#I’m a lot less fussed than I used to be

[roanofarcc]

WORTH YOUR WHILE

pairing. Tyler Owens x fem!reader

summary. as the local weather woman, you shared an interesting rivalry with your hometown storm-chaser. while you always reported on the dangerous weather from a safe distance, tyler barreled into it head-first. but things change the night of the county fair when you find yourself in the middle of a storm rather than in the safely of a newsroom. 

warnings. dramatic fluff, hurt/comfort, description of tornados, a curse word or two, description of injury, slightly inaccurate meteorological info.

word count. 2.9k || masterlist

a/n. hopping on the glen powell bandwagon bc he and daisy absolutely killed it in twisters!! feel free to send me requests for tyler, kate, and javi!

“If you keep looking at him like that your face will get stuck in a scowl, which is really bad for television,” your friend said, leaning into your side. With a roll of your eyes, you managed to pull your attention away from the self-titled ‘tornado wrangler’ who had stirred up a fuss in the line for funnel cakes. People buzzed all around him as he signed shirts and took photos, never dropping his smile that you often dreamed about smacking right off of his face. 

You had grown up alongside Tyler Owens, never as friends but as friends of friends. After you both split off for school to study meteorology, you returned to your hometown for very different reasons. Tyler started in the business of storm chasing, live streaming his adventures to people all across the internet who sensationalized the dangerous weather, and you scored a job as your hometown’s Weather Woman. Your job was to warn people about the threat of tornados while his was to drive head-on into them. 

That was where you two drew your lines in the sand when it came to each other. He thought you were scared of taking risks while you thought his thrill-seeking was stupid and would eventually get him or one of his team members hurt. Those opinions on each other's job led to you two butting heads every time you encountered one another. His mere presence was enough to annoy you, especially at your favorite event of the summer, the fair. 

“Look who it is,” Tyler’s voice sounded near you and your friend nudged your arm in the direction of it. You looked away from her just as he approached you, tipping his hat and flashing his teeth in a smile. “Didn’t know they still let you out of the newsroom these days.” 

You crossed your arms over your chest, as the air of arrogance surrounding him nearly choked you out. “Don’t you have a tornado to chase?” you asked, wanting to end the conversation before it fully started. Unfortunately, he never seemed put off by your jabs, but he was assumed by them. 

“I took the night off,” he replied. “I wanted to see if there was anything worth my while here tonight.” 

You raised your brows. “Oh really?” He nodded, smiling brightly at you. “Find anything yet?” 

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “It’d be easier if she answered my phone calls.” 

Tyler disliked you a whole lot less than you disliked him. After you graduated and he started storm chasing, he tried at every given opportunity to get you to join his team. Even years later he still tried to, no matter how many times you told him the risk he was putting himself and his team in every time they barreled into a storm cell. He was relentless but you were happy where you were at. You wanted to help people when it came to severe weather, not make the storm look enticing for internet audiences. 

“I already told you, I’m not interested.” Storm chasing was a dangerous game that you had no intention of playing. Being from the Midwest, you had lived through your share of tornados. Chasing them was not in apart of your career path.

His smile faded slightly before he seemed to snap back to himself. “All I’m saying is, we could use a mind like yours out in the field.” The compliment was nice, you could admit that to yourself, but it wouldn’t win you over. He knew that too. “But suit yourself.” And with that he walked off, meeting up with the rest of his team that joined him at the fair that night. 

Your friend whistled lowly. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said. 

“Do what?” 

“Say no to a man like that.” You rolled your eyes once more as the line you were in moved. As she stepped forward to order, you threw a quick glance over your shoulder in the direction Tyler had walked off in. You saw him happily chatting with his team before glancing back at you for just a moment before you returned your gaze forward.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of colorful lights, sticky heat, and enough fried food to make your stomach ache in the best possible way. Your friend left after a couple hours of roaming the prize barns and laughing at the kids screaming their heads off on the carnival rides, but you stuck around for a little longer, relishing in the sweet nostalgia the fair brought you. 

Before you had taken a couple of well-deserved days of work, you and your team had predicted a storm front moving. Later that night was supposed to bring rainfall and a thunderstorm or two popping up around the county and neighboring areas. You thought you’d have plenty of time to roam the fair for a little longer until it hit, but you noticed the shift in the weather almost immediately. The sudden uptick in wind pricked the back of your neck as the distant rumble of thunder echoed above the fair chaos. 

It was difficult to predict everything, that you had learned early on in your career. It also was hard to predict how quickly weather could change from bad to deadly. One moment you’re gazing up through the lights into the night sky, trying to gauge the incoming storm, and the next, the sirens are blaring across the fairgrounds. 

The crowd of people running in every direction made the walkways hazardous. You were knocked into and jostled around as you tried to run toward the restrooms that doubled as storm shelters. They were clear at the opposite end of the walkway, but they were your closest option. You dodged and weaved through the swarms of people, trying to stay on your feet. 

You only made it halfway to the shelter when you were stopped by the awful cries of a little girl who sat under the counter of one of the carnival games. She hugged her knees to her chest and called out for her mom, but no one who rushed by stopped. You didn’t think twice before you sidestepped the fleeing crowd and crouched down in front of the little girl. The wind picked up significantly, blowing the cheap prizes right out of the booths and sending everything flying around and knocking into people. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” you raised your voice above the howl of wind and frantic people. 

“My mom!” she cried harder. “I lost her. I don’t know where she is!” 

You glanced back up at the sky. The lightning strikes illuminated the massive, dark mass moving in quickly. “Come with me, and I’ll help you find her, okay?” 

The noise all around grew louder, frightening the little girl, along with yourself, but as you outstretched your hand, she took it, and you quickly pulled her to her feet before you both took off running. The speakers urged everyone to seek shelter immediately, but you watched as people raced in the opposite direction of the shelters, probably bee-lining to cars in an awful call. They’d never out race it. 

“Charlotte!” Someone screamed and the little girl whipped her head around before she tugged hard on your hand. From behind you, the little girl’s mother appeared, immediately scooping up her daughter in her arms. “Oh my, God. Thank you!” she said, looking at you with teary eyes. 

“We have to take cover,” you told her, gently pushing her forward. “The shelter’s just up that way.” She thanked you again before she took off with her daughter in her arms. You wanted to follow, it was stupid not to when the wind gusts became more powerful, rattling everything dangerously and making it hard to think. But there were more people unsure of where to go and what to do. Groups of kids who had been dropped off for the evening stumbling frantically out of the rides and still dizzy. You stepped from the path and tried to direct people as best you could, shouting in tune with the speaker and the sirens for them to hurry into the shelter. 

It wasn’t until larger objects were plucked from the ground and tossed into the air like paper did you abandoned your aiding. The tornado screeched to life, ripping apart pieces of the show barns and rides with ease. You tried to close the distance between yourself and the shelter once more, but it wasn’t people in need that stopped you, it was a sheet of metal pried from the side of one of the food trucks. You tried to dodge the hurling objects, but the sheet came at you hard and fast. 

It sliced your shin, sending a wave of pain up through the rest of your leg. You stumbled, determined to stay upright, but the wind was too strong for your limping figure, and you toppled against the concrete, slamming your knees against the ground before you rolled over into the lousy shelter of a game’s tent somehow still standing. 

Panic started to set in as the storm raged around you, loud and monstrous. You covered your wound with your hands, unsure of where the blaring of the tornado ended and the fast-paced beat of your heart started, drumming in your ears and beating against your skull. You knew you couldn’t stay there, but leaving was just as dangerous as every attraction of the fair swirled around in the air. The cut from your leg painted your hands red and throbbed; it would only slow you down if you tried to run, creating even more of a risk. 

You didn’t know what to do. All of your life, the storms you had faced you’d always been lucky enough to find shelter in plenty of time, from the cellar in your backyard to your high school’s basement created just for such an occasion. 

Through the freight train sounding winds and your thundering heart, you heard a couple of voices that had to be close. Tearing your eyes away from the cut on your leg, you watched as another group of people sprinted down the walkway as someone yelled behind them to run. 

In all of your life, you’d never been so relieved to see Tyler Owens’s face standing just a few feet away; he hadn’t spotted you, and for a terrifying moment you thought he’d be unable to hear you yell out above the screaming storm. But somehow, he did. His head snapped in your direction, rain-coated and windblown, looking both out of sorts and in his element. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled as he ran over to you, dodging flying debris that grew larger by the minute. The second he crouched down in front of you, his eyes flickered onto your legs, and the blood seeping out between your fingers as you tried to keep pressure on the wound. 

“I thought I’d just hang out here,” you said, your sarcasm watered down by the fear clear in your teary eyes.

His brows furrowed, deep in thought for a moment as he looked between you and the distance there was still to cross to the only close shelter. Without saying a word, he peeled off his wet flannel, leaving himself in a shirt that was already nearly soaked through as the sideways rain beat down against the both of you. “I’m gonna tie this around your leg and then we’re gonna run, okay?” 

You shook your head frantically. The ache in your legs was intense and you had already lost a good amount of blood, not enough to make you woozy but you were well on your way. It felt like your heart had crawled up your throat, making it hard to breathe as panic soaked you to the bone along with the rain. Everything around you seemed to be ripped from the ground, even the anchored tent you were under was seconds away from being picked up. 

“Hey,” he said, grabbing a hold of your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “It’ll be alright. You gotta trust me, though.” The sincerity shined in his eyes, bright as the rest of the power around you flickered wickedly. With a nod of your head, you dropped your hands from your leg and let him tie the flannel around your cut. As he pulled it tight, you cried out in pain. “I’m sorry,” he kept repeating until it was knotted. Quickly, he jumped to his feet and helped you up, looping an arm around your waist as you slung an arm around his shoulders. 

“Ready?” You didn’t get a chance to respond as the tent you were under was plucked from the ground, anchors and all, and flung backward into the tornado as it tore through the front entrance of the fairgrounds. Tyler took off, giving you no choice but to follow. 

You two stayed low, trying desperately to avoid the flying objects. With each step your leg burned, but Tyler’s hold on you was strong, not giving any room for you to lag behind or slip away. It felt like hours of running, but it was no more than a minute or two before you reached the shelter. The only major injury between the two of you was your leg, otherwise, you both collected a series of little cuts and bruises from your journey. 

Stumbling into the restroom, you were met with a hoard of scared fairgoers. You two managed to find a spot to slot yourself in with everyone else. He helped you lower yourself to the floor back in the corner just as the tornado was fully on top of you. You brought your knees up to your chest and covered your head. Tyler sat flushed against your side; you felt his hands rest over the top of yours as the building rattled violently. Squeezing your eyes shut, you refused to see the damage until the howl of wind subsided and people started to stir. 

Once it was over, everyone stumbled out of the shelter, getting jumbled together as police and ambulances rushed to the scene. Amongst people pushing and shoving to find their loved ones and get the hell home, you and Tyler were separated and before you could look for him, an EMT caught sight of your bloodied leg and ushered you to one of the ambulances. 

You sat on the back after the EMT stitched up your leg, looking over the torn-apart fairgrounds. Debris was littered everywhere, food trucks and carts overturned and some demolished, and rides were dislocated and strewn about in pieces. 

You clutched the bloodied flannel to your chest, shivering in the loss of adrenaline and temperature drop, and watched the sea of people until a familiar face popped into view, looking a little frantic as he stumbled through the crowd looking like he was in search of something. His eyes finally settled on you before he quickly pushed his way through the crowd until he reached you. 

“Hi,” you greeted, smiling tiredly. 

“I was looking for you everywhere,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath. “I looked away for a second and you were gone and-” You continued to smile, and he stopped himself. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Nothing,” you replied quietly before clearing your throat. “I, um, I just wanted to thank you. And I’m sorry for ruining your flannel.” You gestured to the ruined piece of clothing resting in your lap. 

Tyler was quiet for a moment, looking at the large bandage around your shin. “Don’t mention it,” he said, brushing off your thanks like he hadn’t just pretty much saved your life. “What were you doing out there anyway?” 

You sighed, feeling a creep of embarrassment up your spine. You should’ve known better but at the moment you just wanted to help people and had little regard for your own safety, until your leg was sliced open, that was. “There were people still out there, trying to figure out where to go. I was trying to help.” 

“That was stupid,” he said. “But brave. Stupidly brave, maybe.” 

“Funny. I think I’ve said the same thing about you a time for two.” 

His signature smirk slowly fell onto his lips. “Not to my face.”

“Oh, no. Never.” 

Tyler laughed, gently patting your knee, lingering for a moment before he dropped his hand back at his side. Someone called out your name, and you spotted your friend running back through the crowd. She had called you as soon as you had made it to the ambulance and told you she’d come back to take you home. 

“You should get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you around.” As he turned around to walk away, you called out to him. 

“Tyler, wait.” He paused. “You should try calling me again. Maybe I’ll answer this time.” Breaking out in a grin, he tipped his hat in another goodbye, leaving you with a new feeling stirring inside your chest. 

Bonus! 

Hours later, after you had cleaned yourself up, you were tucked into bed, reading by the lamp light knowing sleep was probably far off after the events of the night. You didn’t expect your phone to ring that late into the night, and when you glanced at it, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the caller ID, but that time it was something besides annoyance that you felt. 

You answered, discarding your book on your nightstand. “You don’t waste any time do you,” you teased. 

“What I can say,” Tyler said on the other line. “I know when I find something worth my while.” 

[wandaslittlebird]

Gentle With Mama

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader

After waking up next to Wanda for the first time in years, you find yourself rediscovering who taught you to be gentle.

CW: Stepmother/Stepdaughter, wet dreams, MOMMY ISSUES, breastfeeding, size kink, strap ons, first time? (kinda?), flashbacks, dacryphilia, R is a terrible fuck.

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: This one is straight up Freudian filth, but I'm unironically proud of it so be nice to me.

A/N: There will be a third part to this eventually, but don’t hold your breath I’ve got a lot of other WIPs I’m going to try to finish first.

Part 2 of Her Special Girl

Wanda was almost embarrassed of the way her heart sang when she woke up with you in her arms the next morning. You were home! Her baby is finally home! 

She hadn’t really even realized how much she’d missed until you’d come back. Sure she thought about you everyday, wondered how you were doing, slept in your bed when she found herself unable to sleep, wore your hoodies around the house, fantasized about you while she…okay so maybe she had missed you more than she cared to admit. 

She giggled when she peeled the covers up to find both your thighs and hers covered in cum, as well as the sheets and the blankets. “Aww my sweet girl,” she cooed, pulling your head up under her chin. She kissed the top of your head stroking it gently with her thumb. “Did you have a good dream?” Even in your sleep, she could’ve sworn she felt you nod. 

It was tempting to shake you awake now. Maybe she’d even make a little fuss about the mess you’d made, watch your face get all red with embarrassment while you tried to hide under the blankets, covered in your own slick. God you’d be so cute. And she was willing to bet you’d do anything to make it up to her, little doe eyes pleading for forgiveness over something Wanda was not even upset about in the first place. She could have you as putty in her hands all morning. 

She shook the thought from her head. As tempting as it was, you’d had a rough week already. She opted instead to grab the discarded towel from last night and use it to clean herself up. Then she pulled back the blankets, smiling when you whined and grabbed around for them in your sleep. “Shh, detka. Keep sleeping. Mama’s gonna get you all cleaned up.” 

She gently wiped you down with the towel, shushing your whines as the cool fabric hit the warm skin of your thighs. You moaned when the fabric hit your core, stuttering your little hips against the fluffy towel. Wanda chuckled. “Settle down, honey. You're gonna get yourself all worked up again.”

When she finished with the towel, she pulled a sheet from the closet. She climbed onto the bed between your legs, lifting you off the bed while she scooted the clean sheet underneath you. She heard a sleepy little whimper in her ear as she lifted you up against her chest. “Mama?” 

She laid you back down against the clean sheet, pulling up the duvet to tuck you back in. “Shh, it’s okay little love. Go back to sleep.” She wiped the hair off of your sleepy face, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

She wadded up the wet blanket, throwing it into a pile with the towel. You groaned. The extra blanket was definitely missed without any clothes on in the middle of winter. Your face reddened as you started to realize she was cleaning up a mess. Probably your mess. 

“Did I wet myself last night?” You asked, sitting up in bed as panic started to build in your chest. Did you seriously just wet the bed at 22 years old? Did you seriously just wet your parents bed at 22 years old?

She sat down next to you pulling you in to kiss your head. So much for not embarrassing you. “You made a little bit of a mess, but it’s okay. Mama took care of it. It wasn’t a potty mess, if that’s what you're worried about. My sweet girl just had a really good dream is all. You don’t need to be embarrassed, honey.”

“O-okay,” you nodded, still blushing fiercely as you curl into her. You were unsure if it was more or less embarrassing that you’d cum in sleep rather than having pissed the bed. Still, you were able to relax into her, recalling bits of the dream that had caused the mess in the first place. “Mama?”

“Yes, little love?”

“It’s not a bad thing to have naughty dreams, is it? Cause, like, you’re asleep and you can’t control it.” You couldn’t look her in the eyes as you spoke. 

Wanda chuckled and kissed the top of your head. She knew your shame well and never wished to perpetuate it anyway. “No sweetheart. It’s not a bad thing.”

You nodded shyly. “Not even if they’re about mama?”

Wanda smiled, pleasantly surprised by your admission. “Especially not if they’re about mama, honey.” She squeezed you tight, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. She bent and whispered in your ear. “Sometimes mama has naughty dreams about you too.”

You smiled up at her, kissing her jaw before kissing your way further down her body. You rubbed your hands over the soft expanse of her stomach, admiring each curve and dip with endless wonder, caressing her with gentle hands. You traced the stretch marks that littered her side, curving upwards from her underbelly and her hips. 

She’d always loathed this part of herself. She never, for a second, regretted her boys, but she could not deny the havoc having twins wrecked on her body. Two babies meant she grew bigger all at once, leaving her skin stretched grotesquely. She hated when people brought any attention to at all. 

Yet, when she looked down at your face, she could not bring herself to ask you to stop. You look at her with a wonder she’d never experienced before. The innocent look in your eyes was not one of someone trying to console her about her broken body, but one of pure worship. It had never even crossed your mind that such attributes could be considered ugly. To you, she was nothing short of pure perfection. 

You kissed her just below her navel, nuzzling your nose in the space above it. You hummed contentedly, resting your head on her stomach, rubbing small circles on her lower abdomen.

But after a while, your face fell from one of contentment and joy, to one of an almost sad longing. 

Wanda noticed the shift immediately. “Is everything alright, love?”

You paused, unsure of what to say without making it weird. You could barely speak above a whisper. “It’s not fair.”

Wanda tried to pull you up her body so she could hear you better and give you comforting kisses, but you were cemented in place. “What’s not fair, detka?”

“I didn’t get to grow inside of you. I had to grow inside of some rotten woman who doesn’t even love me anyway!” Frustrated tears pricked your eyes. Nothing was fair. Your hands continued to gently caress the womb you envied. “I hate her! She was never my mama!”

Wanda sighed, playing with your hair. She held an equal amount of hatred for your mother, if not more. Her lack of dedication and responsibility towards you had always been equal parts confusing and infuriating. “I’m sorry, detka. I’m sorry she doesn’t treat you like the special, important little girl you are. You deserve so much better than her. She doesn’t deserve to call herself your mother.” Wanda pulled you up her body again, this time dragging you up by force. She needed you closer. 

You conceded allowing her to slide you up the bed and tuck your head under her chin. She gently petted your hair and rocked you against her, shushing your cries and wiping away your tears. “Why doesn’t she love me?”

Wanda felt her heart shatter into a million pieces. She wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t understand how any mother could treat their child so carelessly, least of all when that child was as brilliant and wonderful as you were. “Because she’s only ever looking out for herself. Because she’s so blinded by her own misery to see what a beautiful thing she has created.”

Your hand gently caressed her chest, feeling her nipples harden under your fingertips. She shivered under your touch, watching you as you looked longingly at her chest. 

She recalled a random conversation she’d once had with your mother in which she had said she didn’t breastfeed any of her children because it was quote “not her responsibility to get up in the middle of night when the baby got hungry.” 

God I would’ve been so much better at being your mother. I would’ve stayed up all night just to watch your sweet little face as you nursed. 

She smiled sadly. She couldn’t turn back the clock, but she had you here with her now. She couldn’t change what you did and didn’t have then, but she could give it to you now. 

“Come here, sweet girl. You can suck on mama. It’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed.” She manually parted your hesitant lips with her thumb, allowing you to take her into your mouth. “That’s it sweet girl,” she cooed, stroking her hands through your hair. She ran her knuckle over your soft cheek, still covered in fine baby fuzz. Your lips were soft and warm around her. She thought she’d never get tired of the sight or the sensation. 

For a moment, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. Despite never actually having been breastfed, your body knew instinctively what to do. It’s like it had been waiting all along, for Wanda to come around. You sucked at her with effortless rhythm, perfectly massing her nipple with your tongue. But then, a new sadness and longing creeped into your mind. There was no milk here. There was no milk here for you, and there never was because she was never truly yours. 

You pulled away, shrinking back down her body. You clutched at her waist, nuzzling into her so hard it was like you were trying to crawl under her skin. You wanted to be inside of her where you'd be safe and warm and comfortable. You needed to be inside of her. It felt like the only thing that could quell the aching in your heart.

“Mama?”

“Yes, little love?”

“Can I…?” You pressed on her lower abdomen in indication. “Please?”

She looked down at you, your big soft eyes pleading with her. How could she ever deny you anything? “Aww sweetheart, do you wanna be inside mama?”

You nodded eagerly, still clinging to her lower half. 

She stroked your temple with her knuckle. “Alright, honey. You can be inside mama. You just have to be gentle. Can you do that? Do you remember how mama taught you to be gentle?”

You laid with your head pressed to her stomach, recalling what it meant to be gentle. 

—————

“I’m scared, mama,” you said, voice shaking slightly. You were 18 again, a newly deflowered girl who was yet to explore anything beyond a few fingers. The two of you’d been talking about this for a couple weeks now, and you were sure you wanted to try it, but you were still so nervous. “Is it gonna hurt?”

Wanda gently slid a soft towel under your butt. She warned you that you might bleed a little tiny bit, since it was your first time. “It might. But it will only hurt for a little bit, I promise. And then you’re going to feel so so good, baby. I just know you’re gonna love it.”

Wanda knew what she was getting herself into here. She knew the moment she was inside of you, you were going to be hooked on the feeling. She had no doubt you’d be begging for her strap every single time you were alone together. 

And god she could nearly cum from the thought alone. 

You, sitting at her feet while she worked, begging to be fucked just one more time. You, falling apart as she buried herself inside of you. You, incoherently mumbling her name while you cried on her big toy. 

Deep breaths. She had to pace herself. This was only your first time after all.

“Mama’s gonna be so gentle, okay? And if you don’t like it, we can stop and you don’t have to try it again,” she cooed. 

You nodded. Poor thing, you looked like you were already about to cry and she hadn’t even touched you yet. 

“It’s okay to cry, sweetheart,” she insisted, more for her own purposes than for your comfort. She stroked your cheek gently, watching the first of many tears roll down. “It’s okay. Mama’s got you. Take a deep breath for me honey.”

You nodded again, closing your eyes to take a deep breath. “I trust you, mama.” 

“I know, love. Mama’s gonna take good care of you.” She opened a little bottle on the side table. “Now this is gonna be a little cold, okay?” She said before pouring a little bit of lube down your folds. She slowly massaged it inside of you with her fingers, shushing your little squeaks of discomfort as the cool liquid hit your most sensitive parts. Then she massaged a generous amount onto the shaft of her toy. 

She could have, admittedly, gone a bit smaller for your first time. But, as much as she didn’t want to hurt you, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch you squirm on a bigger toy. It wasn’t anything outrageous, of course, but it was still a generous 8 inches and probably twice as thick as the three fingers you’d had inside of you before. 

She slid the tip of the toy through your center, wiggling it against your clit. You shivered at the new sensation, your nerves still growing inside of you. She lined the toy up with your entrance. “Okay, baby. Take a big deep breath for me.”

You did as instructed, taking in a long shaky inhale, and exhaling. On the exhale though, she pushed the first inches of the toy inside of you. You cried out, flailing around underneath her as she pushed into slowly. Your hands shot down between your legs, pushing against her lower abdomen to keep her from pushing in any further. “Mama please, please mama it hurts.”

She took your hand from her stomach, gently placing it over your head. She intertwined her fingers with yours, allowing you to squeeze her hand as much as you needed. “Shh baby, it’ll only hurt for a second. I promise it’ll feel good in a minute. Just trust me love.”

You bit your lip hard, but nodded your head, allowing her to keep going. You whimpered and cried with each cruel inch that made its way into you, but eventually she stopped. 

“That’s it baby. It’s all the way in. Aww, sweet girl mama’s so so proud of you. I know it hurts baby but you’re doing so good,” she praised, kissing away your tears and softly caressing your face. Her body was flushed with yours. You squeezed her hand, trying to relieve some of the pain. 

She whispered soft words of comfort and soothed you while your face slowly shifted from contorted in pain, to mindless with pleasure. She used her free hand to wipe your hair from your forehead. “There you go sweet girl. Does it still hurt?”

You shook your head. “N-no. I just feel… you.”

She kissed your forehead gently. “I’m going to start moving now, okay? Just tell me if it hurts again and I’ll stop.”

You nodded, wrapping your free arm around her back, clinging to her. Your other hand still squeezed hers. 

She started slow, just as she promised she would. It stung, a little, but more than anything, you just felt full of her. It felt heavenly. You weren’t sure how you’d live your entire life without it. You wanted her buried inside you forever. Anything less, you thought, would be unsatisfactory. You’d felt heaven, and now you’d never be satisfied on Earth. 

Almost unintentionally, you scratched her back, leaving red tracks down her spine. She gasped and thrust into you. You cried out, freeing your other hand from her grip and wrapping it around her back, now clinging to her with both arms. 

“I’m sorry baby,” she whispered, kissing your temple in apology.

“It’s okay, mama,” you mumbled, face buried in her shoulder. “Please don’t stop. Please don’t leave me.” You wrapped your legs around her waist, holding her inside of you. 

Wanda knew in that moment, she had you hooked. She rocked into you faster, your old bed creaking with her movements. You whined and whimpered with each thrust, but matched her hips with your own. You were so desperate for her, so desperate for her to make you hers. 

“I-I love you. Mama I love you. Please don’t stop. Please mama never… I want you inside of me forever. Please, you feel so good,” you rambled breathlessly, clawing into her back. You hadn’t stopped crying through the whole ordeal. You were unsure when the crying had turned from pain to pleasure. 

She breathed heavily in your ear, your desperate clinging forcing her to double her efforts. She was only spurred on by your scratching. Each jolt of pain sent her hammering into you harder than before. “You’re doing so good, baby. Mama’s close, honey. Oh love, just like that. You’re gonna make mama cum.”

You felt her hips stutter as she came, finally collapsing breathlessly on top of you. She laid there for a few moments before reaching down between your legs to pull the toy out. 

“No! Mama please don’t take it out yet. Please just a little longer. Just for a little bit while we cuddle,” you pleaded. 

Wanda laughed breathlessly. “Okay, sweet girl. We can leave it there for another minute longer. But then you have to sit up and drink some water.”

She laid on your chest, letting you play with her hair. You ran a gentle hand over the long red lines that covered her back, occasionally hitting a spot that would make her wince. 

“Oh! Careful detka. You gotta be gentle with mama,” she said. 

You bent down and kissed her back, brushing your hands over the scratches more lightly this time. “Gentle with mama,” you repeated, coddling her body until she fell asleep inside of you.

—————

You nodded. Gentle. You remembered gentle. 

“Okay, detka,” she chuckled. “I’ll go get it.”

She hopped up off the bed, heading into your bedroom. She kept the secret toys in the top of your old closet with the remainder of your clothes, a place she knew your father would never look. She pulled down an old duffle bag that had remained almost entirely untouched since you left. 

She returned with a large scarlet strap, your favorite, already secured to a harness. You excitedly clambered off the bed, allowing her to help you buckle it around your waist. 

You were tempted to pull her into a bruising kiss right there, back her up until her knees hit the bed, and push yourself inside of her until you both forgot where you ended and she began.

But you promised to be gentle. So you would be gentle. 

You waited for her to crawl up on the bed before crawling up behind her and kneeling between her legs. She reached back to grab a bottle of lube from the drawer at the side table, reaching down to rub a generous amount onto the strap. 

She smirked when you whined, bucking and twitching against her hand like you could actually feel her movements. With how reactive you were, she was sometimes genuinely convinced you could. 

“Already, honey. Nice and slow for mama,” she instructed, allowing you to start slowly pressing yourself into her. 

You did as instructed, lining yourself with her entrance and watching in fascination as her body took more and more of you inside of it. Your eyes went wide and you watched a small bulge form at the base of her abdomen. In a moment of excitement, you pushed yourself all the way inside of her, bottoming out unexpectedly.

“Fuck!” She shouted, hands immediately pushing your hips back. 

“Sorry sorry sorry!” You apologized frantically. You hadn’t meant to hurt her, you’d just gotten excited. Your hand ran gently over her abdomen, instinctively trying to soothe the pain you’d caused. 

“It’s okay baby. Just nice and gentle for mama. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded eagerly. Slow and gentle. You could be slow and gentle. Just like she taught you. 

You tried again, this time succeeding at a slower pace. You reached down to touch the bulge in her stomach. Your heart raced with excitement. That’s me! That’s me inside of mama! 

You started to slowly rock your hips back and forth, whimpering as you watched the bump in her stomach slowly move. “Mama…”

Wanda had her head tossed back over the pillows, head spinning with the sensation of being so incredibly full. “That’s it, baby. That’s my sweet girl, being all nice and gentle for mama,” she moaned. “You can start moving, sweetheart.”

You moved slowly at first, clearly very nervous to accidentally hurt her again. But after watching the rhythmic movement of the bulge in her stomach for a few minutes, your thrust became more erratic. You rutted into her with absolutely no rhythm, your own head spinning with too much excitement to care.

Words like “slow” and “gentle” were forgotten to the wet sound of her cunt swallowing you. You panted pathetically, whimpering as thoughtlessly chased your own pleasure. 

Two hands fell on your hips, stilling them and forcing you out of her. “Okay, honey,” she chuckled, amused by your lust blown eyes pleading with her to let you keep going. “It’s okay baby, you’re okay.”

She grabbed you and flipped you over, pinning you underneath her. She straddled your waist. “Now just be a good girl and lay down for me just like that. Mama’s gonna have her turn now okay?”

You nodded eagerly, propping your head up with pillows so you could look at her. 

She lined the toy back up with her own entrance, slowly lowering herself down onto it. Your eyes went wide at the sight of the beautiful woman, in complete ecstasy as she took your toy down to the last inch. She threw her head back, moaning with unrestrained pleasure. 

Your hands clambered up her body, desperate to grab a hold of anything at all. She took one of your hands in hers, flattening it out and placing it against her lower abdomen as she rode you. “You feel that baby? That’s you, honey!”

You nodded dumbly. “Inside mama.”

“That’s right, detka. You’re inside your mama,” she cooed. “Oh fuck, you feel so good baby. Do you like being inside mama, sweet girl. Do you like feeling your big toy moving inside of her?”

“Mhm,” you groaned, biting your lip. “You feel so good. It’s so tight and warm. You’re so beautiful mama. So so beautiful.”

She smiled. “Thank you, baby,” she said, squeezing your hand. “Fuck your making your mama feel so good.” Her voice cracked and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. 

You sniffled, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. You could hardly take it, watching her face contorted in pleasure while you felt yourself moving inside of her. It was all too much. 

“Aww, sweet girl,” she cooed. “Come here, honey.” She pulled you up by the arm so you were sitting up, flush against her. She ran her fingers through your hair. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. You feel so good buried inside of mama, right where you’re supposed to be, huh?”

You nodded against her chest, arms wrapping tight around her waist. “Uh huh.” Your nails clawed at her back in a desperate attempt to pull her closer. 

She groaned at the feeling of you, slicing at her skin. “That’s it, detka. Hold onto mama, baby. I’ve got you. No need to scratch, honey. I’m not going anywhere.”

She continued to ride you while you cried into her chest. “Mama… I love you! I love you, mama! Please mama! I love you so much.”

“I love you too, darling,” she moaned. “Do you wanna make mama cum, sweet girl? Do you wanna feel mama cum around you?” She lead your hand between her legs, guiding you to play with her clit. 

You nodded frantically into her chest, circling your fingers around her swollen bud. “I wanna make you cum. Please. Please cum for me, mama.”

Before you could even finish your sentence, she was crying out, pulsing around the toy. She quickly swatted your hand away, instantly overstimulated by the intensity of her orgasm. 

You caught her as she nearly fell backwards. The toy popped out of her and bounced against her stomach. You eased her down against the bed, stuffing a pillow up under her head. You wrapped your arms around her torso, cradling her head in one hand. You pressed a long kiss to her forehead. “I got you, mama.”

You got up, making quick work of removing the harness before crawling back into bed with Wanda, who lay completely breathless. You managed to turn her around, laying her gently against the headboard so you could press a cold glass of water to her lips. 

She smiled, taking the water from you and happily gulping it down. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

You smiled back at her and kissed her temple, grabbing your pajama shirt and using it to very gently clean her up. She winced when you touched between her legs, still terribly sensitive from her orgasm. 

You grabbed her hand, intertwining her fingers with your own. “It’s okay, mama. I’ll be gentle.”

She smiled down at you, beaming with pride. “You really do remember how to be gentle with mama.”

You grinned. “I learned from the best.”

You tossed the dirty shirt towards the hamper, just barely missing and landing on the towel and blanket from earlier. Wanda chuckled, pulling your body against her own. She guided your head down to her chest, encouraging you to take her nipple into your mouth. “Do you wanna try again, little love?”

You nodded, wrapping your lips around her, suckling peacefully. This time, it didn’t matter that there was no milk there for you. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t grown inside of her, or that she wasn’t the first person to ever hold you. She was holding you now.

She was still your mama, and you were still her baby. Everything else was white noise.

Taglist: @wandasdove @themilfsland @moonxytcn @jordy-12 @the-lakes89 @boredandneedfanfics @bwe-esfr @wandasslut3000 @kaymariesworld @wandasfreak @lesbiansweet

[thehmn]

A lot of Danes I’ve talked to express guilt at “taking advantage” of our universal healthcare and I sometimes wonder if it’s based on the knowledge that it’s not a universal right everywhere? Because these people are never “taking advantage” of it. They feel sick so they go see a doctor who then tell them there’s nothing wrong and they can relax. Stress less.

I have to see the doctor every month due to other illness which I don’t feel the least bit bad about but I fell victim to this feeling too once. At one point I started feeling pain in my chest, arm and neck and got really worried I was experiencing a hart attack or blood clot. At the same time I worried I was overreacting but my housemate convinced me to call Lægevagten, which isn’t the alarm center but more like a group of on-call doctors you can call if you have questions or worries. I told her about my symptoms and suddenly she said “Are you calling from this address?” having clearly looked it up on some sort of location gps system from my phone. I confirmed and she just said “Okay, I’m sending an ambulance” and within minutes two paramedics were at my door. They decided to take me to the nearest hospital where I spent the night going through all sorts of tests, from blood work, having radiation pumped into my lungs for a CT scan and several other X-ray images.

Nothing. They found nothing.

I felt so SO bad but before I even said anything they assured me “This is good. We’d rather people come here and nothing is wrong than people not come here when something is wrong and they end up dying. Now you don’t have to stress about this”

A few days later I realized the pain came from a sliiightly dislocated rib that randomly popped back into place while I was riding my bike.

I felt so silly but my friends reminded me that I didn’t make a huge fuss about it at the time. I just told the doctor my symptoms and she set the whole thing in motion. Like the doctors said, this is what universal healthcare is for. People need to feel like they can call for help even at the slightest sign of illness so it can be caught early. This is how you keep a population healthy.

But yeah, it’s such a silly feeling. We pay taxes to have universal healthcare so there’s no reason to feel guilty about using it. We just can’t help ourselves I suppose. (Let’s not even get into the fact my doctor diagnosed me with early diabetes “just to be on the safe side” that seemed to vanish almost immediately but it still means I get free yearly vaccinations and I have very mixed feelings about it)

[quarterlifekitty]

How did ghosts relationship with selectively mute reader come about?? I feel like the fact they’re both neurodivergent is one of the reasons why ghosts so into her but how did they overcome her selective muteness towards him?

I think Ghost met her initially when she was out with a friend at a pub. Initially the friend was the conduit when he approached her— came with the explanation that “She’s mute. Well, sometimes. But she thinks you’re hot too.” Cue the friend being lightly slapped on the arm.

For her, guys usually gently pulled away once they found out she wasn’t going to say anything. Ghost didn’t, because she didn’t seem to want him to. He’s perfectly fine with enjoying silence, and he can learn to ask yes or no questions. And because he doesn’t create any pressure for a response, it was easier and faster than usual for her to add him to her list of comfortable people.

He’s also completely fine with taking the interaction helm when they’re out together— on their first real date, he ordered the things she wanted for her (she just pointed to things on a menu) like it was an instinct. No fuss, no teasing, it was like he’d always been doing it. He’s very adaptable that way. And observant to a fault— he can’t help being constantly aware. So over time he learned what kind of settings made her less anxious, the kinds of food she was comfortable with, and tailored their time together around that. Once again, no fuss. He just wants to spend time with her, and he sees no reason that he shouldn’t make it as stress-free as possible for her.

And for those of you who may not know. That’s exactly how you get anxious bitches to fall in love with you (I’m bitches).

And when she does start speaking around him, he matches her pace perfectly. Still keeps his questions and prompts very simple, doesn’t get frustrated if she goes back to being quiet around him for a little while. He’s dealt with a lot of people with varying degrees of anxiety, it comes with his job, and he’s very good at not taking any of it personally. He knows she likes him, because she tells him when she can, and shows him when she can’t tell him.

And that whole thing about pressure to speak goes both ways. He’s used to one-on-one time feeling like he’s under a microscope, and it can make him anxious. But she makes him feel seen as opposed to examined. She doesn’t find it strange that he doesn’t say anything if he doesn’t have anything to say. Her invitations for time in a shared space are always very open and she leaves plenty of room for him to withdraw if he has to. And she’s more than fine with just basically doing parallel play— doing their own thing but just being in the same space. That can be a date for her.

[slytherinshua]

YOUR WOUNDS WRAPPED WITH MY LOVE

genre. fluff. tiny bit of angst. mafia au. warnings. descriptions of a stab wound. blood. knives and guns. some profanity. kissing. they kinda argue but very mildly. i researched a little on how to treat wounds but pls don't expect it to be too accurate 😭. pairing. fiancé!jeno x reader. wc. 1.5k. request. no. a/n. so ever since the concept trailers this jeno has been the only thing on my mind I swear 😔 and nursing trope is one of my fav tropes ever so I joined the two together and was very delulu 👍

read part 2 here !

“Again?” You asked, less than happy at the sight of the tall man who stood against the doorframe, one hand clutching his side painfully. Lee Jeno always disappeared without warning on another mission only to return, usually injured, for you to patch him up. You had urged him to hire an actual medic for the job, but he refused, saying he didn’t trust anyone but you to get that close to him. That was a few years back when the occasions for it were still rare. You were alarmed at how often he seemed to be going out, and returning with increasingly worse injuries.

Your knowledge and skill with patching up wounds— dagger wounds, bruises and scrapes from physical altercations, hell, even gunshot wounds— was a lot better than years ago. You were confident in your ability to get your fiancé back to health, but you weren’t pleased with how often you had to. No matter how much you pleaded with him to let his body rest, he would more often than not, be out again just hours after you had tended to his bleeding body.

“I’m sorry.” He grumbled out. You would have been shocked by how hoarse his voice had become if this was the first time, but you were all too used to it. Your heart still clenched painfully seeing him in that state.

He could barely walk, blood dripping a little from where his hand pressed tightly to his left side, his face scrunched in pain as laboured irregular breaths left his mouth. 

“Come here. Sit down. Tell me what happened.” You said quietly, already having gotten out the box of medical supplies. You were ready with the bottle of saline already, but it wasn’t anywhere near the top of Jeno’s worries. From the tone of your voice, he could tell you were mad at him. Or maybe it was mostly disappointment? A touch of worry, perhaps.

He made his way towards you, carefully limping towards the bed until he could gently lower himself onto it with his weight supported by the bedframe. He sat still as you gently took off his shirt, eyes assessing the dark red spot that stained the side of his stomach and up his ribcage. You glanced up to his face, and he met your eyes for half a second with a slow breath out.

“Knife. It’s not that deep, I stopped their hand before they could push it in very far.” He whispered, and then shut his eyes tightly when you dabbed a little at the wound with a soft wet cloth soaked in saline.

“Are you staying for long?” You asked, guarding your heart for what his answer would be. You loved Jeno— you loved him more than anything, and you tried to be as selfless as you could regarding him and his job. You never put up a fuss about having to patch him up, and you only ever gently tried to persuade him to be more careful. But it was hard, really hard. You couldn’t help but be hopeful that he might be able to stay for a bit longer with you. You hated how you only seemed to be seeing him to treat his wounds for the past month.

But it only reminded you of how he was by far the most selfless person you knew. 

Countless threats had always been looking for Jeno’s weakness. And you happened to be the most vital one. You were unspeakably precious to him, and unfortunately, his rivals knew that. Of course, he did everything he could to protect you. You trusted him with your life. There was no one else who you would ever trust as much as him. And he had never lost your trust. You had never even had a scratch delivered to you. But the tradeoff of the protection that Jeno made sure you had was his own life being put at risk almost every day.

Every cut, stab, or bruise that littered his fair skin were marks of how determined he was to keep you safe. The least you could do was treat his body in return with your gentle hands, wiping away the blood, wrapping the wounds carefully, and stitching them up when needed.

Jeno answered your question with only a silent nod yes. Although relief filled your body that he wouldn’t be out again immediately, you still focused on the more important task at hand. You could enjoy his company once he wasn’t bleeding.

“Are they still after you?” You rummaged around in the box for the antibiotic ointment, dabbing a bit on your finger before leaning closer to apply it. “This’ll sting.” You muttered as a warning before dabbing the wound as carefully as you could. Jeno tensed up, his fingers bunching up the sheet of the bed as he did his best to stay still.

“Talk to me. It’ll help distract you.” You told him, pausing your application of the antibiotics to rest a hand on his shoulder, providing a small bit of comfort.

“They’re… They’re after you, not me. You know that.” He whispered out as you continued to treat the wound. “They can’t take me by themselves— they’d be fucking stupid to try. I made sure that they won’t bother us for at least a month. I’ll have to talk to Renjun and Donghyuck about our next course of action.” You hummed in understanding, grabbing the roll of gauze next. 

“You need to rest your body, Jeno.” You said quietly. You could tell he was about to protest, so you interrupted quickly, “Doctor’s orders. Don’t pull anymore dumb shit.”

“It’s not dumb shit. It’s to protect you.” He argued back, clenching his jaw.

You sighed, starting to wrap the white cloth around his waist, “I know. But you said yourself that you have a month. At least for a week of that month, you need to rest and recover.” 

Your fiancé seemed unsettled at the thought of a whole week of rest; a week of letting his guard down. It was almost unheard of for him. He knew from experience that as soon as he let himself relax, something unexpected would happen. But maybe you were right. Maybe a week of rest is what he needed.

You secured the wrap tightly, and mumbled out how you were all done. Jeno just stared at you while you cleaned up, soaking up the face he hadn’t gotten a chance to study for the past month. He felt incredibly guilty for how often he had been gone, and even more so for how often he had let you see him like this. He knew you hated it, but you never complained. He didn’t deserve you.

“I love you.” He spoke suddenly, interrupting the cold silence of the room. You shut the metal drawer slowly, back still turned to him as you let a small smile grow on your face. You hadn’t heard those words from him in a while. You turned back to sit down next to him again, your eyes staring into his.

“Won’t you say it back?” He whispered, reaching for your hand; your left hand, the one that adorned that diamond ring he had given you months prior. You let him pull you closer as his right hand enclosed over your left. His fingers felt a bit rough, but they were warm and comfortable. With his left hand on the back of your neck, he gently guided you forward until his lips closed over yours.

You could just barely taste the metallicness of blood from the slight cut to his bottom lip. But you didn’t focus on it, too absorbed in the gentleness of his kiss and how perfectly his lips felt against yours even after years had passed. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed as he caught his breath. 

You pecked his lips again, “I love you too. Always.”

He visibly relaxed at your words and dropped his head to your shoulder. You sighed, threading your fingers through the hair at the bottom of his neck, holding him closely. He shuddered quietly, and you frowned.

“Cold?” Your hand ran up and down his back slowly, feeling goosebumps rise from the chill. You traced one of the many scars that marked him, stopping at the dip of his scapula and muscle. You reached behind your back, feeling around along the mattress for a blanket. You caught hold of it and gently draped it around Jeno. 

You smiled fondly at the way he nestled his head a little closer to the crook of your neck. From his breath, you figured he was already almost asleep. You didn’t want to disturb his sleep, but you knew the position would quickly get uncomfortable, so you shifted his head down to your chest and laid back until you hit the mattress. He didn’t protest at all, but shifted into a comfortable spot in his half-asleep state. With his head on your chest, his arm around your waist, and his legs tangled with yours, you found the new position to be much more promising for getting good sleep.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead and made sure the blanket covered his body before you closed your eyes as well.

↳ nct dream taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,,

[ellecdc]

hello! would you maybe be willing to consider writing a kind of follow-up to the poly moonwater fics where reader is pregnant? maybe when she has the babies and everyone’s reactions?? ty for reading my request🙏

I love this little family so damn much 😭🫶

poly!moonwater x afab!reader who gives birth to their twins

CW: pregnancy, hormonal fits, brief discussion of Regulus' childhood, brief discussion of Remus' childhood, going into labour, portrayal of breastfeeding though nothing is described, Barty losing his fucking mind, Uncle Sirius for Best Uncle 2024, also the babies look like their daddies to avoid describing/labelling the mother's features

Remus felt for you. He really, really did.

But also, he was a little afraid of you.

Scratch that, he was very afraid of you.

But his sympathy for you ran deeper than his fear, which is how he found himself sitting in one of the (many) gliders Regulus has purchased for every room in your shared home as you fought to find a comfortable position in your bed.

And yes, your bed.

Because you had since kicked Remus and Regulus out of your shared bed.

And though they didn’t feel particularly bad about it, you claimed it was their fault.

You see, after a particularly worrisome fall - that took place  at six and a half months pregnant (with twins, no less) as you missed a step on your way up the stairs of your townhouse - unfortunately for you, and fortunately for Remus and Regulus, it happened in front of all of your friends one night when they were over for dinner, which resulted in a lot of fussing by James and Sirius, and caused Barty to go marching upstairs and begin moving all of your furniture and belongings into the spare room on the main floor.

“Like fuck my Treasure is navigating these stairs in her condition. The two of you are sodding useless; this should have been done months ago.” He spat venomously as Evan shouted at him that it was “not polite to reconfigure someone else's house without permission.”

You vehemently protested the move.

Regulus and Remus didn’t think it was such a bad idea.

Because of their ‘betrayal’ (read: their lack of support in your arguments against your most capricious friend devotee), the boys were not allowed in ‘your room’.

So, perhaps Remus was already pushing the limits by taking up residence in the glider as you tried and failed to find a comfortable position to read in, determined to take a nap. 

“The babes giving you grief, dove?” He asked softly, earning him a derisive scoff from you. 

“What do you think?” You spat. 

Remus grimaced but decided to soldier on. “They may be ready to come any day now.”

That was the wrong thing to say if your quick glare was anything to go by.

“No they are not.”

“Dove,” he started, closing his own book and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he considered you. “Anywhere from 34 to 38 weeks is full term for twins. The fact you’ve made it to 35 is incredible, baby.”

Your lips pinched as your brows dipped, and Remus was sure you were close to tears. “No, I’m not ready, I-” you let out a breath as you cut yourself off, alerting Remus to the fact that you were about to give away the sex of (one of) the babies. “Baby B, they need more time.” You admitted, voice quieter as if you were afraid saying it any louder would somehow jinx it and trigger your own labour. 

“They’re going to come when they’re ready.” He repeated.

He left the room after you threw your book at him. 

He followed the sounds coming from the kitchen where he found Regulus on his hands and knees underneath the cabinets, of which he’d emptied of all their contents.

The second Regulus found out that the three of you were expecting twins, and due to the nature of the superfetation and thus the risks involved, he quit his job and strong-armed (read: lightly encouraged) Remus to do the same. 

And while Remus focused on catering to you and ensuring you were comfortable (or…as comfortable as humanly possible when you had two little freaks using your organs as trampolines) and well fed, Regulus focused on…whatever this was.

“Reggie?”

“Mhm?” He responded quickly, voice muffled from where his head was still shoved deep within the lower cabinets.

“What are you doing?”

Regulus shifted and his head made a painful thump sound when it connected with the top of the cabinet before he pulled himself out of it.

“Cleaning.”

One of Remus' brows arched at that. “The lower cabinets?”

“Right.”

“Why?”

Regulus rubbed the back of his head as he looked between Remus and the mess he was currently surrounded by in the name of ‘cleaning’. 

“Well…the babies-”

“Won’t be concerned with the lower cabinets.” Remus cut him off, looking down at his boyfriend lovingly.

Remus watched as Regulus took a deep breath and deflated significantly. 

Remus pushed aside some large pots and various cleaning products as he joined Regulus on the floor and pulled him closer by the ankle. 

“What’s going on inside that head of yours, love?” He asked him quietly, rubbing his thumb along his Achilles tendon as Regulus seemed to organise his thoughts.

“I don’t think I’m going to go back to work.” Regulus blurted finally.

Remus fought to school his expression as he tilted his head in consideration. “Ever?”

Regulus shook his head and rested his chin on his knees. “I don’t know. Maybe just part time or something…I just- I don’t…I don’t want to be like him.”

“Like who, sweetheart?”

“Like my father.” Regulus bit out, bitterness colouring his tone. “Avoiding my family and responsibilities by hiding at work. Coming home to find out the babies have done something wonderful and I missed it. I…I want to be here, and I’m afraid; I’m afraid I’ll be more like him than I mean to be.”

Remus smiled sadly at Regulus as he squeezed his ankle twice. “I already know you’ll be nothing like him, my star. Considering you’re so worried about it, I know you’ll be 100 times the father he was. But, I’ll be here to make sure that stays true, okay?”

Regulus’ eyes met Remus’, and he felt his heart squeeze at the redness rimming Regulus’ eyes as they turned glassy. 

“I’ll take care of you - both of you; all of you. You’ll never have to want for anything, you know that right?” Regulus stated urgently. 

Remus smiled softly at him as he nodded. “I know, love.”

“You could stay home indefinitely too, you know.” Regulus offered shyly. 

Remus chuckled. “You just don’t want to have to face our little mama bear all by yourself.” He teased. 

Regulus chuckled in response but his eyes morphed into a lovesick gaze as he stared unseeingly out the archway of the kitchen. “She’s just uncomfortable and stressed right now.”

“She’s gonna be such a good mum.” Remus agreed quickly.

“The best.”

“We’re so lucky.”

“Rem? Reg?” Your voice sounded from the hall before your form hobbled into the archway as you used the door frame for support.

“What’s the matter?” Regulus asked quickly, kicking his feet out and sending various pots toppling over on the tile floor.

Whatever you had been on your way to say seemed to be placed on the back burner as your brows pinched and your eyes darted across the chaos that was currently your kitchen.

“What were you doing in here?” You asked slightly breathlessly. Both Remus and Regulus stood sheepishly.

“Erm, uh….cleaning?” Regulus answered in the form of a question.

One of your brows raised as you continued scanning the mess. “You’re not very good at it.”

“What did you need, dove?” Remus asked gently.

Your face softened as you looked up at him worriedly. 

“I think my water broke.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the messy kitchen as Remus and Regulus stood staring at you dumbfoundedly. 

“You…” Regulus started before clearing his throat. “You think?”

You grimaced as you looked down to your stomach sheepishly. “No I…I’m quite sure. I think-” You paused to suck in a breath through your teeth. “I think it’s time.”

The breath that followed the end of your sentence bordered on a groan and the boys jumped to action. 

“Okay, come here amour.” Regulus said gently as he supported you with one hand on your elbow and the other on your lower back and he guided you to a chair in the dining room. “Rem, can you grab the babies’ bags?”

“On it.” He answered quickly and went running to the nursery to grab two matching nappy bags. Merlin, babies come with a lot of stuff.

“Are you grabbing our bag?” Remus called to Regulus who was then running up the stairs to the ensuite bedroom.

“Oui! Amour’s bag is in her closet.”

“Got it!”

Regulus and Remus reconvened in the living room with four bags, two baby carriers, and enough panic to fill an olympic swimming pool.

“Okay, baby bags have nappies?” Regulus asked, reading off a list in his hands.

“Check.” Remus responded.

“Snappies?”

“Check.”

“Blankets?”

“Check.”

“Hats and booties?”

“Got it.”

“Okay. And who packed mama’s bag?”

“She did.”

Regulus let out a relieved sigh. “Okay, no need to check that one then.”

Remus offered him an unimpressed look as he re-zipped the babies’ bags and threw them over his shoulder.

“Okay, you grab the carriers and our bag, I’ll grab the rest.” Remus instructed, which Regulus complied as they stepped up to the floo.

“Alright, St. Mungo’s.” Remus said clearly as the flames surged green and the two men stepped through to the intake room of the magical hospital.

Both men were breathless as they nearly collided with the desk where an unimpressed mediwix looked them both up and down.

“We’re checking into the maternity ward; our partner has gone into labour.” Remus explained in an exhale.

The mediwix moved his gaze between both men, their stomachs, and the various belongings they were carrying.

“Right,” he drawled before his eyes returned to Remus’. “And, your partner?”

“Y/N L/N.” Regulus added quickly, causing the mediwix to move his judgmental stare to him.

“Right….and where is she?”

Both men spun to face each other in a mixture of horror and embarrassment.

Remus rounded the corner of the kitchen to find you sitting where Regulus had left you, one hand massaging a point of your stomach as you considered him with a look full of judgement and mirth. 

“Where’s Reg?” You goaded as Remus helped you up from your chair and started making the slow trek back towards the floo flames; his face burning hot with shame that he was sure was spreading to the tips of his ears and well down his chest. 

“He was too embarrassed.” He admitted quietly.

You sounded like you were getting ready to laugh when you doubled over and a pained whimper escaped your lips.

Remus quickly bent down so he had one hand on each of your arms, trying to help keep you upright.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m sorry. We’re going to get you in a bed and feeling better, okay?”

You whimpered again and looked up at Remus sadly. “I’m sorry.” You cried quietly.

“Dove.” He admonished sadly. “What on earth are you sorry for?”

You took in two large breaths as you tried to breathe around the pain. “You have to do this every month.”

Remus wanted to cry. For you, or for himself, he wasn’t sure. He loved you so sodding much he couldn’t even tell what exactly it was about what you said that touched him so much.

“You’re so much stronger and braver than I am though, dovey. So if I can get through it, I know you can too, yeah?” He offered softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’m only brave because I learned it from you.” You gritted out through a sob. 

“We can argue about this later, okay? Let’s get you checked in; I’m sure the mediwix is glaring daggers at Regulus for having abandoned his pregnant partner.”

He managed to coerce a small laugh out of you which he considered a win before you both stepped through the flames. 

Remus didn’t grow up expecting much out of life.

Bitten at only four years old, he was certain something would go wrong with his little body during one of his transformations and he’d be dead long before he ever hit Hogwarts age.

He couldn’t attend muggle school growing up due to his affliction and the risk of performing accidental magic in front of muggles.

Though he was certain he was going to die before age 11, he was even more certain that should he make it to 11, he’d never be accepted into Hogwarts.

When he was accepted into Hogwarts, he was certain he’d never make any friends.

When he made friends, he was certain they’d hate him if they found out about his lycanthropy.

When his friends accepted him for his lycanthropy, well….he never imagined he’d be so lucky as to find a partner who was just as accepting.

Let alone two.

For as long as Remus Lupin could remember, he never imagined ever feeling as much love or as loved as he currently felt in this exact moment.

Not only did he have two people who he loved beyond measure, but those two people gifted him two of the most perfect, tiny little beings he could have never imagined possible.

And suddenly - sitting here in a hospital room with you resting in a bed with your eyes closed as Regulus wiped lovingly at your face with a damp cloth, with a tiny little black-haired baby swaddled to perfection fast asleep in a see-through bassinet on your other side, and with an even tinier fawn-haired baby snuggled perfectly into Remus’ bare chest - every single full moon was worth it.

Every broken bone, every scar, every ache and pain and sleepless night that brought him here was absolutely, without a doubt, worth it. 

“Knock knock!” Remus could hear Lily murmur quietly yet brightly from behind the closed hospital door.

“That is so cringey, Red. Why wouldn’t you just knock?” Sirius muttered. 

“Because!” She hissed back and he could hear what sounded like Sirius being swatted with her purse. “They could be sleeping! I don’t want to startle them with a loud knock.”

“Oh yeah, Rem and Reg are definitely gonna piss their pants at the sound of you knocking on the door. Shouldn’t mama be all drugged up right now anyway?”

You chuckled under your breath as you peeled open one of your eyes to look over at Remus who was looking at you with a matching smile as you listened to Sirius being walloped three more times.

“Okay, well, you guys settle this out here then.” James decided as he pushed the door open.

He smiled at you and Regulus before his eyes met Remus’ form in a glider as he was currently doing skin-to-skin with his miniature doppelganger. 

James made a very embarrassing cooing sound (if you asked Remus) as he made his way into the room, tiptoeing like he was avoiding invisible trip wires. 

Lily and Sirius stopped their scuffle as they followed James in, beaming widely at Remus.

“Oh my Godric, Moony.” Lily cooed, looking awfully close to tears as the nickname so unusual out of Lily’s mouth caused Remus’ eyes to well up similarly. “It’s you as a baby!”

“Who was right? Girl or boy?” Sirius asked quickly, daring to reach forward and lovingly stroke a finger along the downy soft skin on the baby’s cheek.

Remus snorted and Regulus groaned. 

“Girl, Pads.”

“Yes!” Lily and Sirius cheered quietly as they gave each other double high fives, clearly over whatever tiff they were having in the hallway mere moments ago.

“Better luck next time, Reggie.” James called towards him, causing you to narrow your eyes dangerously at your friend.

“Wait.” James said as he caught sight of a little something in a bassinet behind Regulus. “WAIT.”

“What?” Sirius asked, craning his neck to see what James was looking at.

“No…” Lily breathed out disbelievingly.

“Twins?!” Sirius shrieked.

“What?” Regulus asked derisively, and Remus had to work really hard to keep his face neutral at that.

“Wha-” James started, violently whipping his head back and forth between the two infants in the room. “What do you mean, what!?”

“There’s two!” Sirius exclaimed.

Your mouth dropped open in ‘shock’ as you looked at Sirius aghast. “You see the other one too?”

The room fell painfully silent as James, Lily, and Sirius all looked bemusedly between the family of five before Remus couldn’t take it anymore and started giggling. 

His daughter began to stir from the rumbling of his chest causing Regulus to scoff in faux admonishment.

“Would you knock that off, Remus; you’re going to give her shaken baby syndrome.” He muttered before he was gently prying the tiny infant from Remus’ chest and wrapping her up in a blanket before holding her close to his chest.

“Mama.” Lily breathed out. “Two!?”

“Two.” You confirmed. Remus delighted at the shy yet proud smile you adorned as you tucked your chin to your chest. 

Throwing his jumper back on, he moved over to perch on the opposite side of your bed and pulled the little bassinet closer to the two of you.

“Are they both girls?” Lily asked.

“Yes.” Remus laughed, causing Sirius to cackle from where he stood looking over Regulus’ shoulder at one of his nieces. 

“You were wrong twice little brother!”

“Sod off, Sirius.”

Sirius smacked Regulus up the back of the head. “You watch your mouth around my nieces, hellion.” 

“Isn’t hellion a swear word?” James queried.

“It’s not a swear, it’s a noun.” Sirius explained.

“But then wouldn’t fuck be a verb?” Remus asked, causing the room to fall silent as everyone pondered that for a moment.

The silence didn’t last long as the sound of two heavy footfalls grew in volume before they stopped abruptly in front of the hospital room.

“Am I too late!?” Barty screeched (albeit quietly) into the room as he and Evan stood in the doorway catching their breaths.

“Too late for…what, Junior? What did you think was happening here?” James asked.

“Shut up.” Barty spat as he moved into the room, shoving past everyone to press kisses against your forehead. 

“My beautiful, sweet Treasure. All this work for two tossers. We could still run away, yeah? You, me and the baby; just say the word.” 

“Try babies, Junior.” Sirius taunted, causing Barty to straighten up so quickly he nearly collided with Lily as he turned to look at Sirius incredulously. 

“What!?”

Sirius smirked as he pointed to the baby in Regulus’ arms as Barty moved to inspect the tawny-haired babe.

“A Lupin. That’s too bad.” Barty muttered quietly, causing Regulus to kick at his shin and you to shout a reproachful ‘Bartemus!”.

“And there.” Sirius continued, pointing to where Remus was picking up a black-haired babe from a clear bassinet to pass into your waiting arms. 

“A Black!? Even worse!” Barty shrilled.

“Barty!” You chided again, though the smile playing at your lips severely diminished the severity of your tone.

“Oh, oh gods, oh my. I-” 

Barty didn’t seem to know where to look; pained puffs of air leaving his lungs as he spun comedically on the spot, dividing his attention between you and the two baby girls.

“Rosier, your boyfriend’s about to combust.” Lily teased as she leaned back into James who quickly wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head. 

“Barty.” Evan tried, causing Barty to look at him in horror.

“There’s two!”

Even Evan seemed to find some humour in the state of his boyfriend as his lips quirked up into a smirk. “Yes, babe. I counted that many as well.”

“Two!?” He shouted again as he turned his sights on you.

“How’d….How’d you have two in there!?” He barked as he pointed accusatively at your stomach.

“Magic?” You asked shyly, looking down at your daughter who was beginning to fuss.

“Way to go, Junior. You’ve upset her.” Sirius grumbled.

“She’s hungry.” Remus corrected, stroking her dark hair before moving his hand to stroke yours in much the same way.

“Her?” Barty asked quietly, watching as you helped the infant latch. 

“Two girls, Uncle Barty.” You offered quietly, smiling softly up at your fiercest friend.

“I’m a girl uncle.” He said in awe, moving his smile towards the baby in Regulus’ arms.

“What are their names?” James asked eagerly. 

You looked shyly up at Remus who in turn fielded the question to Regulus. 

“This here,” Regulus started, pausing to clear his throat as he looked down at his daughter. “Is Rome Valeria Lupin.”

Lily let out a breathy ‘awe’ as she touched her hand to her chest, and Remus pretended he didn’t notice Sirius wiping a tear from under his eye.

“Named after the Empire, just like her daddy.” James commented with a soft yet proud smirk.

“And that one there is Soleil Pax Lupin.”

Sirius’ gaze moved to the little head he could see nuzzling at her mother’s chest. “A Sunny little girl.” He whispered quietly.

“Pax, that means peace in Latin, yeah?” Evan commented, smirking as Barty scoffed at him.

“Of course it does, Evan. Everyone knows that.”

James’ eyebrows furrowed as he looked towards Remus. “I didn’t know that…” He admitted quietly. 

“And Valeria means strength; Rome was a little younger than her sister, but she was a powerful little fighter.” Remus explained, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“They’re perfect, you guys. Just perfect.” Lily commented emphatically, earning nods in agreement from James, Sirius, and Evan.

“With no help from these wankers, surely. You did a great job, Treasure. They may have lost the lottery in terms of fathers but these girls couldn’t have asked for a better mum.”

And though Regulus rolled his eyes with an annoyed shake of his head, no one bothered to argue.

These two girls really lucked out when it came to their mummy. 

“Oh gods.” Barty whispered as he stood hastily.

“What?” Regulus asked cautiously.

“Oh gods.” He shrieked, turning a withering glare towards his friend. “You sods should have told me!”

Remus helped you right your robe as you pulled Soleil away from you and began patting gently at her back. “We thought it would be a funny surprise.” He explained.

Barty scoffed derisively and turned his ire onto him.

“Well ha ha, very funny.” He deadpanned. “I’ve only bought one of everything!”

Regulus waved him off after he passed Rome to his brother’s eagerly awaiting arms. “That’s fine, Barty.”

“No! It's not fine, Barty!” Barty volleyed back. “Evan, let’s go.” He ordered as he bent to press another kiss to your head, kissed his hand and gently pressed it to Soleil’s shoulder and did the same to Rome (much to Sirius’ chagrin). 

“Where?”

“Shopping! I need to go back and buy another of everything that we’ve bought!”

“Over the past seven months!?” Evan asked incredulously.

“Yes!”

Remus could hear them arguing all the way to the floo flames.

Lily offered to take Soleil from you to finish burping the baby as the room fell into a comfortable silence.

“So, when can we start trying again?” Regulus asked, causing Remus to grimace and you to level him with a look that would send a lesser man straight to his grave.

“Okay,” Regulus acquiesced. “We’ll talk more next week.”

Sirius laughed as he looked down at the babe in his arms.

“Sounds like your papa’s going to be sleeping on Uncle Siri’s couch, Roro.” He cooed.

From the look on your face, Remus was sure Sirius was quite right.

A/N: thanks to some of the ideas that were sent to me from anon's, like the idea that they rushed to the hospital and forgot reader at the house 🤣

[nhlclover]

BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION MATT REMPE

pairing: fem!reader x matt rempe

summary: matt makes sure to go all out for your birthday, hoping to make it one to remember.

warnings: sweet sweet fluff, reader not liking her birthday, brief crying (but out of happiness!)

wc: 1.4k

notes: fun little birthday celebration with matt :)

The morning light filters softly through the curtains, and before you’re fully awake, you feel the gentle brush of lips against your cheek, the warmth of a breath close to your skin. Blinking your eyes open, you see Matt’s face hovering inches away, his expression tender as he places soft, sleepy kisses along your forehead, down to the tip of your nose. “Happy birthday, beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of affection.

Still half-asleep, you reach for him, pulling him closer, savoring the warmth of his embrace and the scent of him — a mix of his cologne and vanilla. You’re not entirely sure why he smells like a cupcake, but your sleepy brain doesn’t think about it much. The last thing you want to do is leave this cocoon, this perfect moment wrapped in Matt's arms. A contented sigh escapes your lips as you press your face into his shoulder, barely able to articulate anything beyond a soft, murmured, “Can't we just stay like this all day?”

You’ve never been one to celebrate your birthday with much fanfare. The thought of a day centered entirely around you has always felt a bit uncomfortable, and you’d rather let it quietly slip by with minimal fuss.

Matt chuckles softly, tightening his hold as if he, too, wants to savor every second of this peaceful morning. “That’s exactly why I planned something low-key, just the two of us,” he whispers, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back. You can’t help but feel your heart warm at his thoughtfulness. He knows you so well — how the attention of a big celebration has always made you feel slightly on edge, how you’d rather not be the center of it all.

As he pulls you a little closer, he murmurs, “I know you don’t like all the fuss… but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to make today special for you.”

He presses a couple of kisses along your jawline, hands holding your frame tightly to his. Suddenly he pulls back as you let out a disappointed groan. “As much as I’d love to stay here all day… I actually planned something for you.” he says, his voice carrying the faintest trace of excitement, “And I put a lot of effort into it so you’re going to have to get up and at least see it once.”

Reluctantly, you let him pull you out of bed, the world outside seeming less enticing than the warmth you were leaving behind. He wraps an arm around your shoulders as you shuffle down the hallway, staying snug in Matt’s hoodie you slept in last night. When you reach the living room, your breath catches.

The room is transformed. Streamers drape from every corner, a riot of colors filling the space, and a little banner in your favorite colors stretches across one wall, proudly proclaiming, Happy 22nd Birthday! Balloons in every shade are placed around the space, while small decorations and a few scattered confetti glitters on the coffee table. For a moment, you’re speechless, turning slowly to take it all in.

“Did you seriously do all of this?” you manage, looking at Matt, feeling almost shy.

“Of course I did,” he says, looking at you with a mixture of pride and a soft, almost vulnerable joy that takes your breath away. “Oh, you have to come see the best surprise.”

You follow him to the kitchen which is where you see a cake sitting on the counter. It’s a beautiful mess: the frosting uneven but clearly, painstakingly applied, a little lopsided, and decorated with a generous helping of sparkling sprinkles. He must have worked on it for hours, trying his best, determined to make it perfect just for you. The sight of it, so personal, so filled with love, tugs something deep within you.

The gratitude, the overwhelming sweetness of it all, builds so suddenly that you feel your eyes start to prick with tears. You try to blink them away, but it’s too late; Matt notices. His face changes, his brow furrowing as he steps closer, hands finding your shoulders.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did I…did I do something wrong?” There’s a thread of worry in his voice as he reaches up to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing away the single tear that’s escaped down your cheek.

You shake your head, a tremulous laugh bubbling up. “No, no… it’s just… no one's ever done anything like this for me before.” You gesture around the room, the carefully decorated chaos, the little details so clearly made with you in mind. “All of this… it just means so much.”

Relief floods his features, and he pulls you into a warm, solid embrace. His hands press firmly into your back as if anchoring you to him. “Well, it's your birthday, and it only comes once a year," he says, his voice soft but steady, almost as if he’s saying it to himself. “So, of course I’m going all out. You deserve every second of it.”

You sink into his embrace, feeling the truth of his words settle around you like a warm blanket. The tears fall a little harder because of that — the sheer simplicity of being seen, of being loved without conditions.

You pull back, a smile breaking through the tears as you look up at him. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice soft but full of emotion. You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek, then another just shy of his lips. It’s a little kiss, but it carries all the gratitude, affection, and quiet awe you feel for him in this moment.

His eyes meet yours, his cheeks tinted a little pink as he grins back, clearly touched. “You’re so worth it,” he says quietly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before nodding toward the cake. “Now, let’s eat some of this masterpiece, yeah? And then — you still have to open your present!”

You both settle at the kitchen counter, laughter filling the room as you cut into the cake, teasing Matt about the abundance of sprinkles. You take a bite, tasting the slightly sweet, perfectly imperfect frosting. It’s delicious, mostly because you know he made it himself. “Matt, this is incredible, thank you.”

As you savor another bite of cake, Matt fidgets slightly, his eyes glimmering with eager excitement. He clears his throat, before reaching into his pocket. “Okay,” he says, looking almost bashful, “now for the real present.”

Matt pulls a small, velvet box from his pocket and places it on the counter between you two. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you look at him with a mix of curiosity and excitement. “Matt…” you start, but he cuts you off gently.

“Just open it,” he says, his voice soft.

You pick up the box, feeling a small flutter in your chest as you lift the lid. Inside, nestled in the soft fabric, is a gold charm bracelet with a single small charm dangling from it — a tiny, intricately detailed ice cream cone. You gasp softly, instantly remembering your very first date with Matt when you got ice cream, talking for hours until the diner had to kick you out.

“It reminded me of our first date,” he says, watching your reaction closely, “and every time you look at it, I want you to think about all the other firsts we’re going to have together.” He gives a soft smile. “And, I thought… maybe over time, you could add more charms. Little things that remind you of us — of things we’ve done together, memories we’ve made.”

His words settle over you, filling your heart in a way that’s almost overwhelming. Each little charm to come would be a reminder of this — of him, of this journey you were both on together.

You look up at him, feeling your voice catch slightly. “Matt, this is… it’s perfect. I love it,” you say, reaching for his hand. “Every time I look at this, I’ll think of you. Of us.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, his smile widening as he gently fastens the bracelet around your wrist. “Good,” he says quietly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “That was the idea.”

You lean back, the weight of the bracelet on your wrist a reminder of everything Matt has done to make this day special for you, to help you enjoy your birthday again. As you look up at him, your heart swelling with emotion, you can’t help but smile.

You press another soft kiss to his lips. “I think this might just be my best birthday yet.”

[amirasainz]

Omg Queen, you are giving us so much. Can ypu maybe do a George Russell x Reader, where reader is sick and George takes care of her. Add a lot of fluff, please💙💙💙

Ahh, George Russell. The man that you are.

Enjoy reading and send some requests

- xoxo, Babygirl 💋

Through sickness and health

The rain tapped softly against the window, a gentle reminder of the cool October weather outside. Y/N was curled up on the couch, bundled in blankets, clutching a tissue in her hand. Her nose had been running for hours, and her throat felt scratchy. But George was due back from the gym soon, and the last thing she wanted was for him to know she was feeling under the weather. Not because he wouldn't care—quite the opposite—but because she didn't want to worry him. He was in the middle of a busy F1 season, and the last thing he needed was to fuss over her.

As the front door creaked open, Y/N quickly wiped her nose, trying her best to put on a normal face. George walked in, his gym bag slung over one shoulder, a beaming smile lighting up his face as he caught sight of her.

“Hey, love!” he greeted, dropping his bag by the door. He came over, leaning down to kiss her forehead gently. As soon as his lips touched her skin, though, he paused, frowning slightly. “You feel a little warm.”

Y/N stiffened, inwardly cursing her body for betraying her. “No, no, I'm fine,” she said quickly, waving it off. “Just cozy under the blankets. It's chilly today.”

George raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone playful but with a hint of concern. “You sure you're not hiding something from me?”

She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. “I’m fine, George. Just tired.”

George studied her for a moment, then sighed, sitting down beside her. “Y/N, you know you don’t have to hide when you’re not feeling well, right? I can tell something’s off.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” she insisted, sniffling slightly, which only made her claim less believable.

George didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. His touch was gentle, and the warmth of his hand felt soothing. “Love,” he said softly, “you’re the worst liar I know.”

Y/N tried to hold out, tried to keep up her act, but the gentle way he was looking at her, the concern in his eyes, made her resolve crumble. She let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping.

“Okay, fine,” she admitted, her voice coming out quieter than before. “I think I might be coming down with something. But I didn’t want to worry you.”

George’s expression softened even more, if that was possible. “Y/N, you don’t have to worry about that. If you’re sick, I’m going to take care of you. That’s non-negotiable.” He tilted her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes. “I love you, and I want to make sure you feel better. Let me take care of you.”

His words sent a warm, comforting feeling through her chest, and she nodded slowly, finally giving in. “Okay,” she whispered.

A grin spread across George’s face, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead again, this time lingering there for a moment. “That’s my girl.”

He stood up and immediately began moving around the living room, gathering her used tissues and tidying up the area. “Right,” he said, more to himself than to her, “first things first, I’ll make you some soup.”

“You don’t have to—” Y/N started, but George gave her a mock stern look, and she quickly fell silent, smiling despite herself.

“I said it’s non-negotiable,” he reminded her with a wink before disappearing into the kitchen.

From the couch, Y/N could hear him moving about, the clatter of pots and pans, and the occasional hum as he worked. The comforting smell of chicken soup soon filled the air, and she found herself feeling a little better already, just knowing George was there.

A few minutes later, he reappeared with a steaming bowl of soup in hand. “Homemade chicken soup, doctor’s orders,” he said proudly, setting the bowl on the coffee table. He helped her sit up a little, fluffing the pillows behind her before handing her the spoon.

Y/N smiled up at him. “You’re too good to me.”

“I’m just getting started,” George teased, sitting down beside her as she took her first spoonful. “After you finish that, I’m going to help you clean up, change the sheets, and then we’re going to watch some movies. How does that sound?”

She gave him a grateful smile, her heart swelling at how sweet he was being. “That sounds perfect.”

George grinned and leaned over to kiss her temple. “Good. I’ll take care of everything.”

After Y/N finished the soup, true to his word, George whisked her bowl away and returned a few minutes later with fresh sheets and a determined look in his eyes. He pulled her off the couch gently, guiding her to the bedroom. “Right, let’s get you into bed,” he said.

Y/N let out a tired laugh. “George, I can change the sheets myself.”

“Not today, you can’t,” he replied, shaking his head as he carefully stripped the bed and replaced the linens. “You’re on bed rest. Doctor’s orders.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but feel her heart flutter at how seriously he was taking all of this. Once the bed was freshly made, George helped her climb in, tucking her under the covers with a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Comfy?” he asked, brushing his hand over her hair.

“Very,” she murmured, already feeling more relaxed than she had all day.

“Good,” George said. He grabbed the TV remote and settled in beside her, pulling her close to his chest. “Now, movie time. Anything you want.”

Y/N smiled against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “You pick. I don’t really care what we watch.”

He chuckled softly. “Alright, how about something comforting? ‘The Princess Bride’?”

“That’s perfect,” she murmured, her eyes already feeling heavy.

As the movie started, George kept one arm wrapped securely around her while his other hand absentmindedly played with her hair. Y/N nuzzled closer into him, her head resting on his chest, and her body immediately relaxed into the warmth of his embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispered, feeling a wave of gratitude for him. “For everything.”

George kissed the top of her head softly. “There’s no need to thank me, love. I’d do anything for you.”

For the rest of the afternoon, they stayed like that, tangled in each other’s arms as the movie played in the background. Every so often, George would glance down at her, smiling softly as he watched her slowly drift off to sleep.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered, pressing another gentle kiss to her hair, holding her a little tighter. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

And with that, Y/N let herself fully relax, knowing she was in the best possible hands.

[eightstarr]

visions — abby anderson.

summary: a love letter to trying (or the time when you met your favorite people in the world, an overly stressed med student and her overly adventurous one-year-old, in your apartment's hallway).

notes: constantly suffering from chronic baby fever so this is a present from me to you because i spend way too much time thinking about abby as a mom <3

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・。.・゜✧・. ────

You’re stepping out of the elevator when you suddenly hear it— a series of light thumps on the floor, fast but determined like a tiny little elephant who really has somewhere to be right now. Another step and then you stop clumsily when a flash of golden hair comes rushing past you. You follow the sight with your eyes, tilting your head. A little girl is walking, no, stomping through the hallway. She’s no older than two years old, her thin shining hair in two short braids, blue jean overalls and red socks on her feet. She moves so confidently that you almost don’t think about it, almost have the instinct to look away as if to not accidentally appear nosy, but her tiny stature and wobbly sense of direction keep your attention.

You look around the hallway, expecting surely the sound of the little girl’s parent calling her name (something sweet and pretty and classic, you imagine; it’d suit her). You picture her name being followed by a tired sigh before her patents rush to catch up, maybe rolling their eyes in a way that pretends to be annoyed but unmistakingly holds a million times more affection. A perfect family, a tiny glimpse of a full life somehow existing right in your unimportant building.

The hallway is long and terribly empty. You look back at the little girl who is striding forward in less of a rush now, with no worries, like this is the same route she’s taken for years.

What are you supposed to say to get a kid’s attention when you don’t know their name? What’s something concise, yet nice, yet simple enough to be understood? Babysitting as a teen has prepared you for a lot, just maybe not all of it. It's been a little too long. You linger on it for just a second before spitting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Hi, princess,” It’s a little awkward, but you’re relieved when she immediately stops and spins around, like something about it sounded familiar— could be your sweet tone or the nickname, you’re not sure. The little girl tilts her head to the side, round cheek lightly squished against her shoulder. It's the cutest thing you’ve ever seen and it makes you giggle like a charmed kid. “Where did you come from?” you ask, but before you have the chance to reach her she pouts her lips, as if just now realizing that you’re not who she thought you were. And then she turns her back, like there's no time to waste, to return to her journey with renewed enthusiasm.

In a scarily fast moment, you realize that she’s going for the stairs. It would maybe be a slightly less terrifying idea if that stupid door actually worked— but it doesn't, it broke sometime last May and now it's awfully easy to open, no strength or shove required. Sometimes, if it's windy and quiet enough, you can faintly hear it swing back and forth from your apartment. The little girl reaches a hand out, not intimidated by the tall door more than three times her height. If you weren’t this terrified, you’d find it amazingly admirable. 

You don’t register you’re running until you reach her, don’t register the sound of fast steps behind you or the scream of Rue! or anything else other than the heavy relief on your chest when you lift the baby by her armpits and hold her over your hip against your side. She’s fussing in your arms immediately, upset that she’s being interrupted, especially by a stranger. “I know, I’m sorry, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay,” you coo, though trying to be soothing when your heart is beating this fast is admittedly not the easiest task.

“Rue!” Someone repeats, and this time you do hear it. A woman is running down the hallway, hand coming down to mindlessly drop a tote bag bursting with groceries on the floor by the time she’s in front of you. The little girl reaches out her arms immediately, tiny fists opening and closing furiously and you sigh with relief as you carefully pass her over to the arms of the tall stranger. Her hair is blonde but darker than Rue’s, held back in a braid that looks both pretty and messy, like it was once pristine and then slept on. She’s wearing jeans and a half unbuttoned white shirt, a black tank top underneath. Her chest rises and falls and you notice that yours is no different. Adrenaline is a strange bond to share with a stranger, but it does make things less awkward, knowing you’re both here, feeling the same thing. You meet her expertly focused eyes for just a second before she turns to look at the little girl, searching for anything that could be wrong. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl. You’re okay, right? You’re okay,” the baby flashes a precious, wobbly smile at the sound of her voice, but she’s quickly distracted by the endlessly fascinating rainbow of groceries that lie on the floor. Her tiny head peeks over her mom’s shoulder to observe and it’s like you both can take a more soothing breath now, knowing she’s okay. “Thank you so much,” Abby says. You blink a couple times before you realize that she’s talking to you. “Sorry, I really don’t know how that happened. We were— we just got home from the store and I hadn't even put down all the bags yet and I thought— I was convinced that I shut the door, but…” her rambling drifts off and the stranger takes another breath, reddish embarrassment crawling up her neck.

You understand, suddenly, that she’s not only struggling with the stress of losing and finding her baby, but also the shame of having to face a stranger who might judge her for it. It feels insane to you, to think that she would be forced to prioritize that right now. “Oh, no, it’s okay!” you rush to respond. “I saw her immediately, and you were here in seconds! She wouldn't have gotten any further than that,” your smile is soft, but you speak with enough confidence to be reassuring (babysitting lessons, perhaps), “It was just a scare— don’t be too hard on yourself, please.”

Abby looks disarmed by your answer, her eyebrows raised in surprise. A short moment passes before she nods and smiles back, a small gesture without any less warmth. It’s the most relaxed you’ve seen her so far and it suits her beautifully, enough to make your face feel warm. Her blushing is much less forgiving though, more physically evident on her skin, spread over her cheekbones and the bridge of her pretty nose.

Rue giggles and it distracts you both, her hand waving excitedly at the colorful bird printed on a box of cereal as soon as she spots him. Abby looks at you for a second too long before she clears her throat, joking, “Sorry, she really loves that guy.”

You hum. “He is pretty cool, to be fair.”

Abby tilts her head, copying your sincere tone. “I don’t know, I always thought he’d be kind of a dick in person. He just looks like the type.”

Your startled laugh makes her smirk but she's frustratingly good at hiding it, free hand covering her mouth casually enough that you don’t notice. You look at the grabbing motion of the baby’s hands and pout with sympathy. “She loves him, though. We should probably get him off the floor.”

“Yeah, I should get that— I guess I just ran out with the bag, huh?” Abby huffs. She looks and sounds, physically, a lot less anxious now, less ashamed and more annoyed at herself.

“Would you like some help?”

“That’s okay, I got it,” she’s not sure that she does but she says it anyway, instinctively. Abby tries to lean down and Rue clutches her shirt, pulling enough to communicate that she is not ready to be put down yet. Abby straightens her back quickly enough to communicate that she is not ready to risk getting her any more upset for today. She meets your eyes for just a second. “Well, maybe some help.”

“Sure, just some,” you chuckle. “I’ll get it, don’t worry about it.”

People say that to Abby a lot— don’t worry about it! She hears it from her colleagues when she inevitably asks for the notes from the last class she ran a little late to, from a few of her kinder professors when she’s a day past some assignment’s deadline, from the guy at the grocery store that picks up the packets of M&M bags from the floor when Rue’s curious hands knock them over, from her dad when she asks if he’d be okay with babysitting for just a tiny bit longer. It always makes her stomach turn with guilt, some cases more intense than others, her lips usually pursed as she turns around and takes a breath. This time when you say it, she finds the guilt passing through her with ease, a short visit that makes her shoulders tense before it gets replaced by something else. She believes you, for some reason. Her brain is quiet except for thinking, for once, that there could really be nothing to worry about.

Your hands move casually as you pick everything up, resting on your knees like it’s not uncomfortable, like they might as well be your groceries. The idea is startling. Abby thinks, suddenly, that if someone were to walk into this scene, they wouldn’t read you as a kind stranger. Your ease would hint to something else, a friend, a lover, a picture of a family. Abby finds herself looking at your hands again, brought back to reality only by the slight tug of her hair. Rue plays with her braid distractedly, mumbling to herself about her froot loops friend— except she hasn’t quite learned to pronounce it yet, so it sounds more like oot oops.

Abby chuckles, brushing some of her loose baby hair behind her ears, mumbling back answers to her gibberish to keep her entertained even if Rue doesn’t seem to need it. She’s always endlessly thrilled to just be outside, perhaps the one trait she got from her grandpa rather than her mom. Other than her light snoring.

“She loves you a lot,” you comment, rising from your knees with the bag hanging on your shoulder. You don’t ask and Abby doesn’t think about it—  you just start walking back to her apartment together. “Don’t you, Ru-Ru?” the baby giggles, her head turning to you, blue eyes sparkling. You laugh, “Oh, you like that name. It suits you, Ru-Ru.”

“That’s what my dad calls her,” Abby explains.

“He sounds like a man with taste,” you say. “What do you call her?”

“Princess.”

Your smile is wide and pleased. “That suits her even more, I fear.”

“I think so, too,” Abby agrees, a proud little glimmer in her eyes. She stops in front of her door, B06 engraved in silver. Is it always such a short walk from the elevator? She’s seriously thinking about it until, after realizing in an embarrassing second that she never introduced herself to the person kind enough to chase after her baby, help pick up her groceries and carry them home, Abby suddenly turns to you with widened blue eyes and pretty, reddened cheeks. You forgive her before she even says anything, and forget your traitorous reason before it gets a chance to warn you about how dangerous that thought is. “God, sorry, I never told you my name. I’m—”

“Abby, right?” you smile softly at her surprised face, chuckling before you explain, “One of our neighbors is an old friend of mine and she kinda threw this welcome party for me when I moved in. I promise we weren’t gossiping, but I think someone mentioned you.”

“Oh,” Abby nods casually, brushing it off as if she won’t be spending all night thinking about what your first impression of her might’ve been like. Rue fusses in her arms, a little grunt as she kicks her legs to be put down. “Sorry— I‘ll be right back,” Abby shares a quick look with you and you wave goodbye, not surprised to be missing Rue as soon as she turns around. You watch them walk inside together, a tiny hand waving back at you and making you smile as she excitedly makes her way to her playpen, shrieking bye-bye! Abby places a kiss on top of Rue’s blonde hair and makes her laugh with some noise that you don’t quite catch. She’s comfortable here, walking amongst colorful toys and biology books. She moves like an expert, pulling down her shirt where it rode up somewhere along the way. You make half an effort not to stare, but it’s half more than the effort Abby makes to not let it get to her head. The most confident she’s felt so far, she asks you, “Did that totally innocent welcome party of yours happen, like, two weeks ago? I think I heard some music.”

“It was extremely innocent,” you insist, eyebrows raised teasingly, “And no, sorry, not sure what that was— I moved here like a year ago.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You grace her (or yourself) with a second of silence before you laugh at her awkward expression, the way she brushes a hand over her flushed face and huffs. “Fuck, that’s embarrassing. I’m kinda terrible at keeping up with this type of, uh, social stuff.”

“It’s not embarrassing, I promise. It’s a big world,” you reassure her. “Even bigger when you’re doing a million other stuff.”

You tell her your name and Abby, who is young like you but also highly knowledgeable on little specific human interaction cheat-codes that come with being a mom, nods her head and makes her eyes light up with what seems, to the naive eye, like recognition. “Oh, that’s right!”

You stare for a second before squinting your eyes. “Are you lying to me, Abby from B06?”

Abby grins, wondering when was the last time she found being caught this funny. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve never heard that name in my life.”

You laugh the loudest you have so far and a daydreamed life flashes in Abby’s head— in that big, dramatic way that it does only when you’ve been watching too many rom-coms every night, or when you’re getting too much dating advice from your friend who’s been married since eighteen, or maybe when you fall in love with a pretty stranger who seems to be able to read your mind. It’s an idealized vision of an idealized world, and Abby finds herself being completely okay to clutch it in her fists to keep, because it’s fucking lovely.

“Well, I forgive you,” you tell her, unaware (maybe?) of the chaos that you’ve induced inside of her. “You’re a busy girl.”

Abby tries to think of a good, smooth way to tell you that she could see herself saying your name everyday, placed adoringly after good morning and I miss you. All she comes up with is, “I got enough time to learn it.”

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

You play with the hem of your shirt, pajamas made of mostly Abby’s clothes every night, a scent on them that’s not yours but it might as well be. It’s yours in all the ways that matter, in the same sense that she is. Abby walks out of the bathroom wearing her usual pajamas— a shirt that fits too loose and boxers that are a little too tight around her thighs. She doesn't seem to mind them, and you don’t seem to wanna complain. She knows by the way you look at her. You’re leaning back on your palms, your head tilted, the same shyness and sparkly adoration in your eyes that you’d get when you didn't know each other all that well. It’s not too often that she sees that nervousness anymore, but she still gets glimpses of it, a blink of something on your face or your tone or your breathing that says I have a crush on you and I’m hoping you can’t tell. She likes that nervousness the best right now, the way it’s timid and then settles into something like cockiness when you remember that she’s looking at you just the same, when you remember how much you like the way she copies the tilt of your head and teases you as if she's not also smiling like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.

Abby loves every moment like this, loves getting home and helping prepare dinner and making Rue laugh before kissing her goodnight, loves doing the dishes with you and flirting and talking about the day. Today, she’s especially looking forward to the latter.

“So, how was it?” she asks, the back of her thighs resting against the dresser. She’s trying to play it cool and she's annoyingly good at it, even now.

“Hm?” you hum, leaning further back to rest on your elbows, your back almost fully touching the bed. Abby feels a little bad keeping you up, but she knows she’ll be tossing and turning all night if she has to wait until the morning to ask.

“The school meeting.”

“Oh,” you smile wide enough to look silly and beautiful, sweet enough to rot teeth. She feels like she could sink in it, your smile and the relief it brings to her well hidden nervousness. “I loved it so much, Abs.”

Abby is smooth when she walks closer, soft when she cups your cheek, but there's something anxious in her eyes if you know where to look. “Yeah?” she insists.

You nod your head and kiss the palm of her hand, your lips pressed together in that funny way of trying to hold back an excited giggle. Abby smiles and feels nostalgic for the time, many many months ago, when she’d bring a finger to her lips to shush you and then remind you in an expert whisper that Rue is sleeping in the other room. She doesn't have to teach you much at all anymore, and every moment that proves that to her feels like the most beautiful, unfamiliar peace.

“I’m so happy,” you announce, looking up at her. You’re tired enough that it feels almost like being drunk, which is maybe why a short giggle manages to escape. Abby finds it contagious, your joy moves through her as naturally and importantly as the pumping of her blood. “I’m so excited for all of it.”

It’s the second parents' meeting that you’ve attended at Rue’s school— but you spent that first one sitting quietly by her side, practically hiding behind her, too aware of yourself and of the fact that you don’t really know what you’re doing. “Nobody knows,” Abby confessed on your way home, a hand on the steering wheel and another over your leg, her fingers tapping a comforting rhythm. “Parenting is beautiful, it just comes a lot less naturally than you’d think. That thing about a biological, primal wisdom or whatever— it’s a nice concept. But the best things I know came from me actively trying.”

Her words echoed in your head when you said yes to attending this school meeting alone, when you smiled and made the effort to look as calm as you could, kissed her cheek and said “of course!”. Being Rue’s parent doesn’t always come naturally, but it comes from the most genuine love, every single time. Of course you can go to her meeting when Abby can’t reschedule work, because of course you want to know about how Rue is doing in school. It’s an honor to be there for her, to speak for her when you know she needs you to. This is you actively trying.

“How were the other parents?” Abby asks, lying on her side now, her finger tracing unreadable patterns on your cheek. She craves physical contact more than she’d like to admit— but it works great, because you never ask her to admit it if she doesn't want to. The pads of her fingers say enough.

“They were cool, they were all very sweet to me. Well, Leo’s mom is a little passive aggressive but she’s that way with everyone,” you comment through a yawn, the side of your face comfortably pressed against your pillow. Abby hums, agreeing. “Sophie’s mom was the nicest, she sat next to me and invited me to join her and Jade’s mom for brunch.”

“Which Sophie?”

“The one that gave Rue a Valentine’s gift, that milk chocolate that she loves.”

“Oh, I like that Sophie.”

“Me too. I think I wouldn't mind joining a weekly brunch cult with her mom.”

Abby laughs in the way that she only does when she’s sleepy, where she sounds almost like her teenage self, shy and sweet. By the time it dies down, you’re almost asleep. But then, softly enough that you almost don’t hear it, she asks, “How do you think you would feel if she called you that?”

You make a questioning little sound that sounds like "what?" but not quite.

“If Rue called you mom.”

Your eyes open in a second, though not without effort. You look at Abby’s face, her pretty, relaxed features, and answer honestly. “I would probably cry. And then kiss her cheeks for as long as she let me.”

Abby chuckles. “Like when she fell off the swing and got the tiniest scratch on her knee?”

“Yeah, just— the joyful version of that, I guess. They would be the happiest tears ever spilled,” you explain, so sincere that Abby almost tells you. And you know her enough to read it on her face, the way she barely parted her lips and then pressed them back together quickly. Your head lifts from the pillow. “Wait, why? She told you something? Did she ask about that?”

Abby is great at keeping it cool, but less so once she’s been caught. Her nervous chuckle says it all. “I…”

“Abby, I swear to god, I will not let you sleep until you tell me.”

She more than believes you, but a flash memory of her pinky finger wrapped around Rue’s holds her back from spilling any more details. “Sorry, baby, I’m not allowed to say.”

“Oh my god,” you drop back onto your pillow, this time lying flat on your back. “You think she’s gonna say it?” you ask, and Abby is unsure if you’re asking her or the ceiling or a godly presence way above it. Or yourself, most likely. “It’s okay if she doesn't, maybe she was just curious. Maybe she needs time. I mean, obviously. She probably won’t say it, like, tomorrow, right?” you turn your head and look at her, so wrapped up in your inner monologue that you don’t process the amusement and adoration that’s all over your girlfriend’s face. “What if I react super weird and she doesn't say it again?”

Abby’s lips stretch into the softest smile, so in love that she almost forgets to answer and instead holds her hand on the back of your neck and pulls you close to press a kiss against your forehead. Your eyebrows are still furrowed worriedly when she pulls away, and she brushes her thumb over your cheek as she lets out the kindest hum, acknowledging your question. “You’re not gonna react weird, sweetheart.”

Momentarily flustered, you shake your head to remember the point that you’d been thinking about. “But I shouldn't cry, imagine how confusing that would be for her— what if she thinks she made me upset?”

“That won’t happen. She cried happy tears when you moved in, remember? She knows what they are,” she says. It’s one of the best memories you have, the nervous look on Abby’s face when she asked you, rambling, “It would be a big change, but not the worst, right? You’d just be a couple doors down the hall. It would be a lot of the same in a lot of ways, just with us.”

After that came the late nights at your apartment, dates hidden behind the excuse of packing, half empty boxes on the floor and Abby stuck to you like glue, a kiss or ten whenever she got too carried away with excitement. A couple weeks later came your clothes in her closet, your favorite blanket on the couch, and Rue’s eyes glimmering with happy tears as she hid her face on your neck and tried to understand her feelings. Then, after a few minutes of patiently rubbing her back, came her little frown of concentration and the way she attentively listened to you and Abby explain that her reaction was normal, that sometimes happiness feels like too much to hold in just a laugh or a dance. “Oh, okay,” she’d said, in this cute proud tone that she gets whenever she learns something new that makes sense to her. It was the sweetest thing. She’s the sweetest thing— and you can’t believe this is your life, that you get to take care of her and hang out and teach her new things to be proud of.

“You think she wants me to be her mom?”

Abby smiles. “You are her mom, baby.”

Rue doesn't say it the next day. You don’t overthink it— couldn't if you tried. It's a nice feeling to be so happy that you don't feel the need to think. She doesn't call you mom that morning, but she runs to the doorway where you’re putting on your shoes to get to work and wraps her arms so tight around your legs that you have to balance yourself with a hand against the wall. Her hair is messy from sleep, her yellow pajama shirt wrinkled, her eyes blinking lazily as she looks up at you and asks, “Back soon?”

“Soon as I can, princess,” you promise, leaning down to kiss her head. What is there to overthink? What more could you possibly need?

You can do this forever, have mornings like this and feel grateful in a way that you didn't know existed until now. You love the way it comes at random times, the way you’re still you, still grumpy when your coffee tastes watery, still a little bad at getting to the train station on time, still learning not to burn the first batch of pancakes. It’s a big change, but not the worst, right? It’s a lot of the same in a lot of ways, except Abby is there at the kitchen kissing your cheek, and a tiny head of blonde hair is peeking from the back of the couch, gummy smile and freckled cheeks, saying, “I like my pancakes like that, mom!”

[softshuji]

𝟖:𝟑𝟎𝐏𝐌 | 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎

Title: August Rain

Summary: Mikey tends not to celebrate his birthday, and on the one day he allows himself to, he gets more than he bargained for. Happy birthday to my prince! Reblogs appreciated as always.

cw: fem!reader, all of Bonten make an appearance, Sanzu being insane, mentions of marriage and divorce, explicit violence and bad language, use of guns, both suggestive and explicit mentions of sex, some painful angst because Mikey is a sad boy :(

Mikey lets the others take him on his birthday. He knows they enjoy it, whatever remains of this ragtag group of men, the Haitani’s and Sanzu, Kakucho driving, and him in the passenger seat. There’s been a lot of fuss, he knows. Venues decided and paid for, Ran preparing the evening for the few of them, smiles all around because they want him to feel like for one day, maybe everything else matters less. 

It's a cold August all things considered, the kind that has them taking out coats rather than jackets, hoods and collars pulled up to their ears. 

They chatter, and Ran elbows Rindou in the ribs, to which he hisses and Sanzu laughs, genuinely this time, the fine striped waistcoat bulging from where the gun presses against the linen inside. Mikey’s lips twitch, the frame of white hair falling against the window and the evening’s first rain trickling towards the mattified black metal of Kakucho’s expensive car.

‘Can you keep it down? I need to concentrate,’ he says and shifts into gear, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to the elbow and a lean on the seat as he reverses out and into the open city. 

But they bicker, incessantly, and Mikey, maybe this time, isn’t perturbed by the sound of their voices permeating the wind whistling through the open windows, Ran’s baritone voice that’s deep underneath the music.

He chances a glance back, as if he’s watching the trees disappear and whiz past the sunroof, the orange flare of evening sun bleeding through the green and Rindou catches his eyes, softens, just a bit, and smiles before turning to his Brother. 

And Mikey almost feels something as the moment passes quietly.

He thinks of all of them as they drive, coming out on a day off to enjoy the day, a request he never asked for, but appreciates anyway. Rindou and his Brother, Sanzu too, whose Wife is expecting their first child, the others and their lives marred by the weight of their loyalty to him. It should be easy, to not care for them in some way, when he knows what they’ve done, both of their own volition, and for him, all the blood that has led them here, bones and lives added to the pile underneath his feet. Koko, whose Wife is sick and still needs him, juggling the responsibilities of Fatherhood alongside it all, Rindou and the messy and complicated divorce with the Woman he still loves despite what she’s done to him and Kakucho, still grieving for a love that never really ended.

‘Boss?’

Mikey twitches, his cheek leaning against his open palm, a quick pull from his reverie as they turn onto the highway. ‘Hm, yeah?’

Kakucho spares a glance, his eyes flashing as they flit to the side, one hand braced on the wheel. ‘You okay?’

He deliberates, and turns to the window, where the shadow of the trees has the buttery sunlight falling over the ivory of his skin, and behind it, a greying cloud encroaching over the trees. The window is open from the top and the evenings first few specks of rain fall on his forehead, an icy chill that calms the flush of his cheeks in the warm interior of the car. ‘I’m fine Kakucho,’ he says and it is clipped, as it usually is. But they never mind, and Kaku only nods as he turns to the road again and presses a foot down on the gas further, the looming neon lights of a bar spilling over the horizon’s edge, a sharp line against the slash of darkening clouds. 

It had been Ran’s idea in the end. Hushed whispers that had passed from person to person, Sanzu eventually coaxing the idea forward a few days back. There’d been an uncomfortable silence, and Mikey had watched them in turn, a hopefulness they were so quick to repress because they expected him to say no, to push, to resist.

I don’t see why not, it’s only a few hours. 

And maybe the Haitani’s had smiled at each other from across the mahogany table and Takeomi had lit a cigarette and said he’d meet them there on the day and the air had felt a little lighter, a little clearer when they left the room and Mikey was alone with his thoughts for company again.

There has been anxiety on his part, and he ponders this when he exits the car as they pull up on the side and he pulls his coat collar up to cover a part of his neck and face, the old habits coming to bite at him with every gentle lash of the quickening rain. It’s been…months since he’s last stepped out and it surprises him that the world hardly changes during these bouts of self imposed isolation. The people still walk aimlessly, eyes glued to smartphones, conversations held over earpieces, toddlers wailing in parks, mothers shushing them and fishing for pacifiers in handbags. He wonders if the world should be different just because he is no longer the man from twelve years ago when he’d left you to venture out alone, a conversation had in a park that honestly could be any one when he thinks about it.

‘You still up for this Boss?’ Sanzu says, coming up behind him now, his own coat collar pulled to cover his neck from the rain, the flash of pink hair stark against the black wool, a light touch against the .22mm handgun tucked against his waist for good measure. 

Mikey feels a sting then, the five of them looking over at him, poised on the doors of the car, all concern, as if he has not asked them to commit unspeakable acts of violence in his name. He wonders if it haunts them as it does him, if the guilt shreds whatever hearts are left when they’re alone standing over the sinks at night, washing blood that refuses to leave without marking the indents on their fingernails.

There is a twinge of pain when Ran smiles placatingly, a gentle coax and a tilt of his head to the side and it burns that they still give a shit this many years later, when he knows what he deserves and he knows it’s not this.

Part of him wishes he was more like them. Sanzu and his Wife expecting a child, Ran and his Girlfriend that he seems happy with- his steps light and sure-footed, perhaps safe in the knowledge that he can protect her, that he is not as bad as Mikey is himself. The worst really, all the dark and suffocating things crammed into his body twitching with the need for peace.

‘Yeah, let’s go.’ And they nod, a quick check of their pockets and suits, rings glinting under the quickly fading sunlight, a waxing crescent moon that kisses the tiles of the bar’s roof, faded translucent white that hides behind the now grey sky.

Kakucho resists putting a gentle hand on Mikey’s back as he’s ushered towards the entrance, an instinct he never really lost after… all that happened. Maybe it’s in his blood to care so deeply, even after everything, or maybe he wonders if Mikey deserves a gentle hand even now, all that he’s seen and hates himself for seeing. If only it were easy to completely shred that part of him that still cares. About anything. Maybe he reminds him a little too much- of a man with white hair he once knew.

Mikey glances down at the pavement, flecks of rain slapped against the concrete and it’s then that he feels the full force of a person barrelling into him, a knock against his lungs that has the air drawn out in a quick breath, hands extended to brace himself as the fall comes.

There is a shout, and the click of guns with the safety pulled, a harsh and guttural, “get on the ground!’, a “Mikey!” that he hears as the sound fades, a ringing in his ears that thrums in time with his racing heart, flushed skin that flares a deeper red as his vision swims.

“Mikey! Boss, are you okay?” Kakucho has a hand on his shoulder and he feels its warmth through the coat. He braces a hand to his side, a squeeze of his eyes that has his breath coming slowly now, slow and calculated lungfuls of hair that have the foamy blackness of his vision clearing, the twist of Kaku’s concerned expression now coming into focus. He wheezes, coughs, the pain thrumming in his chest with every sharp and spiky breath, slow inhales that ache in beating sinew of his lungs. 

Sanzu is shouting, a hand held tightly on his gun, the cold and hard steel of his gaze now narrowed on a crouching figure on the floor, hands above their head and shaking, wracking swings of their shoulders with every word rushed out in panicked breaths.

‘I’m fine, what happened?’ Mikey says, his breaths coming easier now, a hand splayed on his chest, puffed cheeks and hair clinging to his neck. 

He wonders if he should have seen it, felt it, reflexes coming to life, or maybe he’s dulled enough not to withdraw from pain when he thinks he deserves it. Or maybe he’s getting tacky, all the time he spends so long cooped up by himself, dark rooms where there is never danger outside of the violent claws of his own thoughts sinking into his flesh. 

‘Shut up, enough crying,’ Sanzu says and presses the gun to their temple, a minor click of metal and the crunch of gravel under his feet, him looming over them in his pinstripe suit, the unmissable cold frost of his voice that has them shaking involuntarily.

‘Please, please it was an accident, I didn’t mean it!’ And they narrow towards the floor, hands held high above their head, hair swinging and dampening in the now steadier rain. 

‘I don’t give a shit-’

‘Sanzu-’ This from Ran who stands opposite from Rindou, a gun also drawn from the younger Haitani, a calculating gaze on the shivering figure kneeling at his feet, wordless assent and a narrow pinch of his brows when he catches the stockinged legs now muddied with dirt, a torn skirt that’s now patchy with mud splatter in his periphery. 

Kakucho stiffens suddenly, a hand still on Mikey’s shoulder as the descent of his realisation makes a steady crawl along his spine. ‘It’s a girl,’ he says, and his throat aches somehow, the harsh lump now dragging along his chest when he sees the books and papers now decorating the drainage, water clogged and sodden with rain. 

Sanzu casts a glance at him, a long and hard stare that he shakes off with some apprehension, the slight thrum in his bones that has the hairs on his nape rising on end. ‘That doesn’t matter to me.’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake Sanzu-’ Ran again, two hands out as if to calm a child, his head turning this way and that for the police he knows instinctively is coming, sirens that only ever seem to be a moment away.

‘Shut the fuck up Haitani- she could have hurt Mikey.’

‘Yes but she didn’t, it was probably an accident. Put your fucking guns away.’

Sanzu sneers. ‘I don’t take orders from you.’ And the gun digs further into her temple, a drag of his gaze to his leader for assent for a bullet that can spill the red mush of brains over the sidewalk. 

‘She hardly looks like she’s a threat Sanzu,’ Kakucho says from beside Mikey, a worried zip of his eyes to the girl sobbing against the tarmac. He hates it again, the sound of pain that seems to follow him, these situations he can never leave, and a heart that still cares and tries even now. Somewhere, a child cries and he looks up and over the waist-high gate to the woman with a pram now whispering into her phone, a cut of her narrowed eyes towards them, hushed and guttural and suspicious, pushing the pram with one hand and holding the receiver to ear with the other.

Mikey watches, the angry slap of his heart against his ribs now cooling with the brisk evening chill, the dull shadowy ink of his gaze now moving between the four of them. 

Sanzu bares his teeth, a wolf entrapping the doe in the cage. ‘Did you miss the part where she knocked into Mikey? I don’t care if she’s a girl, no one touches the Boss.’ And he pulls the safety, a click of metal and sliding silver as it presses against her skin.

Ran hisses, stepping forward in confidence and Rindou stiffens at it all- his Brother moving between Sanzu and the Girl, breezing into danger, his hand now wrapped around the barrel of the gun to tug it up and away. 

He draws back his hand, a jerk against the silver, his knuckles splashed with cold rain running along his wrist and swallowed by the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Don’t make a scene Sanzu, people are starting to look. You’re being reckless.’ And he holds his eyes, purple flecks of light flashing under the clouds, and Sanzu frowning, a twitch that has a vein pulsing in his temple as he holds firmly on the grip, knuckles white with the strain.

Kakucho moves from behind Mikey, his hand slipping from his shoulder blades, both palms coming up as if placating an animal, his coat collar skewed from the lashings of rain slapping against the pale ivory of his neck. ‘Look, both of you calm down, I’m sure it was an accident. And instead of going for each other’s throats, let the Boss decide what he wants to do.’

Sanzu holds the elder Haitani’s gaze, Rindou hovering near his Brother’s shoulder with a piercing unflinching frown, before he breaks and turns to Mikey with a faint kiss of his teeth and a scoff as he slowly lowers the gun from her head. 

Kakucho turns back to Mikey, his head bent lower, voice a subdued whisper flecked with a concern that he can’t help, because he is just a man, and he has seen too much blood for one lifetime. And he thinks maybe after this long he shouldn’t care anymore, that the scars on his knuckles have faded to a muted silvery pink, or that the black ink on his chest has permanently made a home in his heart where the hope of anything better has long been locked and sealed, but he does. Care that is. Even if he shouldn’t. Even if it haunts him.

‘Boss?’ he says, a pinch of his forehead creased apprehension. ‘What do you want to do about this? We can leave her or…get rid of her, it’s your call.’ 

Mikey raises his eyes, the understanding whirling in the dark velvet of them before lowering them again, to where you look over your shoulder at him, lips parted in fear and shaking with the cold and mud splatter clinging to your skin.

Something moves in his chest.

A beat of his heart that’s a fraction of a second too fast, a tap of it against his ribs.

And an image flashes across his mind then, quick and slipping through his fingers like sand. Hair that he touched with a reverence that was godly, clear pretty eyes swollen with tears, lips reddened and smeared with saliva from his own, dripping down a trembling chin that he cups with his two bruised hands. And he had kissed you then, again and again and it had felt like a kind of freedom, a small respite before he abandoned you in this park, under the trees where the blossoms were still shifting to pink, and the cicadas hummed during the evening. And it had been a nice day really, he had made it so. A memory you could hold that hurt a little less despite what he’d done, that you could learn to heal from and forgive yourself for- because you were always like that, so quick to shoulder his shares of the blame. 

Your mouth moves, lips parting, closing, trembling with the rain splashed across your cheeks, tear tracks that gather on your chin to disappear into the same worn red scarf that’s frayed and repaired and frayed and repaired and patched in all the places he knows you’ve mended. 

‘M…..Manjiro?’ you say, a breathless whisper that slips across the wet tarmac, your eyebrows shooting up, confusion spilling across the blush dusted across your cheeks. 

Sanzu stiffens and the gun digs into your skull from the back again, a sharp lance of pain that sprints across your scalp and spine. ‘How do you know his name?’ he growls, a wolf circling prey, teeth bared to tear through your skin.

You whimper audibly, your hands reaching higher in surrender, chipped nail polish now flecked with rain, the mud caked under your nails and across your palms streaked with a crisscross of red grazes.

Kakucho takes a step forward and Rindou lowers his gun a fraction, takes a step back with an uncertainty that zips between him and Ran, who still holds tight to the muzzle of Sanzu’s now raised revolver, knuckles chill with the cold, the lapels of his coat now blown open with the lashes of icy wind.

‘Boss?’ Kakucho says, his eyes flecked with concern, the jet black sweep of hair now shining crystalline with the rain speckled across it. ‘You know her?’

Your gaze flits, a deer caught in headlights, between the five of them, each measuring you with an inflection of concern and curiosity, the usual pinch of Rindou’s eyebrows now tightened in anxiety. 

Mikey knows your face. 

He could know it in his sleep, in dreams where the image of you is pressed to his pillows, pressed to the swirling liquid at the bottom of his glass, pressed to his tongue when he fucks a cheap whore with you on his mind, your body underneath his hands and so responsive to all the small and minute touches. Only to kill them later because they could never be you, and they could never be his and he doesn’t care for using others anymore when he could never undo his wrongs- could never wash away the curve of your lips smiling against his, or the tight and snug fit of you pressed against his sheets, the mattress of his old place now indented from the memory of you, your hair caught in the woven fibres of his pillows and he’d hated it that much he’d torched it all and watched the flames eat the image of you alive. 

His tongue clings to the roof of his mouth, the taste of his saliva thick and cloying and heavy over his teeth. 

‘Y…..Y/N?’ he says, his whisper caught on the whip of the wind lashing at his cheeks. It’s tough, this many years later to say your name when he’s spent years burying it at the bottom of a bottle, underneath the copious pills Sanzu has offered to him, the taste of you swimming in his mouth, and washed and washed and washed down again and again and again. 

You shift, and lean on your caked palms, your knees drawn up to your chin, stockings torn at the knees and thighs, soft skin splattered with rain. 

‘Mikey,’ you say again, the feeling of it foreign on your tongue, tripping over it now after twelve years of resigning yourself to never seeing him again, of telling yourself it was for the best that he’d left you to nurse your heart alone. 

‘Y/N,’ he says, the sound of it a sharp gasp, the dark velvet night of his eyes now taking you in, the entirety of you burned into his gaze and it aches in his chest, pulses in his temple, a hot white kind of pain that zips across his skull.

Kakucho takes his cue and moves between the two of you, extending a hand and hoisting you up before fishing a handkerchief from the lapel of his waistcoat. He shakes his head, a short and abrupt glance at Sanzu who only scoffs at him in return, arms now folded over his chest with incredulity. 

‘I’m sorry, about this I mean.’ And he wraps your hand around the small fabric before shrugging his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders, a comforting squeeze that accompanies the hard set of his mouth into a shaky smile. 

‘It….it’s okay, I understand.’ You wrap your arms tighter around yourself, wrists and hands entirely gulfed by his sleeves. ‘I’m sorry I caused this.’

‘Do you really know him?’

‘He’s my….he’s someone I knew once.’

He nods, draws you slightly closer against a particularly strong gust of a gale before turning his gaze back to the others, particularly to Mikey who stands frozen and rooted, conflict whirling in the ink of his eyes.

Ran moves, foxlike and agile and bends to whisper. ‘Boss, if you want a minute alone, I can take the others. Kaku will stay with you for safety…and to make sure she doesn’t try anything.’ This last part hushed, and more for Sanzu who glares at you with a narrow pinch of his brow, pink hair now clinging to the wet collar of his black coat. 

Mikey glances up once to the clear shine of Ran’s earnest eyes, the usual smirk and lilt of his playful charm now buried under the concerned and protective tug of his eyebrows before nodding once, slowly, deliberately, as if he’s warring with himself.

And Ran smiles, genuinely, before patting Kakucho reassuringly on the back. ‘Alright let’s go, we’ll wait inside.’

‘I’m not leaving the Boss,’ Sanzu says, and taps his gun against his arm, the silver catching the fading daylight.

‘You heard what he said, we can go. Kaku will be here anyway.’

Ran, for all of it, the blood he has seen, knows the importance of this moment right here, the only flicker of anything left in the man who once held the world so tightly, the only thing maybe that he can provide that make him a little better, a little happier, a little anything other than what he is.

Sanzu scoffs and looks to Mikey again, who only flicks his eyes up once in recognition, before letting them fall on your mud splattered shoes where he’s resigned to let his gaze stay, burning holes into the tarmac under your feet because he just can’t look, can’t let himself see you in all the ways he’s wanted to for years. The clear clarity of your eyes where the sun soaks, the pinch of your eyebrows and forehead that he’d kissed because you’d liked it and you’d felt safe and warm and his.

‘Come on, let’s go, we’ll wait for the Boss inside.’ Ran puts a protective arm around Rindou, shooting a glare at Sanzu who turns hesitantly, casting a glance back at Mikey, his steps faltering, tripping towards the neon lights of the glitzy bar.

Then, Kakucho, as if sensing the tension. ‘I’ll be in the car, I’ll keep the window rolled for privacy but call if you need me,’ he says, a reassuring pat on Mikey’s back, his chest lurching with an ache when the the fading light bounces from Mikey’s platinum hair just right, in a way someone else’s used to once upon a time. 

You shift on your feet, a shy glance up and away again, settling your eyes on his shoes where the rain has splashed across the black leather. 

‘So…’ you start, a cough into your hand and he fights a strangled sound of uncomfortability, of hesitation and a shyness he thought was long dead.

‘It’s good to see you Manjiro.’ 

It hurts to hear you say his name, his real name, the taste of it in your mouth that feels so new and old and familiar and not, and he likes how it sounds. He always has. 

‘You…too…Y/N.’ 

There’s a silence again, him biting hard on his tongue, you moving from foot to foot and you hate it, that it became this, that everything you had is washed down the drainage, ruined and tainted and buried with the years when once, you had been something. Maybe nothing more than partners, but something. 

Your eyes flick up. ‘I’m sorry I hit you, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t see you there,’ you say. ‘Oh, I’m not saying it’s because you’re- y’know, I just mean-’

‘It’s fine, I wasn’t hurt.’ Clipped and aching in his chest, chewing the words up and squeezing his fingers into his palm, red crescents indented into the pale ivory of his skin. ‘Are you…well? You look well.’ This time, he does look up, at your face blooming with health, a happiness he had never seen on you back then, the worry lines now faded to muted smile lines and it burns him that he hadn’t put them there, that he’d been the reason for it all. 

Your eyes shine, a flicker of excitement spilling across them, a small smile curling at the edge of your wet lips and he has an urge to kiss you, press you against the car and hike your skirt up, to paint you with him again like he did, leaving a mark that blooms across your skin with his teeth. 

‘I am well Manjiro, I’m doing pretty good,’ you say, an embarrassed grin that you’re quick to hide behind your wet sleeve, the rain now petering to a soft and unsteady trickle that whets your lashes. ‘And you?’

You fight the temptation to mention that he seems to have lost weight since you last saw him, a hollowness to his skin, thin and dripping shadows under his eyes that accent the shine of his lustrous platinum hair, dark circles that line his ivory pallid cheeks. He hasn’t been eating, you think. Meals left unattended and thrown, drinks chosen to accompany the cold and lonely nights. 

He stiffens. ‘I’m doing fine. I don’t have much time to get out anymore, that's all.’ His nerves tighten with tension, your knowing gaze that melts with a curiosity and pity that he hates, that he loves, that he wants and never believes he wants because you always somehow knew, were always somehow so forthcoming even when he wishes you weren’t, even when he knew he deserved less. 

‘I see. I missed you y’know,’ you say, your eyes softening, mouth puckering to a soft pout. ‘I see you changed your hair too, it looks good on you Manjiro, it really suits you.’ And he wishes it hurt less like this, in the same park he had left you in, wishes that you had kicked and screamed at him when you met again, a rage that he deserved and would have let himself feel, all the anger and heartbreak he would have willingly endured for you because it could never atone for the sins he’d accumulated in time.

Something kicks in his chest. ‘It was for my Brother, after he passed.’ 

The rain slaps against the bonnet of the car, clouds greying like oatmeal, a sludge of cement across the sky.

‘Oh. I’m sorry, forgive me I didn’t mean to upset you or anything.’

‘It’s fine Y/N, you don’t need to apologise for everything…I thought you’d be angry.’ 

‘Huh? I don’t understand what you mean by that.’ 

He does look up then, at the tree overhead, the branches bare and bending, ticking the hood of your coat and snagging at you with the red scarf pulled tight to your chin, worn threads catching on the fading glossy lips and he thinks of them against his, the thump of your heart pressed to his, fingers tugging at his hair, a fist wound tight in the threads of it and pulling, yanking even, when he bites and licks and soothes over the marks made by his teeth. 

He takes an unsure step forward, Kakucho  in the car raising an eyebrow as he watches. 

‘I mean, why aren’t you angry? You’ve not said anything about it yet.’

You frown, sidestepping between the curb and the road, weight shifting from one foot to another. ‘About what ‘Jiro? The way we parted?’

And he nods, the dull lustre of his eyes swimming with an undefined and unusual clearness and you sigh, drawing out a long breath that mists in the now clear evening sky. ‘What’s to say? You left me, you no longer wanted anything to do with me and I gave up on pretending there was something I could have done to change what happened back then. I admitted it to myself finally anyway.’

‘Admitted what?’ he says and tilts his head to the side, the swing of white hair now plastered to his neck where goosebumps prickle across his skin. 

You wrinkle your nose, as if it’s obvious. ‘That you found someone else of course. Another girl, one prettier and smarter and better.’

‘Huh?’ Ice pours into his veins, a flash of white hot lightning across his skull. ‘That wasn’t it. I didn’t leave because of that.’

You stiffen, shaking your head, a frown bleeding across your forehead. ‘Then why?’

He clamps his lips together, a firm line that accompanies the uncomfortable shake of his head, the silence that stretches and yawns wide.

‘You know, I racked my brain for weeks, trying to think of if there was something I could have done, if I had accidentally done something wrong that I just didn’t know about. Was there?’

A beat. ‘No, no I made my decision weeks before that.’

Your chest falls, heart slamming against your ribs. ‘Then what Manjiro? I thought we were doing good, we really were, right?’ Your voice wobbles, tapers off at the end, a small and uncertain shake to the usually bright timbre of it and he aches, for doing this again, for a second time. 

‘Stop. Stop asking me this,’ he says, a hesitant step back, hand catching on the bonnet of the car and Kakucho- inside- raises an eyebrow at the two of you, mouths moving, glassy pearlescent shine of your eyes that makes Mikey seem like a deer in headlights, uncomfortable and uncertain. It does not take him long to put two and two together from that.

You press on, a step forward with more vigour. ‘Why Manjiro? I don’t get it.’

He balls a hand into fists, the hurt churning in his chest, old wounds flayed open and licked with salt, the blood running down his ribcage where the carving of your name has never left. ‘I don’t want to talk about this, and you will not ask again.’

‘Please,’ you say, your hands coming out as if in prayer, surrendering yourself under the thick wiry branches where the rain trickles through the wood. ‘Please, I just want to know, I deserve to know.’

Kakucho puts a hand on the door, nerves wiring with anticipation.

Mikey’s blood roars in his ears, the silence a cavern, deafening and loud and vibrating in his skull and when he pauses, the silence hanging on his breath, you go on, and the tears spill, years of them, so watery and full of a grief so big you’ve been swimming in it. Twelve years, all the love that died somewhere, all the love you never got to give, all the forgiveness you knew he could have taken for himself if he just stayed- because you had forgiven him and it had been easy and you’d have come back to his waiting arms if he’d let you. 

You take another step, within arms reach now, breath glossing in the mist, the lump in your throat spiky as it slides along your flesh with every sharp intake of breath. ‘I just wish- if it had been someone else- if you never loved me anymore- then you could have just said so, I could have taken it I swear.’ You’d have wished him happiness still, seen him off in some dignified way, left with a wave and a final smile as a parting gift rather than the grief and rage thrown at the wall, at yourself, for just not being enough for him to be honest to. 

‘Please stop,’ he whispers, hands balled into fists in his coat, shoulders pulled up to his ears and shrinking still against his coat, his eyes averted and glancing frantically between you and the tarmac. Kakucho eyes the two of you nervously, apprehension that simmers along his skin, knuckles white and gripping the door for the moment to step in should he need to.

You deflate then, your body sagging in on itself, a tiredness that seeps into your bones, cold licking across your skin and down to the fibres of your clothes and you fiddle with your hands, pulling at your sleeves, hanging your head and your gaze dragging to his shoes again, now flecked with lashings of cold rain. 

‘I loved you Manjiro,’ you say, a soft and hesitant whisper that’s lost under the rush and hum of passing cars, the puddles jumping and thrumming across the tarmac. ‘I really loved you.’ 

You look up and the pain is a knife across your lungs, sharp and fresh and fast, tears that are salty enough to sting, the devastation of all the untold feelings, all the hurts that were never resolved and never forgotten now rising to your tongue. From where Kakucho is, he only sees you, the bleak and crumpling turn of your once red lips, wobbling and glossy with tears, and Mikey struck still- a deer in headlights- his back stiff and hunched as if in pain.

‘You shouldn’t have, that was your mistake.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

'I do. I never asked you to love me, I never asked for anything from you.’

The edge of your voice seeps with a hardened bite then. ‘You’re an awful liar Mikey. Don’t think I didn’t notice how desperate you were just for someone to hold you- it was written all over your face.’

The inky velvet of his eyes flashes with cobalt steel. ‘Watch your mouth with me, I could have you killed.’

‘That’s the thing about you. You like to pretend you’re invincible, but I never forgot you at all and I would have stayed with you till the end.’ 

He swallows back a wince, a sharp lance of pain that slices clean across the shattered remains of his heart because he knows, he knew back then that it would have been true, that you’d have held onto him and waded through the thicket of sin, the debauchery you’d have endured for his sake, the violence you’d have scrubbed with the blood from his hands and then held gently- as if he had not killed to get there in the first place.

His skin burns, cheeks blazing with a furious heat, all the adrenaline now spilling into his blood and he hates you. He hates you so much that it feels close to shame, for this feeling still. That whatever he can still feel now, what passes as love to him still resides in his chest, an ache and a yearning for the heat and feel of you in his hands and he wishes it had been beaten out of him in some way, wishes your face was not so pretty, wishes your voice was less kind, less soft, less everything he so desperately wants to grab at selfishly and greedily. 

He swallows, a thick boulder that has his tongue weighing down. ‘I don’t want to hear anymore.’ He makes a turn when you grab at his wrist- a minute and split second decision that has the hairs on his arms rising.

Kakucho stiffens, his gun pulled quickly and efficiently from the glove box and tucked into his pants, the car door pushed open and him stepping out as the rain spits through the gaps in the wiry branches. 

‘Manjiro please, don’t just go- not again, not like last time,’ you say, your voice flecked with a desperation that breaks off into a sob, your other sleeve held to your running nose, your running eyes, tears that gather on your chin and his eyes rove over your pretty face, falling and falling till the glittery band on your ring finger snags him.

He freezes, and the silence is weighty, palpable when you glance down at where your fingers circle his wrist, thumb pressed to the indent of veins now thrumming with warmth under your touch, your heart punching against your ribs when his gaze flicks up to meet your eyes again, a fresh wave of pain quickly stamped out. He clenches his fist and pulls his wrist away, turning his coat collar up till his tattoo is swallowed by the black wool. 

‘I…’ 

‘Don’t.’

‘I can explain, I swear.’

‘You’re married,’ he says, bluntly, matter of factly even- his voice melting with apathy, a sneer that he can’t help, that he hates himself for when the jealousy burns in his lungs, green and ugly and hot. 

‘I am.’

‘You’re married and you didn’t mention it.’ 

You frown, your outstretched hand now pulled back and cradled to your chest. ‘Should I have? Why does that matter to you?’ 

His hackles rise again, a vein pulsing in his temple when Kakucho looms at his side, a reassuring hand coming to rest on his coat, the jet black swing of his hair flecked with frosty rain. 

‘It doesn’t,’ he says, forcing a nonchalance he doesn’t feel, and a pain he does far into his stomach. ‘I don’t care.’

And of course you are, when he thinks about it. You’re good and it pains him that that hasn’t changed his many years later, still saying sorry, still bright as the sun, still soft and too pretty to touch, terrifying and alluring all at once when he knows the world is not kind and yet you behave as if it is, as if it should be despite yourself. The years have not changed you and it is this that has the seed of envy sprouting in his chest- that all those wasted years he did not waste with you, the two of you growing up and growing older and becoming mellowed by time. The regret sinks into his bones. 

‘Oh,’ you say, stung and hiding it well behind your trembling lip, your sleeve coming up to wipe at stray tears, all the earnestness he knows he has to shatter time and time again because you are just like that. 

You remind him of someone, another person left behind in the past. Someone who was too persistent, annoyingly so and yet funny, adorable, nostalgic, beautiful, all the things he no longer had room for when it all changed, all the determination he had to stamp out of you because you wouldn’t do it yourself and the world couldn’t shake you.

And then. ‘How long?’

‘Huh?’

‘How long have you been married?’ and he’s not sure why he’s asking when he believes he doesn’t care, only that some locked part of him wants to keep you a minute longer, be a bit more selfish and greedy for your time when he has twelve years to fill and no amount of pining can assuage the ache of your absence in all of it.

Something like joy flits momentarily across your eyes, and Mikey wonders if you know, if you noticed the sun that breaks through the clouds when your eyes shine with a clarity, a clearness that punches against his chest, the barest sliver of a smile tugging at your lips that you’re ashamed of even now and still hiding as if you’re trying to save him from more.

‘Oh,’ you say, a little shyly and kicking at the ground. ‘Me and Mitsuya have been married for about five years but we were dating for five before that. We have a son now too, a baby boy just starting school.’ 

You avoid his gaze, the slow and naked crumple of his mouth, the edges turned down and vulnerable, ashamed, the ricochet of his breaking heart you swear you can hear and wish you didn’t have to. You love your husband, you swear you do and it’s a testament to him that when Mikey left, he was the one who put you back together again, the time taken and mended to fix you, nights spent so freely and willingly at your side and never once used to badmouth Mikey or you, or anyone for that matter. Love persisting, as he always had and does. 

But there is something that aches inside when you glance up at Mikey the same as ever, raw desperation and a need so great that you wonder if anything has changed in twelve years, if he lies awake on some nights as you do, the occasional thought and dream of him that you’re determined never to talk about, buried and locked in some dark part of your chest where the tangled thicket of your history lies dormant.

Do you ever really recover from the pain of first love? Is it even love then? When you are young and fickle and you think you know all there is to know about it and you wonder if the hurt can ever truly heal when it breaks you open and you recover and move on and forget, wounds painted over only to be peeled back again and again. Is it love? Or is it love for what you know it to be at the time?

‘Oh,’ he says, finally clearing his throat behind his hand, the mask falling as it does, as he’s used to and turning to nod at Kakucho now over his shoulder. ‘Get a driver to take her home, we’re done here.’

Your eyes widen in alarm. ‘Manjiro? No wait, we haven’t finished.’

‘We have, I have nothing more to say to you.’

He does. He doesn’t. He isn’t sure. He only knows with certainty that it burns him when he thinks of another man having you in all the ways he wishes he could, everything he should have been that someone else was so easily, pooling in a regret that’s a cavern so wide it’ll eat him if he thinks too long about it. He hurts, he inflicts pain, and you deserve a softer love than anything he could have ever given you. 

‘Manjiro!’

He glares at you over his shoulder, the velvet darkness of his eyes swirling with an ivory flash, an impulse sparking to life. ‘It’s Mikey. My name is Mikey.’

Ice pours into your chest and you pull back as if burned, the fresh tears brimming unbridled and unbidden. 

‘Mikey…’ you breathe, a plume of mist that dusts him with grey in your periphery, tasting the sound of it for the last time, savouring it on your tongue, anguish swirling in your voice when it cracks on the last syllable. 

He nods at Kakucho once and stalks past you, eyes trained on the neon lights of the building behind and you in the corner of his vision getting smaller, the ache and thump of his heart that claws at him for doing it again. Leaving again. Hurting you again. Breaking you again, because it is all he is capable of, and you deserve something softer than the jagged edges of him to cut yourself on.

You cradle your hand to your chest, the resounding footsteps getting further now, you glancing back at the swish and swing of white hair against the black collar of his coat, and always walking away, always the image of his back to look at like he had done before. 

Kakucho rests a hand on your shoulder, the soothing warmth of his voice dripping like honey. ‘Hey, I’m not sure what all that was about but you’ll be fine and I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry? For what?’ you say, your gaze snagging on the crimson light of his eye, the milky white of the other hidden by the midnight black of his hair, a look so gentle and soft, a comfort so warm. 

‘All of it I think. For what became of him that you know about, and even all that you don’t. For what it’s worth, none of it was ever your fault,’ he says, a faint tilt of his head to the side. ‘Mikey just changed after Iza-’ A pause, a harsh clench of his jaw, lashes kissing at his cheek as he heaves a weighted sigh. ‘After losing his siblings, all of them. It wasn’t ever you.’

‘I would have stayed, you know, I would have loved him through it all.’ 

‘That’s the problem. Look, I don’t know you but if Mikey felt like you could have come to harm because of him, then he left you for that reason. As unhappy as he is, and as you are with it, maybe the reason you’re alive is because of that decision.’

Apprehension bristles across your skin. ‘You know more than you’re letting on Mr….?

‘Kakucho, and yes I do. We heard things that’s all, and it’s my job to stay in the loop on his life. I recognised you from the pictures.’

‘Pictures?’

‘The ones he failed to burn, old pictures of the two of you that he thinks no one else knows he looks at. But we’ve all got skeletons in our closets and we just happen to know his.’

He watches you then, all the realisations that dawn and spill across your eyes, the turn of your mouth that has your lips trembling, your hair now plastered to your skin. It’s heavy, the weight of it all, truths and lies that unfurl like flags in the wind.

‘Look, I have to go, but there’s a car here to take you home, give the driver your address okay?’ And he shepherds you to the black unmarked car where the driver nods at you as you slip in, your mind blank and dizzy, a white noise that rings in your ears as he bends at the window. ‘Best you don’t tell your Husband about this either. For obvious reasons.’

‘Okay…’ you say, numb and blind, a grief so big clustering in your chest that it shows on your cheeks, where the tears continue, swallowed up by the red scarf now unfurling around your neck. ‘Thank you Mr Kakucho, for everything.’

He gives you a smile, a pained one at that, the shared weight and loss zipping between you two as he stands and taps the roof of the car, the driver calling a ‘Where to Miss?’ that’s cut when he rolls the windows up again. 

You drive off and he sighs, heavy and thick and painful, a sharp pinch in his lungs when he turns towards the club and walks, feet dragging to the doors where Mikey waits, agonised as he watches your car drive off in a plume of grey smoke.

a/n: I have nothing to add, u can pelt me with rocks for this one lmao, I figured it was time for something soul crushing. sorry for this being a little late though but I hope everyone enjoys it still. happy birthday to baby boy.

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @nikokopuffs @mitsuwuyaa @haruwuchiyoo @mochimiyaas @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub (pls dm or send an ask or comment to be added)

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 of kidnapper/kept pet series:

You’re trying again with Johnny.

Or, more accurately, Simon is going to bring Johnny over so that you can (hopefully) adjust to him. Desensitize, at least. Warm up, best case scenario. Simon knows better than to get his hopes up.

He tries to set up for success though. Tells you that he’s bringing Johnny over this time. You make an annoyed noise, scrunch up your face. But he can see a little bit of intrigue in your eyes. You really could use a little more socializing.

He preps Johnny this time too. Reminds him that your shy (standoffish) and cautious (feral). Not to make any sudden movements towards you, or try to grab at you. If you come near enough to touch (unlikely) it’s in his hand’s best interest to let you make first contact.

“Be patient, she’ll come ‘round,” he reminds as he lets Johnny in.

And you, in pure spiteful fashion, are no where to be found. Simon sets Johnny up with a beer and goes searching, finds you curled up on the sun porch angrily crocheting.

“Time to come inside, feral.”

“But he’s here.”

“He’s not so bad, I like him.”

“Exactly.”

You fuss and grumble, but ultimately there’s very little you can do when he scoops you up. He brings you inside, your crocheting things in one hand, you secure with the other. Johnny watches your little parade with arched eyebrows. But he doesn’t say anything.

You get deposited on the couch, a scritch to the back of the head that makes you scowl even as you lean in a bit. Johnny has taken up residence in an armchair a healthy distance from you. When you eye him distrustfully, he chuckles and pulls his shirt collar aside.

“No tags this time, stray.”

You scoff and turn back to your crafting. Simon takes the other end of the couch, knows you’re a bit keyed up today. There, but not imposing on your treasured personal space. You settle in, more or less, though your eyes keep flicking to Johnny while he and Simon talk.

He’s much different from Simon; it’s why he wants you two to at least tolerate each other. You need the enrichment. He louder, brasher, more energetic. Eventually, you slink off to the kitchen for a snack.

“Grab us another beer, eh?” He calls.

You stalk out with a scowl. “I’m not a dog, get it yourself.”

Simon huffs with amusement as you curl up on the couch again, nibbling on your snack. Johnny points at you, empty beer in hand.

“You’re ill-mannered.”

“Says the guy that doesn’t know ‘please’.” You hop off the couch and retreat to your room.

Simon shakes his head, though his eyes crease with amusement. “Keep fucking around and you’re gonna find out. Again.”

“You spoil her,” Johnny complains.

Simon sighs. He still doesn’t get it.

“She’s not a pet, yeah? I’m just keeping her.”

“What the difference?” Johnny groans, standing to get another beer.

“A cat is a pet. A panther is not.”

“Och, and she’s a panther, is that it?” Johnny rolls his eyes.

“I don’t want her domesticated, Johnny. I want her taken care of just the way she is. If you’d stop pissing her off, you’d see why.”

Johnny grumbles, but lets it go. Lets the thought sit. Considers all the things in this specially made house just for you. The tv, the overcrowded bookshelves. The plants for you to attend to and the craft supplies lying about. The room that is yours alone, off limits to johnny, even simon rarely enters.

When you emerge again, it’s because there’s food. You’re hungry and demand a plate from simon, hovering at his elbow while he makes it up for you.

Johnny makes more of an effort, keeping all the things Simon told him in mind. He knows your unlikely to speak to him unless antagonized, so he talks at you - a lot like how Simon did when you first started out.

Luckily for him, Simon’s paved most of the way for him here. At first you pretend to ignore him, but eventually you can’t help it, he is a very engaging story teller after all. So you end up watching him openly, eyes darting from his face to his waving hands to his shaking shoulders.

You’re so focused that he and Simon even manage to coordinate Johnny giving you dessert, him getting close enough to touch as you take the slice of cheesecake from his hand. He’s careful not to touch, doesn’t want to break this spell.

But the real victory of the evening comes when he’s actually stopped paying direct attention to you. He’s still got some cheesecake left, more focused on talking than eating, as usual. And unnoticed, you slip from your chair, circle him and…

“Oi, did you just-? Get back here!”

In a move of pure strategic genius, you tuck up behind Simon. First out of caution and a little genuine fear for his reaction, then when you see him floundering, out of safe smugness.

“Ah, yeah, should have warned you about that. She likes to ‘share’.”

Several times now, you’ve eaten directly off his plate, off his spoon, from his fingers, even. You especially like doing it when you think he’s not paying attention.

“Feral brat,” Simon chuckles, “I would have gotten you more.”

“Tastes better when it’s Johnny’s,” you reply.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 23

part 1 | part 22 | ao3

cw: alcohol, recreational drinking

Steve fusses with his hair in the side mirror again, tugging awkwardly at his borrowed clothes. He feels stupid, standing here fidgeting in the parking lot like some kind of nervous freshman, but half of Hawkins seems to be here tonight and Robin’s got him dressed like a loser — worn green flannel and a ripped black tee with a faded picture of The Smiths. Jesus. “Did you really have to dress me like this?” 

“What? You look cute!” 

“I look like I raided Jonathan Byers’ closet.”

“No, you look like someone a certain neighbor is going to be drooling over all night.” Steve’s grateful for the dark then; for the blush it hides on his cheeks. “It’s not my fault you don't know how to make a deal; if you wanted to borrow a specific shirt, you should have said so before we shook on it.”

“Besides,” she ignores him when he rolls his eyes at her, “you wouldn’t even let me smudge eyeliner on your lower lash line like I wanted to, so I really don't feel like you’ve earned complaining privileges.” 

“I’ll complain if I fucking want to,” he grumbles under his breath. He runs a hand through his hair one more time, then forces himself to look away from the mirror. Rolls his shoulders back and down. “He’s not even here, anyway.”

“Ah-ha! So you did check.” She links their arms together, starts dragging Steve across the uneven gravel, her ankles wobbling in her low-heeled boots. “‘Just looking for a good parking spot,’ my ass. God, I’m always so right about everything. I'm, like, cosmically correct. I should really play the lottery next time I visit my grandparents..."

“Uh huh.” He’s not sure what luck and correctness have to do with each other, but sure.

She stumbles over a rock; pushes into his side, grinning, “I’m serious! I’ll play the lottery, and I’ll win big, and then you’ll see. Might even split my winnings with you if you’re nice to me.” 

“I’m literally so nice to you all the time, but okay. Can’t wait to take half your earnings when you get ten bucks off a scratcher.” 

“Hey, five bucks is five bucks! That’s like an hour and a half of our lives.”

Jesus Christ. “That’s just depressing.”

They walk arm and arm down the narrow footpath to the party — ferns brushing their calves, dry dirt beneath their shoes kicking up tiny clouds of dust — and as the path opens up Steve sees the place is packed. More packed than the overstuffed parking lot let on. There are people scattered over the picnic grounds in groups of fours and fives, a full dance floor under the main pavilion; a DJ set up at the front with food and drink stands to the side; a giant bowl of spiked punch; a tower of solo cups; a couple of coolers filled with beer.

In the surrounding grass he sees more tables, more people. A couple of guys he remembers from swim team rally around an arm wrestling match; another group plays beer pong on a brown fold-up table that they definitely stole from someone’s church. There's a circle of burnouts playing hacky sack behind a tree.

The bonfire burns brightly on the hillside in the distance, and beyond that he spots the faint glow of trail lights leading up to a bridge under the falls. 

Part of him wants to follow the trail. Shake Robin off, pretend like he’s going to take a leak. Find a nice rocky overhang to camp under for a while.

Listen to river sounds. Gentle slosh; cricket buzz.

Maybe he gets drunk up there alone. Maybe he just enjoys the solitude; lies on a rock on his belly by the icy river’s edge, swirls his hand in frigid water and doesn't dream of dark brown curls.

“Steve?” Robin nudges him. “You good?”

Another, much less annoying part of him reminds him that he’s Steve Goddamn Harrington. He knows how to have a good time at a party.

Who cares if he feels too old to be here, or if it’s weird to see so many faces that used to call him Captain or King? Who cares that he's one smudge of eyeliner away from looking like a full-blown new wave art freak?

He’s not about to slink off to do depressed weirdo wallflower shit when the DJ’s playing Wham!

“Yeah.” He squeezes her shoulder. “You want a drink?” 

“Yes, please.” 

—

The drinks are strong.

Steve’s pretty sure the punch bowl is a lot more hunch than punch, but there’s still no sign of Vickie, and Robin’s getting that sad little stress wrinkle between her brows about it, so Steve says bottoms up and starts chugging. 

They wince their way through two cups each. Robin plugs her nose on the second one like she’s about to do a high dive, and Steve laughs and takes her hand, leading her into the crowd just as Take on Me comes on. The lights all blur together as they shimmy and shake and twirl, moving like a couple of dorks, but Steve’s having a great time. Bobbing his head to the beat; a big, dumb grin on his face as he moves his hips. Robin shouts “Watch this!” over the music, and the next thing he knows they’re competing to see who can bust the worst dance move. 

He brings out all the big guns, the full-groan dad maneuvers.

The sprinkler, the lawn mower, the fucking disco finger. 

Robin answers with a sloppy attempt at the robot, so he makes up a new move he calls be kind, rewind, and she laughs like a horse and pretends to walk down a flight of stairs.

She’s crouched into a goofy lunge, two steps into the ascent back up, when the song fades out and a ballad takes over. The crowd presses in to slow dance; Robin steps on someone's toes.

“Hey, watch it!” the person hisses.

Robin startles hard; knocks herself off-balance when she tries to stand up straight, babbling, "Oh, my god, I'm so sorry! Are you- are you okay? I'm such a klutz, oh, my god, I'm—"

Steve snatches her up under the armpits; puts her back on her feet. Then he looks up and realizes who exactly she just stepped on. 

Well, shit.

—

part 24

tag list part 1 below the cut, let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)

@a-little-unsteddie @ahsokatanoss @aliea82 @alyelf @anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @awolfstudio @bambibiest @bananahoneycomb @bookbinderbitch @bronwenmarie @cheonsazu @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cuips-not-cute @dauntlessdiva @dawners @dontwasteyourchances @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @fandomfix8 @gregre369 @griefabyss69 @grtwdsmwhr @hallucinatedjosten @hellion-child @hiimlevi @honoragreyskull @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @kas-eddie-munson @kingelyx @lifeisacrisis @littlebluejane @marvel-ous-m @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @milklechee @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @munsonslure @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @phoenixtheone @questionablequeeries @runninriot

[diodellet]

decompressing (scarabia x gn!reader)

summary: you and kalim go clubbing, but only one of you returns drunk. kalim tries his best at playing caretaker, for once. jamil gets pleasantly surprised by kalim, but finds the novelty of the situation weird, as a person of habit would. content warnings: -aged-up characters, NRC as a university since there's drinking referenced -pre-relationship poly shenanigans (as in there are kalim x reader, jamil x reader, and jamikali moments. all platonic) -loosely set after the developments in book 4, but no heavy spoilage of events -gender-neutral reader (reader referred to with they/them pronouns) ++reader gets drunk and suffers the consequences, more doting and banter, and kinda-cute moments than character study i hope, the vibe i'm hoping for is in vino veritas but make it silly word count: 1.8k

“What happened? Why are the both of you back so early?”

Kalim only gives Jamil a weary, sheepish smile. He opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by you loudly replying, “I deserve compen—ugh—compensation!”

“Careful, you’re gonna get nauseous again…”

“I can walk fine!” Your arm tightens around Kalim’s elbow.  “…Just not too fast.”

Say less. Jamil steps aside to let the both of you into Kalim’s dorm room. Judging by the state you’re in, you’re probably going to have to stay the night.

(Unless you get the brilliant idea to walk back to your own dorm. And he knows that both he and Kalim would shut that decision down.)

Four hours ago, you were confidently promising Jamil that he’d finally have a quiet weekend night to himself, that Kalim would have a fun and safe night out at the same time. And to some extent—if he ignored your mussed-up hair and makeup—you did deliver on that, seeing how Kalim, completely sober, fussed over you. You were drunk enough for two.

The scene in front of Jamil feels like something straight out of fiction.

After setting you down on the bed, Kalim says, “I’ll just get you some water—No, no, no, don’t lie down yet!”

“But I feel better like this…!” One of your shoes lands on the floor with a clatter as you kick your feet indignantly.

Just before Jamil can step out of the room to get water for the both of you, Kalim turns and shoots him a look pleading for a bit of help. All right, guess he was going to wrangle you instead. As Kalim leaves the room he mouths a silent ‘thank you’ to Jamil.

“...Kalim’s right, you know.”

“Ugh…fine. Help me up,” you grumble. Despite your words, you lean heavily against Jamil’s side. “You better be thankful I kept him from getting drunk.” 

“I think I can figure out what happened.”

Still, you continue without losing a beat, talking about the different drinks and snacks you taste-tested for Kalim, the songs that you danced to, the people you talked to. He did not expect you to be able to remember that much in your intoxicated state. Turns out, you were a lot more talkative when plastered. It felt like Jamil was looking at a different version of you. A more brusque and honest one, completely unlike the mediator that you usually liked to play between the both of them.

(A part of Jamil is deeply relieved that Kalim didn’t have to use any of the antidotes he brought with him.)

“—hm, I think you’re a bit hot, Jamil.”

He can’t help the sly smile tugging at his lips, much less the reflex to poke a little fun at you. “Really? Why, thanks.” On the contrary, you’re warm, still buzzing from the high of partying.

“Not like that. Scoot over, I’m sweating again!” You shove at his shoulder a little harder. The suddenness of the motion makes you pause and clap a hand over your mouth. “Ugh…shouldn't have done that.”

“What are you doing?” Jamil’s hand closes around your arm, keeping you mostly upright.

“...’m thinking of lying on the floor…Somewhere with tiles…”

“No, you need water.” Exasperation slips into his voice.

“I was having water in between drinks, but at some point, I was just plain drinking alcohol,” you retort.

“Didn’t it occur to you that you could have just—” He sighs, stopping himself from that oncoming tirade. “Never mind. Let me help take those off.” And his hands take care not to tug at your scalp as he undos the clips and hair ties.

Could Kalim move any slower in getting those glasses of water?

“I really tried, you know,” you say, “to keep Kalim—I mean—the both of us safe…I just figured that it’d be easier if it was…” Your hand gestures to yourself. “Just me.”

At that admission, Jamil’s hands still. “You…” Idiot. He mulls over his words as he removes your earrings. “Self-sacrifice may be admirable, but it is foolish.”

(Neither him nor Kalim would be able to forgive themselves if something worse than inebriation happened.)

“I’m back! And I’ve got a plastic bag for you to throw up in, just in case!”

“No! Don’t mention throwing up, I’m doing really well right now!”

Truly, it is a wonder watching the two of you communicate, Jamil thinks to himself. 

The jewelry that Kalim lent you is gathered into a gleaming pile on his nightstand. Jamil busies himself with returning them to their proper containers as you take sips from the glass in Kalim’s hand. 

He even had the consideration to put in a straw.

“Better?” Kalim asks, setting the glass aside.

You don’t respond immediately, planting a hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his cheek before sliding it up to aggressively ruffle his hair. “I already told you I was doing fine! Can I sleep now?” 

So you were a happy, affectionate drunk. Not unlike Kalim when he’d get intoxicated, at least one of you was sober. 

Kalim catches your wrists. “Not yet! You need to get cleaned up first.” He’s smiling, but his brows are slightly furrowed in a mix of concern and exasperation.

“Ugh.” 

“I’ll help you out. Come on, please?” 

Despite the part of him that’s internally cringing, Jamil could almost revel in seeing Kalim fumble at being the caretaker for once. Oh, but the sermon he’d be subjected to if he vocalized any of that aloud. Before shutting the drawer, Jamil takes out a bottle of makeup remover and an opened bag of cotton pads. “Here.”

“Thanks, Jamil.” And he soaks the pad in a generous amount of the liquid.

“I hate those. They always hurt my eyes…”

“Don’t worry, it’s safe for sensitive skin.” Jamil suspects you’d complain less if you heard how much a single bottle of the thing cost. Kalim presses the cotton pad against your face, giving a tentative swipe against your cheek, glitter and foundation coming off with the motion. “Sorry, is that too rough?”

“’s too gentle.”

“...How about now?”

“Okay. We’re good.” And you make sure to tilt your head, to stay still as Kalim removes your makeup. “Sorry for getting drunk. And making you both take care of me.”

“No need to apologize for that.” Kalim is quick to reassure you. “I probably should’ve said no to those drinks, huh?”

Without missing a beat, you agree, “yes. You’re really cute and nice. But you’re too nice to strangers.”

An unreadable expression passes over Kalim’s features. “...Jamil says the same thing.” He punctuates that reply with a short empty laugh. Though his voice is pitched quieter than its usual volume, Jamil’s ears are sharp enough to pick up on it. Their gazes meet—between them, it’s a tiring song-and-dance, but it’s another thing to have an outsider like yourself commenting on it so brazenly—and Kalim breaks eye contact to focus on wiping away your eyeliner.

He changes the conversation after gathering the used cotton pads with one hand. “Are you hungry? I can try to make you something—” Jamil interrupts Kalim’s offer with a discreet ‘ahem.’ “—I mean, we could get you flatbread to snack on while you wash up…”

You reach a hand up to scrub at your cheek. “...wanna be compensated.”

“Compensated how?” Jamil folds his arms across his chest.

Your muffled grumbling is indiscernible. Kalim leans a bit closer to you. “Could you say that again?”

“...stay with me so I don’t choke on my puke.”

“Of course.” Kalim’s hand squeezes yours. It’s a silver lining to his shamelessness, being able to reciprocate out-of-pocket moments of vulnerability without an ounce of hesitation. “You don’t have to worry about that. We’ll stay with you.”

At those magic words, exhaustion finally seeps into your frame. “I was being so brave tonight…” you mumble.

“Yes, yes you were.”

(Just this once, Jamil lets Kalim speaking for the both of them slide.)

“Go ahead and wash up, okay? I’ll go after you.”

Your frown doesn’t let up. But you do oblige Kalim’s request and amble to the bathroom, holding onto the door frame for support. Jamil hears the sound of running water and decides to turn his attention to Kalim. Muscle memory takes over as Jamil undoes Kalim’s headscarf.

“Wait, wait, I can do it myself…” In spite of his protests, he doesn’t pull away, just lets Jamil gather the elaborate fabric and fold it into a neat square. It’s a nasty habit, Jamil thinks, but habit is comforting to lean into. Or sometimes, it just nagged at him like an itch to scratch.

“Give me your rings and bracelets too, I’ll put them away.” He’s used to the sight of exhaustion hitting Kalim at the end of a party, but there’s something different about this weariness.

 “...Sorry, thank you, Jamil.” Ah, the undercurrent of guilt is new. Kalim heads to his cabinet.

The both of them stand in uncomfortable silence for a bit. Jamil can feel the back of his neck prickling, but he keeps his head down, focused on arranging the last of Kalim’s jewelry. It’s a meditative task, but that leaves his mind thrumming with the vestiges of the exchanges that he just witnessed.

This kind of scenario—having to stand aside and do basically nothing while watching Kalim’s clumsy yet successful attempts to take care of you—is an unwelcome sensation, makes his hands itch to do something, however menial. But at the same time, isn’t that what he’d been hoping for his entire life?

Click! The lights in the bathroom come on. Followed by the sound of you retching—hopefully into the toilet bowl. Welp, they tried to alleviate it. 

“I already told them I could handle a few drinks.” Frustration is also a foreign emotion on Kalim’s features. 

And he wasn’t lying. He has a higher alcohol tolerance than Jamil. Jamil can’t help himself from the little amused huff at the irony. “Well, they’re pretty stubborn.”

“Kind of like you.”

Jamil rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“You know that you don’t have to stay in my room tonight, right? I’m not…forcing you to do any more work tonight.”

(It’s truly unfair how blindingly honest Kalim can be.)

The irritation that cuts through Jamil isn’t like the long-festering resentment he held. It makes a sarcastic smile pull at the corner of his lip. “Who said that I was being forced?” If he retires to his dorm room, he just knows that he’ll be woken up again.

It’d be easier to keep an eye on the both of you if he stayed over, and it would bring a hell of a lot more ease to his mind, but he doesn’t need to say that last part.

Knocked off-kilter at his response, Kalim can only blink confusedly at him. “Eh?”

“I’ll bring over an extra mattress after I finish freshening up,” Jamil explains.

“Oh…oh! Would you need any—”

“Keep an eye on our drunk friend, will you? They might fall in.”

“Jamil, you asshole, I heard that.”

He ignores the weight of Kalim’s gaze on his back as he walks back to his room, laughing to himself.

A/N: lowkey hate the title, but the gdocs file is named "jamil and his 2 dumbasses" i had to pick smth more presentable than that 🤧 here are a bunch of scenes and ideas i wanted to throw in here that didn't make it into the fic: -reader getting extra nauseous and throwing up in the laundry hamper, mistaking it for a trash can -reader pointing out that kalim purses his lips when focusing on a task (i hc this as a sort of hereditary habit of jamil's. tbh this fic couldve been about habits and how they tend to get passed around as you grow closer to each other) -reader demanding goodnight kissies on the forehead (HAIST this is the second time i've lost pre-planned kisses, truly writing is a process /derogatory AUGHHH) -kalim offering to braid jamil's hair before they go to bed, i firmly believe that he puts his hair in a protective hair style bcs no way in hell he goes to sleep with his hair loose like that without suffering (me im a long hair haver and the hairfall carnage i wake up to every morning 🗿) i wrote this out to figure out kalim’s character more (and i couldn't stop my jamil bias from slipping in oops) fingers crossed 🤞 this insomnia draft will delve into that better than this aah 🤧 smtimes i feel like he’s ooc bcs i’m not putting enough exclamation points in his dialogue, but hnggg its obviously gonna turn out ooc if i do put !!! in everything he says, but i don't hate how this turned out so thats gucci! thank you @jessamine-rose for beta'ing this spontaneous wip ur truly a lifesaver 🥺💕 anyways, i hope this was a fun and enjoyable read, dont be afraid to rb and holler in the tags, i treasure each and every interaction 💕💕

[marlynnofmany]

Drying Out

The wind on this alien planet was like I’d expected: not quite strong enough to put my balance at risk, but enough to make me glad I’d braided my hair back extra tight. Even with that precaution, little hair tendrils were whipping the sides of my face as I walked, and I didn’t have a hand free to brush them away. I was, as usual, carrying a box.

Mur could have carried it, but it would have been much harder for him, since he needed his tentacles to walk. Lucky bipedal me, with my free hands. I tried to focus on that as I squinted into the wind, scanning the nearly-deserted spaceport for our clients. I really should have brought goggles. Or at least a hat that wouldn’t get blown off.

A beanie would be perfect right now, I thought. Or even a scarf. I could be nice and fashionable with my swim goggles and a tie-dye bandanna. Why did I grab chapstick but nothing for my eyes?

I knew it was because Wio had only mentioned the drying properties of the local air when I’d asked. She was a Strongarm like Mur, and they admittedly had different priorities. No hair, for one.

“There they are,” Mur said over the wind. Not a thing got in his eyes.

I followed the direction of his blue-black tentacle, and spotted the little alcove that looked like an old fashioned bus stop. Three small whitish shapes huddled there that I’d thought were trash bags. Whoops. A bit of judicious squinting showed that they were another pair of tentacle folk and their bag of belongings, avoiding the worst of the wind.

Not a bad idea.

They unfurled as we got close enough for them to see the package and correctly deduce that we were here to deliver whatever they’d ordered. Miscellaneous stuff from an offworld store without its own delivery crew, I think. Not my business.

Mur greeted them warmly, taking point in the conversation while I stood there like the hired muscle with the box. The clients were very glad to see us, mostly because that meant less waiting in all this wind. The bus shelter didn’t do much to hold it back.

“Thank you for being prompt!” said the bigger of the two Strongarms as she signed the payment tablet. Her coloring was off-white with patches of yellow, which reminded me of a popcorn-flavored jellybean. The other popcorn squid was a little smaller, but had the same coloration. Probably related, but what did I know?

“Our pleasure,” Mur said as he took the tablet back and they pulled out a small hover platform to carry the package. “The less time spent in this desiccating wind, the better.”

They agreed heartily. I placed the box on the platform and helped the small client strap it in place while the big one explained that they had one more delivery to wait for.

“Unfortunately, that ship has been delayed,” she said. “Which would have been good to know before we got out here, but that’s the twist of the current for you.”

The smaller one piped up in a voice that sounded young. “I’ll say. I ran out of moisturizer with one arm to go — I would have dug up more from storage if I’d known we were going to be out here all day.”

The big one was visibly worried, already tugging at the small one’s tentacles. “Where aren’t you covered? How bad is it? Let me see!”

Mur made sympathetic noises while I mentally went over what I knew of Strongarm physiology. The previous courier ship I’d worked on had kept the air at a higher moisture level than the current one, largely for their benefit. Mur had told me about the lotion they all wore in dry air. I’d honestly forgotten about it.

And it appeared to be a big deal. The one yellow-white tentacle that the small Strongarm had been holding curled close looked dry and stiff even from where I was standing. She winced as she uncurled it. Her mother (yeah, I’m assuming) rushed to dig through the bag for a bottle of water, which she rubbed into place with visible worry.

The young one watched her fuss over it. “I’ll be fine; it’s just a little dry.”

“It’s a lot dry! Why didn’t you say something? And I didn’t bring any moisturizer either, because this was supposed to be a short trip. Oh, and this port doesn’t have a shop!”

Mur winced. “Yeah, this place is mostly Heatseekers and Mesmers, isn’t it? They probably wouldn’t even stock the good stuff.”

“Or any stuff,” the older client agreed. Another gust of wind spun in from a new direction, as if it was determined to make things worse. I licked dry lips while the client fretted.

I had an idea.

“Hey, I don’t know if this works, but do you want my chapstick?” I offered, pulling the tube from my pocket and removing the cap. I swiped some on the back of my hand to demonstrate. “It’s made to keep human lips from drying out, but it might work for you. Assuming you’re not allergic. It has like three ingredients, mostly wax.”

The big Strongarm was already reaching for it, spilling gratitude. She inspected it quickly, picking up the cap with another tentacle while she read the ingredients. “Beeswax, coconut oil… What is coconut? And almond?”

“Plants from my planet,” I said. “Seeds, kind of? Though the coconut is really big and kind of like a fruit with a shell. I don’t know what it really counts as. At any rate, it’s not toxic for me, though that doesn’t mean much.”

She turned it further. “There’s a species-safe diagram here, though it’s very small. I think that’s a dot in the Strongarm corner. Do you remember which is where?” She looked up at Mur.

“Lemme see.” He studied it for a moment while the wind gusted around us and the smaller Strongarm curled her tentacle under her. “Yes, that’s the right corner! Good news.”

“Excellent! Thank you!” The client snatched the tube and instructed the young one to hold out the vulnerable tentacle.

It took a while to cover the whole thing in chapstick, but the elder was determined, and the youngster was patient. Also more than a little embarrassed if I was reading the body language right, but I couldn’t blame her for that.

“Done!” the elder announced. “Did I miss anything? Are there any other spots that feel dry?”

“No, it’s fine.” The youngster pulled her tentacle back. “Feels weird.”

“Yeah,” I agreed with sympathy. “The wax is more noticeable than a good moisturizing lotion would be. But I hope it helps!”

The elder put the cap back on and moved to return it to me, but I told her she could keep it. They needed it more than I did. Plus it had tentacle-alien cooties all over it now, which I’d feel weird about using on my own mouth, but I didn’t say that.

“Honestly, it’s my least favorite flavor,” I said instead. “I got that one in a multipack. I’ll just get a better one later.”

She thanked me again and badgered the younger one into holding the tube, with instructions to reapply it the moment her skin started feeling dry again. The youngster insisted she was fine. The adult had clearly heard that before.

“Well,” Mur said. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you! May the wind torment you as little as possible.”

“We appreciate that,” the client said. “Do all humans carry these? I’ve seen human-run shops before, and never thought to look for moisturizing agent there.”

“Most of us probably don’t have chapstick on hand all the time, but it’s a good thing to have available. And humans do use skin moisturizer too! It’s probably not the same grade as the kind you’re used to, but if you’re in a tight spot in the future with a human-run store nearby, you can probably find something there.”

“That is very good to know,” she said. “Thank you again!”

We said our goodbyes and headed back out into the brunt of the wind. I could swear it was trying to unbraid my hair one strand at a time.

“Morbid curiosity,” Mur announced as we walked, “But what flavor do you prefer for lining your mouth with? Knowing humans, it’s probably gross.”

I had to smile. “I like the minty ones, which isn’t that weird. Or cherry. Though there was a cinnamon one I found once that I’d like to get again. It looked more like lipstick, which isn’t really what I’m going for, but it smelled good.”

“Hm,” Mur said. “And what was this one? Plant flavor?”

“It was mostly just beeswax. Not that great.”

“What kind of wax is ‘beez wax’?”

“Oh!” I lit up. “I told you about honey, right? The sweet stuff made by bugs?”

“Yeeeees,” he said with suspicion. “Your food additive that’s full of insect spit. Don’t tell me this is the same concept.”

“It’s what they make their hives with!” I told him. “I don’t think there’s as much spit involved. I looked it up once, and the wax seeps out of these pores on their sides, making little scales, then if enough of them flap their wings to raise the temperature to soften it, they can shape it into the little cells to lay eggs and store honey in. But not at the same time. And yeah, they probably do that with their mouths, so there might be some spit involved.”

Mur’s squid face was contorted into an expression of spectacular disgust. “And you put that on your mouth,” he said.

“Yup!” I brushed hair back from my face. “Probably good the client only asked about the other ingredients.”

Mur walked faster. “I hope they don’t find out until we are far out of range.”

“It’s not that gross!”

“You said that about honey too.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[notroosterbradshaw]

Stay the Night

here’s some old-school Bucky in Wakanda smut. I didn’t think I’d publish Bucky stuff here, yet here we are. Hope you enjoy x 

18+, smut, fluff. It's just you and Bucky in Wakanda while the team is away. He tends to his flock, you wish he tended to you.

“Today is the literal meaning of ‘hotter than Hades’,” you announced as you collapsed less than gracefully on a broken tree log as Bucky Barnes shot you a look over his shoulder, sweat protruding from every pore in his tanned, muscular form, a tendril of long, dark hair falling into his glassy blue eyes from the loose ponytail behind his head.

Jesus, a man should never look that damn good, you thought, fanning yourself with your shirt, the material sticking to your drenched skin. Thank god the heat hid your blush.

“Bored?” he asked, scooping up a hay bail and loosening it for the goats he tended to munch on.

“Radio silence,” you replied. “I kind of feel like I’m in the way of the locals when I can’t contact the team. I haven’t heard from Nat, Sam or Steve in a few days. I am pretty useless at times like this.”

“That’s not true,” Bucky said, pointing at the water bottle you had parked beside you. “You brought water. I assume that’s why you’re out here in the midday sun,” he teased as you tossed it to him and he caught it easily with his right hand, twisting the cap off and guzzling the cool refreshment.

Every movement was pure sex, you sighed quietly as his throat bobbed, water falling from the creases of his lips and down his chin. Life seemed much fairer before Bucky Barnes.

“Thanks, Buck,” you rolled your eyes as he finished the bottle easily, crushing it in his palm and laughing at you, walking back to hand it to you.

“No, no,” he nudged your boot with his. “Thank you,” he went back to stacking and distributing hay as you said a quiet goodbye and told him you’d see him later.

You hated when the team was away.

While you’d made some friends in Wakanda, you were still finding your way and mostly felt in the way of working alongside the Wakandan defence and communications teams. They used a lot more sophisticated tech than Stark had ever provided you and you’d never admit it out loud, the tech was somewhat confusing at times, thanks to its gross advancement over what you were used to.

You’d always be thankful for T’Challa and his family for taking you into the palace grounds, a necessity, T’Challa explained. It was beyond amazing and his lovely mother, Ramonda, fussed over you to ensure you were comfortable at all times. It was nice to feel so welcome, but so lonely without your family.

Steve, Nat and Sam had left days ago. Wanda and Vis were off the radar (lie, you knew they were having some kind of rendezvous in Europe and had no intentions of interrupting whatever was or had developed between them).

That left Bucky.

After he’d been woken from cryo, Shuri had run every test known to man on him to assist in the removal of the trigger words, he’d gratefully taken up residence away from the hustle and bustle of the wondrous city and hauled his ass out to the farmlands, simply requesting the peace, privacy and quiet. For the first time in over 100 years, he was able to be his own man without fear of retribution. Sure, the dark memories flickered occasionally, but the words would never hurt him again.

He enjoyed the serenity in the sounds of nature, with the exception of an iPod that Sam had gifted to get him up to speed on more modern music than the 1940’s bops Bucky was more accustomed to –

You sighed, hearing the knock at the door, interrupting the reverie of mindless TV. It was late, too late for guests. After dinner, you’d showered and retired to your PJ’s – your threadbare, well-worn Yankees shirt (your first souvenir of New York City when SHIELD moved you there years earlier regardless of your disinterest in baseball) and loose PJ pants. “Coming,” you replied, pushing yourself up to open the door, surprised to see Bucky on the other side - cleaned up, void of sweat and dust in lazy sweat pants and a white t-shirt. A casual Bucky Barnes. This new development was not helping your crush. Not in the slightest. “Hey. You lost?” you teased lightly.

He showed you a bottle of Glenfidditch and you chuckled a little, moving from the way to let him in. Closing the door behind him, you leaned back against it, a little confused about his visit as Bucky simply didn’t visit anyone aside from Steve or Shuri. You only visited Bucky occasionally to make sure he wasn’t segregating himself, but he did usually prefer his own company when Steve wasn’t around.

“Got ice?” he asked, going to the kitchenette for a couple of tumblers.

“I don’t actually – if I’m going to drink aged whiskey, I’ll be doing it properly.”

“Ooh,” Bucky cooed, a small grin growing on his lips. “A woman after my own heart.”

“Blame Steve – a few years back when we all moved to the Tower… fuck, just after Ultron maybe? Steve brought out a bottle of this stuff and I’ve been a convert ever since. He said you guys would destroy bottles together.”

“Well, he did. I would drink responsibly though I didn’t know at the time I could put them back as well as Steve could with the serum running through my veins,” he said, bringing the glasses to the coffee table, cracking the top and pouring you each a glass. “Are you gonna join me or hang out by the door?”

“Sorry,” your face flushed as you skittered over and sat at the other end of the couch. He handed you a glass and gave you gentle ‘cheers’ before you sat in silence for a while, enjoying the smooth amber liquid. “…Bucky, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I dunno – you seemed a bit forlorn today. Thought I’d try and be a friend,” he shrugged. “You’ve been pretty accommodating to me since we got here. I guess I could repay the favour even if you’re only checking in on me for Steve. And you’ve got air conditioning,” he tossed in the joke to try and lighten the mood.

“Steve didn’t ask me to keep tabs on you,” you admitted.

“Oh,” Bucky said, sipping his whiskey and easing back on the couch. “Do you like it out here?”

You chewed your lip, dropping your eyes to the glass. “I mean, it’s a hellova lot better than being shipped out to The Raft,” you admitted as he stifled a chuckle.

“True.”

“If I’m going to be on the run for associating with the team, it might as well be in one of the most securest places on the planet.”

“You chose well,” Bucky agreed.

“Would have been stupid for me not to take it. I owe T’Challa, and Steve, a lot.”

“They’re good men.”

“Absolutely.”

Silence overtook the room again though there was no discomfort with it.

“Thanks for havin’ a drink with me,” Bucky said as he polished off his glass. “It’s getting late,” he got to his feet.

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “Okay.”

“I don’t want to impose,” he said with a gentle shrug, collecting his tumbler.

“You’re not imposing. It’s nice to have the company, to be honest,” you confessed.

“'Nother glass then?”

“Definitely,” you said, hoping not to appear too eager. Bucky gave a small nod and poured again.

“I know I’m not much of a talker,” he told you as you sat and cradled your glass close to your chest.

“I just enjoy the company regardless of noise levels,” you shrugged. “It’s different when the team is here, but when they aren’t…”

“When they aren’t?” he pressed.

“I have too much time with my thoughts.”

He raised a glass. “I hear that.”

Your glass joined his. “Why are you in the farmlands then and not in the palace?”

He nodded slowly as you hoped you hadn’t overstepped the mark. Blame the first glass of booze – less than tipsy you would never ask such a question. “Just tryin’ to earn my keep – least I can do since T’Challa is harbouring an international war criminal, assassin, murderer – ”

You gave a gentle laugh. “He’s not harbouring you.”

“Protecting me then,” Bucky corrected himself.

“Maybe protecting you,” you admitted, agreeing.

You both continued a polite conversation, mostly about Steve and the team before you both started dozing at your respective ends of the couch. “I should really head out now,” Bucky said.

“Stay, it’s a million degrees out there.”

He gave you an incredulous look that told you he knew what you were saying, but staying was still a terrible idea. Suddenly overwhelmed, you realised it completely sounded like a blatant invite for sex. It wasn’t, you thought. Was it?

Trying telling your libido that.

“If you stay on your side of the bed, Bucky, and I stay on mine, we won’t have any issues,” you try to regain your composure.

“Are you completely sure?” he looked about as convinced as you thought you were.

“My God, it’s sleep,” you told him. “I would never deny you, of all people, Bucky, sleep.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “Okay. Thank you.”

“It’s far too hot to stay out there overnight. Enjoy a night’s sleep in the air con,” you joked. “If you enjoy sleeping in comfy climates, hey, you might even move in here.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Here?”

You blinked a few times, not catching his tease. “Yeah, like here, the palace.”

He laughed. “Okay.”

“Oh, you thought in here. With me,” you barked a laugh, getting off the couch and heading for the bed, Bucky following a safe distance away. You stifled your discomfort with snark, “Oh, darling,” you leaned forward to cup Bucky’s stubbly chin. “Don’t think so highly of yourself.”

“Oh darlin’, don’t fall for me so quickly. It’ll only end in heartbreak,” he mocked in return. You laughed incredulously, thinking to yourself, ‘too fuckin’ late, buddy’ and moving to your side of the King bed and pulling the pillows towards yourself.

“If you’re truly concerned, here. Build a pillow wall with me. Put that hay bailin’ practice to good use.”

He sighed with a gentle smile, he was thoroughly enjoying this cheeky banter you’d suddenly worked into your conversation and helped you build the Great Wall of pillows.

“Perfect,” you said, fixing the last pillow in place.

“That is an impressive pillow wall,” Bucky concluded, stifling a laugh. “Failsafe.”

“Make yourself comfy,” you told him, laying back as he pulled off his soft cotton t-shirt and folded it, placing it neatly on the bedside table next to him, a habit he’d picked up in military training in the 40s and never really lost it, no matter what control he was under, you imagined.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he told you. “It is a lot nicer inside than out.”

“Told you,” you replied with a chuckle, raising a fist to him over the wall.

“What is that?” he chucked.

“My knuckles? You’ve never knocked ‘knuckles’ with someone? A fist bump?”

He laughed louder. “No, I’ve never fist-bumped.”

“Then hit my knuckles with yours,” you instructed as Bucky did as he was told.  Still confused for a second, his hand met yours gently before opening and clutching your wrist in his warm, rough-skinned hand and bringing your open hand to his lips. The rules of the pillow wall were suddenly crumbling before you. Destroyed so easily.

“You need to behave,” you told him, suddenly very nervous.

“I’m finding it so hard. We’re here and I know it’s not just me that is feeling this, sugar,” he continued kissing to your wrist and moving towards your inner elbow as he got to his knees. Your body betrayed you as goose pimples shot up and down your spine and you found yourself sitting up opposite him. “All I wanna do is compromise this pillow wall.”

You could cut the tension in the cool room with a knife as your eyes burned into his. Chewing his lip, he made no secret of his intentions as he licked his mouth and walloped the pillow wall away.

Suddenly there was no divide and you were looking at each like they were your last meals. “Can I kiss you?” he asked shyly.

“If you don’t, I’m going to kiss you,” you retorted as he skimmed across the sheets to you and pulled your body flush to his. He sunk his fingers into your hair and pulled your face to his, leaving a small kiss on your waiting lips.

“Is that okay?” he asked, almost afraid.

“More,” you demanded as a reply. There was nothing forgiving about it – you were suddenly craving him – his mouth, his touch, his body, his scent and he was surrounding you in a way no other person had before.

He moved back a little. “One minute – I gotta explain…” he breathed gently. “This is kind of my first time being intimate in a long time. I know this,” he looked at his left shoulder, ashamed. “I know it’s not sexy. And if you don’t want to be with me because of it - ”

You grasped his face in your hands, forcing his eyes to meet yours and kissed him lightly. “Believe me when I say I do not care, Bucky. I know you do but I need you to know, this changes nothing for me.”

“I’ve imagined this so many times with you, pleasing you and now we’re here, I just…” his soft Brooklyn accent rumbled. “I just imagined it as me. The old me.”

Your head spun – he felt the same way? Jesus Christ, assassin school taught him surely how to fool you into believing he barely knew you existed.

“Well, I only know this, Bucky – I’m pretty crazy about you.”

His eyes flickered. Maybe it was emotion, you weren’t sure.

“You’re the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.”

This time, he blushed.

“So maybe, you should just lay back,” you said, helping guide him to do so, his head settling amongst the remains of the disastrous pillow wall and you kissed him, he moaned just loud enough to hear. “And we have a good time, okay?”

He nodded, nervously. “Okay.”

“Now, relax,” you said, unsure where your confidence was coming from but you knew he needed you to lead him and you were going to treat him right. He deserved this – you, and all of you. All for him.

You ungracefully tossed the sheets from the bed, they’d just be getting in the way and crawled towards Bucky’s feet, grabbing the loose elasticised ankles and pulling at them, the sweats he wore drawn from his slender hips, descending his powerful thighs and calves before you disregarded them all together, leaving him solely in boxer briefs. Calvin Klein, how so very rude.

And dear, if your mouth didn’t water at the surprise he poorly hid in them.

Kissing his ankle and working your lips up the inside of his legs, tickling behind his knee, he shuddered. He shuddered hard. “Fuck,” he muttered. You smiled against his skin, lips moving again, your hands massaging his powerful thighs. Stopping at his waist, you crept onto his lap and pulled away your shirt. Bucky sighed, his hand reaching out to touch you. You leaned closer to him as his arm skirted around you, pulling your body flush to his to kiss you, your tongue tracing his full lips as he enthusiastically opened his mouth for your tongues to meet. His hand scalded your skin as he groped at you lightly, cascaded your side and tangled into your hair, deepening the kiss as his hips started to move beneath your body, his cock needing the friction.

You paused and raised a finger to him. He raised a confused eyebrow as you scampered off him to lose your sweats, no panties underneath. You didn’t let him get a good, long look at you before you moved to rid him of his boxers, hard cock free and you gave him a few encouraging pumps, his eyes rolling back. “Sweet Jesus,” he begged for mercy. “Please.”

“Please?” you raised a teasing eyebrow and sat on your knees between his muscular thighs. He was asking you to go down on him. You’d never felt so willing before to please a man as you were for to do for Bucky.

“Please,” he tried again as you could see this man didn’t need to be teased, he just needed to be wanted. Adored. Loved.

“Okay. Okay, now you sit back, Barnes. And you let me take care of the rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he tucked his arm behind his head, licking his lips as you took him in your palms before an encouraging kiss to the head and taking him into your mouth. “Dear God,” he managed to say through groans. His hand found your hair again, pushing your hair from your face to see what he thought was the most beautiful mouth he’d ever seen work over his body. “Baby, that is so good. So hot,” he encouraged, clutching roughly but not enough to hurt, just enough to spur you on. You continued your ministrations for a few minutes more before he guided you away from him, gasping. “Baby, stop. I’ll come.”

You blinked at him. “That’s okay,” you promised. “I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

He grinned at you. “I’m sure you can. But I don’t want to come in your mouth,” he admitted shyly.

“Oh,” you gave a gentle nod. “I thought I was doing something wrong.”

He shook his head, alarmed. “God, no. You were a little too good at what you were doing,” he reassured you. “Get up here,” he pulled you to his face to meet him for a lingering kiss. “You could kill a man with that mouth.”

“I doubt that,” you got suddenly shy, burying your blushing face in his neck as he guided your face back to his.

“Don’t get bashful now, sweetheart,” he gazed at you like you were about the best damn thing he’d ever seen. You didn’t know how or why, but the look turned you on more than any act prior to right then. You just wanted to make him happy, release him, and feel him come apart under your hands. “I have an admission to make, and fuck, I hope this doesn’t come across as shitty…” he said quietly.

“What’s that?” you asked, suddenly feeling very exposed regardless of you lack of clothing.

“Uhh… I don’t know, logistically, how I make this work without you on toppa me, baby. I’m sorry, I don’t want to crush you if something goes wrong,” he looked as though he wanted the bed to eat him whole.

And why, you don’t know. But his admission gave you the confidence you didn’t expect. “Is this you suggesting I ride you?” you gave a small giggle as he chewed his lip.

“Lil’ bit, yeah. I know that sounds so goddamn selfish – ”

“Giving me the power over you makes you selfish?”

“Well, it takes away a fair amount of effort,” he reasoned. “And you know, I wanna show you what I can do…” his voice trailed off, timidly.

And suddenly you understood. This wasn’t just about a missing limb – this was the pain and terror from all those years ago. The raw, never-ending trauma of Bucky’s initial testing, falling from the train in the Alps. Losing his arm seemed so minute in all of it. Years of physical and mental abuse, and psychological torment at the hands of HYDRA, of the Soviets, whoever was the highest bidder for The Winter Soldier.

This was touch, connection, feeling wanted and adored – oh, how needed to Bucky understand how much you wanted to be the person to help him.

You tutted him and inhaled, gently cupping his cheek, choosing compassion. “Relax, handsome, lay back and enjoy,” you instructed as he nodded slightly and wrapped his scorching hand around your ribs. It was such a simple act, but it turned you on so much. It felt possessive, wanted. “I want to make you feel so fucking good – will you let me?”

You don’t know why you asked, but you knew you needed to hear him tell you he wanted this too. “Yes,” he nodded shyly. “Hell yes.”

“Okay,” you leaned down to kiss him, reached between your bodies and in your warm hands, adjusted your body on his. Viewing Bucky as he felt you sheath your body around his was as good as it could ever get – his plumb lips drawn into his gleaming white teeth, his bright blue eyes hidden behind his long lashes. Giving him some time to adjust, just like you were to his size encouraged you as he lightly raised his hips in hopes for you to move. “You good?” you asked again.

“Better than, amazing,” he told you, gripping your hip and your body slowly started to move above him. “Jesus Christ,” he uttered, raising his eyes to look at you.

Taking his hand and linking your fingers as you relaxed and stopped trying to ensure his good time (it appeared ensured) and sinking into feeling so good yourself, you moved your hips more, craving Bucky deeper, hoping to find that elusive little spot to make you explode.

“Touch yourself?” he pleaded quietly. “Please, sugar?”

Appeasing him happily, he watched your free hand creep down your body and open yourself up to where your bodies met, your fingers putting on a show as you toyed with yourself just for his dark, lust-filled eyes. Your body tightened under the pressure and Bucky’s pleasured grunts and curses was certainly on the rise. His hand relinquished yours as he clutched onto your ass, forcing you rougher into him, his tempo speeding up and urging you to do the same from the friction his body caused yours.

“God, you feel so good. So wet, so warm,” he muttered, his breathing deepening as his hips haphazardly fired into you. “Are you close?” he asked desperately. You were, you so fucking were, you realised, his simple question bringing you even closer. You nodded as you pressed harder against your clit, desperate for your own release and of course, his.

He needs this, you reminded yourself. You needed this. “Fuck, yes,” you replied as he used his abs to sit up, suddenly so much deeper into you as you looked at each other face to face, chest to chest and Bucky kissed you. He kissed you with those beautiful lips and a tongue that knew exactly how you wanted to be kissed as he moaned into your mouth. He wrapped his arm around your waist and took a nipple into your mouth as you started to come – that was the move, the special way to push you over the edge. Realising this, Bucky grinned and looked at you, using those pearly whites to chew lightly and you were coming. Coming so hard that you felt like you might have seen stars as he let out a litany of curses and came hard too.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Bucky breathed, chest heaving as he rolled onto his back, taking your body down with him, keeping you wrapped in his embrace and softening inside you. Bucky Barnes liked to cuddle, you realised.

“Holy shit,” you managed to say as you tried to settle your breathing. “That was fantastic.”

“Really?” he asked bashfully. He looked you in the eye and begged you weren’t lying to him. You nodded and tenderly kissed him. “Good,” he gave a small, shy smile and suddenly appeared so boyish. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have the thank me,” you told him. “Trust me, I’m just glad you stayed.”

“Fuck, me too,” he laughed. “Me too.”

Hearing your phone beep, you shot up through the heaviness across your chest and halted you. Bucky’s body subdued you – the body heat he exhumed was hot and stifling. He groaned, pulling you back down to him.

“They’ll call back,” he muttered. “Sleep.”

“It’s the team,” you whispered back. He breathed heavily, reaching out for the phone for you reluctantly and putting it in your hands. Relief washed through you. The team, including Wanda and Vis, were returning to Wakanda imminently. “Did you sleep okay?”

Yawning, Bucky slightly freed you from his grasp. “You weren’t wrong about sleeping comfortably – I mean, I don’t deserve to, but it was the most relaxing sleep I’ve had in years.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Bucky. Truly.”

He soothingly kissed your naked shoulder. “Thank you for last night.”

“I just hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“So much,” he breathed against your skin, rolling you to your back and lightly pining your body under his. You loved the feel of his weight on your body. You would come to crave it. Addicted and all in less than 12 hours. You’d fallen so hard, so fast. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you couldn’t lie. Bucky’s body was made for a multitude of sins and loving on a woman? The top. He kissed each eyelid that fluttered closed under his touch, the tip of your nose, his mouth travelling through your throat to your décolletage. “Behave…” you teased, your fingers lacing into his long, dark, loose waves.

He laughed into your skin. “Okay,” he nudged your knees apart, his hips meeting yours. He felt as if he was flying – he’d never imagined the confidence he felt, that you’d given to him. Or how you could have destroyed it by rejecting him. The power you had over him was stifling. That was a hellova lot scarier than what was to eventually come.

“What did I say?”

“You told me to behave.”

“And what did you do?”

“The exact opposite,” he admitted. “I just can’t seem to keep my mitts offa you. You’ve opened the floodgates, sugar. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same again.”

Your phone beeping incessantly now, you found yourself in a world where only you and Bucky ceased to exist. The rest of the world could wait another hour.

[velvetures]

Heya I absolutely adore your writing and I would looove to request something like the “vulnerable” fic you wrote about ghost, but for könig instead. So much fluff and so many praises for our pretty boy, since I feel like he would show us his face but he’d be really anxious and self conscious about it. Feel free to decide if u wanna add nsfw content or not, I’m happy with whatever :))

Touch starved, intimacy craving cod boys will be the death of me 😔

Thank you in advance c:

Defenseless

a/n: so sorry I'm answering this so late, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless 🩶 this isn't the most in-depth... but I really tried to get the feels of it. summary: The Colonel has been stated as having something up his ass for nearly a week. no tw's that i know of...

The Colonel had been unusually insufferable for over a week at this point.

Barking demands, snarling at everyone in his path, making a total bloodbath out of the one mission assigned to him, and practically punishing all of his men during the two training sessions he’d deemed mandatory. He was on a tirade unlike anything you’d been witness to before, and there was hardly a place to escape from him. That only place being the garage which you had not-so-coincidentally been holed-up in after receiving a vehicle that was for less of better description… utterly fucked. But budget apparently didn’t allow for a replacement, so you’d been sent out to fix the helpless machine.

You didn’t necessarily consider yourself “co-workers” in the normal sense. You didn’t share office memos, or even work in office cubicles that shared a flimsy divider. The majority of your work with him came down to managing the transport to and from the base to their mission insertions. Be it helo or armor-truck, you were licensed and proficient. It gave you one of the most important jobs on base… Transporting the most dangerous men that KORTAC could throw at an enemy. And their massive, intimidating, hooded Colonel was included.

“I heard him chewing into a private’s ass for standing in front of his office door while he was sitting inside… with the door shut.” You overheard one of the mechanics chuckling from underneath of an LUV that had a leaking brake line.

A couple of the other guys joined in the conversation, ignoring your presence for all intensive purposes. You could only imagine that they were doing so simple because of how well attached you were to König in a more personal relationship. It had been nothing but professional and regulatory, but the sight of you lingering around the Colonel for more than absolutely necessary raised plenty of eyebrows around base. It just worked out that you had your entire top half of your body twisted in the engine bay of an MMPV that had taken enough IED damage to need a lot of maintenance and replacements. A pain in the ass you had been fussing over for hours just today; not even thinking about the fact that you’d been engrossed in the job for nearly a week.

“What’d you think Major?” One of the men calling out to you brought your attention away from a replacement coil-on-plug system sitting in a box, not touched yet on the wheel well to your right.

“About what?” You feign interest, not wanting to be caught listening in on conversation.

“The Colonel,” He clarified. “You seen whatever it is that has a stick up his ass sideways?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t make a habit of checking the Colonel’s asshole…” If it’s not clear in your tone that you’re quite finished with the conversation, he doesn’t take notice.

“You’re pretty close with him aren’t you? Can’t you put in a good word for everyone on base… he’s practically frothing at the mouth!”

“I’m not a damn veterinarian either, Johns.” You warn, losing a bit of your patience.

It was one thing for König to swing his weight around like they were suggesting… it was another for him to have been struggling with something far more stressful than normal. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time a soldier took out frustration of the job on his fellow officers. Especially if he got a reality check that displayed just how fragile the system really was in times of actual strain. Not that you’d even had the chance to see him since this “tirade” began, but you could only imagine that something more than the obvious was going on behind that bleach-stained hood over his head.

Girly gossip from the small group of mechanics went on long into the evening. Theories stretching from a mission gone bad to some kind of personal insult from a superior. While the solutions to his “problem” oftentimes resulted in some kind of reference to his sex life being dry, or outright nonexistent. It all sounded ridiculous to you between cranks of your socket wrench or the occasional shrill of an impact drill.

Thankfully you could shut out the sounds for the most part, but by the time you’d found a decent stopping place, the sky outside the hangar had blackened for the night and the temperature dropped far enough that your breath misted in front of your face. It was plenty late enough to head back to your quarters and get enough sleep before being right back under the hood at first light without feeling totally miserable. You didn’t expect to run into the Colonel on your way back to your room.

From the way he walked alone, you could tell that he was exhausted. The toes of his boots skimming the ground a little more than normal, as well as the slight hunch is his typically unforgiving posture. König looked like he’d had his ass kicked before being asked to dig his own grave and crawl out of it. Hearing everyone complaining about his sour mood made even more sense than before, and you couldn’t blame him for sharing around the misery. Besides, he was one of the highest-ranking people on base… it was his reluctant responsibility to deal with people almost every second of the day.

He deserved a damn break…

“Hey! Colonel!” You called out just loud enough to make him stop. Begin careful enough to not just call him by his first time in the case that someone was listening in. His head snapped in your direction and he stiffened for a moment before recognizing you in the dark shadows of the night and parking lot lamps.

“Major…”

Chills rose on your skin hearing his roughened voice rolling your title off his tongue. He wasn’t the slightest aggressive, and you couldn’t quite decide if he was just sparing you his anger, or just worn himself down too much to care. You jog the distance between you, feeling some tension in your lower back from being bent over that damn truck all day. Hopefully it wouldn’t make König’s notice… he was always very particular about injuries or overuse with his direct-connection officers.

“Wie war dein Tag?” His eyes crinkle at the corners like he’s smiling under his hood.

At least that’s what you imagine he’s doing.

“It was alright,” You nod giving him a smile. “Working on your MMPV. It’s in a hell of a state, and I’m not sure I can fix her.” You mutter a bit quieter, mind drifting to the vehicle and the limited amount of actual repairs you could do without needing some additional parts or funding allotted for the repairs. König seemed to pick up on it for a moment, but he also ended up having half of his mind somewhere else for the time being.

“I understand…” You couldn’t be sure if he meant simple exhaustion or a shared feeling of being much in the same state as your armored car. “I’m certain with your attention, it will do more than survive the blow.”

You giggle softly, resting your hands on your hips and digging your thumbs into your lower back as nonchalantly as possible to hide the way your digits pressed and rubbed at the immense pressure building right above your hipbones. Your shared mental and physical abuse wasn’t the slightest bit new. It always felt like when you got to see König for any respectable amount of time something was wrong with one or both of you. Normally, it made for plenty of good jokes and light teasing. A good one didn’t come to mind, and the Colonel didn’t appear in the mood for banter either. Really, his voice didn’t even sound like it wanted to be present. Fading in and out of gravelly and growled tones between German-accented syllables.

“Are you retiring for the night?” His blonde eyebrow raised up above the ripped eyehole of his mask. You spared a glance at the roof which shielded your quarters from the elements. Damn near two-hundred yards away, as well. You hated thinking about the walk.

“Yeah, I figure I should head that way. It’ll take me fifteen minutes to get there if I don’t drag myself across the concrete like I want to.”

König chuckles lowly, bringing another smile to your face. You hoped it was a decent relief from what was bothering him so badly to make base feel like a war zone. The thought of being his first sign of something positive in days only intensified your joy of the thought. He takes his own glance in the direction of your rooms and then looks back to you with something of an appraising edge. Even scanning the immediate area for good measure before visibly losing some of the façade hiding his exhaustion.

“Drill in the morning?” He asks quieter, nodding his head for you to follow alongside him.

“No. Just working on that damn truck…” He chuckles again, giving you a softer look out of the corner of his eye.

“You can always stay with me,” He says quite a bit more offhanded than the offer really was.

There was no fucking way regulation would stand for it even if it was nothing more than a platonic pajama party. The mere thought of “the Major” and “the Colonel” being spotted leaving the same bedroom after a night alone would have them both court-martialed and discharged. Yet König handed out the offer easier than he could hand out candy to small children on Halloween. It spun you for a loop. Resulting in your feet welding themselves to the ground and your eyes widening as you turn to look up at him in question as to if you’d actually heard him correctly.

“Stay with you… stay… like, overnight?” The sentence alone felt so forbidden yet enticing in your mouth. König shrugs. A little more of his tension developing in his shoulders as you visibly see himself second-guessing such an intimate thing quite randomly.

“It was just an offer, Major.” He clarifies. “My quarters are much closer to your garage… and I’ve got everything you might need for one night away from your own bed.” He added with a soothing kind of tone.

But it left you just as anticipatory. He wasn’t this forward. At least, not in such a personal way. He didn’t phrase things this… domestic, directly and he sure as hell hadn’t ever thought to try it on you above all others. There was something more to this, and it wasn’t just due to the distance to your own quarters compared to his. A benefit for him lingered somewhere just below the surface of truth he’d been willing to speak about. Naturally, you weren’t about to take the first step in pushing him. So instead, you took the choice of playing the long game and allowing him to take the lead.

He is your superior officer, after all.

“You know… I might just take you up on those amenities, Colonel.”

His eyes crinkle again, giving you a second opportunity to wonder what his pretty mouth must look like when he smiles.

“If you stay, my rank stays outside. I don’t prefer answering to a title in my own home.” His low voice rumbles with an affectionate tone. One that makes you nod your head automatically, like he’d whispered some spell over you.

“Of course, sir.”

His quarters weren’t what you expected.

Instead of the typical grey walls and standard furniture, he’d went about the process of either collecting some more personal things or brought them from wherever he’d lived before now. The bed was actually massive, swallowing your position that a king size bed was more than large enough. The four posts around it had been stained a dark, ash kind of color over heavily grained wood. A desk sat over against the wall underneath of the one window in the room and while it was stained the same color, carved designs on the drawers and feet were different from the bed frame style. The walls were void of any pictures or art, bit there was enough personal touches scattered around that it pieced together a bit more of the mystery behind the Colonel’s personal life.

“It’s really nice,” Your compliment falls into the room softly, almost like you’re attempting to keep the atmosphere untouched by your presence. “Where’d you get all of your things from?” It wasn’t until after asking that you realized it might be too personal of a question considering his attitude.

He looked around and shrugged. “Antique stores,” He ran a gloved hand over the top of a nightstand next to him. “I liked the idea of fixing things… and I had the knowledge of how to do it.” Your insides twisted in interest at the idea of König being well-versed in woodworking. Images of the massive man knelt down with sandpaper and reaching the smallest nooks in the carved wood. Meticulous. Unwilling to take a shortcut… it made more sense the longer you thought about it. He walked up behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders gently, letting out a deep breath.

“I didn’t… invite you here just for convenience.” He admitted a bit shyly, fingers twitching to squeeze your shoulders just a little harder.

Ah, there it is…

“What did you let me in for?” You reply, turning to look over your shoulder and up at him with a friendly little smile. “Because I know it wasn’t for chocolates on the pillows and breakfast in bed when I wake up.”

Those big, dark, eyes glittered a little. Framing just a small bit of humor in an otherwise dark, painted and highly guarded expression in a well-defended man. It was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place. Hs ability to find some softness in an otherwise harsh and cruel world of voluntary service to country. A damn shame he’d found this world instead of another one that would be more welcoming… less bloody… but then again. You’d also found this world too, even if it was your pathway to simple drive into warzones instead of running into them with a rifle and a desire to be the last man standing.

“I need some… help.” He could see the question and concern on your face, but instead of even uttering a single word, he just moves away from you and sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes polarize away from you and down to the gloves that he began struggling to get off with slightly trembling hands.

You debated. Tossing around so many ideas in your head that you began dropping them. Juggling too many problems and possible solutions all at once. Hoping that he would speak up, or give you some sort of help. König wasn’t the best talker. Never had been really, but often he’d give away something that let you in on the issues in his mind. He was a stone wall tonight. Sitting like a marble statue with nothing more than softened eyes looking away from you with a palpable desire for help; yet no ability within himself to say how. The first thing you didn’t like was that he still had on all of that gear. Between the flak jacket with all of his spare mags, the helmet, steel-toed boots, multiple holsters and a slew of other things, there was far too much on him for you to get close enough to finding a crack in that armor.

“Can I?” Stepping closer, and pointing towards his helmet you ask gently, testing his comfort. He just nods, not even willing to look up at you to check what you were even wanting to do.

You unbuckle it carefully, not wanting to tug on his hood and sit it down next to him on the bed. But right as you sit it down, you see him reach up and tug the material off to drop it down inside the helmet. His blonde hair is a mess. A bit sweaty and matted down from a days work, it falls over his forehead and down to his nose. It softens the stark color of black face paint smeared over the whole top half of his face. The process of breaking down the soldier piece-by-piece takes less than five minutes, and that even included a small fight over whether or not you should be allowed to take off his boots due to how “demeaning” he felt it would look to have you kneel down in front of him like that. Thoughtful as you found the idea, you still pointed out he was your superior officer and it only made sense that you take care of the “unimportant” tasks for him. What you really didn’t know what that he watched you unlace his boots with every intention of letting you know that it felt even more intimate than letting you be one of the few people who could see his face in typical circumstances.

“That’s better… right?” You murmur, running your fingers through his hair to try and unstick the hair stuck together with sweat.

He nods. “Ja, viel besser.”

You smile at his German, sitting down next to him close enough that your thigh presses against his and your shoulder rests tightly next to him. “How about you take shower? I think washing off the day might help out a bit.”

König shakes his head no and quickly decides on a better idea. One that ends up with you laying flat on your back and a 6’10 man laying with his head on your stomach and his body nestled between your legs. His arms stay bent by his sides, resting weight on his elbows to resist laying his entire weight on you but his hands palm both sides of your ribs intentionally. His fingertips pressing between the dips of your ribs and the warm exhale of his breaths fanning against your stomach. It feels uncommonly desperate. Sensing the undeniable behavior of a man needing touch. Closeness from another human instead of the victory of a battle alone, or the knowledge that he’d lived another day without dying a horrible death. That thought alone has you wrapping your arms around his head and holding him tightly. Cradling him as well as you can to make him feel safe and protected even though his feet are hanging off the bed. Your heart pinches in regret that you’d not thought of coming to see him sooner. At least defending him in front of the others who’d been hellbent on making him out to be an asshole for having such a rough week.

Fuck.

He’d almost groveled like a puppy on its belly for you to touch him.

“You smell like cinnamon,” He mutters with his mouth slurred in the extra fabric of your shirt. “I like that… reminds me of my mother’s cinnamon rolls.” The memory is audible; softening his words and making that German accent thicker with exhaustion and comfort of being wrapped up in your arms.

You giggle very softly, pushing his hair off his face. “I’m surprised I don’t smell like grease.”

“Nein… du riechst wie zu hause.” His reply is gravelly and warm.

You close your eyes and settle back against the bed. “You know I don’t know German well enough to understand that…” He laughed softly, squeezing your sides with his massive hands.

“Do you think I’m not aware?” A laugh escaped you and as a retaliation you tapped the top of his head in a small, soft, shun. “I like saying things to you in German… it makes saying the truth easier sometimes.”

When his hands slid further under your body to fully encompass your waist, he buried his nose into your stomach and took a deep, relaxed breath. Nuzzling tighter into you and rubbing his face into your shirt like he was attempting to rub his scent and face paint off on your shirt. Neither option sounded the least bit bad. Wishing that he would fully immerse himself in you if it would make him feel better. Ease that misery festering in the back of his mind. Beginning to settle in, you started running your fingertips up and down his back. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt as you went, and tracing out the defined lines on his shoulder blades and rippled lats stretching over his ribs. Each pass either smoothing the pads of your fingertips, or giving him a slight scratch with blunted nails. Earning some German mutters and contented grumbles vibrating against your stomach.

“Du kilngst… wie ein… bär.” Your German feels quite juvenile, but König’s short huff of amusement gives you enough satisfaction that the lighthearted jab had reached him. He nips at your hip with his teeth, making you jump in surprise and giggle nervously.

“Isn’t there a saying… ‘don’t poke the bear?’.”

“I thought you were a King, not a bear?”

He shakes his head, a little slow on a comeback. “Either way, I’ll prove my dominance.”

You chuckle softly. “Don’t bother, I’m more than content to stay just like this.” You hum, returning to the smooth up and down movement of your hands on his wide expanse of a back.

“I’m happy to stay like this as well,” He mutters, stretching out a bit more. “However, I don’t like where you are.” Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly, you freeze for a moment.

“I can move if you’d like?”

Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly. He shifts a bit, putting more weight back onto his knees with a small grunt before snatching you up far enough to roll you onto your side and settle himself behind you as if you weren’t any bigger than a teddy bear meant for pure comfort and warmth. A muscled and tattooed arm vicegrips your chest and the other arm slides under your head to prop up your head. Instantly turning the role of comfort you’d been happy to provide into a much different situation.

“Can’t do much laying like this.” You protest a bit, attempting to turn over to face him so you can at least return to touching him.

“No, you fit right… shaped to me.” He slurs; tightened his grip and shook his head, resting his nose right in the crook of your neck. One hand slides under your shirt and reaches up far enough to rest his forearm against your chest and make a half-collar around your neck with his hand. He feels hot to the touch, and while you would’ve shied away from any other man touching you in such a way, König doing it felt right. As if there was something connecting you to him other than a simple recognition of the desire for a human connection that wasn’t painful. A different kind of dominance, creating a safe place for himself, but also for you in the way the curve of his hand fit right at the base of your throat.

“Touching you like this… it makes me feel more powerful than any firefight I’ve won.” He states, further resting his upper body against your back. “Like all of the mistakes i’ve made were worth making; just so I could have a moment to feel invincible laying in my own bed.”

It’s deep. Touching. Reaching right down into the bottom of your soul and wrenching it with an iron-grip so warm that you feel a heat rise in your throat.

“That sounds like something you should tell a woman you love, not just me.” You whisper, sliding your own hand under your shirt to hold his hand.

As if he could, he attempts to pull you tighter against him.

“I just did.”

reblogs & comments are appreciated <3