#I really love the shadow made by the bee

[a1ecmcdowell]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ━ㅤ ㅤ dean winchester.

the tale of the king of hell and the sweet angel with flowers in her hair.

a hades & persephone retelling through the veiled, handcrafted lens of demon!dean and angel!reader, addressed as persephone, fem pronouns.

content warnings. sexual implications and elusions. that's it lol it's relatively tame!

word count. 6.1k

the woods were always a safe space for him. they existed in every location on the mortal plane; some big, some small, some haunting, some inviting. it brought him great comfort that something could be so vast and sometimes vitriolic and still be loved and adorned by someone by the likes of her.

she was the manifestations of everything innocent. she was a daydream; wisps of wind carrying flower petals of creams and teals, of pinks and violets. all of which stemmed from the plucked flowers tangled and vined in her hair.

she was always alone, this girl of flowers. dropped down from heaven itself, he knew ━ in the same way that he knew her woods were the big, inviting kind. inviting to everyone but himself.

the underworld was dark and icy, so cold sometimes that blue flames licked upon skin and burned it raw, frostbite staining each orifice blue in its wake. but here, with her, it was always so warm. he did not understand the phrase burn in hell when all he wanted, really, was to burn with her.

he watched her for a long time. every day, the same spot, all by her lonesome. he could see her wings even as they were tucked beneath the skin of her shoulder blades, her entire being painted in an innocence that longed to be scorned.

in the end, it was not him that approached her, but rather her that approached him. cream colored fabric caught in the pollen-scented air that wafted through the branches and got caught in the leaves. strands of her hair tangled in front of her eyes, petals dancing behind her like a trail of pure magic.

"what is it that you long for?" she asked him, and it was such a strange question, such a strange scenario. a creature made of darkness and corruption and everything vile did not often get asked what it was that they longed for, and it was even less often that such things that they wanted were women with buried themselves in flower fields and made friends with the bees.

as such, he did not answer her. he chose to bypass her question entirely and take it upon himself to ask her something. his hand reaches out to grasp a stray petal from the silky hive that was her hair. "it is not smart to approach strangers in secluded places."

"it is hardly secluded," she said as fast, her lips forming a soft 'o' as she blew the delicate magenta petal from his two fingers. "no part of the woods is ever solitary."

she is naive, he thinks, and the naive ones are always the most fun. but there is a part of him that does not long to break her spirit, so long as he can instead nurture it and make it grow. if he was capable of such things. "i suppose you mean the creatures that lurk in the bushes?"

"the wind," she corrects, her head tilting up to absorb the impact of it. again, it tosses her hair, knocks the flower petals woven in the strands loose. her silken dress is one with the wind itself, the fabric catching the gusts and bottling them as it dances in its fingers. "it carries secrets, if you listen close enough to hear them."

and he could not help himself. "what does the wind tell you of me?"

her head tilts to the side. his world, spun on its axis, watching him right back. "that we are alike."

she could not be more wrong. she was made of clouds and goodness, constructed in the very nature of virtue. he was of sin and shadows, dark and broken, feasting off of the innocence that she radiated like a pheromone. he opens his mouth to say so, but she does not let him.

"i know you are not of this world," she continues, slowly, as if she's convinced that this is information that should frighten him that she knows; not something that intrigues him greatly. "like i imagine you know that of me, too."

he does not give a solid answer, but the slightest quirk of his lips is enough to bring a flicker of mischief into her eyes. "what is it like?"

what a peculiar question from a girl made of stardust and glitter, drawing every bit of light toward her like a beacon. he could not play naive to this, or act innocent in the terms of her question, because she had already taken those roles and embodied them perfectly.

"dark," he says, leaning ever-so-slightly closer with each word, "foreboding. lifeless."

he expects that word to drown her spirits. he expects to see the hope floating away in the river's stream, swallowed whole as it glittered beneath the water's surface. instead, she sparkles brighter, her smile wider. "do you believe in fate?"

he balks. "i believe in nothing at all."

"perhaps you should take me there," she says, tugging the loose petals from her hair and letting them rain on the grass. she still looks as wild and free as ever, perhaps even more so, without the reins of life and nature holding her back. "and i will give you something to believe in."

try as she might, it was all for naught. he believed in her so desperately already that he might as well be the drowning thing in the river. perhaps that was why it did not glitter at all.

she called herself persephone, and she called him dean, though that was not what the servants of the underworld and the demons beneath him called him. they called him hades ━ master of cruelty, harbinger of the dead.

it meant justice, where she was from, high above in the clouds with the other things crafted from perfection and innocence. it was not a name out of love, but one out of duty. he told himself this, because there was no chance that someone like her could ever reach into his heart and cradle it between her palms.

persephone had a room, closest to his, and he hated to admit that he considered locking it with a chain every night, lest she realize her mistake and want to go back to her life of oak trees and soft-petaled flowers.

but the heavy door never nudged in the days that she stayed alongside him, and the darkness seemed to hold its breath around her.

"does it not get dreary?" persephone asks upon waking up, her eyes glittering so brightly in the bleak underworld that she stood out like the beacon he believed her to be. always calling him to her.

dean's eyebrows raise a fraction. her mind formulates thoughts that she does not share, until her mouth splits open to speak questions he does not know the context of. "is death not supposed to be dreary?"

he is very good at giving her the answers she does not want. her lips contort into a blatant frown, puffed in a pout of rose petals, and her eyebrows furrow like aggravated caterpillars on her face. "it is a necessity in the life cycle. all things necessary are beautiful."

"you are a dreamer, persephone," he says dismissively, because there's an odd feeling warming his cheeks and the back of his neck. warmth. how odd it was to feel warmth that didn't scald or burn, but soothed. "i await the day that your dreams shatter to pieces."

the pout deepens. angry pink petals curled downward enough to wrinkle her smooth skin. "that is an awful thing to say."

"i would pick up every shard," dean interrupts, their eyes finally locking, "and i would put them back together, no matter how long it takes."

"i have many dreams, dean."

dean does not back down, still. "and i have many centuries."

their stares do not falter. they hold and they hold, like hands tightly woven together in secret, clutching like they might be ripped apart at any point. dean was certain nothing could take persephone from him now, what with how desperate he was for the life she brought.

"your world is cold," she says simply after what feels like eternities in of itself, "and incapable of fostering life."

an astute observation. the words fell from her lips with icy breaths punctuating between them. "i did warn you," he speaks slowly, like this time it is she that needs to have it explained to her, "that this was not a place for angels like you."

he did not warn her of such directly, no. but is scaring off someone and warning someone not the same?

"i am not the life that needs fostered," she waves her hand, her eyes dancing around her surroundings mindlessly. the blackstone countertops of his housing chambers, the metal chairs that did nothing but breed discomfort. all of it was dysfunctional ━ display pieces, in a way, so that he may feel an ounce of humanity again in his dead soul.

her finger reaches out to poke his chest. firm in her movements and her judgements. "it is you." persephone's chin tilts up in her defiant arrogance. "and how lucky you are to have me to guide you."

dean forgot, in his haste to keep persephone, that other people were capable of loving her just as vehemently as he did. it was only a matter of time before something went awry in your absence, and people began to wonder where the angel dusted in pollen and petals had floated away to.

he just did not expect it to be so soon.

a month passes, and suddenly his home is littered in gold. she is a radiant light, everything she touches bursts into life ━ and so the dark home that he'd come to know, with its dim sconces and brooding towers, has become one with light through the gaps of the windows. fresh candles that smell like daisies and lavender are placed in the caged sconces.

maybe he should be angry that she is turning his kingdom of darkness into something so alive. but all dean has ever wanted was a touch of life, and not so much death. it was something that he only began to crave when he spotted her in the woods, surrounded by living things that responded to her touch.

there is an angel at his door, and it is not the one he wishes for.

he senses it like a sixth sense; something amiss in his territory. the wind before a storm, twisting and twisting and setting everything off balance. and the silence is unlike anything he's heard before, in a place as damnable as his home.

dean exits his room with his spine rigid, booted steps heavy on the hollow stone. acts like this are not taken lightly. acts so disrespectful are met with wings hung over his throne, bloodied muscle still attached to their delicate bones.

"persephone," the angel says from the center of his throne room, without turning over their shoulder to look at him. another act of disrespect. "is... where?"

dean's steps echo in the empty room as he circles the angel. predator and prey. neither of which give any indication on who they believe the other to be, in that manner. "is none of your concern."

"you have taken an angel from a place of life and virtue and thrown her into a dungeon of death and decay," the angel snaps back at him, their teeth bared in a harsh snarl. their true form threatens beneath the surface of the vessel they wear. down here, it is much harder to keep up appearances. "it is obvious that it is our concern."

the idea of persephone being locked away sent his stomach churning. how dare anyone think that he would ever try and stifle her light? not when she is cultivating her craft and turning his home into something that is alive.

dean drops into the throne in the center of the room. flames lick to life at the first contact between him and the granite. the angel does not falter at the sight, and dean's jaw ticks because of it. "if you think she is unsafe, find her."

the angel's eyes narrow. "is this a game to you?"

"i guarantee it is not." how could he ever imagine this situation as a game, when the very root of his life is being threatened to be stolen back from him? "find her."

dean knows where she is. in her room, across the narrow hallway from his. her door is shut, but he could smell the flickering flames smelting in her fireplace, warming her from the underworld's pitch black coldness. dean knows she is safe, writing on the parchment he'd gotten for her, detailing her days and thoughts into permanence.

the angel flickers away, out of his sight. dean is left alone with his own thoughts. his, he does not want to memorialize. his stay in the creeping corners of his mind, tucked away to keep his persephone safe. not that he did not believe she could handle a little darkness; she was the one that asked him to come here, after all.

it feels like an eternity that the angel is gone. dean fears, in the very depths of his soul, that they have taken her without a warning or a trace. he'd burn them. all of them. he'd take their wings and decorate the halls of his kingdom with their feathers. he'd . . .

flickering into view is the angel, with persephone clutched between their grip. her face is contorted into that fiery expression he'd come to expect from her, defiance born in her very blood.

it was no wonder that the angels wanted to leash her. she was not like them. she was composed of flame and fury, and radiated it like she was the sun itself. dean was always so captivated by her, but it was times like this when he could not look away.

"what have you done to her?" the angel tosses the accusation dean's way like the words sicken them. again, their true form flickers just behind their eyes. at least dean was a beast that wore his skin without the skin of a lamb atop of it.

dean's fingers steeple beneath his chin. "explain."

"she does not want to come back." the angel's eyes narrow onto him, unspoken allegations swimming in their expression. "there is no reason that someone so full of life would want to bury their feet into the death and darkness of your home."

it is selfish that his heart swells at those words. does not want to leave his home. his initial worries that he would have to say goodbye to her melt away like the ice frosting over his stone walls.

"that is not true," persephone interjects, and dean stills. waits for the clarification on what wasn't true. "i do want to go home."

they say that if you love something, you must let it go. dean did not understand it. never before had he loved anything, and the prospect of releasing this precious jewel to the real world has him feeling like he's about to burst from his skin. how was he supposed to let her go? how was he supposed to . . .

panic flares the fire surrounding his throne, his fists curled into tight balls against his palms. "then you may leave."

persephone's expression shifts, her eyes flicking over to dean. hurt mares that beautiful face, her eyebrows furrow deeply, valleys between them, lines burnt into the stone. "you do not listen."

"you have made it clear," dean cannot keep the hurt from his own voice, either, "that is what you want."

it was foolish for someone like him to be irate that someone like her did not want to be around him. persephone were gold and he was ash; she were fire and he was stone.

but perhaps he'd grown used to having someone lively around amongst all of this death. perhaps the prospect of her being in his space had begun to feel less like an invasion and more like laws of nature.

death could not exist without life. life could not continue without death. it was as natural for him to crave persephone like the moon longed for the sun.

"i want choice," persephone says loudly, her voice carrying throughout the hollow throne room. "i want to not be contained."

dean straightens in his seat. "and have you felt that i've been containing you, persephone?"

she holds his gaze for a long while. so long that he sees the fire in her eyes, watches it dwindle to ash in the shore of her irises. "you have never done anything awful to me."

"i do not believe such words," the angel interrupts, their lips curled into a sneer. "manipulation is part of who he is, persephone, and you are caught right in his snare."

dean is about to lunge. his nails bite into his skin, blood pools in four glossy red crescents on his palms, with the effort it takes to not bury his fists into the cheekbones of the angel's face.

it is her eyes that keep him steady. persephone's eyes, always so open and honest. he'd mistaken her for naive when what he really saw, initially, strength. warm, like a hug. burning, like passion.

he slumps back into the throne again, his curled fists breaking open and shattering like they'd never been built for violence at all.

"he has no snare," persephone's voice is soft. flower petals brushing across his calloused knuckles, a lover's caress. "he is a product of the underworld, an image crafted to maintain his reputation. you do not know him like i have come to."

dean did not believe a lot of what she said, himself. he was not just an image of violence and cruelty; it was who he was, still, with everyone but her. his persephone.

"your mistake is that you think i am vulnerable enough to get caught in any trap," she continues, and those eyes reignite and burn as they land on the angel that clasps her wrist. "i am not a damsel, or a lamb. i am a fire burning, and you are in my way."

persephone was a fire burning. those were the two words that she'd picked for herself, when she began to acclimate to the life below the surface. she burnt trees and flowers, singed them to ash and blew them away like the seeds of a dandelion.

she had it all, up above. life burst from her fingers, the sun beat down on her and made her burst. flowers wove themselves into her hair, stems tangled in the strands, her fingertips always smelled of pollen, and she could taste the season changes on her tongue with how familiar their flavors were.

but someone that was made of life was never truly alive. she only saw things grow, cultivated them, and where was the satisfaction in it, if she never got to see them die? what was the point of life if it never ended?

the god of death had been watching her for a long while. she felt the decay long before she ever saw him, her flowers wilting and the grass turning wheat brown and crunchy beneath her green-stained knees.

life was always intrigued by death. death always craved life. she found herself drifting up to him without an ounce of fear, even as his eyes swirled with a darkness beyond her knowledge. angels were naturally contemptuous of demons like he was, but she was no typical angel, and he was no typical demon.

it'd been her plan, really, from the moment that she first sensed the burn of his gaze upon her, threatening to drain her life source from its very core, to get him to steal her away. she was exhausted with giving life to everything around her, and not ever getting to feel that thrill of something new and exciting herself.

the god did not put up much of a fight to her troublesome idea, and that was the moment that persephone realized that she had chosen right. it took nothing for him to be convinced of her purpose and her potential, whereas there was not a soul that paid her any mind unless her efforts began to slip.

she'd never felt as alive as she did walking amongst the dead, and not only because of the obvious, but because it was new. a purpose. the souls that were trapped beneath the mortal grounds did not need to live like they were entombed in eternal winter.

persephone was a fire burning in the icy pits of hell, daring to melt away its harsh exterior and warm it, starting with the man that believed her capable of such.

"what is this?" she asks upon entering into his throne room, her eyes bursting open like blooming flowers at the sight. his throne, a towering mass of obsidian once in the center of the room, was now shifted. and next to it was... "for me?"

a granite throne of smaller stature, engraved with vines and thorned flowers. lesser demons worked on it without stirring at her arrival, though their rigid backs gave way that they sensed her. she was the sole thing with a heartbeat in this kingdom, it was impossible not to.

her beloved dean sat on the big arm of his own throne, eyes narrowed and scrutinizing on the working demons, lips curled in utter focus. but the moment her voice rang out, the black depths of his eyes melted into the green she'd gotten to familiarize herself with. the green just for her. "if you wish it to be," he says nonchalantly, as if having a throne built just for her was some idle task.

"you do not have to go to such lengths for me," persephone insists, "i am merely a guest in your home."

his eyes narrow. not long ago had that angel invaded the underworld and tried to drag her away. spouting nonsense about the god's manipulation of her, turning her vision rose-tinted and blind. the angels did not know that she had manipulated the god into bending to her will. "you are not merely a guest if you wish to be more."

"that is a bold offer," and she almost calls him dean, but she refrains in front of his subjects. that name is reserved for them and them only. his vulnerability is hers to cherish.

dean's head nods once. "and you are a bold girl."

her heart swells. the hollow thud of tools on stone echoes throughout the room for endless moments while she watches him, stares into those eyes that only deepen for her.

"leave at once," he commands, his voice cold and crafted of ice. dean's eyes, though, do not freeze over into black as they stay locked with hers.

the subjects scramble to their feet and disappear into the open archway of the throne room, out of sight. in a blink, it is just persephone and the devil, his gaze crafted of marble and as warm as a hearth.

no, he is not capable of manipulating her or breaking her. but she is capable of shattering him. he is lucky she would never want to hurt him. she is lucky that his heart thaws just for her.

"i will tell them to dispose of it if you do not want it," dean says, his voice like warm honey compared to the frosty interior. "i only thought that it would be nice. to have you around when i am not available to keep you company."

persephone shakes her head. "i love it," she answers, her eyes falling back onto it. it is everything she loves at once. the harshest flowers, the cruelest thorns ━ blackstone carvings of the balance between life and death.

dean can read her like a book. his eyes stay locked onto hers for any flicker of change in them. "there is something else." his jaw ticks. "say it."

"i am afraid."

the words come so easily that she does not feel the need to sugarcoat them, or to bury the truth beneath flowery words. though his reaction is unexpected. a flinch mars his expression.

she feels guilty at once.

"oh," is all he says, and the soft utter of the one syllable alone has her reeling to make this right.

"not of you," she says quickly, desperate to get the hurt out of his beautiful eyes. "never of you." dean stays looking unconvinced. "i am afraid," she starts again, backtracking on her words so that they might sound better this time, "of how a throne for me will be perceived."

dean's expression hardens and tightens. it takes seconds for him to become a man of marble ━ harsh lines deepen the contours of his face, expression unyielding and unmoving. he is the god hades, then, and not her dean.

instead of responding, his head jerks in gesture to the throne. not hers, but his. the one that he sits on the arm of, and not in. the one that does not belong to her, and that has probably never felt the presence besides its god's.

persephone's feet carry her to it, anyways, as if her body has not realized, yet, the implications of it all. her fingers dance along the glossy stone of the empty arm, expecting it to be icy and finding it warm.

she sits upon it, and it bursts into flame.

dean does not flinch away from the wisps of fire, though. they do not touch him. as she thought, the fire adheres to him, the throne answers to him ━ and it appears to answer to her, too.

"you are as much of a queen," he mutters as his head dips down, lips brushing on the curve of her ear, "as i am a king."

persephone cannot move, stuck in the trance that was the burning in his eyes. dean leans closer, and she does not move. his breath is warm and full of life on her skin. "it is yours if you want it to be. all of this is yours."

she has never wanted something more than to mean something. to have a place amongst death as life always should. her lips part to say so, but three words interrupt her, stopping her heart in between her ribs. "i am yours."

it is incredible, persephone thinks, to be loved. to not feel too inadequate to deserve it. to be herself, and to be enough.

his hand falls on her cheek, and hers lifts to trap it there, caging his love before it can run out of her like sand in an hourglass. and before she knows it, she's leaned up enough to kiss him.

his mouth tastes like frosted pomegranate and sin. his tongue breaks through the barrier of her lips like he's craved her for so long that he knows exactly what to do now that she is here.

life unto death. life undoes death.

he keeps her face between his palms like she is something precious as he makes the moves to stand. he is between her legs, then, his fingers trailing up the dress she wears, tucking beneath its hem.

she does not stop him. his fingers land on her inner thighs. she does not stop him. he sinks to his knees in front of her, a king bowing at his own throne, surrendering.

persephone's mouth parts in blooming anticipation. his hands push her knees apart, the thin fabric of her dress's skirt pooling in between the open space. and there dean is, her dean, as warm as he is frozen, thawing at the touch of her.

"i know you do not fear fire, my beauty," he whispers, his voice as rough as gravel as he looks up at her through his eyelashes, "so burn for me."

and then he buries his face between her legs, and she bursts into flames.

"i had this made for you," dean says upon entering their shared space. she is sprawled underneath silken burgundy sheets, completely bare, still, from the previous night. and the one before that. she has not left his bed or made any attempt to.

all he wears is a wrap of black cloth around his waist, hair damp from a shower, the smell of soap billowing around the room like smoke. and in his hands is a crown.

ruby red roses wrap around the base. the sharp points are thorns. deep green vines wrap around it in its entirety. it is sharp, deadly, and it is beautiful.

the sheets pool at her lap as she sits up, her lips parted in her awe. it is beautiful. it is everything he views her as, she knows, because he does not let her forget that she is as fierce as she is soft. she is thorns and she is roses.

dean crosses the space to nestle the crown into her hair. his knuckles trail down her cheek, a soft caress, softness that stays reserved for them.

"you look beautiful wearing your power atop your head," he mumbles mindlessly, his eyes searching her expression for any sort of reaction. but she is struck wordless. there is no magic in a crown made of thorns and bloody petals, but there is magic within her now that she wears it. an irrevocable strength that does not waver.

she reaches up to touch it, fingertips dancing along the jagged points of the thorns. her finger pricks, the sting making her blink in her surprise. how long had it been since she'd dealt with pain? since she'd seen it in her very eyes?

"when you are presented tonight, to my court," dean continues, his knuckle locking beneath her chin and tilting it up higher so she may meet his eyes, "you will wear it."

the fear of being rejected by his people and his subjects is now nothing but a wobbly line pretending to be a towering wall. she had broken past those worries, shattered them into rubble and dust, the moment that he'd kissed her.

like he knows that such an act will solidify her and her feelings, he presses his mouth to hers. warm, as always. everything in the underworld, now, is becoming warm and hearty.

persephone grabs at the cloth wrapped around his waist to drag him in closer. her hands slide around the expanse of his thighs and pull, pull until his knees meet the feathery soft mattress and he is atop her.

"i will never take it off," she vows on his lips, letting him swallow their truth.

dean's lips quirk into the kiss. "already fitting perfectly into your role."

━

persephone's throne is collecting dust, now, from the disuse. dean has insisted that she sit in his lap on his throne from the very moment that they'd first gotten together, and persephone was never one to argue with what he wanted when it was what she, too, did.

his people do not like her. it is evident in their sneers and their irritation. but it is not her job to make them accept her. it is theirs to come to terms with, when she stays.

dean's hand trails up her thigh, his palm leaving shivers with each pass, raising higher beneath the hem of her black satin dress. thorned vines wrap around her legs, thorns blossoming down the center path of the room from each step she took.

she is life and she is death. and most importantly, to her, she has found a purpose within his courts.

"you must not falter if they speak ill to you," he whispers into her ear, peppering the words along her skin in between kisses, "you must show them the queen that i know you to be."

it was reassurances that persephone did not need. she was not afraid of the dead. she craved death like it starved for her.

every harsh stare toward her was met with her own sneer. it was hard to fear her above, when flowers bloomed beneath her feet and branches curled toward her, wishing to listen in on what she had to say, and the wind whispered its secrets into her ears.

here, she was fire. here, she'd never felt so alive.

persephone could feel dean's eyes on her. when she turns to meet his gaze, there is pride in his green eyes. green, just for her. green, like the leaves and the grass. she lifts her hand to smudge the wrinkles in the corners of them, the gesture a silent question and an act of affection.

"you do not have to hide from me," she promises under her breath, the pad of her thumb massaging the age lines over his stubbled face. "show me how dark you can burn."

and when his eyes blacken, she is certain that love can conquer all. it certainly has brought a king to his knees.

the warm months were dawning. persephone knew, because her veins ached with the need to be above again. spring was upon them. it was time for her to return. just as dean had his duties, she had her own. it would not be fair to throw them to the wind just because she'd found a home, now, and was no longer wandering mindlessly through the woods.

dean stands before her, a grim expression on his face. in his hands is a pomegranate, torn in two. the juice runs down his hands like blood.

from his face, she knows that he must feel, too, like he is bleeding out.

persephone steps forward to press her forehead against his, on the tips of her toes to reach him. his arms wrap tightly around her, staining the white of her flowing gown pink with the blood on his hands.

she does not make any move to pull from him, though. she has waited as long as she possibly could already, but she does not want to abandon him again to his kingdom of cold isolation. does not want to see how much he falls apart without her; not when she will shatter just as violently.

"i will be back when the wind begins to chill," she promises, slipping from his arms just enough to steal a pomegranate half from his hands. she plucks a seed from its pieces, popping it between her lips. "i will be back at the very first reddening of the leaves, i swear it."

it does not loosen his clenched jaw. dean has never doubted any of her promises, but he does doubt himself, falling into a pit of his own destruction. she does not want to leave him and see how many shards she will have to pick up upon her return.

dean's fingers reach out to steal one of her seeds. "i would never take away your ability to choose," he says softly, placing the seed on his tongue as she had, like an unspoken vow between them in the shared gestures, "but i wish that you will continue to choose me."

"always."

her eyes close, and it's like she can already hear the crying of the birds in the sky, the nymphs in the trees crying for her to return, her mother wailing. it overwhelms her. she opens her eyes again to find solace in the black swirls of his.

"i will count the days until you come," he swears, his stained fingers brushing streaks of red along her cheekbone as he cups her face against his palm. "and i will burn the world if you are kept away from me."

persephone knew he would, too. just as she would tear through it all to get back to him.

it is with great effort that she crosses the gate between the underworld and the real world. her strength crumbles the moment her feet touch the grass, tears streaming down her face, the first signification of spring being the pouring rain that starts the moment her tears do.

but she was strong, and now much stronger, now that she holds place in someone's heart and she has found solace in a home that welcomes her just as she wants to be. as a queen, not just an angel, as a girl who wants to burn as much as she wants to light.

and true to his word, the depths of hell are aflame the moment the gate closes. the ice melted and thawed, in its place, flames and fire and heat, grieving the angel of death until she makes her way home to its king again.

tags. @sthefferrete @cevansbaby-dove @titsout4nicholas @cosmicanakin @bluestrd

@ultravi0lence14 @mccartneyqp @poughkeepsie99 @depressionbarbie2023 @im-bili

@ariasong11 @chevroletdean @angelblqde @ostaramoon @deansbite

@lyarr24 @jasvtsc @deanswidow @figthoughts

click here if u want added!

[girlkisser13]

birds of a feather

"i knew you in another life" "you had that same look in your eyes" "i love you, don’t act so surprised"

pairings: percy jackson x fem!reader

warnings/tags: none. tooth rotting fluff. established relationship.

summary: "i love you in every universe."

the warm afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting a dappled pattern of light and shadow over the grassy clearing. the air was filled with the sweet scent of wildflowers, and the gentle hum of bees buzzed around the two of you as you sat cross-legged on the soft grass, your fingers deftly weaving a colorful flower crown. percy lay with his head in your lap, his eyes closed, a peaceful smile playing on his lips. his dark hair felt soft under your touch as you carefully arranged the flowers, making sure each one was placed just right.

the two of you had stolen away to this hidden spot, far from the hustle and bustle of camp half-blood. it was your secret sanctuary, a place where the both of you could escape from the chaos of your lives as demigods and simply be yourselves. as you worked on his flower crown, you found myself lost in the simple, soothing rhythm of the task.

percy’s voice broke the comfortable silence, soft and contemplative. "do you think parallel universes are real?"

you paused, your fingers stilling for a moment as you considered his question. "i don’t know," you admitted, your focus still on the flowers in your hands. "maybe. there’s a lot we don’t understand about the universe."

percy opened his eyes and looked up at you, his sea-green eyes thoughtful. "i’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. about how there could be other versions of us out there, living different lives."

you nodded absently, selecting a bright yellow daisy and adding it to the crown. "it’s a nice idea. infinite possibilities and all that."

he reached up and took your hand, his touch warm and grounding. "do you think we’d still find each other? in those other universes?"

his question caught you off guard, and you looked down at him, your heart skipping a beat. there was something earnest and vulnerable in his expression that made your chest tighten with emotion.

"i don’t know," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "i’d like to think so."

percy’s smile widened, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "i think we would. no matter what."

you tilted your head, curiosity piqued. "how do you know?"

he shifted slightly, turning so that he could look up at you more easily. "because i love you," he said simply. "and my love for you is so strong, so pure, that i can’t imagine any version of me not feeling the same way. it’s like... like a universal constant."

you felt heat rise to your cheeks, and you looked away, focusing on the flower crown to hide your embarrassment. "that’s... really sweet, percy."

"i’m serious," he insisted. "i believe that in every universe, i would find you. and i would love you just as much as i do now."

you could hear the sincerity in his voice, and it made your heart swell with affection. you finished the last few touches on the flower crown and gently placed it on his head, the colorful blossoms a stark contrast to his dark hair.

"there," you said, smiling down at him. "perfect."

percy reached up to touch the crown, his fingers brushing against the petals. "thank you," he said softly. "for everything."

you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin against your lips. "i don't think i could love you any more than i already do," you said quietly. "i think i’d love you till the day i die."

he closed his eyes again, his expression one of utter contentment. "that’s all i need to hear."

you stayed like that for a while, the world around you fading into the background. in that moment, it didn’t matter what dangers awaited you outside your little sanctuary, or what challenges you would have to face as demigods. all that mattered was the here and now, and the love the two of you shared.

and maybe, just maybe, percy was right. maybe your love was a universal constant, something that would endure no matter what. it was a comforting thought, one that made you believe in the possibility of parallel universes and the idea that you would always find each other, no matter what.

as the sun began to set, painting the sky with hues of pink and orange, you knew that this moment would be etched in your memory forever. because in every universe, in every possible reality, you knew one thing for certain: you would always love percy jackson.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Even if the sky was falling

Part II

warning: fighting, blood, sexual tension if you squint, fire and angst… 😈

request: had this thought about azriel xteacher!reader fem or gn if you prefer and reader teaches nyx so the IC interacts with the reader a lot and all love her and think she’d be perfect with az but he’s too much of a wimp to make it official but they are still flirty. basically fate makes him man up when nyx’s class is attacked and reader is trying to protect him and then az saves the day.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Nyx, as much as he was brave and outgoing with his family, turned into the shell of himself when exposed to people he didn’t know. And while he loved to learn and genuinely was a curious kid, school hadn’t come easy for him. “We would be nowhere close to where we are now if not for Y/n”, Feyre mused once the conversation had once again slipped to Nyx over dinner. “She puts lots of care into looking after him”, Rhys nodded along, “He loves her too”. That had of course peaked Azriel’s curiosity. He didn’t sense danger but you could never trust anyone, especially a stranger, fully. And this was his family he was talking about. One he had sworn to protect.

That’s how the spymaster had found himself slowly walking towards the school. There had still been hours till pick-up time, but he wanted to see you in action. Working that magic of yours and magic he had seen. It had been a beautiful day in Velaris, the sun high in the sky, warm breeze rattling the leaves. The laughter was impossible to miss. It was infectious. Bumping off every surface. In the middle of it stood you, surrounded by ecstatic faces as they swarmed you. Like little bees trying to land on the prettiest of flowers.

Azriel still struggled with the concept of care and love. His imagination was wild but he could never imagine a happy childhood. A warm and safe home. He had that now, yes, but to have that from birth? To be loved from the first breath you take. That was foreign to him. So he stood there watching how you spun around in a circle. Clapping your hands to the nursery rimes the kids were belting out. And your smile had made Azriel smile too. Slightly. Ever so slightly making him smile.

“Uncle Az”, Nyx's excited voice had caught up with Azriel when he had finally crossed the schoolyard. With no effort the spymaster had caught the boy with one hand, lifting him onto his shoulder. “Have you been good today, bud”, Azriel patted him on the stomach, making Nyx nod eagerly, “I was, I was really good, right Mrs. Y/n”, his eager purple eyes trailed back to you and Azriel felt as if a goddess was now in front of him. You had been pretty from afar, but up close….

“I don’t know them broccolis, didn’t make it to your mouth did they?”, you raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms over your chest. “You didn’t eat your broccoli?” Azriel looked back at his nephew who was sending silent daggers your way. “They smell like Uncle Cassian’s farts”, the boy whined. The silence felt for a moment as Azriel turned to glance at you, for some reason feeling the need to apologize for Nyx’s words only to catch a big smile. And within the heartbeat, both of you had burst out laughing. “Go get yourself a bun, you little devil”, Azriel shook his head, letting the boy down.

The promise of a sweet bun had delighted him but Nux still turned to you first. Running to hug your knees as he glanced up at you. “Till tomorrow, Y/n”, he mused, that Rhys’s smile on his face now. “You say hi to your parents from me”, your fingers threaded through his hair. “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow”, you mussed, bending down to cup his cheek before kissing the top of his head, watching as he ran off towards the stand, Azriel’s shadows twirling alongside him.

“So, the day has come”, you mussed attention now fixed on the Illyrian in front of you. “I have no idea what you are talking about Mrs. Y/n”, Azriel's firm tone found you. “I saw you in the field, the tree was big but you were bigger”, You narrowed your eyes at him. And he thought he was smooth out there. “You sure know how to flatter a male”, Azriel mussed, crossing his arms over his chest, the toned tattooed muscles gleaming, “Nothing rubs my ego more than being called big”.

You let out a gasp, clipping him on the side with one hand, “Watch your mouth”, you shushed him, “There are kids here”. But now standing so close to him, you could feel the way your heart picked up. He was beautiful. Mother, every woman in Velaris probably had brought herself to an orgasm just thinking about the spymaster. “What would they say if they knew what their teacher was thinking about just now”, his words felt like a cold bucket, yet your cheeks bloomed red. “You’re no mind reader”, you scoffed, “Ego pressing on the little brain?”. Azriel caught your wrist, pinning it behind your back. Another gasp slipped past your lips as his chest pressed against you, “But I can smell it”, he mussed, “Come have dinner with me”. You couldn’t help but laugh, “Nice try”, you muttered. “I’ll fly you over myself if I have to”, Azriel warned. “Maybe you’ll have to come more often”, you made sure the enfaces the third to last word, causing Azriel to let out a lower chuckle, “You’re dangerous”, “Yet you are here”, you beamed at him.

It had stayed like this. This push and pull. Push and pull for weeks. Azriel had become accustomed to picking Nyx up almost every day. It was his easy pass to see you. Even if every time he walked through the gates he was met with an eye roll from you. And while you loved to prod and poke each other there had always been a sense of ease. As if finally someone had seen him. On some nights Azriel even found himself sharing the gruesome side of his job. And it had been your soft hands that had coxed him back to safety. Your eyes that had managed to see through the debris and find the truth beneath it all.

A light smile hadn’t left his face ever since and now as he finished the last bits of work for the day, he couldn’t wait to go get you. Drop Nyx home and spend the evening together. Just you and him. That was until something flashed across the sky. Azriel frowned pushing his chair back. Just he didn’t make it far as a loud explosion rattled the buildings. Alarms rang through the city as people started screaming outside. He was about to rush through the doors when his shadows slammed right into him. Bringing with them the sound of screaming. Children screaming. Women screaming. And a familiar voice there. Your voice and his whole body ran cold.

Everything had died down after that, all Azriel heard was static as he winnowed in front of a burning building. Some figures draped in black swirled around the school. Daggers in hand. His soldiers were already there, falling like stars from the sky. But all Azriel could think of was you and Nyx, somewhere there in the burning building. His feet moved faster than his mind as he hit the jammed door with his shoulder, breaking it in the first time. The ashen face of an elderly woman was the first thing he saw, and a litter of kids with faces shoved against her skirt in hopes of breathing as little fumes as possible.

“Come on, my man will keep you safe”, he reached out, steadying her and then counting up the little ones. “Who else is here?”, he asked through the crackling. “Upstairs”, she sobbed, “Please”. Azriel’s head snapped to the stairs. The broken down stair that had no doubt made it impossible for the ones upstairs to leave.

He could feel heartbeats. Racking through them to find a familiar one. And then a scream tore through the walls. Nyx’s name and… He was winnowing up. Ripping door after door he searched for the place you both had to be in. Eyes burning from the smoke. “Hand him over”, a thick voice snarled. “Fuck yourself and bend over”, you wheezed. Azriel’s boot came in contact with the center of the last door. And there you were a broken glass in hand as you shoved Nyx behind you. And an ill-looking male with a bloodied sword in front of you. Azriel’s shadows swarmed him, drowning the male in the dark as they pushed through every possible way into his body, the screams filling the small space. You turned back, clasping your hands around Nyx, pressing his face into your chest so he would not have to see it. It was in the infamous spymaster in front of you, in his real and lethal form as he stepped over the body trashing beneath him. His fingers that so carefully held you now gripped the jaw of the man who had threatened your life, Nyx’s life.

“You owe me a handful of breaths”, Azriel muttered against his ear, “And I will make you pay for them. You’ll wish you never breathed at all”, the coldness poured out of him. And if not for the coughs that slipped from Nyx’s lips you were sure that Azriel wouldn’t have moved from his spot. But his head snapped to the side, the complete darkness leaving his eyes. His shadows moved around you, offering you both oxygen. In two steps he had crossed the distance between you two. In two steps that had made you curl deeper into yourself as you held onto Nyx.

Azriel's jaw flexed as he watched you recoil from him. He felt your fear, it was all over. “I will not hurt you”, he muttered, “I’ll just get you both out”, his voice was back to the honey cone smoothness, as his hand wrapped around your shoulder. “Uncle Az”, Nyx choked out. “Try to breathe as little as possible, buddy”, Azriel’s palm cupped the back of Nyx’s head, “it will all be over soon”.

It felt almost like waking up from a nightmare. The fog cleared up. Air returning to your lungs. The light of flames was replaced by the sun. There was much more noise here. The screaming. You blinked to see parents looking for their kids. Mother’s weeping. “Mom”, Nyx pushed against your chest but you clung to him, “Daddy”, his voice broke. You felt him trashing in your arms but you couldn’t let go. Warm hands slid over your hands, gently pulling them apart, “He’s safe, you kept him safe”, Azriel’s voice flooded your mind. You watch Nyx’s trembling legs crossing the distance between him and his parents. The high lord falling to his knees as he wrapped the little boy in his arms. Your legs bucked, only to be met with a firm grasp on your hips as you collapsed into Azriel’s embrace.

“I’ve got you”, he muttered, “You are safe, my love, no one will hurt you”. You looked up, feeling the sting in your eyes, “Azriel”, you breathed. “I know”, he nodded, brushing the strand of your hair away from your face. You watched him for a moment, dizziness creeping in. Until your gaze darted down slowly, where warmth had been gathering all this time. “What is it?”, Azriel asked as his eyes followed yours. You heard the breath hitching in his throat before his palm pressed against your abdomen. Somewhere deep in your consciousness, you knew that you should have screamed out. But as you watched crimson seeping through his fingers you almost felt as if this body wasn’t yours.

“Y/n, my love, can you hear me”, Azriel’s worried eyes watched you, “Fuck”, cursing he looked around in panic, “Fuck, someone, please we need a healer here”. You felt Azriel’s hand slowly brushing against your back as he lowered you onto the grass. “Keep your eyes on me”, he pleaded, “Let me see your pretty eyes, I missed them so much today, did you know that?”, he was rambling you noted, something he never did. But you nodded anyway, “I missed you”, you muttered right back as his eyes snapped to the side. He was searching for a healer you did not doubt it. “Azriel”, you breathed out, but he didn’t budge. “Az”, you muttered, bringing your shaky palm to cup his cheek.

“Don’t you dare do this to me”, he whined through gritted teeth. “Come closer”, you muttered, feeling the way his hand dug into the wound on your side. But he followed your wishes this time, leaning closer till your foreheads were pressed together. “Tell me something you haven’t told me before”, you muttered, feeling your eyelids getting heavy. Azriel nuzzled against your cheek and you could feel his tears brushing onto your skin. “I love you”, he breathed, “I’m in love with you”, that was enough to make your heart leap up, tugging at the feeling so familiar, ancient, and deep. “And I love you”, you smiled at him, “Even if the sky falls and till my last breath then”, you felt him pulling back then, pulling at the thread joining you as one. You tugged as hard as your body allowed you, watching his golden eyes till your eyes couldn’t stay open anymore. Till you were sure the whole earth rattled as Azriel screamed.

[solbaby7]

Seen

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: possible swearing but this is mainly just fluff, maybe a splash of sexual tension but I love a good slow burn when it comes to azzyboy

summary: Nosy by nature, you follow a few stray shadows somewhere you know you don’t belong—better not get caught

—

You shouldn’t be here.

You definitely shouldn’t be here.

But everytime you stopped, tried to turn back and go where you came, those little shadows stopped you. Wrapping around your legs like snakes, pulling at your clothes and gently pushing you forward down a dark hallway with only one door.

You knew you shouldn’t have touched it.

But the little shadows twisted the knob for you, door opening with a slow creek.

“Absolutely not,” You say to the hovering shadow, unsure if it could understand you but the way it curled around your shoulders and urged you forward seemed like a “actually, you will”.

It was a little colder in here, a room filled to the brim with all sorts of treasures. Weapons hang neatly against the wall above the fireplace, swords sharper than the jagged rocks weathered by the crashing tide deep below the mountains. Armor and fighting leathers of all sizes and stitching hang on a rack in the corner, perfectly clean save a few random holes—war wounds you concluded.

But whose?

The answer becomes more apparent when you prod a little further, carefully observing rare books; some with languages carved on the spine you hadn’t even known existed. Paintings hang on the wall, some of landscapes, a few of the Night Court, but one makes your eyes widen—the painting Feyre had made for Azriel.

You step back immediately, the shadow holding at your arm to brace you. “I really shouldn’t be in here.” You whisper at it, fixing the papers on the desk you’d stumbled into.

“No, you really shouldn’t.”

Your body freezes, hands stuck in place over the little wooden figurine you’d knocked over and the profanity that slips out is nothing above a whisper. “I swear I wasn’t snooping.”

It definitely looks like you’re snooping, hands all over personal paperwork that once you squinted your eyes to look at, you realize they’re reports; mission debriefs, important information that you certainly shouldn’t know and the whine that pulls in your distress, Azriel actually finds kind of cute. “Okay.” There’s no reading the expression on his face, dark hair tumbling down his shoulders. His shirts unbuttoned, golden brown skin capturing your attention and you force your eyes away before you get caught up in the giant wings tucked behind him. “Why are you here?”

Your fear morphs into anger, pointer finger jabbing at the two shadows slinking about your feet, nearly fully hidden if it weren’t for the smoke like wisps that curled in the air. “They made me, I swear. I didn’t even open the door.”

Azriel says nothing, wings ruffling when he beckoned them, silently commanding they return but the shadows don’t obey. They hide behind your frame, flitting about your clothes and one settles around the back of your neck like a sleepy cat. “Interesting.”

“They’re kinda cute,” You admit softly, eyes transfixed on the newest addition to your shoulders and when your fingers come to touch it, it feels cool. “—if they weren’t so naughty.” As if remembering you’re not alone you look back up, hand lowering back down to your sides as you stand there awkwardly. “But, I suppose I didn’t exactly fight them that hard—I was a little curious.”

“Dangerous thing, curiosity. People have killed over less.”

It takes everything in you not to step back because even though the words are slightly threatening, they aren’t untrue. “I apologize—I’ll go now.”

“If you weren’t actually snooping through my papers,” Azriel begins, the shadows attached to him preventing you from going any further and the two connected to you reach out to the others—bumping against one another like bees communicating where the most pollen was. A few more reach out to you, curiously prodding at your clothes, your hair, curling around your arm and gliding through the gaps of your fingers. “What were you looking at?”

You answer quickly albeit a little distracted by the smoky darkness crawling up your shirt and around your neck. “I was—“ Your breath catches when they squeeze a little, blush fanning. “Can you get them off please?”

“Believe it or not,” You dare look up at him and find that he looks just as flustered as you by his shadows. “I’m trying but they’re not really responding to me at the moment.”

Panic is evident on your face and the swirling gems containing the true extent of his power behinds to glow a little, shadows being pulled back like a magnet no matter how hard they latch on. “Does that happen often.”

Azriel’s hand reached out, snatching at one that dared try to pull away. He doesn’t look at you when he tucks it back with the others. “No.”

There’s a pause, a silence that’s not exactly uncomfortable but you still feel the need to fill it when you skim over parts of the room you hadn’t been able to explore before. “What is all of this stuff?” You’re moving before you can tell your feet to stop, settling before a glass cabinet filled with all sorts of precious gems, glimmering necklaces and two neatly hung dresses and though neither are quite as high quality as the stones; your hand still hovers over them, fingertips millimeters from the shiny glass. “It’s beautiful.”

You don’t hear anything for some time, too entranced with the golden arm cuff that had been carefully designed into a vine with detailed leaves and stems that seemed to grow the longer you stared at it. “They’re for,” Azriels voice is low, clearing his throat when his breath catches slightly. “—they were for my mother.”

Were.

You don’t look at him, granting him the gift of privacy because it was obvious this wasn’t exactly an easy subject and even more clear that procuring this many words from him was a feat in itself. You hum instead, trying to appear as casual as possible as you appreciate items not meant for other eyes—treasures meant for a someone who was no longer with us. “She must’ve been lovely—probably a bit complex,” You say without thinking. “Probably really kind too and good with nature,” You add, looking back at the arm cuff.

A blush forms when you finally turn to face him again, his mouth is slightly agape and you can’t quite put your finger on the way he’s staring at you. “You get all that from some jewelry?”

You scoff as if they’re your own, defending them like you’d picked them yourself. “They’re not just jewelry. Look at how intricate the pieces are,” You point at them, never touching the glass in fear of leaving a fingerprint or possibly breaking it. “Each and every one of them probably look careful thought and planning and endless hours of time spent bringing it to life. The care; the love put into them it’s—“ You let out a breath, realizing how fast you were talking and how quick you were breathing. Suddenly, you feel shy with his eyes studying you. “It’d be a disservice to just call them jewelry when it’s so clear her soul’s in every piece.”

Azriel’s not a man of many words, so you don’t force them. Instead you dip you head in farewell, returning the clingy shadows and making way to leave when you hear a whisper so soft you nearly mistake it for the wind. “I thought so too.”

[revelboo]

I loved the way you wrote about Megatron in Earthspark. Can you keep writing?

(Please I beg you. It's impossible to find anything about him)

🥺😭😭

Give Up/Give In Pt 8

TF Earthspark Megatron

• Aware of Bumblebee staring at him and the scout’s infuriatingly knowing smirk as he patrols outside the house while you and the Malto family eat, he vents on a growl. “If you want to say something, say it.” Keeping the house in sight since your panic attack still has him out of sorts. That you’d not only reached for him, but clung to him. And somehow his rumbling growl hadn’t made things worse, you’d actually calmed for him.

• “Nothing,” Bee shrugs, hands spread. “You just keep surprising me.” Optics narrowing, his big servos flex. He’d forged these hands into weapons of war, but you’d still felt safe in them. Entrusting yourself to him. And the scout had walked up in time to see him lower you to your feet and gently wipe away the tears so no one else would know you’d broken down.

• “You still see the monster,” he says. Not really a surprise, when he can’t even escape the weight of his own sins. Taking care of you won’t undo the atrocities he’d committed, but he needs to do it. To prove to himself that he’s not still the warlord driven to do whatever it takes, willing to even burn his own world to ash in a ruthless bid to win. Knows that everything went too far and that was his fault, and that there’s no undoing his past. But this he can do. Your life won’t be lost because of him.

• “Hard not to.” Helm tipping up toward the full moon overhead, Bumblebee shrugs again, but he appreciates the blunt honesty. “But we’ve all done things. It was war.” The words are a kindness really, but they do little to ease his conscience. How many lives had he ruined? Destroyed? It’s no wonder his former followers hate him with such visceral passion. They’d believed in him and he’d dragged them into the Pit. And left them there while he’d walked away free.

• Opening the door, you inhale the night air, smelling honeysuckle and pine as you find the glow of optics in the dark. Hesitating when you see the blue pair and sitting on the step to wait. The Malto’s are nice, kinder than you’d expected, so kind it almost hurts. Underlining your own distant relationship with your family. Going home for you, seeing family, means a trip halfway across the country and you like your independence. But you miss belonging.

• Unsure how to respond to the scout, he turns as the house door opens and he sees you silhouetted there, just a shadow limned in light before you sit on the steps. And he’s striding across the yard. Because you need him and he needs you to prove to himself that their worst fears aren’t right. That he can really change, that he’s not still the monster that haunts his recharge, hands wet with energon. Reaching toward you and his own redemption with those same hands.

Previous

Next

[notjustjavierpena]

i loved getting an insight into hubby in 4am. It got me thinking about other times I’d like to see into his brain.

Did he know straight away that reader was different and a potential future for him or did it take him a little while due to his past as a womaniser? His brain working overtime trying to process all the new feelings.

Did he ever feel like he should leave her feeling like he’s not good enough?

Bee (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N:  This is not totally what you had in mind, I think. However, this came to me and I think you’ll enjoy it. It’s soft and tender ❤️

Summary: Javier reflects on how gentle you make him.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Javi POV, fluff, insecurities, love

Word count: 1.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52937182/chapters/137384134

Bee

Sun filters through the clouds above Javier as he lies on the ground behind his father’s ranch. You’ve talked him into drowning in the tall fields of grass that surround the fenced-off area for the cows, listening to the sound of a million buzzing bugs that hide from you as you invade their home. He isn’t too fond of anything that could possibly land on him, too rough around the edges still to treat nature with the care that you do. 

You are talking softly yet enthusiastically about shapes that you find in the sky, reaching for heaven as you explain or draw out shapes with your finger. There’s been a dragon, a heart, and a bunny. You wonder out loud if it means something but Javier can hardly follow your words despite trying. He is too busy gazing upon you, having turned his head to the side to look at you in secret, the greatest marvel in his presence right now. 

The sun is hot in Texas right now and the shadows of the grass engulfing you and him dance across your face, your eyes glinting whenever the sun catches them even if it makes you scrunch up your nose and hold a palm up to cover the sunrays. Everything about this moment feels so delicate, terrifyingly sweet when he naturally thinks he is made of harsher stuff that should squash what little softness is left in his world. His hands have had to do so many destructive things in the past fifteen years that they feel too coarse to touch you. 

He turns his head towards the sky and closes his eyes, letting the sound of your voice wash over him like he wants it to for the rest of his life. There’s a part of him that’s afraid of you, afraid that he’s not made for this life with you, that he doesn’t know how to handle something so precious without breaking it. The way you treat the world around you with such reverence, such care, is foreign to him. He was used to being cold and logical back in Colombia, used to enduring. But here, in the Lone Star State with you, he finds himself wanting to be gentle, wanting to learn whatever he can from you. The love of his life. 

“Mhm,” he replies with the tiniest twitch of the corners of his mouth as you still haven’t figured out that he isn’t really listening. Not when your voice is accompanied by the sound of a breeze continuously creating waves in the grass that is tickling his arms, almost tricking him into thinking he is by the ocean. 

But then he feels it. It’s a sudden, light tickle on his nose that makes him open his eyes in slight surprise. There’s a small bee perched on the tip of his nose, its glasslike wings buzzing gently as it searches for pollen. Instinctively, he lifts his hand and gets ready to swat it away; he’s always been quick to react, quick to defend himself from anything that might harm him, even moreso during his time in Colombia. However, as his hand twitches mid-air, you notice, and your laughter is like music being carried through the air.

“Hold still,” you whisper as you lean over him, your face so close and your hand on his chest so he can feel the warmth of your palm as he sees your grin. With a gentler touch than what you even handle him with, you coax the bee onto your hand, lifting it away and letting it fly off again. Javier watches quietly in awe of his future wife.

“You don’t have to be so scared,” you say, smiling at him, “Not everything that approaches you is out to hurt you. Perhaps he just wanted to say hello.” 

Your words hang in the air, weighing nothing yet feeling heavy. Javier feels a tug in his chest like you’ve grabbed at the part of him that harbors hate for himself and has festered for too long. You’ve just pulled it loose inside him. He knows you’re not just talking about the bee. He hears the undertone, the suggestion that maybe he doesn’t always have to be on guard, doesn’t always have to assume the worst as he has done for so long. 

He looks at you and he wonders if you’re talking about yourself, too. If you’re telling him that you’re not here to hurt him, that your presence in his life isn’t a threat. He doesn’t know why he thought that twosomeness was not for him. Here you are and he doesn’t need anything more because you soften the edges of the world around him. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs and slides his arm beneath your body so he can snake it around your waist. His palm lays flat against the small of your back as he pulls you in, his heart still pounding against his rib cage when you are this close just five months after your first meeting. Five months since he saw you for the first time and realized that you might be different. Five months since you turned his world upside down. 

You curl your fingers on his chest and let yourself be drawn close, lowering your head until he can feel your breath against his face. You block out the sun, smiling fondly at him as if he is not at all rough and calloused. 

It is what makes him close the gap between you and kiss you on the mouth. It’s slow and unhurried, unlike many other kisses he has given you when the two of you have been alone. He pulls back to see your eyes fluttering open again. 

“What did I do to deserve you?” He asks himself out loud. The sun is around you like a halo, shining on your hair and making your skin glow. He wants everything with you. Everything that he never thought he wanted to have but also everything he never thought he could have.

“Doesn’t matter if you have done anything to deserve me. Do you want me?” You ask and the question floors him. He doesn’t need to think about it or weigh his options and words. He knows his answer. Yes.

“Para siempre (forever),” he says. You smile. It seems like that was the perfect answer. 

“Then that’s all that matters,” you reply and roll onto your back with a content sigh, laying in the nook of his arm while the sun shines on the both of you. He could fall asleep with you, let a whole hive of bees land on him one by one to greet him.

Javier feels a calm wash over him. Maybe this - him and you - isn’t bad just because he feels like he isn’t enough for your kind being. Maybe it is exactly right because it is something you both want. 

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[kalixora]

Tfp Bumblebee x reader

Summary:

A skilled autobot sniper, frustrated by their lack of hand-to-hand combat abilities and hidden feelings for Bumblebee, trains intensely to prove themselves, while the team offers support, unaware of the sniper's inner conflict.

1/2

Once again, Bumblebee saved you from cons. You grumbled walking back to base, feeling a mix of frustration and gratitude. You weren’t the weakest but definitely not the strongest, not like the wreckers with their brute strength or quick like Arcee with her agility.

You were a sniper, skilled at taking down enemies from a distance. Your strength lay in your ability to blend into the shadows, moving silently and striking precisely.

However, in hand-to-hand combat, you often found yourself at a disadvantage, unlike Bumblebee, who excelled in it.

“You okay, N/N?” Raf asked you with a smile.

“I need to train,” you answered back with a low groan.

“He saved you again, didn’t he?” Raf snickered, closing his laptop.

“I don’t wanna hear it—“

Raf laughed, “N/N! It’s okay! You’re a stealth scout, not a brawler. You play to your strengths.”

You sighed, leaning against the wall. “I know, I just need to be able to handle myself in a fight alone.”

Raf nodded thoughtfully. “You know, maybe you could ask Bulkhead for some training. He’s tough and knows his way around a fight.”

“You rolled your optics. “I’m not asking that jumbo bot for nothing. I’d rather suffer.”

“You’re suffering now,” Raf remarked gently. “Why does it bother you so much that Bumblebee helps you? You guys are on the same team after all.”

You looked away, frustration and embarrassment heating your face plate as you stormed off to the training room. In your hurry, you accidentally bumped into Ratchet, causing him to drop his toolbox with a clatter.

“Y/N! I needed that!” he shouted after you.

“I need to train!” you shouted back, your voice echoing down the corridor as you continued on your way.

“Geez, what’s her damage?” Ratchet muttered to himself, shaking his head in confusion as he picked up his things.

“Bumblebee saved her and asked for a bridge back, and she’s upset,” Raf explained with concern in his voice.

“She’s one of the best weapon specialists in the making. What does Bumblebee have on her?”

“Hand-to-hand combat,” Raf replied softly, recalling the many times you’d voiced your frustration over it. Ratchet raised his optical ridge and let out a gruff chuckle. “Seriously? That’s it?”

Raf sighed, sensing the weight of your struggle. “I’m starting to feel a little bad, Ratchet—“

“There’s no need, Rafael,” Ratchet interrupted. “Y/N’s feelings for Bumblebee are the only reason she feels she needs to be better.”

“Wait—Y/N has feelings for Bee?” Raf repeated, surprised.

“Always, it was plainly obvious,” Ratchet shrugged, moving towards his work station. “She’s too stubborn to admit it, so it’s not my problem to solve.”

Raf hesitated, considering the revelation. “Maybe I can help…”

“Good luck with that. Just leave me out of it,” Ratchet waved Raf off, already engrossed in his work.

Meanwhile, in the training room, you continued to focus on your drills, unaware of the discussion unfolding outside.

As Raf pondered how to approach the situation, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of responsibility towards helping you navigate your feelings. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he was determined to find a way to support you, even if Ratchet preferred to stay out of it.

The ground bridge opened, and the other Autobots came in, all of them seeming cheerful and in good spirits.

“Oh man—and the way I took down that con was awesome! I wish Miko was there; she would’ve loved it,” Bulkhead exclaimed.

“Jack would’ve been screaming his poor lungs out if he saw that,” Arcee chuckled. “But I really gotta hand it to you, Smokescreen. You’ve improved a lot out there. I’m impressed.”

Smokescreen rubbed the back of his helm. “Ah, well, what can I say? I was made a natural talent. Kinda like you, Bee.”

Bumblebee whirled with excitement, exchanging high-fives with the others before heading over to Raf.

“Hey Raf! Where’s Y/N? I gotta show her something I found before she left,” Bumblebee beeped and whirred in his unique language.

Raf nodded and pointed to the corridor. “She’s in the training room, oh and Bee, she’s a little upset right now, so be a little easy on her.”

Bumblebee nodded, concern flashing in his optics. He headed towards the training room at a light jog. Entering the room, he saw you in the middle of your drills. “Y/N,” Bumblebee beeped softly, trying to catch your attention without startling you. “I found something cool I wanted to show you.”

You paused mid-strike, turning to see Bumblebee standing there, his optics shining with genuine excitement. The frustration you felt earlier mingled with a sense of warmth at seeing him.

“What is it, Bee?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Bumblebee held out a small, intricate piece of Cybertronian tech, something rare and valuable. “I thought you might like this. Optimus said it’s a tool used by the old weapon specialists back on Cybertron. I found it in the wreckage during the mission before you left.”

Your optics widened in surprise and curiosity as you took the item from Bumblebee’s outstretched servo. “I haven’t seen this before, Bee. Thank you.”

Bumblebee smiled, glad to see a spark of happiness in your optics. “Why are you training? Aren’t you tired?”

You looked down at the tool, trying to hide the mix of emotions swirling within you. “I just… I need to get better. For myself.”

Bumblebee tilted his helm, a concerned whir escaping him. “But why?”

You hesitated, your face plate becoming warm, you turned your helm away. “I just have a lot to prove, so you don’t have to keep risking your neck to save me all the time.”

Bumblebee placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I’m always here to help.”

You nodded, feeling a bit lighter. “Thanks, Bee. That means a lot coming from you, but— I need to work harder.”

You nudged Bee’s shoulder away then gave him a meek smile before walking out.

Bee stood in the room slightly lost, “Was it something I said?” He beeped.

. . .

A few days later, the others hardly saw you. The only times they did was when you were going into recharge or going on missions with Optimus after much begging that they obviously didn’t know.

You stood in the middle of a field waiting for Optimus to ground bridge to you so you could continue your training with him.

“What’s taking so long—“

The ground bridge opened out came not Optimus but Bumblebee and the others.

You froze in place as you saw Smokescreen waving at you with a smug expression.

“Scrap,” you muttered as you crossed your arms.

“Sorry to crash your date N/N, Optimus wanted us to tell you that he got stuck doing something with Agent Frowler.”

“Rude, how dare you ruin our alone time,” you rolled your optics with a smirk on your face plate.

“So you gonna tell us why you’ve been with Optimus so much or do we have to guess?” Arcee asked walking up closer to you.

“Nothing really, just extra training and learning how to use this tech Bumblebee gave me,” you answered truthfully, showing Arcee your sniper with the added tech while switching your servo.

“Ooh, Knockout was going crazy for that thing. I’m shocked you managed to grab it, Bee,” Bulkhead chuckled. “Nice! We are freakin’ awesome.”

Smokescreen and Bulkhead high-fived each other while Bumblebee laughed, and Arcee smiled, placing her hand on her hip.

You turned around and walked further into the field, a scowl on your faceplate. The further you went into the field you saw a small rock poking out off to the side. You walked closer to it unsure of what it what, still hearing the laughter and banter behind you didn’t bother to turn around.

Hearing footsteps behind you, you looked over your shoulder pad seeing Bumblebee. He gave you a small friendly wave before beeping, “What’s that?”

[alottiegoingon]

practice fun

shauna shipman x fem!cheerleader reader

summary: the one where you love to tease shauna during practice.

warnings: very suggestive and brief mention of sex (mdni), characters are aged up anyway, shauna is a total loser and reader teases her on purpose, not proofread.

you didn't have many enemies in your life, but you surely had a few. and right now, the biggest one was jackie taylor and her entire stupid soccer team that followed her orders as if she was the queen bee. it was pathetic.

not only you had some problems with jackie because she claimed that the cheerleaders' only purpose was to distract everyone from the yellowjackets, as if that was your fault, but because she had lots of power over everyone. that included her best friend, shauna shipman.

shauna could be considered your most loyal admirer even though you never exchanged proper words; nothing except a simple hello or a subtle shake of heads as greets. shauna was nothing like her best friend, not confident or talkative, always hiding behind jackie's shadow. always going unnoticed but never by you.

she made that an easy job, to be fair. shauna always had her eyes laid on you and it didn't bother you at all. actually, it amused you. especially if it meant that this was another way of you to annoy jackie.

and you couldn't blame her.

your cheerleading uniform was practically glued to your body, the short skirt swaying with every step, and the bow in your hair bouncing with your movements. you knew you looked good, and you knew she noticed.

౨ৎ

at the yellowjackets' practice, the cheer team was there to support, even if against jackie's will. you caught shauna staring again, her eyes tracing the curve of your legs and the sway of your hips. she was so lost in her thoughts that she tripped over her own feet, bumping into one of her teammates.

you couldn't help but smirk. this was going to be fun.

"is that your secret admirer?" one of your friends teases, nudging your shoulder and nodding towards the clumsy girl in the field.

"do you think she knows that she's being too obvious?" another one jumps in, mocking shauna before you could answer yourself.

you really wanted to defend shauna, but the amount of times she fell with her face squishing the ground while playing just because you were staring at her was embarrassing. even if you were partially guilty, blinking and giggling at her purposefully.

that girl was a mess.

after practice, you made your way over to where shauna was sitting, tying her shoes. you stood in front of her, twirling your hair around your finger, looking down with a charming smile.

"you like my skirt? it seems like you were having a blast," you asked, your voice dripping with teasing sweetness.

shauna's face turned crimson, her eyes wide as she looked up at you. "i-i wasn't... i mean, i didn't..." she stammered, clearly flustered.

you chuckled, bending down so you were at her eye level. "relax, shauna. it's okay to look. just try not to trip over yourself next time," you said, winking at her.

shauna swallowed hard, nodding slightly. "i'll try," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"good girl," you said, patting her cheek gently before standing up. "see you around, shipman."

as you walked away, you could feel her eyes on you again. she made it so easy.

you could almost read her dirty little thoughts and fantasies of sneaking around to the locker room or under the bleachers, pressing you against the nearest corner and lifting your skirt up to fuck you while you wear it.

but, again, this was shauna you were talking about, the girl who stumbled over her own words just to manage a shy hello.

and that's how you made it your mission to tease her in every chance you got, knowing it would drive jackie up the wall.

౨ৎ

during games, you would stretch a little too provocatively, your movements slow and deliberate, making sure shauna had a front-row seat. the cheerleaders were warming up on the sidelines, and you made sure to position yourself directly in shauna's line of sight. you bent down, touching your toes, your short skirt riding up just enough to reveal a glimpse of the spandex shorts underneath. you knew she was watching, her eyes glued to you.

as you stood up, you turned your head and caught her gaze. shauna quickly looked away, her face flushing bright red.

after the cheerleading performance and when the game was over, you couldn't resist. walking over to the edge of the field where shauna was standing, you leaned against the fence, grinning.

"enjoyed the view, shauna?" you asked, your voice dripping with teasing sweetness.

shauna fumbled with her water bottle, nearly dropping it. "i was just... watching the game," she stammered, her face growing even redder.

you giggled, leaning in a little closer. "sure you were," you whispered, your breath tickling her ear. "looks like your friend over there had fun too."

and the friend was the one and only jackie taylor, arms crossed, her gaze like daggers aimed at you. if looks could kill, you’d be in serious trouble.

౨ৎ

at school, you would pass by her locker, leaning in a little too close, whispering a casual "hi, shauna" that left her blushing for the rest of the day.

it wasn't just about annoying jackie anymore, it was about seeing how far you could push shauna, how much you could make her squirm. and if you were being honest with yourself, you enjoyed the attention. there was something thrilling about having someone so infatuated with you, someone who couldn't keep their eyes off you.

and, secretly or not, shauna liked it too.

[thewertsearch]

I'm not surprised. After the stunt you pulled with that mind-control chip, you're lucky she didn't give you the Vriska treatment.

NEPETA: :33 < we can always curl up in the pile again to talk about f33lings :33 EQUIUS: D --> Nepeta, for goodness sa%es, a man can only di%uss feelings for so much time […] EQUIUS: D --> We e%amined my emotional state until we were both bl00 in the face […] NEPETA: :33 < b100 b100 b100 b100 b100 NEPETA: :33 < i just love how you say that word! EQUIUS: D --> I know

How, exactly, does he say 'b100'?

Karkat's quirk manifests as literal shouting, so I think Equius is literally saying 'bee one hundred'. Fantastic.

EQUIUS: D --> Nepeta, I think it would behoove us to address the e%treme danger in a serious manner NEPETA: :33 < you mean about gamz33? h33h33! NEPETA: :33 < im still not sure if i can believe it! […] EQUIUS: D --> His is the richest and most noble b100d possible among the high land dwellers EQUIUS: D --> As such, he is prone to being more violent and unpredictable than any of us

I'm not so sure about that.

Like - sure, based on the sample we have, the top half of the hemospectrum does seem to produce more aggressive trolls. Terezi, Vriska, Equius, Gamzee and Eridan are all demonstrably more violent than their lowblood compatriots. But are their attitudes really a product of nature?

Take Vriska, for example. She was forced to be a killer by the blue-blooded lusus that adopted her. Yeah, she's violent and unpredictable now, after years of abuse, but her situation would drive any troll to desperate measures.

Do we really think Aradia wouldn't become a murderer if her mom was a hungry spider? Of course she would!

Then there's Eridan, a troll whose behavior could not stem more obviously from the classism that was ingrained into him by society. His culture reinforces the idea that violence is his right, and that it's particularly justifiable when directed towards his inferiors.

Would Eridan really be like this if he was raised on Earth? Wouldn't Tavros or Karkat also become shitheads if they were handed this kind of privilege?

Let's not forget Feferi - a troll who, by Equius's logic, should be the most dangerous of the entire cast. She's not, and I think it's simply because there's no one above her on the hierarchy. Who's going to tell the princess that she's a failure of a highblood?

From where I'm sitting, it really seems like highbloods are aggressive due to cultural factors, rather than biological ones. Their blood doesn't predispose them to violence - it marks them as trolls who are expected to be violent. A case could be made that hemospectrum position is, in effect, a secondary gender for trolls - an institution that enforces entirely artificial standards for their behavior, which are then internalized as 'natural' by the populace.

So no, I don't think Gamzee was 'biologically predestined' to be like this - I think he picked it up from somewhere. Maybe he was more susceptible to Alternian propaganda than we realized, or maybe someone like Doc Scratch was manipulating him from the shadows. It wouldn't be the first time he's goaded a troll into violence.

You ever roleplay so hard that you literally gain a cat's slitted eyes when you're pissed?

EQUIUS: D --> I will now seek the highb100d, Nepeta […] EQUIUS: D --> I will e%act caution, even when safety 100% to be 100% assured EQUIUS: D --> Even so EQUIUS: D --> I would still like to take the opportunity to say […] EQUIUS: D --> Goodbye

Oh, man.

Alright, sound off. Does anyone really think Equius is going to stand up to a highb100d? No?

Ok, great. Let's stop beating around the bush, then.

Equius is basically walking to his death here, and he knows it. The comic's really laying the death flags on thick, with a very clearly telegraphed 'final goodbye' for Nepeta. It's almost too obvious, but I don't think it's going to be a fakeout this time. We can't all be Kanaya.

NEPETA: :33 < well ok, goodbye! NEPETA: :33 < but you had better believe i will s33 you again soon, equius! EQUIUS: D --> Yes, you will

Yeah you will - the next time you go to sleep.

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Kiss It Better - Sebastian Vettel

<word count - 1509>

"Baby, is there any way you can keep the bees down the other end of the yard? I don't mind them, but I don't want to get stung," you said as you propped your feet up on the outdoor coffee table under the veranda.

You knew Seb loved his bees, and you loved them too, but you didn't want them buzzing around you all the time. "Once the flowers grow up there, they won't come down here," he explained, stepping out of the glass doors and handing you the water you had asked for. 

"And they won't sting you, I promise," he said, taking a seat next to you. You watched as the bees buzzed around, landing on the flowers in the planters that you had all around the garden. You and Seb had bought the house a little over a year ago now, and it was certainly your forever home. 

"So, I was thinking we could put the swings over there?" He said, pointing at a section of the garden that had the trees shadowing it over.  "You're already thinking about swings?" you smiled as he ran a hand through his blonde hair. 

"Yeah, we've only got a month to go, we need to think about these things," he said as if it were the most obvious answer ever. Seb ran a hand over your heavily swollen stomach, still never getting used to the feel of it. "Even so, they won't be able to go on the swings until they're older," 

"I'm still putting the swings over there, and I will use them until they are old enough," he laughed. Seb was pretty much still a big kid himself. Well, a big kid who loved to race really fast cars, take care of the environment and the people he loved.

"You stay here, I need to water the plants," Seb smiled, pushing himself off of the seat and heading to the hose. Of course, all of the water he used to water the plants was rainwater collected in a drum by the side of the house, but it was covered in plants so it wasn't sore on the eyes. 

"OK," you said. Watching Seb watering the plants was just like seeing him in his element. Sure, racing was also his thing, but tending to the gardens and all of that kind of stuff was what he did now. 

He leant over the bushes to get all of the plants, but you heard a sharp intake of breath that sounded like a hiss. He dropped the hose and ran to turn it off. "Hey, you alright?" You asked concerned, sitting upright. "Yeah, yeah. I just caught my finger on one of the rose bushes," he said, holding his finger.

You could tell he was trying to hide it from you, but the blood dripping down his hand couldn't be concealed. You looked at it wide-eyed, and he noticed. "Honey, don't worry-" he started, but you were already in full parent mode. 

"You sit down, I'll go and get some stuff to clean it up and a plaster," you said, standing and waddling through to the kitchen. You heard footsteps behind you, following you through to the kitchen. You were ignoring the ache in your back and hips as you walked, simply worried about Seb.

He stood behind you, holding his finger. "It's really not a big deal, you go and sit down," he tried to tell you, but you weren't having any of it. You pulled his other hand away to reveal the nasty gash down his middle finger. "Does it hurt?" you asked, ripping a paper towel off the roll and holding it to the wound. 

"A bit, but not as much as I know your back hurts," he said, giving you the puppy dog eyes that made you melt. "Honestly, honey, I can take care of this. You need to sit down," he said, blocking your path to the cupboard that had the medical supplies in it.

"I don't do anything anymore, Seb, and I appreciate that, I really do. But, please just let me do this for you," you said, gently pushing him out of the way so you could get the stuff you wanted. "Fine, but promise me you'll take it easy for the rest of the day, OK?"

"I always take it easy, Seb," you chucked, causing him to chuckle along. You found the cupboard and bent over to retrieve the first aid kit from the bottom shelf, but you couldn't really reach. Your bump was in the way and heavily restricted your movements. 

 "You need some help over there, or are you good?" Seb teased, leaning against the counter next to you. "I've got it," you said through gritted teeth, focusing fully on reaching the bottom shelf. Seb watched for a moment, then deciding that he had had his fun and needed to help you. 

"OK, come on, let me help you," he said, moving so he was behind you and gently pulled you up with his hands on your waist. "Sometimes you have to let me help you," he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against the skin.

Playfully, he peppered a few kisses down your neck, his hands gently tracing over your stomach. "Hey, I don't want you getting blood on me," you laughed, wriggling away from him. 

"Sorry, sorry, I just can't help myself," he smiled, getting the first aid kit back out and handing it to you. "OK, this is going to hurt," you said, ripping open the package of a disinfectant wipe. "Nothing I can't handle," he said.

You took his finger and wiped it clean, and the blood definitely made it look worse. Seb winced slightly, "Yeah, that does kind of hurt," he said, his cut stinging. 

"Sorry," you said, making sure the wound was fully clean before unwrapping a plaster and sticking it onto his finger. "Better?" you asked, looking at your handiwork. You had done a pretty good job, if you did say so yourself. 

"I don't know, I think you've missed something out," he smirked, giving you the puppy eyes again. You just couldn't resist those big blues. You lifted his finger to your lips and pressed a soft kiss onto the area, and you saw as a huge smile spread across his face.

"Much better," he smiled, "Now come on, let's get you sat down," he said, looping an arm around your waist and walking you back outside. Helping you back down onto the seat, you propped your feet up.

"Does your back feel any better sat down?" he asked, standing in front of you with his arms crossed. It showed off every muscle in his arms perfectly, and you tried to ignore how crazy your hormones were going right now.

"I never said it hurt?" you said.

"A good husband knows these things, you know?" 

"I guess a good husband does know these things, because you are spot on," you smiled, thinking about how lucky you were to have him. "Aw so I'm a good husband? I am flattered," he teased.

"Lay off it," you laughed as he came to sit next to you. 

"Do you want a massage?" He asked, trailing his fingers lazily up your arm. 

"That is all I want right about now," you said, your back already feeling soothed at just the thought of it. "What about me?" he whined like a child wanting his mother's attention. "Sebastian, wanting you is a given. Now, get massaging," you playfully commanded, turning your back to him. 

"Yes ma'am," he giggled, gliding his hands over the span of your back. He worked his fingers into the overworked muscles in your shoulders and back. Carrying the extra weight of a nearly full-term child was difficult work, and it was showing. 

When he hit a particularly sore spot, you couldn't help but let out a small groan of happiness. "That good, huh?" he teased, and you could hear the cheeky smirk that was on his face by how he spoke. "Yeah, it really is,"

"I can show you something else that's that good," he said, as he tugged you closer to him. Slowly he planted some more kisses down your neck and across your shoulder. "Hey, not now," you chuckled. "But you're already pregnant, I don't see the problem," he smirked against your skin.

"Seb, go finish watering your plants or something," you laughed, pushing him away.

"Fine, but only because you told me to," he smiled, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek. Swiftly, he knelt down and pressed a tender kiss to your stomach. "Don't you move, and I mean it," he said, going to turn the hose on again.

"I won't," you said, thinking you probably wouldn't be able to move, even if you wanted to. You looked out onto the garden of your perfect home, where your perfect husband was tending to the plants and his bees.

And to top it off, you had your perfect child on the way, and your life was shaping up to be the best one you could ask for. 

A/N - If anyone has made a request, I promise I am working on it! It's just taking a bit of time. If anyone else has any, feel free to submit 💖

|masterlist|

[gffa]

You would think, after a month of voracious reading of BATFAMILY fic, that I would at least begin to slow down, because I still primarily read I’m Having Dick Grayson Feelings And I’m Making That Everyone Else’s Problem, but I have also discovered that I have Jason feelings, I have Tim feelings, and I have Damian feelings. Which of course I knew before, but what I really learned is that other people have made this my problem now, too. And by that I mean that there’s amazing fic on all of the Bat babies and I am not immune. So, you may still have to scroll a bit, but if there’s an idiot badass with black hair and blue eyes, you’ll hopefully find something here to cry about with me, because what are any of us even in this fandom for, if not for the Feelings Hell About Vigilantes With Emotional Problems? BATFAM FIC RECS - BABY DICK IS THE CUTEST FERAL ROBIN I’M NOT HEARING ANY ARGUMENTS: ✦ it is with my whole life by dustorange, dick & bruce, 2.2k      Nine-year-old Dick’s been kidnapped. Bruce tries not to fall apart. ✦ World’s Finest: Lake Weekend by WingFeathers, dick & bruce & clark (& clark/bruce), 10.3k      Bruce and Dick invite Clark to the lakehouse for a long weekend around Rosh Hashanah, but Dick has trouble sleeping outside the Manor, and Bruce isn’t as available as he should be. And all of this brings up a question: what exactly are the three of them, a bat-vigilante and his ward and his superhero boyfriend? Could they be something like a family? (And how will they eat with Alfred not taking care of them?) ✦ Revision by takadainmate, dick & bruce, 3.8k      New to Bruce Wayne, new to being Robin, new to being alone, Dick didn’t believe there would ever be anyone there for him again. ✦ count the stars by emavee, dick & bruce, 3.7k      He doesn’t know what to do. It’s not like he can stop the storm. If he could wave a magic wand and make the sky clear—or even if he could call up someone from his large contact list full of metas who could control the weather—he would. He would honestly disrupt Gotham’s weather patterns if it meant Dick would stop crying. Or: Dick doesn’t like thunderstorms, so Bruce takes him somewhere where they can’t touch him. ✦ cautionary tale by drakefeathers, dick & bruce & young justice, 11.4k      Q: “Why did Queen Bee want Robin taken in alive in Bereft?” A: “Think of Speedy as a cautionary tale.” ✦ batman & robin by chickenmuffinsoup55555, dick & bruce, 4.8k      The Batman has a shadow. A shadow clad in reds and greens with a smile like sunshine. Bruce is adjusting. ✦ five times someone told Bruce he was a good dad… by emavee, dick & bruce & clark & selina & cast, 10.3k      …and one time it mattered ✦ Phobias by RascalJoy (DarkQuill), dick & bruce & alfred, 18.4k wip      It was stupid. It was irrational. Dick knew that. There was no good reason for him to be afraid; he had been doing this for most of his young life. And yet… Five times Dick fell, and the one time Robin didn’t. ✦ I Hate Dick by JeanjacketCarf, dick & bruce & talia, 3.7k      “Robin wrapped his legs around the Bats’ neck and rested his head on top of the cowl. Then he stuck his tongue out at Talia. Talia felt her face growing hot with anger. She tried to restrain it. The Bat loved this child for some unholy reason.” ✦ shades of blue by thatsveryambitiousofyou, dick & bruce, 2.4k      Dick Grayson has blue eyes. Or the one where Bruce tries harder BATFAM FIC RECS - ADULT BATSON AND BATDAD ARE MY KRYPTONITE, I FOLD LIKE WET CARDBOARD FOR THEM: ✦ Withdrawal by Sohotthateveryonedied, dick & bruce & cast, 1.8k      It’s been six hours since he got dosed. The green ring around his eyes has been faded since dawn. It won’t be long before the withdrawal hits him in full force. ✦ The Post-Mission Ponderings of Brucerman and NightBunny by Ptelea, dick & bruce, 4.8k      This is just sheer (metaphorical) fluff to follow up on the (somewhat more literal) fluff of Wayne Family Adventures, season 2, episode 54, S'tel ees a cigam wohs! Heavy on the puns, even heavier on Bruce being struck by amazement at how much he loves his oldest son. ✦ gotta make a stand (but I am just a man) by CaptainOzone, dick & bruce & alfred, 2.3k      Bruce makes it back to the Cave, injured and exhausted, but remarkably alive. He expects Alfred to meet him. He meets someone else. Or: a third credit scene in which Nightwing makes an appearance. ✦ The Hand in My Hand by audreycritter, dick & bruce, 4.4k      Dick offers himself in exchange for some hostages and it does not go as planned. ✦ Yesterday by I_Have_To_Get_Off_This_Planet, dick & bruce, 1.5k      Dick was pretty sure this was what dying felt like. He was curled up, almost in fetal position, on his bed in the Manor. He was there for the holidays, and he had been looking forward to their entire family being together for once. Even Jason had agreed to come. And now he was gonna die before Christmas even arrived. ✦ I Bet On Losing Dogs by Anonymous, dick & bruce, 2.5k      (Or; Bruce’s relationship with his oldest and how it slowly starts to mend, with only a little push from his friends.) ✦ You can pick your battles but you can’t pick your poison by woodenwashbucket, dick & bruce, 1.8k      “Hey, am I bleeding a lot somewhere?” Nightwing asked. Batman gave him an unimpressed look, but Nightwing shook his head. “Seriously. I feel off.” Nightwing wobbled. Batman grabbed him by the shoulders before they could find out if he would have fallen, and Nightwing met his eyes with undisguised alarm. “Ok, maybe worse than off,” he said. BATFAM FIC RECS - EVERYBODY LOVES DICK: ✦ what’s past is prologue by Icestorm238, dick & bruce & jason & damian, time travel, 18.1k      Dick Grayson, bestowed with the memories of an alternate life, decides that things are going to go better this time. Priority number one: preventing Jason’s death. ✦ exactly how this grace thing works by irnan, dick & bruce & barbara & jason & cast, de-aged!dick, 22.7k      Dick gets de-aged. You’d think this would be a routine thing. ✦ sick day by daringyounggrayson, dick & roy & titans, 1.2k      Dick tries to power through a cold and lead a training session with the Teen Titans. It doesn’t exactly work out. ✦ The Gravity of Tempered Grace by CamsthiSky, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & selina, 10k      He’s sick, he finally catches on, and at that moment, a cough builds up in his chest, and he barely has enough energy to sit up enough to let his lungs work properly. A coughing fit later, and Dick’s breaths are making a horrible wheezing sound that makes him sound like one of Titus’ chew toys. That’s bad. He’s pretty sure that’s bad. ✦ you swallowing matches by torielle, roy/dick & bruce, NSFW, 8.2k      A month after being fired as Robin, Dick is forced to attend a Wayne gala, and is grateful for a particular friendly face. ✦ The Shape Of You (Was Jagged And Weak) by WinterSky101, dick & bruce & slade & jason & tim & damian & batfam, 40.6k      Six months ago, Nightwing died. They never found the body. Last week, Deathstroke arrived in Gotham. He brought a partner with him. ✦ You say you wanna stay by my side (Darling, your head’s not right) by wlwintersoldier, roy/dick & lian & donna, 2.5k      Dick is stupid and reckless on a mission, whats new, and Roy deals with the fallout ✦ Laundry Mishaps by JeanjacketCarf, dick/babs & jason & tim & damian & cass & steph & duke, 3.5k      Dick’s siblings often show up unannounced and take his stuff without asking. It’s how they show their love. Or Dick’s washing machine is commandeered for Steph’s laundry, his clothes disappear, he goes to girl’s night, has brunch, gets a little shot, and picks his baby brother up from school in about a week and a half while the secret group chat has a grand old time. BATFAM FIC RECS - JASON TODD IS AN ASSHOLE CAT, I’M GONNA THROW HIM AT DICK BECAUSE IT’S FUNNY (AND MAYBE SOME OF HIS OTHER SIBLINGS TOO): ✦ Two Dead Birds by InsaneTrollLogic, jason & dick & tim, time travel, 29k      There’s some lunatic in a red helmet running through Jason’s territory. He wants to think it’s a copycat. He’s wrong. BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK AND DAMIAN WERE THE BEST BATMAN & ROBIN, I’M NOT HEARING ARGUMENTS ABOUT THAT EITHER: ✦ Won’t You Stay A While? by fishfingersandjellybabies, dick & damian & cast, 2.8k      Ric did not expect to find a child sitting on the hood of his cab. Damian did expect to get his brother back. ✦ birdgrief by windupclock, dick & bruce & damian, 1.5k      How could you? Dick doesn’t say. Get out of my sight, Dick doesn’t say. What the hell is wrong with you? Dick doesn’t say. Tim storms out. Dick is left to deal with Damian. ✦ we’re like long lost brothers who found each other (and love each other like family) by drakefeathers, dick & damian, 9.3k      ongoing collection of scenes set when Dick is Batman and Damian is his Robin, ranging from cute to sad (hopefully not too sad). not chronological. ✦ I’ll Carry You by BrickSheep, dick & damian & bruce & tim, 2.1k      Dick Grayson will take every opportunity he can just to carry Damian in his arms. ✦ in my own imperfect way by notquiteaghost, dick & damian & bruce, 1.8k      Dick jokes, a lot, about being the only reason Bruce still remembers how to talk to people. About breaking him in for everyone else. He was Robin first, and he was Robin longest, and he’s why Bruce took in the others, he’s why Bruce isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. And the jokes are funny! He’s never trying to be passive aggressive, or guilt trip, or whatever else. He and Bruce have spent enough time, now, pointedly not actually looking at each other, pulling words out in painful fits and starts. Dick knows where they stand. They’re good. But. ✦ (Un)Fortunate Son by Syl, dick & damian & bruce & cast, 26.1k wip      Bruce reaches a decision about Damian. Dick disagrees and decides to do something about it. BATFAM FIC RECS - BATKIDS ALL HAVE MANY SIBLINGS AND THEY’RE ALL PETTY ASSHOLES AND/OR WONDERFUL BABIES AND I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE BEING: ✦ Overcoming Our Antecedents by Batbirdies, jason & bruce & dick, 31.4k      Bruce swallows, closing his eyes for a brief moment before he takes another, steadying breath and presses both hands to his face. He just needs a moment. Needs to remember where he is, what year it is, that Jason is not actually fifteen, he only looks like he is. This is temporary. This is just a temporary problem that needs to be contained until they can change Jason back. This is not a repeat of events already passed. This is not a second chance. ✦ what’s past is prologue by Icestorm238, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian & barbara & steph & cast, time travel, 84.9k      Dick Grayson, bestowed with the memories of an alternate life, decides that things are going to go better this time. Things take a few unintended turns, and the consequences of his actions ripple through his family. ✦ And the Scene Slips Away (To the Evenness I Fake) by Kirazalea, bruce & dick & jason & tim & damian & cass & duke & alfred & cast, rape aftermath/read the tags, 37k      One mistake is all it took to force Jason back into the wonderful world of the Wayne family. Now publicly and legally alive once more, he’s forced to spend the next two weeks of his life stuck in the Manor with the whole family. This leads to several strengthened relationships and the realization that maybe he’s missed a few things over the years. Things that he’s now determined to get to the bottom of. ✦ now the clock is melting (so’s my mouth and so’s my mind) by SilverSkiesAtMidnight, tim & bruce & dick & cast, 4.1k      The League’s base is not built to welcome strangers. Bruce is not a stranger. ✦ what catches and who holds by victoria_p (musesfool), dick & cass, 3k      Dick never wanted to be Batman. Cass always did. ✦ Bet on it by Lysical, jason & damian & jon, 2.4k      Even Damian could admit that his older siblings occasionally had their uses. “I need your assistance,” Damian said, voice low and tense. “No,” Jason replied, and hung up. ✦ a soft place to land by unchosenone, dick & tim, 3k      Tim rubs the back of his head, trying to affect a joking tone. “I knew I should’ve just gone for the new escrima sticks.” Dick is ready to be a good big brother to his grieving little bro. Tim flips the script. ✦ Consanguineous Ministrations by Briarwitched, bruce & kon-el & clark & dick, 23.9k      “Who gave you a baby?” Dick demanded, the instant Bruce opened the front door, eyes drawn immediately to the sobbing infant on Bruce’s hip that he gently bounced to no avail. At the same time, Bruce muttered, “I told you, it’s fine, you didn’t have to come.” Alternatively titled, “Let’s give Batfleck alien baby problems”. ✦ The League of Extraordinary Bowling Bats by chibi_nightowl, dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce & alfred & cassandra & stephanie, 5k      “What did Dickiebird do? Steal all your other shirts?” The shirt is bright green with wide yellow stripes pretending to be a pin stripe running vertically across it. On the back, in bright red letters, “Timmy” is spelled out. “You’re next,” he spits out, shooting Jason the worst glare he could muster. “He’s got one for you too.” ✦ a cheese raspberry flavored void (except not really) by dottie_dc (dottie_wan_kenobi), Marzue, SilverSkiesAtMidnight, Squintyfist (ErzasCake), dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce & alfred & cast, 3k      “Jason.” Dick walks up to the desk, suspiciously peering around. Jason jerks and attempts to get in his way, but Dick is quick and fully willing to vault over his brother. Only, Jason immediately latches onto him, and the momentum sends them stumbling back, knocking into the desk. It’s a good thing Jason stopped him, for right behind the desk, where Dick would’ve landed, is a swirling void. ✦ The Talk by InsaneTrollLogic, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian, 2k      Bruce never gave Dick the Talk. Dick was grateful for that right up until the time Damian sat through his first health class and started asking questions. ✦ Brothers in War by IaMcHrIsSi, jason & dick & cast, 3.2k      Jason, Cass and Damian ran from the League. In Bludhaven, they run into Dick. Literally. Dick just wanted to get breakfast. ✦ Baby I’m Bi Bi Bi by Sohotthateveryonedied, dick & steph, 1.5k      Dick catches her staring. “Oh, yeah. Forgot I had that. I bought it for when Wally, Donna and I were planning to go to Gotham Pride last year but a Joker thing came up and I didn’t get to go. You can just toss it. I have a ton of other bi merch and I only bought that one because Donna pressured me into it, anyway.” Steph looks down at the t-shirt and bites her lip. “Actually…I think I’ll keep it, if you don’t mind.” ✦ two attempted robberies too many by tsuchann, dick & bruce & jason, 2.2k      Dick could have knocked out the man before he had the chance to blink let alone pull the trigger, but he wasn’t dumb, and he worried his reaction would have caused the other robbers to shoot, because in the bank, at the middle of it all, with a gun pressed to his head, was Dick’s little brother. ✦ That the Ripest Might Fall by Ellegrine, TheFightingBull, dick & jason & tim & damian & bruce, reverse robins, 2.4k      Jason stared at the fallen chandelier. The priceless, fallen chandelier. They were dead. They were so, so dead! ✦ the butler’s neighbor by deargalileo, tim & alfred & bruce, 16.6k      it starts with a baseball, thrown onto the wayne’s property. it’s alfred’s job to deal with such happenings, of course. but over tea and galas, it turns into so much more. after all, why should bruce be the only one allowed to adopt any child that he finds? ✦ the straw drawer by deargalileo, dick & bruce & jason & tim & alfred, 7.4k      sometimes, love is stored in the straws. a story about family, traditions, and gifts, through the medium of crazy straws. (a companion piece to the butler’s neighbor, so i would suggest reading that first) ✦ you gotta push all the doubt to the side of your mouth by danishsweethearts, dick & stephanie & cast, 1.7k      Steph practices mindfulness. BATFAM FIC RECS - DICK/BABS FOREVER AND YOU CAN SHUT IT IF YOU DISAGREE, THEY’RE ADORABLE TOGETHER: ✦ Crime and… by Ladymercury_10, dick/babs, 1.7k      “Are you punishing me with glitter? That’s not a very good punishment, Babs.” ✦ the dickbabs baby au. by thychesters, dick/babs & batfam, 49.1k wip      Telling Dick she’s pregnant is much more stressful than she was hoping it would be. Them telling the rest of their families and friends? Yeah, easier said than done. BATFAM FIC RECS - I WILL DIE ON THE HILL THAT TIM DRAKE’S TRUE LOVE INTEREST IS CONNER KENT AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME, NOT EVEN GOD: ✦ buy back the secrets by sundiscus, tim/kon & bruce & clark & jason & cast, 48.1k wip      He takes a long, slow breath. Ignores the glares from the other students. “Superboy,” he murmurs. “It’s me. If you’re listening, I could use some help.” Or: 5 times Superboy saves Tim Drake, and one time Tim Drake saves Superboy. ✦ Grevious Misuse of TTK (or, Alternate Uses for TTK) by Cfae8, tim/kon, NSFW, 1.4k      Tim wakes up to someone touching him. But Kon’s hands haven’t moved. ✦ The Lost Art of Minding Your Goddamn Business by JpegDotJpeg, tim/kon & jason, 2k      Tim just sputtered, looking thoroughly scandalized for someone standing in the middle of the irrefutable evidence of his own fornication. If the furniture looked this bad, Jason couldn’t imagine that little Timmy had escaped Superboy’s super cock completely unscathed. “It’s not that bad,” Tim said, gesturing to the carnage, but he didn’t even sound convinced of his own words. “It looks like the fucking honeymoon scene from Twilight in here.” ✦ Practice Makes Perfect by rotasha, tim/kon & jason, NSFW, 18.3k      Kon is trying to seduce someone – he won’t tell Tim who – and he enlists Tim’s help to try to hone his flirtation skills. This surely won’t end in disaster for Tim, who’s had a thing for Kon practically since they met. BATFAM FIC RECS - TAKE THE ANGST DIAL, TURN IT UP TO ELEVEN, AND BREAK THE KNOB OFF, THAT’S WHAT I’M HERE FOR: ✦ Wait, What? by PandasandDucks13, dick & bruce & titans, 2.4k      Dick Grayson finds something interesting while applying for college. On a side note: He should really evaluate how many felonies he commits on a regular basis ✦ Dawn Breaks Through the Window by sElkieNight60, dick & bruce & jason & tim & damian, depression/read the tags, 14.7k      Without realizing it, Dick has fallen into a listless apathy, but when an incident cuts a little too close, Bruce and his brothers are there to remind him just how loved he is. ✦ Wisdom Always Chooses These Black Eyes and These Bruises by audreycritter, dick & bruce, 3.2k      After a severe, life-changing injury, Dick and Bruce have an epic fight and then fall back together. Sometimes, family hurts you the most, but that doesn’t stop how much you need them. ✦ your continental divides by isawet, reisling, dick & bruce & damian & barbara & cassandra & stephanie & donna & roy & wally & artemis & cast, rape aftermath/read the tags, 26.7k      When running doesn’t work and working doesn’t work, home is the place you go where they have to take you in. Dick’s home has never been Gotham; it’s always been the people.

[your-highnessmarvel]

It's Just a Flesh Wound, Baby

Requested by @imagine-all-the-fandoms : Hello dear, it's my bday tomorrow and maybe i couldn ask for a buck imagine :) Maybe where you both had a one night stand but avoid each other afterwards even though you're in love with each other. During one battle than you save him from something and get hurt badly, nearly dying. He stays with you till you wake up and then tells you properly that he loves you? maybe also his pov if you want :) thank youu *smooch* 💕💕

AN: first of aaalllll HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU!! I hope you're doing the things you love tomorrow or today or this week! You little scorpio (fun fact, i'm. scorpio too!)

Warnings: language

*gif not mine

MASTERLIST

"Y/N, get his six," Steve ordered through comms, causing you to grunt.

Of course, Steve was sending you with Bucky, of all fucking people.

"I'm literally standing behind Vision," you answered grimly.

You could practically hear Steve groan through comms.

"Vision doesn't need you to check his back, y/n," he answered. "Vis basically has 360 vision."

You rolled your eyes. "Wanda then."

"She's with Vis."

"But!"

"Just come here," you heard Bucky grunt, wrapping metal fingers around your bicep. He hauled you to him, watching as you almost visibly recoiled from him.

He let go of you like you were the plague. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, disgusted.

You looked up at him from under your brows. "Nothing, let's just go."

But it wasn't nothing. Even if the fabric of your suit had kept the metal fingers from your skin, you could still feel it. Not from now, but form the people living in your head, the Bucky groaning against your mouth as he thrust into you. The you in your head, gasping against his ear, grabbing at his hair to stay afloat because your orgasm was just a few seconds away.

He'd thrown you off a precipice almost three months ago, and since then, it had been like meeting a wall with a wall. No one really talked about it. None of you had even addressed it after he'd finished in you, letting himself spill out of you. He hadn't even said a thing as he helped you wash up and put you to bed.

And now, this stupid mission.

You followed Bucky like you were told, checking his six with your own assault rifle.

You followed him, back to back, until he grunted and pulled you against the wall with his metal arm.

"Ow, Buck, that hurts," you grumbled.

"Shadows, two o'clock," he whispered. "It's gonna be a fight."

He told you to follow him as he shot upwards, avoiding bullets while you shot at shadows coming from the back.

"Bucky!" You couldn't see anything with the dirt flying in your eyes, brought up by the bullets finding the ground at your feet. And they just kept coming, like a black swarm of bees, clogging your vision until all you could do was lay down the trigger and hope a bullet catches.

Until one shadow, heavy and so warm, fell over you and you screamed, fighting with elbows and knees. But nothing got this man off you.

You couldn't see Bucky.

You couldn't breathe. With his hands around your neck, your vision was going black, dotting.

Something popped in your head, something slick and scorching hot splashing across your face.

When had you closed your eyes?

"Y/N!"

But something hurt in your ribs, something stinging across your flesh like lightning was slowly building beneath your skin.

You felt someone pull you into their arms, warm and steady chest meeting your cheek before you passed out.

But Bucky held on, running back to the jet, the breath in his lungs burning. He kept screaming your name, but you were out, bleeding from a wound in your ribs, bleeding and bleeding and the more he saw the red staining your suit, the faster Bucky ran.

When he got to the jet, no one had made it back yet. He could hear the faint pops of bullets behind him but he didn't care. He bolted for the med bay, laying your body down gently.

When had he started crying?

"FRIDAY?" he asked. After a beat of silence, "FRIDAY!!" His teeth bared, watched as the lights around the jet bolted to light and the AI came to life.

"Stab wound between rib 6 and 7, Mister Barnes," FRIDAY said, monotone.

"Can we fix it?" Bucky asked through gritted teeth. His hands had started shaking as he looked at you, fragile and bleeding and quiet.

"Yes, but we need to act now," FRIDAY answered.

"What can I do?" he asked, straightening, sniffing, eyes to the sky as if the AI was sentient. Oh wait. It was.

"Get the gauze," FRIDAY said. "I'll do the rest." Bucky scrambled to the cabinets, pulling them open, grabbing onto as much white fabric as he could see. By the time he turned around, FRIDAY was already stitching you up with Stark's mobile arm.

But you were still unconscious, lashes thick with tears, face so solemn and... pretty.

Bucky let the gauze fall to the table you were on. "You didn't really need this, right?" he asked.

"No," said FRIDAY. "I just needed you out the way."

Bucky snorted, for once actually felt something nice course through his veins. He gently patted your hair, moving thick strands behind your ear. He smeared the blood off your cheeks until they were clean again, tracing the outline of your cheekbones, your chin, your neck.

"She's waking up, sir," FRIDAY said lowly, and Bucky nodded, feeling relief when he saw you jostle. Feeling that dreadful fear lift from his ribs like smoke.

"Hey," he whispered, metal fingers in your hair as he watched your eyes flutter open.

"Mmm Bucky?" Your voice was thick. Even if you'd been out for merely 15 minutes, it felt like hours. "What?"

Bucky laughed, pressing his forehead to yours and completely basking in the fact that you were alive.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry," he said, stroking your hair, pressing his nose to yours.

He felt your hand trace his chin and he chuckled. "I'm so sorry," he whispered again. He pressed his mouth to your knuckles, watching your lips stretch into a smile.

"It's okay."

He shook his head, hiding hid mouth behind your palm. "No, I'm... I'm sorry about everything."

Your eyes glazed. "What?"

"About right now," he said, meeting your eyes with tear-stained lashes. "About two seconds ago. About an hour ago. About... two weeks and a month and three months when we..."

You reached up weakly. Stroked his face with your knuckles. "I know," you answered, smiling slowly. "I'm sorry too."

Again, he shook his head. "No. Y/n, it's... it's you." He brought his face closer to yours, as if he couldn't speak it into existence just yet. "It's always been you. And I was afraid, at first - "

"Bucky."

"No, let me finish," he insisted, tears brewing in his eyes, ready to spill. "I was afraid that if I let you in, I'd somehow hurt you. But now, watching you like this... I can't be here without you. Ever."

You smiled, rubbed your nose against his briefly. "I had to almost die to get that out of you?" you asked, ghosting your mouth over his, teasing him.

He shook his head but kissed you anyway, careful not to squish you or touch your wound. He kissed you so softly, so carefully, like you were made of glass, or shattered glass he'd put back together with store-bought glue.

When you heard the tale-tell sign of feet running up the deck of the jet, Bucky kissed your forehead and sat beside your bed, holding onto your hand until you were safely back home.

[mantis-clan]

Mantisclan Year 3 Lineup

I realised I haven’t properly fleshed these guys’ personalities out! Better late than never :D Here’s all our current cats and a bit about them as of year three!

previous / next

Quietstar

Quietstar is a perfectionist at heart, and has been through a lot in the last three years, from losing their deputy and apprentice to then losing their mate, Bonespeckle, over the course of just a few moons. A bit neurotic, Quietstar has always seen flickers of strange shadows and movements in the corners of their vision. Pious to the last breath, the one thing Quietstar cares about more than Starclan and Mantisclan is their daughter. Sunsap.

Bluesky

A former kittypet abandoned by his owners due to sickness, Bluesky joined the clan on moon twelve. He’s very daring, but secretly afraid of becoming a burden to those he loves and being abandoned again.

Blisseyes

The clan’s resident healer, Blisseyes trained under Bonespeckle before the older molly changed paths to being a warrior. She’s an excellent storyteller, able to make even the most mundane of herbs sound interesting.

Fumble

Fumble joined the clan on moon twenty two after a particularly rough kitting on Mantisclan territory. Perpetually an anxious wreck, Fumble gets through his day by telling himself stories and reassuring himself with the knowledge that he’s fast enough to outrun any threat. Though that’s not quite enough to stop him worrying about his kits, Thistle, Osprey and Tadpole.

Breeze

A troublemaker at heart, Breeze joined the clan on moon seventeen, having boldly asked to join with her newborn kits Locust, Branch and Echo. Sometimes she lets her nature get the better of her and can come across as rude or mean-spirited but she really just wants her and her family to have a good laugh.

Perditofog

On moon twenty five, Perditofog and her two kits Stem and Magnolia joined the clan. Just as much, if not more of a troublemaker than Breeze, those two queens get up to plenty of trouble together.

Lynx

The most recent addition to the clan, Lynx is an old friend of Peter Pangrove’s and knew him when she was a kit in a loner group with him. Aggressive and energetic, Lynx seems to have some connection to Spider…

Sunsap

Quietstar and Bonespeckle’s adopted daughter, Sunsap doesn’t let the fact that she’s missing a leg stop her from wanting to follow her ba’s pawsteps in becoming clan leader someday. Ambitious and driven, Sunsap is the first to jump into battle when the time comes.

Mumblecrackle

Once an apprentice from Snailclan, Mumblecrackle ran away to join Mantisclan on moon twenty seven. Always eager to have some fun, Mumblecrackle lives to have a good time.

Locustpond, Branchheart & Echodapple

Breeze’s litter, these three are each unique characters. Locustpond, while she was an odd apprentice, has turned into a stern, Starclan-worshipping adult. Branchheart seems to blend into the background, not seeming to have a solid identity of her own and Echodapple has grown from an egotistical kit into a compassionate, if impulsive, adult. Locustpond and Echodapple both suffer from chronic pain and have bonded a lot over that fact.

Tadpolewood, Thistlefire & Ospreyrip

Fumble’s kits, these three newly made warriors have a lot of learning and growing to go. While Tadpolewood endlessly strives for perfection and recognition, Thistlefire and Ospreyrip seem content to goof off rather than take their duties seriously.

Stempaw & Magnoliapaw

The youngest members of the clan, these two brothers are quite similar in some ways and different in others. Stempaw always has a snappy comeback prepared and excels in debate and inciting arguments while Magnoliapaw is often left to smooth over his brother’s disagreements- not that he struggles all that much, what with his charming personality.

Peter Pangrove

The oldest member of the clan, Peter Pangrove has loved and lost a lot in his life and as a result feels constantly lonely even when surrounded by cats he cares about. He seems to have been a friend of Lynx’s in the past, but, then again, he seems to know everyone.

Dovewhisker

Ambitious and bloodthirsty, this former deputy of Mantisclan acquired the position by murdering Quietstar’s mate- not that anybody knows this, of course. He has since mellowed out in his old age, and may be starting to regret some of his actions, why else would he step down from the deputy position?

Briarmoth

Killed on moon number one by a bear trap, Briarmoth hardly had any time at all to be the fierce deputy for Mantisclan that he wanted to be.

Bonespeckle

The deputy of Mantisclan before Dovewhisker and Quietstar’s mate, Bonespeckle was never one to outwardly show much glee, but that doesn’t mean she loved her family any less.

Larkshade

Grumpy, yet always with time to tell stories for the kits, Larkshade lost herself in her grief when Bonespeckle died and eventually succumbed to a wound she received from a rogue while out on patrol alone.

Spider

New to the concept of clans and Starclan, Spider joined Mantisclan to escape from something in her past- but it seemed to follow her anyway and she ended up dead from injuries sustained in her getaway. Was she murdered, and what did she know about Lynx?

Mousepaw

Poor Mousepaw. Dying tragically young and doomed to the Dark Forest for reasons beyond his comprehension, the gloomy tom has every reason to resent Starclan.

[redyarns]

caught in the undertow

Chapter: 1/?

Rating: E

Summary:

When Megatron, leader of the rebellion, escaped from prison, everybot knew one thing, and one thing only: he stole an innocent with him.

---

"I'm not a sheep, how dare you!" Orion hissed, bristling at the insult.

"Oh, really?" Megatron drawled. His red optics glanced up again, and Orion's glossa went dry.

Scrap.

Who knew the cruel and ruthless leader of the blasphemous rebellion was so... handsome?

STORY: START!

Act I, Scene I: Breaking Into Prison Is a Trust Building Exercise

“For the record, I think this is a horrible idea, and I also think you're going to die.” 

“I second that. Primus, can we please not do something that'll piss Ultra off? Again?” 

“Well aren't you two a pair of Negative Nosedives? Come on! Where's your sense of fun?” 

“Orion!” 

Orion Pax couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him when both his companions hissed his name in a mix of both desperate pleading as well as anger. 

B-127 looked close to vomiting up his last cube-ful of energon as he nervously held up his servos where he stood, his optics darting back and forth between Orion and the building right behind him. 

Sentinel, on the other servo, looked as if he was either this close to clunking Orion right in the helm, or flying off altogether. Judging by how his wings kept flexing anxiously, it was more likely the latter, and he seemed even more nervous than Bee, refusing to leave the shadows of the medbay building they were standing on. 

The Iacon Spark Medbay was the closest (and tallest) building to Orion's goal; Titan's Hold. The highest and maximum secured prison in Iacon that wasn't off-planet, and also one of the buildings that hung from the top of the city. It wasn't easy to reach, particularly if one didn't have a flying alt-mode, but especially if one didn't have a T-cog. 

Which was why Orion needed both his friends’ help. 

“If you don't want to go inside that's fine,” Orion tried to stress, attempting to soothe the both of them. He was pretty bad at it, honestly, mostly because he was grinning so widely that he knew it was either pissing off Sentinel or making Bee even more anxious. Probably both. “I just need a lift and access.” 

“My wings are not for your personal little joyrides!” Sentinel snapped. Out of all three of them, he was the least visible due to how he practically glued himself to the side of the little beacon box that was on top of the hospital. Despite that, Orion could clearly see the way the aristocrat's wings folded in together nervously at his back. “Can we please not do this, for frag's sake? If anybot spots me - “ 

“No bot's going to spot you - “ Orion immediately tried to assure. 

“I don't even think his wings can fly all of us up - “ Bee said with concern. 

“Of course I can fly all of us up!” Sentinel said shrilly. His optics, the only part of him that glowed in the shadows, darted towards Bee and squinted at him in offense. “Just who do you think I am? But that doesn't mean I can just - just break protocol for you to satisfy your deadly curiosity, Orion! What if we get caught, huh? What would my carrier say? What would Ultra Magnus say?” 

Orion tilted his helm slightly. “I don't see what those questions have anything to do with me, especially since we won't get caught.” 

Sentinel groaned. 

Bee chirped in nervous laughter. 

“Uh, don't wanna burst your bubble or anything, but the last time you said that, Darkwing personally threw us down a trash chute,” Bee said. He rubbed the back of his helm, wincing, as if he was reliving that… interesting memory. “Ugh. I was picking waste out of my seams for at least half a solar cycle!” 

“Yes, but we had fun climbing the chutes again, didn't we?” Orion said cheerfully. 

Bee brightened for a klik. “Yeah! I especially loved how you swallowed trash that one time!” 

Orion gave him an unimpressed look. 

Sentinel made a small choking sound. “Is that why you had me digging around in the damn waste levels to find you both? You were filthier than the actual trash around you!” 

“Focus!” Orion said. He did not want to recall that particular detail, though he had definitely enjoyed smearing a bit of old energon on Sentinel’s pede, which had resulted in some very high-pitched squeals and static of disgust. 

“No!” Sentinel said petulantly, and as if to make his point, he drew even tighter against the wall of the box. His wings flexed, a subtle movement that Orion barely caught as his optics tried to adjust and squint at Sentinel’s barely visible outline. “This is too much to ask of me, Orion, even from you. You’re trying to meet… to meet…” 

“Megatron,” Bee mumbled feebly.

Sentinel vented sharply at the name, and Orion glanced back at Titan’s Hold with barely concealed excitement. 

Megatron. The leader of the Blasphemous Rebellion that threatened the High Covenant of Iacon, and therefore, Iacon itself. The Rebellion was responsible for crimes that Orion had a list of somewhere tucked in his processor, and a list that Ultra Magnus had deemed was more than enough to claim that Megatron and his rallies were number one enemies of Cybertron itself. 

The Rebellion and their ruthless ringleader had been at large for far more vorns than Orion had been online, often terrorizing Cybertronians while their propaganda was crudely vandalized on various buildings or bots. It made Orion’s gears tick irritably just thinking about how astray the rebels had gotten, how ignorant they were to Ultra and the Covenant’s efforts to protect their citizens. 

And to think, at last, after all this time, Megatron, the leader of the blasphemous rebels, the cruel and vicious fear-mongerer he was, was finally captured! He had been tossed into Titan’s Hold as soon as he had been caught, a fate most becoming for a horrible bot like him, and would continue to stay as the council reconvened and discussed when his trial would be. 

Regardless, this was Orion’s one and only chance to see the Megatron for himself with his own optics. He didn’t care to view the inevitable live-feed of Megatron’s trial, a process that would make Orion uncomfortable even if the defendant deserved the brutality of court, so there was only so much time the miner had to make it count. 

Now if only his stubborn friends would listen. 

“Come on, think about it,” Orion said, clapping his servo around Bee’s shoulder plates and dragging him closer to the edge of the hospital, chuckling when the other miner sputtered out wheezes from his vents. “Us, miners, managing to meet with Megatron himself? We walk free while he’s behind bars, Bee! We don’t have to be scared of him!” 

“I heard he can rip apart diamonds like it's nothing, so he could totally tear apart those bars,” Bee mumbled. He glanced down the edge of the building and puffed his cheek plates, grimacing. “We’re so high up. I’m gonna be sick.” 

“Don't throw up on my pedes,” Orion said patiently. “And who cares about diamonds or whatever? Isn't he being bound by servo-suppressants? Sentinel?” 

Sentinel made a clicking sound behind them. It was a tic from his voice box that he never got rid of from when he had been a sparkling, and his tone was noticeably sticky with static as he muttered, “yeah. But I don't have access to the actual files, Orion, you know that. I'm only a trainee.” 

“A Prime trainee.” Orion corrected him. He let a slip of warm admiration creep into his voice as he hummed, “and you don't need access to Megatron's files. You're close enough to Ultra to have already heard the info we want.” 

Sentinel's throat buzzed again in a mix of strangled indignation and exasperated flattery, but Orion wasn't laying it on thick, even if it sounded like it. 

The truth was, out of all of them, Sentinel was the most valuable player in this dangerous new ploy that Orion desperately wanted to pull off. As the Covenant's next chosen and future Prime, and more importantly, as Ultra Magnus’ personal prodigy, Sentinel had practically one pede in the door when it came to the inner and mysterious workings of the council. 

He knew things that even some council members didn’t, and without him, this whole thing would fall apart. 

“You always do this,” Sentinel whined, but Orion's smile began to grow as he recognized the slumped, defeated motion of his wings in the shadows, a common sign that he was about to give in. “You're always dragging me into trouble and then it's my aft on the line! Ugh, do you even know what Ultra did to me the last time we got caught doing something stupid?” 

“No,” Orion said curiously. 

“What did he do?” Bee asked eagerly. 

Sentinel sent them both deadpan looks. “Nothing good. I'm pretty sure I'm still sore. Look, just - just - augh!” 

He heaved a heavy ex-vent, and Bee started to groan as Orion began to laugh. 

“He's giving in,” Orion said with a smile. 

“I'm not giving in!” Sentinel said unconvincingly. 

“You're giving in,” Bee moaned in defeat. 

“... I might be giving in,” Sentinel said. A pause. “Screw you, Orion. Fine. But if we get caught, I swear on Primus' aft that you're going to talk to Ultra and make it so that I was never even here! Ugh, why do I do this kind of scrap…” 

Orion held carefully onto Bee as they stepped to the side to make room for Sentinel as finally, he lifted a pede and appeared from the shadows, the late lights of Iacon shedding onto him in bursts of color. 

His armor plating, strong and polished, was painted a striking gold and royal blue combo that didn't have any of the chips that Orion had consistently all over his frame. Sentinel was far larger than either of the miners, as at best, they came up to his midsection, though Bee was closer to the joints of his legs more than anything. 

He had a handsome face that was accentuated by his strong jaw plating and helm, though to Orion's amusement, all of that clashed with the sour expression Sentinel wore, his optics squinted in disbelief and his dentae gritted as he flexed his wings easily, even when Orion knew how each one easily weighed at least a ton. 

He looked every bit the Prime he was going to be, and Orion couldn't help it as he let out a whistle, circled Sentinel, and said, “wow, Sen. Ultra really pushed you to get a buff, huh?” 

“Definitely a polishing,” Bee said in awe as he bounded up towards Sentinel and rubbed a digit against one of his shiny legs. Sentinel grunted and tried to stifle a giggle, which didn't really work as Bee gave him a beam. “Don't tell me this is a new paint job!” 

“Shut up,” Sentinel groused out, though there was a faint blue to the silver of his cheeks as he rolled his shoulders. Small clicking sounds indicated that his boosters were getting ready to fire, though judging by the way his digits kept flexing and relaxing, he was still unnerved. “If we're going to do this, we need to do it now. I don't know the guard schedules enough to predict when they switch out, but I know where the control room is at least.” 

“How do you know that?” Bee wondered as he waited patiently for Sentinel to extend a servo, which he did after he carefully knelt down and unclenched his digits. Bee climbed into Sentinel's hold and snuggled against the side of his chassis, looking a little ridiculous with their size difference. 

“Tour, back when I was initiating,” Sentinel muttered, also reaching out for Orion, who had been admiring Titan's Hold as they talked. Sentinel groaned when Orion didn't crawl on. “Ugh, Orion, come on. We don't have time for you to stand gawking.” 

“Okay, okay, keep your gears on,” Orion said, and he tore his optics away from the prison long enough to obediently climb on, then up Sentinel's arm, tucking himself snuggly on the opposite side of his chassis from where Bee waved at him. 

They had all done this sort of thing too many times for it to be anything less than instinct by this point, though Bee had never quite managed to get over his fear of heights. As if on cue, the miner puffed his cheekplates again, made a buzzing noise low in his voicebox, and buried his helm into Sentinel's arm as he approached the edge of the building and placed a pede so close that the tip of it was hanging off into the open air. 

All three of them vented in deeply, and with a final push, they were free-falling. 

Flying with Sentinel was something Orion was never going to get used to, and he loved it more than he could possibly put into words. The rush of air battering against his cheeks, the way his sensors beeped in excitement as his spark beat wildly in his chassis, the mixture of both fear and adrenaline that made his energon pumps go wild as they dived towards the glittering city lights of Iacon before there was the sound of gears switching, and metal wings snapping out. 

For all of Sentinel's whining, he was steady and confident as his mods caught the air just in time and they shot up with a propulsion that excited Orion to the point he almost whooped. But that wasn't a good idea, not when they were starting to approach the bottom of Titan’s Hold, which hung ominously from the ceiling of their underground city. 

Titan's Hold was, for a lack of better word, creepy. It was at the edge of the city so it didn't impose itself on any of the other buildings or terrified any of the civilians, but it was still intimidating. As the largest building in Iacon aside from the Prime Palace, it always seemed to loom any time Orion stepped out of the minds, no matter where he was. 

It certainly didn't help that it was so heavily secured that drones were always present as well as guards. It wasn't their typical prison for misdemeanors or even regular crimes; those held here were an active threat to Cybertron, a thought which made Orion shiver slightly. 

Luckily, the guards, several of whom were placed upon the perimeter of the entrance, didn't seem to anticipate that a non-transformed flier would ever be a threat. As such, they didn't even look up as Sentinel quietly made a high arch and began to creep down the side of the building towards them, and one even yawned as she asked her coworker for some energon to stay awake. 

It was easier than Orion thought it would be to slip past them by clinging tightly to the ceiling of the dark hallway, and Sentinel crept with a grace that didn't seem instinctual for someone of his size (or character) as he tightly gripped Orion and Bee and used his boosters as his main mode of movement against the ceiling. 

Private Comm Link (ID: #350183): Two Idiots and One Prime

Incoming message…

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Okay, the control room is just up ahead. Bee, you got it? :: 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Got it, bossbot. :: 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: Wait! ::

They all froze, hovering flat against the ceiling with Sentinel's dorsal plates scrunched tight to the tiles as Bee clamped a servo over his derma and Orion clutched tightly at Sentinel in warning. 

They were just outside the arching and open doorway of the control room. It was dark inside, only barely lit by the dim screens of the various security feeds that were caught on lens, but Orion swore he saw - 

He swallowed back a curse. 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Scrap! I thought the live-feed guard was supposed to be on his break right now, what the frag is he still doing in there? We have to bail, now! ::

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: No! We've come way too close to stop now. Just let me think. :: 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: I'm going to kill you… :: 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025 

:: Wait, is he sleeping??? ::

The tension was palpable and zinged at the back of Orion's glossa as all three of them stopped their venting for the moment. He strained his audials, squirming lightly in Sentinel's hold as he did, ignoring the way the aristocrat scowled down at him in reprimanding. 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: He is! … Well, kind of. Gah! ::

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: We're so screwed. There's no fragging way I can get either of you down there without alerting him. Orion, don't be stupid, we have to turn back! :: 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: Hold on! I have an idea. Bee, do you have…? :: 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: Have…? OH! Oh, my Primus. I do. :: 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: Yes! Okay, let's do it. Sentinel, get us in. Just stick to the ceiling and let Bee handle the rest. :: 

DES: B-127 (Alias: Bee) - ID: B-127-003025

:: I can't believe I still have it. It's a good thing we didn't use all of it on Sentinel last time. :: 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: … What??? ::

Orion waved off the incredulous and scrutinizing look Sentinel shot him, instead gesturing to the doorway. Though Sentinel didn't ex-vent, it was a near thing, and he pursed his derma before cautiously proceeding. 

The bot inside who was supposed to be monitoring the feeds seemed half into his recharge cycle as he slumped at his desk. He was even snoring a little, though every few kliks his optics would blink open again slowly, sweep across the screens with a sleepy snort, and then he fell right back into dozing. 

Sentinel crept forward on the ceiling, his wings tucked close to his dorsals as he did, until at last, he was just above the bot. He gave Bee a dubious look, but Bee only stuck out his glossa a little in concentration as he reached for his arm compartment and brought out a cube. 

The cube, however, wasn't filled with glowing energon like usual, and instead, Bee carefully dug two of his digits into the top, and with a generous pinch, he sprinkled down a fine, dark powder that streamed right onto the bot. 

Near instantly, the guard slumped over, this time snoring consistently, and when Orion scrutinized him, his sensors told him that he was definitely in deep recharge mode, maybe even a little too deep. 

“What in the Pits was that?” Sentinel demanded as he hopped off the ceiling and landed next to the guard with a quaking thud. Luckily, there wasn't any security in this area, and his voicebox crackled with irritation as he set both his companions down and huffed. “He looks like you just put him straight in a coma!” 

“I might have.” Bee admitted sheepishly, waving around the now half-filled cube and handing it to Orion, who beamed at him. “That was a teensy bit too much as a normal dose for a bot his size, but I just wanted to make sure!” 

“It's nyx powder,” Orion said to Sentinel when he made a rather frantic waving motion at the cube in question. Orion knew he was grinning in the way that his friends abhorred as he tucked the cube away into his own compartment and gave Bee a small noogie on his helm. “Good job, Bee! Though we should definitely call this guy a medic once we leave. Might've made this batch a little too potent if it knocked him out cold like that.” 

“Wha - nyx - made - Orion Pax, have you been performing alchemy again?” Sentinel’s voice was shrill and full of disbelieving anger as he pointed an accusatory digit right into Orion’s facial plates. Rude. “You know how dangerous that is, especially in the mines! Those veins are explosive as it is, if you do even one thing wrong and something blows up - “ 

“Relax, Sen, I know what I’m doing,” Orion said soothingly. He paused. “Mostly.” 

Sentinel made a choking noise. 

“It’s okay, this batch is the best so far.” Bee promised Sentinel, which only seemed to stress him out more. “It totally worked on you, and you’re way bigger than this guard bot!” 

Sentinel sat down with a heavy thud and buried his helm in his servos. “You fragging drugged me with a powder that you made without an actual education? I’m going to abandon you both here and never come back. I hope you both die.” 

Woops. 

“To be fair, it was for a good cause.” Orion laughed as he ushered Bee closer to the control console for the feeds, absentmindedly pushing aside the guard, who rolled away on his chair to the corner, snoring all the while. “Remember when you said you’d been training so hard that you didn’t get to recharge for three solar cycles straight?” 

“That doesn’t mean you just drug me! Even if it’s for my own good!” 

“We gave you a facial while you were out,” Bee said assuringly, squeezing Sentinel’s helm between his servos as he did, which was comical considering the size difference between the two. Against what seemed to be Sentinel’s better judgment, he relaxed and grumbled about how terrible they both were as Bee skidded over to the console and stared at it for a second. 

“What is it?” Orion asked after another beat of silence. “Is it too - “

“Got it,” Bee said, and his digits flew across the board without thought after that, his usually exasperated expressions schooled into one of concentration as various lines of code began to pop up across the screens. “Disabling live feed recordings, rerouting guard lines, mhm…” 

Orion sat back and watched in fond admiration as Bee continued to work. 

While Sentinel had been essential in that he was literally the only one out of all of them who could even reach Titan’s Hold in the first place, Bee was the one who could ensure that they didn’t get caught. Orion was okay at hacking at best, and Sentinel pretty much broke everything he touched, but Bee was an actual whiz at the stuff. 

That, too, was a bit thanks to Sentinel, since he often tried to sneak Orion and Bee datapads from the library whenever he could, even if he would get in way too much trouble if one of the higher caste members found an aristocrat trying to educate miners, much less lower caste. 

It made Orion eternally grateful to both his friends who always put their afts on the line for his schemes, but it also made him wonder what life would have been like if he and Bee weren’t Caste Level 0. Would Bee have been a scouting or surveillance member for the Elite Guard? He certainly had the processor for it, though it was all being wasted on mining, which Bee’s tiny frame wasn’t well suited for. 

What would Orion have been? A warframe, maybe? A guard? Or maybe something else, like an archivist. The idea of him being part of the data caste was laughable to think about, but at least then, he would have been middle caste, and better yet, he would have had a cog. 

Subconsciously, Orion’s digits drifted to the middle of his chassis, where a circular hole remained. 

“Got it!” Bee chirped excitedly, his finials waving around in astonishment as he took a step back and gazed at the screens in awe. “Wow. Dude. I just hacked a government system! A highly secured government system!” 

“I expected nothing less,” Orion said both earnestly and happily as he gave Bee a brief side hug. “Now, where do we go from here?” 

“The files on M… Megatron’s location should be in here somewhere,” Sentinel grumbled from behind them. He still stumbled over the name like it was taboo, but at least he wasn’t pouting anymore as he loomed over the both of them and contemplated the screens, rubbing his chin plate in thought. “At least I think. Ultra isn’t super into the, uh, more delicate sides of things.” 

“I guess that makes sense,” Orion said, his finials waving around in thought. “He must be too big for keypads. Kind of crush it to bits just by pressing a digit onto one, right?” 

“You’re really stupid, I hope you know.” Sentinel deadpanned, but he was smiling, so that was a win for Orion. 

“Hmm,” Bee said, tapping around in a manner that suggested he’d done this hundreds of times, and not just hacked into the system only a few kliks prior. Now that they were actually inside the prison and had pushed past the more dangerous parts of their goal, it seemed he was finally relaxing, and was even bouncing slightly on the balls of his pedes as he enthusiastically pointed at something. “Oh! Here!” 

Orion drifted closer and squinted. 

It was a map, though maybe the better word was blueprint. It was intricate and filled with delicate lines of code as well as drifting sigils of Cybertronian, but when he tilted his helm and stared right where Bee’s digit was poking at, he let out a vent of both shock and relief. 

“That’s near where we are now.” Orion said carefully. He was surprised just by how close it was, actually. “Wait, this doesn’t make sense. If Megatron is in this place, shouldn’t he be in the most fortified cell?” 

“He is.” Sentinel grunted as he also drew close and looked at the screen with scrutinizing optics. He cursed, low and filled with static, as his own digit began to trace the cell where a single name, Megatron, floated within. “Look. He’s in cell 99, which is both the closest and highly defended room here. It’s so they can keep a close eye on him and have guards tackle him if he ever tries to escape. Plus, this security area is buffered by a thick wall of lead and encryption codes that I doubt even Ultra would know. It’s - scrap!” 

“What?” Both Bee and Orion shouted. 

“There’s no way in,” Sentinel said, shaking his helm and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I should have realized. It’s not like the other cells, where there’s a key or something. Unless either of you brought explosives - which I hope you haven’t, but I wouldn’t put it past you - and you want to break out the most notorious enemy of the state, then there’s nothing else we can do.” 

They fell silent, staring at the lines of code, and Orion didn’t know what to do as his spark sank in his chassis. 

Was that it, then? All this effort and trouble for nothing? It was abhorrent to think about. Orion had practically been buzzing with adrenaline since the moment he got this idea, though once again, his enthusiasm got the best of him. It dreaded him to think he would have to force himself to watch Megatron’s trial on projection instead of getting to see him bot to bot. 

It disturbed something in him to realize that this bot, this Cybertronian, whom Orion had previously never even seen, would be shown to him kneeling in front of the council as his very first viewing. Megatron was without a doubt cruel and blasphemous, a threat not only to Iacon but Primus himself, but… still. 

Hope began to flicker away, leaving behind nothing but tired and defeated accept, only for his finials to snap up when Bee suddenly made a small noise of surprise. 

“What is it?” Orion asked, trying to mask his eagerness and failing. 

“Well,” Bee said slowly. His optics were wide as he zoomed in on something. It looked kind of like a tunnel outlined to resemble a rectangle, and he hesitantly gestured to it. “There’s technically one other way we could get in instead of blowing this place to bits.” 

“You’re right,” Sentinel said with a rather dramatic amount of distress. “Dammit.” 

“What is it?” Orion asked, clutching onto Bee’s arm in urgency. “Come on, tell me!” 

“It’ll be a bit of a tight squeeze.” Bee admitted, and there was a bit of a sheepish, apologetic smile on his face as he pointed at something to their right. “But it could work! Theoretically.” 

Orion followed the direction of Bee’s digit, and his optics blinked in surprise at what he saw. 

A vent. 

[those-late-night-feels]

Take Care of You

Summary: Steve Rogers seems to take care of everyone. But who takes care of him?

Pairings: Steve Rogers x reader; a little Loki x reader (because I can’t help it)

Warnings: smut; angst; drinking

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Actually, it's interesting…"

In all honesty, the contents of your wine glass was the most interesting thing at the table. Between the appetizer and main course, it has become apparent that this date had been a mistake. The downtown restaurant was quite popular and loud, easy to drown out the one-sided conversation from across the table about whatever was incredibly interesting. Had he even asked a question all night?

Smiling your way through dinner and dessert, he rambled on until the bill was paid and you could finally slip on your coat to leave.

"Thank you for a lovely evening," you said at the main entrance of the restaurant.

"Let me take you home." It was a statement more than a suggestion. Protesting was futile as his car pulled up from the valet and, with a sigh, you gave in.

"Thank you, again," you said as he parked his car and started to walk you towards the Towers, not taking the hint.

"Let me get you safe inside," he offered, placing a hand on the small of your back. Cringing, you gently guided his hand away and turned to face him.

"Thank you," you said all the more sternly. "I can take it from here."

He frowned, as if he had something to say, and then his eyes darted behind you for a split second before saying a quick good night and leaving. You spun on your heel to find a shadowed figure emerging, hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face. Steve.

You let out a breath, a little thankful, a little frustrated. Of course, one of the most emotionally unavailable bachelors in America would be your knight in shining armor. He walked up, looking between you and the man bee-lining it to his getaway vehicle. "Don't start, Rogers." You didn't need a lecture after the night you had.

His hands shot up in animated defense. "Only here if you need me."

He held the door open, waiting patiently as you strutted toward the entrance. Maybe he was emotionally unavailable, but he was still Captain America, and you'd be damned if the little dress you wore went to waste. You passed by him, imagining how confident and sexy you must appear when your heel caught on the door frame, tripping you forward. On instinct, Steve grabbed your hand and waist before you landed on your face. Adrenaline rushed through your veins for a moment, and when you turned your head, he was closer than expected. "You okay?"

"Guess I needed you after all," you laughed a little breathy, attempting to lighten the mood amidst him everywhere on you–his hands hovered on your hip and back, his chest pressed against yours, his face only inches away.

He smiled warmly, helping you upright. "Let's get you upstairs."

The glass elevator held a perfect view of the skyline, and you watched the planes above while waiting to reach the main loft. Leaning against the railing, you slipped off your heels, your feet finally rejoicing.

"Bad date?" he asked, trying to make small talk.

"I don't think he even remembered my name." He chuckled quietly, sliding his hands into his pockets. The elevator doors opened and he walked in stride with you down the hall while you gave him the play-by-play highlights of your disaster of a date. He paused when you reached the front of your bedroom door.

“I dunno,” you said with a sigh. “Somehow I just continue to attract the self-absorbed assholes. Maybe that's just the type I'm meant to be with.”

He shook his head. “Don't think that. You deserve better.”

“You really think so?”

He gave you a look like it was obvious. “Come on, you're too good of a girl to end up with someone like that.” His words made you smile, and they lingered in your mind long after you had said good night, making you wonder if anyone took care of the captain the way he took care of you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Pancakes and coffee. That was all you could think about in the morning, and the aromas wafting from the kitchen brought some of the team to slowly trickle out.

"So, how was the date?" Natasha asked, pouring a large cup of coffee and settling in a seat near the kitchen island. You gave her a look. "That bad?"

You turned to flip pancakes and pour more batter on the skillet. "Let's just say I'm glad Steve was there to send him on his way without a word."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Steve, who shook his head like it was nothing, but she gave him an amused look.

When you turned back around with a fresh stack of pancakes, you were faced with hungry eyes. "Alright, you guys have to share!"

Taking your share of the prepared breakfast, you settled into a chair at the island.

"So, is that a no to any future blind dates?" Natasha asked.

"That's a definite no. But I will absolutely say yes to a date with you at that new club downtown."

"Alright, alright, we'll go. Steve, what do ya' say? Wanna join us and make it a threesome?" she asked, leaning up against him.

Flustered and choking on his coffee, he turned three shades of red and shook his head. "No no, you ladies have fun."

You and Natasha sighed in unison. "Suit yourself."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Your night out with Natasha was magical. The club was classy and modern, the kind where you'd find paparazzi hiding out. Both men and women lined up to buy you and Natasha drinks, join the VIP lounge, and dance the night away.

By the early morning hours, you had stumbled back into the loft with Natasha, giggling and shushing one another way too loudly. Natasha went to the kitchen, making a racket of noise with glasses and cupboards while you laid down on the couch, feet aching from hours of dancing. A glass shattered on the floor, followed by Natasha cursing and a very tired and irritated Captain storming out of his room.

"Seriously Nat?"

"Sorry dad," she said, attempting to pick up bits of glass from the floor. Steve sighed, running his hands through his hair.

"Just stop, your gonna cut yourself. Go to bed, I'll take care of it."

She was stubborn, but he was firm, and soon she was scampering out of the kitchen and down the hall to her room. Steve sighed and you heard the sweeping of the broom, the metal grating of the dustpan.

When he shut off the kitchen light, you sat up from the couch. "You're good at that."

Steve turned and practically jumped, placing a hand on his heart. "Jeez, you scared me half to death!"

"Sorry," you said meekly.

"Have you been drinking too?" He didn't sound upset or accusational. More amused.

Putting your index finger and thumb close together, you scrunched up your face in guilt, making him laugh. "Alright, come on."

He offered his hand out and you took it, faltering when you stood. "I see Nat forgot how much of a lightweight you are," he joked.

"Hey," you said and smacked him on the chest. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, looking down and holding you in his arms for a moment. You felt so small in his arms and swallowed the lump in your throat before breaking the silence. "You take care of everyone."

"Is that what I'm good at?"

You nodded.

"I guess I do," he said, and in one swift movement hooked his arm under your legs, causing you to squeal while he carried you down the hall.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the faint light of the moon. He laid you down on the bed and sat next to you. "Need anything before I go?"

You took hold of his hand and he looked down at the touch. "Steve… Does anyone ever take care of you?"

He considered the question. "The team takes care of me when it's needed."

You shook your head. "No." And then, heart pounding in your boldness, you sat up and climbed over to straddle him. Arms wrapped around his neck and his breath grew heavy. "Does anyone take care of you…like this?"

You leaned in slowly, in case he was uncomfortable, in case you were reading it wrong, but he allowed you to kiss him, and after a moment, his lips responded, his hands slow and steady guiding up your legs, your hips, your back. He whispered your name, a question, a desire, a need.

He pulled back to look at you, a little in shock, a little in lust. Like he wanted to be good, but he also wanted you. "You're… you've been drinking."

Your head tilted to the side. Should have known–always the chivalrous one. "Steve, I want you."

Kisses trailed down his neck and across his jaw line as you spoke.

"Let me take care of you," you whispered, pulling up the end of his T-shirt until he allowed you to pull it over his head. He was torn, hesitant. He didn't allow his desires to normally take precedence over honor. But, this time, he did. Hands ran over his thick chest, his hardened abs, to play with the little grooves on his hip bones. "Sit back," you ordered, and he obediently listened, watching with want and desire while your fingers hooked into his shorts and underwear, sliding them down in one go.

His cock sprang forth from its confines, already hard and pulsing and wet from precum, and your eyes went wide at how incredibly well-endowed he was. The ladies had all speculated at how big the super soldier actually was, but you'd never imagined…

You knew then how you wanted to take care of him. With a devilish smirk you crawled up, your tongue running along the underside of his cock, never breaking eye contact. A little moan escaped him, making you want to hear the range of all his noises. Your fingers stroked at his balls as you slowly guided your tongue along his shaft, causing his breath to shutter.

His fingers ran through your hair and when you lifted your head he brushed your cheek with his thumb.

"God, you are gorgeous," he whispered. You closed your eyes and then took him full in your mouth and down your throat. The response he gave was guttural, claiming your name when you took a breath, only to go down again. In that moment, you were in control and he was yours. His breaths became faster, his moans more frequent, and you knew he wouldn't last much longer. But that was perfectly fine; you were here to take care of him.

Your mouth became hot and full of him and was swallowed down like it was nothing. It took a moment for him to catch his breath and come back down from his high and he started to ramble, from embarrassment or being unsure of what to do. You shushed him gently, curled up next to him, and grabbed his hand to wrap his arm around you.

He laid there quietly, kissed your shoulder and fell asleep in your bed. But in the morning, he was gone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You weren't surprised. Disappointed, sure. But not surprised. More than a dozen times you had reminded yourself that Steve Rogers was emotionally unavailable. But that didn't stop your drunk ass from what you did last night.

In the light of the morning, you were determined to not walk out of your room looking like some drunken whore. You'd be damned if you were someone he regretted. Extra time was taken to scrub yourself clean, brush your teeth twice, and make yourself not only presentable, but gorgeous.

Taking a breath, you walked out to the foyer. Natasha looked up from her cup of coffee, a tired smile on her face. "Sorry I bailed on you last night. I don't even remember what happened. Where did you go?"

You shook your head at her apology. "No, it's fine. I just passed out."

Natasha raised a curious eyebrow at you. "No midnight romping?"

You laughed, maybe a little too loudly. "Nothing of the sort, I can assure you."

She hummed in response. "Morning Captain."

Your eyes went big for a slight moment as he passed behind, a scent of evergreen lingering behind. "Morning," he acknowledged evenly.

Pulse starting to race, you slipped into the kitchen before Natasha could question you further. Pouring a cup of coffee (the larger, the better after the night you had), Steve walked in casually.

"Morning agent," he said, grabbing a carton of eggs from the fridge.

"Hi," you said, stirring your coffee as if it was the most fascinating cup of coffee you'd ever laid eyes on.

"Sleep well?"

You raised your eyes up to meet his, a small smirk on your face. "Yes…" you said slowly. Was he playing a game with you?

Steve waited until he was sure Natasha was gone and out of earshot. Then, crossing his arms and studying the floor, he said, "Listen, I need to apologize for last night."

You blinked but kept silent, stirring your coffee and watching him. He was infuriating! Just wouldn't let you have that moment with him.

"I took advantage of the situation and should have stopped it before it went that far," he continued.

Your breaths were even through your nose, but internally you were screaming. As frustrated as you were, you knew there was no point in arguing. Once he had gotten something in his mind as fact, there was no convincing him otherwise.

Sighing, you made to leave the room. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Steve."

He grabbed your bicep as you passed by, making you pause in your tracks. "It can't happen again."

You looked from his grip on your arm to his piercing stare and bit to your lip to refrain from screaming at him.

"Got it," you choked out, and pulled away.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It was easier to just avoid him in the following weeks. If he hadn't made a thing of it, you could have gone back to being friendly and flirty. But he didn't make things easy

You chose the missions he wasn't on and made excuses for the ones he joined. But it was hard; you missed him, his kindness, his stories, his listening ear. He was your leader and you just felt…lost.

There was no use in regrets, but sometimes you'd wonder if you'd make a mistake and lost a friend.

It was a strangely quiet Saturday night for most of the team. After a few weeks of intense missions and undercover work, it was nice to finally have a break. The last thing you wanted was to go out to a bar or club and Natasha agreed. Giving you a look like she was up to no good, she pulled out a deck of cards and a bottle with a language you couldn't translate.

"What are you doing, Nat?" you asked with a warning tone.

"Making our own fun. We aren't a couple of spinsters. If we don't want to go out, doesn't mean we can't still have a little fun," she said with a wink.

You smiled while shaking your head. "You're the worst influence."

"No, I'm the best. Now round up whatever boys are still around."

You trailed down the hall and paused at Steve's door. Knocking, you prayed that he wouldn't answer, but the door opened before you could slip away.

"Hi," he said, crossing his arms. He appeared standoffish, but there was a kindness in his eyes.

"Hey, um, Nat is setting something up out there. Wanted everyone to join."

He raised an eyebrow. "What did she pull out from her bag of tricks this time?"

"Box of cards and a bottle of something."

"Blue label? Foreign writing?"

"Yeah." As silly as it was, you missed this–the normalcy, the casual chat, feeling comfortable with him again. There was a beat where you two locked eyes, getting lost for a moment. You opened your mouth to say something, a sorry, an I miss you, anything, but he beat you to the punch.

"I think I'm gonna stay in tonight, but… you should be careful with that bottle. Asgardian firewater isn't for the faint of heart."

He started to close the door. "Steve?"

He paused, but the words caught in your throat and you just stood there like an idiot.

"Have fun," he said, and hearing your name on his lips brought it all back. You wondered if he thought about it as much as you did.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He was right about the firewater. Natasha had poured you a shot and it burned like kerosene going down. You shuttered, turning the bottle to study its label. A hand reached out, clasping the shot glass and pulling it to the side. Your eyes followed the hand to the dark haired Asgardian prince who leaned toward you.

"Please do not tell me you drank this in a shot glass."

You smirked at him. "Blame Nat. I just do as I'm told."

Shaking his head at your naivety, Loki refrained from engaging on your comment further and slid the used shot glass to the sink, pulling a clean large glass from the cabinet.

"If you're going to drink this, you're at least going to learn how to make a proper Asgardian beverage out of it." He rolled up his sleeves, rummaging through the bar and pulling out an assortment of bottles and citrus fruit.

"You making me a drink or breakfast, Loki?"

He stood, pointing a paring knife at you. "Hush. Now come around here, you're making it yourself."

He taught you how to skin the rind off an orange without the pith, instructed you to juice a lime, showed you the measurements for the other spirits to add before pouring it over the liquor. He didn't touch you, but his close proximity somehow still made you feel warm.

"Stir it, slowly” he drawled. “The point of this isn't to rush and hit your high as fast as possible. Savor it, enjoy yourself."

He slid the glass toward you and watched as you took a sip, an eyebrow raised in a question. Your eyes widened as that first sip went down, not burning like fire, but sweet like honey. "It's good. Thank you Loki."

Satisfied, he leaned forward, palm landing on the back of your arm to whisper in your ear. "Now don't let me catch you with that shot glass again. You deserve more than just a quick fix."

You took a short breath in as you laughed nervously, something twisting deep inside. Was he…flirting with you? Your eyes darted to the side to see Steve talking to Tony, but watching you. He turned, patting Tony on the back before walking straight out the door, his jaw firmly set.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The night had been fun, playing an assortment of card games. Loki and Thor attempted to teach everyone a complicated version of Asgardian poker, which turned into peals of laughter. You wiped your eyes, both from laughing so hard and feeling exhausted, when Loki stood. "Thank you for a pleasant evening, but it is time for me to retire for the night."

You nodded and yawned on cue. "Me too. Goodnight guys."

Natasha shuffled the cards and dealt out a hand to the rest of the night owls, saying a quick good night.

You followed Loki the short distance down the hall to your separate bedrooms. "Sorry Loki, I think we're a little hopeless at learning your game."

"If my brother can master it, there is hope for you all yet. Plus," he paused, turning to you in front of your door, "it seemed like a welcome distraction for you."

You looked up at him, a little alarmed at his observation. Hadn't you been more discreet watching the front door for Steve? Apparently not.

"Oh, I…" you stuttered, but he shook his head and put a hand on your arm to reassure you.

"No need to be embarrassed, little one. I wasn't trying to pry. It was just nice to see you carefree and smiling again."

He was right, it was a nice change. You were tired of walking on eggshells and needed an attitude shift.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You couldn't sleep that night though, as tired as you were. Between Loki's flirty antics and Steve's frustrating behavior, your mind was swimming and needed to be cleared. After tossing and turning, the blankets were finally ripped off and gym clothes slipped on, deciding a quick workout would help.

Earpods turned on, you entered the gym and started up the treadmill. A mile in and sweat starting to drip, a resounding boom caused you to pull out your earbuds. Pausing on the edge of the treadmill, you pulled out an earbud to listen, a rhythmic pattern of beats down the hall. That was odd, you thought you'd be alone at this hour.

"Hello?" you called out, wiping the sweat from your forehead and chest and following the sound. You opened the door to an open studio used for combat practice and paused in the doorway. On the opposite side of the room, Steve focused on a punching bag, his back muscles rippling and contracting within a tight T-shirt. Standing mesmerized, you watched as he worked the bag until one final blow busted it off the hook and he went to grab a new one.

His eyes turned up and locked on yours, startling you out of your trance. "Sorry. I…" you fumbled at your words.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

You shook your head. "Came down here to clear my head."

"Yeah," he said, hooking the bag on with one arm. "I've been trying to do that for a while now."

"Well, I'll let you get back to it." You made your way toward the door. Halfway through the door frame, he said your name, staring at the bag, making you pause. "I haven't… I haven't been able to sleep for a while. I can't stop thinking about that night."

You almost didn't hear him, almost asked him to repeat himself. When he turned to look at you, you were like a deer caught in headlights. Too afraid to move or look away.

"I know that I shouldn't. And I tried to stop myself, tried to push you away and ignore you. My focus should be on the team and our missions. That's why I told you it couldn't happen again."

He unwrapped the boxing tape from his hands, walking toward you.

"But I can't get you out of my head. You're all I can think about."

You ignored the pounding of your heart and the tingling in your core. He was so close to you now, and you were furious. How dare he say all this after how he treated you! You wanted to slap him, yell at him, anything to show him how much pain and frustration he had caused you. But then, his next words cut to your core: "I'm so sorry. I miss you."

His blue eyes searched your own, no doubt looking for a sign that you would forgive him. He hesitantly raised a hand slowly up to your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone, melting your resolve and angry exterior with the swipe of his hand. Who were you kidding? You missed him too.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The sun was creeping up along the horizon when your eyes opened. Your bed was warm and cozy and your arm clutched onto the arm wrapped around your body.

You turned slightly, Steve still asleep and breathing steadily. The man was probably exhausted from his lack of sleep the last few weeks. It didn't help that you both stayed up late the night before as well.

He had walked you back to your room after your encounter in the gym, stood outside your door to wish you good night like the gentleman he was trying to be. No, he was a gentleman, he reminded himself; only you had ignited something inside him that he was fighting hard to resist. You gripped onto the edge of his T-shirt and pulled him into the room with a coy smile that he reciprocated.

Neither knew what to do, and you didn't want him to feel like you were expecting him to reciprocate for the prior night together. After keeping your distance from him for weeks, you just knew that you wanted to be near him again.

"For the record, I missed you too Steve." You grabbed two water bottles from the fridge, tossing one across the room to him.

He downed half the bottle before recapping it. "I'm not very good at this. I've spent too long focused only on whatever the mission is and not anything else."

"This," you said, gesturing between the two of you, "can be whatever we want it to be. I just know that I want you back in my life. However you want that to be."

He nodded, taking in your words. Then stood and walked over to you leaning against the dresser. His blue eyes looked down to yours and you could feel your heart instantly picking up pace. He could probably hear what he was doing to you by the uptick of your pulse, but didn't let on. "However I want?"

You nodded, words lost to you. Even though you had had him once before, he still made your nerves twist. He leaned down and kissed you then, and it felt like you both let go of a breath that was held for far too long.

When he pulled away, you almost whined, wanting more.

"Let's start by taking care of you," he said, and gripped your ass to sit you on the dresser.

With easier access, he trailed kisses down your neck, body shivering in response. He pulled you into him and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Lifting you up, he carried you easily to your bed and gently set you down, hovering over you.

“What do you want?” he asked, and you knew that his question was meant for more than just pleasure.

You hooked your finger into the hem of his t-shirt, bringing his lips to yours. A girl could get used to those soft lip caresses. The warmth of his hand traveled underneath your shirt, up your ribcage to the curve of your breast, and you gasped as his fingertips circled your nipple. He pulled his lips back from yours to watch the expression on your face, and with a little hesitancy, you told him, “I want to be yours.”

It was like you had lighted a fire within him with your words, and he engulfed you in flames. Your leggings were removed, his lips trailing kisses lower and lower until he was in between your thighs, finding solace in your warm folds. His tongue was like a flint, unyielding until sparks flew. Without mercy, he gripped onto your thighs, making you rise higher and higher. You gripped onto his hair, moaning his name at a higher octave until you fell into bliss, and were cradled in his arms.

There was no telling what would become of you and him, but for the moment, you would take care of each other.

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 9: Looking Over Fences

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: Things may seem alright on the other side of the fence if you’re not consciously looking at it, but both sides are on the struggle currently

Word count: 2,268

Content/warnings: Mentions/allusions to self harm that are a poor joke, mob themes, mentions of blood, mentions of death, threats, annoyance, pushy behavior and lowkey misogyny, possibly a very bad decision, Peter being a sweet lil brother essentially

Author’s Note: This is lined up so the phone call she makes at the end would occur in Ch. 5 of The Rainmaker

I hope you guys are liking this AU, and I’d love to hear all your thoughts. Comments, reblogs, and asks are greatly appreciated!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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The following week since Bucky had left the farm was…okay. It was fine. And to be honest, you didn’t really care for much that was going on outside your own bubble. You fielded the occasional call or text from Steve or Decks, never from Bucky, trying to make it seem like everything was okay, but that was pretty much it.

Peter was helpful, monitoring shipments that started to come in, but more so, you could feel the way he was monitoring you. Perhaps to make sure you didn’t jump off one of the bridges you’d helped to design in town. But what did that matter? They were like ten feet off the riverbed anyway. And it’s not like you were faring that poorly. You were just a little sad, but not enough for it to affect you, but the people closest to you in your life thought differently than that. And by closest, right now you meant physical proximity: Peter and Curtis.

Everywhere you went, if you turned around and squinted enough, you could still see Peter in a distant corner. He definitely needed to work or his stealth skills, or perhaps he was purposely making sure you could see him, letting you know you didn’t have to be alone. That was too bad, though, because that was all that you wanted. To be left alone and sulk and just do your work like the good farmer you are.

So you did, and tried to ignore your shadow figure following you around in jeans and a shirt you’d made Curtis bring him from the store in town. He was just so tiny that he was swimming in everything else you had for the boys, and you weren’t really sure if he would want your old, nasty clothes. The ones you were hardly wearing anymore after your got back late at night, in favor of the only thing Bucky had left behind: a single Henley.

But really, it was fine. It was okay, and you were going to be fine. If only Curtis would stop asking! You could handle everything on your own, just like you had before. That’s what mattered, right? The only one you could really rely on was yourself, and no one needed to see how much pain you were actually in besides him. The one who got to be so happy with his sweet girl while you were separated, independent, alone. Any time you made a snide comment about it outside the soft likeness you were known for prior to these mood swings, Curtis simply let it roll off his back, giving you a tight hug, and moving on, avoiding the subject once again.

Bucky was miserable. Just like you, he threw himself into work to try and ignore the pain. He needed someone around, though. Struggling alone wasn’t as easy as it used to be, so he searched for help. What the hell was this attempt at a healthy coping mechanism? One that landed him in the apartment of your best friend, no less.

Bucky had tried to find Steve upon his return, the second in command still working double time, plus essentially a new part-time job of flirting. Steve didn’t say it, but Bucky could see it. Plus, he got an earful from Sam about their developing situation in the debrief of preparation for coming back to work. Good for Steve, not relatable. The only chance he could get to find his elusive best friend was to track down his car and jump in. So after Steve had picked up snacks for what appeared to be a movie date, Bucky snuck into the trunk to hide. Any attention, or just human presence, especially that of someone you seemed to enjoy so much would work.

Bucky was exhausted. His nights were sleepless again, but now for different reasons. He couldn’t sleep without you. He didn’t want to sleep without you. But his body didn’t get the message as he was pulled under by the gentle rocking of Steve’s SUV.

He woke up to the familiar, gentle voice in his place amongst the grocery bags. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep in such an uncomfortable suit. It was one of his trash suits: one of the scratchy ones, one of the ones he didn’t care if it got a little bloody. To be honest, he didn’t care right now. Who did he have to impress? This was the first time he’d been out of the house in a week. But this was better than no clothes, and why waste something designer when no one was important around to see it? This mindset was completely different than two months ago.

Bucky groaned and sat up from the trunk, telling Steve his true feelings, something rarely voiced, so who was Steve to turn away from that vulnerability? Bucky really just needed someone, and even though Steve really wanted this private time with Decks, his best friend needed him more. In response to Bucky’s request to joint them, Steve’s lips formed a tight line and his nostrils flared with a frustrated, but sympathetic huff.

“Fine. Come on upstairs.”

The time with Decks and Steve really helped Bucky, even though he could tell he was very evidently interrupting something. Once the movie was over and Decks was asleep, Bucky checked his phone to see a new message: another employee dead.

As the weeks went on, employee deaths had been on the rise with even a few occurring at first when he was at the farm. It initially seemed like weird chance events. A missing employee here and there, unfortunately, was normal when you owned so much of the city. They would usually turn up again, but this time it was different. Employees were dying, both innocent and mob-associated alike. This was targeted, and he knew exactly who was doing it: Lloyd. He was closing in on business, looking to intimidate. This was going to fill Bucky’s time well, combined rage from these slaps in the face, as well as the constant berating you were starting to face from Cole (as Peter had reported), working as fuel to the fire of reclaiming his rule over the city.

Not only did business suck, but if someone asked Steve and Sam, they’d say their boss was a menace to society, and not in the good way. He was running himself, and them by proxy, into the ground. Nothing was ever enough for him, and they were catching the brunt of that. Maybe there was a way to fix it, but what was coming wasn’t quite what they had in mind. With all the shit going on in the city, they hoped things were better for you.

You had no idea what Bucky was going through besides the small things that Peter updated you on, but you hope it wasn’t as bad as having to put on a fake smile for an annoying, fake farmer.

It was as if Cole was consciously waiting for Bucky to leave your farm for him to start coming around again. It was like clockwork, with a gift from him earlier in the week, followed by an in-person sometime visit in the second half. It was like he was hoping to find you to more vulnerable like this. If that was the metric he was going on, though, he was severely underestimating your abilities. Bucky had been gone for three weeks, and Cole seemed unrelenting.

At least your rage at his persistence gave you something to fill your days with. And Peter was a delightful gossip, making impressions of the clumsy and pushy ‘farmer.’

You didn’t really have the desire to keep any of the gifts you were receiving but the cow, though, which was quickly growing, ready soon to move into her shed out back. First, it was the little things, like her, but then things started getting bigger. A Turner’s drink fridge. Where was that supposed to go? Then a hydroponics tower. That…well, actually, that one was kinda nice. Those things were expensive, and you hadn’t gotten the chance to invest in them yet. But what could a singular one possibly do for you? And then a tractor. One not even graded for the type of work you had to do. Each gift was punctuated by him forcing his way into your house right at dinner time, and sitting with you and Peter until you could shove him out, polite as ever.

His last visit, though. That one was a little bit different. You could see the smug look on his face as he ate off your cutlery. It was an insult that the plates and utensils your family, and Bucky, once used were touching his mouth. You’d purposely set those ones aside, reused for only him each time, and marked them mentally to be blown up once this all blew over. You were sure Peter would enjoy that, too. And hopefully it was sooner rather than later, but until then, it was one dinner at a time.

You walked Cole out to the porch, like you did every time, but instead of walking straight out to his truck, this time, he lingered for a second, turning around and looking down at you.

“Listen up, Sweet Peach. Sure, my capacities right now, every time I visit you, are limited, but I’ve got friends in low places. I��m not gonna give up. Either you give me the farm, or my buddy Lloyd starts a war with your boyfriend.”

A threat like that made you lose your usually cool demeanor for a second. “Cole, absolutely not!” This came out of nowhere.

You had to find a way to hit his pride. Maybe that could cause him to back down without retaliation. “What’s the valor in me handing it over, anyway? It would be worth so much more if you earned it. I know you’ve got something to prove, just like in high school.”

You did your best not to cringe at the memory. You obviously didn’t care about back then and it still pained you to think of it. Living in the past wasn’t something you did, but it was very evidently something he was caught up on. “Work to earn my farm, maybe you’ll earn my respect…and possibly a little something else.”

You bit your lip trying to be suggestive. Ugh, this was humiliating, but his entire manner of carrying himself shifted from his poor attempt at intimidation to intrigue. After all these years he still couldn’t help himself trying to win you over, and he was still a doofus.

“Oh yeah? And how do you suppose I do that?”

You tapped your bottom lip with your pointer finger, humming. “Mmm, how about a wager? Winner takes all, or at least just my farm. I win, Lloyd doesn’t wage war, either. Deal?”

“Wait, wait. A wager on what?” He licked his lips, still giving you a look that made you sick to your stomach.

“How about a game of pool? And tell you what, I’ll be extra nice since you’ve never seen me play and I just want to make sure we’re even.” You said it in your sweetest tone, a pout on your lips and your eyes as wide and sparkling as a doe. “You can pick who plays for your side, but here are the ground rules: no professional players. No pre-professional, either. Friends, allies, and acquaintances only. Keep the playing field even. But, the caveat is that I get to do the same. Whichever side wins the game, wins the prize. Do we have a deal?”

Cole stood there for a second, nodding and thinking it over. “So you’re trying to win my compliance? Didn’t think you were the type to treat your livelihood like a game, but lucky for you, I am.”

It’s true, you hate that it had to come to this, but you held out your hand for him to shake, just for him to limply grab it. How he got this far in business, you’ll never know, because that handshake was terrible, yet binding for the young-ish heir. Oh wait, that’s right, he got this far because his parents did it for him. Bucky would never let that handshake fly, but maybe he would understand. This was a threat facing both of you, and according to the breadcrumbs you’d heard from Peter, it could be even worse on Bucky’s end. That, on top of what Cole said about waging war added to your concern.

“Deal.” Cole dropped your hand and you tucked it behind you back, ready to wash it as soon as you could get inside.

“Good. Now get off my property. I’ll meet you at the bar next week. Saturday. 6pm.”

He nodded with a wink and walked down the porch steps to his lifted truck, tripping on the gravel on the way there, not daring to look back to catch your snicker. You could see his huff when he slid into the front seat, after having jumped up into the tall vehicle. The engine roared as he drove away, creating ruts. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms as you walked back inside.

You heart was racing. The stakes were unbelievably high, but you didn’t have much of an option. Either win this bet and end it once and for all, or chance him trying to take things by force. So it wasn’t really much of a choice at all when you laid it out.

You had a few phone calls to make…

Next >

Bonus A/N: The grass is always greener, but it looks like both Bucky and Bee are standing on dead lawns.

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