#< bringing this tag back cause i heard the kids in this series hardly get to be sillay :(

[anaklusmosriptide]

Seeing the crit of the pjo show makes me a little glad that I haven't watched it but I do know eventually I want to give it a chance. What mainly worries me is the pacing tbh and some of the important details that Rick claimed "doesn't matter" like them missing the summer solstice deadline. No hate AT ALL to the actors just everything on the technical side is what's causing me and other people to side eye the series

[btsgotjams27]

Sweet Tooth ~ JJK | 5

✨ title: sweet tooth | series (ongoing) ✨ pairing: vampire!jungkook x donor f!reader | ✨ rating: m/18+ ✨ genre: vampire!au, supernatural!au, eventual romance, slow build, eventual smut ✨ summary: Bills and rent are piling up, so your roommate suggests you look into a gig she stumbled upon. But it's not what you expect. OR Jungkook runs a vampire blood bank, and you service clients with your blood. ✨ playlist | ✨ read on AO3 | Wattpad

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] | next ~ the sinner

✨ chapter 5 ~ the saint | word count: 6.0k warnings: blood drinking, vampire bites, compulsion/mind control, mysterious jungkook, mentions of death, needles, language, allusions to sex, reader almost falls asleep at the wheel, an erection

Jimin awoke early this morning, writing--but mostly doodling in his journal. His mind wandered to his last interaction with you. The resemblance between you and Nari was uncanny. Though he didn't have a long interaction with Nari, he did have many years of exchanges with those in her lineage--but none resembled her more than you.

He quickly stuffed the journal underneath his pillow when he heard shuffling through the hallway. Taehyung peeked his head into Jimin's room with only sweats on. Jimin guessed Ji-na hadn't left.

"You're up early," Jimin noted, knowing his best friend was a night owl and wasn't one to be up when the sun was out.

Taehyung smirked, munching on a bowl of cereal in his hands. "Someone kept me up all night."

"Mmhm, I bet," he said, shifting himself on the bed, covering up his journal. "Can you guys pipe down? I can hear everything you do, remember?" Jimin pointed to his ears.

"Jealous much?" Taehyung raised a brow, continuing to munch on his cereal.

Jimin scoffed. "Hardly. It doesn't sound like you're doing a good job." He couldn't help teasing his friend. Taehyung and his splendor of women weren't new to Jimin. Years and years of women, some things never change.

Taehyung brought his backhand up, pretending to swat him from far away. "Yah--" he yells, quipping back at his friend, almost spilling his cereal bowl. "Maybe you need a good fuck--what about Ji-na's roommate, the new girl?"

Jimin and you? He laughed, shaking the thought from his head. His only job was to protect you, not fuck you. Besides, you weren't his type.

"You got all that pent-up stress from the business. You need to relax," Taehyung pointed out.

"Yeah, you wanna know why I'm stressed? Cause you're not pulling your weight with all the fucking around you're doing," Jimin spat out at him. JK didn't employ the two of them for the hell of it. There's a business to run.

"Yah--it's not my fault," he said with his mouth full of milk, practically spitting it across Jimin's bedroom floor.

"We're leaving for Daegu in two days, so tell Ji-na to go home." Jimin didn't want her to tag along for their trip, and JK trusted them and didn't need Ji-na to mess it up.

Taehyung rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry. I'll be there." He didn't know the big deal, and Taehyung could just compel her to do whatever he wanted.

Don't get Jimin wrong, he liked Ji-na, but she loved sticking her nose where it didn't belong--like bringing you in on this vampire business. He never wanted you to be in any part of it, but here you were, sleeping soundly down the hall. Maybe it was better to keep a close eye on you rather than be a shadow lurking from far away.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Jimin cried, sweeping across his dresser, causing the books and trinkets to fall onto the ground.

Taehyung ran into Jimin's room. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he shouted, looking at the mess his best friend had made. "What the hell, man? Did something happen?"

With eyes focused on Taehyung, Jimin charged into him, pushing harshly against the wall with such force it caused a dent. "You! You happened! You and your stupid new plaything," Jimin was referring to Ji-na. "I fucking told you not to mess around with her, and you didn't fucking listen. AGAIN!" Jimin's nostrils flared, the veins around his eyes erupting from underneath his precious pale skin, fangs out, ready to pierce them into someone.

"I'm just having some fun with her, and then she brought in her roommate. The more, the merrier, right?" Taehyung smirked.

Jimin told him not to talk to Ji-na at the bar, but Taehyung being Taehyung, didn't listen, didn't care, and did what he wanted, whomever he wanted. "No, you shithead. I don't want her involved."

"Why not? You know how much we love new blood."

"You don't fucking get it. How would you?"

"What are you talking about?"

Even if Jimin tried to explain, Taehyung wouldn't understand. When Jimin first heard your voice over the intercom, he was trying to come up with excuses to make you leave, but JK was already expecting you. It was too late when he opened the door, and you were standing in front of him. A part of him was close to compelling you to leave and never come back, but to deceive JK would be a stupid thing to do - practically asking for a death sentence.

"You could've compelled her and told her to go away. Did you forget you're a vampire?" Taehyung ridiculed him as they'd never used their abilities before.

"Forget? How can I forget? I have a lifetime of this life, all thanks to you," Jimin spat out.

"You're still mad about that? Come on, man, it's been so long. And you must admit, vampire life is ten times better than that measly little life we were living."

Yes, there were perks to being a vampire, and at one point, Jimin enjoyed it, even letting his humanity go, but he was tired of living this way. Was this all there would be to life?

Eat, sleep, work, kill?

But then there was you, probably the only thing keeping him alive. Taehyung was lucky Jimin made a promise to Nari.

Did he like that you were now involved in this vampire business? No, but he'd figure it out somehow.

When you opened your bedroom door, you found Jimin in an 'about to knock' state with his fist in the air. You chuckled at the funny expression on his face. "Hi," you uttered.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting you to open the door. I'm normally better at this whole thing."

You thought he would step out of your way since you had an appointment soon, but he didn't move an inch.

"Can we talk for a second?"

Opening your door wider for him, you stepped away to let him in, closing the door behind you. "What's up?"

"How...how are you?" he asked as though he hadn't seen you, but the two of you had dinner together just last night.

Unsure of his intentions, you answered him anyway. "I'm fine. How are you?" you asked, cocking an eyebrow, wondering where he was going with this.

"Good. I'm good. Just wanted to make sure you're all set for today's appointment."

Ah, so this is what this conversation was about. Why didn't Jimin just spit it out? "Do I sense concern for my well-being? I may not have vampire senses, but I do have Spidey senses," you chuckled at your little joke.

"Spidey senses?"

"Vampires don't watch a lot of movies, do they?"

"Is this what the young kids are watching these days?"

Young kids?You laughed at his comment and supposed you were young compared to Jimin. "Wait, how oldare youexactly?"

Jimin looked at his feet, indistinctly muttering under his breath.

You held your hand up to your ear. "I'm sorry, I don't have the supernatural ability to hear like vampires. What did you say?"

He cleared his throat. "I'll be 102 this year." Even Jimin couldn't believe how long he's been alive. It was never his intention, but here he was, almost 102.

An audible gasp left your mouth. You didn't mean to make a big deal, but holy shit. You would never want to live that long - you'd be bored out of your mind, but imagine all the things you could accomplish.

"Yah--I look good for 101. Don't you think?" He pointed out, fixing his perfect blonde hair with his fingers.

You snorted. "Easy for you to say! You're never going to age physically. As for me, I'll be all old and wrinkly."

Jimin laughed. He quite liked that idea, seeing you grow old and wrinkly. You deserved to live a full life, even if it meant being alongside vampires. He'd do his best to make sure you would see and do everything you'd want.

"Are you on your way to your appointment?"

"Yeah, I was about to head there right now," you said, turning around to grab something out of your bag, which was sitting on the dresser.

Jimin's eyes narrowed at what you grabbed. Something shiny caught his eye. "What's that?"

You held out your hand, revealing a fistful of Hershey's Kisses wrapped in silver. "Want one? It's been helping me calm my nerves." Again, the last appointment was traumatic, but the bills weren't going to pay themselves, right?

Jimin plucked a Hershey's Kiss from your palm, unwrapping the silver and white tag before tossing it in the trash. "I prefer the one with almonds," he grinned, holding his arm for you to take.

"Noted."

Was this the real reason why Jimin showed up outside your door? He wanted to make sure you made it to your appointment, alright? Sweet of him, but you've spent days mentally preparing for this appointment. You didn't need a babysitter, and you were sure he had better things to do with his time.

The sun had barely gone down when you showed up at your appointment - only this time, you weren't alone when you arrived.

Mrs. Kim was in her usual spot, but you spotted a young woman in her early 20s waiting for her appointment. It looked as though she'd been here before, and she didn't look nervous since she was busy filing her nails.

"Mrs. Kim, what's Dani's ETA? I have places to be," the young woman complained. "He was supposed to be here anhourago."

"Chae-won-ah, if you want to get paid, you must donate. You know the rules," Mrs. Kim explained, pushing her spectacles further up the bridge of her nose. She glared at Chae-won before indulging in her book.

Chae-won uncrossed her legs, facing Mrs. Kim. "He'salwayslate, and it's so annoying," she whined, acting as though her whining would make Dani hurry to his appointment.

Mrs. Kim sighed, clearly irritated with Chae-won and her impatience. She firmly closed her book. "There's nothing I can do about that. He comes when he comes."

The two continued bickering until Chae-won was fed up with all the excuses. She huffed, stomping her feet over to the small coffee station, putting a coffee pod into the machine - the button lighting up for her to push. The coffee's quiet dripping and the familiar aroma were soothing - it helped calm your nerves. Brewing coffee in your apartment always made your home feel like a home. Though--not like anyone could call this blood bank a home.

You quickly glanced at Chae-won before checking in with Mrs. Kim, grabbing your buzzer, and awaiting your turn to go in. She was frustrated as she put creamer into her mug, causing coffee to splatter onto the crisp white table.

"Sweetheart..." You and Chae-won peered at Mrs. Kim, but she directed her attention to you. "Your room is ready, and your client will see you in room three."

Chae-won glared in your direction, annoyed that she was here first but you were going in before her. She hated that she was always paired up with Dani, she'd prefer others, but it wasn't her choice.

Politely, you nodded, standing to make your way to the door marked three. As you gripped the buzzer, it almost slipped out of your hand due to excess sweat beginning to form.You got this, and it won't be like last time.

Once you reached the door and walked through the threshold, you recalled your previous appointment with Lucas. You shut your eyes, shaking the thought away.

The man sitting on the leather sofa happily hummed a tune as you approached him. "Oh, hello," he perked up in his seat. "New blood,hmm?"

Was there a sign plastered to you? Or could he smell you once you opened the door? Regardless, you greeted him with a thin smile, narrowing your eyes at the silver tray in front of him. This wasnotgoing to be a typical appointment...or would it?

The silver tray held a pair of gloves, an alcohol wipe packet, a tourniquet, a tube, a needle, a band-aid, and the oddest item was a coffee mug.Yes- a coffee mug.

After noticing the tray of medical supplies, you observed the glass of water and the small yellow packet sitting next to it, wondering what it could be.

He could sense your nervousness as he began to put on the purple latex gloves. He was acutely aware of it once blood donors understood his way of collecting the blood he craved.

You sat next to the handsome man with shoulders as wide as the ocean and a gaze that could pierce your soul. You didn't want to underestimate this vampire like you did the last. Though, by the looks of it, he'd be an interesting one.

His eyes roamed over you from head to toe, flashing a grin before introducing himself. "The name's Jin." You sheepishly nod. "As you can tell, I do things a little differently. Are you scared of needles?"

Who likes them, is what you thought. "I don't love being poked, but I'll do whatever's necessary." To be honest, you'd prefer being pricked by a needle over-pierced by two fangs. Needles were bearable.

Jin's face lit up in delight. "Ah--that's what I like to hear." He happily grabbed the gloves and proceeded to put them on.

Did every vampire have their kink on how they'd draw blood? Jin would be on your list of strange and peculiar immortals.

"Arm," Jin instructed, holding out his purple gloved hand, and in the other was the tourniquet. You complied with no hesitation on your part. He tightly knotted the elastic around your bicep, making you extend your arm to feel for your veins. Jin leaned in closer, inspecting your arm. "My goodness, I'm going to need a microscope to find your veins," he teased.

It's been a minute since you've been poked with a needle, and suddenly your mouth became dry, causing you to gulp. You tried to break up your nervousness by asking Jin some questions. "So, um...how did you learn to do all of this?" Not every day do you meet a vampire who knows how to draw blood this way.

"YouTube," he said casually, continuing on his quest to find the perfect vein.

You audibly gasped, and your eyes bulged. "What?" There was no way you were going to let a vampire draw your blood who learned it from a YouTube tutorial. This was in no way hygienic, was it? You were close to pulling your arm away and choosing the latter option.

Jin laughed at how easily you were fooled. "I'm kidding. I'm a doctor."

A quiet 'oh' escaped your lips.

"I like you." He grinned. While he was distracting you with his jokes, you didn't even notice he had already swabbed your arm, pricked you with the needle, and began drawing your blood, which was going through the plastic tube and dripping into the coffee mug.

"When did you...?"

He wiggled his eyebrows. "I'm a good doctor, and I've hadyearsof experience."

Of course, you had plenty of questions now that you learned he was a doctor, and again, your mouth was always faster than your brain. "Then why don't you get blood from where you work?"

"Ha--See, that would be too easy, now, wouldn't it? To be honest, yes, I could get blood from my job, but why raise concerns when there doesn't have to be any?" Jin sat in a relaxed position, spreading his legs, waiting for your blood to drain into his mug.

You supposed he was right. Vampires probably had to stay under the radar to not get caught. "If you're a doctor, don't you see patients during the day?" Again, your mind is flooded with question after question.

"You're a curious one, aren't you?" He cocked an eyebrow and sported a smirk, but he had no intention of answering your question. Some vampire secrets needed to stay a secret.

Glancing at the coffee mug nearly full, Jin snagged the cotton ball, pressing it where the needle met your vein. He carefully placed the needle on the tray. He grabbed the band-aid, ripped the package, and retrieved the flexible unicorn print adhesive on your wound.

Why couldn't all of your appointments be like this, you thought. Needles? Sure. Vampire fangs? You might have to rethink this. Would you be able to request Jin all the time?

After wrapping you up nicely and neatly, he relaxed on the leather sofa with his coffee mug in hand, taking a sip and licking the blood that escaped into the corner of his mouth.

Jin hummed. "Jimin was right. Youaresweet."

You slowly craned your neck in his direction, the follicles on your arms raising, your face turning pale like you'd seen a ghost.

Sweet.

It's the second time you've heard this. How was this possible? It's certainly not a coincidence unless vampires are compulsive liars - well...Regardless, you needed to get down to the bottom of this. Maybe Jimin could be of some help.

A sudden cheerful smile was plastered on your face, causing Jin to scowl at your drastic behavior change. "Can I be of any other service to you today?"

Jin shifted his position on the sofa, straightening his back and placing his mug on the tray. "We're all done, but you should drink some liquid IV before you go," he insisted.

You straightened out your slacks when you stood, "I'm okay tha--"

You had awoken in the room you had grown accustomed to. You were sure you were overstaying your welcome, but something must have happened again. The last thing you could remember was talking to Jin, and everything became pitch black.

No wonder after an appointment, it's suggested a donor should stay overnight in case anything happens - primarilydying. It would be unfavorable for you to die with vampire blood in your system, but who knows, did you even have any tonight if you ended up in your room?

Have you entertained the thought of being a vampire? Of course, you have. Who hadn't after watching the Twilight series - though you were a bit disappointed they didn't glitter in the sunlight. But again, what vampire would want to be caught burning in the sun just to glitter? You weren't sure how that all made sense.

But you promised yourself you'd make enough money to live a cushy lifestyle, have Jimin compel you to forget and move on with your life, and wouldn't be involved with any more vampire business. You feared life would become complicated if you continued down this path.

Donor appointments wore you out, and the chocolate helped a bit, but again, you were famished, ready to devour whatever was in the fridge. After changing into your pajamas, you made your way down the familiar corridor of JK's home. Did it still creep you out? Yes, it was another reminder of why you needed to get out of this business as soon as possible.

When you opened the fridge, it was pretty empty, which was disappointing, but the freezer, not so much - it was always filled with some kind of ice cream. This time instead of cookies and cream, it was replaced with an infinite supply of...sweet corn ice cream. Were you looking at this correctly?

"Well..." you narrowed your eyes at the peculiar flavor of ice cream. "It's this, or I go back to bed on an empty stomach." Not like ice cream is the worst to eat in the middle of the night, but your sweet tooth always got the best of you.

Ripping the plastic open, you were baffled by the ice cream's shape. You didn't think it would look like an ear of corn, and here goes nothing -and it was nothing like you expected. The ice cream itself wasn't bad, typical vanilla encased in a chocolate wafer, but what threw you off were the pieces of corn embedded within the vanilla ice cream.

Interesting.

"Those are hard to come by, so you better finish that," a low husky voice chimed in from behind, making your heart jump out of your chest.

"Jesus, fucking Mary--" you turned around to see who the mystery person was. "And JK!" Why, why did he always have to sneak up on you like that?

"I'm not Jesus, nor should we fuck Mary. Hardly a saint, more of a sinner," JK said with a smug smile. "It's starting to become routine, us meeting in the middle of the night while you're helping yourself to my supply of ice cream." He continued to blankly stare at you, holding the melting ice cream.

"Stop sneaking up on me like that. It's not very nice."

JK chuckled. "Sorry, it's kinda my thing."

When you stepped closer to JK, he was dressed nicely in a red bomber and black slacks. You didn't mean to, but you eyed him from head to toe, causing him to smirk. You cleared your throat when you noticed the smirk, quickly darting your eyes away. "Are you headed out somewhere? It's two in the morning."

"Yeah, I have some things to take care of," he said ambiguously, with no intention of clarifying what he was up to.

You could sense you weren't welcomed, so you took your ice cream and walked past him, mumbling a 'kay.' Reminding yourself to stop getting up in the middle of the night. Stupid sweet tooth.

With his hands in his pant pockets, JK watched you pass by and debated with himself before speaking up, "Do...you wanna go with me?"

His question caused you to stop in your tracks. Was JK's hard, mysterious exterior starting to melt? Was he finally warming up to you, to having you around? You never understood his deal and why he was so cold and awkward when you were around the house. Turning to face him, you answered, "Sure, but first, let me change." Wherever the two of you were headed, you were sure you shouldn't be in your pajamas.

JK didn't inform you of any details of where you were headed, and you didn't expect him to. You supposed you trusted him in a weird sense, that he wouldn't let anything bad happen to you - you were, after all, an employee of his. You suspected he'd want to keep you alive for his benefit and the benefit of his business. You weren't sure what his gain was of keeping this blood bank business, but maybe one day you'd find out.

The ride to your unknown destination was uneventful. JK didn't make a peep - no music or conversation, only the quiet hum of his car filled the silence between you. And to be honest, JK was intimidating, not because he was a vampire but because you felt drawn to him and didn't know why. There was a desire in you, urging, pleading, wanting to blurt out everything on your mind. Ask him all these things you're sure others have already asked throughout his lifetime. So, you tried to distract yourself by looking out the darkened window, letting your mind wander off into the unknown.

You awoke when you felt the car come to a halt. JK pressed the ignition button to turn off the car, not even bothering to tell you that you've arrived at your destination. At the same time, he opened the driver's door, letting himself out.

Quickly, you straightened your posture and tried to flatten down any hair out of place. Oh god, there was dried slobber in the corner of your mouth. JK saw that. God, you're so fucking cute.

Two pounds on top of the car spooked you, making you jumpy again. "Chop chop, sleeping beauty. I don't have all day," JK implored while leaning against his car. "Got places to be, people to see."

Stepping out of the car, you quickly stood to your feet, closed the door, and swiftly followed him. You glanced at your surroundings to see where you were. In front of you stood a facility overlooking the ocean - were you in Busan?

As the two of you approached the building, you squinted at the sign placed off to the side,Busan Community Blood Bank. Coming to a blood bank didn't explain anything, and knowing JK, he'd go around in circles if you asked him questions. Taking one more look at the sign, did you just read,Donated by Jeon Jeongguk?

What the hell was going on? And what were you getting intoagain?

"You...really run a blood bank?" You asked with a confused expression. This revelation was surprising. You had this stereotype of vampires, and JK was nothing like what you've seen portrayed in movies and TV shows. Was it fair to assume that all vampires were vicious and terrible people? No...so maybe it was time to change that.

Of all people, you didn't think JK would be considered asaint. Everyone in the clinic, including staff and patients, greeted him warmly with huge smiles as he continued walking through the hallway with you. Though you couldn't help but think of the worst at the same time, was everyone under his vampire compulsion, or were they employed by a man who hasn't aged a day since he was, oh, you don't know 22 or 23?

Curiosity got the best of you, and with your mouth being faster than your brain like always, "Are they being compelled?" You asked, blabbering away with a running list of questions in your head. JK swiftly whisked you away into an empty room, pushing you against the wall, covering your mouth, putting his index finger to his lips, and urging you to be quiet. You tried muttering something through his hold, but he wouldn't budge. Instead, he glared at you, eyes dilating, forgetting he couldn't compel you.

"Gotta know when to shut your mouth, love. You never know who's listening," JK cautioned, finally letting you go from his grasp as he stepped back from you. He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

With a remorseful expression, you apologized to him for being forward. "I'll be careful. I'm sorry."

He didn't bother to acknowledge you, but he fixed his red bomber jacket and walked out of the room with no intent on telling you why the two of you were there. To be honest, his behavior towards you started to get on your nerves. Did he hate you or something? Why bother asking if you wanted to tag along if you were only going to be an annoyance to him? Would you ever come to fully understand this immortal being? Probably not.

The morning consisted of gallivanting around the blood bank and talking with the rest of the staff. As you expected, many of the women staff and even some of the men fawned over JK, making him blush and giggle. This new side of JK was perplexing to see. You didn't know what to make of it. Was it real? Was it fake? So many questions...

You stopped in front of a photo, framed to the wall at the back entrance of the facility, and there it was, JK shaking hands with another man, underneath the photo was the date - 1852. Pointing to the photo, you whispered to JK, "How do you get away withthis? Hmm?"

JK toyed with his lip ring, hands behind his back as he brushed past you. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Guess you'd find out another time about Jeon Jeongguk -the saint.

Following JK, another woman staff sheepishly greeted him, "Hi Jungkookie," before running away, the blush on her cheeks as red as JK's jacket.

"Jungkookie?" you teased. You'd remember that next time when you wanted to annoy him.

"If you don't want to call me JK, you can call me Jungkook. It's harder for people to pronounce my birth name, so I tell people to call me JK or Jungkook."

It was funny that JK mentioned that. You noticed throughout your time here, that the staff informally called him Jungkook. Maybe his relationship with his staff went beyond just business.

"Well...that'sridiculous." Jungkook furrowed his brows. "Oh no! Not your name! I mean, if people pronounce Timothee Chalamet, they can pronounce Jeongguk." You quite liked how his name rolled off your tongue. Not that it should be intimate, but you wondered how often he heard others call him by his birth name and if it was something he preferred.

JK chuckled. "Who's that?" he asked. You assumed he was referring to Timothee Chalamet.

You smiled and shook your head. "No one important."

"Did Jimin or Taehyung tell you my birth name?"

"Oh no...I briefly saw it in the signed contract, and it was written outside on the sign." Paying attention to details was your thing, especially when it came to your favorite creative things to do. It was kind of your job to pay attention to details like that.

"Ah, I see. Well, you can call me whatever you're comfortable with then." JK flashed a smile, which was a rare sight for anyone to see.

As the two of you roamed through the clinic, the path you were on led you out toward a small garden overlooking the ocean. It was confirmed that you were indeed in Busan. It's been a while since you were on the coast, so this little impromptu trip was a pleasant surprise.

"You okay?" JK asked.

"Yeah...I'm okay. I think I'm just overwhelmed at times by this whole vampire world. I mean, when Ji-na said that there was this job she had--I wasn't expecting this at all. Well, to be honest, I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I made the call. I just went with my gut, and now, here I am."

JK nodded, wanting to understand your concerns. "No, I get it. When I first turned, I felt my whole life was upside down. There were times when I didn't want to bethis--a vampire anymore," he said casually, hands in his jacket pockets as he continued walking towards the edge to see the ocean view.

This was the first time you heard that JK didn't want to be a vampire. Curiosity always got the best of you and would wander to the depths of your mind, thinking about the what-ifs. Would you, yourself, ever want to become a vampire? The endless possibilities you'd have, but then again, hearing JK's perspective, maybe it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows - perhaps it was just torment and agony over a prolonged life that seemed to never end.

You had suddenly stopped, so he looked back to wait for you. "Don't get me wrong. Being a vampire has its perks, but sometimes there's just this ceaseless thing called life."

"So you don't want to live forever?" you asked when you caught up to him.

JK let out a hearty laugh. "God no---there's nothing I want to keep me here, keep me somewhat alive."

"Well, there must have been something or someone to keep you going throughout your lifetime." You imagined he had a myriad of stories and adventures throughout his life, and you were sure he'd open up more in due time, but for now, you wouldn't pry.

The breeze picked up; you guessed it was because you were near the ocean. Although the warmth from the sun began to hide behind the summer clouds, you wouldn't trade this moment for anything. You loved the sea and its vastness of the unknown, which reminded you of JK. You hadn't known him for that long, but you wanted to know more, but that's only if he were to allow it. You didn't want to put your nose where it didn't belong.

JK observed you close your eyes, soaking in the gentle mist, lightly touching your face. He chuckled to himself, remembering how he used to enjoy the small joys in life. And after being alive for so long - he forgot what it felt like - to be human.

The ride back to Seoul was, again, uneventful. JK wasn't much of a conversationalist, which was fine - it was nice to be in his presence, with no need to fill the awkward silence with nonsense.

"Thanks for letting me tag along on your little trip. You didn't have to, but you did," you remarked, grabbing your bag from his trunk.

He flashed a close-lipped smile and nodded.

"I should go home before it gets late. I'll see you later, JK."

"Jungkook," he stated firmly while closing the trunk.

You smiled. "Jungkook."

"You know, you're more than welcome to stay over whenever you want. I know the drive is long."

His suggestion was unexpected. "Oh...it's fine. I kind of like the drive, and it gives me time to think," you said before opening the car door to the driver's side, "Have a good night,Jungkook."

"...Night."

Your day with Jungkook was unplanned, but it was lovely. He seemed as though he was beginning to open up a bit more with you.

On the drive back to Seoul, your eyes were heavy with sleep, but you were only fifteen minutes away from your place. You shook off sleepiness and straightened your posture, rolling your windows down to get fresh air.

Almost there. Don't fall asleep.

Walking into your apartment after a long drive felt nice. You plopped on your couch, splayed out with no worries in the world. Should you just take a few steps to enter your bedroom? Probably yes, but the couch seemed more comfortable than your bed at the moment. In a wink, your eyes were closed, your mind drifting off into reverie. The day you had was exhausting, so an escape from reality and into fantasy was idyllic.

"I missed you so much," Jungkook whispered as you lay against his chest. It feels as though you've been in this exact position all day.

You grinned. "I haven't left your side."

"It feels like you've been away for a lifetime," he countered, pressing a kiss on top of your head.

Peering up to face him, your hands softly caressing his cheek. "I could spend a lifetime with you," you said, reaching to kiss him.

The sound of your bluebirds' alarm awakened you from your dream. It was odd to have dreamt of Jungkook, your second one, and it felt so real - like he was really with you in bed, but the thing was, you were asleep on the couch. So how could this be? Dreams were always trippy and you could never tell how they started.

Rubbing your eyes. "Way too much vampire interaction, that's probably why," you muttered.

"Jungkook-ah," Jimin repeated his name several times before snapping out of dreamland.

"Mm, what?" Jungkook mumbled, wiping the drool that pooled in the corner of his mouth.

"You were dreaming."

"Yeah, and I was rudely interrupted," he grumbled, uncovering the duvet from himself and heading to the bathroom.

Jimin chuckled, following behind. "We're dead, but clearly, your dick is alive. Must have been a good dream."

"What do you want?" Jungkook blurted in annoyance, turning on the faucet and beginning to splash water on his face.

"Taehyung and I are leaving soon. Do you need anything else from us before we go?"

Jungkook peered at Jimin through the mirror, water beading from his hair onto his face. "Just make sure they're not fucking up this whole operation. We've had too many incidents lately, and I don't want people snooping around."

Jimin saluted him. "Got it, boss." He quickly stepped away, giving Jungkook some privacy.

Jungkook made sure to listen to Jimin close the door before taking a deep breath and looking at himself in the mirror.

Get ahold of yourself, he thought. It's just a dream, but they were your dreams. Dreams that he wanted to continue invading, but he knew he shouldn't. Dreams where he wondered if they could become real. But dreams were dangerous - dangerous because he was creating a fantasy that he could never live in, or could he?

✨ next chapter ~ the sinner

[nyxdelanuit]

Feral (Tendou x F! Reader)

Hey! Here’s Nyx being super late with a collab fic for the Haikyuu Headquarters Collab, which can be found here! 

Special shout outs to @the-great-queen and @fallingintoimagination for getting me hooked on Feral Tendy <3 and @mammonrights for bein a heathen with me.

Warnings: Biting, Marking, Slight breeding kink cause it’s me, A lil bit of predator/prey play, and NSFW abound~ 

You quite enjoyed the calm, lazy weekends where you curled up with a book or movie, ignoring the outside world and the coming work week. The same couldn’t be said for your friend, currently draped over your lap, whining.

 "I'm so bored, let's do something fun." Tendou looked up at you with pleading eyes as you kept watching your show. You were only a few episodes out from the season finale, and you weren't too keen on stopping now.

 "I am having fun, Sa-to-ri." You grinned, glancing down at him, "It's not my fault you don't have any taste." He pouted at you, the teasing something that had thrived in your friendship.

 “It’s not my fault I’ve already read the whole series before the show started. I could tell you what happens if you want.” Your attention turned fully to him, what he wanted all along.

 "You wouldn't dare, Tendou." You tried to keep your gaze hard on him, despite the growing grin on his face.

“Ooh, pulling out the last name, that hurts.” He put a mocking hand over his chest. “And I wouldn’t have to ruin the whole series for you if you just entertained me a little.” You huffed, pausing the show and giving him an unamused glare.

"Fine, and what do you want to do exactly?" He sat up, leaning in close to you. You could feel the heat of your face at his nearness but kept up your mask. It wasn't new for you and Tendou to flirt like this, but it never failed to excite you.

 “Would you believe me if I said you?” The coy grin he wore made you roll your eyes.

 “No.” You turned your face away, trying to calm your desperate heartbeat before you gave him more ammunition to tease you. His calloused fingers slid under your chin, bringing your face back to his gaze.

 "I think you're lying… you want it, don't you?" You bit your tongue softly, trying to weigh your options. Tendou would notice right away if you lied, and you wouldn't dare tell him the truth, that you had been dreaming of the day he'd finally make a real move.

 It seemed Tendou was especially impatient that day, pressing a light kiss to your lips before retreating, hopping off your couch to stretch. “Let’s play tag.”

 You were snapped out of your stupor at the kiss by his words, wondering if you had possibly imagined it. "W-what?" His eyes drifted to yours with a predatory smile.

 “Tag. If you can keep away from me for… hmm… fifteen minutes, you win. We keep watching your show, no more complaints from me.” You furrowed your brows.

 “Satori, we’re not kids anymore. I figured you’d want to go out to a club or something, why tag?”

 “Cause it’s fun. Live a little, play tag with me.” He shrugged and held out a hand, which you reluctantly took, pulling you to your feet.

 “Fine, and what happens if I lose?” His eyes glittered with a curious mischievousness, and you were almost tempted to pull your hand away.

 "I'll think of something. Now for the rules. No leaving the house, no locking doors. I'll give you a 30-second head start. You can hide if you really want to." His grin only grew as he spoke, showing his excitement for your little game. You rolled your eyes again, ignoring the spark of adrenaline that ran through your veins. "Sound good to you?"

 "Yeah, sure, Satori."

 "Then… Run." The look in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but wonder if this was how a rabbit felt staring into the eyes of a wolf. Once he started counting, you were pulled from your frozen state, turning and bolting down the hallway. You could still hear him, his singing echoing through your house as he counted down the seconds to his hunt. With no more than a handful of seconds left, you crept into the ancient wardrobe in your room, thankful you hadn't had the time to fill it properly. You bit at your lip, trying to get the door to close from the inside was harder than you expected.

 Your breath hitched as you heard his footsteps, far too close for you to fiddle with the door anymore. You pressed yourself into the dark of the wardrobe, hoping it was enough to conceal you as his shadow snuffed out what remained of the light.

 Your hands flew to your mouth, holding in your breath along with the whine that threatened to escaped as he paused in front of you.

 “Come on out sweetness, maybe I’ll make your punishment something we’ll both enjoy?” His voice was deeper than usual, a darkness you’d only caught glimpses of before now on full display. You shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as you were, the heat pooling in your stomach as he lingered. Something about the tension, the anticipation of being found was a drug to you.

 He slowly moved away, something you only noticed by the return of the light. You sat for several long moments, trying to hear past the blood rushing in your ears as you peeked through the door. The room in front of you was empty, and he could no longer be heard. If you wanted to run, now would be the time. Cautiously, you pushed open the door, creeping out one leg at a time until you released a shuddering breath, straightening your clothes.

 "You should probably run now, little lamb." The voice made you jump, even more so the sight of Tendou, leaning against the door you had just open, a malicious grin splitting his face in two. You ran without any thought, slamming doors behind you as you tried and failed to remember your house's layout. Every step, every labored breath you took, you could hear him nearing. You could feel him hot on your heels, to the point where the doors were no longer falling closed behind you, merely bouncing off his extended arm, slamming against the wall.

 You had made a mistake somewhere in your panic. A room with no other doors, no easy means of escape, just you and Tendou standing at separate sides of the room. All you could do was watch as he closed in, your heart jack-hammering against its cage. The only way out was around, to fake out the former Guess Monster of Shiratorizawa.

 Breathe in, breathe out- glance to the side, opposite of where you were planning of going. Your mind was working faster than you thought possible, acting on the barest hint of thoughts as Tendou's hands neared you. You ducked, somehow slipping through the narrow escape between his arm and his body. Your lungs burned as you ran, the peals of laughter echoing throughout the halls as the hunt continued. How long could fifteen minutes be?

 Each step, each ragged breath sent a fire through your veins. Maybe Tendou had the right idea, when was the last time you felt this alive? Slipping through doorways, skidding along tiled floors, nervous laughter seeping through your lips as his cackling rang in your ears. Faster, quicker, just seconds ahead of his hands, you ran. You couldn't hide, not anymore, all you could do was hope that you were faster than him until the clock ran out.

 You somehow found yourself back where you started, the timer of his phone counting down the last seconds of your game. You had won, you knew it, just a few more seconds…

 A shrill scream tore through your throat; you had let yourself get distracted. Calloused fingers wrapped around you, holding your arms tight to your chest as the alarm rang through the house. You had almost won… Tendou pulled you flush against his chest, every inch of him wrapped around you, pressed against your back.

 “Too bad, little lamb.” He taunted, his lips brushing against your ear. “You were so close.” You hadn’t even noticed the whine that escaped you until you heard him chuckle, low and dark. “You stopped there near the end… did you want me to catch you that bad?” You shook your head, belatedly noticing how his hands sunk into the plush of your chest. “You can deny it to yourself all you want, but your body says differently. You haven’t even tried to slip away.” He moved his head to brush his lips against your neck, the barest brushes of skin. There was no fighting the shiver of pleasure that ran down your spine or the gasp that slipped past your lips.

 You resisted even less when he turned you, pressing your chests together as his head dipped to kiss you hungrily. You opened to his whims easily, tongue and teeth clashing with no other thought than the hunger that burned deep in your stomach. When had your hands buried themselves in his? When had he stopped kissing you in favor of trailing bites down the length of your neck? It was happening so quickly, and yet it seemed as if this had been building up as long as you could remember. He devoured you, as he did so many other things. Headfirst into his passion with little regard to anything else as his rough hands slid under your shirt, quickly pulling it up and over your head. He barely pulled away to pull his own off by the collar, whipping it to the abyss that existed outside of you and him.

 Throughout the house, he led you, a trail of clothes littering your path. He was nothing but a storm of lips and teeth, marking every inch of skin he could reach, claiming you as his prize. He hadn't even stripped you of your underwear, but the way he was grinding against you, laving his tongue over the deep imprints of his teeth had you writhing for release. Finally, a single finger dipped between you, dragging over your covered folds and feeling the dampness that made the fabric cling to your skin.

 “Pretty little lamb, I’m going to destroy you.” He chuckled, his breath falling heavily against your neck. You nodded, already a whining mess.

 “Please, Satori… I want you, please.” Was that your voice? You hardly recognized it, buried beneath all the lust and longing weighing down the tone.

 He spoke mockingly as he slowly pulled the last scrap of fabric down your legs. “I knew you wanted me, little lamb… but I didn’t mind playing our little game to make you admit it. You opened your mouth to refute him, to say something in your defense, but the only thing that came out was a sinful moan as his teeth sunk into your thigh, marking you so close to where you wanted him.

 Words failed you, lost in the haze that was Tendou Satori, and all you could do was pull him in closer, desperate to feel him inside of you. He fit against you so well, the feeling of his lips on yours was a drug like no other. You melted against his touch, conforming to his body as he hitched your leg high up on your hip. His touch on your hip was firm, holding you still as he teased at your entrance, watching your face with a sadistic smile.

 Ever so slowly, he sunk in, his mouth open as he let the softest of groans escape him while he watched you writhe as you tried to push down further on his length. "You know, little lamb… I never said what I would take as my prize…" You attempted to clear your cloudy eyes, focusing on his gluttonous face.

 "I thought this…" A sharp thrust, bottoming Tendou's length inside you brought your sentence to a breathy end, but you tried to continue on, "I thought I was your prize?"

 “Hmm… but you gave yourself over to me without me even asking… I guess I’ll just have to cum in you as my prize.” It shouldn’t sound so appealing falling from his lips, but all you could do was keen out, desperate for him to take you in any and all ways he wanted. He won you fair and square.

 “Please, Satori, whatever you want, just move!” His smile darkened, a calloused finger coming up to brush lightly against your cheek.

 “How can I resist when you beg so nicely for it?” With that last word, his hands returned to your hips, holding on in a bruising grip as he pulled out slowly, watching the tears gather on your lashes as you pleaded for him to move faster. As soon as the tip traced your entrance, something in him snapped. He bucked into you wildly, pulling a loud moan from your lungs.

 Gone was your lazy, teasing friend that you spent calm Sundays with, replaced with a hungry animal, intent on devouring you from the inside out. Each roll of his hips pushed you further from your thoughts, focusing only on the carnal way he hunched over you, sucking deep marks into your skin to remind you long after this was over of what he turned you into. Just a mewling, desperate mess, falling apart underneath him, pliant to his every touch. And touch he did, imprints of his hands seemed to be carved into your hips, the ghost of his teeth in every bite he laid on your skin still stinging, only heightening the pleasure of his cock pistoning within you.

 The pleasure became overwhelming, and you dug your nails into his shoulder, desperate for anything to ground yourself in this moment. It only spurred him on further, a deep growl rumbling in his chest as you marked him in kind. Some small stake that showed you weren't just a passive participant in his game. You pulled him close with the grip you held on his shoulders, panting heavily on his shoulder before you bit into his neck, mirroring one of the many marks he had left on you. The whine you pulled from his throat only made you moan against his skin as he pushed your legs higher, trying to find a better angle to sink into you as you savagely attacked his neck.

 You only pulled away when you felt the peak growing impossibly close, a breathy moan of his name bringing him back to himself.

 “Please, Satori, I’m so close.” You let the tears spill from your lashes, twin rivers framing your face as you stared up at him, pleading. “Fill me up, please.” He groaned lowly, pulling back just enough to sneak a hand between your bodies. Those stupid, calloused fingers you had grown to appreciate so quickly deftly found your clit, sensitive from all the friction of his rutting, and he relentlessly assaulted the swollen nub. You felt him start to twitch inside you as you tensed, finally cresting in pleasure.

 He was thrown violently into his orgasm as you cried out his name, clenching your fists around his shoulders once more. Each thrust as he worked through his release brought you closer to over-stimulation, the added friction on the edge of pain as he filled you.

 The house was finally quiet, the only sound coming from your intermingling breaths, heavy and satisfied. He collapsed next to you, content to relax against your pillows as you processed all that had just happened. When you remained silent, he turned his eyes to you with a grin. “We can go watch that show now.”

 You couldn’t stop the nervous giggle that escaped you. “After all that, you want to go watch that show?” He nodded, smirking.

 "Yeah, why not?" He sat up, stretching out his shoulders, and giving you a good view of the angry red lines you had left all over him.

 “So… do we just pretend this didn’t happen?”

 "I don't know what you mean, I thought I made it pretty clear." You wished you could see his face as he got up for even a hint of how he felt.

 “What do you mean, Satori?”

 “I won you.” He sung, “I marked you inside and out. You’re mine now.” He turned with a mischievous grin, and you wouldn’t be surprised if this was the outcome he wanted when he walked through your door this morning. Still, you stood, walking over to him and running a hand down his chest.

 “You did, didn’t you?” With your confirmation, his grin softened to a more sincere smile, ducking to place a kiss to your cheek.

 “So, time for your show, little lamb?”

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (1)

(Hey guys! I finally got around to posting the first chapter of this! I hope you guys enjoy it, and please tell me if you’d liked to be tagged or want to read more! there’s also a mini-series of Journal Entries connected to this fic.)

Ch.2

Chapter 1: Happy Accidents

Rosemary Highschool, a private school for the truly gifted and the rich. Anyone who attended this facility was either poised and reserved, or uptight, or all of the above. Therefore, when a stuttering, stumbling raven-haired girl came tripping through their doors, it was only natural that the students became curious.

Felix couldn’t care less, if he was being honest. The girl was just another student, and he had better things to do than waste his time meddling in the personal life of a complete stranger. 

His friends, however, did not share his sentiment. 

“Did you hear?” Allegra asked as they walked to their lockers, her sky blue eyes wide with delight. She leaned forward slightly to catch a better view of their expressions, causing her golden braid to fall gracefully over her left shoulder. 

“About the new student? Who didn’t?” Claude replied, wearing his usual grin. 

“How do you think she got in?” Allan wondered aloud, fixing the green cap on his head in thought.

Felix rolled his eyes. His friends had always loved picking up on the latest gossip. He never understood why. Take this new student, for example. She hasn’t even finished enrolling in the school yet, but everyone’s already chattering relentlessly about her. Why? Because she was rumored to be clumsy? That was hardly an achievement, let alone something to be talked about by the entire school. So what was all the fuss about?

Allegra gasped, a smile lighting up her soft features. “Oh! We should show her around! This school is huge, so she’ll definitely need a guide. Plus, we can get the first scoop on her.”

“Absolutely not.” Felix finally cut in, giving her a sharp look. He refused to galivant around the school with a complete stranger while his classmates tried to pry into the poor girl’s personal life. 

“We didn’t say you had to go.” Claude pointed out.

“But you should at least say hi.” Allegra hastily added, a motherly tone coming to her voice.

Felix scoffed. Right. He would say ‘hi’, then they would ‘convince’ him to stay- i.e. drag him by the collar -and he would end up going around the school with them anyway. He’d gotten used to their tricks by now.

Allan frowned in disapproval. “Come on, Fe. It’s the polite thing to do. We are her new classmates, after all.”

“Yeah, Fe, don’t be a jerk.”

“When am I ever not a jerk.” Felix retorted.

Claude smirked. “He’s got a point.”

“Felix.” Allegra pressed, fixing him with a stern glare and putting her hands on her hips.

Felix groaned, irritation prickling up to the forefront of his mind. What did it matter if he saw the new student? He wouldn’t be talking with her often, and they would probably meet later on during classes anyway. Why did they have to be so pushy?

He reached up to rub his temples and closed his eyes. If he couldn’t see them, it helped him imagine that they weren’t annoying him to the point of insanity. 

“Alright, fine, but if any of you-”

Felix barely registered the hit. He heard his friends gasp, and the sound of his books and pencils scattering across the floor, and he felt the dull pain of someone smacking into him before he unexpectedly hit the ground.

Then his ears tuned into a light, yet panicked voice.

“I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I just did that- are you hurt? Do I need to call the nurse?”

Someone was talking to him. Well, they were more of rambling, really. 

“Pardon?” He said, interrupting the person’s ramble as he rubbed his back. He glanced up to see a young girl kneeling on the ground in front of him. She was scrambling around on the floor- gathering up his books, he realized -and appeared to be even more disoriented than he was.

His question spooked her, apparently, because she jumped, and her eyes darted upwards. They were an overwhelming blue, bright and sparkling despite being filled with anxiety at the moment. 

“I-I’m sorry!” She repeated, briefly setting the books down so she could nervously pull on the tips of her raven-colored pigtails.

Felix’s eyes widened. 

Raven.

Claude stifled a laugh behind him. 

“It’s not a problem.” Felix sighed, swiftly taking his books back from her and moving to retrieve the others. This was exactly what he had wanted to avoid. 

The ravenette furrowed her eyebrows, now bringing her hands down to play with the zipper of her black, half-sleeved jacket. “A-are you sure?”

He gave a short nod, scooping the rest of his books into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. 

“I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I ran into you. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry.” His tone was composed, calm, if only for the sake of dignity. Claude and Allegra were never going to let him live this down.

He picked up her small handbag, holding it out to her. “So, I apologize. I’ll be more careful next time, and I am willing to replace anything of yours that is broken.” 

A wash of color came to her cheeks.

“Oh, That- that won’t be necessary, thank you.” She insured, taking the purse and clutching it to her chest.

Felix didn’t reply, instead using the brief pause to look her over. With her light pink capris and child-like pigtails, she didn’t exactly give off the impression of being rich or poised. Perhaps a relative bought her tuition? That’s happened before. 

“Aw, look! Felix made a friend!” Claude’s snide remark broke Felix from his thoughts, and he shot the brunette a glare. That clown can never keep his mouth shut.

Allegra pushed past the two and extended a hand to the girl just as they got to their feet. “Hi! I’m Allegra. What’s your name?”

The girl smiled- which Felix found surprisingly pleasant -and took her hand. “Marinette. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Like the doll?” Allan asked curiously, stepping forward as well.

“Sort of, yes.” 

“That’s pretty cool. I’m Allan, by the way.” He introduced himself, also shaking her hand. He then pointed behind him, towards Claude and Felix. “The one in the blue striped shirt is Claude, and the stiff board you just ran into is Felix.”

Felix hunched his shoulders slightly, a scowl tugging at the corner of his lips, but Marinette only laughed. It oddly reminded him of the sound of tinkling bells. 

“You’re new here, right?” Allegra asked before Felix could snark off to Allan. “Mind if we show you around?”

A sigh of relief tumbled from Marinette’s lips. “Please do. This place is like a maze!”

Claude chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’ll make your head spin. We-”

“-Can start with the cafeteria.” Felix interrupted. The sooner they could start the tour, the sooner he could go home. “Then we’ll work our way around the classrooms.”

He spun on his heel, ignoring his friends’ smug smiles, and marched off. It wouldn’t take long for them to follow.

Allan was the first to catch up, throwing Felix a sly smirk as he whispered, “I thought you said you weren’t going to show her around.”

Felix shrugged. If he was going to suffer through the embarrassment of running into somebody, he might as well get something out of it. He would take her on a quick tour, and perhaps his friends wouldn’t feel the need to meddle in his social life for at least another month.

“We’re her new classmates, right?” He said. “We should exercise basic politeness and guide her through the school.”

Allan hummed. “Sounds like good advice. I wonder who could’ve told you that.”

“The name escapes me.” Felix replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He stole a glance over his shoulder to the rest of the group. Marinette was talking cheerfully with Allegra now, her previous show of anxiety all but gone. She even looked a bit confident with the tripping matter settled. Isn’t that strange?

“...What else do you know about her?”

~~~~~~

When Maman suggested that Marinette start attending Rosemary Highschool, reluctance couldn’t begin to express how she’d felt. She’d heard the rumors, how the kids were spoiled, snobby brats, how the classes were just a room full of fancy trinkets to keep the kids satisfied for a while. Marinette honestly didn’t want any part of it, but at that point, any school was better than her old school. She simply couldn’t stand Lila’s schemes anymore, nor Adrien’s relentless pursuit of having them get along. As bad as Chloe’s bullying was, Marinette almost wished that she could go back to that time. At least then she’d still have friends. (Well, calling her old classmates “friends” would be over exaggerating now. At least then she wouldn’t have to deal with getting bullied from everyone at school.)

Either way, Marinette chose Rosemary over Dupont in a heartbeat, despite her uneasiness, and found that it actually wasn’t all bad. The endless halls were a bit confusing, but the classes were more advanced than others had let on, and though a select few of the students could be considered snobbish, everyone else seemed quite nice. A small group even offered to show her around. (After she ran into their friend, that is. Only Marinette could make such an embarrassing introduction.)

“I think that covers everything.” The girl of the group, Allegra, said. “But in case you’re still confused, I have a map for you.”

“A map?” Marinette echoed. She didn’t think they presented those at the school, though they probably should.

Allegra nodded and pulled a folded piece of paper from her school bag. “Claude gets lost all the time. So I started making maps for him. I have multiple maps because- typical Claude -he loses the maps too.”

“How was I supposed to know that it got mixed in with my history homework?” Claude, obviously the jokester amongst them, defended with a flail of his arms.

“If you ever need help,” Allegra continued, ignoring Claude’s comment as she scribbled something on the map, “feel free to text me.” 

“Thank you so much.” Marinette smiled, peeking at the phone number that was now on the corner of the page.

“It’s the least we can do.” Allan, probably the most relaxed of the group, replied. 

“It’s not as complicated as it looks. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it within a week.” Ah, yes. Then there was Felix, the poor boy she’d run into earlier. He’d been extremely mature about the matter, even insisting that it was his fault and that he’d pay for any of her damaged belongings. Naturally, she refused the offer, but it was a thoughtful gesture nonetheless. 

“If not, you know where to find us.” Claude added, before scooping her hand into his and pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles. “But I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to you finding me for non-school related purposes as well.” 

Allegra rolled her eyes with a sigh, and Allan pinched the bridge of his nose. Felix just scoffed, especially when Claude winked at the end. 

Jokester and flirt of the group. Marinette thought with a smirk. In one quick motion, she slipped her hand out of Claude’s grasp and pushed him away by the tip of his nose. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She said, flashing him a wry smile.

Claude stumbled back a step, clearly shocked by her reaction. Allan straight up laughed next to him, and Marinette, to her delight, caught a glimpse of Felix smirking.

“Oh, I like you.” Allegra snickered, slinging her arm over Marinette’s shoulders.

“So do I.” Claude grinned. 

Allan, once his laughs died down, stepped forward. “Do you mind if I give you my number too? I can’t imagine not hanging out with you now.”

Marinette blushed from the compliment, but nodded and handed him the paper. Claude eagerly jumped at the opportunity and wrote down his number too. Then the boys turned to Felix.

“What about you, Fe? Are you giving her your number now or are you gonna beg for it later?” Claude asked, his grin turning devilish.

Felix shot him a glare- which he apparently did quite often. “I don’t beg.”

Allegra- ever the patient friend -let out a huff and shoved the paper into his hands. “For Pete’s sake, Felix, just write your number on the dang paper.”

“O-Only if you want to.” Marinette interjected. She didn’t want to cause a fight amongst them on her first day.

Felix’s glare faded slightly at her input, and he sighed. 

“It’s fine. You would probably need it eventually, anyway.” He relented, plucking a pen out of his left vest pocket and jotting down his number on the paper too. Marinette smiled despite herself as she took the paper back. It was only her first day, but she’s already made four, lovely friends. She liked to think of that as a good sign.

“Have you gotten your class schedule, yet?” Allegra queried now that the phone number matter was settled.

Marinette shook her head. “I was actually trying to find it when I bumped into you guys.”

Claude snorted. “‘Bumped into’. Good one.”

Marinette giggled along with Allegra and Allan. She hadn’t meant it that way, but the irony was a bit humorous. 

“Let us walk you to the office.” Allan requested. “The school tends to overcomplicate things, class schedules included.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hold you guys up.”

Allegra waved her hand dismissively. “Classes are over for the day, and our drivers are paid to wait for us.”

Marinette furrowed her brows slightly. “Your drivers?"

“You know, the people who drive us to and from school and anywhere else we want to go.” Claude helpfully supplied.

So, like Gorilla. Marinette thought. It made sense. This was a school of kids who had fortunes of the same extent, if not greater than, the Agreste’s fortunes. If Adrien had a driver, then the students here would certainly have one too.

“You don’t have a driver, do you?” Allegra guessed.

Marinette glanced up at the blonde, a strange mix of surprised and embarrassed. Was it that obvious? Would it be weird in this school if she didn’t have a driver?

“Please don’t take that the wrong way.” Allegra rushed to add, noticing Marinette’s sheepish expression. “I’m just curious. We don’t get many students here who aren’t drowning in their own money.”

“That makes sense.” Marinette replied. The tuition for this school had been unbelievably high. “But no, I don’t have a driver. My family was granted an early scholarship for me to come here.”

Surprise flashed across the group’s faces, including Felix’s. 

“Well, isn’t that interesting.” Claude muttered. 

Marinette shrank back slightly. “I-I’m sorry-”

“No, don’t apologize.” Allan cut her off. “We’re just impressed.”

“Getting a scholarship here isn’t easy.” Allegra explained. 

“I-It’s only in the fashion section.” Marinette admitted, fiddling with the ends of her bookbag.

Claude gasped, a sparkle coming to his chestnut eyes. "You're a fashion designer?!"

“Uh oh.” Allan smirked.

Allegra shot her an apologetic look. “I’d say that there’s an escape to this, but I don’t want to lie straight to your face on our first day of knowing each other.”

Marinette held back a smile. Did that mean she would lie to her face when they knew each other better?

“How many outfits have you designed? Can you sow outfits too? I’ve had a few ideas, but none of the other art students listen to me-” Comments and questions started spilling out of Claude left and right. Things about smeared pencil drawings, pricked fingers, and his strange obsession with ruffled, prince-like sleeves seemed to explode out of his mouth all at once. Marinette knew her rambles could fall on the fast side, but this was a whole other level. 

“I’d have to look through my notebook, but I think the ruffles are doable.” Marinette managed to say when Claude paused to take a breath.

“Really?!” He exclaimed, going so far as to clasp his hands together with a grin.

She nodded, smiling herself. “I’m not sure how princely sleeves would fair on modern sleeves, though. They’d look much nicer on a full prince costume.”

Claude’s eyes bulged out of his head. “You would design a full suit for me?”

“I can’t promise that the fabric will be of good quality when I sow it, but yeah.” 

Claude threw his fists in the air in celebration, and Allegra took the opportunity to lightly pull Marinette aside.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” She whispered. “Claude’s not going to be too disappointed if you decide to change your mind.”

Marinette’s smile softened. “Thanks, but I really don’t mind. I needed a new project to work on, anyway.” 

Allegra studied her for a moment, then smiled as well. “Well, if you’re sure. He’s going to send you cars full of fabric though.”

She laughed. “Guess I’ll tell Maman to start clearing out the guest room.”

~~~~~~

Felix stared at his book, rubbing the corner of the page between his thumb and index finger. His phone buzzed relentlessly beside him on the arm of his recliner, no doubt the group chat that he'd been roped into. It was chaotic enough when it was just Allegra, Allan, and Claude, but now that they've added Marinette to the group, Felix wondered if his phone would ever be silent again.

He supposed he should have known better than to assume they would show Marinette around the school and be done with her. Allegra, Allan, and Claude were always overly friendly. However, he also couldn’t say that he minded having her around either. At least, not for the time being. She was considerate enough not to push his buttons and lively enough to keep the others occupied. No more on-the-spot activities from Allegra and Claude to cure their boredom.

"They're chatty today." Bridgette, his mother, commented from the loveseat couch to his right.

Felix hummed in agreement. "A new student arrived at the school today."

"Is that what they're talking about?"

He shook his head. "It's who they're talking to. The leeches have already adopted her."

Bridgette chuckled. “You mean Allegra, Allan, and Claude?” 

“Who else insists on sticking to me like glue?” 

She tilted her head in a “True” gesture. “Who’s the new student?”

“Her name’s Marinette.” Felix answered, flipping the page of his book.

“Oh, that’s a unique name.” Bridgette replied thoughtfully.

Felix hummed in agreement. “She said it was supposed to be similar to the doll ‘Marionette’.” 

“You talked to her?” Bridgette asked, surprise lacing her tone.

Felix resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew she didn’t mean to sound patronizing, but sometimes her questions irked him. For example, why wouldn’t he talk to the new student if Allegra and the others were? Even if he didn’t particularly enjoy human interaction, there was still such a thing as common courtesy.

..Which he supposed he didn’t usually have either.

Okay, maybe her question was more reasonable than he originally thought.

“Yes, I actually ran into her while we were walking down the hall.” He finally said.

Bridgette tried- and failed -to hide her laugh. “You ran into someone? That’s not like you, Felix.”

Felix sighed, slipping a bookmark into his book so he could close it. “I’m aware. I was trying to ignore Allegra’s prodding when it happened.”

“I see. What did Marinette say?”

“She actually started apologizing.” Felix admitted. “Even though it was my fault, she picked up my books before tending to her own things and asked if I was alright.”

Bridgette smiled. “She sounds delightful.”

He nodded without thinking. “Allegra even invited her to our routine luncheon tomorrow.”

Felix missed the twinkle in his mother’s eyes as she said, “Wow, to your personal lunch? They must really enjoy her company. You’ll have to invite her over here sometime.”

“I’m sure Allegra will arrange it eventually.” Felix replied dismissively.

“Then I shall have to thank her when she does.” Bridgette remarked, standing up from the couch. Her fingers ruffled through his hair as she passed him. “I’m glad you had a good day at school, sweetheart.”

Felix almost objected, since he hadn’t necessarily claimed to have had a good day at school, but decided against it. There was no point in arguing, especially when his day had, in fact, been satisfactory. He’d met someone new, someone that intrigued him. (A rarity, indeed, but it was true.) In the short time they talked, Marinette had shown herself to be both kind and anxious, but also witty and confident. It was an interesting mixture that stuck out to him. What type of life must one live to create such a paradox of a personality?

Unfortunately, Allan and the others knew about as little as he did when it came to her. She was a new student that had a passion for fashion and a bright smile. That was all. This was why he’d elected to remain silent instead of sharply opposing Allegra’s inviting Marinette to their lunch. (The sly smiles that were thrown his way by Claude and Allan afterwards were above irritating, though.)

Nevertheless, Felix felt she was worth the teasing for now, because Marinette, in short, was a puzzle.

And Felix loved his puzzles.

[writersrealmbts]

A Natural: Part 5

Description: Hybrid!Taehyung x Reader: You’re a single mom, and your son is your entire world. When you take him to get his first hybrid, his choice is pretty bewildering, until you realize that he was picking out a dad.

Posted: 05/24/2020

Tags: Taehyung, Hybrid Taehyung, Human Reader

Wordcount: 1,906

A/N: Oh look, another series that was never supposed to be a series. And I had to pick a new series gif because it wouldn’t show up. 

Taehyung woke you up gently, pressing kisses to your cheeks, nose and forehead.

You sighed and stretched. “Mmm, what time is it?”

“Seven,” He whispered, tilting your chin slightly so he could kiss your lips. “You said you wanted to get there early.”

You nodded. “It’s his first day of physical therapy. He was scared. Jin send any updates?”

“Haven’t checked. You okay?” He asked, feeling your forehead.

“Just tired. Always tired. I wish there was a miracle cure that I could give him. Or that I could take his pain and he could continue to be my rambunctious baby.” You buried your face in his shoulder, sighing in frustration.

The past three weeks had been exhausting. You couldn’t recall a single night where you felt like you went to bed with some scrap of mental, emotional, or physical strength. They had woken Theo up about a week and a half after he was admitted, and he had taken it well since he was still so groggy. But you hardly left his side for the first three days. The only reason you left on the fourth was because of work. You had to pay for the medical bills somehow. Now they were thinking he was healed enough to start some very minor physical therapy. He didn’t have feeling from about mid-shin down, but his brain had healed well. The doctors didn’t think there was any lasting damage now. He got the casts off of his legs and his collarbone was healed, so they were really happy with how he was recovering so far.

Taehyung spent most of his days at the hospital, and Jin and Jimin alternated nights to help you two out.

Yoongi bought you lunch most days, and visited Theo on the weekends. Bringing movies to binge and board games to play.

Theo always perked up when Yoongi got there on Saturday morning.

Namjoon brought Hoseok whenever the two didn’t have too much work, and he would bring in music stuff—instruments or tracks—to entertain Theo.

Theo loved Namjoon’s music visits, just as he loved music class the most.

Hoseok still had to catch up on some grading, and recovering his class from a week with a substitute teacher on top of his own bit of physical therapy for his leg injury. He still obviously felt guilty, but he also helped Theo learn things he was missing in class. He had told you that the kids would ask after Theo, and they even sent in get-well-soon cards.

Theo kept saying he couldn’t wait to go back to school.

Jimin drew cartoons on Theo’s casts before they were removed and Theo loved them so much that he insisted Jimin teach him how to draw, and now there were drawings everywhere.

Taehyung kissed your collarbone. “Hey, you okay?”

“Just…waking up.” You curled into him.

He chuckled sleepily. “No, you’re not.”

“Are you telling me that you’re awake?”

He gave a sleepy sounding hum. “Not really, but I know we need to get up.”

You nodded, yawning into his chest and then rolling away from him and getting up in one movement.

“Hey, Jimin texted me to call him,” Taehyung said, frowning at his phone.

You sighed. “It probably has something to do with his parents. You better call him.”

He made an almost growling sound at the mention of Jimin’s parents—who had been a continual pain in the ass through this whole process—but he calls Jimin.

You don’t pay attention much while he talks to Jimin, getting ready for the day, and only noticing that something was wrong when Taehyung growls again.

He’s pacing along his side of the bed, not saying anything but there’s a steady growl in his throat. “He starts his therapy today!”

You flinch when he scoffs, and worry fills you at the frown creasing his forehead.

“What am I supposed to tell Y/n, Jiminie?!”

“I’d suggest the truth if you want everyone to live,” You said, eyes narrowed.

He looked up and gulped. “Can I make him explain it?”

You were already in front of him, taking the phone. “What’s going on?”

“My parents…they caused a scene here and the doctors decided to reschedule his physical therapy…since my parents ordered a DNA test.” Jimin sounded apologetic.

“What do they expect to get from a DNA test?” You asked, feeling bile rise in your throat.

“I don’t know, but I’m on top of it, they won’t make a move I don’t know about. I’ll stay with him all day, okay?”

“Jimin, why did they order a DNA test?”

He was quiet, and you heard him huff out a breath. “Because they want to see if he’s actually who we claim and maybe add him to their will if he is,” He said, sounding frustrated.

“Which means they’d try to take him away from me?”

“Possibly. If you didn’t want to comply with their standards.”

“Which I won’t.” You glared at the wall. “Your family sucks.”

“I know. It’s probably better if you stay away, though, that’ll delay things because they need your permission to do the DNA testing.”

You froze. “But—”

“I’ll keep her away,” Tae said, loud enough to be heard, and taking the phone. “Call us if Theo needs her.”

You stared in disbelief as he said goodbye to Jimin and then hung up.

He looked back at you. “It’s for the best, anyway. You’re exhausted.”

“I can’t sleep, not now,” You argued.

“There’s more than just physical exhaustion,” He rebutted, then leaned in and kissed you. “He’s safe with friends. Yoongi will be there later today, with Namjoon and Jimin, just like they planned and they’ll play games with Theo.”

“I barely ever there—”

“You practically live there,” He cut you off with a whine. “Please, I know you’re tired. I know. It’s been a really hard month. But Theo’s being looked after really well. All of the nurses adore him because he’s so sweet and polite. It’s time to take care of yourself.”

You tilted your head, at a loss for words.

He stepped closer, and arms wrapping around your waist after he tossed the phone onto the bed. His lips met yours softly. “It’s time to forget you’re a mom for a few minutes. Just…be you. Be who you were before you were a mom.”

“I don’t know who that is,” You whispered.

“Then just be the person you are with me,” He whispered back, voice low and deep.

You sighed and surrendered to him, allowing him to pull you into a series of lingering kisses.

“Dress up a bit, lets go out.” He murmured, tail swooshing behind him. “Or, well…let’s go for a picnic.”

You stepped back slightly, uncertain.

“Please, Y/n. We both need to let go for a while.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

And you gave in, nodding. “Okay, but…I don’t know…I don’t want to deal with other people.”

“Then we’ll have a picnic in the backyard. You get ready, and I’ll go get things set up and then if you could make us sandwiches?”

You nodded.

“Then we’ll have a nice little date,” He said, grinning at you as his fingers brushed your cheek. Then his shoulders scrunched happily with his face and he practically skipped out of the room. “Remember, wear pretty clothes!”

“O-okay…” You called back, then frowned at your closet door. “I don’t know if I have anything?”

You went into your closet, looking for something pretty that was also middling between casual and Easter Sunday high teas that you used to go to at your grandmother’s senior home while she was alive.

Instead you found frustration and work clothes. Some clothes you might wear to parent-teacher conferences, or to one of the school events.

But the only date-like thing you found in your closet was from before Theo was conceived and you weren’t about to try that on. You knew how your body had changed since then and didn’t need the reminder from your closet. You’d sort of squeezed into it the last time you’d worn it anyway, and you had more hip now.

Sure, you probably had more clothes in that box, but you knew most of the clothes in ther

Taehyung came back when you had been in there for too long. “What’s wrong?”

“No clothes,” You muttered. “Nothing to wear.”

He tilted his head, then came over to look through your clothes. He pulled out a sweater and a skirt, handing them to you. “It’s a little cold outside, so maybe leggings?”

You looked over the outfit and then at him, surprised. “Um…yeah…okay.”

He nodded and walked out. “I’ll make sandwiches!”

You heard your bedroom door close, and started changing. You were surprised at how well he managed to find an outfit for you, but then again, he dressed so well himself, even on a minimal budget.

And it was a nice, casual date outfit.

You did your hair a little, and your makeup a little more. Actually put on earrings and a necklace.

Taehyung was plating sandwiches, making things look nice.

You looked outside in surprise. “It’s raining?”

He looked out as well. “Yeah. It just started. But we can still have a picnic. It’ll just have to be a living room picnic. I already cleared the space and….” He trailed off when he looked at you. His expression softened and he smiled. “Wow, y/n. You look so beautiful.”

You could have blushed, and you might have blushed from the way he was looking at you. “It’s been a while.”

“You always look beautiful,” He added, sincerity in all of his features and gestures. He took your hands in his, tail slowly swishing. “Thank you for agreeing to do this with me.”

You nodded, looking at the ground, unable to meet his gaze.

“Ooh, can I put a fire in the fireplace?”

You nodded again, stealing glanced at him as he excitedly went to turn on the gas fireplace.

Then he dimmed the lights some, and finished arranging blankets and pillows.

“Alright, I think that covers it, sorry we’re only having sandwiches.”

“I can live with sandwiches,” You replied softly, letting him lead you over to sit in the picnic area. You got comfortable while he hurried back to get the plate of sandwiches. You didn’t know your living room could feel so romantic.

He brought over the food and drinks on the bed-tray, setting it down. “It’s just grape juice, but I thought the glasses made it feel more romantic.”

You smiled. “Does. I didn’t even know the living room could look like this.”

He grinned. “We should make it look like this more often.”

You laughed a little.

He kept your laughing a little as the two of you ate, telling you stories and drawing stories of your family out.

You moved the tray and sat beside him, leaning on his shoulder.

He was still for a moment before relaxing into it. He kissed your forehead, then kept telling you about a movie he had seen.

You stared into the fire, listening to his voice. It was so soothing, so wonderfully perfect.

His lips met yours softly, then parted to lightly brush your cheeks. “I love you, y/n.”

You sighed happily, eyes staying shut. “I love you, Taehyung.”

Previous.  Next.

Taehyung Masterpost.  Masterlist.  

Taglist (must comment on taglist to be tagged from now on)

Tagging: @rosita7703, @ephemeral-mindset @forvever-ddaeng  @ncttzuuy @givebuckysomelove @alex--awesome--22  @missmoxxiesworld  @bryvada @knjhe  @i-dont-even-know-fck @young-yellkie @veryuniquenamegoeshere @lottohsehunnie​ @briramirezalipio​ 

Unable to tag: @bunnyboyenthusiast (think you changed to @kthstrawberryshortcake​ please let me know if I’m wrong or right because I have you listed for multiple stories)

[lukeyhughes]

so the other day i reblogged a post and vagued about my issues with gk’s framing of iraqi tragedies in the tags, which was then replied to and that reply was circulated. while the reply was awesome/insightful/interesting i feel like my original point sorta got lost in the shuffle. i wasnt going to make a post about this for a bit but i feel like its been consuming my thoughts all day so i’ll elaborate what i meant under the cut! 

gen kill is david simon show, so like all david simon shows the thesis is “people exist in inside of a broken system.” in this case, the broken system is the marine corps chain of command and the people are the marines who have to carry out senseless orders. this is shown in many ways, including pointless dangerous missions (see: the bridge, danger close, etc.), how capable enlisted men are vs. most officers, how the “only good officer” nate is punished for rational choices, and how the marines have their spirits crushed because they are forced to senselessly kill iraqi civilians.

when i was in first year of undergrad i took an african studies class that in one seminar problematicized coverage of the Rwandan Genocide: how many times have you heard/read a Romeo Dallaire interview/account? how many times have you read/heard an interview from a genocide survivor? how many times have you seen pictures of bodies/skulls of genocide victims? the answer for the average person is a lot, hardly ever, a lot. with the iraq invasion, the questions would be: how many times have you heard the accounts of coalition soldiers about the iraq war across media types? how many times have you heard accounts of it from the iraqi civilian perspective? how many times have you seen statistics regarding the amount of iraqi civilian casualties? a lot, hardly ever, a lot.

that is all to say that in western media/society we are very comfortable listening to white narratives and just seeing brown bodies, which translates into only hearing white narratives of the tragedies of the deaths of others in foreign countries. in generation kill, iraqi civilian casualties/fatalities/tragedies are framed so that we feel sympathy for the marines that caused them as opposed to those suffering. that is not to say that we as the audience do not feel sympathy (i certainly do!) but it is because of our own internal empathy, not the narrative framing of the show.

let’s take a look at three of the biggest cases of iraqi civilian tragedy and how they’re framed in the show:

first, when rudy goes up to the roadblock and sees the dead little girl in episode 4. we get quite a few shots of the father’s shell-shocked face, but just as many are shots of rudy’s horror/sadness; we watch him walk away from behind from rudy’s perspective and we see that rudy is unable to look away from them. rudy didn’t actually have anything to do with it (aside from abetting i suppose), but even when he gets back to camp the show makes sure to illustrate how affected by it he is, ignoring brad and ray who call out to him. this one is actually surprisingly gk’s best example of eliciting sympathy for iraqi casualties; however, the focus of the scene is still on rudy and the father’s reaction is still mostly used to contribute to rudy’s guilt/horror.

the next scene is the little shepherd boys who were shot by trombley while out with their camels. we see the mom crying over her son, but its basically background noise and is if anything used to further the marines’ (particularly brad and doc bryan to a lesser extent) guilt at causing the situation. we know this because her actions don’t exist independently: they are used for the marines to react to. we also get considerably more shots of marines looking on in horror than her crying about her son. brad’s guilt/sadness about the subject is dwelled on for about twenty minutes over the next two episodes, longer than any of the actual victims’ screen-time dedicated to their feelings combined.

the worst scene is the man in the white car, which sets off the main drama for the next episode. we get why walt did it- the show goes out of its way to make sure that we do- but at the end of the day a man is still dead, likely for no reason. in the aftermath we get about a hundred heartbreaking shots of walt’s shocked face, with a few of brad thrown in as well. on the other hand, we get no shots of the people in the car being horrified at seeing someone they know lobotomized. we just see them run away, no sadness no horror no nothing: from the show’s narrative perspective, this man’s death has no impact on anybody except for walt and the other marines. to make matters worse the man’s face is only shown when the marines notice how horrifyingly disfigured his body is; to me this is robbing the real man of his dignity even in death. 

let’s take a step back and look at gen kill’s general portrayal of iraqis. we don’t really get to see the marines interact with civilians until they reach baghdad when they go into rundown neighbourhoods. here, the iraqi men are portrayed as greedy and dumb, cutting in front of children and not understanding that there are other types of government. that’s not to say that that didn’t happen in real life- i’m sure it did- but it’s essentially the ONLY view of iraq civilians we get: ignorant, greedy, backwards, etc. deadass the only sympathetic iraqi characters in episode 7 are children, where we get a couple of UNICEF-esque shots of doc bryan holding crying kids to drive home that guilt factor. i bring this up because it means that the iraqi characters are not written so that you feel bad for them or empathize with their terrible situation. instead, the narrative wants you to empathize with the marines (in this case, particularly nate) who feel guilty for causing this chaos that they can’t do anything to fix it. 

the only other time iraqi civilians even have lines is when a refugee women tells brad about how he is destroying her home, but even then the point of that isn’t really her pain but how brad feels guilty/ashamed about what the usmc (an institution that is part of identity more than anyone else) is doing that; also she’s attacking brad who really had nothing to do with the baghdad situation and already feels guilty about other things, so its just creating more material for brad’s identity/guilt crisis and our sympathies for it.

all of this to say is that in basically every single case civilian tragedies don’t exist in the narrative on their own: they are used for the marine main characters to react to: the village. the truck crew. the men at the roadside. even the syrian student.

also @sunnygreys replied to some tags i made alluding to this issue. you should read what they wrote bc it’s a really interesting counterweight to what i’m saying and offers a different perspective. but anyway basically they mention certain lines where people are like “no ones forcing us to be here.” particularly notable was when godfather says that no one is forced to be here because they’re all volunteers in episode 3. my view of this has always been that saying that is ignorance on his part and another symptom of the broken command system. godfather chose to be career military,  he chose to accept the mission, he chose to change the ROE, etc: there was no gun to his head. for the enlisted men, the ones on the bottom who actually carried out the mission that injured the boys, they are pretty much being forced to be there by their circumstances. out of all the marines we interact with in the series, im pretty sure brad is the only enlisted man who comes from wealth and by extension had other options, while most others either implicitly or explicitly grew up in impoverished/unstable households: poverty is the new draft. thats sorta between the lines, but i imagine david simon knows that because of his previous work on poverty. what isnt between the lines is that the command system DOES force men in lower ranks to “be there” and carry out order: they can get NJPed for disobeying, they sign contracts that they’ll be dishonourably discharged and lose their benefits if they break, etc. there’s no gun to their head physically but metaphorically its pretty close. to me at least, those lines are not narratively placed to make us sympathize less with the marine main characters but instead to make us sympathize with them even more, because it shows how disconnected command really is. david simon is a huge dick irl but he’s a really clever writer.

again, i reiterate that we as the audience likely feel sympathy for the iraqi population because for most people its naturally sad when people die/get injured/etc. i think a lot of points i made and ones made by @sunnygreys can be mutually true, but the main difference being that i really don’t believe that gk’s intention was to make us step back and reflect on our sympathy with the “oppressors:” i really do think that’s who the show intends for us to sympathize with most based on their choices in camera shots, who says what, etc. that doesn’t mean we can’t step back and reflect, as i hope many of us have, i just think that was an unintended consequence. (if i’m misconstruing what you said please lmk and ill edit!)

that being said, can’t think of a way that generation kill could have done better in this regard based on the book/characters it had. the marines ARE the main characters and by conventional standards its their narrative/feelings/growth that matters. but just because there may have been no other way doesn’t make it unproblematic. its another example of western media using violence against nameless, distant foreigners for their own horror. 

there are people wandering this earth who are dealing with the loss of the man in the white car, the little girl at the roadblock, an entire village. those little boys, if they’re still alive, probably have to deal with the severe injuries they got when they were shot by marines. those slums of baghdad may still be in unstable today and have likely lost community members due to sanitation/hunger/violence. imagine knowing that there is a show out there where you or your loved ones are being used as a plot device to make viewers feel sympathy for the ones who put you in those positions. i sympathize deeply with the marines of GK, but i can imagine how hard it would be to be in the iraqi population’s place watching yourself and your experiences interpreted in a way dissociated from your own suffering so that the primary victimhood can be placed on the ones who did it to you. 

in conclusion, i love gen kill a lot. i love the story and the characters, and i think its an effective story in terms of achieving what it seeks to achieve. i think it’s okay to love something and be critical of it. also if western media companies weren’t cowards and weren’t scared of losing american military financial contributions they would make a miniseries about the iraqi people who were terrorized by american invaders, including the ones we love in gk!

[mxdanni]

On Accidents

Choices: Open Heart. Ethan Ramsey x MC

Summary: when an accident with his (favourite) intern brings in unexpected news, there’s only one person left for Dr Ramsey to confide in.

Author’s Note: AUish. Around a year into the book, MC’s been working with Dr Ramsey on Dr Banerji’s case. Working VERY closely (wink-wink) while Naveen is slowly getting better. Also, they somehow persuaded Naveen to check in as a patient because it’s not like they could hide him forever. And they are great friends now + only Naveen knows about hushed Ethan x MC romance. Their glances were hard to miss 😚

📌 My MC’s name is Lin Lee

Tag list: anyone? *winking. I’m plotting a series of one-shots

Dr Ethan Ramsey slumped in the chair next to Naveen Banerji’s bed. Stuffed with all the papers and X-rays they had from running the tests on Naveen, he was only leafing through them. His mind was blank. Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose but his eyes just won’t focus.

Naveen waited. Ethan’s hands were shaking slightly, hardly visible, yet turning to the next page was growing more and more difficult.

Finally, Ethan just laid the folder aside. He sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“Lin had an accident.”

That was it.

Ethan shut his eyes for a second but the pinging in front of him quickened, and he jumped to his feet.

“Not like that!” he added and quickly checked on the machines. “It’s nothing to worry about, Naveen, she’s fine. A broken finger, a small cut on her arm and a bruise on her shoulder. All taken care of, she’s still a bit weak though.”

Ethan strode around his mentor’s bed, glanced over the screen again, then walked back to his chair. He almost sat down, paced to the window instead, then back again.

“So…?” Naveen prompted, and Ethan looked away.

“She was walking to the hospital, just left the apartment actually,” Ethan didn’t even notice himself rambling, “and there was that little girl, and, ugh, and of course, Rookie had to save her, she just had to push the girl away and take the hit herself!”

Ethan clasped his own arm as he leaned on the windowsill and looked outside.

“No wonder I haven’t seen her around for two days. Was starting to worry, you know, ” noticed Naveen peacefully, his breathing and heartbeat getting back to normal.

Ethan sighed. He didn’t turn around but glanced at his mentor.

“With all the screaming and passer-by panicking, they took my Rookie into a different hospital. It was closer. I heard her friend Sienna telling the story near the nurses’ station and rushed to the address. Might have made a scene. Then might have burst into that hospital but you’re not allowed to see a patient they were just checking in.”

“Ethan.” Naveen couldn’t help the slightest smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

“Might have caused another scene, alright?” Ethan exclaimed and threw his hands up. “What was I supposed to do? What was I even supposed to think when all I overheard was a car, accident and Lin taken to the hospital?!”

“Ethan,” Naveen repeated even calmer and this time smiled for real.

“Yes, she was fine, she is even better now she’s got some rest.” Ethan walked to the bed and plumped himself onto the chair. He folded his hands in front of him and closed his eyes. “But I panicked. They stopped me. I might have still tried to get through, they might have called security on me, then I might have wrestled those as well, caused even a bigger scene…”

Ethan huffed a laugh and fiddled with his fingers.

“He might have a fracture, I didn’t mean it I swear.”

Naveen raised his eyebrows at that but Ethan didn’t see it.

“By that time the whole hospital was there, somebody recognised me, long story short they handed me my utterly confused Rookie with a cast on her finger and a few band-aids. And also tossed the filled out admission history forms. Guess just in case I would want to come back or something.”

Ethan fell silent and looked at the floor.

“Oh.” Naveen knew that look too well. “And that’s not it?”

“No.” Ethan shook his head. “It’s what was… They did a quick check but, well… Well. She’s pregnant, Naveen. Rookie’s three weeks pregnant and by the looks of it doesn’t know yet.”

Naveen let out the breath he'd been holding.

“So I am the second person to know? Should I be proud?” Naveen grinned and slowly sat up. “Congratulations, I…” His smile faltered. Naveen reached out and tapped Ethan on the arm. “Wait, you don’t think…”

“Of course, it’s mine!” he snapped. “How could you, you should know her better to assume that!”

Naveen blinked. Then once more, and Ethan just shook his head, stood up and paced the room again. He would stop, his frown deepening, pinch the bridge of his nose and go on.

“Then why are you so… upset?”

“Worried,” sighed Ethan. “No-no, the baby’s fine, didn’t even feel a thing through all of this. All the tests are okay, I insisted Rookie let me take a few more samples to make sure…” Ethan smiled weakly, wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes. “Well, so I would calm down as she put it since the Dr Ethan Ramsey would not just question his own diagnosis.”

Naveen chuckled lightly, and the dense mood seemed to have shifted.

“It’s just… we’ve never talked about it much before,” said Ethan. “And this is unexpected, our whole relationship is a secret, and she’s just starting her career, her very promising career, sure you can see that, Naveen, if it all reveals now… Also, a child might get in the way of her career, then even so I would probably be the worst dad with my work always… and her shifts, Rookie would always be at the hospital as well… But the truth is… well.”

Ethan paused and looked up at his friend. “I am rambling, aren’t I?” He muttered something to himself and hunched his shoulders as he leaned closer to the bed. “But the truth is still, I really want that kid. With her. Despite… all odds, I guess?” A sigh and, “I love her. I love her and would do anything to make her happy. Because… don’t know, because she’s my Rookie now?”

“You should really be talking to her about that,” pointed out Naveen, a somehow sly smile touching the corner of his lips, “and not me.”

At his mentor’s changed expression, Ethan paused and narrowed his eyes a bit. He couldn’t quite place it, and his thoughts were running elsewhere. Back to the nurses’ station where he spotted Lin but twenty minutes ago, or back to his office where he was supposed to meet her in an hour.

Ethan glanced down at his fingers and realised he kept locking and unlocking them over and over again until his knuckles hurt.

“Naveen? Do you think I could pretend… perhaps not to know anything until the… that option’s no longer safe?”

“Abortion?” suggested Naveen, and Ethan grimaced at the word. “Do you really think she would want that?”

Ethan shrugged. He looked around and closed his eyes, the uneasy feeling crawling up his throat.

“I… honestly don’t know.”

At that Naveen chuckled, and Ethan’s frown darkened. He honestly had no idea why his friend and mentor found the whole situation so amusing. Still, with no explanation coming to his head, he decided to ignore it for now.

“She’s a doctor, too, you know,” said Naveen and patted him on the hand. Tried to reach for his shoulder, Ethan noticed that and jumped up the moment before his friend tumbled back into the pillows. “Huh.”

The machine pinged quicker a few times before settling for the regular beat. With the upheaval, Ethan missed the quiet click as the door closed behind somebody slipping into the room.

“You shouldn’t get up as…” Ethan started.

“Talk to her. She’ll notice,” interrupted Naveen with a chuckle, “and recognise the symptoms soon enough.” He watched Ethan slump back onto the chair, then glanced over his head and hardly bit back a grin. “And you definitely can’t hide the baby bump till the last month from the woman growing that baby bump.”

Ethan smiled weakly. “I could try?”

“No, she’s too good of a doctor to miss it.”

Ethan opened his mouth to say something, but–

“A-and,” drawled out Naveen as his grin widened. The light step right behind Ethan’s back sounded too close for him to miss it. “She is standing right behind you.”

“Naveen!” snapped  Ethan, stood up and sharply turned around. Indeed, there she was grinning even slyer than Naveen if that was even possible.

“Lin?” Ethan grasped her arms and quickly looked her over. The band-aid’s end on her chin was sticking a little so Ethan gently pressed it back to her skin. “What are you doing here, Rookie?” he whispered as his fingers traced up to palm her cheek. “You were supposed to rest.”

She giggled. She was fighting it and bit into her lower lip yet couldn’t help herself. The utterly confused look in his blue eyes was just as priceless as the conversation she came to eavesdrop upon.

“I love you, too, Ethan,” she mouthed and reached up on tiptoes.

It came out not louder than a breath. Their lips almost touching, the world closing up around them.

Ethan leaned in. A mere touch. The kiss started feather-light, gentle. A soft peck. Her lips tasted too sweet from the vanilla lip balm she liked so much. He couldn’t have enough of the taste. Ethan traced his fingers down her sides, and Lin locked her hands at the back of his neck. Both pulled the other closer. Grinding their bodies abasing each other, every curve fitting like it was meant to be.

“My Rookie…”

Neither could catch their breath when they finally broke away. Smiling, Ethan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and rested his forehead against hers. Lin was positively beaming.

“Lin was standing there almost from the start,” both heard Naveen’s voice as if in a haze. One thing for sure, he sounded highly amused. “Gestured for me to keep silent but I’m surprised you didn’t see her lurking around in the corridor. Standing right next to the window. Actually, you might want to check nobody is up to the same thing right now.”

Lin gasped and jumped back, yet Ethan held her tighter and pressed back to his body.

“Well, they would know soon enough,” he grumbled, the wide smile not matching his tone at all. “So we might as well relax on the secrecy.”

“Ooow, my friends would love to hear all about the mysterious man I’ve been seeing.” She nudged Ethan as he nodded to Naveen and they left the room.

… Only to see Sienna blocking their way down the corridor. Still holding some patient’s files, she crossed her arms over her chest and eyed them with a mixture of amusement and suspicion.

“So…?” she prompted and narrowed her eyes. “You and Dr Ramsey, huh?”

Lin looked away and stepped back. Ethan knew she felt uneasy about keeping their relationship from her friends, yet agreed the secret was the wisest way to go about it. He took her hand, luckily not the one with the broken pinky, and gave it a light squeeze before entertaining their fingers together. Sienna’s smug smile was getting on his nerves though, so Ethan shoved his other hand into his white coat’s pockets.

Help came with a loud ping of the pager.

“Dr Trinh,” Ethan pointed at her pocket.

Sienna reached inside and glanced at the screen.

“Then, I expect to hear the story later!” With that Sienna grinned, showed Lin thumbs up and dashed ahead. “Somebody owes me money…”

Lin wasn’t all sure she heard the last bit right. It was possible, after all, Sienna made it quite ahead of them. She looked up to see Ethan watching Sienna run off, and by the look on his face, he was clearly lost in the thoughts of his own.

Lin glanced ahead, but the corridor seemed empty but for them. Ethan was still holding her hand so she tugged on it to get his attention.

“Did she just–?” she whispered and leaned closer to his side.

“You heard that too?” he mused.

“Uh-huh.”

Ethan chuckled and leaned in to leave a peck on her temple. “Not that good with the secrecy, huh?”

She just shrugged and smiled at him. “Sienna’s very perceptive.” 

Then she looked down and placed her palm on her yet flat stomach. Ethan followed her gaze but before he could say anything, Lin pulled on his hand again. Their fingers intertwined, she twisted her hand so it was his pressed against her stomach. Next to hers.

His breath hitched.

“Oh, and Ethan?” She winked. “We are definitely keeping the baby.” She let go of his hand and stepped forward, then turned on her heels so she was now facing him. Lin raised up her finger. “On one condition though.”

“Huh?” Confused and still utterly besotted, he found all words betraying him. “Anything.”

It was the only thing Ethan could say. Which was true.

“You are the one to tell my mom the news.”

Lin giggled and turned around to walk ahead. Ethan blinked and lingered behind a few steps to quickly catch up with her by the corner.

“Is she that formidable?”

“Mom? No.” Lin beamed and waved her hands around. “She’ll be delighted and very happy for us. But grandma lives with her and my sister.”

At this point, they reached the nurses’ station, and Ethan tried to smooth his expression to a more neutral one. Failing miserably, he suddenly found himself not irritated by the confused glances the nurses were giving him at all. Or by the shushed comments that even he could be in a good mood once in a while.

Ethan waited for Lin to pick up some folder before walking by her side further.

“Let me guess, your grandmother is formidable?”

Lin shrugged and nodded somewhere in between a ‘no’ and a ‘yes’.

“Let’s just say…” She remembered something and hardly bit back a laugh. “If she shouts at you in Chinese, it’s a good sign.”

[vermilionskiinmorning]

Fandom: The Last Kingdom

Pairing: Finan/OC

Fic type: Drabble

A/n: Here it is the last ‘chapter’ in this little mini series! If you still need to catch up here are the links to the previous parts here is my fic Masterlist.This one is also a bit longer than the previous ones as well so I hope you all enjoy. And if anyone would like to be added to my fanfic tags let me know? I’ve noticed people tend to tag users who read their work? So in the future I’ll start adding a tag list

———

In the following weeks things went on as they had with little interaction between herself and Finan. At first Althena began to wonder if she had done something wrong by letting him kiss her, but she thought surely there could be nothing wrong with one kiss? The question burned in her mind constantly whenever she was around the hall helping Gisela with chores or with the children. She never asked though for her fear of embarrassment. At her age she ought to know these things right? How childish would she sound asking the Lady of the land when it was appropriate to kiss a man. Very she was certain and so she kept the whole thing to herself despite considering Gisela to be her greatest friend. 

Though, Althena could not help, but let her eyes linger on Finan longer than normal whenever she came across him. Nor could she ignore the tiny smiles he would throw her way when he thought nobody was looking. It was those smiles that eventually convinced her she had not done the wrong thing. Still Finan had hardly spoken to her and she didn’t understand why.

---

Finan was sitting round the fire with Uhtred, Sihtric, Clappa, and the others one evening drinking ale and goofing off. Clappa and Sihtric much further into their cups than the others as the young Dane had challenged the elder to a drinking contest. He’d chosen to avoid the competition this time round as the morning of having woken up in the stables was still to fresh in his mind. His back had ached and there had been a crick in his neck for days. All together the experience was enough to put him off heavy drinking...at least for a while. He’d only just leaned back in his seat when a beefy hand clapped down on his shoulder rather forcefully. 

“Oi! Why d’n ya join us Finan?”

It was Clappa. Finan arched an eyebrow at the man, but was unable to answer before Sihtric chimmed in. “He’s got other thins’ on his mind don’t ya Finan?” Sihtric gave him a knowing sort of look, but Finan only pretended not to have hear him. 

In truth there had been something or rather someone on his mind of late -Althena. Ever since the evening he’d spent with her by the river he hadn’t been able to keep her off his mind. It was becoming a bother actually. He’d been bested by Sihtric on more than one occasion now owing to his mind’s willfulness to wander at the most inappropriate of times. 

He’d decided Althena had always been beautiful, strikingly so if he was honest with himself, but he’d always been so in his own head before that he’d never truly seen her. Now he had, well that was the problem now wasn’t it? She haunted both his sleeping and waking mind. 

Part of him had thought at first that all he was in need of was a good shag, but even after he’d found his roll in the hay the feeling had not abated. And that was just it after all, she made him feel something he had only felt once before quite sometime ago in Ireland. That had lead, well he knew where and he wouldn’t be here nor met his Lord if it hadn’t, but since becoming free he hadn’t been eager to make such a connection again. Still when she was in the hall with the Lady Gisela and he could feel her eyes on him he felt something. A sort of pride in himself, a desire for her to look at him that way always, but by the time he turned to look at her she’d looked away. All they’d shared since that night were the small smiles in passing, but it made his stomach lurch. And not just in the sort of way that he knew meant he’d certainly like to hump her. 

“Yes it does seem our Irishman is distracted of late hmm?” Uhtred quipped, drawing Finan from his brooding. “Nothing to worry about I hope?” The damn bastard was wearing the same sort of knowing expression Sihtric wore.

Finan frowned deeply at the both of them. He half thought about getting up and heading off to bed, Frankly, he didn’t fancy having the piss taken out of him tonight. 

“Defensive eh?”

“I’d wager it must have somthin’ to do with that night ‘e went down to the riva with that fine lookin’ lady.”

“Knock it off would ‘ya?” Finan snapped finally.

“Oooo.” Chorused Sihtric and Clappa at once.

Uhtred frowned a bit at Finan’s defensive response. In their time having known eachother he hadn’t known Finan to be defensive over a woman. He arched his eyebrow at the Irishman. “Why don’t you hump her then?”

 Finan met Uhtred’s gaze and shook his head slightly. 

“Oh, Uhtred said. “Well in that case...you’re free to marry if that is your wish?”

“Doubt her’ Da’ would give ‘is only daughter ta an Irishman,” Finan grumbled.

Finan was thankful it seemed Sihtric and Clappa had gone back to their drinking games. He doubted he would’ve had the patience for their commentary at the moment. Uhtred had paused a moment before speaking again. “Well perhaps the blessing of his Lord on the marriage would see him to changing his mind?”

---

It was near two moons by the time Finan approached her again. She was headed home from the hall when he fell into step beside her. Despite her mild surprise at his sudden boldness in approaching her, Althena couldn’t help smiling.

“Good afternoon,” she said cheerily.

“Nearin’ on evening my Lady, but a good one it is.”

“Right you are, I was just returning home to finish cooking the evening meal for myself and my father.”

“Ah an I’d wager he wouldn’t miss tha’ would ‘e. So’s I’ll be quick then...could I call on ye’ tonight for another walk down ta’ th’ river?”

“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

“Good! Great...I’ll be round ‘bout th’ same time as before, yeah?”

Althena bit her lip as they reached the door to her home and nodded at him. Finan smiled cheekily at her and he was gone just as quick as he came. She let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding before she turned and entered the house. Inside she was surprised to find her father already awake, though just barely. She knew it was likely he’d heard at least part of their conversation, but despite the frown on his face her father said nothing. In fact he said little to her as she finished the meal or while they ate. He seemed to be deep in thought. 

That evening when he bid her goodnight, her father kissed her cheek like always, but when he hugged her he held on longer than normal. She was certain then that something was off, but he was gone before she could ask. It felt her with a strange feeling in her stomach that persisted even until Finan arrived with a sharp singular knock on the door. 

She answered it to find Finan with his usual grin in place which seemed to sweep her worries away. Smiling in return she took his offered arm and they were off toward the river. It was not as clear tonight as it had been the last time they’d gone for a walk nor was it quite as warm. Althena did not mind though as her company was good she could endure a smidge of cold for the chance to spend time with him. 

When they reached the river, Althena went to sit down, but Finan stopped her. He took her hand in his, turning it over to trace the lines on her palm, as he seemed to think of what he was going to say. Minutes passed and Althena found herself watching the paths of his fingers across her palm slightly mesmerised. Finally she got up the courage to speak.

“Is everything alright?’

Finan exhaled a half laugh half sigh at her words. Placing his hand on her cheek, he tilted her face up to look at him.

“You would say tha’ wouldn’t you?” he chuckled a bit then. “More worried about others than yourself...I seen it in th’ way you help the Lady around the hall. She is your friend is she?”

Althena’s brow furrowed, but she couldn’t deny she enjoyed the feel of his hand on her cheek despite the confusion she was feeling at his words. “Yes, the Lady and her family are quite dear to me.”

“Especially the children?” he seemed thoughtful “You’re a good woman. You’ll make a good mother.”

She bit the inside of her lip, but said nothing. What could she possibly say to that? It was so out of the blue. It was impossible for her not to feel a bit taken aback by his words.

“Finan?” 

“Hmmm?” he only hummed in response, watching his own thumb move gently over her cheek.

Certainly she thought he must feel the warmth there if he could not see it and it made her almost wish to turn away from his scrutinizing gaze. He had her trapped though just as he had that night before when they’d shared a kiss. Thinking of the kiss caused warmth to fill her chest and butterflies to fly in her stomach. It had been the most wonderful kiss.

“W-what are you thinking?” she asked softly.

“About you.” He didn’t even miss a beat in his response.

Althena just stared at him. 

“I do a lot these days,” he continued. “ ‘Bout marrying ya...the kids we could have. Yer such a good woman. Too good fer me. But just the same...I can’t get ye’ outta my head ya see?”

A deep flush filled her cheeks then.

“I feel yer eyes on me...when yer up at the hall, but you always look away. Even though you do, there’s this tiny smile,” he paused to stroke the corner of her mouth. “Just here.”

“I-I-” but she couldn’t come up with an excuse for why she might be staring at him so often. Clearly her affections were so obvious to him. But she’d had no idea, the things he was saying she was so surprised. 

“Would ya,” he asked, his eyes capturing her’s in a stare then. “...Marry me, I mean.”

Althena was struck dumb. All the words forming in her head and yet nothing came out. In the few moments it took for her to process what he’d said, Finan felt the beginnings of the sting of rejection. Just as he began to draw his hand away she grabbed it. Bringing it to her lips she kissed his palm softly, their eye connected and Althena saw that tiny flicker of vulnerability in him as she nodded slowly. 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

A grin broke across Finan’s face lighting it up instantly as he swept her off her feet and kissed her hard with all the passion he could muster. They stayed like that for a long time too. His arms wrapped tightly about her waist lips fused together in a bruising kiss until finally Althena pulled away. Her forehead rested against his as she struggled to catch the breath he seemed to have knocked out of her.

“What about...my father Finan? I do not know how he will take this.”

“All will be well,” he promised.

And he was right. It turned out Uhtred had already spoken to Althena’s father about the possible union. The gruff mood Althena had experienced that afternoon having been the aftermath of the conversation. Of course, Uhtred had been right as well. With his blessing upon the marriage Althena’s father had, had no room to argue, all that had been left to be settled upon was the bride price and a dowry. 

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Homeward Bound: Chapter 6

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader, Billy Hargrove x Henderson!Reader

Chapter 1 |  Chapter 2 |  Chapter 3 |  Chapter 4 |  Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

Chapter Summary: Could Steve Harrington be a...decent friend?

Word Count: 5,926

Warnings: Swearing, Blood mention, mental illness mention, surgery mention

Permanent Tag: @hotstuffhargrove @hargrovesgoldilocks @denimjacketkisses @hipsmcgee @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @casaharrington

Series Tag: @kurt-nightcrawler @alonewolfblog @baebee35 @supernatural-pants @bucky4cap45 @thoughstofaredhead @wearemightyghosts

The knife and the potato fell to the floor as Steve grabbed his open palm, hissing in pain. You jumped into action before you realized you were moving. You pushed his hand away, pressing a clean rag into the wound and rushing off to find the first aid kit. You were back quicker than you thought you could move.

You set the kit on the counter, pulling out an alcohol swap and moved the cloth, wiping the wound. Steve hissed and you chuckled “Will you ever get used to that feeling?” you muttered softly.

“Guess not…” he replied, his voice almost breathy. He watched you move, taking in how focused you were, your forehead creased with worry. He wanted to press a kiss on the lines, to promise that everything was alright. But he couldn’t, he lost that right years ago.

You looked at the wound, now clean and hardly bleeding. It wasn’t deep; it could easily be cared for with a bit of gauze and medical tape. You covered it quickly, cutting off the strip of gauze and folding it into a neat square. You pressed it to his palm and quickly tore off some tape, sealing each side. Without thinking, you pressed a kiss to the gauze, an old habit from taking care of his wounds when otherworldly monsters terrorized your lives. You heard him take in a breath and you let go of his hand quickly, ignoring your heavy blush as you packed up the kit.

“Well, as per my mother’s rule you aren’t allowed in the kitchen anymore, go hang out with Dustin, we’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” You said quickly, storing the kit on top of the fridge.

Steve nodded “Alright…” he said awkwardly, shuffling out of the kitchen. He looked dejected and you almost felt bad for bringing up old memories, but then again, he did that to you all the time.

You couldn’t stop the memory from hitting you.

It wasn’t the first time either of you had gotten hurt, but this time it was bad. Usually, you could handle patching up Steve and Dustin after a night of monster hunting, but this time Steve could barely move on his own and Joyce was sitting over him with a medical needle and thread, examining the large hole in his leg, freshly cleaned.

They got him. Those stupid, terrifying demo-dogs had gotten him. One latched onto his leg and took a piece of him. And it was your fault. If you hadn’t gotten in the way and held him back, he wouldn’t be hurt. This was your fault. You’d never felt more guilty in your life.

You sat behind him, his head in your crossed legs, supporting his neck with your calves and socked feet. He looked nauseous with pain, his eyes clamped shut and his forehead sweating. You wiped his forehead with a cool cloth, soothing him softly.

“I can’t promise they’ll be straight stitches, but I’ll do my best…” Joyce warned, threading the needle and carefully making the first stitch. They had no anaesthetic and no pain killer beyond Advil, so he felt every pull at his skin. Steve gritted his teeth, trying not to groan or seem weaker than he was.

You quickly took his hand, squeezing it in yours. He squeezed it back, harder than he probably meant to, but you didn’t complain. You felt this bit of pain was well earned for the amount of pain you caused him.

When he winced heavily when the needle reached the centre of his calf, you brought his palm to your lips, kissing it quickly. Oddly, this hushed him immediately. You assumed it gave him something to focus on. As the stitches got worse, you kissed his forehead, cheek, nose, and scrunched eyelids until the job was done and Steve was allowed to move. He let go of your hand, examining your knuckles with a worried look.

“I bruised them, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…” he muttered, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin.

You shook your head “It’s nothing, I did worse to you anyway…” you replied pitifully.

Steve shook his head “No, you didn’t. Don’t blame yourself. It’s no one’s fault that I got hurt, it’s just something that happened.” He said. You nodded softly, believing him as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

He was so easy to believe then. You shook the memory out of your head, focusing back on the potatoes. You worked quickly, wanted to finish off the work so you could make yourself look a bit better so you could rush out quickly and meet up with Billy.

Meeting up with Billy was the right choice. He’d grown, that was obvious to you just by looking at him. And besides, your memories with Billy weren’t major. Most of your time with him was spent in bed, sweaty and grinning in euphoria, not risking your lives together; the thrill was safer and easier. When you looked at Billy, you weren’t filled with immense pain and memories with him. And that was a good thing. It was a good thing to not be filled with emotion when you looked at someone. It was nice to simply want to be around someone because you found them to be worth your time. Not to be around someone whose very presence was marked by trauma and pain.

“Y/N…” someone asked behind you. You hadn’t realized that you’d just been standing there, blank faced and staring into space, imagining yourself finishing off the work. You hummed, dazed and unaware of who was behind you. Strong hands came to your shoulders, squeezing them once, trying to earn your attention. “Are you alright?” the voice asked again.

You turned slightly, still entranced in thoughts, your mind a million miles away.  “Hm? Yes, I’m fine, Dusty…” you said, your voice a million miles away, your smile vague and empty. Dustin frowned, shaking his head. He took the peeler from your hand and handed you instead a clean cloth.

“No, you’re not. Go upstairs, I have this.” He said, pushing you out of the kitchen. You didn’t protest, your whole body felt weak and empty. You needed to sleep for awhile.

You hadn’t had an attack like that in awhile. You blamed the blood, you didn’t handle it well. You have to be sure to mention it to your therapist when you got home; she liked to know when you had more serious or frequent attacks. She’d probably just suggest trying new medication or upping your dosage. Either way, you made a note to tell her.

The law suit settlement didn’t just cover the damages Hawkins Labs created, they promised free mental and physical healthcare for whoever could prove they earned it. Your lawyers worked hard to prove that your mental health had been wracked by this. They fought even harder to prove that you shouldn’t be put into a facility. While the kids were promised they’d forget in time and given therapists and Jane was suggestive for long term schooling for children with developmental issues, you were suggested for mental asylum. According to the other team, you were the most messed up of the group, because of your passionate soul. Luckily for you, an actual psychiatrist found that you weren’t actually sicker than anyone else and that passion did not dictate susceptibility to mental illness.

You were sick. That was a hard pill to swallow. You were sick. Not in the way others in Hawkins Labs were sick; radiation poisoning was common as well as physical and mental deformities in the children birthed in the labs. Lots of people had PTSD; that was more common. You yourself took two different pills for the anxiety the years had left you and then one for your insomnia. They worked well enough most days.

Today, it just didn’t do its job. Today, you broke. And you hated breaking. You sat down on your bed, hands gripping tightly onto your ancient pink bed sheets and letting out shallow, shaky breaths. You tried to find your footing again, closing your eyes and focusing on the breaths. This was supposed to work, to help you calm down again, but it wasn’t a perfect science and today it just wasn’t working. This was frustrating. You just wanted to move on, but as hot tears slipped down your cheeks and sobs wracked your chest. The room spun out of your control; you were dizzy and sit to your stomach, motion sick in a still room. You let your head slump down between your knees, forcing gasps of air in your closed lungs, and focusing on a spot on the floor, trying to stop the spinning.

This was not what you wanted-you wanted to try to enjoy your time at home. This was a difficult task, but you knew that going in. You just wanted to find something to like here, to make it tolerable for you so you could visit your mother a bit more, since she seemed so hell bent on staying. But right now it was hard. Insanely hard. The memories were closing in on you, they were about to crush you, and you couldn’t escape.

You went through the skills your therapist had instilled into you, muttering softly to yourself “Five things to see…one desk…one TV…one bottle of nail polish…one stack of textbooks…one music box.”

“Four things to smell…dinner downstairs…old perfume…nail polish…peach candles.”

“Three things to feel…bed sheets…paper…my heartbeat.” Your therapist always told you to name you heartbeat, a reminder that you were still alive.

“Two things to hear…the TV…Dusty downstairs.”

“One thing to taste…blood.” You ripped a piece of skin out of the inside of your mouth with your teeth, a bad habit.

“Y/N!” Dustin called from downstairs, startling you, raising your slowing heartbeat. You sat up, straightening your clothes, wiping the tears from your face and sniffling heavily.

“Y-yeah?” you called, silently damning the crack in your voice.

“Dinner, come on before mom kills you!” he called back. You nodded, more to yourself than to anyone else, and stood on shaky legs.

“J-just a second!” you called. You were nowhere near ready to go downstairs, but hell hath no fury like a Claudia Henderson scorned and skipping a meal was the worst way to spurn her. You looked once in the mirror attached to your door, noting that your eyes were puffy, but not intensely red, a definite plus. You looked paler, a minus, but your clothes weren’t wrinkled and your hair wasn’t awful, so you puffed out your chest and walked downstairs, finding an easy smile.

“Y/N!” your mother sighed “There you are, help me bring everything out.” You nodded stepping back into the kitchen and grabbing the bowl of loose corn. Your mother grabbed your elbow, pinching it tightly as she smiled out at the boys, already sitting.

“Why didn’t you sit with Steve?” she asked through gritted teeth.

You felt your smile falter “What?” you asked.

“You left, Dusty took over, and you left Steve alone for an hour. That was very rude.” She clarified tightly.

“I wasn’t feeling well, I’m sure he was fine on his own.” You said roughly, yanking away from her and heading into the dining room, placing the dish on the table and took the seat next to Dustin, much to your mother’s dismay.

Your mother practically threw the baked chicken on the table, her disappointment obvious. Even more obvious was what this dinner was; she was trying to display your wifely abilities to who she was certain was your future husband. You’d failed miserably in her eyes-you showed that you couldn’t cook, that you weren’t a good hostess, and that you weren’t interested in him. You could see resentment and disappointment practically dripping down her forehead and, for a brief moment, you felt bad.

“Steve, how’s your hand? Any better now?” you asked tentatively. Your mother perked up instantly, a small smile slipping onto her lips and into her eyes. Steve looked shocked for a second that you even deigned to start a conversation with him. He nearly dropped the chicken leg he was transferring to his plate.

“It’s…it’s fine! Stopped bleeding, thank you-for helping me, I mean.” He stuttered, taking a long sip of red wine when he finished, obviously embarrassed and awkward.

“Good. It was no trouble, really.” You replied, turning to smile at your mother, the look in your eyes screaming ‘happy?’, to which your mother nodded and you settled in to not speak again for the rest of the meal.

“Are you alright? Dustin mentioned that you weren’t feeling well.” Steve asked, startling you in turn.

You looked back to him, nodding “Yeah, I’m alright, blood just kinda freaks me out, but nothing to worry about.” You replied easily, not bothering to look up.

“I know the feeling, a lot of shit freaks me out now too…” he said. You didn’t dare breech the subject but it was almost comforting to know that the old protector of your youth was just as messed up as you were.

You simply nodded in response, moving corn kernels around your plate as your mother settled in to start her matchmaking. You watched as her posture changed, sitting straighter and taller with a sickly sweet smile on her face, her eyes darting between you and Steve as Dustin cowered away from the whole scene.

“So, Y/N…what’re you doing in Los Angeles nowadays?” she asked, a leading question she already knew the answer to.

You gritted your teeth, forcing a smile “Okay, again I don’t live in Los Angeles, I live in San Diego.” You said, turning to Steve just as she wanted you to “I work for a publishing house, I’m a junior editor.”

Steve hummed in response, his mouth full. One thing had changed, he now had table manners. Instead of speaking with his mouth full, covering his mouth slightly, he now waited until he’d finished chewing and swallowed before speaking. “I’ve heard San Diego is gorgeous.” He said, wasting all his build up on a useless comment.

“The beaches are lovely. If you ever bother to leave Hawkins, you should go and enjoy them.” You said, the distaste for his lifestyle evident in your voice. His confidence demurred and he back down from retorting.

“Now, Y/N, just because you just had to get out of Hawkins, doesn’t mean that everyone hates it here. You might find it better now that you’ve had some time away.” You mother reasoned.

“I just can’t fathom staying in a town so filled with terrible memories.” You said honestly.

“Well, maybe Steve holds the answer. Steve?” you mother countered, turning to look at him. He swallowed, nerves settling into his whole body.

“Well…Hawkins isn’t a bad place, but I would be lying if I said the station here was my first choice. I tried to get into one of the Chicago, but they’re all full. I was lucky to get in here through Hopper.” He admitted. Your mother huffed, but you found yourself smiling. He was on your side, for once, and for a brief moment you felt allied with him, something that hadn’t happened in years.

“Well maybe you should look in California, Steve, maybe even San Diego, you seemed so interested in the city.” Your mother said diplomatically.

You scoffed “Mother! Give it a rest, will ya? You’re pestering the poor guy.” You said.

“I’m just trying to make conversation! Just because you’re antisocial…” she replied with an eye roll.

“I am not antisocial! Just because I don’t want you playing matchmaker with my life-” you snapped, dropping your fork.

“Y/N, calm down…” Dustin’s hand came to yours, catching your attention. You huffed out a breath, choosing to focus on the kitchy cat shaped clock in the kitchen, watching its eyes flick and forth with a crazy smile.

“Mom, give it a rest and stop bugging Y/N, you’re making everyone uncomfortable.” He added, earning a scoff from her.

“I was not bugging, I was just making conversation.” She said, almost childlike in her demeanour.

“It doesn’t matter. Leave it alone.” He snapped. You’d known for awhile that Dustin was the male head of the household; he’d taken over for your father since you first moved to Hawkins and now it was more obvious than ever. He was the rational voice in the house, despite being the youngest person there. It was almost comical seeing your mother get shut down by her baby boy.

Steve looked incredibly awkward. He most stared down at his plate, taking small bites and trying to avoid eye contact. He looked shrivelled and small, hollow and embarrassed by both you and your mother. You tried not to pay him any mind, but his eyes kept darting to you with this pitiful look, darting away when you looked at him.

Instead of focusing on him, you focused on Dustin.

“So, okay, are the graduation robes as ugly as they were when I graduated?” you asked with a grin, earning matching ones from both Steve and Dustin.

“Oh, I don’t think they’ve gotten new ones since you graduated. Mine has actual holes in it; mom’s been trying to patch them for weeks now!” Dustin laughed, the shared image of moth eaten burgundy fabric and shoddy caps, the tassel decorated with a gold plastic ‘1990’ charm gleaming in their collective eyes, the only thing he’d be allowed to keep.

“Jeez, maybe don’t patch ‘em, they’ll probably provide some air flow.” Steve joked, earning a cackle from you.

“Oh my God yes! Those things are so heavy! You’re gonna sweat off like ten pounds!” you cried, laughing loudly.

“Oh God is it that bad? I swore you two didn’t look that bad after the whole thing!” Dustin moaned, his curl laden head dropping into his hands.

“Well I mean dude what can I say? Your sister and I are total hotties. Just listen to us and you’ll come through looking alright.” Steve said, reaching across the table to grip his shoulder.

You scoffed, ignoring the ‘hottie’ comment. “I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt we both looked awful. If I remember corrected, your hair deflated within the first fifteen minutes and you whined for the rest of the ceremony about it. You designed your hair around the stupid hat!” you recalled, laughing at the memory. Steve pouted, sticking his tongue out at you, only earning a bigger laugh from you.

“Ugh should I even go? Marcy’s skipping, going to the quarry with a few people. Maybe I should just bail on the whole thing…” Dustin sighed.

“No!” both you and your mother cried in unison, looking at each other for the first time in awhile.

“Dusty, I came all the way out here for this. While I agree that graduation is lame, you have to go through it for my sake. Besides, mom needs a complete set of awkward graduation photos for the wall. It’s only fair.” You reasoned diplomatically.

“Yeah dude, besides, Marcy and her friends are gonna get busted for smoking pot out there, again. Don’t get caught up in their bullshit.” Steve added cheekily.

“Not by you, you’re gonna be sweating in the stands with everyone else. And nobody’s afraid of Powell or Callahan.” Dustin scoffed. “Besides, you’re not gonna tell anyone about that or else I’ll tell everyone what you said last weekend, starting with Y/N.”

“Ooh blackmail I like it, really sticking it to the man.” You said, leaning over to feign a whisper “What he say?”

“You wouldn’t dare little man; I got too much dirt on you.” Steve replied easily, although the twitchy look in his eye said otherwise on his ease with the whole conversation.

“Try me.” Dustin shot back. They stared at each other for a moment, pulling their most serious faces before Steve broke, giggling like a toddler.

“We’re good man, I’m not gonna ruin their fun or anything.” Steve said, earning a laugh from Dustin, shaking his mop of curls.

“Speaking of fun, we should take Y/N out tonight, since you ruined the fun earlier.” Dustin said.

Your smile dropped “Oh guys I can’t tonight…I have plans…” you said awkwardly.

“Y/N you just got back how on earth can you have plans?” your mother asked haughtily.

“I found a friend at the mall; we’re meeting up after this. I promise, I won’t be out all night!” you replied easily.

“And just how are you planning on getting around tonight?” your mother asked.

“Well I was planning on borrowing the car, but since you seem to be in a mood, I’ll just walk.” You said easily.

“No way! It’s gonna get dark, not safe.” Steve added, nodding along with your mother.

“Exactly! Why don’t you just go out with Steve and Dusty tonight? Much safer.” Your mother said diplomatically.

“Because I already have plans. It would be rude to cancel now. And besides, I want to see my friend! Is that so bad?” you said.

“Well, then I suggest you ask Steve for a ride.” Your mother said.

“Why, so I can get stranded out there? I’m a twenty-two year old woman I can walk to a friend’s house in a tiny, ridiculously safe town. I mean come on!” you cried.

“Y/N, it’s alright, I’ll drive you, just calm down.” Steve tried, his hand coming out to take yours, an odd way to calm you down.

You wretched your hand away, shaking your head “That’s not the point! I don’t need this, I’m an adult!” you cried.

“Well then maybe you should act like one.” Your mother snapped. You sighed, looking to the ceiling in the hopes that you’d find some sort of calm in it. When you didn’t, you pushed away from the table.

“Excuse me, I have some calls to make.” You said. Your mother tried to argue, but you were already gone, back into your room and away from the scene.

You felt like a child. You were an adult- you lived on your own, you paid your own bills, you had your own tiny apartment for fuck’s sake! And yet you couldn’t convince your mother that you were old enough to leave the house on your own. It was all in her grand plan to get you and Steve back together. You refused to fall into that trap; you’d rather die alone than end up with the person your mother picked for you.

With enough frustration to hulk out and destroy the house, you picked up your old landline and dialled the number, now faded, that Billy had given you.

The phone rang thrice before anyone picked up. You prayed that it was actually his number and not a fake one. Luckily for you, he picked up. “Hello?” he asked, his voice strained and groggy.

“Hey Bill, it’s me, listen, shit’s a little weird here, you wanna just go out tonight instead? My treat?” you said.

“No way, I cleaned for this.” Billy replied, earning a giggle from you.

“Ugh please? Pretty please? Cause by the looks of it, I’m not getting to your place without a police escort.” You explained.

“Sexy, I’ll see you in a few.” Billy replied, hanging up before you could fully respond.

You groaned, dropping the receiver on the hook. A knock on the door startled you and you spun around to find Steve leaning on your door with a concerned expression.

“Jesus Christ you scared me!” you gasped, rolling your eyes.

“Sorry…” he replied, stepping into your room without asking. “Listen, you’re not getting out of here without me driving you, it’s just your mom.”

“Don’t I know it.” You sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Ugh why did I bother coming in?”

“Dustin.” You and Steve said in unison, looking up at one another.

Steve chuckled, shaking his head “Come on Henderson, let’s get you to Hargrove’s place.” He said.

You grabbed your purse quickly, only stopping to look at him once, a puzzled look on your face. “How’d you know?” you asked.

“I saw you two at the mall, put two and two together.” He replied with a shrug.

“I thought you were on duty.” You asked, eyebrows raised into your hairline.

“Someone called in a pigeon in the food court.” He replied. You watched him for a second in utter disbelieve. Steve sighed, looking away “And I couldn’t handle anymore Dustin time.” He admitted.

“And here I thought you two were best friends for life.” You chuckled, backing out of your room, watching him with eyes that danced with mirth and ease. It was the type of look that made Steve wish he could grab you and kiss you. You just looked so young and happy, just like you did in high school when everything went to shit and you could still laugh. Before everything broke you. Before everything broke them.

“Look I love the kid,” he said, following behind you “But I can’t spend all day listening to him talk about you-that’s all he’s been talking about all week.”

“Well what can I say? He’s my biggest fan, first of what will soon to be many!” you replied, flipping your hair off your shoulder and jumping down the final two steps.

“Alright mom, I’m heading out. I’ll be back later, don’t wait up.” You called, waving to her and Dustin in the living room.

“I said you aren’t going without-” she started, but Steve popped his head in, smiling politely.

“I’ll be back in a few, you want me to pick up a movie Dustin?” Steve asked, shutting your mother up instantly.

“Yeah, check if Heathers is in, Max said it was epic.” Dustin said, nodding at you from his seat on the couch, a copy of Moby Dick open in his lap, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“You got it, see ya!” he called, following you out into the hall. You pulled on your shoes, paying him no mind as he watched you. He seemed to be always watching you. It should’ve been unsettling, but it wasn’t. Instead, it felt normal. Steve had always been like this with you, watching you from afar. You had made all the moves in the past, and now you seemed to be in the same position.

Billy was still waiting outside. That was his perpetual place while you were on break at work. He’d stand outside Scoops Ahoy!, waiting for you to finish up so he could go back to groping you and pestering you as you tried to direct mouldy old ladies to Stella’s Dress Barn or Antique Lace. Scoops was your safe haven because of this-since he wouldn’t demean himself by licking an ice cream cone in public, you got your whole break to yourself.

So while he bitterly smoked, you hung out with Steve and Robin, his epic co-worker and almost girlfriend. You couldn’t pretend that it didn’t sting a little when they would flirt openly around you. You had no right to be jealous, you had a boyfriend and supposedly everything a teen girl could want. Unfortunately, you knew in your heart that you didn’t really have anything.

“You want another scoop, Y/N?” Steve asked, drawing you out of your daze.

“Hm? Oh I shouldn’t, I spend too much here anyway…” you replied, pushing away the cup, stained with chocolate.

“It’s on the house.” He said with a chuckle, leaning down with a sugar cone to grab a clean and warm metal scoop.

“You sure? I don’t want you getting in trouble with your boss.” You said.

“If I ever give a shit about this place, I’ll let you know. Now, what kind do you want?” he asked with a chuckle, earning a small, sweet smile from you. The kind of smile he always felt he was working for.

“Eh, whatever will be the least noticeable.” You said with a shrug, leaning over the glass to watch him choose. The vanilla carton was almost empty, so he had to work twice as hard to get the snow white cream out of its edges. You watched almost mystified as his arms bulged and flexed as he worked. You melted faster than the ice cream around you. It wasn’t because he was strong per say, Billy was strong if not stronger than him, but you liked that you knew that he hadn’t used his fists against nearly as many people for ill will. That sheer fact  was much sexier than Billy could ever be. You could nearly drool over him, but when he looked up, you tried to be a little less obvious. Of course, to Steve, you were insanely obvious and it made him blush.

“Here ya go. Eat it quick, or it’ll melt down your hand.” He warned.

You simply smirked “Oh don’t worry, I’m very good with my mouth.” You said.

Robin gasped, laughing “Y/N! Billy is right outside!” she cried.

“I’m just teasing!” you replied, turning to wave to Billy. He nodded back, an annoyed look making lines around his mouth. You motioned for him to come inside, knowing it was in vain. As usual, he shook his head and turned away, preferring solitude and cigarettes.

Robin and Steve quickly got caught up in one of their little spats, half flirting, half arguing. Suddenly, you weren’t Steve’s focus, which made you feel very small and embarrassed. Watching them was like watching an old married couple-the two seemed absolutely perfect for each other, everyone else agreed. It was only a matter of time, soon enough they’d finally get together and your longing for Steve would really be wrong. The whole thing hurt far more than it should have.

When Steve’s eyes caught yours, without thinking, you caught yourself watching him as he watched you slowly lick the cone, holding his gaze as you gave him your best ‘fuck me’ eyes. You broke his gaze as you slowly licked sticky residue off your lips, smirking softly. Steve coughed loudly, feeling his whole body go tense as he blood flow changed direction.

“Well, I gotta head out, I’ll see you guys later. We still on for this weekend, Rob?” you said, standing up from your stool and tossing your purse over your shoulder.

“Totally! Blondie is gonna be bitchin’ live!” she replied, her tone giggly, wiping her hands on her apron as a new customer came in, small child in tow.

“Great! See ya!” you called, heading out of the shop and back to Billy, taking his arm gently.

“What was that about?” he grumbled, heading off back to your desk at the front of the mall.

“No clue, want some?” you asked, offering him the dripping cone.

“Nah, I hate plain vanilla.” He replied gruffly.

“So do I, but it was free so who cares?” you said, tossing the half eaten cone in the trash. The rest of your shift was spent with Billy pestering you about your feelings towards Steve or pestering you to pay attention to him.

Meanwhile, the image of you and that cone wouldn’t leave Steve’s mind. You wouldn’t leave Steve’s mind; a dangerous problem.

You opened the door, ushering him out before any more memories could take hold. You notes that he still drove the cruiser even after work. You had assumed that he had a second car, another sign of his family’s wealth, but maybe you were wrong. Either way, you climbed in and buckled up, remembering how bad his driving was.

The ride was slower and weirder than the one yesterday. His hands gripped the wheel tighter, his eyes watching the road carefully, his headlights blasting white cones of light onto the road ahead. You gave him the address though he already seemed to know where to go.

“I’ve been called a few times to that complex, noise complaints against Hargrove, guy needs to learn to tone it down.” He commented with a chuckle, flashing you a proud, boastful smile that screamed ‘I’m better than him’.

You didn’t reply, in part because you couldn’t decide whether to laugh awkwardly or defend him, but in bigger part because your mouth had dried up. You were nervous, you had no idea why, but you were. It had been years since you’d seen him, things had inevitably changed between you and you didn’t want to know if those things were going to be a problem.

Billy was a confusing creature, as far as you could remember, he was three parts smug arrogance and one part genuine heart and softness. You didn’t exactly know how to handle this odd mix, even as a teenager. And now, with the mix being unknown was odd and not exactly reassuring to your poor, haggard nerves.

“Hey, you alright there, Henderson?” Steve asked, turning to look at you for a moment, eyes darting to mark his turn.

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a shaky breath “No, no I guess not. I’m nervous that’s all. God, that sounds so high school.” You bemoaned yourself, your head hitting the headrest behind you.

“It’s cool, it happens.” Steve said, reaching over to squeeze your shoulder. His hand hovered just a second too long, though you tried to ignore it. It was easier to ignore than you thought, hell it even felt normal.

“No it’s not I sound like such a little baby.” You groaned, letting out a heavy sigh before straightening your back and rolling your neck. “Alright, I’m good, I’m good.” You said, nodding more to yourself than to him.

“Hey,” Steve said, turning off the engine. You hadn’t realized that you’d parked or that you were already at the giant complex. “You don’t sound like a baby, you sound like a person.” He told you.

“Well being a person sucks, I’d prefer to be a robot who can handle her life without issues or stupid fears.” You said.

“I get it, I do, but you have to give yourself some slack here, Henderson.” He took your hand in his, squeezing it tightly “We went through a lot before we could even vote, you’re allowed to be a little broken. I think we’re all a little broken.”

You nodded “Right...” you sighed, smiling softly up at him “Thanks, Steve.” You gathered your things, pulling open the door. The air was warm and humid and while you wished it was cool and crisp, you pushed into the warm walls of air forcing you back towards the car, where Steve watched you as he was certain he did when Dustin went on his first date, hell he probably gave him the same pep talk he gave you. Unlike Dustin, who you were sure turned back to say thanks, you pushed into the foyer, pushing the buzzer labelled 514.

“What up what’d you want?” the voice on the intercom said, clearly Billy and very clearly annoyed.

You pushed the speaker button “Well I mean if you’re going to be an asshole I can go, Officer Harrington’s still waiting outside.” You said, matching his tone.

You heard the door buzz and unlock, as Billy’s voice returned on the intercom “You know as well as I do that I don’t want you to go.” He said softly. You nodded, opening the door. You found your way up the elevator to the third floor and up you went to find some sort of destiny. You still didn’t know if it was yours or someone else’s.

[batwake]

Come in From the Cold - chapter one

I realized today that I never posted the full first chapter on here so I figured while I work on chapter two I might as well post it! You can read it here on ao3.

pairing: Clint Barton/Bucky Barnes

tags: fight club au, canon typical violence, deaf clint barton

description: Years ago, the United States government passed a law banning enhanced people, mutants, and superheroes, forcing them into prisons and graves. Newly reformed and no-longer brainwashed Bucky Barnes heads underground, into a fighting ring called The Avengers Initiative, and learns to make a living there using his specialized skills. Clint Barton isn't an enhanced person, per se, but hung up his bow and arrow for good with the passing of the accords. It’s only when his best friend introduces him to the world of The Avengers Initiative does he start to get sucked back in.

“We are not special.

We are not crap or trash, either.

We just are.

We just are, and what happens just happens.”

—Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

Dodge. Dodge. Punch, miss. Dive, go for the legs. Go for my legs , he said. Jump back up, punch when he isn’t expecting-

Clang!

Metal fist connects with shield. Backpedal, recalibrate. Push the shield away, kick at the chest. He throws the shield— dumb move — catch it. Throw it, don’t bother looking as it cracks the closest wall and stays there.

Punch, punch, punch.

He goes down, does not get back up.

The lights go up, people cheering, some booing, but hardly audible over the clear and crisp announcement:

“The Winter Soldier wins!”

-

Clint doesn’t remember when the news broke.

Lots of people will tell you that they remember exactly where they were: drinking coffee on their balcony, listening to the radio. Or in the waiting room of a hospital, nervously watching the tv while their wife gives birth. A high school soccer game, where the announcer told everyone during halftime. Kate swears up and down that she heard it from a random twitter account before the story had even broke.

All Clint knows is that one day, enhanced individuals were outlawed, and he put he and Kate’s bows and arrows in the back of his closet, hidden behind boxes of Christmas decorations and clothes he refused to get rid of. It must’ve started as a normal day; put hearing aids in, drink an entire pot of coffee, take Lucky for a walk, go to the roof and shoot some arrows. Text Katie funny pictures of pigeons on the street and maybe call his therapist, if he’s feeling up to it. But by the end of the day, the world had practically ascended into chaos. People arrested, some killed in their homes, or in the street. Kate said that two kids at school were picked up and never seen again.

The accords, they’re called. Clint didn’t, and doesn’t, keep up with politics. But even he understands just what they meant. No mutants, enhanced persons, superheroes . At best, you’re put on a watchlist and have to swear to never use your powers. At worst, jailed or sentenced to death, if you’re considered especially dangerous.

And as for why these accords were introduced?

No one really knows.

But Clint often wonders.

~

“If you were really my friend you’d go with me,” Kate is saying. Clint is busy pretending he’s busy, the most of his torso hidden underneath his sink. It’s been leaking for months now. Today seemed like as good a day as any to fix it. She continues, “Darcy’s taken me a few times.”

“How did Darcy know how to get in?” The pipe is giving Clint just as hard of a time as Katie is. It won’t go any tighter, but maybe if he had a different tool…

“Someone she knows, knows someone, I guess. I don’t know.” He can practically hear the shrug and eye roll in her voice. “Can’t we just go together, this once? If you hate it you never have to go again.”

Clint hauls himself out from underneath the sink, starting to dig through drawers in pursuit of something he can better fix his sink with. He spares Kate a look, which is returned by an expression Clint can only describe as cross . “Why can’t you just go with your friends again if you’re so eager?”

The smile that Kate probably uses on her father to get more money is slapped onto her face. “Because you, Clint Barton, are my best friend. The peanut butter to my jelly, the apple to my eye. The Romeo to my Juliet, but without the romance and the death-”

“I think I get your point.”

Kate circles around the counter that had been separating them and steps in front of him. “Come on, Clint. We have fun, they get paid. It’s a win-win for everyone.”

Sure, Clint thinks, these people get the shit kicked outta them every night and we get to sit back and watch, hell of a lot of fun . He buries his face into his hands and leans against the counter, momentarily forgetting about his shitty sink. “Fine.”

Kate thumps her fist gently against his face, nudging his hands away until they’re resting at his sides. The expression on her face is telling, her eyebrows raised and lips pressed firmly together. Clint can see his reflection in the purple sunglasses that sit on the top of her head, so he pushes them down and over her eyes. Her stony expression doesn’t falter, even as Clint feels Lucky forcing his way between their legs as if sensing trouble. Kate’s hand moves from his face to his bicep. “You worry me sometimes, Barton.”

Clint rolls his eyes and moves away, pulling a wrench out of the drawer he was digging through and getting back onto the floor, rubbing Lucky behind the ear as he makes his way back under the sink. “Changing the subject won’t get you anywhere.”

The last thing Clint sees of Kate before he’s back under the sink is her arms thrown up exasperatedly. “I’ll be back at ten, bring cash.”

He barely gets the word “okay” out before the sound of the front door opening and closing echoes through his apartment.

~

Once the accords were put in place, enhanced people were out of jobs and essentially forced into hiding, assuming you hadn’t been arrested or killed. Some went to trial, but they were fruitless efforts. You stopped seeing the announcements of verdicts, always guilty , on the news after a couple months.

Around this time, a wise guy named Nick Fury had the brilliant idea to put these enhanced people to work, with the help of genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist Tony Stark, allowing them to use their powers, let off some steam, and get paid while they’re at it. This was the birth of an underground fighting ring called The Avengers Initiative . Stark buys the building, and all surrounding ones, builds a pseudo-arena in the basement and keeps them out of the eye of the public. Fury finds the people; fighters and workers and people in police forces and governments with grey morals. Together they built what has essentially become an empire , with fans and gamblers keeping the place in business.

Clint’s never been, but it’s been sitting in the back of his mind for months, ever since Kate first mentioned that she knew someone who knew someone who knows a place— whatever that really means. But now that he’s really going , he realizes that he’s never really considered what it all meant. They’re betting on real people .

Kate tells him not to think too hard about it.

They enter a tall building, clearly abandoned with the windows boarded up, grimy furniture left behind to rot. It looks like it was once a hotel, with a front desk sitting in front of little compartments which may have once held room keys. A large mouse-bitten rug covers most of the floor, swirls of deep red and gold starting to fade as dust gathers. Directly across from the door is an elevator, covered in graffiti. As they get closer, Kate leading the way, Clint can get a better look at the actual art, things like a spray-painted red spider outlined by a circle, red and white O ’s with a star in the middle like a target, a bright purple A with an arrow through the middle, among others. Clint says nothing as Kate steps up to the elevator and holds down the up arrow.

A few moments pass, and nothing happens. Clint opens his mouth to say something like seems like no one is home when there is a light-heartedping! and the elevator doors open to a high-tech, seemingly new elevator, the bright lights making Clint squint for a second. Kate steps in without a second thought, turning and crossing her arms, a smirk on her lips. “You coming or what?”

Clint promptly snaps his mouth shut, scrambling to get into the elevator before it closes.

The doors shut behind him, but it doesn’t move yet. On the wall are upwards of fifty buttons, all with various symbols and numbers that don’t appear to have any meaning.

To Kate they apparently do, reaching forward and pressing a series of buttons in a particular order, the buttons lighting up after each press. Clint counts thirteen buttons pressed when she finally stops, stepping back and standing next to him. He gives her a long look, only met with a half-hearted shrug as the elevator finally starts to move.

Clint stares at their reflections as the elevator descends. They tend to match, most of the time on accident , and tonight is no exception. Their purples stand out in the stark grey elevator, like Kate’s headband and pants, or Clint’s shoes and hearing-aids. It had always been their color.

His pointer finger twitches at his side. He balls his hand into a fist, trying to push that thought away. They know better.

The elevator stops, another lighthearted noise announcing their arrival. A few seconds pass and then the door opens, revealing them to the underground world of The Avengers Initiative .

The first thing Clint notices as they step out of the elevator is the giant hole in the floor.

It’s surrounded by bleachers filled with people, yelling at the fighters below. They’re too far away to be able to see down into the ring, but whatever is happening is clearly causing an upset. Clint takes a step forward to get a closer look but is stopped by Katie grabbing his arm. “Easy tiger, we gotta go over here first.”

They move towards a booth of sorts, where a man sits behind a counter covered in various papers and underneath a giant screen that almost resembles a chalkboard, titled “BETTING POOL”, listing names and figures in neat penmanship that Clint can’t make sense of. The man is busy counting something that Clint and Kate can’t see, and doesn’t look up when they approach. Behind him are several safes, whatever they’re holding is anybody’s guess.

“Hi,” Katie announces, slapping a hand onto the table, “We’d like two please.”

Two pamphlets are slid towards them. Clint takes the one Kate hands him, glancing down at it, then back at her. “What is this?”

Kate is too busy opening the trifold to answer. The cover reads The Avengers Initiative in big font, followed by the same purple A that is graffitied on the elevator. Clint cautiously opens it all the way, glancing between the new information that each page has to offer.

The first page appears to be a schedule of the night, starting with Black Widow vs. Madame Mask and ending with Thor vs The Hulk , listing fifteen fights in total. The middle is a description of the rules of the fights and how the betting works, and the third is the top ten fighters, reading:

Winter Soldier

Captain America

Thor

Scarlet Witch

Captain Marvel

Black Widow

Miss America

Ms. Marvel

Quicksilver

Black Panther

Clint reads through the rules a few times, glancing up at Kate every few seconds as she talks to the guy running the thing, counting her cash. The names are a bit ridiculous, he thinks, then remembers that he and Katie didn’t exactly have the best “code names” either. He flips to the back, frowning at the large black text.

BURN WHEN DONE.

Kate, pausing to turn and look at him expectantly. “You gonna bet anything?”

Clint glances at the list of names and the upcoming fights. Winter Soldier vs. Captain America is set for tonight, the top two names on the leaderboard. “Sure,” Clint decides in a split second decision, “why not.”

He fills out a sheet of paper while Kate finishes hers, filling in the blanks, such as the date of the fight, how much he’s betting, his contact information. (Kate says this is so if any info leaks they know who was betting that night)

Who are you betting on? asks the paper. Clint writes, The Winter Soldier.

“Good choice,” comments the man as he takes Clint’s papers and money, writing on something and putting the money somewhere they can’t see it. He does the same for Kate. “ Safe choice.”

Clint wonders if that’s an insult.

They move away from the booth after that, towards the bleachers at last.

They’re not completely full, people scattered among the three structures, some in groups and some by themselves. They sit at the bottom of the second bleacher, directly across from the elevator they came from, able to overlook the fighting ring below without anyone blocking their view. The ring is about two stories below them, and there’s a huge gap between the ring and the walls. “They can expand the ring for bigger, more powerful fighters,” Kate explains, pointing to the empty space between the walls and the ring. “They don’t have too many, but if you get a fight like…” she glances at her pamphlet as she crosses one leg over the other, “Thor versus Hulk, they’re gonna need a big space.”

Clint nods, glancing over her shoulder at her open trifold. No one is fighting currently, and there was a fight that was going on when they came in. “How many d’ya think we’ve missed?”

“That upset we heard coming in was probably Scarlet Witch related. From what Darcy told me, magic users don’t get a lot of respect from the crowd. Well, her type of magic, anyway. Telekinesis.”

“Ah.”

Kate nods, running her finger down the list. “Scarlet Witch versus Shocker is tricky because he would usually be a pretty good match for, like, Black Panther or someone, because they’re combat fighters. She can just pick you up and throw you somewhere.”

“There’s a reason she’s ranked number four.”

She throws her hands up. “I know right!”

Clint leans back and surveys the people around them, who are either talking amongst themselves, digging through their wallets, or furiously making notes in their pamphlets. “So, Katie-Kate, who’d you bet on?”

He almost misses it, as she covers her mouth with her hand. Kate is blushing . Clint stares at her, then prods at her shoulder. “What have you been hiding from me!”

Kate covers her face with her hands, uncrossing her legs and leaning on on his shoulder. “Miss America.”

“And?”

“She’s so fucking hot, Clint.”

The gears turn in Clint’s head. “Katie, you’ve only seen this girl fight in a fight club .”

“She’s still hot!”

She’s about to say something else, but the lights dim and a voice cuts her off, loud and booming throughout the makeshift arena, but oddly robotic and calm, and British?

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen. The eighth fight of the night is one of the most anticipated ones of the week, with our top two seeds, The Winter Soldier versus Captain America.” Two people enter the ring from the entrance, walking up the steps to the slightly elevated ring. One is clad in red, white, and blue, Captain America , Clint thinks, and carrying a shield. The other, the Winter Soldier, is dressed head to toe in black except for his left arm, which is entirely silver, and his dark brown hair is long. It’s hard to make out any more features than that. “As always, the rules of the ring are as follows: No leaving the ring, no guns or knives, and finally, the fight continues until one person says the codeword or is knocked unconscious.”

Captain America and the Winter Soldier walk to opposite sides of the ring and step into what can best be described as a battle stance , staring each other down. The Soldier’s left side is facing them, and only then does Clint realize that the silver is his arm .

“You may begin,” chimes the voice, followed by a buzzer sound, signalling the beginning of the fight. Immediately the two fighters are lunging at each other, Captain America punching with the shield, the Winter Soldier blocking with that metal arm, occasionally managing to get a punch or a dodge in.

People are yelling, no surprise there really, mostly encouragement to their preferred fighter or anger about a missed punch or failed dodge. The guy a few seats above them is up on his feet and gesturing wildly, screaming something about his kids’ lunch money and grandmas.

They’re nearly an even match for each other, Clint thinks as another punch is blocked. They carry on for a few minutes like this. It’s an entertaining fight, he must admit. Clint is nearly on the edge of his seat, and Kate is biting her thumbnail. The Winter Soldier dives to the side to avoid a shot with the shield, and punches, his metal fist colliding with the shield and producing a clang! noise so loud that some people cover their ears. Clint isdeaf and he almost felt the reverb.

“Jesus,” Kate mutters. Clint is inclined to agree.

There’s some distance between them, now. Captain America throws the shield, bad move , Clint thinks as the Soldier catches it and throws it, almost recklessly . It connects with the wall across from where Kate and Clint are sitting, and stays there, cracks webbing from the incision.

They’re at it hand-to-hand now, and it’s clear who’s winning. The audience grows even louder as the Soldier lays down relentless punches, to the stomach and to the face.

Clint’s stomach twists.

Captain America falls to the ground after one final punch, and does not get back up.

The lights go up, people cheering, some booing, so Clint can hardly hear the announcement:

“The Winter Soldier wins!”

-

“I told you to go for my legs,” Steve is saying.

Bucky wants to bash Steve’s face in for a second time that night. He won’t stop talking, even after Dr. Cho asked him to while she gave him stitches on his lower lip. She pokes his forehead to shut him up again, gently applying some sort of ointment to his shoulder. Bucky’s already gotten the Doc’s five star treatment, now trying to fix one of the plates on his hand by himself. He’d rather not visit Stark this week, not after last time when he had all but removed the damn thing after an interesting fight with Scarlet Witch when she had fucked up all of his inner wirings.

“Too easy,” Bucky says around the flashlight he’s holding in his mouth, “if I wanted the fight to end in a minute and successfully half our pay, thenI’d go for your legs.”

Cho gives Steve the go-ahead to jump off her table, moving back to her equipment and beginning to sterilize, getting ready for whoever will come after their fight next. He approaches Bucky, taking the flashlight from his mouth so he can dig into his hand with the screwdriver more easily. It doesn’t seem to be doing much. “Besides,” Bucky continues, refusing to look up at his best friend, who is surely smirking despite that fat lip, “maybe you oughta learn not to throw that shield at me. You know what I’m gonna do with it.”

“Too easy,” is all Steve has to say on that particular matter.

They walk through the winding halls of the Facility together until they get to the locker room, where only Black Widow remains from the previous fights. A few others preparing for their upcoming fights linger. She greets them with just a raise of her eyebrows, likely because of the cut on her lip.

“We’re matching,” Steve fumbles. Bucky tries to hide his snort in the sound of the locker opening, but probably fails. The Widow doesn’t point it out, but Steve is already turning pink. Flirting has never been his forte.

“So we are,” she says. “How was the fight?”

“Good,” Bucky shrugs at the same time Steve says, “he won.”

“What about you?”

Black Widow waves a hand in a so-so motion. “I won. I don’t think that Madame Mask will be around for much longer.”

“That was what, her third fight?”

“Something like that.” She stands and pulls on the sweatshirt that had been sitting on her lap, covering the bruises and cuts that are exposed in the tank-top. The hood covers her red hair, and her hands are shoved into the pockets. “See ya around, boys.”

Bucky waves without looking as Steve stammers his way through a goodbye.

“You gotta get better at that, man. It’s been years.” Bucky shrugs on a t-shirt, then a sweatshirt. He digs around in his backpack for a few seconds before he can find what he’s looking for, a glove that looks like a hand, nearly identical to his right one. You can’t tell its fake, unless you’re actively looking at it like it is. He slips it on as Steve sits down to start putting shoes on, wincing as it nudges the plate he just fixed.

“She’s just so…” Steve trails off.

The hand settles into place as he wiggles his fingers. “Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “She is.”

They say hello to a few others as they leave, to Ms. Marvel braiding Miss America’s hair, and to Thor swinging his hammer in the hallway, and to Bruce, carrying a huge stack of papers into Fury’s office.

Hugging each other tightly despite the injuries they themselves caused, they split and go down different hallways, towards different exits. Bucky knows Steve will go home and nurse his injuries some more and drink tea and maybe sketch something, whatever it is Steve does when Bucky isn’t around.

Bucky leaves and takes the long way home, down streets he doesn’t have to and on subways he wouldn’t normally, losing the tail he is always worried will some day follow him home. It’s unlikely, Stark and Fury have a pretty foolproof security system, but…

He locks the door behind him, and begins the long and complicated process of checking every door and window, all the light fixtures, underneath cushions and inside cupboards. He finally collapses onto his uncomfortable mattress and sleeps a light and unsound sleep, the sun only just beginning to rise.

~

If Bucky could go back and do one thing in his life differently, he never would’ve joined the army.

It was the catalyst for what would become his life. Join the army, get captured by some Nazis, pumped full of steroids, get rescued by your best friend, coincidentally also pumped full of steroids but by some secret branch of government rather than Nazis, join his band of merry men, fall off a train, become a brainwashed assassin with a metal arm, get saved by your best friend, again. All in the span of a few years.

Then the accords happened and SHIELD got shut down, leaving Bucky in a state of limbo.

James Buchanan Barnes was legally dead to most people. So Bucky holed up in a shitty apartment in Brooklyn, near where he and Steve grew up, with a fake name and a new backstory, effectively going under the radar of the government. Steve wasn’t so lucky, having been SHIELD’s golden boy for years before the accords. He was arrested but released soon after, having been deemed unlethal and his name added to the watchlist.

They managed fine by themselves for a few weeks. Bucky did things for money that he’s not exactly proud of, but that’s not new. Steve tried to remain God’s righteous man, attempting to speak out against the accords but just getting himself into more trouble.

And then Nicky Fury showed up at Bucky’s door.

No one except for Steve knew where Bucky lived— yet there he was, with his dumbass eye patch and a job offer.

So now Bucky and Steve get beat up four out of seven days of the week, earning barely enough money to cover the bills and working the only job that people of their kind could ever hope to get in this political climate.

Bucky’s had worse jobs, he supposes.

~

It’s a rough few weeks, after the fight with Steve.

The decline starts with a match against Quicksilver, who he barely beats, managing to trip him as he passes. Captain Marvel catches one of his punches and essentially melts the metal of his left arm, calling for the end of the fight and a trip to Stark’s workshop. Scarlet Witch destroys him in an embarrassing fight, twisting his arms until he can’t move and essentially forcing him to call uncle.

He doesn’t bother going to see Dr. Cho or Stark, grabbing his bag and leaving behind a confused Steve and Black Widow in the hallway.

The exit that leads to the alley behind the building is the one Bucky chooses that night, climbing up the ladder and exiting through a small panel in the floor, closing it behind him and walking onto the alley as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

He shoulder checks someone and winces as his left shoulder lets out a mechanical whine. The guy stops and turns to stare at him, frowning. “What was that?”

Bucky protectively holds his left arm against his chest, and clears his throat. “Bad cough.”

The guy steps forward. “That sounded like-”

Bucky turns and sprints in the other direction, not listening to whatever the guy is yelling after him, or looking back to see if anyone is following.

It’s nearly three am by the time he gets into his apartment, having crossed more streets than usual and ridden more buses and subways than he can count on both hands. A paper is taped to his front door, asking for rent ASAP. Crumpling it up in his hand, Bucky slips inside.

He locks his door with a shaking hand, his metal one still tucked close to his chest. The series of locks all click into place with a finalizing snap . Bucky leans against the door, allowing himself to loosen his shoulders and breathe for a moment. Maybe he overreacted— but getting arrested wouldn’t have been a good end to what has already been a shitty few weeks. He checks the windows and the cupboards like he usually does, and only then does he let himself completely calm down, collapsing onto the dingy old mattress that sits in the corner of the room. On the floor next to it is a record player and a cardboard box full of miscellaneous tools, which Bucky stares at, then reluctantly sits up. He puts a record on first, grabbing one from the stack at the foot of the bed at random, then sheds his shirt and sets to work at his arm.

The Andrews Sisters sing cheerily about a famous musician going to war. Bucky’s head already hurts from the Witch’s magic, but he rolls his eyes and almost makes it worse.

“But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft, he's in the army now blowing reveille.”

The music is turned up as loud as the old record player will go in an attempt to force Bucky to listen to it instead of his own thoughts, whether or not it really works is to be decided.

Bucky flips open a few panels on his bicep, shining a flashlight on the inner wires and craning his neck so he can get a good look inside. A few are disconnected and tangled, explaining the pain, but others are completely fried. Which means Bucky has to see Stark, again .

“Dammit,” he mutters, snapping the panel shut and tossing the flashlight and screwdriver back into the box. No other fighter saw Tony Stark as much as Bucky did— in the few years he’d been fighting, Bucky was getting tired of the guy.

The bathroom is the only part of the apartment that is in a seperate room from the rest, but is barely big enough to fit a shower, sink, and toilet. Bucky showers in the cold water, letting blood and grime wash away from his skin. With only one arm, the shower lasts longer than it needs to, but he relishes in it, for the time being.

The bed isn’t comfortable by any means, nothing more than a lumpy mattress with some threadbare blankets thrown on top, but to Bucky’s tired and worn body, it feels like the softest bed in the world.

-

There are three hundred and twenty-seven arrow holes in Clint’s apartment.

A hundred and two are in Clint’s bedroom, sixteen of those are on the ceiling, seventy-five are in the kitchen, one hundred and thirty-nine are scattered around the living room walls, ten are in the various furniture around the house, and one is in the bathroom. (that one had been an accident)

None had been added to the collection since the accords broke the news.

Clint stands in front of his closet, hands on his hips. Lucky sits next to him, head cocked to the side and tongue hanging out, his tail thumping happily on the floor. Clint doesn’t dare open the closet, has barely touched it in years, but now feels strangely drawn to it. He’s been frequenting the Facility , as Kate calls it, over the last few weeks. He doesn’t have a ton of money to gamble, but he’s fascinated by the process, and knows that it helps the fighters get paid. It’s a whole new world, seeing these people in action. Magic users, and super soldiers, and demigods . Kate’s still obsessed with that girl, bets all of her money away no matter the odds.

And of course, there’s the Winter Soldier.

Dressed in black, with that lethal silver arm. He seems to be wearing thin, is what Kate had said, the more fights they watched of his. He went from the top seed to barely staying in the top ten, now ranked number nine.

The bow and arrow in the closet feel like they’re yelling his name. Take us to the roof, Clint. No one can see you from up there.

Instead, he leaves his apartment and makes his way to the abandoned building by himself, punching in the code to the elevator and entering the code he now knows. He descends into the facility, his heart hammering loudly in his chest.

Coulson is running the info booth like he usually is, typing something on a laptop. There are a few people lined up, so Clint grabs a pamphlet and waits in the queue, scanning the lineups for the night.

The eighth fight of the night. Iron Fist vs. Winter Soldier.

Clint steps up in front of Coulson when it’s his turn. He passes over the papers without a word, which Clint fills out quickly. He’s starting to have the pages memorized, able to fill them out without much thought.

Who are you betting on? asks the paper. Clint writes, The Winter Soldier, and hands the paper back over to Coulson. His eyes skim it, then his eyebrows raise.

“That’s a lot of money. You’re betting on losing dogs, Barton.”

“Just take the damn money.”

Coulson does without another word, letting Clint walk to his normal spot on the bleachers.

There’s a fight already in progress. Black Widow has her thighs locked around Captain America’s head, and sends both them topping to the ground. The shield rolls sideways and lands a few feet away. Captain America shoves Black Widow off of him roughly, diving after the shield and attaching it to his arm, jumping towards the Widow once more to knock her down.

He misses, the shield cracking the floor of the ring. Black Widow kicks at Captain America’s legs, sending him to the floor on his back. She straddles his chest, lifting a fist to punch—

Something must happen, because her hand lowers and she crawls off him, that British voice coming over the speakers to announce:

“The Black Widow wins!”

She holds out a hand to help him up, which he accepts. The man next to Clint isn’t yelling very nice things, but Clint refrains himself from saying anything. The dude looks like he could hold his own in the ring.

Several fights go by after that, Clint unable to pay much attention to them, his mind elsewhere. Miss America wins her fight against Black Panther, Clint tells himself that he’ll have to tell Kate about it later.

Finally the voice announces that it’s time for Winter Soldier versus Iron Fist, the two fighters stepping out of the entryway and into the ring. The Soldier is dressed in his usual getup, all black with the arm exposed, while the Iron Fist stands out in greens and yellows. While the announcer drones through his usual speech, the Winter Soldier spins his metal arm to stretch it a few times, then flexes his metal fingers, as if unsure of himself.

There’s the buzzer, and the two men go for each other—

It’s a brutal loss, for the Winter Soldier.

Clint has to give him credit, the guy didn’t tap out even when people were yelling at him to. He goes down and stays down with a final glowing fist, hitting the ground with the painful sound of his metal arm hitting the floor.

“The Iron Fist wins!”

A few people come out of the doors as the Iron fist exits, laying the Soldier on a stretcher and exiting unceremoniously.

Clint stands just as the same guy says to his friend, “what a pussy. Can’t even handle Iron Fist .”

Turning away from him, Clint balls his hands into fists, the temptation to punch the guy getting stronger the more he hears. Still, he forces himself to step away, moving towards the elevator and waving at Coulson as he passes. He doesn’t get any response except for a look that feels something like I told you so .

Once on the ground floor, Clint glances around the sparse room. The fighters must exit from somewhere, right? Kate had mentioned that Stark owns this building and all surrounding ones…

The street outside is mostly empty, no one to watch as Clint slips into an alleyway next to one of the buildings. There isn’t much— a few trash cans, a pile of blankets and clothes that Clint figures is from a homeless person, and a doorway to the adjacent building. First Clint moves to the door, prodding it, then moving to the handle. It doesn’t budge.

No surprise there— Clint moves to the trash cans, lifting the lids and finding nothing but garbage, rotting food and wrappers and probably drugs, knowing New York. Nothing there.

He moves to the blankets, toeing them away with his foot to avoid touching them. Clint frowns, crouching down and running his fingers along the crack in the ground, a faint light coming from beneath the surface.

“What are you doing?”

Clint spins around, half expecting to see a police officer. Then he’d be really and truly screwed . But it’s just a guy, with a grey sweatshirt and a backpack and long hair and holy shit .

It’s him.

Clint splutters, which seems to annoy the Winter Soldier. He takes a step forward, clearly threatening. Clint finally gets a good look at his face, which is battered and bruised from his fight twenty minutes previous. Stony grey-blue eyes, a cleft chin covered with stubble. Both cheekbones bruised, and a split lip. Clint witnessed the fight— it doesn’t take a genius to picture what the rest of his body must look like.

Thinking quickly, Clint throws his hands up in surrender. “It’s not what it looks like.”

The Soldier glances between Clint and the pile of dirty fabric behind him, unwavering.

“Okay, maybe it’s exactly what it looks like.” The Winter Soldier takes another step forward. “But I can explain!”

“You should probably start.” His voice is low and gravelly, but Clint wonders if that’s circumstantial.

Clint isn’t sure what to say for a moment. “I’m a big fan of your work,” is what comes out of his mouth when his mouth catches up with his brain.Jesus Christ , Clint can practically hear Katie saying.

“You’re what? ” The Soldier is suddenly in Clint’s space with his fist in his shirt, lifting Clint up until they’re nearly nose to nose, even though Clint is taller than the other man. Clint blinks rapidly, his hands going to the Soldier’s wrists. Right hand, he notes.

“I should’ve worded that differently,” he manages. “I’ve seen you fight. I’m into it.” Clint winces and wonders if he imagined the Soldier’s grip loosening. “I mean— I want to buy you a drink, or something.”

Jesus Christ, what is he doing? Kate’s gonna kill him.

Clint stumbles as the Winter Soldier drops him and steps back. He keeps talking, even as the Soldier walks to the edge of the alley and looks out, left and right, as if about to cross the street, but doesn’t leave yet. “I know that’s weird but…” You fascinate me, is what he wants to say. Instead, he whispers, “you seem like you need one.”

The Soldier slowly turns back towards Clint, holding his gaze. Something passes between them, Clint can’t quite say what, but it breaks when the Soldier looks away again. “No,” he mutters, then repeats it again, louder. “No.”

Then, he steps into the street, leaving Clint in the dust, left to wonder what just happened.

-

Bucky thinks of the guy who confronted him in the alleyway three nights previous.

He thinks of his shaggy blonde hair, and the silly purple hearing-aids. The purple band-aid that was on his nose, and the feeling of his hands on Bucky’s arm as he said I’m into it .

Bucky lands another punch to Drax’s face, but is roughly shoved to the ground again. The shouting of the crowd rings loudly in Bucky’s ears as Drax kicks his stomach. And then the man’s voice again, offering to buy him a drink. He forces himself up, can feel the metal creak of his arm throughout his body, and grabs at Drax’s body, slamming his head down onto his knee. Drax’s body crashes to the ground, as Bucky’s had done just seconds ago.

The man in the alley’s face sticks in Bucky’s mind as he punches one last time, and stays there as JARVIS announces:

“The Winter Soldier wins!”

Remorsefully, Bucky thinks it feels good to win again.

~

It doesn’t surprise Bucky when he goes back to that alley and find the man crouched over one of the facility exits. He’s feeling better than he has in weeks, even fresh out of a brutal fight. He needed the win, and the cash.

“Thats a bad idea,” calls Bucky, causing the man to spin around and stand abruptly. He’s disheveled, his blonde hair flying in every direction and shirt wrinkled. “It can only be exited from. Try to enter and you’ll get yourself killed.”

The guy’s eyes flick around Bucky’s person, from his hood, to his hands, to the backpack, and to his face again. “Noted,” he says cautiously.

Bucky shifts from foot to foot, and sniffs awkwardly. “I’ll take you up on that drink.”

-

The Winter Soldier is… odd.

He nurses cheap whiskey, and his eyes are constantly moving, sweeping around the bar, constantly on guard. His left hand, the one that Clint knows is metal but is currently masked with a glove that resembles a flesh hand, taps nervously on the table.

Clint stares at him, studying his features and trying to get a read on him. Tonight he sports a black eye with a heavy gash over the eyebrow, clean and stitched up already. The bruise from a few nights ago is almost faded on his cheekbone, and the gash that was on his lip is scabbed over. Every second that passes Clint thinks of another question— but keeps his mouth shut. He’s finally got the guy here, he doesn’t want to fuck it up.

Finally, half way through his own drink, he says, “I’m Clint Barton.”

The Soldier’s blank expression does not falter, but his eyes stop their sweep and land on Clint.

When he doesn’t say anything, Clint clears his throat. “This is when you tell me your name.”

The Soldier snorts as he lifts his drink to his mouth. There is a ghost of a smile on his features, and Clint realizes that he is handsome . The thought is gone before Clint can really focus on it, because the Soldier is talking.

“Not many people know my real name.”

“Awfully cryptic of you.”

He huffs something out that sounds close to a laugh, and moves to stand. “Thanks for the drink, but you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

“Wait!” Clint all but yells. The Soldier looks at him, tilting his head slightly. “Come on, man. I’ll do all the talking, how about that? I have nothing better to do.” The I’m sure you don’t, either is left unsaid.

The Soldier sits back down, raising his eyebrows and leaning back in his seat.

Clint takes that as the go ahead, and launches into the story of when he picked up Kate from school a few years ago and they ended up on a roadtrip to Orlando, Florida.

“You’re friends with a high schooler?”

“I used to be friends with a high schooler. Now she’s in college.” Clint wrinkles his nose. “Or so she claims.”

“How did that happen?”

Clint often wonders the same thing: how did he and Kate become friends? She was sixteen and good with a bow and arrow, Clint’s brother had just died and he was great with a bow and arrow. He had been in a bad place, Katie had been in a bad place, high school . They had just seemed to fit. The two of them and Lucky were their own little family.

“I crashed into her living room.” The sound of the Soldier putting his glass on the table signifies his surprise. “It’s kind of a long story.”

The story of running away from the mafia that killed your brother is a third or fourth date kind of story, anyway. It ends like how most of Clint’s stories end, with Kate saving his ass. The Soldier didn’t need to know that quite yet.

The front door of the bar opens and closes. Clint hears it rather than sees it, but the Winter Soldier tenses up, removing his arms from the table and shoving them into the pockets of his sweatshirt, forcing his shoulders down in a way that doesn’t look incredibly inconspicuous. Clint glances over his shoulder at whoever just walked in.

A police officer is moving to sit at the bar, holding a hand up to signal the bartender. Clint glances back to the Soldier, who looks two seconds from bolting out the door.

“Hey, my apartment isn’t too far from here.”

The Soldier is up and moving towards the door, apparently not needing any more convincing. Clint scrambles after him, leaving some bills on the table. The Soldier pushes the door open, Clint close behind him, sparing a glance at the cop. He’s watching them, but it’s not the kind of I know you’re secretly enhanced persons look, it’s more like, I sure hope these drunk idiots don’t become a problem. At least, Clint thinks it is. He’s never liked cops.

~

“Make yourself at home,” Clint announces. Lucky is happy to see them, his tongue rolling out of his mouth. The Soldier slips in and snaps the door shut quickly, as if afraid that the police officer had followed them to Bed Stuy and would be able to sneak in through the crack of the door. Lucky noses at the Soldier’s left hand.

“You didn’t mention a dog,” he says, pulling his hand away protectively, but allowing his right one to gently scratch Lucky behind the ear.

Clint shoves his shoes off and moves to the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee. “What, you allergic?”

The Soldier follows, notably not removing his shoes (rude), trailed by Lucky. “No.” He glances around the kitchen, at the seventy-five arrow holes, frowning.

“Arrows,” explains Clint, hopping up onto the counter. He watches the Soldier poke at the holes with an odd feeling settling in his stomach.

“Arrows?”

Humming, Clint looks at the contents of the kitchen counter. He spots a bottle, grabs the cap, contemplates his surroundings for a moment, then flicks it. It bounces off the bubbling coffee pot, the fridge, and into the trash. The Soldier’s eyebrows shoot up in question. Clint shrugs. “Just can’t seem to miss.”

The Soldier leans back. “You’re enhanced?”

Clint waves his hand in a so-so gesture. “I’m deaf,” he taps his hearing-aids, “working theory is that my senses are heightened. But I like to think that I’m just really cool.” Kate’s aim is just as good as his and she’s not deaf.

“And that explains the arrow holes how?”

“Bow and arrow is kinda my thing. Was my thing.” Clint winces. “I’m not on an enhanced list, but…”

The Soldier sits down at the kitchen table, his shoulders loosening. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees. “I don’t know if you can even call a deaf guy with a penchant for pointy sticks enhanced, but me and my sidekick hung up our bows for good when the accords happened anyway.”

“Sidekick?” The Soldier asks, the barest hint of a smirk in his voice. The corner of his mouth is slightly upturned, Clint notices. “You seem more like the sidekick-type than this Kate.”

Rolling his eyes, Clint hops off the counter to pour them two mugs of coffee. “Partners in heroism, whatever you want to call us.”

Two steaming cups of coffee are placed on the table. The Soldier drinks his quickly, while Clint nurses his own.

“So,” Clint starts after a few minutes of silence and coffee drinking, “if I can’t ask for your name, can I ask for your phone number?”

“Real smooth, Barton.”

Clint stands and digs through one of the drawers, pulling out a pen and notepad.

To his surprise, the Soldier takes it, and slides the notepad towards himself, looking contemplative. A brief moment passes, followed by the faint sound of pen on paper. “I don’t have a cell,” the Soldier explains, “so you’ll just have to stick with calling the landline that came with the apartment.”

Clint is tempted to make a joke about this being the 21st century, but refrains, just watches the Soldier’s neat numbers as they appear on the page.

The Soldier stands after leaving his final mark on the page. “Thanks for the drinks, Barton. And for paying me.”

Following him to the entryway, Clint watches the Soldier crouch and pet Lucky a few more times. “No problem man.” After a second, Clint adds, “I promise to call.”

The Soldier opens the door and looks at Clint with soft eyes. “Don’t bother,” he says, but it lacks venom, and comes across as a joke more than anything, promptly shutting the door.

When he returns to the kitchen, Clint picks up the notebook, running his fingers over the numbers, and the letters underneath them. My friends call me Bucky, is written in the neat handwriting.

Bucky.

Before he goes to bed that night, Clint programs the number into his phone under that name, and burns the trifold that had been folded and stuffed in his back pocket. He crawls into bed, running the events of the night through his mind. As he falls asleep, Lucky at his feet, Clint makes a mental note to call Kate in the morning. She’s going to hit him so hard.

-

Bucky feels like he’s about to fall over.

Tony Stark has him propped up on a table, left arm supported by some sort of stirrup, keeping it in place while Stark delicately takes it apart. Every panel is open, exposing the skeletal wires and inner workings. Bucky averts his eyes, not comforted by the fact that his left arm can so easily be taken apart and put back together again.

“This is what, the fourth time you’ve broken the thing this month?”

“ I didn’t break it.” Bucky shrugs his right shoulder, closing his eyes and trying to force the incoming headache away.

“Coulda fooled me,” remarks Stark, pulling out what looks like a fried microchip, connected to a coil of tangled wires. “How does this even happen?”

The fingers of the arm twitch violently as Stark disconnects the chip, letting out one sad whine before the arm totally loses power. Bucky can feel the weight sagging and pulling down the left side of his body. If he wasn’t already close to exhaustion, working to keep himself straight is going to become a chore. “Ask Thor,” he groans, digging his right hand into the edge of the table. “There isn’t a better way you can do this?”

“Unfortunately not. You ask Thor to stop frying all your systems.”

Bucky winces as he remembers the fight that occurred an hour ago. He won, of course, he was finally starting to get his mojo back, but his arm suffered a fatal thunderous blow, barely able to wiggle the fingers. So here Bucky sat, in the company of Tony Stark, for the last thirty minutes. His whole body was tingling from the lightning, and a cut that had only just begun to heal had been reopened on the side of his face.

Stark glances between whatever he’s doing and Bucky’s face. “You want someone to fix that?”

“No.”

He shrugs, going back to the arm. “Your loss.”

Bucky just closes his eyes and tries not to pass out, listening to the whirring of Stark’s machines and his occasional mumbling to himself. An indefinite amount of time passes until the door whirs open, making Bucky snap his eyes open. Stark is still sitting next to him, but now wears a mask over his face while he blow-torches something. Bucky tries to wiggle his fingers, feels nothing. So they’re not done yet.

Steve approaches, glancing between Stark and Bucky and Bucky’s arm, raising an eyebrow.

“Thor,” is all he can say. Stark flips his mask up and leans back, looking at him.

“He awakens!”

Ignoring him, Steve leans against a table nearby. There’s a freshly sewn gash that extends from the center of his forehead, moves over his eyebrow, and disappears into his hairline. Bucky reaches over to touch the dried blood where the cut stops. “Black Panther?”

Steve shrugs. “He’s got some mean claws.”

Bucky is well aware of how those claws feel on skin. He drops his hand back to the table, looking over at Stark. “How much longer?”

“Depends on if this works.” Stark lifts the chip that he had been working on with a pair of tweezers. “Hey, Cap, where’s the Widow? Aren’t you usually on her tail?”

The look on Steve’s face is funny enough to make Bucky huff a soft laugh. Stark isn’t exactly wrong— Steve’s been smitten with the woman since she first joined the Initiative. If he’s not with Bucky, he’s probably hanging around Black Widow. Their last fight ended with Steve tapping out and letting her win. Bucky can’t imagine she took that too well.

Steve chooses to ignore Stark’s comment. “How are you, Buck?”

“Peachy.” Stark places the new and improves chip wherever it’s supposed to go. It feels like a needle is poked into Bucky’s nonexistent skin, causing him to grit his teeth and inhale sharply. “Never been better.”

A hand is placed on Bucky’s right shoulder, a steadying force.

Stark finishes up, placing wires where they need to be and chips back into their panels. Bucky regains feeling in the arm slowly, like cold water trickling up the fingers, through the faux veins, and into the bicep until it feels like it’s a part of Bucky again. He can flex the fingers, and move the wrist, lift the arm out of the stirrup and stretch it, just as he had been able to do before Thor wrecked it. “Thanks, Stark,” Bucky says, as genuinely as he can as he jumps off the table.

He has already flipped the mask back down and has moved on to a different project, waving a hand absently. “Just tell Point-Break to be careful with my things, next time.”

When Bucky gets home nearly two hours later, his wallet barely any more full than it had been when he walked into the facility earlier in the night, he goes immediately to the phone on the wall after locking the door, instead of to the windows and cupboards like he usually would. Clint has left two more messages since Bucky checked that morning.

He holds the phone to his ear with his newly fixed hand, closing his eyes as he listens to the message.

“Hey, Bucky, it’s Clint. You probably knew that already. I just got home from lunch with Katie. She’s good, thank you for asking.” Bucky laughs. “I’ll tell her you say hello. I took Lucky to a dog park today but he refused to play with any of the other dogs, just laid at my feet and slept. Dumb dog, probably dreaming of pizza. It made me feel nice, though. Apparently he prefers my company to other dogs. What does that say about me? Anyway, I’m planning on going tonight. Just thought you’d like to know. Call me back whenever you feel like it— or not, if. You know. You don’t.”

The second one is shorter, and probably left not too long ago.

“Good job, tonight. Hope you get that checked out.” It takes Bucky a moment to realize that Clint is referencing the arm. “You should take a break. Seems like you need it.” There’s a pause so long that Bucky wonders if something is wrong with his phone. Then, Clint continues, “I’ll call you tomorrow. And the day after that. You can’t ignore me forever.” The line clicks when he hangs up.

Bucky doesn’t really know why he hasn’t called Clint back. Clint clearly seems interested in him. Every night he promises himself that he’ll call back, but he never does.

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Bucky realizes that half of it is covered in blood from the side of his face. “Shit,” he mutters, dropping it and letting it hang on the line. Bucky wanders to the bathroom to clean himself up, telling himself that he’ll call Clint back. As soon as he’s clean. Maybe.

-

Kate throws herself through the door, scaring Lucky out of the room and Clint off the couch he was peacefully asleep on.

He doesn’t have his hearing-aids in, but the sound of the door hitting the wall was just loud enough to startle him. Kate hovers over his body, saying something he can’t make out.

“I can’t hear you,” he says, groaning as he hauls himself from the floor back onto the couch. He keeps his eyes on her, even as she rolls her eyes and signs, get your aids then, this is too important.

Clint sighs. He forces his body off of the couch and into the bedroom, grabbing the hearing aids from the nightstand, putting them in his ears and turning them on. He walks back into the living area where Kate is now sitting on the couch with Lucky on the couch and half in her lap. “What could possibly be so important?” He glances at the time on his phone. “Don’t you have class?”

She waves a hand. “Not important.” Clint sits on the other side of the couch as Kate continues, “The Winter Soldier and Miss America are fighting tonight.”

Clint raises his eyebrows. “How do you know that?”

“Darcy told me.”

“How does Darcy know that?”

“Do you ever listen to me? Darcy has a friend who knows a fighter.” Kate kicks her feet up on the coffee table an throws her arms out. “We’re going tonight.”

Kate has been oddly fixated on Bucky ever since Clint told her about the evening they spent together. He left out most of the details, like his name and fascinating mannerisms. She had her crush on Miss America, too, and was adamant that Clint could hook them up somehow. Clint hasn’t even been able to talk to Bucky since that night. Still, Clint had promised that some day he’d mention it, just to make her feel better. He already talks endlessly about Katie in the messages he leaves. He would never tell her that, though.

She nudges his foot with her own. “My girl’s gonna destroy your guy.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Not a chance,” Clint says, his lips spreading into a smile and then a laugh. Kate laughs too, one of her hands falling on top of Lucky’s head and the other on Clint’s shoulder, a steadying force that reminds Clint why he loves her so much.

~

They place their bets with Coulson and make it into their seats just as the usual announcement is starting.

Bucky and Miss America walk out and go to opposite ends to the ring, which is pretty standard. Kate cheers as America steps to their side, Bucky across from her. The rules are announced, the buzzer plays, and the fighters go straight for each other.

Miss America hits the ground first, Bucky landing a solid push at her chest. She takes advantage of being on the ground to grab at Bucky’s legs, sending him toppling after her. His left hand grabs for her wrist but she gets to him first, grabbing ahold of it and twisting it behind his back.

America’s advantage doesn’t last too long as Bucky throws his head back, knocking their skulls together and pushing himself free from her grasp. He throws a punch that hits Miss America in the chin.

“Here we go,” mutters Kate from beside Clint, leaning forward in her seat.

Miss America gets some punches in as well, literal stars flying, like sparks from metal, as they connect with Bucky’s head and stomach. A glowing white star starts to appear around America’s head, resembling a halo. Clint’s seen the girl fight enough to know what’s about to happen.

Just as it seems like America’s going to deal the final blow of the fight with her star-power, Bucky grabs her roughly by the hair, the star fading away instantaneously as she hits the ground. Kate yells something, as do a number of other people in the crowd. Bucky plants his knee to her chest and punches straight across the face, lifting his fist once more, but going no further when America finally taps out.

“Dammit!” Kate shouts, shoving Clint’s shoulder.

“The Winter Soldier wins!” announces the voice as Bucky extends a hand to help the girl up, which she accepts. It’s a little hard to see from so far away, but Clint thinks they’re both smiling, despite the blood running down their faces.

“I told you,” Clint boasts, smiling from ear to ear. Kate shoves him again.

~

Kate passes out on Clint’s bed when they get back to his apartment, Lucky following suit. Clint stays up, not tired yet because of his nap from earlier, staring at his phone.

Is he going crazy? He feels like he’s going crazy.

The phone rings five times, as per usual, before the automated voice tells Clint that he can leave a message after the tone.

He’s quiet for a moment, trying to decide what to say, then, “I sure hope you’re actually listening to these. Kate would be so disappointed to find out you haven’t really been saying hi.” Clint taps his hand absently on the table, thinking about how Bucky does that, too. “Maybe I’d be a little disappointed, too. We came and visited you at work. Oh, Kate really likes your coworker, is there any way we— you , could get her number, or something? She’s been bugging me about it but I didn’t want to bother you— although I guess I should’ve thought about that before I started leaving you multiple voicemails a day.”

Clint leans back in his chair, staring at the few arrow holes above the fridge, forming a perfect circle. “I wish I could get back to work,” he mutters. “I miss it so much. Kate is always saying that we could but— it scares me. You know that.”

Clearing his throat, Clint continues, “anyway. You should call me back. Sometime. I’ll make you more horrible coffee and you can pet my dog some more. And meet Katie, you’d like her, I think. She’s a bitch and I like her so much. Okay. I’ll let you go now. Goodnight.”

When he finally crawls into bed next to Kate, she mutters, “you make me depressed.”

Clint huffs a laugh, taking out his hearing-aids and pulling the covers up and over the head. If she says anything else, he doesn’t hear.

~

The only reason Clint realizes his phone is ringing is Lucky nudging him in the face, his wet nose prodding Clint’s eye. He groans, rolling onto his side, pausing when he sees the light on his phone flashing. It’s still dark in the room, no sunlight pouring through the curtains or annoying birds outside. Sighing, Clint grabs his hearing aids and picks up the phone. “This better be good, Katie.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” says a man’s voice.

Clint sits up so fast his head spins. “Bucky?” Lucky looks at him quizzically. “Took you long enough, asshole.”

Bucky’s end of the call is staticy and hard to hear, but Clint can barely make out, “sorry. Can I come over to your apartment?”

Something is up. “What’s wrong?” Clint asks, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing up. The hardwood floor is cold against his bare feet as he leaves his room and goes to the kitchen, Lucky following close behind.

“I’ll explain later. Can I come or not?”

“Yes, yes of course you can.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything else, just hangs up. Clint stops in his tracks, staring at the screen. The number Bucky just called from wasn’t his home one, which Clint has programmed into his phone. Lucky whines at his feet, looking up at Clint with his one eye like he’s pissed they’re not in bed.

“Me too, bud,” Clint mutters, patting the dog affectionately on the head and continuing into the kitchen.

Clint has barely turned on the coffee pot when there’s a knock at the door. Looking through the peephole shows that it’s Bucky, standing stock still.

“You look like shit,” says Clint as he opens the door. Bucky pushes himself between Clint and the door, shutting and locking it himself. Clint takes a long stride back, looking his new visitor up and down. He’s wearing the same thing he wore the two times Clint has seen him outside of the ring, a baggy grey sweatshirt, worn black jeans, a backpack, and that fake hand. His face and hair is bloody, clearly fresh from a fight.

Bucky turns and looks Clint up and down, humming. Clint blinks, looking down at himself in his purple pajama pants and white t-shirt. “I have… coffee,” he mutters, making his escape to the kitchen.

It takes a few minutes for Bucky to make his way into the kitchen after Clint, apparently wandering the apartment. Clint hardly notices him when he does, turning and nearly dropping the coffee pot to find him sitting at the table. He’s washed the blood off his face, and is digging through a first-aid kit with his right hand. “You know how to sneak up on people,” Clint comments, sitting down and pouring two mugs of coffee. Bucky has discarded the fake hand and shrugged off the sweatshirt, leaving him shirtless in Clint’s kitchen.

“Don’t you guys have an infirmary, or something?” Clint asks, gesturing vaguely to Bucky. He’s covered in bruises and scars and cuts, especially around his arm, where the scar tissue is thick and red, extending from his shoulder across his pec.

Bucky pushes the kit away from himself, exhaling through his nose and speaking up for the first time. “We have a doctor. And a glorified mechanic. Speaking of which,” he holds up his left arm. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to fix a cybernetic arm, would you?”

“Unfortunately no.”

Wrinkling his nose, Bucky flips open a panel on his wrist and digs around in it. “My  hand isn’t working, but luckily I can move the arm.” He rubs the stubble around his mouth with his right hand, closing his eyes. “The mechanic, Tony, he’s not in New York for a little while.”

“So he can’t fix it.”

“No,” Bucky confirms. He opens his eyes, looking at Clint for a moment, then flipping the panel closed. He takes a long drink of his coffee before saying anything else. “I won’t be able to fight until he can get back.”

Clint mulls this information over, running his finger around the rim of the steaming mug. “No fighting, no money.”

Nodding, his gaze far away, Bucky purses his lips and doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t know much about Bucky’s personal life, but Clint can imagine. He moves closer, scooching his chair until they’re practically side by side, their knees brushing. Clint grabs the first-aid kit, pulling out the disinfecting wipes and opening the package. Bucky doesn’t say anything as Clint brushes it across his face, over the cut on the cheek, and the one on the eyebrow, on the hairline, and so on. His right eye is black and almost swelling, both eyes closing when Clint gently runs his finger over the bruise.

“I’m no doctor,” Clint whispers.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky breathes.

The cuts are bandaged with whatever Clint has in the first-aid kit, including a purple band-aid over the eyebrow.

“We match,” Clint teases, gesturing to the various purple bandages covering his arms and fingers.

Bucky looks at them, raising his eyebrows in a fond expression. “What’s with you and purple?”

The best thing Clint can do is shrug. “It’s just always been… our thing. Kate and I.” He rubs awkwardly at his face. “It’s a little leftover. From before.”

They sit in silence, after that, drinking their coffee and sneaking glances at each other.

“You know,” Clint finally says. "You can stay here.” Bucky stares at him, his face blank. Quickly, Clint adds, “just for a few days. If you need it—”

“No, I. Thank you, Clint.” Bucky sniffs, looking down awkwardly. “Steve offered, too, but I. He can’t be keeping me at his place.”

Clint doesn’t ask who Steve is, or what the situation is there, but can feel the sincerity in his voice. “As long as you need it,” he says softly. “Seriously.”

A soft smile sits on Bucky’s face, the corners of his mouth slightly turned up. Clint is reminded again how handsome he is, his long hair hanging around his face and his stubble accenting his chin. When he isn’t frowning or keeping his expression blank, Clint would go as far as to say beautiful . He can’t even imagine Bucky unscarred and bruised, or what he looks like under all the wounds.

Lucky breaks the moment, nudging Bucky with his nose and barking.

Bucky looks down at him, raising his brows. His voice gets higher when he talks to lucky, saying, “hello again.”

“His name is Lucky.” Clint leans his hand on his fist, watching them. “He likes you.”

Bucky runs his hand along Lucky’s head, scratching behind his ears and at his nape. “I bet he likes most people.”

“Maybe. But that’s kind of what dogs are for.” Lucky tips his head back and looks at Clint, his tongue rolling out the side of his mouth in a goofy grin. “Yeah, you know we’re talking about you.”

More silence passes as Clint stands, putting their now empty mugs in the sink. “You can have the bed.” Bucky starts to argue, but Clint cuts him off, “at least for tonight. Rest those bones.”

He accepts reluctantly, letting Clint lead him to the bedroom. “I listened to all your messages, you know.”

Clint tries to hide whatever emotion is boiling in his stomach at that moment, pushing the door to his bedroom open. “Really?” he asks, feeling like his voice has gone up a few octaves.

Bucky seems to take in the sight of the bedroom, disheveled sheets and rumpled clothes on the floor. Lucky has followed them and has already jumped back up into his spot on the bed. “Yes. They were.. A nice thing to come home to.” Bucky shrugs his sweatshirt back on, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaving Clint standing in the doorway. “Your coffee isn’t shitty.”

That wasn’t what Clint was expecting— but takes it anyway. “Thanks.” He turns to go, then, “oh, by the way. That girl you fought—”

Maybe Clint’s imagining it, but it looks like Bucky is smiling. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Something boils over, a sudden rush of emotions. He covers it by letting out a low, quiet, “goodnight, Bucky,” and shutting the door.

-

Soft sheets, warm blankets. There’s a long, blissful moment where Bucky doesn’t realize where he is, just keeps his eyes closed and his breathing slow and deep, embracing the warmth and the sunlight on his skin. It doesn’t last long, the unfamiliar feelings settling in his skin soon after waking.

He sits up quickly, blinking hard and fast as his body shifts into defense mode, analyzing his surroundings. Clothes that aren’t his own on the floor, a window letting in sunlight across the bed, holes in the walls, a nightstand covered in sticky notes, wrappers, and plastic bottles, and a yellow dog at his feet.

Right. He’s at Clint’s.

Upon closer inspection, the sticky notes are all from Kate, all addressed to Clint, saying things like “took lucky for a walk before i left, dont forget to text me when you wake up” and “get new batteries for hearing aids” . There are hundreds of them all over the table and on the wall above it and in the drawer. Some are simple, just some numbers and dates, while others take up four notes attached to each other. All signed xoxo Kate .

It’s cute.

Clint isn’t on the couch when Bucky exits the bedroom, or in the kitchen or bathroom. In fact, A sticky note is left on the fridge that wasn’t there the previous night.

Bucky—

Will be back soon

Kate will come to take Lucky out at some point, because I have no idea what you get up to while the sun is up

Be good

Clint

His handwriting is small and curly, the letters pushed tightly together like they might fall off the page. Bucky takes the note and sticks it into his sweatshirt pocket, moving away from the kitchen to wander around the rest of the apartment. It’s different in the sunlight, from when Bucky had arrived last night and had checked all the windows and doors while Clint was making coffee. There’s a pizza box on the coffee table, and a crack running through a tv screen. Dog food bowl on the floor next to a leash. Two toothbrushes on the sink next to an empty orange pill bottle. The whole apartment is quaint , Bucky decides, noting the blankets thrown everywhere and the silly mugs in the cupboards and some pictures on the walls or on tables. Photos of Clint and a dark haired girl who must be Kate, or of the two of them and Lucky. There’s one of Clint and a man that somehow looks more put together when side by side with Clint, his auburn hair hanging over his forehead and his green suit ill-fitting. They must be related , Bucky thinks, looking between their scruffy square jaws and the way their matching crooked smiles don’t really meet their eyes.

Bucky sets the photo back down on the windowsill, looking down at Lucky from where he has emerged from the bedroom. He stretches, the front of his body getting close to the floor and his tail up in the air, then straightens and looks at Bucky. “Good morning,” Bucky says to him, even though it’s more likely well into the afternoon. He doesn’t usually sleep this late, especially not in a place he’s unfamiliar with, but maybe being in an actual, comfortable bed for once forced his body to succumb to sleep. It also helps that Clint, apparently a retired superhero, was asleep just outside the door. A deaf, clumsy superhero who only uses bows and arrows, but a superhero nonetheless.

Lucky jumps up onto the couch and goes right back to sleep, apparently content to wait for Kate to arrive.

The thought of Kate reminds him of Steve— he should probably go to his apartment. Brooklyn Heights isn’t too far away from Bed Stuy. He could catch the C train.

That’s the plan Bucky comes up with, heading to the bedroom to grab his things, shrugging on his shoes and jeans, followed by the stiff fake hand over the fingers that don’t work. It’s uncomfortable, feels like something is freezing his fingers in place while also wrapping them in a hundred layers of saran-wrap. He can hardly use the hand with the glove when his fingers are working , but now that they’re not it looks even faker than usual.

He keeps his hands tucked in his pocket as he walks to the subway and all the way to Steve’s apartment building, until he is knocking on the door. He knocks rhymically; three knocks, a pause, one knock, pause, then two more.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says as he opens the door not long after Bucky knocks. “Did you—”

“Yes,” Bucky cuts him off, shutting the door behind himself and pulling the hand off, immediately breathing a sigh of relief. “I stayed there last night.” He doesn’t have to look at Steve to know what his face looks like, his eyebrows raised high and his jaw loose in a smirk. “Don’t even start with me.” Bucky holds up a hand as he moves up the stairs to Steve’s kitchen.

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“Your silence speaks a thousand words.” Bucky tells him, opening the fridge and grabbing his orange juice, pulling off the cap and drinking straight from the jug.

“Why’d you come here instead of hanging around your new bff’s house then?” Steve grabs the juice from him. “He doesn’t have juice you can steal?”

“Can’t I enjoy the company of my best friend?” Bucky turns to get a good look at him finally. His blond hair is damp from a shower, and a fresh bandage sits over his nose. “Did you break your nose again last night? Maybe it’ll get smaller this time around.”

Steve rolls his eyes, touching the bandage gently. “Stop changing the subject. How’s your guy?”

“You know, for a long time if someone asked me that question I’d assume they were asking about you.”

He gives Bucky a flat look.

Bucky throws his arms up, his left hand hanging limply at the wrist. “I don’t know what to say, okay! He went somewhere this morning and wasn’t back by the time I woke up. His friend was coming to take out their dog and I’m not exactly ready to meet her—”

“Girlfriend?”

“More like a sister, I think.” Bucky continues, “and I hadn’t seen you since before you went on last night, so.”

Steve reaches over and thumps Bucky on the shoulder. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

Bucky looks at Steve’s hand where it now rests on his shoulder. There’s a nasty bite mark on the webbing between the thumb and pointer finger. “Who almost took your finger off?

“Bucky.”

“Was it Drax? No, Hulk.”

“ Bucky .”

“It wouldn’t be safe here, you know that. You’d get arrested, I’d probably be killed. It’s a miracle I’m even able to visit once or twice a week without a SWAT team storming the place,” Bucky stammers, shrugging Steve’s hand off his shoulder.

Something odd passes Steve’s face, but it passes soon enough. He looks at Bucky softly, maybe fondly. He notices just then that the purple under Steve’s eyes aren’t fading black eyes, like they’re both used to, but just bags. Fatigue. Bucky runs his fingers over them, like Clint had done the previous night, but it’s less intimate. More… familiar. Tracing what’s already known. Reminds Bucky of when they were kids and he was saving scrawny little Steve from bullies on the playground. Who knew one day it’d be the other way around. Except the bullies were Nazis and the playground is a highway in Washington DC. And maybe Bucky was the bully a little bit in that situation.

Still.

Steve throws an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, and this time Bucky lets him hover close.

“So, this guy …”

Bucky groans, lifting his hands to cover his face, hardly managing to shield anything when his left refuses to comply. “He’s nice , Steve.”

“What, and I’m not?”

“Not nice like you, Captain America. He’s nice like…” Bucky thinks for a moment. “He and his best friend used to be some crime fighting duo who fought enemies with their bows and arrows. And he bought me a drink after I won my first fight in a while, and is letting me stay at his place even though he doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know about the shit I’ve done.”

Steve knocks the sides of their heads together affectionately. “If he can get past the underground fighting ring I think he might be okay with the brain washing thing.”

Bucky pulls away, just slightly, enough to raise his eyebrows at his best friend. “Not exactly the same thing.”

~

When Bucky gets back to Clint’s apartment, its nearly evening, the sun setting on the New York skyline. Clint is sitting on the couch eating pizza, Lucky at his side eating his own slice. Bucky stares at them, frowning.

“Should a dog be eating pizza?”

Clint shrugs, not looking up from whatever he’s looking at on his phone. Bucky rounds the couch, sitting on the chair beside the couch to avoid sitting next to Clint. “It’s his favorite food. What did you get up to today?”

“Visited Steve.”

Around a mouthful of pizza, Clint asks, “who’s Steve?”

That’s a great question. “Captain America.” Clint chokes and drops his phone. “My best friend.”

“Your best friend is someone you beat the shit out of on a regular basis?”

Bucky waves a hand. “Our relationship seemed to dwindle down to that even before the accords. Now we just get paid for it.”

The frown on Clint’s face is unpleasant to look at. “What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t matter. Pass me a slice.” Clint complies, and seems to accept that Bucky doesn’t want to talk about it.

They eat their pizza in relative silence, the only thing breaking it being the sounds of Lucky’s slobbery munching. Clint eats most of the box by himself, leaving it on top of the one that was already discarded on the table when it’s empty.

“You can have your bed back,” Bucky says eventually. “I needed that sleep last night, thank you.”

“No need to thank me.”

“I have every reason to.” Bucky plays absently with his limp metal hand, running his fingers along the panels that he can’t feel as he talks, avoiding looking at Clint, who surely is looking at him. “Steve’s on the enhanced person list, so I can’t stay with him ‘cause he could get arrested. And, well, lets just say that I’m not the safest person for an enhanced person to be harbouring.”

Clint reaches forward suddenly, wrapping his hands around Bucky’s, both metal and flesh. He holds them in such a way that forces the metal one to curl in on itself like a fist, the flesh one cupped over it. His own hold them on top of that, enveloping them almost completely. His hands are surprisingly big; Bucky hadn’t noticed. Archer’s hands.

There’s almost certainly a flush on Bucky’s face, which he can’t even cover because Clint has his hands wrapped up. Maybe his mouth is hanging open a little. He forces himself to look at Clint, his brown eyes meeting Clint’s blue ones. Bucky wants to say something, but doesn’t know what. He snaps his mouth closed, his teeth clicking loudly and filling the air between them.

Clint’s eyes leave Bucky’s, looking down at their hands. He separates them slowly, not pulling away, but leaning in close and studying the metal. “Can you feel it?”

It takes a moment for Bucky to realize what Clint means. “Right now, no. But usually, there’s some sort of sensation. Not exactly touch, but…”

One of Clint’s long fingers runs up the nearly flat plane of Bucky’s left middle finger, catching on the rim of the panel where a fingerprint should be.

Bucky desperately wishes that the hand was up and running properly, just so he could feel the sensation of Clint’s delicate fingers running along it and treating it like it might fall apart in his hands if he doesn’t handle it properly.

Clint stands suddenly, letting go of Bucky’s hand. “Bed,” he mutters, licking his lips and running a hand through his shaggy hair. He turns and looks at Lucky, who jumps off the couch and goes into the room, like he knows exactly what Clint said. Bucky feels cold, like cold water is trickling down his arm and into his body. “Good night,” Clint rushes out, and disappears.

It is only once Bucky is alone, the ghost of a touch along his fingers, that he realizes that his right hand was gripping the seat of the chair so hard that some of the seams have ripped, spilling out cotton.

~

Things get less strange, after that.

Tony is back after a few weeks to fix the arm (“Seriously, Terminator, have you no respect for this fine piece of machinery on you?”), and Bucky is back in the ring. He pays the rent and sleeps in his own bed for the first time in what feels like months but has in reality only been days. Bucky tries not to think about it, but while he lies awake at night worrying about whether or not he really locked his door (he always does), he thinks about how soft Clint’s bed was, and the warm presence of Lucky at his feet, and falls asleep quickly.

And maybe he wonders what it would feel like if Clint held his newly restored metal hand like he did that night, and what kind of sensations that would cause. He rubs his fingers together, staring at the peeling wall absent of any arrow holes, and knows that it doesn’t feel the same.

~

Bucky gets to Clint’s one evening after a fight, in considerably better shape than he would usually be. Someone newer, apparently, not as experienced.

The door swings open almost as soon as he knocks, revealing a pale and tired looking Clint. His eyes are rimmed with purple, like he hasn’t gotten enough sleep the past few days, his hair sitting flat and sadly on his head.

Bucky steps in and around him, venturing further into the apartment. Once the door is closed and Clint has followed Bucky into the living room, he says, “do you want me to ask?”

Clint gestures vaguely.

“Are you okay?”

Another motion, followed by a deep sigh. He flops back onto the couch, an arm thrown over his face. Bucky sits beside him, enough distance between them so they’re not touching but not so far that Bucky can’t reach forward if he needs to.

Finally, from behind his arm, Clint speaks up. “My brother died six years ago around this time.”

Bucky glances over at the photo of Clint and the man on the windowsill. “I’m sorry,” is all he can say, sitting still and watching Clint carefully.

“He wasn’t the greatest brother,” Clint admits, shrugging. He sits up, wrinkling his nose as he reaches forward and grabs something from the coffee table. “But today, I got a letter from him.”

“You what?”

Clint holds up what must be the letter, five or six pages stapled at the corner with creases where they were once folded. “It’s definitely him. He used all our codes, and apologized for—” Clint cuts himself off, clearly holding back something, then continues, “for what happened. Among other things.” Clint adds that last part somewhat grumpily. He flips through the pages of the letter absently while Bucky stares at him.

Bucky knows a thing or two about dead men coming back to life. He just doesn’t know how to apply it here. “Did he explain how…?”

“Not really. Something about wanting a better life away from the shit I was getting up to, which, frankly, wasn’t any better than what he was doing, but whatever.”

Seizing the opportunity, Bucky reaches forward and grabs Clint’s hand, dark metal stark against Clint’s pale skin. He seems surprised by the action but doesn’t pull away, much to Bucky’s relief. He just sits, unmoving, holding onto the letter in one hand and Bucky with the other.

“I’m not very good at comfort,” Bucky says.

“You don’t need to be.” Apparently Bucky doesn’t need to be a lot of things, to Clint. Maybe that’s okay.

At some point they’ve managed to move until they’re shoulder to shoulder, hands held together. They’re not really looking at each other, Clint down at the letter and at their hands, Bucky around the apartment and at the photo across from them, hardly visible from where they sit, just the green of the brother’s suit, the purple of Clint’s shirt, the starkness of their hair against a dark background.

Bucky isn’t even paying attention when Clint brushes his fingers along the gash on Bucky’s forehead with his fingers. His head snaps back around to find that Clint is close and looking at him strangely, his eyes flicking around Bucky’s face. “Did you fight good today?”

“I always fight good.”

Clint laughs. A decent, hearty laugh that makes him tip his head back and move a little bit away from Bucky. He realizes, looking at the soft smile that falls onto Clint’s lips after he gets the laugh out, how much he’d like to kiss him.

He does, when Clint rocks back forward, opening his mouth to say something. They’re still, for a moment, their lips pressed together, but then Clint moans, just a small, quiet thing as he drops the papers, and Bucky presses forward even more, his right hand moving up to hold the side of Clint’s head. His fingers press into soft blonde hair at the same time Clint’s hands are reaching up to hold onto either side of Bucky’s neck, underneath his curtain of dark hair.

Clint pulls away first to get a breath, diving back in before Bucky can even say anything. He wants to get his hands everywhere, they move up and down the side of Clint’s face and side, pulling their chests together. It doesn’t seem like they can get close enough, like this is something they bothneed , finally something they can agree on.

Bucky’s mouth moves to the side of Clint’s, then down until he’s pressing his face into the soft skin of his neck. “We should’ve done this a while ago,” Clint breathes, one of his hands now at the back of Bucky’s neck. Bucky just laughs, hot air against Clint’s neck as he does so.

A moan follows the laugh soon enough as Clint manages to slip a hand between them, digging underneath Bucky’s shirt and near the hem of his pants. “Okay, bedroom,” Bucky gasps, separating themselves. When he looks at Clint, with his pink lips and rumpled hair, he looks closer to himself than he had earlier, somehow. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says, leaning forward to kiss Bucky again, hauling them both up and pulling them towards his bedroom.

They stay close throughout the short walk to the room, getting distracted a few times by each other, finally shutting the door behind them after way, way too long.