agony, grasping at his nose as he laid on the ground, blood gushing from his broken nose. Steve unholstered his gun and Bryce saw, his eyes growing wide as saucers. His broken nose was quickly forgotten, holding up his hands in front of him as he pleaded for Steve to not do it, but his sniveling went unheeded. Steve unloaded half a round into his chest.

Steve’s hand shook now, and he lowered the gun slowly to his side. His eyes were absent of warmth, staring down at the man who he had entrusted his future wife and children’s safety to. Bryce’s eyes were still open in fear, blood trickling from his mouth as his head and arms slumped to the ground. His chest stopped moving in a matter of seconds, lying in a quickly forming puddle of red.

Rolling his shoulders back and cracking his neck, Steve replaced his gun, taking a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

“They could have gone anywhere,” he finally said tautly.

“Steve, I’m sorry,” Wanda offered, taking a few steps towards him.

“You weren’t in charge of watching her,” Steve responded, still not looking at the two women behind him.

The front door opened loudly down the hall and there were running steps, putting the trio on the defense quickly. Two of Steve’s security guards came into view, both out of breath. They both visibly relaxed seeing Steve still standing there, their eyes only flicking to Bryce’s body on the ground for a second. To their credit, they both did not blanch.

One offered, “Sorry for running in. We heard shots.”

Steve ignored her apology, beginning to walk. “Clean up the body and get rid of it. Now,” Steve ordered impatiently, moving past her.

“Where are you going?” Natasha asked, moving to follow him, Wanda in tandem.

“Back to the facility. It’s time to brainstorm and make a different plan,” Steve said over his shoulder.

<><><>

The cabin was two stories, an open floor plan on both floors. There was a wall shielding the top loft bedroom from view and a bedroom on the ground floor. Immediately, Natalie said the three of you could sleep upstairs since there was a queen bed and another twin bed. Yua pointed out that there was a back door right next to the other bedroom and you would be able to hear if someone came in there. Plus, people in horror movies always ran upstairs which ended in their demise. She stopped arguing when Natalie said there was a staircase from the upper deck outside the bedroom leading to the backyard.

“Wow, there are some CDs here,” Yua said flipping through a small case next to an entertainment center. “It’s like we are back in the 90s.”

“Hey, that entertainment console was top notch in the 90s. Don’t trash talk it,” Natalie joked.

“Gotta leave things people don’t want to steal since they use this as an air bnb,” you teased and Natalie pointed at you, acknowledging that.

Yua laughed, “They’re all burned CDs too. Oh, look. Top hits ’04. Oh, that’s past the 90s. Upgrading.” You chuckled as she pulled the CD out, opening the console. “Oh, my! And it’s a six disc! We could change albums whenever we want. Is there a remote? Oh, yes!” She chose five more random albums and put them in as well, closing it and choosing the original disc she had put in.

The first song started out and the three of you immediately made eye contact. “Oh my god. I have not heard this song in forever. A true lost Destiny’s Child gem,” Natalie said, unable to stop laughing. “Ooh, I put it right there, made it easy for you to get to…” she began to sing as she moved towards the kitchen to put the bags of food on the counter.

She had stopped at a mini mart near the bottom of the mountain to grab a good amount of food to hold you guys over. Yua and her had left you in the car to be able to cover the store quicker to leave as little time as possible staying stagnant in a parking lot. The whole time you had been on edge, pulling your hood as far down your face as you could while trying to keep a look out. Every car that drove by on the highway made the hairs on your arms stand up, praying it would not whip around and come back to you.

“If Mr. Brightside isn’t on this album, I’m going to be really disappointed. That was a true gem of my childhood,” Yua chimed in. She flopped onto the couch, stretching out. “Feels good to not be in the car. Hey, Nat, can you bring me one of my beers. Please?” She shot you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“Just four more months,” you said lightly, touching your stomach as you sat down as well.

Yua reached over, caressing your stomach lightly. “Can’t you not drink while you’re breastfeeding too?”

“Don’t tell me that.”

“Sorry,” Yua snickered as Natalie came out of the kitchen holding a beer and a glass of wine.

She held it out to you, and you stared at her in bewilderment that she was offering you alcohol.

“It’s not rosé,” Natalie smiled. “It’s sparkling. A blush kind.”

“How nice of you,” you said, smiling in return. You took a small sip and said, “Hmm. It’ll do.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘thank you, Natalie’,” Natalie intoned, turning on her heel and walking back towards the kitchen.

“Thank you, Natalie,” you and Yua intoned back in unison.

“I’ll make dinner. What’s it gonna be? Frozen meal of mac and cheese or frozen meal of Salisbury steak?” Natalie asked, facing the two of you. “Or… there’s tater tots. Or pizza… and we could make a fruit salad on the side.”

“Thank god for the fruit,” Yua commented, grinning. “I say you make the pizza and fruit. Gotta pretend Y/N is still trying to be healthy somehow.”

Despite laughing, you did think of how Steve would react seeing you eating all this processed food, the same day you had cake no less. Touching your stomach again, you rubbed gently, thinking surely Steve was trying his damnedest to see you too.

~~~

Tags: @imsonick , @alexakeyloveloki, @kvzctam, @ironlady1993, @taintedgenre, @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @roxyfan14-blog

#steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark marvel #dark marvel fic #dark steve rogers fic #my shit #marvel fic

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