#I’m going to look haggard on my date tomorrow

[putellas14]

SLEEP!

I know I know. I always struggle to sleep when I come back from the west coast because I always stay up so late there.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Death Threats

Summary: What if the people threatening Barba went after you, too?  

Warnings: Angst. Injury. Fluff. (I realized the timing puts this in the episode Heartfelt Passages, so that was a busy day for poor Rafi.)

Dedicated to @teamsladsandgents​ for inspiring me to get stabby.

2,256 words

You thought he punched you, the man in the elevator. It wasn’t until the doors chimed open and he was striding quickly but casually from the building that you realized you were bleeding.

The inch-wide slit in your shirt took a moment to start bleeding in earnest as you stood in shock, time frozen along with your body. Then thick, dark amounts of it began streaming through your fingers.

The elevator doors were sliding shut before you thought to stumble out with your last ounce of strength—to scream for help—before your body sank to the ground, leaving you alone in your metal coffin. You tried to sit up again, but it hurt and made more blood come out.

You couldn’t reach the elevator buttons.

You were so tired.

The funny thing was, you weren’t afraid. Just disappointed. You always thought you’d turn into an action hero if you were attacked—that adrenaline would awaken some ferocious, hitherto unseen warrior within, like Jason Bourne.

But it all happened so fast.

It was over before you noticed a blade in his hand. Over before you processed that he had said something to you, just before that dull punch in your gut.

“That ADA you’re fucking sticks his nose in the wrong people’s business.”

It was strange that you weren’t thinking about your mom or your best friend of ten years. As you pressed as hard as you could to stem the bleeding, you didn’t see your whole life flash before your eyes. The only thing on your mind was your boyfriend of the last several months, the sarcastic lawyer who kept so many walls up, and the petty argument you got into earlier about his canceling lunch plans again.

None of it seemed real. Didn’t seem like the way the story of your life ought to end—bleeding out in an elevator.

It was getting hard to concentrate on what to do next.

OK. The buttons wouldn’t work. Too far to reach.

No one can hear you scream.

Phone.

Your phone was in your pocket, but you had to take one of your hands off of clamping your gut to reach it. Blood streamed through your fingers—so much blood from such a small hole. Your hand was too slick with it and shaking to grab hold of the phone. If you could get it, you could call 911.

“Work, you fucking hand,” you thought. You thought that was an undignified last thought. It should be something profound. Poetic.

But no. Your last thought was going to be swearing at a Samsung.

Tired.

You never remembered if you managed to get the phone from your pocket or not. It didn’t matter anymore.

The last thing you remembered thinking about was Rafael finding out you were gone, his eyes red from mourning. Blaming himself. You wished you could tell him… If you died, you wouldn’t be there to cup his cheek, to make him smile again. To tell him what you whispered to the dark elevator, alone.

“It’s not your fault, Rafi.”

***

The man’s name was Felipe Heredio, a lieutenant of the BX9 street gang. There was already a warrant out for his arrest when he stabbed you. ADA Rafael Barba identified him in a lineup as the man who was stalking him only an hour after a neighbor found you lying in a pool of blood. The fact that he was already in police custody might have been relieving to you if you were conscious. You might have felt proud that it was Barba who ensured he was arrested.

And your heart might have broken when Barba’s phone rang, and his entire world stopped.

***

Rafael’s eyes were red from crying when you woke up with oxygen tubes in your nose, and your hand cradled in his. Your throat hurt more than anything else, oddly, which you would later learn was from being intubated for surgery.

The first word you croaked upon regaining consciousness was, “Sorry.”

A collection of empty coffee cups was scattered around the feet of his chair so he could stand vigil for however long you had been out. His eyes were not only red and wet, but bulging with that jittery, over-tired, caffeine anxiety.

You knew how busy Rafael was. That it was a weekday (technically, it was already tomorrow), and he’d have court in the morning. What you didn’t know, because he didn’t want to weigh you down with his world, was that Barba had already mourned one death today, and that one more loss might break him.

You were sorry for causing him so much trouble.

Rafael was having none of it, of course. He tried to keep his voice from shaking when he told you, “Why in god’s name would you be sorry?” followed by barking, “Stop that—don’t try to sit up. Nurse!”

His bedside manner was well and truly atrocious.

The next hour was a dizzying blur of nurses checking your vitals and helping you use the bathroom, then answering a uniformed officer whose questions you could barely understand through the morphine haze.

When it became clear what had happened and why, Rafael became unusually quiet. All of his follow-up questions and complaints of, “is this really necessary? Can’t you do this later?” fell away. He slumped in the visitor’s chair beside your bed, his hand still holding yours, but in pensive silence until the officer finished, leaving you alone except for the security detail at the door.

Then the apologies came. The heavy confessions that he’d been receiving threats for a year, and this was all, all his fault. Admittedly, if it weren’t for the morphine drip dulling everything, you might have been pissed off that he knew this might happen and kept it to himself. He kept so much to himself, you had to read about his cases online to know what was going on in his life. But his face—which you always thought babyish, with his smooth cheeks and lips ever-ready to flash a sarcastic smirk—was drawn, making him look old and haggard. He was too serious, too raw to possibly blame him.

“I’m so sorry for putting you in danger. I never should have gotten you involved in this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” he choked. “I’ve been getting threats since I indicted those cops, and I haven’t exactly been on… anyone’s good side. I should never have started dating you.”

Like a slap in the face, that sting made it through the morphine. You jerked your hand out of his.

“That came out wrong. It’s true, though. I was selfish to think I could…” He gave a melancholy sigh as he sank back in the chair. “It will be safer if we keep our distance from now on. This will never happen to you again.”

You never imagined you could get stabbed and have your heart broken on the same day, or that the latter would hurt worse.

“Then what are you even doing here?!”

“I had to know you were OK. But as long as I’m getting death threats—”

“Wait, wait. You’re saying you’d rather give up being with me than give up a legal battle with powerful enemies?”

His eyes widened and he stared like a deer in the headlights, only where the deer was an insensitive workaholic, and the headlights were the blinding rays of truth. It wasn’t even a surprise that he hadn’t thought of it that way—this was every fight he’d had with an ex just before they broke up with him.

“I, uh—”

You grabbed his face and dragged him down into the softest kiss, which was not what he was expecting. He almost yelped (though it melted into a whine) when his fiery hot, coffee-flavored lips hit your cool ones. When he pulled back, lips wet and parted, his brow furrowed in confusion over still-widened eyes.

“You are… the sweetest.” Your hand lingered on his cheek as you gave a doped-up-on-painkillers smile. “The most selfless, noble… bravest… amazing man I have ever met. I love you so much.”

“I… what?”

“Rafael”—your thumb lazily stroked his cheek—“I know how much you care about me. Even though you’re married to your job and it’s frustrating as hell sometimes, I’ve never been insecure that you don’t love me enough. I know you never tell me about your cases because you want me to be able to sleep at night. You worry about me too much. And you always look so nervous whenever I leave, like you think I’m never coming back this time.

“So the fact that you would sacrifice your own happiness before you’d let an injustice go unanswered… that’s incredible. You do nothing but give a voice to the voiceless all day, working yourself to the bone without considering the cost to your personal life. You’re like a superhero, ADA Barba.”

A short breath of a laugh escaped his lips as his hand came up to the side of his face to cover yours. His eyes were watery, and he looked like he was about to break down again as he bitterly whispered, “A superhero who almost got you killed.”

“I’m not leaving you, you know.”

“Cariño. If anything happened to you, I couldn’t—couldn’t…”

“Nothing’s going to happen. It’ll be OK. I’m not leaving you alone.”

A tear wavered precariously close to the rim of his eyelid until he turned away, rubbing his face. It was gone when he turned back. “You could have died because of my fucking work! I’ve never given you the time you deserve. How do you still want to be around me?”

“Hey, someone has to be there to protect you when you get yourself in trouble,” you grinned.

Rafael Barba couldn’t take any more. He bent over the hospital bed and wrapped his arms around you, doing his best not to snag any of the many tubes coming out of you or put any weight on anything below your diaphragm, but hugging you to him as tightly as he could. You felt his trembling breathing in your hair, and hot wet spots pooling on your neck.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Your free arm closed over his back, stroking his broad, tense muscles through his shirt. “I’m really glad I didn’t die,” you whispered, finally allowing yourself to feel scared now that he was here. “I didn’t want to die yet. Not like that.”

“I’m sorry.” He breathed in, and his arms tightened protectively. “You have no idea how terrified I was. I’m so sorry…”

“Shh,” you whispered. You clung to him, soothed by his familiar cedar and citrus scent, fainter now after a long, harrowing day, mixed with the masculine smell of sweat.

“I’m glad you’re alive, too. I can’t lose you. I can’t. I love you more than anything.”

Soon—too soon, because you wanted to continue talking—you drifted to sleep in his arms. And once again too soon, you woke up with your entire abdomen on fire, and nurses bringing you pain medication. Rafael was still there, half asleep next to you in the narrow bed.

He didn’t leave you.

Even if it put you in danger, he would rather be beside you, making sure you were OK than cutting you out of his life and hoping the bad guys got the memo. He couldn’t put you through that pain, even if he could do it to himself. Especially when you pondered aloud to him whether you’d survived because you were thinking about him—that you refused to die before seeing him again, knowing what a wreck he would be.

Recovery was long, and interspersed with doing nothing but fall asleep when you’d rather stay awake, and not being able to sleep at all. Rafael (and his security detail) moved into your apartment when you were released from the hospital so he could take care of you—as grumpy and bossy and sarcastic as his bedside manner might be.

You swore you were going to sign up for Krav Maga or Cobra Kai or something once you could exercise again, since apparently you were not a secret knife-fighting ninja deep down. Next time, you wanted to be a badass who could fight back, and never let anyone harm your overzealous ADA when he kicked the hornet’s nest.

Eventually, you would convince him that it wasn’t his fault that bad guys had acted like bad guys. And he would convince you that taking care of you wasn’t a burden—that the emergency time off from work was worth it. He started replacing “sorry” with “I love you.”

In the end, while you wouldn’t say being stabbed was a good thing, or that you’d choose to be stabbed again if you had the option, it did ensure Heredio was put away for a long, long time. It left you with a cool scar, and a new catchphrase for expressing your displeasure—“I’d rather be stabbed again than do the dishes!”

Fine, it also left you jumpy and made your chest tight whenever you found yourself alone in an elevator.

But most importantly, it brought down the walls Rafael had been keeping up around himself. He talked to you more. You talked to each other more. And he remembered to—on occasion—take time out of his heroic, selfless life of battling injustice, and selfishly spend it with you.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

@beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @delia26 / @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes / @storiesofsvu​

[shadowglens]

61 + thalia/james 😳

61. "I've waited so long for this..." || ~800 words || prompt list

Thalia can’t stop staring at Jim.

The artificial lighting of his quarters flickers as a spike of energy runs through the Enterprise to signal the start of the next cycle. A soft whirring noise echoes from the bedside table as the clock switches to read 00:01, the date flicking over to be one greater than the last. The self-watering system that’s kept the monstera she gifted him six months ago alive emits a soft blue glow in the darkness. Above them, stars race by, careless to something as trivial as the passage of time or the musings of one flushed xenobiologist.

It is past midnight, and she has a million and two tasks ahead of her tomorrow, and Thalia cannot, for the life of her, stop staring at Jim.

He’s spread beside her, glowing despite the lack of gold uniform, with a breathless smile stretching at his face. Thalia runs a finger along his bare chest, luxurious, as she tracks the line of equally gold hair that runs down his centre. Jim hardly stirs, eyes bleary as they track her movements.

“Hey there,” he whispers.

Terrified to break any illusions, she keeps her voice hushed as well. “Good morning.”

“Good morning?” Jim huffs, smile wide enough he could split himself open. “Sorry, but I’m not familiar with the concept.”

Thalia lets herself smile, indulgent.

“Also,” he continues, hand reaching to gently trace the back of hers where it’s still resting on his chest. “I haven’t had my beauty sleep yet, so it doesn’t count.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say that you looked a little haggard, but since you mention it . . .”

Jim flicks her wrist with barely enough strength to hurt a fly. “Ouch.”

Thalia kisses him.

She thinks it’s the bravest thing she’s ever done, kissing Jim, besides the fact that she just had sex with him five minutes ago.

Jim hums softly against her mouth, hands roaming and ever-gentle against her as if she might vanish into stardust in his calloused palms. The bed dips beneath them as Thalia shifts to hook her leg across his body, both her hands clutching at his jaw as she drinks him in. Jim helps, slowly pulling her atop him until she’s almost sitting sideways against his stomach, his hip bones a comforting pressure against her thigh. The heat of him so tightly against her is near overwhelming; the heat of his stomach that rises and falls rapidly beneath her, the heat of his hands where they clutch at her thigh and mid back, the heat of his lips against hers and the hot air he breaths down her throat. His blonde hair scratches at her forehead, her own hair long and loose down her back.

It’s barely a couple of minutes before she eventually pulls back, but Thalia feels as though a star may have exploded behind her ribcage.

Jim smiles drunkenly up at her, lips full and kissed raw. The birthmark on his neck burns. Even in the darkness of his cabin, he glows gold.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, transfixed with Thalia curled on top of him. “Waited so long to touch you and hold you and kiss you.”

Thalia feels like she has to swallow a small moon before her lips realign with her brain, and she mutters, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Jim smiles, fingers absently tracing constellations between her shoulder blades. “How’s that saying go? It was worth the wait.”

A laugh bubbles free from Thalia at that despite herself. “How long have you been saving that line for?”

“Five years.” She hopes he doesn’t feel the way her heart skips a beat or two, and if he does, he doesn’t show it as he charges forward with his rambling. “Give or take a few months probably, my time management isn’t the greatest. Thoughts?”

Thalia smiles: in all honesty she’s not sure she’s stopped since he invited her to his cabin earlier that night. Their faces are so close together she can almost taste him on the sliver of air between them.

“Could use some work,” she admits against his lips, just this side of smug. “Maybe I could teach you some better tricks?”

Jim moves one of his hands to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “As tempting an offer as that is, right now I kind of just want to kiss you until Spock comes and breaks down my door in about five hours.”

Thalia laughs, deep in her soul, and Jim takes the opportunity to bundle her in his arms and flip her. The bed shakes in protest as he falls after her, golden hair and long limbs and beaming smile and all, and Thalia can do nothing but stare up at him in wonder as he traces a finger along her jaw and, as promised, kisses her.  

[3pirouette]

Fic: The Honey Trap (2/?)

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Peggy’d lost count. She wasn’t sure if she was a double or triple agent at this point, and in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this alive.

Chapter A/N: Keep an eye out for the time stamps moving forward, this chapter takes us back to the beginning of all of this. Also, timeline, just like the rest of this, is AU. 

Chapter 2: Like it or Not

September, 1944

Wallace was haggard. He had been undercover with Hydra since before the war started, when they had only just begun forming and the British government wanted to get a mole in on the ground level, and it showed. “I know it’s a risk.”

“A risk?” Peggy squeaked in a whisper, her arms wrapped tight around her to ward away the chill. “That is beyond a risk. That’s deep cover. That’s long term and incredibly dangerous.”

“Which is why you’re here, and not someone else,” Phillips filled in calmly. “Now let’s hurry this up,” he waved his finger around, swirling the mist his breath left in the cold air of the meat locker. “No one’s going to believe I left that steak sitting on that table this long.”

“They’re looking to recruit,” Wallace pleaded, the bags under his eyes somehow darker the more he talked. “I’d be your recruiter. I’d be the contact so we can keep this in house and with people we trust. No middle men.” He moved his gaze from Peggy to Steve, pleading. “They’re running it all over the world with secretaries from every country, every agency, it won’t seem out of the ordinary, I promise.”

Steve was unimpressed. “She’ll stand out—"

“Because of you!” Wallace finally let the words he’d been holding back out. “They’re looking for any and every way they can to get to you, to find out more about you, to figure out how they can stop and defeat the man who is almost singlehandedly taking out Hydra. If we do this now, together, we can control the flow of information. We can control how they see the circumstances.” He deflated. “We let this opportunity pass us by and they might find another way in; one we won’t know about until it’s too late.” His feel shuffled on the slick ground as he fidgeted.

The foursome looked at one another in the dark, cold meat locker. Phillips only waited a second before speaking. “You’re doing it.”

“Sir…” Peggy started, not refuting his order but far more cautious than she’d be with orders given while in uniform standing under a tent.

“Wallace is right, and he knows these guys better than we ever will. His intel has saved our asses more than once.” Phillips leaned forward, eyes serious. “We are never going to get this opportunity again, Carter.”

Steve sighed, crossing his arms and letting the captain in him take over. “What do we have to do?”

“Go public,” Wallace said plainly, nodding at the two.

Steve looked like a deer in headlights. “We don’t- we’re…”

Phillips couldn’t hold in his chuckle. “You think there’s anyone this side of the Atlantic that’s worked with the two of you that doesn’t notice you making sappy, lovesick eyes at her, son?”

Steve swallowed hard and Peggy pressed her lips together, but neither argued. They’d been discreet, but not invisible. Peggy shook her head, confused by the premise. “Why public? Why not just recruit me from the steno pool?”

Wallace narrowed his eyes, the plan blossoming in his mind clear and precise. “Trying to convince them that a random secretary that just magically showed up in the pool has knowledge of Captain America would be harder than trying to convince them you’re his girlfriend without blowing your cover. We have to give them a reason to trust you know what you know without letting to world know you worked for the SSR and blow any future deniability you might have as a spy. We let slip you two are an item. Something small but irrefutable. Then we build up tension after that-maybe you have a blow up, maybe you get reprimanded, I don’t have time for details, but then Phillips transfers you out back to London, Carter. I can move in from there.”

Peggy looked impressed. “A tryst with a secretary technically breaks the fraternization rules.” She looked at the men, knowing they all knew far more egregious violations of that were happening on a daily basis. “It’s enough for a formal write up and reprimand, which is not a very top-secret document to get your hands on.” Wallace smiled at her as she caught on and talked it out. “And with my connection to Steve…”

“You become my connection.” Wallace took a deep breath filled with relief now that Peggy seemed on board with the plan. “We can fake information into Hydra. We can give them anything they want to hear, real or fake, while siphoning our own information on Hydra back to the SSR, and they’ll think they have everything they want to know about Captain America.”

Steve shook his head, standing akimbo. “I still don’t know—”

“I do,” Phillips pointed at them. “Oh-six-hundred, in my tent tomorrow with a plan, you hear me?” He turned, mumbling on the way out. “My steak’s gonna be colder than my ass after standing in here for so long.”

They watched Phillips step out of the meat locker, which was handily only across the hallway from the bathroom in the small restaurant they’d met in so he could feign coming from there. Peggy turned back to Wallace. “What do you need?”

“Exactly what I told you.” He looked almost happy, a light starting to grow in his eyes. “A big screw up, something that can prove to Hydra you two are together, then a blow up. Once you hit London, I’ll move in from there. I’m already ‘monitoring’ the SSR steno pool and code breakers for good candidates.”

“I won’t disappoint you, Wallace.” Peggy was earnest, knowing how hard it was to be so deep undercover, knowing Wallace needed a friend now more than anything.

“I know you won’t.” Wallace didn’t even wait for goodbyes, but slipped out to the back loading dock through the small door, the way he’d come in.

Peggy finally let out the shiver she’d been holding in when she and Steve were alone. “Well, that was…”

“Unexpected?” He pulled his leather jacket off and draped it over her shoulders before bending down and lifting the cover off the drain. “We usually get intel drops, not major operation requests.”

Peggy bent down next to him, even though she was useless to lift the heavy metal that had been installed under the guise of getting run off out of the freezer when it was cleaned. In reality, the restaurant was an Allied cover used for clandestine meetings. “To say the least.”

She’d heard they also had excellent food, which was a shame because somehow she and Steve always drew the short straw of the sewer entry. Steve carefully lowered himself into the hole then reached back up for her as he balanced on the thin ledge above the sewerage. “So, what are we going to do?”

“Well,” she sat and slid down through the hole as Steve helped her, hands wrapped around her waist. “I suppose I could get caught coming out of your tent.”

Steve reached up, closing the grate and door over, and then leaned down and kissed her gently in the dark. “I don’t like that. I don’t like any of this. It’s going to invalidate you to so many of—”

She reached up, stopping him. “I’ve never given a damn about my reputation, and I’m not about to start, now. They can think what they want about me, but despite how long term and dangerous this could be, it has the potential to give us a huge advantage.” She slipped her fingers through his. “In fact, people talking about me can only help us in this. If Hydra think I’ve been ostracized, it makes more sense for me to flip sides.”

Steve stepped forward, squeezing her hand as he pulled her behind him. “I understand it. On an intellectual level… strategically… it makes sense.” He sidestepped a pile of garbage as he pulled them down the tiny ledge, his enhanced vision guiding them through the murky sewer. They had a half mile trek before it opened up and they could make their way back to camp on his motorcycle that was hidden in the brush by the drainage pipe. He huffed a laugh. “You know, you and me disappearing from camp like this probably only fuels those rumors.”

“Wouldn’t everyone be just—” Peggy paused, stumbling for a second on a slick patch before catching her balance and continuing, “just so scandalized to realize we’re not off for a snog in the woods, but traipsing through a sewer and getting secret orders?”

Steve slowed, turning back to her and taking her in his arms. “You know, it’s not too late for some of that…” he teased.

Peggy gave him a gentle smack on the shoulder and pushed him around, starting their march again. “Save it, soldier. I prefer to kiss you in settings that don’t smell like the latrines, thank you very much.” She waited until they were firmly on the move before speaking again, picking her way carefully behind him. “Despite the circumstances,” she whispered, knowing he could hear it, “I’ll take any excuse I can get.”

His hand squeezed hers tight again. “When this is all over…” It was a sentence they started often, but rarely finished.

She smiled, hanging on to his arm as she moved over a cracked part of the ledge. “Yes, yes. Dancing and dinner dates and all the romance I can stand, right Rogers?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He slowed, making sure she was over and steady before moving on.

“Well, like it or not, we may be stealing moments like this for the foreseeable future.” She sighed, thinking of what might lay ahead of them: weeks, or even months and years of deep cover.

“Not,” Steve grumbled, taking her hand tighter in his and pulling her behind him through the dark sewer, “I choose not liking it.”

~*~ The Next Morning 0600

Phillips waved his secretary out of the tent and rounded his desk, sitting on the edge so he could talk in hushed tones to the two across from him. “So, what do you have for me?”

Steve and Peggy looked at one another for a long moment before he pulled out his compass and handed it to Phillips.

The colonel shook his head. “It’s looks like that that give you two idiots away. Every time.” He sighed, holding up the golden compact. “Context?”

“The newsreel crew should be here tomorrow, right?” Steve started, motioning for Philips to open the compass. “We let them catch a glimpse of that on the reel, and you conveniently ‘miss’ it when you approve the footage.”

Phillips looked down at the compass, shaking his head. It was clear the picture of his best spy was rather comfortable in the compass and had not been put in there just last night. “How long have you been potentially compromising my best— No. You know what? I don’t want to know how long you thought this boneheaded idea of carrying her picture around was smart.” Phillips stood and made his way back to his chair, sitting heavily as he played with the compass. “Wasn’t a good idea then, but it should work well enough now.”

“We also have the element of speed,” Peggy added, looking between the two men carefully. “That footage can be across the allied countries in a matter of days, meaning Hydra will see it just as fast.”

Phillips nodded. “As soon as it’s out, the gossip rags will be all over the State Department’s poster boy having a sweetheart, and you get an immediate transfer.” He tossed the compass back to Steve, who caught it despite his surprise. “Help it along. You two go do a poor job of pretending to avoid each other. I don’t like making it look like we’re screwing up, but if we’re doing it, we’re gonna do it right.”

[minyoongiest]

Positions || KNJ (M)

• pairing: Namjoon x reader

• rating: MA/18+

• type/genre: smut, fluff, multichapter, idol!au, established relationship, nurse!reader/single mom!reader/stylist!reader

• word count: 5.7k

• summary: After a long day working at the hospital in Seoul, you’re ready to spend some alone time with your man, and since your daughter is staying with her aunt for the night, Namjoon has some ideas for how to work off the stress of your day.

• contains: explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral (both receiving, not simultaneously), vaginal sex, multiple sex positions, multiple orgasms, creampie

• note: a commission for K. Thank you so much! I loved doing this, and I hope you like it!

(translations are at the end)

|| ao3 ||

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As soon as I shut the door to my car, I let out a sigh of relief. I like my job. (I like more that it pays my bills.) But no matter how much I like it, being on my feet all day and trying to do a million things at once so patients are taken care of and the doctors and my supervisors are happy is exhausting. I am so glad to be off and that I don’t have another shift for forty-eight hours because I need a break.

Checking my face in the sun visor mirror, I’m pleased to find my eye makeup is still intact. I was pretty sure by this time I’d look like as haggard as I feel, but my eyeliner is still perfectly winged, and my mascara isn’t even smudged. Tilting the mirror, I turn my neck to check my hair. It’s in a tied back for function, but practicality doesn’t trump style. Not for me, which is why it’s sleek and straight rather than just haphazardly thrown into a ponytail.

“Time to go home and get out of these scrubs,” I murmur, starting my car.

My phone rings as I’m pulling out of the parking garage, and my heart flutters when I see his name on my car screen. I use the button on the steering wheel to answer.

“Hey, I’m just leaving the hospital.”

“Oh, good. Are you on your way to pick up my angel?”

“Actually, I have two days off, so my sister is picking her up and keeping her for the night.”

His angel is my daughter from a previous relationship. Her dad split before she was born, so it was just me and her until Namjoon and I randomly matched on Tinder. At first, I wasn’t actually sure it was really, truly him because Namjoon being Namjoon it seemed like it was definitely a hoax, but I agreed to meet up with him just to see, and what was supposed to be a hookup turned into a fancy dinner date followed by a casual lunch date and then drinks at his apartment after work which turned into a naked sleepover…

That sort of went on for a few months, in which I introduced him to my daughter through pictures and stories, and then they met in person, which was exciting and nerve-wracking for me, but she adores him, and he adores her. So on the night of our sixth month anniversary when he asked how I felt about us moving in with him, there wasn’t much for me to think about.

“Oh,” he says softly. “So, we’re alone for the night?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t have to be up for work?”

“No.” I bite my lip as I stop at a red light and flip on my turn signal. “I do have to go get her before noon though, so I can’t be in bed all day.”

“That’s okay,” he answers quickly. “I have a schedule before that, so I’ll be up.”

“Are you still at the studio?”

“Yeah. I want to get a few more things recorded before I head home. Do you want me to pick up takeout on my way?”

“That would be great. I have some stuff to do around the house, and I had an email about a styling job I want to look into, so that works for me.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at home. Later, baby.”

“Bye.”

He hangs up, and my phone switches to a Spotify playlist. As I drive the last few miles, I do a mental rundown of the things I need to get done before he gets home. In addition to looking into the styling contract, I want to get the dishes in the sink washed first and then cut up the fresh fruit in the fridge for my girl’s lunches next week, and if I have time go ahead and fold some of the clean laundry sitting in the basket in the laundry room.

The actual first thing I do when I walk into the apartment is take off my scrubs and hop into she shower to wash off my day, literally, since I work in healthcare. When I get out, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top before I go to the kitchen to start loading the dishwasher. While it’s running, I do the fruit which isn’t my favorite thing to do since it gets boring, but it’s so much easier to pack lunches when the fruit is done and ready to grab from the fridge.

Finally, I settle down on the couch with a glass of champagne and my computer to go over the details of the styling job. Since I already knew it would require the most of my time I have before Namjoon gets home, I saved it for last. After I skim the entire email, I take another sip of my drink before setting my glass aside and scrolling back up to the details that pique my interest—what designers their looking for, what the concept of the style is, and how soon they need it done. If those things work for me, the next thing I’ll look at is compensation, but I have to be interested enough to want the job first.

“Gucci…Balenciaga…Dior…” I mutter to myself as I make notes in a separate window on my computer.

As I look slowly through the email again, I’m thinking of what connections I have with which designers and if I can put something together. Before I had my kid and went back to school to be a nurse to support her, this is what I did. During that time, I met a lot of people in the industry, so I know someone pretty much everywhere.

“Oh, if that’s the concept…” I close my eyes for a second to picture different pieces from different collections.

“Dior.”

As soon as I say it, my phone starts to ring, making me jump. I see my daughter’s face on the screen and realize how late it is. She must be going to bed.

“Hey babe,” I answer, closing my laptop and setting it aside.

“Hi, Mommy.”

“Are you having fun at your sleepover?”

“Yes, Mommy. We made cookies and then we went outside and then we had pizza and played games and then we watched Rapunzel and had ice cream.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of things.”

And a lot of sugar. I’m not mad at my sister. She can spoil her if she wants. I’m just surprised she’d do that to herself knowing my kid is going to be bouncing off the walls until she crashes.

“Mommy, when are you coming to get me?”

I sigh and ignore the way my heart gets all soft. “Tomorrow at lunch time.”

“Okay, Mommy…” I can hear her frown, and I hate it.

“Do you have your pillow?” I stand and start to check her bedroom. If she doesn’t have it, she won’t sleep, and as much as I want a night to myself, I also need my kid to sleep.

“Yes, Mommy, and my pajamas.”

“Oh good.”

I start to ask her another question when I hear the door open, and I turn to look as Namjoon comes in holding a paper sack with our takeout order.

“Hey, baby,” he says quietly, his stupidly pretty face splitting into a grin.

Fuck. Those damn dimples. I can’t.

I see his eyes go to the phone in my hand before he asks, “Who are you talking to?”

“JOONIE!”

I jerk the phone away from my ear as my daughter shrieks into it.

“Oh, let me talk to her,” he says as he rushes to put the food down on the bar top and hurries over to me.

I hand him the phone and watch as he lifts it to his ear.

“How’s my angel tonight?” he asks gently, sitting down on the arm of the couch. “Oh really? … Well that’s good. Did you have fun at school?”

I press my lips together as I wander over to the food and start pulling things out of the bag.

“Well, maybe Monday it’ll be easier,” he says quietly. “Okay?”

He laughs softly, and I can’t help but look over at him. God, he really loves my baby.

“Goodnight, angel,” he whispers. “Do you want to tell your mom goodnight? … Okay, I’ll tell her.”

He hangs up, and I pretend I wasn’t spying as I set out the rest of the food.

“She said she misses you,” his low voice rumbles into my ear as he comes up behind me, his arm sliding around my waist.

“She’ll be okay.”

“She also told me to kiss you goodnight for her,” he says softer.

“Oh yeah?” I tilt my head back to look at him.

“Mmhmm.” He leans down a few inches and his lips brush mine, a pleasant shiver running down my spine.

Damn those soft lips. Why do they feel so good?

“I don’t think that’s the goodnight kiss she meant,” I whisper.

“Oh, you want another one?”

He smirks and leans down to kiss my cheek, his arms squeezing tight around my stomach.

“Quit. Quit!” I pull away. “We need to eat still.”

“Hmm. Okay, but I’m coming back to this later.”

“Sounds good to me,” I mumble as he walks around the counter to the fridge where he grabs a beer.

“What do you want to drink?” He glances over his shoulder at me.

I sort of finished the champagne already, so I shrug and say, “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Cool. Do you want your own or some of mine?”

“Some of yours is fine.”

He nods, and I wait for him to grab his food and head to the couch before I follow him, setting mine on the coffee table while I get comfortable before I reach for it again.

Namjoon talks to me while he eats. About anything. About everything. He tells me about work (at least vaguely), about what memes the members are talking about in the group chat, about changing his hair color… Aside from the occasional comment, I eat and listen to him. I could say more, but just listening to him talk makes me happy.

When we’re finished, he gathers up our trash and then decides to take the bag out because it’s too full to close the trash can. While he’s gone, I go to empty the dishwasher. I mean, normally, I would leave it especially since we’re alone for the night which is rare and usually means something very naughty and very fun is going to happen, but the cabinet has literally no plates or cups in it, and I don’t want to forget and have to rush to do them later. Plus, I have a bunch of nervous energy, and I need to do something until he gets back.

The top rack is empty and I’m halfway through the bottom rack when Joon comes into the kitchen.

“I figured you’d be in the bedroom,” he says in a low tone.

“I was killing time.” I shrug. “And now that I started I might as well finish.”

“Let me help you.”

He reaches down and grabs the rest of the plates and moves behind me, reaching over my head toward the cabinet, so close his chest touches my back.

Which is when I feel it.

Feel him.

Thick and hard and pressed against my ass.

I suck in a breath and bite my lip.

“Baby, you okay?”

“Fuck the dishes,” I whisper.

“What?”

Turning around carefully, still pinned between him and the counter, I look up at him, while at the same time sliding my hand down between us, cupping his firm bulge.

He winces, and I see his eyes flash.

“I want this,” I murmur as I give it the faintest squeeze.

He grits his teeth and grabs onto the counter next to my hip.

“Shit,” he mutters.

I start to ask what that means when suddenly he grabs my waist and lifts me onto the counter.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“You started this,” he says roughly as his eyes darken with arousal and he steps between my thighs, reaching for the waistband of my pants.

“Wait, right now?” My voice gets higher, and I bite my lip.

“I’m starting right now.”

I don’t get to ask what that means because his hands start pulling on my sweats and I almost slide off the counter before I reach back and push up on my wrists so they’ll slide off.

My panties go with them.

Oh God. My bare ass is on my kitchen counter. And Namjoon is between my knees. Cool air glides over my exposed pussy and I bite my lip, fighting a whimper.

“Mmm.” Namjoon’s eyes travel over me, landing on the now-pulsing place between my thighs.

Instinctively, I try to close my legs, but his hips are in the way.

“Don’t hide from me,” he says softly, his fingers trailing over my skin, from my knee toward my hip, along my inner thigh. I stop breathing as the edge of his fingertip traces the outside of my lower lips.

He leans closer, bending so his face is right there. My hands grip the edge of the counter tightly as a rush of wet saturates between my legs.

“I think I want dessert now,” Namjoon says softly as he straightens.

“What?” I blink.

I—He just—I thought we were going to—

All of the sudden he drops to his knees, and my spine goes rigid. He moves closer to the counter, his large hands on my legs, his eyes on my pussy. He pauses, and my eyelids flutter closed. I try not to moan as he exhales, a warm stream of air hitting directly against wet slit.

“Joon…” I swallow. “What are you–”

“Eating,” he rumbles, his mouth brushing against me as he says it.

My back arches instantly as his tongue dips in between my lips and runs the length of me.

“Namjoon,” I gasp as his large hands slide under my thighs, lifting them, pulling them apart as he tilts his head and plants a gentle kiss right there.

He kisses again. Harder.

And then he starts sucking.

First on one side. Then the other. And slowly from the front to the back. My back arches, forcing me further into his mouth, and I moan loudly. Without missing a beat, he tilts his head and sucks deep, his tongue darting out again, teasing me. I swear under my breath and one of my hands slides down into his hair.

His eyes lift to mine, and I feel the heat of them where his thumbs are slowly pulling me open. He smirks, and I feel it in my nipples, which tighten painfully right before he lowers his head again, his soft lips rubbing over my throbbing ones before the flat of his tongue laps them, the tip flicking across my clit.

“Son of a bitch,” I whisper.

He laughs against me, and I swear I almost come. Except he stops.

“Namjoon, what are you waiting–”

I choke on my question when he suddenly sucks hard, his teeth grazing my lips before his fingers pull me open and he tongue drives inside.

I swallow a scream as my head flies back as he fucks me with his mouth. Sucking and licking and his tongue moving in and out of me. He quickly adds two of his long ass fingers, which only makes me crazier. My hand on the edge of the counter is holding on so tight it might be cutting into my palm. The other is fisting his hair, my thighs clamped around his face as he devours me.

He grunts against me, and I whimper at the sensation. I’m so close I could cry.

“Joon,” I plead softly. “I want… I want to–”

One of his thumbs rolls over my swollen clit at the same time his tongue and fingers thrust deep. I come instantly, exploding in his mouth as I fall back on my elbows, moaning his name. His hands move to my ass, pulling it off the edge of the counter and against his face as he continues to suck and lick my wildly spasming pussy. When I come down, his tongue runs along my slit one last time before he puts my bare ass back on the counter and climbs to his feet.

“I can’t feel my legs,” I whisper as he rests his hand by my hip, leaning in to kiss me.

“Mmm.” He smirks against my mouth, and I realize I can taste myself on his lips.

I get wet instantly at the thought, and reach up to put my hands on his shoulders.

“I guess that means you’ll have to carry me to the bedroom,” I murmur.

He makes a low growling sound as his large hands yank my hips against his, my trembling legs instantly locking around his ass, as he lifts me off the counter and starts down the hall. My lips land on his neck (because how can I resist?), and I suck gently as my hands slide over his massive pecs down over his abs, toward his—

“Ah!” I gasp as my back hits the wall.

“You just came in my mouth,” he grunts into my ear as my hands pull at his belt. “And you’re still this horny?”

I can’t answer because his lips land on mine, pushing my head back against the wall, distracting me completely from unbuttoning his pants. I nip at his plump lower lip, and he grunts, taking control of the kiss. My lips part in surprise, and I whimper as his tongue slides over mine. My arm curls around the side of his neck, one of my hands driving into his messy hair. His fingers dig into my ass as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss even more.

He presses forward, pinning me completely to the wall, before his hands let me go. I let out a small scream, tearing my mouth from his, my hands going to his shoulders to keep from falling.

“Namjoon, what are you doing now?”

“Clothes,” he curses.

His fingers curl into the hem of my top, and I jerk as he yanks it over my head, leaving me completely naked.

“Better,” he whispers, his eyes traveling over my exposed skin with awe.

“The bedroom is so close,” I remind him, looping my arms around his neck and teasing the curve of his ear with my tongue.

He grunts and his hands return to my ass, lifting me higher, causing my boobs to bounce. I moan softly when my nipple grazes his lips.

“Bedroom,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” I tilt my head down and kiss the side of his jaw. “The faster the better.”

His soft lips press against my neck, and I quit breathing for a second as he moves us out of the living area. My eyes flutter closed as he begins sucking on my skin. Gently at first and then harder. My hand moves down again, over his chest and abs, zeroing in on his fly. I’m already naked, so my first priority is to even the playing field.

I get his zipper down and his teeth sink into my neck in surprise when my fingers brush against the feverish lump behind it.

“Shit,” he groans. “Let me get to the bed first,” he grunts. “If you keep that up, I’ll drop you.”

“Don’t you dare.”

I try to sound threatening, but it’s hard when his fingers are clenching at my bare ass, holding me tight to his hips, the bulge of his erection grazing against me. Instead it sounds weak and desperate. Which is exactly how I feel right now.

“Mm.”

He moves faster, his lips abandoning my neck as he pushes into the bedroom and throws me on the bed. A small cry leaves my throat, and I whirl around on all fours to look at him.

“What the hell, Namjoon?”

“’Bouta come in my pants,” he swears softly, reaching over his head to pull his shirt off with one hand.

“What?” I blink.

“Nothing,” he says as he swallows, tossing the shirt aside. “Come here.”

He stalks toward the bed, and I scrambled backward.

“Hey, whoa, slow down.”

“Slow down?” He stops at the edge of the mattress and raises a single eyebrow.

A jolt goes through my pussy, and I feel hot all over.

“You were all about going fast two seconds ago,” he says in a low tone.

“Well, yes, but you’re being really…”

“Horny?”

“Aggressive,” I whisper.

Fuck. It’s so hot.

Both his eyebrows rise, and I bite my lip.

“You want me to stop?”

“N-no…” I slide off my side of the bed and walk around the foot.

His eyes follow me, and then his body as he turns to face me when I stop in front of him.

“What are you doing?” He frowns in confusion.

“I just was thinking…” I reach down and unto the button of his pants. “You got dessert on the kitchen counter…”

A throb hits between my legs as I say it, and I clench my thighs together.

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, what about me?” I look up at him as I edge my fingers into the waistband of his pants. “I don’t get some?”

He opens his mouth and I slide my hands into his underwear, my fingertips instantly finding burning, turgid skin.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hands reaching out to grab my wrists. “Hold on.”

“I want to blow you,” I whisper.

“I guessed that.”

His face twists in pain, and for a second, I almost feel guilty.

“Let me sit down first.”

I pull my hands out and wait while he shoves his pants down and off and reaches for his underwear.

“I want to do that,” I pipe up, putting my hand on his shoulder.

“Oh?” His eyes flick up to mine, and I gently push his torso, urging him to sit.

His fine ass lowers to the mattress, and I slide my hands down his chest and abs and over his thighs as I get on my knees in front of him.

I reach for the band of his underwear and tug, squirming as his mammoth cock springs free. He hisses and his hand on the bed fists the sheets.

The longer I look at it the wetter I get. It’s not just big, it’s angry. Red with veins everywhere, the thickest one running up the underside. I swear I can see it throbbing. The head is visibly swollen with precum glistening at the slit. I’m a little surprised his zipper didn’t bust open trying to contain it.

I reach out to touch it, and he tenses.

“I’m not going to bite it,” I mumble.

He makes a low sound, and I put one hand on his thigh as I reach out with my other one and run my fingers from top to bottom.

God, it’s on fire.

The heat of it shoots straight from my fingertips to the aching spot between my legs.

“Ppalli-ga,” he grunts, and I know I have to move faster.

From  how hard he is, I can tell he’s already close. It won’t take much for him to blow.

Moving closer, I bend my head and lick up one side. One of his hands lands on my head, and I immediately repeat the motion. His grip tightens, and I begin licking everywhere. It doesn’t take long before he’s ready. (Not to mention he’s leaking precum like crazy.) When I’m done licking him, I sit back to catch my breath.

Fuck, it’s thick. I always forget how sore my jaw is after I blow him. Probably because I enjoy it so much that I don’t care.

“Goddammit, baby, suck me,” he groans, and I look up to see his head thrown back and the veins in his neck popping.

Wetness floods between my legs, and I gasp, gripping his thigh tighter.

His hips come off the bed, and I jerk back to avoid being smacked in the face with his dick.

“Okay,” I murmur. “I’m starting.”

He nods, or rather, jerks his chin forward, and I lower head, the bulbous tip sliding between my lips.

“Oh my God,” he groans.

I suck slowly at first and then harder as I move up and down. I use my fingers to toy with his balls and to tease the base until I’m ready to take all of it.

I hold my breath as I tilt my head and open my mouth as wide as I can, forcing his massive length between my lips. My jaw pops, and I wince.

His fingers slide into my hair and grip tight as I start to slide up and all the way down again.

“What are you doing?” he grunts suddenly. “Stop. Stop.”

I do but only because he sounds worried.

“I want to do this,” I tell him instantly. “Don’t make me stop now.”

“I’m hurting you. I can feel it,” he murmurs, letting me go.

“Well stop feeling it.” I frown at him, straightening my spine. “All you should feel is orgasmic.”

“Baby–”

“Let me deep throat you, Namjoon. I want to make you feel good.”

He sighs, and I lick the tip of his cock again.

“It does feel good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “It feels fucking amazing.”

“Then don’t stop me, okay?”

“Fine.” He leans back, presenting his big dick to me again. “Go ahead.”

Before he even has the whole word out, I have him in my mouth again. I have to figure out my breathing as I go, making sure to suck deep and not graze him with my teeth. I move faster and suck harder with every entrance, ignoring the way his tip feels ramming into the back of my throat.

He starts swearing softly. And then louder. And then all at once in a mixture of Korean and English. His hand goes back to my hair and holds tight as his hips start bucking into me.

He’s going to come soon. I’m certain of it. Bracing for his load, I continue to suck and lick at his thrusting cock.

Suddenly he pulls out, practically standing as he fists my hair and holds my head still where I can’t get my mouth on him.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasps, his raspy voice sending small vibrations through my whole body.

“Okay, so?” I ask hoarsely. “Let me swallow it.”

“Don’t wanna wait to get hard again,” he explains gruffly. “I want to come inside you but not in your mouth.”

“You have a long refractory period,” I remind him. “You could still fuck me even after I suck you dry.”

“Not this time,” he shakes his head, the veins in his neck still popping. “I’ve been thinking about this all day, and I have things I want to do before I come.”

“Can you last that long?” I ask softly, my eyebrows rising as I glance back at his swollen, wet cock.

I’ve gotten him off enough to know he’s at his absolute limit right now.

“I just need a minute to come down a little,” he says breathlessly. “Then I can keep going.”

“Mmm…okay.”

“Get up on the bed.”

I climb off of my knees slowly, ignoring the tiny bursts of pain in my knees as I crawl onto the mattress. He stands next to the bed, and I watch him inhale and exhale slowly as he regains control over his urge to come.

“Namjoon, if you need to finish, I can–”

“I got it,” he interrupts gruffly. “Lie down on you back for me.”

I blink as he starts to climb on the bed.

“Now, baby. Spread your legs.”

He’s still close, I realize, but he wants to do this anyway, that’s why he’s in such a hurry.

Quickly moving up the bed, I turn onto my back with my head in the pillows like he said. Before I can breathe, he’s on top of me, his giant pecs in my face, his fucking huge biceps on either side of my head.

“You ready for me?” he grunts softly, his fingers dragging through the wet between my legs even as he asks it.

I gasp instead of answering.

“Mm.” He nods, biting his lip. “That’s a yes.”

“Joon…”

“This is going to be rough,” he says quietly. “Can you handle that?”

“Yeah. I can handle—ah!”

My words dissolve into a sharp cry as he suddenly drives into me. My legs lock tight around his hips as I feel it—the fat tip, the thick shaft, his balls against my lips. All of it hot and pulsing and stretching me wide. My pussy squeezes around it, and I hiss his name like a swear word as my back bows off the bed.

“Fuck, your pussy is a miracle,” he groans.

“You’re so thick,” I moan at him. “A little warning next–”

He moves again. Pulling out and thrusting back in. I choke on my sentence and grab onto his broad shoulders. He keeps going, fast, rough just like he said, pounding into me.  One of his hands slides around my thigh under my ass to hold me steady. His other slides inside to the front of my slit, his large thumb zeroing in on my clit which he begins rubbing furiously.

“Namjoon!”

I don’t even feel it building before I’m coming as he continues to growl and jerk against me. I’m not done when he pulls out.

“Wha-what are you–”

“Next position,” he gasps as he grabs my legs and flips me onto my belly.

“I’m still coming, Joon. Wait–”

He doesn’t. Instead, he hooks an arm under my hips and pulls them up, forcing my knees open with his own before he puts a hand on my back and gently pushes my cheek into the pillows.

“Oh God,” I whisper.

His other hand rests on my ass squeezing lightly before I feel him pushing into me again.

“Oh God!”

He slams back into my still-coming pussy, and I whimper into the pillow. It feels so good and so deep—even deeper than before.

“You okay?” he leans over me, his hand coming up to cup my breast. “Too much?”

“Don’t stop,” I murmur. “It’s too good.”

I hear him laugh in surprise, and I feel it in my nipples, which he’s doing a fabulous job toying with. Suddenly, he grabs my whole boob in his hand and starts rutting into me. My knees spread wider on their own and I grab onto the pillow with both hands, my mouth parted in a silent moan.

“Baby?”

“I’m coming,” I hiss. “Again. Harder this time.”

I squeal when he sits up suddenly taking me with him. I’m still full of him, straddling his thighs, which are resting on his heels as he continues to jerk into me, his hands on my chest holding me to him. I grab his wrists with both my hands without thinking. My head falls back on his shoulder, and I press my lips to his neck. My body feels exhausted and overstimulated and like I’ll never stop orgasming.

He grunts sharply, and I feel his hips tense.

“Come with me,” he whispers, his lips landing on my shoulder.

“I can’t,” I choke.

Or I am. I can’t even tell now.

“Just one more,” he bites out. “Now. Now!”

He drives up into me as he comes. My walls spasm at the hot fluid spurting inside me, and I gasp as I another orgasm hits below my belly, racing up my  spine, down my aching legs and up into my nipples. He buries his face in my shoulder, and I struggle to catch my breath as I finally come down. He’s still coming even after I’m finished, probably because he kept bringing himself so close to an orgasm only to delay it again and again. When he finally relaxes, he lifts me off of him slowly, and I lie down on my stomach in the bed next to him.

“I need to clean up,” he says gruffly. “Clean you up too.”

I nod because I’m so exhausted I’m not sure I can speak. When he comes back with a rag, I roll onto my side and wince at the ache in my legs.

“What?” He frowns instantly. “Did I hurt you? I was too rough, wasn’t I? Fuck.”

“No.” I shake my head at him. “I really liked that.”

“Oh…” He blinks. “You did?”

“I came like four times or something,” I remind him. “I definitely liked it.”

“Well…good.”

He runs the rag between my legs and over my thighs, and when he walks away, I grab his pillow and pull it under my cheek.

“Are you going to sleep now?” he asks softly when he comes back.

“Mmm. I don’t know,” I whisper. “I could. You wore me out.”

“I was hoping to watch a little TV first.”

“Okay,” I mumble, “but body is a puddle, so, if we’re going to cuddle, you’re going to have to pick me up.”

He yanks on some sweat pants and climbs in bed beside me.

“I can read if you want to just go to sleep now,” he says quietly.

“Mm.”

“You have to sit up though while I put this shirt on you.”

“Why?” I yawn. “I can sleep naked.”

He clears his throat, and I watch his eyes skim over my body.

“Trust me,” he says hoarsely, “you need to put on this shirt.”

I bite my lip as he reaches over to help me into the oversized FG shirt. I collapse into his pillow again as soon as it’s on, the warm, soft fabric that smells like him making me even sleepier.

“Goodnight, baby,” he murmurs as he reaches over me to grab his book off the nightstand.

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

My eyes flutter closed as I feel his soft lips press against my temple, and then I fall into a blissful, post-orgasmic sleep.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Translations:

Ppalli-ga - go fast

[captainjimothycarter]

Have you done their first night together after endgame? Doesn’t have to be sexy times, I just love imagining what happened after their dance in endgame. If you have time, I’d love to read your take!

I honestly have to think? I don’t think I have, beyond a few rps with some people. I have ideas written down somewhere in my mess of google docs. God there’s so much I want to do to say!! The possibilities are endless.

I wanted sexy time but...emotional seemed fitting.

--

Steve swallowed down the last of his coffee, looking at Peggy from across the kitchen table. They’d long closed the front door and drew the blinds, every light off in her house but the one in the kitchen. It felt more like an interrogation than a friendly conversation and Steve suppose he deserves that. Quite frankly, he’d be surprised if Peggy didn’t interrogate him.

Dinner sat in remains, dishes waiting to be washed, a shared pot of coffee between them. The dance had long faded from their minds. Peggy wanted answers and damnit, she was going to get them.

“Let me get this straight,” Peggy said slowly, looking down at the items spread across the table. Steve had taken out pen and paper to jot things down, to help explain this ridiculous process of time traveling to her in the simplest way possible. She looked at the dates and his quickly scrawled handwriting with her tongue between her front teeth. His handwriting had always been the hardest to read, always hurried, like he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “You’re from the future. You traveled back in time to be with me?”

She wanted to question why but the answer was there. Steve Rogers was exhausted. There was a look in his eyes that told Peggy that. From when she’d open the front door and Steve was there, her teacup still remained on the floor. He looked like her Steve, he was her Steve, just one who had the world on his shoulders far too many times and the effect of the weight had weighed him down until he was a broken man.

She was trying to think of this logical, not emotional. Emotional she wanted to run into his arms. To kiss him, love him. To allow herself happiness she’s avoided and pushed others away from.

“Amongst…other things,” Steve mused, shrugging his broad shoulders. “There’s some promises I intend on keeping that won’t come up until later. There’s a whole…mess we need to figure out together.” Together. The way he said that made Peggy’s heart swell. “We have time.”

He took her hands, slowly reaching over and caressing her delicate fingers on his own. They were calloused than she remembered.

“You’re too tired to talk about it. I’m surprised you got this much out.” Peggy considered leaving everything out, but her luck Howard would be by and they’d made a silent promise not to tell Howard of time travel. Not yet, at least. As to what they’d need to do about Steve and him being alive and here meant for his role, that would be decided later. Right now, Steve deserved his rest. At least for tonight. She’s had enough discussion despite the questions in her mind.

“And you’re sure about Sargeant Barnes?” She picked up the paper Steve had scrawled with the history of James’ time as the Winter Soldier. How close had she been and couldn’t save him? Save Steve.

“Damn sure. It’ll take a week for them to move him to the next location. By then, we can strike and you can cross another base off of your list.” It killed Steve to wait another week but they had no choice. Move too soon, allow himself to be seen and Hydra would know and turn drastic measures. This way, Peggy could slowly get their team together.

One last mission.

“That’s another discussion for tomorrow.” She sighed as she stood up to put the papers away, watching Steve out of the corner of her eye start to clean the dishes. As much as she wanted answers, it will have to wait. She needed to process what in the hell was told her already and wrap her head around the fact Steve was alive.

Silently, she picked up the towel to dry the dishes, taking them from Steve’s hand. He leaned closer to her, his body naturally gravitated towards her, and Peggy sunk against him.

“Your cooking skills have improved,” she noted, making Steve laugh. “No one’s dying of food poisoning.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he dried his hands off and pulled her against his frame, arms around her waist. “One last time, Agent, that was Dugan’s fault for not checking the quality of that boar. Not mine.”

Peggy snorted into his chest and Steve understood when that crying dissolved into tears. He was crying too. Unbelieving they were together at last. That he was here, in her arms. Even if her nails dug into the back of his shirt. Peggy, for her sake, sobbed into him, that dam breaking free. Steve was here. He was alive. He’d suffered so much and all she wanted to do was make it right.

Normally she’d complain when he picked her up, but not now. Tonight, she could indulge.

Sitting on the couch, Steve bundled her to his chest and let the soft songs of the record player fill the room. His hands roamed her body, rubbing at her spine, moving down to rub at her calves. Constantly touching to prove they were together.

It took Peggy a lot longer than she’d like to admit to calm down. Emotions were not her thing. She kept them locked behind a wall and properly dealt with them at the shooting range, boxing, or when she was on a field mission. They left her feeling haggard and drained, a hangover effect lingering on her. And Steve through it all was sitting there, holding her, comforting her. It reminded her of how much she missed and the tears threatened to pour once more.

Cupping her cheek, he pulled her down for a soft kiss. Just the barest of kisses, barest of touch. He looked a bit worried as he pulled back and she knew the thoughts in his mind or could guess them – worried he didn’t ask permission.

To prove him wrong, that he could kiss her at any time, she kissed him back, her lips seeking his in desperate means to taste him, taste the lingering coffee on his lips, and the saltiness of her tears on her own.

Steve’s hand moved to cup the back of her head, fingertips starting to undo where she’d carefully pinned her curls this morning. That felt like a lifetime ago. His arm looped around her waist and in turn, her arm moved around his neck, her hand buried in his soft, blonde locks.

They both pulled away, cheeks flushed, and lips were swollen. Steve laughed, pressing their forehead together.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “I’ve missed you so much, Peggy.” He cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb stroking along her jawline.

“You have me now, Steven. I’m not going anywhere.” Phillips would worry if she took off work for a week straight. They were in the threshold of the infancy of Shield. A week off would do more harm than good. “You’ll find I’m quite attached to you.”

“Good, because otherwise, this would be awkward.”

Scooping her up, he carried her up the stairs and sat her on the closed toilet lit. Steve drew Peggy a warm bath, shedding his shirt in the process. She couldn’t help the noise at the sight of the scars. The serum was to prevent the worst scars, but if these had lingered on his skin…? The pain Steve had gone through had been downplayed.

Her fingertips traced around the one on his ribcage and Steve froze, closing his eyes to her touch. He caught her hand and pressed a soft kiss to it.

This was a man who was more confident now than before. This was a man who had loved and lost and suffered and who knew what he wanted while still loving her. He was still her Steve. Still blubbering and struggling and still an idiot at times by the way he put his foot in his mouth over dinner, but he was still hers.

He gave her a silent look, fingertips playing on the end of her blouse before she nodded. No words were needed as they stripped each other layer after layer of clothes. Until they both laid naked in the warm tub. Steve barely fit and it almost drove Peggy to a fit of laughter. She’s cried and laughed more times today than she has in years.

“We’ll have to get a bigger tub if you insist on this,” she chuckled. At his pout, she kissed his bottom lip. “Okay, if we insist on it and I do.”

His arms tightened around her, rubbing a wet hand along her spine. Feeling the curve of her ass, to her neck before trailing back down. A content sigh left her lips as he held her closer and for once, she felt relaxed.

“Don’t think I’m still not upset at you for being late,” she grumbled, in an exhausted voice against his neck. “I’m very peeved, Rogers. Very.”

“I told you, Pegs, I couldn’t call my ride.” She could hear the smile in his voice, but the hint of remorse. She knew. Oh, did she know that pain.

Leaving her in the tub to soak, Steve wrapped a towel around his waist and retreated to her room. He’d cracked a window to allow cool air inside and pulled her covers back. Going into her closet, Steve frowned at the choices of pajamas. Peggy had told him no overkill, something just relaxing. He got the message.

Much as he wanted to….he craved just a night of holding her in his arms for now.

His eyes spotted an Army issues shirt. A man’s shirt. A flare of jealousy he didn’t know even existed caused him to pull the shirt out of the closet, frowning at the name stitched inside.

Rogers.

She’d kept it? How did she…?

“Dugan and Pinky,” Peggy said behind him, causing Steve to jump in surprise. She looked amused at the idea of scaring a super-soldier. “I should say Colonel Phillips too, given your items were under his watchful eye. It just so happened a photo of your smaller self ended up in my possession and he was not around to tell me where to put it. As well as your…items. A few of your items.” Her throat tightened and her eyes burned, threatened to spill over tears again. She clenched her left hand, nails biting into her palm to prevent herself from crying all over again.

“Dugan and-and Pinky told me they’d stolen it from a government storage facility. Phillips just mysteriously turned a blind eye.” The man was a hard ass. But he meant well, he knew what Steve meant to her. He knew that Steve’s items would be better under her protection rather than in the government’s.

“It’s okay, Peggy,” Steve whispered, kneeling down in front of her to cup her face in his hands. She hadn’t even been aware she was crying, looking away. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I-I mourned for you! I mourned for you and searched and-and…loved you. I still love you. There’s a part of me that’s refusing to believe this is real. That this isn’t some dream caused by my lack of processing of what’s happening. Or-or-or-“ She didn’t get to finish. Steve had pulled her into the longest kiss of her life.

Her eyes parted to see the tears in his eyes.

They’d both had suffered. And she knew once this ‘honeymoon phase’ was over, there would be arguments, spats, discussions, but between them they could work it out.

She didn’t argue as Steve helped her dress in a soft gown and watched him pull on a pair of boxers she’d bought. Silently, they got into bed and the room fell dark.

Steve’s arms were around Peggy, rolling them over so she was pressed into his side, until it was almost uncomfortable but damnit she didn’t care.

“I love you,” he whispered, stroking her damp hair. He should’ve curled it for her, but it was too late. She was far too tight. “Watching you die…was one of the worst moments in my life. I was alone, despite I had friends. I never felt more alone.” And he felt selfish to think that. “I craved our life together. The dreams would haunt me. Your voice, your words. I have loved you from the first moment I saw you and I’m sorry I never got to tell you.”

And she loved him too, she realized. Even before he had crashed into a frozen tundra of a grave. She loved him when he was small to when he was big and arguing with her on the tactics of coming in from the north versus the east. He always argued, pushed her, it drove her insane, but he was helping her see reason, not making her do.

“Steven, darling, shh.” She could hear it, hear him working himself up. The panic rising in his throat. “Hush, darling. We’re here. We’re together now.” They could discuss the finer details of the PTSD that laid behind their choices and actions.

“I love you, Steven and nothing will change that. You’re home now, you can rest.”

Home. Peggy had always been home, hasn’t she? A sense of comfort. A sense he could be himself. He didn’t have to be Captain America or Captain Rogers or a poised diplomatic. He could be him. Steve Rogers. A man for so long he hadn’t gotten to figure out just who Steve was. He had time now. They had time now.

Afterall, he was home.

[op-peccatori]

Ruffled Feathers (nsfw) | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 5900

Summary: You’re aware that you're dating a man who doesn't lose his cool easily; it's a trait you've come to appreciate about him. However, that doesn't stop you from trying to ruffle his feathers every chance you get. What happens when your latest attempt at poking does wake the bear?

a/n: *looks at all my WIPs* ok time to write another Victor thirstfic!! I actually dreamt of the smut part and had a tough time writing everything that comes before lol. I'm gonna have to come back and edit this properly

(tags under the cut)

Tags/Warnings: explicit content and explicit dialogue, PWP, vaginal sex, oral sex (male receiving), spanking, somewhat rough and dom Victor, MC pushing buttons

Thursday

The soft pitter-patter of rain falls across the courtyard, bringing the hint of a chill with it. 

You run through the hallways, cursing your lack of foresight; you didn’t think to bring an umbrella. Victor and Goldman are dropping in on the set, and you want to be the one to welcome them. After all, it's not every day that your boyfriend finds the time to come meet you. You try to calm the rapid fluttering in your stomach–you're going to leave for a work trip in the morning, and you're going to be tied up on set until late in the night. He's just trying to get a little more time with you, just as you requested.

As a set of all too familiar shoulders come into view, you fight the urge to speed up and slow to a walk instead, unable to help the widening of your smile as you meet his eyes. His severe expression softens minutely, his mouth perking up as he meets you halfway, a strange tension buzzing between you both as you waver between options, each more formal than the previous. Throwing yourself into his arms like you want to is out of the question; there's no need to add fuel to the fire. You know people are curious about the nature of your relationship, and whether or not it goes beyond professional. 

You settle for beaming up at him, waving at Goldman when he pops out from behind him. "I'm glad to see you both!" You're also grateful when Goldman takes Victor's umbrella and hurries ahead, under the pretence of wanting to inform the director of their arrival himself. He leaves you both smiling at each other as you follow at a much slower pace. 

"How are you?" he asks quietly. His expressions slips into something fonder as you sigh loudly. 

"Tired. Hungry. Borderline homicidal," you answer honestly. "What about you?" "It was a smooth day. I brought you some food, I thought we could eat together." 

Once again, you fight the urge to hug him. Instead, with a quick glance around, you reach out and take his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. His hand is warm under your touch, and you wish you could just wrap yourself around him and bask in his warmth. The way his shirt stretches over his chest doesn’t help matters in the slightest, and you wonder if he’d left the jacket behind on purpose.

"That would be lovely, Victor." You pause when you realize there's a sudden stillness in the air, one you're more than familiar with. Fingers curve around your jaw and with your heart kicking into gear, you look up in time to see him leaning in, slotting your lips together firmly. As his arm slides around your waist, affection morphs into a hot liquid that pools in your abdomen. With the rain frozen still behind you, you press up against him, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, your hands coming to rest over his chest. It's relief, it's like putting warm socks on after a shower, and you just want to sink into him. The want that has been creeping around in your body finally settles down.

A sound of a complaint leaves your lips when he pulls away, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. "Now, how about you show me around?"

After that kiss, all you really want to do is find an empty room. But it also reminds you of what you've been toying with in your head all day, so you agree with a smile only slightly dazed. Victor smiles back, unaware of the devious ideas you've been playing with, and takes a small step away. Well, it can't be helped. You won't get to be alone with Victor for another week, and chances like this one are too rare to pass up. 

With a kernel of regret in your heart, you lead your oblivious boyfriend further into the building.

Monday

All chatter in the room ceases as he walks in, some of the occupants scurrying out of the room and some greeting him meekly. You watch quietly as Goldman leaves your side and hurries to his, informing him of all the meetings scheduled for the day. 

You watch, fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, and wait. Your patience is rewarded when he glances your way: the slightest of pauses in his stride, a twitch of his mouth, the softening of his eyes. It's taken a considerable amount of time for you to become familiar with the minute changes in his expression; it took a lot of testing, a lot of risks, and you hoard this knowledge jealously. He says something to Goldman while still looking at you before he walks through the doors to his office. 

Goldman relaxes slightly and walks back over to sit at his desk. "You've got fifteen minutes. He's such a generous man, isn't he? You're a lucky girl!" 

'Or he knows I didn't get enough sleep last night and need this cup.' Goldman eyes the little smile on your face suspiciously. "Actually, never mind." 

"Well, actually, Goldman," you begin with a sweet smile. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something." 

"No."

"You don't even know what it is."

"With the kind of face you're making? I don't want to know."

"Oh, c'mon! It's just a little favour. And it's for Victor too!" you cajole softly, and he slumps slightly. "I just wanted to know his schedule for Thursday."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" he asks confusedly, adjusting his glasses nervously.

You roll your eyes. "Then it wouldn't be much of a surprise would it?"

"Hmm. And it's something he'll like?" You feel a stab of guilt at how sincere he looks, but it's not like you're planning something terrible. It's just something new, that's all. 

"Oh, trust me. He'll like it," you say, unable to help the little smirk that curls along your mouth. You're not sure what Goldman interprets from that, because he looks a little nauseous. 

"Right. I regret asking," he sighs. "Well, he's got a few calls and meetings scheduled in the morning, but he does have some time after 5."

"Perfect." 

Thursday

And so, having ensured you have some space to yourself, you invited Victor for a short visit to the set. You're filming a fantasy show here, and tomorrow you'll be off to visit other potential shoot locations. You weren't expecting Goldman to tag along, but you figure he's more or less part of the gang now, and knows better than to interrupt your time with his boss–mostly because he would rather not know what you're doing. You've done most of your work, and with Anna stopping by, you're not exactly required to stick around to supervise. With a quick meal, you begin the tour.

You're careful as you lead Victor to different parts of the building. It's an older building on the outskirts of the city, and the lighting leaves much to be desired. But the stonework is beautiful, as are the paintings hanging in the halls. You can't tell if the house had actual floorplans because the rooms and staircases seem to have been constructed at random places. You pass by the windows, admiring the plants in the courtyard that are bright in the soft rain, and as you walk to a quieter part of the building, you reach for his hand, curling your fingers around his firmly. Stepping into your favourite part of this odd little mansion, you show him the room you stop by every time you feel the urge to cry or rage. 

There are mirrors of various shapes and sizes on all four walls, and the first time you had come in here you had been so dizzy you'd nearly missed a window in the corner. You had dragged an armchair in here, positioning it in front of the window that had its own private little view of the courtyard. As you declare the room as your spot, an excited skip in your step, Victor eyes you speculatively. 

"You sounded a little haggard when we spoke yesterday," he begins, glancing at the door as you step closer and wrap your arms around him. "Yet, you seem almost cheerful now." 

"Ah, well," you laugh nervously, a sliver of triumph slithering through you. You turn your head until you can see your reflection in few of the mirrors, the way Victor’s hand slips down to cup your ass before he seems to catch himself and bring it back to safer territory. "Yesterday was pretty rough. But, well. I have my ways of cheering myself up." 

"Pancakes?" 

'Well, that too.' You smile into his shirt, inhaling the subtle tones of his cologne. The familiar scent relaxes something in you, nearly making regret your plans of breaking this peaceful atmosphere. "Not quite." 

He doesn't respond, merely waiting for you to come out with it. Your pulse quickens as you peer up at him sheepishly, hoping the expression isn't too exaggerated. "Well, I was so tense, you know. I needed something to take the edge off. So...you remember that voice note you once sent me?" 

You wait for it to click, and you know the exact moment it does, the slight parting of his lips giving him away. "Yes."

"It helped me take care of things."

"Take care of things," he repeats, his hands flexing where they rest on your back.

"Uh, yeah. It's quite effective, I really have to thank you for that! Never fails to bring me to-"

"How often do you...use it?" he cuts you off, hands tightening their grip on you. You blink at his strained tone, adopting a look of slight confusion.

"...often enough. Is there a problem?" You pat yourself on the back for how concerned you manage to sound, snapping to attention when Victor scowls at you. 

"Not a problem. But...why don't you just call me?" 

"Sometimes I just wake up wanting you." You shrug casually and try to take a measured step away from him, but he doesn't let you, pulling you close to brush his lips over the tender spot underneath your ear.

"Then next time, call me," he murmurs, pressing soft yet insistent kisses down your neck as if trying to emphasise on how much he means it.

"Victor-" you try to protest, hoping dearly that your smile doesn't break free.

"I don't care. This is my job. Call me." 

With cheeks warming at his stern tone, you laugh and begin to walk out of the room. "Fine, I'll try. But it won't be possible all the time, you know."

"Why not?" he asks, following you with a deep frown crinkling his forehead.

"Well, I'm going away tomorrow, and who knows what schedule will be like?" You do. "And I can't always disturb you." 

A hand curls around your arm, pulling you back into the room just as you exit it. You crash against him when he drags you back towards him, his arms tight around you and keeping you in his hold. You're half expecting the way he kisses you, the way his tongue curls around yours demandingly, the moan it draws from you. Fingers tangle in your hair, keeping you in place for him to plunder your mouth greedily–but then it turns softer than you would like it to. His eyes are clear of any irritation when he pulls back, the dark hints of desire swept away quickly.

"I guess I can understand that. But I hope you know I'm always here to take care of anything you need," he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. You nod dumbly, not having expected him to be so agreeable. 

"So, is this you giving me permission to finger myself to your voice anytime I want?" you joke weakly. His fingers dig into your skin for a moment, almost painfully, but his expression is still clear when you look at him again. 

"You don't need my permission. Again, I do hope you'll make use of your willing boyfriend more often, hm?" he teases you lightly, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. You're rendered speechless by his inaction. He isn't tempted in the slightest, and you're not sure if you should be offended. No dragging you in front of the mirrors, demanding you to show him exactly how you touch yourself. He leads you out of the room, completely unruffled.

As you both head back to check on the crew, one last thought occurs to you. The final card. You pull your phone out quickly, opening Victor's chat and tapping the icon for attaching images.

“In the spirit of full disclosure,” you begin, watching everyone run around as they pack up, and then you hit send. “It happened yesterday too, in the afternoon.” 

Victor stops in his tracks as his phone vibrates. “But you were here yesterday afternoon.” He's still distracted by your words as he checks his messages, and you assume that's why he doesn't realize what he's looking at right away. You barely catch the way his breath hitches in his throat and his fingers tighten around the device, his fixed on the screen.

“Mhm. I was just so tense.” You study him as several emotions flit through his eyes in quick succession, and then his expression smooths out into something carefully measured and blank as he puts his phone back in his pocket, giving you a tight smile.

“Glad I could help.” 

You feel like screaming, and not in the way you wanted to. Your grand plans of making Victor snap, lose control and take you in a shadowed corner of the building have turned to dust. Not even a picture of you, reflected in several mirrors with your hand up your skirt, could do it. And you'd wasted so much time on experimenting with the angles too. The aesthetic! Not even a compliment? You watch sullenly as the director comes up to him, drawing him into a chat easily. 

‘I mean, I tried,’ you think resignedly, and go help with pack up. 'What does a girl have to do to get some dick around here?' Your shoulders remain slumped with disappointment throughout the process of wrapping up, and it's only when everyone's trickling out that the first seeds of doubt begin to bloom. The sky has cleared up and the fresh smell of rain still lingers in the air when you turn to the director. 

"I'll see you in the morning?" 

Jason nearly trembles with the force of what looks like excitement. "Actually, ___!Oh, we're so lucky–we don't have to go!" 

"What do you mean? We still need to finalize the next location," you ask with no small amount of confusion. You've already packed. 

"Yes, but I was just talking to Victor, and I think we’ve found the perfect location! We can go next week, he said he'll take care of it." 

"He will?" you ask numbly, turning to the man in question who has just stepped up to stand next to you. 

"Yes! I'll text you the details. I'm so glad you invited him. Thank you!" He takes your hands in his and shakes them enthusiastically, contrasting greatly with the sinking sensation in your gut. "What a great man!" 

You watch mutely as he turns to Victor, who waves off the other man's praises with a small smile. A hand settles briefly on your shoulder, and you turn around to see Anna grinning at you. "Need a ride back home?" 

"Yeah, actually-" you pause and look back over your shoulder, your eyes locking with a pair reminiscent of wild storms. "Uh, I think Victor's going to take me home." 

"Oh?" Anna asks just as a hand settles on your lower back.

"Yes. Don't worry, I'll get her home in one piece," Victor assures her, an odd twinkle in his eye as Anna laughs in response. 

"Oh, you two! Alright, have a good night." 

You wish everyone else a good night, aware of the curious eyes boring into your backs as you both walk away. Your heart thumps loudly as you wait for him to say something, but Victor only makes idle chit-chat as he drives. How you feel about the filming, the cast, the predicted responses. He's at complete ease. It's when you're back in the main city, and you've relaxed into your seat. that he chooses to ask you something different. 

"I was wondering if you'd like to stay over tonight. Now that you're free tomorrow, I mean." His tone remains casual, his eyes staying on the road as you perk up. "We haven't gotten much time together this month." 

"Oh?" 

"I baked something new yesterday, it would be nice if you could try it too," he tells you.

"Yeah, I think that's perfect!" you acquiesce at once, the prospect of getting to eat food cooked by him convincing you easily. Hopefully, after you've gotten to taste other things. "I've really missed you." 

"Mm, I know." He flashes you a quick smile. "My babygirl's been misbehaving too. I think I need to make time for a quick lesson, no?"

For a moment, you think you've misheard. Your stomach tightens, and there are no words you can come up with in response, so you remain quiet. Even as he pulls up to his building and anticipation begins to pump through you like a slow drug, you think you could've imagined his words. There's an almost placid look on his face as you both enter the elevator, while you're sure you look like a nervous wreck. You shouldn't be anxious, you're getting exactly what you wanted. You've been feeling so needy it's pathetic, and Victor's going to take care of it. 

Except, it didn't go according to plan, did it? You messed with him, but you had planned for him to have enough time and space to cool down while you were away. You hadn't expected him to derail the whole plan so easily. 

His phone rings as he opens the door to his penthouse, and he takes the call. Thinking it must be important for him to answer right away, you take this chance to try and sneak away.

"Oh, ___?" You halt right away, but you can't bring yourself to see his expression. He's pressing the phone to his chest in an attempt to muffle his words. He drags a knuckle across the soft skin of your cheek, before a finger under your chin tilts your head up until you can look at him; he looks amused by your nervous demeanour. "Go freshen up. I want you in the living room in twenty minutes." 

"O-okay." You're a little embarrassed by the high pitch of your voice, and as you hurry to his bathroom your mind races through the possibilities. An apology would have to be made, but it wouldn't be enough for him to let you off the hook. At this point, you can only appeal to the soft spot he has for you. With that thought in mind, you rush to his closet. 

You clean up as well as you can within your time limit, braiding your hair back quickly, your face clear of any makeup. As you walk back into the living room, you see Victor sitting on the sofa, tapping away at his phone. Stopping by the kitchen to get you both some water, you remain silent as you come to a stop beside him and wait. 

When he finally turns his phone off and leans back, you rush to get the words out. "Um, Victor, I-I'm really sorry about earlier today...I didn't mean to make you angry.”

He studies you from underneath thick lashes, stretching his neck and taking in the way the hem of his shirt falls to the middle of your thighs and the way your fingers play with it in a well-crafted picture of remorse. "I'm not angry."

"What?" you watch as he sips his water calmly.

"I'm not angry," he repeats, even though you think the dark look in his eyes says otherwise. "I understand why you did what you did."

"You do?" You curse your inability to form full sentences. 

"Like I said, we've both been busy this month," he gestures for you to take a seat next to him. "You must've been frustrated." 

Relief washes over you at the understanding in his voice. "I-yeah. I'm sorry. I should've just told you." He simply nods, stroking your cheek tenderly. Just as you begin to smile, his hand cups your jaw tightly, preventing any more words from leaving your lips. His grip his firm enough for your cheeks to feel squished, your lips forced into a pout. Your heart skips and drops as the tranquil curtain of his expression falls away, leaving behind something much more austere. 

"Yes, you should have. I'm not angry about you touching yourself to the sound of my voice," he says, the gentleness in his tone slowly transitioning into fierceness. "I'm glad I could help." He leans into your space, his gaze locked on you, your eyes widening with panic. "What I don't appreciate is you trying to play games with me. And touching yourself in public? Where someone could have seen?"

You try to shake your head, somehow trying to convey the fact that you had been careful. 

"The very thought of it..." he exhales forcefully and releases your jaw, leaning back a bit. "Now, come." 

You're not completely sure he means what you think, and the thought of it sends fear and excitement racing through you. You hadn't expected things to take this turn, for him to have seen through your games so easily and taken steps to ensure you couldn't see them through. As he pats his thigh, you crawl over his lap, positioning yourself carefully until you're lying across it. He runs a hand over your back, caressing the back of your head lovingly as you try not to tremble. 

"No need to be nervous. You've told me yourself–I'm a good teacher." His tone remains calm as his hand wanders over your body, sliding down the length of your spine to stroke your thighs before pulling the shirt up and dragging your underwear down roughly, baring your ass to him. Nimble fingers stroke and squeeze the plump flesh of your rear, and your breath begins to grow heavy. "Did you really think you could get away with it?" 

His hand comes down on your skin in an open-handed blow, not too hard, and you jolt more from the surprise than the sting. You manage to bite back a whimper, and the way Victor's hand massages the skin feels like approval. His hand is warm, and the other settles over the back of your neck, as you rest your head over hands that clutch at the cushion.

"Tell me what you did wrong." Another slap, this time on the other cheek. 

"I-I played games." You yelp at the hard smack delivered over the top of your thigh, right where it meets your ass. Your cheeks feel uncomfortably hot–both the sets.

"I know you can do better than that," he coaxes, his tone wicked. You whimper softly as he massages the stinging skin, squirming on his lap until his hand squeezes with a warning.

"I tried t-to tease you," you whisper, and he hums in approval. 

"Yes, you were a filthy girl today. Tormenting me with thoughts of coming just by listening to an old voice not. And that picture," he growls. You expect the strong smack this time, your eyes brimming with tears as you try to breathe steadily. "And what should you have done instead?" 

"I should've been honest." You hasten to continue when he pinches your prickling skin. "I should've told you how...how badly I needed it." 

A smack, and the tears spillover. "Needed what?" 

"Y-your cock, sir." It slips out automatically, and you know he likes it when he spends more time soothing your flesh. 

"And the picture? Touching yourself where anyone could have walked in?" Smack. "All because you were hungry for my cock. All you had to do was ask." Smack.

"I-I'm sorry, sir. I thought you w-would like it." You part your legs as his hand ventures further down; you wince when you hear him click his tongue and feel him yank at your underwear hard enough to tear it in half. In a rare show of mercy, two of his fingers probe your entrance, although you're immensely embarrassed when you realize how wet you are. 

He sighs loudly, sounding disappointed. "Here I am, trying to teach you something, and look at you. You're dripping." If you hadn't known him as well as you do, you wouldn't have been able to detect the pleased edge to his voice. "Answer me honestly. If I hadn't put a stop to your misbehaviour, would you have continued while you were away?" 

You freeze in place, blinking through the blurriness as you remember the videos you had planned to film while you were beyond his reach. A gentle pinch of your clit has you moaning, scrambling to get hold of your thoughts, which becomes more difficult when his finger pushes into you.

"I want an answer." 

"Y-yes, sir. I was going to..." He continues to slide his finger in and out, rubbing along your walls firmly.

"More pictures?"

"Yes...and videos," you whimper. He only hums thoughtfully, pulling his finger out, and in the next second, he delivers a loud smack on your throbbing cunt.

 You can only sob as your mind blanks, trembling in earnest as you struggle to breathe. "I-I'm sorry, sir. Please...I'll be good, I-I promise." 

"Shh," he slides two fingers along your heat, rubbing gently. "What do you want?" 

"Please...please make me come," you beg, squeezing your walls tightly. The drag of his fingers over your slit is slow, achingly slow, but you don't dare move. 

"Alright. Mouth?" The thought of his tongue on you nearly makes you come right there, but you manage to remember what you had been aiming for earlier. 

"Could I...could you..." you stumble over your words, frustrating yourself more, but the hand now stroking the stinging flesh of your rear is patient. "Please fuck me. Please. Please."

"Hmm. We'll see." He manoeuvres your body until you're curing into his chest and you feel as if you could pass out from the force of your relief–until he continues. "But first, get on your knees."

You know your face is set in disbelief and despair as you lock eyes with him, but he just gazes back steadily. You know it's better to go along with what he says and be rewarded. You've had enough of the punishment, and you'll do whatever it takes to get to the goal. With his help, you're soon kneeling between his legs, grateful for the plush rug cushioning your knees. Victor continues to look at you expectantly, prompting you to unbuckle his belt as swiftly as you can. Before you can unzip him, he stops you. 

"Not yet." 

Uncertain of what he means, you remove your hand from his crotch. His fingers slide into your hair, tightening until you feel the sting, and pull you forward until your nose brushes against the soft fabric of his pants. You can feel the way it strains against the restricting cloth, and it makes your mouth water.  You mouth at his clothed erection and he loosens his grip on your hair, content to watch you trace his bulge with your lips for a long moment. 

"Now." 

You scramble to obey, unzipping him with shaky fingers and pulling his pants down along with his boxer briefs, eyes fixed on the way his cock bounces, it's head glistening temptingly. You can't help the hungry kisses you plant along his muscled thighs, barely refraining from sinking your teeth into the firm skin. Resting your chin on his knee, you peer up at him for the next order. 

Victor inhales sharply, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Good girl. Suck." The first taste of him on your tongue is salty, and you suck on his tip softly, pleased at the soft groan he lets you hear. "Deeper. Don't use your hands." You take his cock in until it hits the back of your throat, trying to relax your jaw around it. As you begin to bob your head up and down, his hips begin to thrust shallowly. Your fingers dig into your thighs, fighting the urge to touch him, and you keep a smooth pace.

Until a hard thrust has you choking on his length, over and over again. 

"See, that's the problem, babygirl," he growls, cupping the back of your head as his cock hits the back of your throat painfully. "If you insist on acting like a disobedient slut, then I'm going to have to treat you like one." 

You're unsure if you're really crying or if your eyes are just watering from the force of his thrusts–not that it really matters. He stills when he's deep in your mouth, watching you struggle to breathe and keep your mouth open. "You have to show me you deserve to have my cock in you." 

He pulls out of your mouth, his fingers pumping his length urgently as you cough pitifully. "Open your mouth. Stick your tongue out." 

His words are a hot jolt in your core, and you obey him immediately, with your eyes still watery and your jaw still aching. Your walls squeeze around nothing as he comes on your tongue, and despite your attempts at catching all of it, some dribbles down your chin and cheek. And still, you wait.

"Swallow." You do so, wiping the rest off your skin as best you can and licking it off your fingers. Every bit of it seems worth it when you see the glazed look in Victor's eyes, and the little smile curving his lips up as he watches you lick enthusiastically.

He pulls you back onto his lap, holding you close and rubbing your back gently as you accept the glass of water he hands you, taking only a small sip before slumping into his chest. You stay there for a while, your ear pressed against the skin over his heart, and you feel it gradually slow down from its quick thumping.

You gather the remnants of your resolve and tug at his shirt. "Sir–pease fuck me." You feel him pause against you, and then shake as he begins to laugh. 

"Ah, you're so greedy, sweetheart. You want my cock that badly?" he teases, as if he doesn't already know how desperate you are. 

"Yes. Please." 

"And what if I don't want to give it to you?" 

You know you're way past feeling any embarrassment when tears pool in your eyes, the depth of your need endless and the prospect of it remaining unanswered terrifying. "Please, please, I'll be good, I'll do anything." Thumbs sweep away the tears sliding down your cheeks, and you feel his lips on your forehead. 

"Don't worry, I was just teasing," he assures you, his previously rough tone taking on a soothing note. "I could never leave my babygirl in such a state. You've more than earned it." He helps you slide your knees apart until they rest on either side of his hips, kissing you softly the whole time. As he pushes through your swollen lips, sliding into the hilt with little resistance, you think you could stay like this for the rest of your life, keeping his cock inside you and his arms around you. He pulls you to rest against him, adjusting himself until he's able to begin thrusting with progressively stronger thrusts. "Is this what you wanted?" 

You moan nearly incoherently, nodding fervently. His hands cup your ass, and the nexus between the pleasure from him fucking you and the pain from the stinging skin of your ass makes your eyes roll back into your head. He uses the grip on your cheeks to bounce you on his cock, syncing the motion with his thrusts. "A-all I wanted..." 

"It's yours. All you have to do..." he presses his face into your hair, driving his hips up into yours relentlessly. "...is ask." He keeps you in place with one arm, and then there are fingers rubbing tight circles into your clit and beginning the start of your end, as you begin to shatter into pieces. You forget everything but the heat pumping into you, working you through the daze, warm arms and soft lips slowly putting you back together. You barely register the deep groaning he's unable to suppress as his pace kicks up to rush to the finish line, as you press lazy kisses up his throat. 

"Could I ask for one more thing?" Your voice is barely a whisper, and your lips brush against his earlobe, teeth scraping against the tender skin as he gasps. "Sir?"

"Anything," he rasps out, the flush on his cheeks spreading down to his chest. "Anything." 

"Could you come in me?" you murmur. "Just...fill me up. Till the last drop. Please?" 

You can't help but smile at the curse that leaves his mouth, and the bruising kiss he pulls you into as he fulfils your request, his thick seed filling you in quick, hot spurts. Neither of you pulls away even once he grows soft within you, losing yourselves in the meeting of your mouths until you can’t keep your head up and let it fall onto his shoulder. 

“I’ve got you. You did so well, sweetheart,” Victor murmurs into your hair as you smile sleepily. “Let’s get some lotion on this cute butt, hmm?” 

The laugh you’re startled into turns into pained croaks as your throat protests the action. 

“And some tea, I see. Just relax and let me take care of you, okay?” He carries you to the bedroom carefully, holding you close as if in possession of priceless jewels. You spread out over his bed on your stomach, letting your body melt into the sheets. A pleased sound leaves your lips when you feel him rub the cool lotion into your abused skin. 

You’re not aware of how much time has passed when you’re startled awake, and look up to see Victor smiling apologetically at you from his seat at the edge of the bed. 

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” You crawl forward towards him, letting him pull you up so you can curl into a ball between his legs. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts, the cotton fabric soft and soothing on your skin. “I made you some tea.” 

The first sip is painful, but within a few more you’re able to swallow with some relief. “Thank you.” 

“Let me know if you feel up to eating something.” 

“Mm.” With the taste of honey on your tongue, you nuzzle his neck as he pulls a blanket over you. His arms are warm and reassuring around your tired body. “I wanted to have sex in the mirror room.” 

“I know.” 

“Mean.” 

“I’m not that easy, darling,” he says imperiously, soft lips brushing your temple. “If you want me to drop my pants in public, you’ll have to try harder than that.” 

[moonstruckbucky]

Come Over (5/7)

Summary: You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader. Neighbor AU.

Warnings for Chapter: There’s some fluff and a quick look into Bucky’s head.

Notes: We’re getting into the thick of it here, folks. There’s only two more parts after this and I can’t even believe it. Feedback is always appreciated! Enjoy x

P.S. - I almost forgot the goddamn Read More again.

Series Masterlist //  Main Masterlist 

The rest of October passes by in a chilly blur and in surprising quiet. It’s because, you learn, that Sharon is away again for work. You can’t help but notice the change in Bucky; he smiles more, doesn’t appear to walk on eggshells with anything, and you’re back to your regular coffee dates. You know it should set off alarm bells in your head that he’s so closed off when she’s around, but then you realize Bucky probably doesn’t have a lot of friends due to Sharon’s obvious insecurities and probable control issues. So you ignore it, allow yourself to feel bad that the only time Bucky can be himself is when she’s away.

The tension from the month before is gone, and so you choose not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Bucky’s apologized again and again for obviously upsetting you by being loud, and you find no choice but to accept each one when he looks at you with those goddamn eyes.

It’s during one of your weekend coffee dates that Bucky opens up a little bit more. About himself, his relationship, how Sharon went from being an amazing woman when they first started dating to now, where he barely recognizes her most days. 

“Her jealousy is out of control,” he sighs, shaking his head. He looks off to the window in your kitchen, lost in his head as if he’s trying to pinpoint the exact moment his relationship took a nosedive. Unthinking, you reach across the table and lay your hand on his and his eyes snap to first you and then your joined hands.

“Have you talked to her? See if you can find out why she’s started being like this? There has to be a reason…”

You can see the minute Bucky gets defensive; his jaw locks and he sits up, yanks his hand out from under yours. “I haven’t cheated, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

You hold your hands up innocently. “I wasn’t insinuating anything, Bucky. I was just asking. Sometimes these kinds of issues are deep-seated and stay dormant for a while before coming out. When did you start noticing her jealousy spiking?”

He blows out a breath and shakes his head, his long hair hanging in his face. You have to clench your fist to resist reaching out and brushing it aside. Bucky leans forward on your small table, chin resting on his hands as he thinks. His eyes light up in realization and he seems almost bashful now. Your curiosity piques.

“A-About the time you moved in,” he admits quietly, and then hurries to add, “I-I-I mean, there were other, smaller instances, I guess. But it was just, you know, her arm around my waist or some sudden PDA. Nothing huge. But, god don’t take this the wrong way, but when I told her you’d moved in, it’s like some kind of flip was switched. We ended up fighting about it.”

“I...I heard,” you mutter, twirling your coffee mug. Bucky looks horrified and you hurry to placate him. “I couldn’t hear specifics. Just...just your raised voice, that’s all.”

Groaning, he slides a hand down his face. “Some neighbor I am, huh?”

You smile sadly and shake your head. “Bucky, you’re a great neighbor. People argue. It’s fine.”

He meets your eyes, gratitude shimmering within the blue depths, and his gaze holds you there. Heart beating erratically in your chest, you realize this is a moment. It’s magnetic, the pull between you, and it takes an exorbitant amount of effort to break the stare and shatter the tension. Bucky shifts in his seat and focuses on his coffee cup.

“More coffee?” you ask because you need to fill the silence with something. At his nod, you scoot back from the table and refill both mugs. Take your seat and try to bring back some lightness to the room. “So Thanksgiving is coming up. You and Sharon have any fun plans?”

He scoffs bitterly as he stirs his coffee. Body rigid and an eye roll barely suppressed. “She’s away for work so, I’m on my own.”

“For Thanksgiving? That’s unacceptable. You should come spend it with my family. Clint will be there, and maybe Sam. I’m sure they’d love to have you.”

The invitation is out before you can really think too much on it. It feels natural, asking him to join you. Feels too natural if you let yourself think on it, but you don’t. It’s out there between you and you watch Bucky for his reaction.

He’s surprised. But he wants to say yes, you can see it on his face, but he shakes his head. “I couldn’t intrude on your family like that.”

It saddens your heart to think Bucky would be intruding. For people who aren’t really that close, you’ve shared a lot of personal baggage between you, and the thought of Bucky spending a holiday meant to be spent with family alone hardens your resolve. You won’t accept ‘no’, can’t. Not when Sharon doesn’t seem to care about being home with him.

“You won’t be.” You’re sure of this. Clint loves Bucky, and you’re damn sure the rest of your family will too. “You’re coming with me. No ifs, ands, or buts. Got it?”

Bucky thinks better of arguing with you. Sighs and nods his head like an obedient child but with a quick smile that says he’s grateful for the invitation. The two of you settle back into your chairs, the air between you both light but with a lurking tension that bubbles just beneath the surface.

The weeks leading up to Thanksgiving are hectic, manic, whatever word that describes ultimate bedlam you prefer. Stark Industries is closing on a new deal to allow for human trials of a new “super-suit” Tony has dubbed it, and it’s crucial that all ducks are in their designated rows to minimize liability risks. It’s a tornado of paperwork, phone calls with lawyers and insurance companies, emails back and forth with the physicists assigned to the project.

It’s a mess, and it leaves you haggard, exhausted, and more than a little cranky. You’ve accidentally snapped at Wanda more times than you can count, and if you hadn’t been paying attention, Tony might’ve been at the end of one of your fits as well. Fortunately, you’d just managed to catch yourself after he’d reminded you—again—about the write-up due to the project managers before the holiday.

It’s late the Tuesday before the holiday when you return home—nearly eight o’clock, and you’re about ready to collapse. You feel drunk on exhaustion as you stagger down the hall barefoot, your stupid heels hanging over your index finger. Eyelids heavy, like two lead weights are weighing them down, you stifle a yawn in your elbow. One of your heels goes clattering to the floor.

“Fuck,” you hiss, groaning long and loud as you bend over to retrieve it and your back protests the movement. You don’t realize you’re in front of Bucky’s door until it opens, and your neighbor, in all his pajama-clad muscled glory, frowns down at you.

“Y/N? What the hell happened to you?”

You sigh and close your eyes, lean your head against your knee. “Thanks, Buck. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

He rolls his eyes before stooping to wrap a hand around your arm. Gently he helps you to your feet, and you can’t help it when you stagger just slightly into his body.

“Whoa, easy there,” he coos, steadying you. His body is unnaturally warm where it presses up against yours and for a second, you let yourself bask in the heat. A moth to a flame. Wings scorched, but you’ll gladly burn.

“Sorry,” you sigh after a few moments, shaking your head, “it’s been a busy past couple of weeks and I’m about ready to collapse.”

“C’mon, gimme your keys. Let’s get you inside.”

He slides your keychain from your hand, opens your door, leads you in. You whine at the sight of your couch, but before you can faceplant into the cushions, Bucky’s steering you away.

“B-But,” you stutter on a whine, reaching out dramatically, childishly, for the piece of furniture.

“Mm, nuh-uh. First, comfy clothes. Then I’m making you something to eat. And then you’re going to bed.”

“Bucky.” You’re still whining, but you’re far too tired to care. Bucky sits you down on your bed, lunges forward when you tip backward in an attempt to climb under your duvet. He keeps you upright, and you pout. “Bucky.”

“Patience. Which drawer is your pajama drawer?” He sighs when he glances over his shoulder, sees you curling up in your blankets in your work attire. Averts his eyes when your skirt rides halfway up your thighs.

“Third from the top,” is your sleepy, mumbled reply paired with a half-assed lift of your arm. The drawer slides open then shut, and you grunt as fabric hits you in the face.

“Get changed and meet me in the kitchen.”

“You’re awful bossy,” you snark as you sit up, but he’s gone, and you can already hear him banging around in the kitchen.

When you’re finished, you step out of your room to see Bucky bent over the stove with a box of pasta in his hand. He dumps the entire contents of the box into the pot, stirs, and then glances up when you appear in his line of vision. He smiles softly. 

“You look exhausted.”

“Yeah,” you sigh as you sit at the island, dig your hands into your eyes as if to ward off said exhaustion. “We’re ready to move onto trials with one of the suits and Tony’s been running me ragged but fortunately he gave me tomorrow off because of the holiday Thursday so…”

“Good. You should rest a lot tomorrow.”

“You’re still coming Thursday, right?” you ask tentatively. You’re trying not to come across too eager, but Bucky’s sly little grin tells you you kind of failed.

“Of course. It’s definitely better than spending it alone.” There’s a bitter undertone in his voice, but he’s moving on before you can press on it.

You eat in the living room; Bucky throws on some true crime documentary that only holds your attention for about ten minutes. Between the comfy clothes, the blanket you’re under, and the warmth of the food in your belly, you’re out like a light, head cocked uncomfortably against the arm of the couch.

Bucky glances over, does a double take and smiles softly. Mouth open, eyelids fluttering. It shouldn’t make his heart race, yet he thinks it might give out with how fast it’s beating, how his chest vibrates with its beat. He gently grabs the nearly-empty bowl from your limp fingers, which curl up and into the blanket, tucking it under your chin as you roll over and shove your face into the back cushion of your couch.

It’s endearing, despite the deep circles Bucky can see even in the dimmed lighting in the room. Setting both bowls on the coffee table, he wipes his hands on his sweatpants; he’s nervous, has never been this close, much less in such a vulnerable situation. Your warm against him as he scoops you up; his conscience would never let him rest if he’d left you to sleep on the couch. He feels his heartbeat stutter when you curl into him like you’d curled into your blanket, nose buried against his chest. He hopes the rapid thudthudthud of his heart doesn’t wake you, prays you stay oblivious to the way you’re making him feel. Your nightshirt slides up and his fingers touch your bare skin. It’s like setting fire to flint—a spark, and then all-consuming flame as it slithers and writhes up his arm and into his belly, his chest. He knows his cheeks are a thousand shades of red; he’s never had such a visceral reaction to touch before, even when he’d met Sharon and still knew who she was. 

He side-steps into your room, avoids bonking your head or your dangling feet against the frame. Blankets pulled back, your soft and pliant body laid underneath. A soft sigh that slides between your parted lips, a content smile as you roll onto your belly, tug your second pillow to your chest, a visible deflate. Bucky’s immobile, feet planted so firmly into your floor he wonders if he’d grown roots there. He knows he should leave, knows he’s a creep for remaining unmoving, but he can’t look away from you.

Your eyelids still flutter, your mind lost in some dream that he’s yearning to hear about. How did he fall so deeply?

Like dragging lead through water, he begins to walk from your room, freezes when your lips mumble out something that sounds oddly like Bucky. He swallows around the lump in his throat, the rising guilt in his belly that burns like acid. He leaves the door open a crack, cleans your empty bowls, and leaves because he can’t bare the gnawing in his gut, the want, the longing, the absolute need for you to destroy him.

Chapter Six

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 1 - 18.98Hz

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Note: This is my Leon fic!!!!! Originally posted on Archive of Our Own.

URL here - https://archiveofourown.org/works/25631500/chapters/62219596

Summary: 

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural. 

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal. 

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen 

Warnings: None! But dis fic be scary sometimes

18.98 Hertz

...

...

[18.98hz is the infrasonic signal reported to be responsible for ghost sightings]

...

...

Deep within the woodlands of the Wild Area, an abandoned manor sits undisturbed inside a secluded maze of overgrown fauna.

Rumoured to have been built during the eighteen hundreds, the architecture is undoubtedly Georgian, with a single door erected in the middle of the house and two rows of symmetrical, large windows. A proud Duke had built the impressive home for a beautiful princess he had fallen in love with. Unfortunately, a happy ending eluded the Duke as the princess was subsequently married off to another suitor and the Duke wasted away from a broken heart.

With no true owner, the house has been passed back and forth throughout several generations and archives reveal that the last recorded occupants dated back to the fifties - a young couple with small children - and they had stayed no longer than three months.

The family had been experiencing strange phenomena; they were plagued by eerie wailing noises, laughter and the sounds of footsteps in the empty hallways at night. The couple would often see apparitions in empty rooms. The youngest child developed an imaginary friend, described as a creature with the head of a boar.

One night, the couple were seen hurriedly fleeing the premises in the middle of the night in their nightclothes, dragging their children in tow and vowing never to return.

To this date, no occupant dwells within.

As the years passed, the manor fell further into ruin and disarray. With no human upkeep, it soon faded away from existence and hidden from the public. The stories soon dissolved into nothing but the stuff of legends.

No traveller would ever stumble upon this splendid home until a group of gym challengers travelling together on their Rotom bikes would spot the small glint of light a distance away.

It's night and the weather is dreary. They are strapping, young men and they look fearless, having braved through many hardships and difficult situations with each other and their Pokemon alike.

Tonight, they are hungry and exhausted from their long hours spent travelling and desperately seek shelter. Little do they know that a scene from a horror novel is in the making.

Heading towards the direction of the light in the distance, the three young men would eventually discover a beaten path that leads them to a foreboding manor. The boys are stunned at first and exchange glances of bafflement.

Every light of the building is on and shadows dance around in a window or two.

They cannot believe their good luck - what are their chances of stumbling across a house in the middle of the wilderness?

With the increasing torrential downpour and the weariness growing in their bones, the group pedal up to the door, lay down their bikes and knock on the rusted wood. They are hoping the occupants can grant them sanctuary for the remainder of the night. They had come across many kind individuals during their travels and have been offered gifts or generous hospitality. As they wait, they chat animatedly to each other about their adventures, laughing and smiling.

The door opens for them an inch or so as though beckoning them inside but no-one appears at the doorway.

Although they are confused, one of the gym challengers slowly pushes open the door and takes a cautious step.

"H-hello?" he calls as he glances around, "Anyone here?"

He is greeted by a long stretch of corridor with a single door at the far end. It's ajar and the light is on. Muffled voices can be heard emitting from within. His friends peer over his shoulders, intrigued.

"...Um, hello?" he calls again, a little louder than before, and he crosses the threshold.

His companions don't follow, seemingly having lost their nerve. Instead, they encourage their representative to enter the establishment further on their behalf. The sensation of unease and trepidation has suddenly made its presence known in the depth of their guts.

However, this young gym challenger is brave and for the sake of his friends, he enters. He steps through the corridor and arrives at the door, opening it with a shaking hand.

The door creaks loudly, dust falling off above and onto his head. He slides inside the room and sees it is an empty room, devoid of furniture and appears to be unused for many years. There is no indication of anyone living here and immediately, a shiver runs down his spine when he realises he is not alone.

The temperature in the room becomes frighteningly cold, the hairs of the back of his neck suddenly stand on end and his heartbeat speeds up.

In the corner of his eye, he senses someone or something.

He's too frightened to look but he forces himself to turn, his body stiff. An old man stands rigidly in one corner of the room furthest away from him, facing the wall. This strange figure is pallid and gaunt, donned in a haggard, grey robe that ends at the knees.

Unsure what to do, the boy ends up cautiously takes a step forward. It is human nature to be drawn to the unknown.

He takes a baby step forward. His feet feel heavy with each step. Slowly, he approaches.

"Um....mister?"

There is no response.

"Are you....are you okay?"

He reaches a shaking hand towards the figure and finally the old man turns, revealing a grotesque and demonic visage, a face with dark empty sockets and a horrid gaping mouth. An ear-splitting and unearthly shriek erupts from all four corners of the room and the boy stumbles backwards in fright and spins on his heel with a scream.

He runs, terrified for his life. The harrowing, agonising screams follow him out.

...

In the lush conservatory, your guest sits opposite you in the pristine white sofa with a cup of tea in shaking hand as he bravely recounts his horrific tale of the mysterious house deep in the woods of the Wild Area. He stops, unable to continue and unable to further describe the terror of that night which had effectively taken place three days ago.

Whilst Cutiefly buzzes around the plants, Polteageist sits on the table and helps refill your cup whilst you take notes. You thank your pokemon before briefly musing to yourself that Polteageist's tea is far superior than any other tea you've ever had and you wonder if there may as well be a coffee pokemon out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered.

"I-I know it doesn't sound like much but it was terrifying," he mutters, "And it wasn't a pokemon, either."

"It's too early to say, but I'll look into this for you."

"Y-you believe me?"

"Yes, I do."

The boy looks stunned at your response then morosely lowers his gaze to his lap; his eyes are sunken in, his face ashen and peaky. He has not slept well since the ordeal.

"Thank you for believing me. Nobody else did," he murmurs with a sigh of clandestine relief as he holds his clenched fist over his chest.

Your fingers tense under the gratitude, gripping the handle of your cup so tightly your knuckles turn white, but a fraction of a second later and you gradually relax and you smile. "No problem, leave it to me."

"Do you want me to take you there? I-I'm not sure if I can find it again though..."

"No need," you say, "I'll look for it myself."

After exchanging a few more words with your client, you leave the conservatory and escort him to the exit; he spots an old woman donned in a white lab coat sitting at the round table in the kitchen, helping herself to a slice of buttered toast. He recognises her as Galar's famed Pokemon Professor so he greets her politely and she responds in the same manner.

Before your client leaves, he thanks you again for listening and believing in his story when many others did not and you reassure him once more that you will get to the bottom of this; Polteageist and Cutiefly float beside you and wave as your guest departs.

Closing the door gently, you return to the conservatory to clean up and pick up your notes, then head to the kitchen where Professor Magnolia is now brewing herself a cup of tea with a paper in front of her. Upon your arrival, she looks up from her reading material. "Was that a new lead, dear?"

"Possibly. Don't leave any dinner for me, I'm heading out now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'll be back tomorrow morning, professor."

She nods, "Very well. Be safe, dear."

With Cutiefly and Polteageist beside you, you leave the kitchen and head up the stairs to your room.

Sonia is sitting at her vanity table with her back to you, carefully covering her nails with a new coat of seafoam-green nail polish that matches the shade of her eyes whilst her Yamper lies curled in its basket, snoozing away with a chew toy under its paw. When she sees you entering the room from the mirror, she spins round in her seat immediately to face you.

"How did it go?" She greets you cheerfully as you stride to your side of the room.

"It was okay, kinda typical. There was a derelict house, ghost lights and a frightening apparition of a very unfriendly old man."

She shivers all over. "That sounds horrid..."

"Sounds like my cup of tea. Isn't that right, Polteageist?" you reply with a grin. Whilst Sonia groans inwardly at your joke, Polteageist nods and spins happily around in his teapot in response.

"What are you going to do?" she asks, holding her hand up and blowing on her nails.

"I'm heading out now to check it out."

"Now??"

"Yep."

Sonia watches with widened eyes as you begin to prepare.

"Right! I'll need my bag, a few pokedolls, some Dusk Balls, my coat and radio. Poltea, let's get cracking."

Polteageist nods, punches at the air with his little fists and floats over to the desk to grab some lightweight items for you.

You share a room with Sonia; it's large enough to be divided into two. The division of the room is reminiscent of yin and yang. Whereas Sonia's section is a colourful, girlish paradise, yours is dull, gloomy, plain and lacklustre in every aspect. Your blinds are perpetually drawn, your walls devoid of any poster or print, your furniture basic and simple. Honestly, you don't spend enough time in the house to bother with decorations and only focus on the necessities.

You open your closet and begin changing out of your normal, everyday clothes and into a warmer shirt, trousers and a clean pair of socks before you pick up your trusty backpack which you keep propped up against the wall. Opening it, you begin packing your tools and various gear, grabbing them off your desk and tossing them inside. The only thing that does not properly fit is your sleeping bag which you keep rolled up and attach it to one side of your bag using a buckled strap.

Once her nails are dry, Sonia quickly gets up from her seat, leaves the room and promptly returns with a few snacks consisting of peanut butter protein bars, dried fruit mix and some Moomoo cheese that should help last you the entire night. "Here, take these."

"Thanks, Sonnie."

"I worry about you," Sonia says with a sigh as she returns to sit down and Cutiefly nestles in her hair and nuzzles the side of her cheek, "You're always leaving in the evening and coming home at dawn..."

"Can't help it, Sonnie. You know what it's like." You finally finish packing and stand up, donning your coat first before you pull the straps of your bag firmly over your shoulders. The last item you reach for is your pocket radio which Sonia eyes with concern.

"Be careful! And call us if anything comes up, okay? Well, maybe not Gran because she goes to bed at nine...but I'll still be up!"

You flash her a wide grin in response, "I'll be fine, Son. Wish me luck!"

"Good luck!"

You both exchange a hug before Cutiefly and Polteageist hover over to you and you pat them affectionately. "I'll be back soon. Be good," you say when they look at you sadly; you lean forwards and peck them over the top of their heads. Heading to the door, you turn to Sonia once more and throw your arms in the air. "Now I bid you, adieu."

Sonia giggles, twirling a curl of her hair with her finger whilst Polteageist waves sadly and Cutiefly loops in the air. You hurriedly dash out of the room, sprinting down the stairs and waving to Magnolia before you shove your feet into your hiking boots. You breeze out the house, heading towards the direction of the train station that will take you to the Wild Area. Checking your wristwatch, there should be a train arriving in ten minutes.

It's getting late, the sky is turning dark and people are on their way home but your day is just starting.

You are a Pokemon Researcher, specialising in the ghost type. You study the supernatural and the paranormal so naturally your work mostly begins at night. You have had clients who share with you stories of the weird and wonderful, the bizarre and downright strange and you've dedicated yourself in studying these mysterious and often terrifying occurrences. Galar is rich with supernatural lore and tales from the crypt so all in all, it's very exciting to be here.

Your new client and his horrific story is nothing new - it's probably a ghost Pokemon pulling the strings.

Having moved to Galar from Kalos, Magnolia and Sonia have been so good to you when you knew no-one and had no other place to go. They have taken you under their wing and they worry about you a lot usually because you leave at late evening or night, return at the ass crack of dawn and spend the majority of the day sleeping but this is a cycle you've grown accustomed to before you moved. Your body clock has completely adjusted. You're nocturnal.

You arrive at Wedgehurst station and go through the ticket barriers with your monthly pass in hand, surprised to see that the station is far busy today compared to usual.

Normally at this time, it's empty and quiet and the passengers are weary workers who are departing from their jobs in Wedgehurst to return home but on this occasion, you see far more individuals than you would have liked and you're forced to queue.

Nevertheless, you plug in your earphones, choose one of your favourite songs and bring out your journal to go over your notes you took down when you were speaking with the client.

When the train arrives, the increased number of passengers means you don't easily find a seat compared to other days as the commuters bumble in and out and the seats begin to slowly fill up. You look left and right and luckily, you find an empty seat just two rows ahead. You do hold back at first, wondering if there are any elderly citizens in the same carriage but after glancing around curiously, there are no old folk and no-one is interested in taking the seat.

You may as well sit down.

You end up squashed between a middle-aged woman who is busy knitting a green scarf with a Rowlet's face on it and on your left is a young guy dressed in white sweats with the hood pulled up and wrapped tightly around his head. A black cap has also been expertly placed to cover his face. He sits with his arms crossed over his chest, slouching to the side and quite possibly asleep.

Luckily, the next stop is the Meetup Spot of the Wild Area so you don't need to sit for too long.

A Charizard stands in front of you, holding onto one of the pivoted grab handles that dangle from the ceiling with a sticker slapped over his scaly chest that says 'World's Best Charizard'.

The doors of the carriage soon close and the train leaves the station, chugging down the tracks; during the brief journey, you and Sonia message each other before she goes downstairs for dinner so you leave her be to enjoy her meal. You use your notebook to occupy yourself and go through your notes and diagrams once again.

Your drawing skills are amateur but you've briefly sketched the house and drawn the horrific, ghostly man according to the boy's testimony and you spend some time studying your drawings until you hear Charizard let out an audible snort of curiosity and you look up.

He's looking at your notepad, at your diagrams, and you grin, "Oh? Are you interested?"

He nods.

It's not always you get the chance to talk to someone or a pokemon about your line of work because you're mostly met with skepticism or derisiveness. Therefore you find your grin widening and you excitedly gesture to the house. "There's a house in the Wild Area rumoured to be haunted. I'm heading there right now to take a look."

Charizard looks a little disturbed at your revelation and points a claw to the drawing of the old man and glances at you.

"That's a ghost."

His reptilian eyes widen thoroughly.

"I'm on the case. I'm a pokemon researcher, see?" You pull your badge out from your left pocket of your coat to show him and he scrutinises it intensely, "I'll get to the bottom of this and - "

You halt midway when the man on your left suddenly lets out a muffled groan and begins to lean against your shoulder with a tad more force than usual and you stiffen in your seat.

It's probably on accident and everyone else doesn't seem to notice; they're sitting with their pokemon or their eyes are glued onto their Rotom phones; everyone's too busy to notice so you inconspicuously use your shoulder to nudge him away and he returns to his normal spot. You inwardly breathe a sigh of relief until he slumps against you once more, groaning slightly. Even though he has a hat covering his face, underneath the fabric and you can feel his nose pressing against your neck and you tense up.

The train annoy announces that you're almost at your destination but you remember the wise words of Magnolia. She warned you to be careful when you're on the train at night, especially when you are on your own. Whilst you wonder if you are possibly sitting beside a pervert who is pretending to be asleep so he can act like he is nodding off and accidentally 'slumping' or 'bumping' against you, the Charizard helps you out by curling his claw and prodding at the young man firmly.

"Huh? What?" The sleepy young man finally retreats from you and you hear him mutter groggily, half-asleep.

Strange, his voice sounds familiar.

The tannoy sounds off once again: "We have now arrived at the Meetup Spot, Wild Area."

You're at your destination regardless so you quickly stand up and head to the doors with a few others as the train slowly rolls to a stop. Behind you, you hear the man waking up.

"Charizard, are we here?" he asks. Charizard lets out a low bellow and he exclaims, "Great! Let's go!"

As you step off the platform and begin to exit the station with the others, the young man breezes past you with Charizard at his heels, slotting his ticket into the machine and charging through the turnstile. Whilst you wonder what his rush is, it's then you see the long slither of purple hair cascading out of his cap in waves over his shoulders and it occurs to you that you had been sitting beside the Champion of Galar on the train the entire time.

Your eyes grow wide.

Charizard really should've been the first clue.

You leave the station dumbfounded as you contemplate this.

You don't know much about the Champion. The only information you know is the same stuff as any fan would know because you only used a quiz from a magazine to enrich your knowledge on him. You know his name is Leon, he is extremely handsome and nice, he has a Charizard, he is unbeatable, he has been the Champion for roughly ten years and he lives in Postwick. That's pretty much it.

In fact, your knowledge on modern affairs is so atrocious that you do often reprimand yourself that you should pay far more attention to the news and world affairs but your research took up a lot of your time and it didn't help that you were essentially a night owl. Regardless, Magnolia and Sonia knew him and he's been to the lab on a few occasions but needless to say, you were never there and more often than not, you were always fast asleep when he popped by.

You weren't engaged with or interested in the Pokemon League or the Championship anyway.

You had more important things to focus on, such as your studies.

The house is your priority now so you put away your music, take out your Rotom phone, turn on the GPS function and whip out your flashlight which you will use once you're on the path.

The Meetup Spot is a rendezvous point with only one or two friendly Watt Traders dressed in the most snazzy outfits you had ever laid eyes on and there is also a nice lady who can heal gym challenger's Pokemon essentially at no cost. You don't see the Champion or Charizard anywhere so you figured he must have headed towards the Wild Area already. You wonder why he is here and why he was keeping a low profile considering people are used to seeing him in his cape and champion uniform.

Standing at the summit, it grants you a fantastic view of the entire Wild Area which would've been more discernible if you were here during daylight hours. At night, all you can see is a massive and dark expanse with a few orangey blobs in the distance indicating a camp site or whatnot. There's not many. People don't like travelling at this hour.

You're going to be in there all night.

You spare a quick glance at your notes again. The group were travelling through the Rolling Fields and had apparently taken a shortcut past the Dappled Grove. They passed a pokemon den and a Pangoro who was sleeping near the lake. You are going to assume they mean West Lake Axewell. That doesn't give you much to work with but it's given you a good indicator as to what direction you should begin your search and furthermore the Rolling Fields isn't too much of a trek from the Meetup Spot.

You set off at once with your flashlight, wandering down the path that is outlined by tall trees. To a lost and tired traveller, the Wild Area can be frightening when it is dark but you're rather used to the paths and you've travelled extensively so you are rather familiar with the area.

Along the way, you jot down points of interest and mark your progress as you venture further. You see Hoothoots and Noctowls perched in the trees, cooing and watching you. A few Oddish scamper around, accompanied by some Spinaraks. They all hide when you approach.

As the night wears on and the hours pass, you wander aimlessly down the path yet find no trace of the house and you also don't see anyone along the way. That's how alone you truly are. You're halfway through the Fields when the trees to your left suddenly bustle and shake violently and you stop in your path and shine the flashlight, just to see a Hoothoot popping out from the branches, hooting loudly with glee.

It has a pile of clothes gripped in its one claw and you stare in confusion as to where it got the clothes from until two or three seconds later and a figure comes charging out of the trees, emerging from the same spot as Hoothoot.

Unable to stop himself in time when he spots you in the path, he smacks into you and you both go tumbling. It happens so quickly you are knocked off your feet before you can yell out and your back hits the cold and hard ground.

Whoever it is, he lands on top of you, his broad chest crushing the air out of your lungs. The impact is so strong your mind reels for a moment or so but you manage to shine your flashlight at the man and you see a pair of golden eyes staring back at you and you gape with shock.

It's Leon, and he looks as startled as you are as you both gawk at each other before he quickly scrambles off you and moves to stand, spluttering a string of apologies. You cannot believe your eyes; you have encountered the Champion twice in a day.

You see that he is damp and naked, save for the white towel wrapped around his hips which is threatening to fall off. He mutters a string of apologies whilst you merely stare with widened eyes.

Haunted house - zero. Wet, naked guy - one.

"Sorry!" He exclaims, sticking a hand out to you but you are so stunned by his presence you can only gape. Oblivious to your staring, he proceeds to explain his predicament, "Sorry, I...uh, a Hoothoot stole my clothes when I was taking a bath and I chased him out here. Are you...are you okay?"

Leon doesn't owe you any explanations yet he stands sheepishly before you, his cheeks stained with pink and it's a side to the Champion of Galar you have never seen before.

You are thoroughly reminded that he's still a human like you and that he too is a person on the pokearth who'll encounter bad luck on some occasions.

Poor guy.

You manage to pull yourself together, snapping out of your staring stupor.

"Oh, er...yeah, I'm fine." you utter quickly. It dawns to you that you’re not sure where to look when you catch a glimpse of his bare chest. His physique is not bulky or overly muscular... just perfect.

You quickly wipe those thoughts away from your mind and finally slip your diminutive hand into his, which is very warm, compared to yours anyway. He curls his fingers tightly around yours and pulls you up and off the ground.

"That's a relief," he says with a grin.  

His strength is uncalled for as you're easily pulled back to your feet although you trip slightly and he is quick to catch you; his other hand shoots out to grab you firmly whilst you accidentally grasp his rock-hard bicep and your eyes grow wide.

You abruptly hop out of his grip and cradle your hand to yourself, your cheeks growing warm from the unfamiliar contact.

Above, Hoothoot coos with mischief and finally drops the clothes. The damage has been done; the clothes are stained with mud and you see it's a plain white t-shirt and black boxers.

However, Leon does not curse or yell at the owl as one might do. Instead, he grins widely. "Did you have fun?"

The Hoothoot nods with gratitude and flaps its tiny wings, flying away. You watch the departing pokemon whilst Leon quickly gathers his clothes up in his arms.

"I didn't mean to frighten you,” he says before he quickly pulls on his muddied shirt and slips on his shorts under the towel whilst you automatically glance away, cringing slightly. Once he's fully clothed, he whips the towel off and wraps it around his arm. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No, no, I'm alright," you utter quickly and Leon smiles warmly at your reassurance. His smile takes you off guard and you cannot help but stare, "Um, are you okay?"

He nods; he has some patches of dirt on his face so you delve a hand into your bag and pull out a pack of clean tissues which he accepts.

"Here, take this."

"Oh, uh, thanks very much!" he replies energetically, and his smile broadens as he wipes at his cheek.

His smile is contagious; you resist the urge to smile in return.

"Thanks!" He says again, when he's finished.

But he has some dirt on his chin so you gesture to yourself, "You still have some...ah, just a little...on your chin. Right there."

"Here?"

"Yeah."

He scrubs himself but the dirt remains on his chin.

".......Do you want some help with that?"

He looks owlishly at you. "Okay, sure."

You take a clean tissue from one of your own packet and step closer to him then lift your hand and carefully dab at the spot. Now that you're closer to him, you get a better look at his features.

All the stories, the dedicated websites, the magazine articles....they're all true. He's been asking if you are fine when he might be hurt too. He is kind. That's not all, even though he's wearing a basic t-shirt and boxers splattered in mud, he is incredibly good-looking.

With those long eyelashes, the dedicated gleam in his eyes, perfect pearly white teeth and long, unruly hair, the more you look at him the more your heart thumps a tad harder against your ribs.

Leon grows still, swerving his eyes to you.

When you look up, he quickly looks away.

Feeling awkward, you quickly finish the job and step backwards. "All done."

Leon thanks you again and for a moment or so, you both stand in silence until you realise there is no reason for you to linger any longer and the house is still waiting to be discovered. Clearing your throat, you straighten the lapels of your coat and adjust your bag to its proper position over your back.

"Well, I guess this goodbye - oh, wait, take this too," you fish a small glass bottle with a cork, no bigger than your pinky finger, that is filled with random herbs. "It's a good luck charm. It's been blessed and will keep you safe."

"Thank you, that's very thoughtful," Leon takes the little bottle out of your hand, inspects it before he slips it somewhere safe in his pockets.

"No worries. Goodbye now," you hurriedly make a beeline past him.

"Wait, you dropped these," Leon calls after you and you pause in mid-step at once, turning round slowly; he has picked up a card and a small black object off the ground and promptly holds them out to you.

Stunned, you pat yourself down only to discover that indeed, your pocket radio and card is missing. Bloody hell, how in the name of Arceus did you manage to drop the radio?? You mentally scold yourself and hastily return to his side to retrieve your items although you end up swiping the radio out of his hands rather forcefully, cradling it to your chest.

"Thanks. You can keep the card."

Leon glimpses at it briefly. It's your business card which contains your full name, occupation, email address and a contact number. There is also a brief blurb on your study of the occult. "...You're a Pokemon Researcher?"

"Yeah, that's right. I study ghost pokemon," you say without looking at him, your attention fully averted to the radio as you fiddle with the device, pulling out the antenna and rotating one of the dials. Although you move the dial, nothing gets picked up and there is only silence. You keep turning the dial until you configure it to the frequency of eighteen nine eight hertz.

"That's amazing. I heard that field of study can be terrifying."

You hesitate as he grins, then you nod. "It is. It's not for the faint-hearted. My line of work usually revolves around all sorts of dead things," you reply, before you ask, "Do you believe in ghosts?"

He blinks blankly at you. "Uh...well...I guess so."

His response is more or less awkward but you have placed him in a rather difficult position. You're not surprised by his response. Even though there are ghost-type pokemon, people still maintain skepticism when it comes to the supernatural.

A brief silence spawns following your reply. Leon appears...intrigued. He studies you carefully. You are a girl in a warm, long coat, slacks and comfy hiking boots. One would possibly mistake you for a gym challenger but you are a Pokemon Researcher and for a Pokemon Researcher, you are young for your age. And since you've met Leon all the way out here, you may as well ask.

"By the way, have you seen or heard anything weird around here? Like...weird lights or strange noises?"

"No-"

"Oh, okay, forget I asked then. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

"Wait," Leon says; he seems to have caught on that something must be amiss, "Is something wrong? Do you need help?"

The corner of your lips tug upwards into a smile. "No, it's fine-" you pause when a crackling static emits from the radio in your hands. Eyes wide, you lift it up and the white noise grows louder and louder until a scratchy and hoarse, little voice can be heard.

"......Is someone there? Hello....? Help me, please."

There are a couple of distorted crackling noises until the radio goes dead once again. You grow silent, lips turning into a frown.

Leon observes your reaction before he asks, "Who was that?"

You don't answer.

"Is your radio broken?"

"The question isn't a matter of who but what," you correct him, "'What was that'. And no, it's not broken. This is a special radio. It only works on this frequency."

And you show him your radio, the little screen and the dial and he glances over curiously.

"Eighteen ninety eight?" He utters.

"Yeah. If you want to see or hear ghosts, use this frequency."

Leon's reaction is a classic. His eyes widen to the size of saucers. Every time you talk to someone or meet someone, you always end up worming that into conversations and the expression on their faces are priceless. It's a killer.

"Well, that's what people say anyway. It's up to you if you want to believe it or not."

He looks confused.

You hope you haven't scared him too bad though so you grin widely to make him feel more at ease. "Relax. There's nothing here right now," you reply. He seems positively spooked as you slip the radio into your bag and zip it up. "Now if you excuse me, I have a haunted house to find. Goodnight."

Leon watches your retreating back heading further and further down the winding path until Charizard appears, swooping through the trees and landing on the ground with a loud thump. He's holding his sweats, bag and shoes and Leon grins widely.

"Thanks, buddy," Leon says, taking his belongings out of his grip; he slips on his shoes before Charizard snorts and nudges his head towards the trees. "Sorry, bud, not yet."

Charizard looks at him questioningly.

"I think we should go with her. She might need our help." Leon says, before he quickly reaches into his bag to pull out a clean shirt. He swap his sullied shirt and folds it away then hops behind a tree to change out of his muddy boxers for a new pair, dons his sweats and returns to the path.

He glances around, hoping to catch glimpse of you to see where you disappeared off to and successfully pinpoints you meandering down the beaten path a short distance away.

He yells your name and begins to trail after you.

You haven't gone too far and upon hearing Leon's voice, you turn round.

You stop in your path, raising a brow as soon as you spot a fully and more appropriately-dressed Leon dashing towards your direction with Charizard behind him. Stunned, you blink blankly as he stops in front of you, panting somewhat.

“Um...What are you doing?" you ask in bewilderment.

You glance at Charizard and he has the same sticker you saw at the train so you're certain it's him and he seems to recognise you also, tilting his head at you curiously and you nod. He lets out a loud but delighted huff in response.

"What? You two know know each other?" Leon asks, and Charizard nods. "You met on the train?"

Charizard nods again.

You merely grin.

"Then I guess no introductions are needed," Leon averts full focus back to you. "Can we come with you?"

"Why?"

"Because I think you need help."

"It's okay, I don't need help. No offence to you and the big guy," you reply, gesturing to Charizard, "Besides, I'm a bit of a lone wolf and it could be dangerous."

"That's exactly why we should go with you."

You're not particularly worried about Charizard so you proceed to examine Leon carefully, circling him with a hand under your chin as you look at him from head to toe and he blinks under your scrutiny. Maybe they should come after all. It would make things more interesting.

"...Alright. You want to come with me? Let's go then."

Leon replies with a grin, "Lead the way."

[jovialyouthmusic]

Silver Service

Anton has been poisoned - who is guilty?

Word Count 2767

A/N No warnings - but there is a wee bit of a cliffhanger, sorry!

20 Whodunnit?

Liam looked haggard as he sat behind his desk in his office at the Palace in a meeting with Bastien and Lewis, head in his hands.

‘So it seems the only person who could have delivered the poison was Lucretia?’

‘I’m afraid that we can’t rule out Olivia’ said Bastien. ‘After all, how could Lucretia deliver the poison? We’re scouring High Castle for security breaches and interviewing all the staff, even though they’ve all already been vetted.’ Liam’s face clouded with anger

‘If you’re going to accuse Olivia of doing something so terrible, I have to question whether your men were blameless too’ he said in a low tone. Bastien held his ground.

‘Of course all the members of the Guard have regular performance reviews and assessments. I’m sorry your Majesty, I only mention Lady Olivia because if I don’t someone else will, and we won’t be prepared to refute the accusation. We have to be one step ahead if any of these details come up – and they may very well end up being brought to light in a court of law in the near future.’ Liam sat back, deflated, rubbing his hand over his forehead

‘Of course you’re right Bastien. It will be a moot point if Anton doesn’t survive’ Liam said grimly ‘If he dies, the Crown is safe, but someone will be guilty of murder or assassination. Do we have an update on his condition?’

‘He’s unresponsive.’ Lewis cut in ‘There’s a possibility he’s suffered brain damage from lack of oxygen and swelling, and until we find out what that powder in the envelope was they’re unsure how to treat him.’

‘Of course we’re liaising closely with Olivia’s head of security’ Bastien pointed out ‘and an expert in Lythican poisons and methods of execution and assassination. The awkward thing is, everything Lucretia has access to, so does Olivia. I think on balance I’d better make for Lythikos as soon as possible. I need to call Olivia first though – I’ll let you know what she says’ He tapped his phone, making it clear that he was going to use it as soon as Bastien was out of the room. He got up carefully, taking his cane in hand and left the King alone. Liam tapped Olivia’s number and waited.

‘Good morning your Majesty’ Her voice was clipped and cool.

‘Are you alone?’

‘Not just now – give me a moment’ He heard muffled voices and then she spoke again. ‘I am now. Tell me - how’s my so called husband?’ Now she sounded weary, and his heart went out to her.

‘Not good’

‘I’m delighted to hear it’

‘Livvy, Bastien pointed out to me that to an outsider it might seem that you could be seen as a suspect in his attempted murder’ He heard her suck her breath in, and there was a pause before she spoke.

‘I can see that. Much as I’d like to see him dead, I can assure you I had nothing to do with it. I’ve been hard at work here making sure the Court is properly housed and entertained’

‘I’m very glad to hear you say that, Livvy. That leaves Lucretia as the main suspect - not personally - but she must have found a way to get a message out. Bastien’s at a loss as to how the envelope got past security. All the staff are vetted, but they can’t find a gap in the perimeter’

‘That’s vexing’ Olivia said ‘Do we know who last occupied the property?’

‘The last person to actually live in it passed away ten years ago. That part of the coast was reputably used by smugglers, so there may very well be some sort of network of passages or a hidden cave nearby, but Bastien’s men didn’t find anything.’

‘The old smugglers were very wily and anti establishment, and they may well have passed their knowledge on to the Sons of the Earth, or they had means of finding out’ Olivia mused

‘I’ll mention it to Bastien, though I expect he’s already thought of that.’ He paused for a moment before going on thoughtfully ‘Livvy, I’m going to join you as soon as I can. We were scheduled to leave tomorrow to give us a couple of days before it all kicks off, but I’ll bring that forward. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way’

‘Liam, you don’t have to’ she said wearily

‘Forgive me for disagreeing with you, Livvy’ he said softly ‘Even if you don’t want to see me, I most certainly want to be near you’ There was a short silence.

‘Thankyou Liam’ her tone was soft for a moment, then changed ‘I have a better idea - I’ll come to you. I’d like to see that bastard husband of mine suffering.’ He could picture her determined expression and the hard line of her lips.

‘Okay Livvy. Tell me when you set off, and we’ll pay him a visit together’

------

The news of Anton’s admittance to hospital set tongues wagging. It was like casting a stone into a clear pool and watching the ripples spread out. Thanks to Bastien’s quick thinking and Sophia’s help on a press release, when Olivia arrived in the capital she was ready for the accusations that she had arranged for her betrothed’s murder, making a brief statement from the Palace.

Bastien and Lewis arranged to have Lucretia brought to the security suite in the Palace along with her lawyer. She was surprisingly co-operative, and when the meeting started, she was ahead of the game. She and her lawyer sat on one side of the table in the interrogation room, and the two men sat facing her. Liam and Olivia sat in the adjoining room behind the one way security screen. Lewis started off the recording equipment, and Bastien spoke, giving the date and stating the participants in the interview. Before he had a chance to say anything else, Lucretia spoke.

‘Mr Lykel, I understand that there is speculation regarding the poisoning of Anton Severus. That  speculation concerns my niece Lady Olivia, am I correct?’

‘You are, your grace’ Bastien’s mind worked swiftly So she wants to play it this way. Let’s see where she’s leading. She sat up straight and drew a deep breath.

‘I wish to make a statement to you and my lawyer, and I wish it to be made public. I would prefer that statement be witnessed by a representative of the Cordonian Press and TV news channel, but understand that would be unlikely to be granted’

‘I would have to know the nature of the statement, your grace’ he replied, his face passive. She sniffed

‘No matter then. This interview and a written and signed statement to you and my lawyer will have to do initially as I feel time is pressing. After that, you can decide whether to involve the media.’

‘Please go on, your grace’

‘Very well’ She drew a deep breath ‘I understand that speculation has been made that my niece, Lady Olivia Vanderbilt Nevrakis, was implicit in the poisoning of her betrothed, Anton Severus. I would like to make it clear that she had no part in the matter. That is because I am responsible for that act and she had no knowledge of it.’ At last Bastien reacted – but only by raising an eyebrow.

‘Can you prove that, your grace? How did you manage that when you are under house arrest?’

‘I got a message out to my housekeeper in a coded letter, handed over unwittingly by my lawyer.’ she said ‘She passed on that message to an operative in Portaviera who accessed the house where Anton was kept via a smuggler’s passage. I have written details down in a letter which I have given to my lawyer’ Bastien frowned and sat back in his chair while the lawyer shifted uncomfortably.

‘May I ask why you thought it appropriate to poison Lord Severus, your grace?’

‘I deemed that he was not worthy of the privilege of my niece’s hand in marriage and thought it best to terminate his claim to the throne.’

‘I was under the impression that you supported Anton’s claim, your grace’ Bastien pointed out.

‘It was an arrangement that went back centuries’ Lucretia replied ‘I was obliged to uphold it, but it became evident to me that Severus and his organisation were ineffectual. When I realised my niece was unwilling to cooperate, my allegiance to the arrangement was undermined’

‘So you decided, entirely independently, to terminate Anton Severus’ Bastien asked

‘I did.’ She said briefly, and Bastien feared that she might, as in the past, stop talking altogether. Luckily Lewis had the same thought and cut in.

‘What type of poison did you use, Lucretia?’ He asked ‘Tell us the antidote – co-operate and it may mitigate any penalty you are subjected to.’ Lucretia laughed

‘Mr Lewis, I am no longer young. I only wish to see my niece on the throne, I don’t care for my own comfort.’ She sneered ‘The poison cannot be neutralised, and would only harm a handful of people. I knew that Lord Severus was allergic to shellfish, and part of the poison was an extract of mussel shells. The other part is a closely guarded secret – a herb that only grows in Lythikos and which will only work on someone whose immune system is already compromised by something such as an allergic reaction. It was almost tailor made for Anton’ She leaned forward over the table.

‘Let me say this, Mr Lykel. I know that Olivia is pregnant with Liam’s child.’ Bastien fought to keep his expression passive and heard Lewis take a sharp intake of breath.

‘That is something I can’t comment on, your grace’ Bastien replied.

‘No matter, I know what I know’ she said ‘I feel that an alliance between the bloodlines of Rys and Nevrakis would be very beneficial to Cordonia. If there had been such an arrangement when Olivia was born, I would be a different woman. I have spent my life plotting for House Nevrakis to come into power with the Severus line, and I deeply regret it. I don’t need to be told whether I’m right or wrong - I saw my niece and I’m certain of it. I know she is fond of the King and I doubt if she would take up with anyone else – she certainly wasn’t receptive to her husband’s charms. I think you’ll find that I have solved any problems the King might have’

‘What exactly did you mean by solving the King’s problems?’ Bastien asked.

‘I think you’ll find that out for yourself by the end of the week’ she said, and clamped her mouth tight shut.

-------

Anton lay pale and unresponsive in a private room at the capital’s hospital, hooked up to a heart monitor, now able to breathe unaided, but showing no signs for regaining full consciousness. The room was guarded round the clock, and no visitors were allowed without written permission from the King, Bastien or Lewis. Liam and Olivia went to see the doctor in charge of the case.

‘Your Majesty, even though we know that Lord Severus’s condition was triggered by a reaction to an allergen, the poison administered had a second unknown active ingredient.’ The doctor informed him, confirming what Lucretia had told Bastien. ‘There has been some swelling in the brain, and until that goes down, we won’t know if there is any damage’

‘I see. I want him to receive the best care – I don’t want anyone saying that I neglected him in the hope that he dies as a result of this unfortunate incident’ Olivia fought to keep her expression neutral.

‘Very well, your grace. All we can do now is keep him comfortable and wait to see what happens.’

‘I’d like to speak to him – do you think he would be able to hear and understand me?’

‘I really can’t say, your grace. These cases vary a lot, and as many in a similar condition pass away without regaining full consciousness, we aren’t in a position to predict what he might be feeling or what mental faculties he might have’ The Doctor sighed ‘But you are welcome to try. Who knows, it may spur him on to recovery. Please, go ahead. If you notice any change, let the nurses know.’ Liam inclined his head and motioned to Olivia to follow him to Anton’s room, where the guard stood aside for them.

‘Thankyou Parker. I’ll call if I need anything’ He said as he was ushered into the room. Anton lay in the bed, his face pale and slack, a steady beep emitting from the heart monitor. His breath was shallow and quiet, and Liam drew close, gazing at his face. Olivia stood behind him, scowling.

‘Well Severus, I don’t know if you can hear me’ he said ‘There’s no love lost between us, and you have much on your conscience.’ There was no response from him, and Liam went on as Olivia watched.

‘The doctors tell us that you may have suffered brain damage. Perhaps you can’t hear or understand me, but for my own conscience it’s only fair to update you on what we know about recent events.’ He pulled the chair closer to the bed.

‘We know who hired the assassin in the cathedral’ he said, and watched for a flicker of interest. None came.  ‘We know it wasn’t your doing – Lucretia confessed that it was she who arranged it. She didn’t seem to have a lot of faith in your abilities after the kidnap attempt’ Was there the slightest change in the rhythm of the heart monitor? His gaze flicked to the monitor and back to Anton’s face. ‘I expect you find that quite a shock’ he said ‘We also know that you arranged for the murder of Lady Adelaide, as her efforts to make Madeleine queen went against your plot to gain the throne. You might like to know that a colleague of mine from Interpol intervened, and Adelaide is alive and well, and willing to testify to your organisation’s crimes’ He sat back in his chair. He wasn’t in a hurry. Whether he was in a state to comprehend or not, Anton wasn’t going anywhere.

‘Lucretia has been most cooperative since you fell ill.’ He continued ‘Some speculated that it was Lady Olivia who arranged for your demise, but her Aunt made a statement that is was she who had the envelope delivered to your room using old smuggling passages into the Manor.’ The monitor was most definitely changing rhythm, picking up speed.

‘The poison Lucretia used was unlikely to affect anyone else unless they had an allergy to shellfish, like yourself.’ He paused ‘I have one last piece of information to share with you’ he said ‘But there is someone here who is more suited to tell you’ He stood back, and Olivia took his place. She shuddered as she gazed down on his prone form.

‘Hello husband’ She said, her voice expressing the disgust she felt. ‘You’ve been asking to see me, so here I am. Am I not worth a glance? A word?’ There was no response; the monitor carried on its elevated rhythm but no alarms went off, so she continued.

‘You had the gall to uphold the outdated concept of an arranged marriage’ she snarled ‘Even when you knew I wouldn’t honour it, you continued to expect me to capitulate. But Nevrakis never give in. You never had a chance of me being your wife or your Queen.’ She leant closer

‘Know this, Anton. Liam is ten times the man you are, and he and I will secure the future of Cordonia. I carry his heir, and I will never be yours. I’ll fight that to the last breath in my body, and Liam will stay by my side, whether he is King or not’ The monitors picked up the pace again, speeding up until an alarm blared out. Olivia stepped away from the bed, but not before Anton’s eyes opened wide and he reached out to grab her wrist, his lips moving soundlessly as he strained to sit up.

‘Livvy!’ Liam cried, and stepped forward to pry Anton’s fingers from her wrist as a team of medics rushed in. The two of them were ushered out of the room as they gathered around his bedside. Liam put his arm around Olivia’s shoulders and lead her to the private lounge they had been allocated, to await news of Anton’s apparent recovery.

@emceesynonymroll @sirbeepsalot @cora-nova @stopforamoment @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria

@drakesensworld @katedrakeohd @pedudley @indiacater @texaskitten30

@be-still-my-aching-heart @hopefulmoonobject @dcbbw @classylady1234 @ladyangel70

@rainbowsinthestorm @nomadics-stuff @gardeningourmet @furiousherringoperatortoad @kimmiedoo5

@bascmve01  @ibldw-main @addictedtodrakefanfic @trappedinfandoms @princess-geek

[certifiedskywalker]

Academic Misgivings (Part 6) - Peter Parker

You and Peter Parker aren’t friends, but you’re not entirely enemies either. You don’t like him but he always tries to be nice to you. He has everything you’ve ever wanted and you’ll do anything to show him that you can make it on your own. But can you?

Thanks for following this series so far! This is where the story starts to get busy in regards to Peter Remember, 250 notes for the next part! Have a fun read!

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR / PART FIVE 

The grip of morning grogginess still held tight to you as you walked into the school. A chill had fallen over New York so cold that not even your sweatshirt could quite quell it on your walk from home. Just as you neared the doors of Midtown High, just when you were about to be welcomed by the heat of it’s walls, the unmistakable, uppity nasal pitch of Flash Johnson’s voice reached your ears. At least you would have the flame of your annoyance to warm you.

“Y/N! Wait up! Hold on!” With a pout you waited by the door and shifted your weight on your feet in a poor attempt to generate your own bubble of heat. Flash rushed up to you with a grin on his face. “Any progress?”

“What? What do you mean?” Your tone was snappy, eager to escape the unkind cold. Autumn’s grip on the city was loosening, giving way to Winter.

“With Parker? Anything?” At the mention of Peter’s name, you stiffened. Images of your tutoring session the day before flashed before you, taunted you with your still unresolved feelings towards the boy. Peter had tried to comfort you, understand you, and that was more than anyone had done in a long time. More than your family had done since starting high school.

“Uh...no,” you replied and pushed open the doors to the school. The unwelcoming foyer still harbored some of the outside chill, but you felt instantly warmed as the door shut behind you. With a long breath you started towards the next set of doors when you felt a horrible rush of cold against your back. 

“No? You haven’t like, charmed him?” You spun on your heel and glared at Flash. Your proximity forced him to take a step back, visible fearful of your response.

“With what? My womanly wilds? This isn’t some cliche teen rom-com.” You muttered a curse under your breath and pushed open the next set of doors.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Flash praised as he trailed after you. The hallways of the school had began to fill with a rush of students meeting friends at their lockers. The area around yours was empty and you made a beeline to the small safe haven.

“I know I’m right, Flash,” you flung back at him, hoping your biting words would deter him from following you. Yet, to no avail. He rambled on at your side as you entered your combination.

“Yes, yes, it’s like a uh...spy movie! You’re sneaking around, dancing circles around him, gathering the intell. The perfect spy!” You sighed as you pulled your locker open. “So you should have his pass-code by now, right?”

“Flash,” you turned to him and leaned against the locker banks with a furiously flat expression. “If you are going to be this pushy, you can call this partnership kaput. Unless...you want to talk to Peter?” His dark brown eyes widened, eyebrows raised but still not grazing your expectations. 

“No, no,” he stepped back with hands raised, “I trust you. I gotch you, fam.” You gritted your teeth at his use of slang. If it couldn’t be used in an academic paper, you felt it was a lesser word; something your English teacher before Ms. Lauren had enforced. It didn’t help that Flash was trying to ‘be cool’ with you either.

“Okay then,” you said with arms crossed over your chest, “run along then?” Flash nodded and rushed off. He called over his shoulder as you watched him go, still annoyed.

“See you at practice!” Content with having torn away his confident facade, you returned your attention back to your locker. You plucked your book out of the compartment and shoved them in your bag rather roughly, too tired to care.

When you tried to sleep the night before, after the tutoring session with Peter, you had tossed and turned. Lack of sleep did not aid in your attitude, especially when Flash was involved. Thoughts of different realities, ones where you and Peter had grown up as neighbors or were close friends had filtered through your mind when your head hit the pillow like some sort of twisted, romantic fiction. Things could have been so different; you could be meeting him at his train stop and walking with him to school, chatting about anything that came to mind. You could be dating him.

You shivered at the thought but you couldn’t tell exactly why. All you knew was that you were jealous, bitter even, when it came to Peter Parker, maybe even angry. Yet, somehow, through whatever magic means, he could make you feel like you were walking on air. It sickened you, made you stomach work itself up into knots. 

The discomfort lingered when your mind stalled on Peter and it, that discomfort, had become a strange ally in the mess you had created with Flash. You only hoped once the plan was done, however it turned out, that the sense of nerves would leave you be. Until then, you would close your locker and act like everything was fine. Even when you accidentally lock eyes with Peter as you pass through the hall. You would return his wave and walk to class, wholly ignoring the burning that had bloomed in your cheeks. 

“That’s why I think the CIA knew Kennedy was going to die,” MJ finished, in the same tone in which she had detailed her theory. Mr. Harrington, mouth agape, had asked a decathlon practice question regarding JFK that had stirred MJ into ranting. The team, even Flash, remained quiet, all eyes trained on the curly haired girl as she sat back. “And if I’m not here tomorrow, they got me too.”

“W-Well...then...practice...adjourned,” Mr. Harrington stammered as he rubbed a hand against his head. Slowly, the team stood from their seats while MJ examined her nails nonchalantly, picking away some paint from her art class. You shook your head at her and smiled when she met your gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing, just...that was intense,” you replied. You shuffled out of your seat and grabbed your bag from the spot on the floor beside your feet.

“Yeah well, so is life,” MJ sighed and was ready to continue when someone behind you cleared their throat. You turned and saw Peter, a loose blue jacket hanging off of his slim shoulders that made his already bright brown eyes all the more puppy-like.

“Are you ready to head out or…”

“I have more theories,” MJ interjected and you glanced over your shoulder.

“Um, maybe another time, MJ, okay?” She nodded in response and you looked back to Peter. “Alright, let’s go.”

You followed Peter out of the school’s library in a rather comfortable silence that was broken when MJ was safely out of earshot. Peter glanced at you with still wide eyes and you raised your eyebrows at him in a silent question.

“MJ’s kinda scary, right? It’s not just me?” You ‘tsked’ and shook your head as you both walked down the hall towards the school’s main exit. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” you mused aloud, “she’s just...eccentric.” Peter nodded and you caught the hints of a smile on his lips. 

“Uh so, the coffee shop?” Peter said, although it sounded more like a question as he pushed open the school’s main door. He held it open for you, a gesture that made part of stomach twinge with giddiness. 

“Yeah?” You questioned as Peter fell back into step at your side. 

“Have you ever been inside? I hear some of the girls at school talking about it. Apparently they have like fancy drinks and stuff.” 

As Peter talked, his rather long steps would fumble and his shoulder would brush against yours. He rattled on about the shop as you crossed the street, but none of his words sunk in. You were much too distracted by the every-now-and-then touches. “Y/N?”

“What?”

“Do you even what a Pink Drink is?” Your brows furrowed and sensing you confusion, Peter smiled. “I was talking about Starbucks.”

“Oh, no, I don’t, at least I’m not sure. It’s not a decathlon question so,” Peter let out a laugh and you felt your skin go so warm it dulled the afternoon chill. 

“That’s a fair point,” he beamed, “oh, hold on. Let me get that.” He rushed past you and opened yet another for you. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit your nose but it did little to pull your thoughts from Peter’s acts of kindness.

“Th-Thanks,” you murmured and stepped inside only to be hit fully by the aroma of java. The coffee shop was quaint, painted in dark blues with oak detailing on tabletops that would make it look more like a custom movie set if it weren’t for the customers. 

A few scattered, circular tables with metal chairs held small succulent plants that, in this weather, had to be fake. Surrounding the tables were booths, one with a mother and her children who happily devoured cookies triple the size of their small hands. One of the children seemed transfixed on the hanging pendant lamps above the table that gave off a slightly yellowed glow. If it hadn’t been for the bell on the door jiggling behind you, you too would have joined in on the moth-like fascination.

“Hey, Y/N, do you want anything?” You turned around and saw Peter pulling his wallet from his pocket. Under the natural glow of the lights, Peter’s brown hair looked sandy and his features enticingly more soft. Even the golden amber fleck in his irises shown a little more delicately. “Y/N?”

“Um, no, I’m good. I’ll find a table.” You ducked your head to hide your burning cheeks. He had caught you staring at him and you knew that he knew it. As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, watching you as you did with him. 

You passed by the booth of bustling, unruly children and their haggard looking mother to a table tucked away in the corner. When you pulled the rather heavy metal chair out from the table top, the leg released a grunt of their own. The sound didn’t seem to entirely annoy the other patrons of the cafe so, with a calming heart rate, you unpacked your tutoring materials. Just as you pulled out your worn and worked trivia textbook, Peter came into view.

“I got you a cookie,” he said, setting down a plate with two gooey looking, homemade cookies. “The menu said ‘not-so-chocolate-chip’ so it might be vegan?” His face screwed up with thought as he took the seat across from you. With a shy smile at you, Peter set the mug in his other hand down too before it could slip through his sweater paws.

“Oh, you didn’t have to-” you cut yourself off, “thanks, Peter.” The shy smile turned sweet, sweet enough to rot your teeth if you didn’t look away. “So, do you want to focus on any area of questions in particular or….”

Peter took a swift sip of what looked like hot chocolate which, judging by his face, was much too hot to drink. “I uh, I looked at the site you recommended and went through like a bunch of literature questions so anything other than that would be cool.”

“Alright,” you cracked open your textbook to a random page. “Science good with you?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Peter said before he blew on the brew in his mug. It was childishly endearing and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread to your lips. 

“Who was the first woman to win a Nobel Prize 1903 and in what field?” You could see the gears in Peter’s mind working before he lifted his widened eyes to you in a slight panic.

“Marie Curie, physics,” he took a breath, “I don’t know why I blanked on that one.”

“It’s okay,” you grin, “even geniuses have their day.” You didn’t really mean for the words to come out so bitterly, but when you glanced at Peter’s face, you saw that it must have sounded rude. “Uh...What is the term for a product of a body's mass, including its linear velocity?”

“Momentum,” he said quickly, brown eyes scanning over your features. “Y/N are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied plainly as you flipped a page of the book, “which famous, billionaire philanthropist created-”

“Do you ...you don’t like me, do you?” His question gave you pause and silence when you saw true curiosity in his eyes. You swallowed hard and tried to suss out your tangled feelings in that very second; the same feelings that had been keeping you up at for the past three nights. There was no hope, so you continued on as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Which famous, billionaire philanthropist funded the building of Jupiter’s most iconic landing vehicles?” Peter was quiet and when you looked up from the textbook, you realized it was a selective silence. “You know this one,” you pressed, “you work for him.”

“Tony Stark,” he murmured, so lowly it sent a shiver down your spine. “C-can you please tell me what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” You repeated, a lump forming in your throat. You could feel every emotion, every thought and doubt you had ever held inwards bubble up your throat en mass. Despite your fiery, biting tone, Peter still looked at you with those eyes with that effortless gaze that made your stomach twist.

“Yeah,” he replied and you wondered if he understood your anger. He must have; it was written all over your face. You yourself could feel the tips of your ears warmed, hands curled into fists so tight that the wounds from the Chicago trip ached with memory. 

“I-I…” A wave of coldness, not unlike the chills from the morning air washed over you. Drowned in thoughts you could no longer ignore, once foggy emotion filled your ears until you could hear nothing but your own truth and the beat of your heart. 

“Y/N,” only Peter’s voice broke through the haze and you hated it. “I told you on the bus home that you could talk to me.” his brown eyes, the ones you had hardened yourself against for years; the ones you had thought you hated for so long now studied you with a gentleness you had never felt or seen before. 

“What’s wrong is,” you took a breath and tore your eyes away from Peter’s. “When I look at you, I see everything I’ve ever wanted and it makes angry. Or made me angry, I’m not sure anymore but here I am, tutoring you like nothing is wrong.”

“I make,” you glanced at him wearily, “made, you angry?”

“Because...because I was scared.” The feeling, that intestine twisting, heart aching feeling put to words in a single breath. It felt too easy, too simple, but there it was. Out there for Peter to see.

“Scared...of me?” His brows furrowed and you squeezed your eyes shut in exasperation.

“No,” you shook your head and hands, “not you. Just of...what could have been if things were different.” The last word tasted salty, overcooked in the crock-pot of your brain or over seasoned by self hatred; it was too charred to tell. “Sorry, that was stupid I-”

“You mean what still could be,” Peter interrupted. You opened your mouth to speak but his tone, the kind that an authority might use to talk to some untamed youth, stole the words off your tongue. 

“I…” Peter gave you a half smile, barely there at all but you saw it nonetheless. 

“Mr. Stark has taught me a lot of things but one thing he taught me a little while ago was that...you are more than what’s under the mask.”

“Mask?” Peter’s eyes widened for a moment but he quickly collected himself. 

“It’s uh..it’s a metaphor. Anyway, sometimes that means you’re more than what you think you are or believe you are. If you think that you’re...you’re-”

“Unworthy, inadequate” you whispered, but Peter seemed to hear it because he paused. You lifted your gaze slightly, “for lack of a better word, I guess.”

“Okay, you think you’re inadequate with who you are now,” he continued, “but you are so much more. You just have to have someone, or something, to show you that you’re not. That like...all you want, it’s possible. You just have to look.”

While you were spilling your guts out to the person you had considered your opposition for years, the din of the coffee shop had disappeared. Now, in the resounding stillness of your conversation with Peter, you were shocked as you noticed no one seemed to hear anything of what you had said. It was a comfort alongside Peter’s advice, but it left you with one feeling you couldn’t share: gulit. Peter’s kindness made you sick in some other way now, the kind that riddled you with regret and Flash’s voice in your ear that whispered ‘sabotage’.

“That’s…” you started but had no clue how to finish, “that’s...I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Peter consoled. You studied his expression, looked for some hint of suspicion in his dark honeyed eyes; some ulterior motive in the small smile on his pink lips. There had to be something, something you could use to comfort yourself, to tell yourself you weren’t wrong for plotting against him. There wasn’t. 

“Well, I ruined our tutoring session,” you mumbled softly but Peter shook his head. The motion sent his chestnut colored hair, normally styled in some fashion, to a more wild, natural-looking state of slight-curl. 

“No, you didn’t, I brought it up, I pushed it. He leaned back in his chair shyly, “and..m-maybe I can tutor you now?”

“Tutor me?”

“On..how to see yourself,” he elaborated. “I want to help you.”

“Careful,” you teased in the hopes of lightening the mood, “say that enough and you’ll end up being Spiderman.” 

“Oh! Haha, that’s uh ...that's funny. I wouldn’t though, superheroes right? They must be like crazy or something.” You couldn’t help the slight grin that spread along your lips as Peter melted into a puddle of jumbled words. How could he go from wonderful advice giver to stuttering mess within mere seconds? It might never make sense to you. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you pondered before a new thought, one that gave you a brief reprieve from the trouble swirling about your mind, came up. “Did you give him my note?”

“Spiderman? Oh, yeah, he-he got it. No worries. His reddened cheeks and goofy smile lightened your mood as your minor worry was put to ease. Peter sipped at his, what was now most likely, lukewarm hot chocolate and you looked back to your book. In your lap rested your hands where they restlessly played with each other’s fingers in the tense silence.

“So...how are you going to tutor me? Are you going to be my life coach?” Peter like out a breathy laugh and he made a strange face. 

“Well, uh no, not a coach. I mean...we could….you need to know there’s more to you so we can try a bunch of different things.” You raised an apprehensive brow and Peter frowned.

“Like we’re trying to find a secret talent?” 

“No, not like that but...sort of, I guess?” He scratched the back of his neck and hummed in thought, a habit he must have learned from someone. “We’re going to look for opportunities rather than wait for them, if-if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, I think it does.” You smiled and Peter mirrored the expression with all the more sweetness; to the point it made you heart skip a beat. Now all you had to do was look for the opportunity to tell Flash you could no longer go through with the plan.

“Oh crap.”

“What is it?”

“It’s getting late and if I’m late to dinner again, Aunt May might actually turn into the Hulk.” You glanced out the window and saw the darkened sky. The gross grey color pulled a frown to you lips as you turned back and met Peter’s gaze.

“I guess it is late,” you agreed softly, “I hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s alright,” Peter stood from his chair and began to collect his things. “I’m sure your parents are worried about you too. We can study more tomorrow.” 

You let out a scoff and shook your head. “I don’t think anyone is home to care.”

Peter cocked his head at your words and you realized how grim you had sounded. However, it was a sad truth if the nights prior were anything to go by. Before you could cover up, spill some white lie to sedate the concern on Peter’s face, he beat you to the punch.

“Do you wanna eat dinner with me?” The question sounded innocent and knowing Peter, it mostly likely was, yet it rendered you speechless anyway. “Well, I mean, my Aunt and I. You’re probably like super busy studying but I just thought that maybe-”

“I would like that.” Your reply seemed to catch Peter off guard. His book bag hung loosely in his grip as he looked at you with slightly widened eyes. For a split second you thought that maybe, like you had with his original suggestion of dinner, he was reading into your words. 

“Ok, cool,” a steady smile, the one you had grown to know too well spread across his face.

“It could be the first tutoring session for me,” you said, hoping to cut through the air that had gathered thickly around the two of you. You packed up your books, shoved them deep in your bag and stood on somewhat shaky legs. You had been sitting with Peter for hours. 

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” Peter gushed as he picked up the plate of long ago eaten cookies, “May will not let you leave the house until you’re full of compliments.”

“Not food?” You asked, a small giggle in your voice that seemed to deepen Peter’s smile.

“I mean, she’s an adventurous cook but sometimes,” you followed Peter as he dropped off the plate in the dish bin on the cafe’s main counter, “it doesn’t turn out.”

“It isn’t good?” You asked as you both made your way towards the door. Peter smiled again, a bit more nervously this time. 

“Sometimes it isn’t edible.” You laughed and stepped out into the chilled evening air of New York. “Queen is a train ride away. Fourth stop on the main loop.” He gestured towards the train way entrance where a large map was displayed out front. “Are you sure you don’t need to be home?”

“I’m sure,” you answered confidently, the first time you had done so since you had talked to Peter regularly. With a pleased smile, Peter started towards the train way awning with a little jump in his step that made you wonder why you had let your own jealousy tarnish him in the first place. 

You followed him, through the ticket booths and machines, up the steps to the train platform. As Peter slipped his train pass back in a worn leather wallet, you eyed the other future passengers lingering on the awning. Tired looking men and women in business wear sat on rickety benches, immersed themselves in their phones while they waited. A tourist family was nose deep in a map as they bickered about location. 

“You ride the train everyday?” You turned your eyes to Peter to find him already looking at you. His brown eyes held your gaze before he nodded and pulled them away.

“To school and sometimes back.” You stepped closer to him with a quirked brow.

“Sometimes? What do you do on the other times?” Peter’s mouth fell open and promptly shut.

“I uh...walk...around the city, swing around,” he hesitates for a moment you cock your head. “It’s a good way to clear your head you know.”

“I wouldn’t,” you replied, arms crossed over your chest. “I go from home to school and back again. My own bubble, I guess.” You bit the inside of your cheek and wished you had stayed quiet. Sharing, especially with Peter, was still new to you.

“Really? Well then, there we go,” Peter grinned enthusiastically, “we can start tutoring you there. If you’re inside all the time just studying you’re not going to try things. It might help.”

“It’s-

“Train arriving in two minutes,” an automated voice interrupted. The headlights of the oncoming train grew larger and larger and your words filtered out from your mind. Glimmers of memories, studying and the urge to be better than Peter Parker had clouded your mind. That was how you had lived for three years. 

What would a past you have thought of you now, all buddy-buddy with your sworn enemy? Would she be confused or relieved that you weren’t so ...isolated? You imagined she would be, at least, hopeful. You were hopeful in the moment as you stepped through the open doors of the train car and sat next to Peter Parker.

Your legs knocked against his as he chatted with you about other ways he could get you to see other, better parts of yourself that you were too blinded to. Part of you still didn’t fully believe his speech, his belief in you. No one had believed in you like Peter before. 

“There’s like volunteer dog park where we can go and-”

“You’re really thinking about this,” you observed wryly. Your tone must have pressed something in Peter’s mind and he gave you a concerned look. 

“If you don’t, don’t wanna do this it’s okay, I’m just throwing things out there.”

“No, no,” you arched your body to face him, “I just...you’re eager. It’s surprising.” The racing of the train car against the tracks filled your ears and you wondered if Peter had heard you. His quiet wasn’t eery, but rather reflective.

“I mean, well, I enjoy spending time with you and you’re pretty cool,” he said, his voice barely audible over the clacking wheels. You responded with a half-hearted attempt at a smile before you averted your gaze towards the window. It all started to feel like too much, with everything, with Peter. Being honest with yourself had been a big step, a leap when you were truth with Peter.

Now it felt like you were floating on a cloud of your own nervous energy all the way from the train stop to the front door of the Parker’s apartment. The building on the outside looked like yours only in better shape that the complex you called home. The interior however, soothed you. Cream colored hallways gave off more comfort than the stoney, mottled grey you associated with your family’s apartment.

The old you would have hated such a comparison, even despised Peter for having a more home-like home. Now, the thought made you ache as he fiddled with the lock to open the door. It became more clear to you that Peter was not the issue; your own mindset was.  

“Now, when I left she said she was making dinner so,” Peter gave you a weary look as he twisted the door knob. “Just...be prepared for-”

A loud beeping, high pitched and ear piercing cut through Peter’s warning. In the most confident you had seen him, Peter threw open the door and rushed inside. Shocked for a moment by his instinct, you followed behind and was greeted by a sight that was downright cartoonish.

A small woman with tanned skin and dark brown hair, Peter’s Aunt May, stood before a smoking oven with a sheet pan in her hands. She waved the pan wildly and seemed to be directing the smoke out of a tiny window in the cramped kitchen. 

“I burnt the ham!” She shouted when Peter dove into the kitchen to grab an old newspaper. You rushed in after him and joined in on the maniac waving; the wild nature of which was only stirred up by the fire alarm’s screeching. “Who is this!?”

“Aunt May, Y/N. Y/N, this is Aunt May,” Peter’s introduction was poor under the loud noise but enough for the woman to stop waving the sheet pan to reach for you hand.

“Please, call me May,” she smiled, “Peter’s talked about you and his friends before. You’re close with the strange Michelle girl right?”

“May!” Peter was still waving and, with wide eyes, May continued to do so as well.

“Yeah, I am,” you yelled over the sound of flapping and beeping, “it’s nice to meet you!”

“And you too!” May shouted just as the fire alarm shut off. “Oof! That was loud!”

“Yeah, it was,” Peter said, a grin on his face as his Aunt’s voice was still at a higher volume. Even for the short period of time you had heard it, the alarm was still ringing in your ears.

“So….” May glanced between Peter and yourself, her cheek pinked from the waving. “Does take out sound okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter cheered and looked to you, “Italian, Thai, or Chinese?” 

“Italian,” you replied and felt your stomach gurgle in anticipation for food. 

“Oh, I like her,” May cooed as she picked up the phone, “we’re on the same frequency. Marko’s is the best spot in town. What do you like?”

After Aunt May had placed the order and a grand tour of the Parker’s ‘estate’ as she called it, you felt instantly at peace in their home. A year ago, you wouldn’t have dared to venture into Peter’s house but now you ogled at his room, decorated in all sorts of nerdy paraphernalia

“So you’re a Star Wars fan,” you mused aloud as you took in the sight of all of actions figures Peter had amassed that looked like they too were from the seventies. 

“Oh, y-yeah, they’re like really good movies,” Peter said as he darted to your side. You could feel his gaze on you as you studied the merchandise closely. Strange aliens faces and one furry, long legged creatures you believed was Chewbacca.

“I’ve never seen them,” you admitted, “my family doesn’t have movie nights or anything like that so they slipped under the radar.” A gasp at your side pulled your gaze to Peter. His mouth was agape, brown eyes as wide as saucers. 

“You haven’t seen the Star Wars movies?!”

“No….” you pursed your lips and gave Peter an incredulous look, “are they really that good?”

“Are they really that good! Ha!” He shook his head in disbelief and you couldn’t help but smile at his passion. “They’re better than good! We have to watch them sometime!”

You liked the way he said ‘we’ and how when the word leaped from the tip of his tongue, his eyes fell on your with all the softness you had ever seen in the world encapsulated.  You opened your mouth to speak, to give voice to how you hated that you hadn’t talked, truly talked to him sooner. Before you could however, May’s voice cut through your haze.

“Foods here!”

“Thank for this, May,” you said as you slipped a plate beside the sink. May was tucking rinsed utensils into the dishwasher, humming softly to herself as she did.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she huffed, “a friend of Peter’s is always welcome here. Especially after all you’re been through, sweetie.”

“Aunt May,” Peter grumbled through slightly gritted teeth. You raised a hand at him and gave the woman a tender smile. 

“Have you talked to someone about it? What happened in Chicago? I know a good therapist if you want to give that a try.” You shook your head and gave May a grateful glance.

“No, but I think I’m okay. I have Spiderman to thank for that,” you shot Peter a knowing smile, pleased that your note had made into the masked hero’s hands. Yet something about Peter’s expression was off. Slightly widened eyes that darted from you to his aunt, who also seemed a bit shaken, and his cheeks were red as if you had embarrassed him.

“Oh those heroes, they’re lifesavers, literally!” Aunt May laughed, loudly enough that you were pulled away from your wonderings. 

You helped Aunt May load the rest of the dishes while Peter cleaned up the table. For the first time in a long time, you felt as if you were part of a family. A sense of belonging that had evaded you for a long time finally welcomed you with open arms. So when May wiped her hands on a towel and glanced and the clock in the kitchen, you heart sank into a pool of dread.

“Wow, time flies huh? It’s pretty late.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, “I guess I should be heading out.” As you turned around, you missed the sorry smile Aunt May wore as she watched you grab your things. 

“Thank you again, for dinner and having me,” you called as you stood idly by the door. Peter gave you a bright grin, one that twisted your stomach into knots.

“Anytime, Y/N,” May said as she entered the doorway the kitchen table. Her joyful glow was only amplified by the apartment’s soft yellow coloring, the same shade that reminded you of springtime and how much you did not want to go. “Peter, why don’t you walk Y/N home? Make sure she gets there all right.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course!” Peter said and he leaned over, the smell of his cologne overwhelming your senses as she opened the door. “You ready?”

You met his brown eyes and, without hesitation, nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

It was like deja vu, walking with Peter back to the train, sitting beside him so your legs brushed as you talked. He rattled on about Star Wars and you fired questions about the sci-fi society George Lucas had built.

“So it’s a Republic?”

“Well it was until Darth Vader helped The Emperor take over.” You gave him a puzzled look.

“The Emperor’s name is Emperor? So it’s Emperor Emperor?” Peter laughed, leaned his head back against the seat and shook his head. He turned, hair a mess from his position with cheery eyes.

“No, he has a name,” you gestured for him to tell you, “you have to watch it yourself.” You groaned and leaned back. The train jostled against the tracks and you could feel it through your entire body as you head rested against the wall. You turned, the same way Peter had, to look him in the eyes.

“How? I don’t have a DVD player and the TV is broken at my place.” Peter held your gaze and curled his bottom lip between his teeth in thought. You watched him and bit the inside of your cheek when you realized you were both just staring at each other.

“I have a digital copy of all of the movies so at the next tutoring session I can give them to you,” he suggested. “Or...you...you could come back over sometime? May likes you and I-I-”

Peter cut himself off and you felt your skin warm under his gaze. Brown eyes held your sole attention so strongly that you barely noticed the train come to a stop. 

“I would like that,” you replied in a soft voice. Peter smiled and lifted his head. 

“Oh crap, it’s your stop! Let’s go,” you both rushed up and towards the train doors as an automated voice prepared a countdown. The night air, even colder than the morning, greeted you and Peter with a vengeance. You hugged your sweatshirt close to your body and saw Peter do the same with his jacket. 

An easy silence fell over the two of you as you walked down the street. You dreaded the moment your apartment complex would come into your line of sight so you kept your eyes on the sidewalk. You shoes seemed small compared to Peter’s, although his red converse were scuffed up the sides. The shoes didn’t go with how you saw Peter: all pristine and put together to spite your own jealousy as you felt you could never live up to the standard he set.

Now, you felt your understood the rough and torn shoes, why Peter wore them. There was so much more to him than the boy you thought you knew. You felt comfortable with him, to your our surprise, enough so that you told him how you once hated him. He subverted every expectation when he didn’t shy away at that and instead, stayed. No one had stayed before. 

“Hey isn’t this your place?” Peter’s voice pulled your eyes to him then to the apartment complex on your left. It was, but you could see darkness in what was your family’s apartment window. No one was home, again. 

“Yeah it is,” you sighed.

“It looks, dark, just always dark.” Peter observed and you realized he was used to be greeted when he went home. When he would leave you tonight, Aunt May would be there for him.

“Ha, yeah, my family is out so that doesn’t help it.”

“Like, out of town?” Peter questioned and you saw the concern laced in his brow.

“Yup, but they’ll be back. They’re just working,” it was a lie. You didn’t know when they’d be back. “The quiet is the perfect studying environment though.” Peter laughed at that and shook his head.

“You and your studying,” he mused and you raised a brow in his direction.

“I could say the same for you and your Stark Internship,” you fired back, “last semester you missed so many practices because you had to go and help.” You felt lingering jealousy bubble up your throat but you pushed it down. There was no space for that anymore. “It must be amazing, but I guess that’s what you do.”

“Well, I mean,” Peter started to fumbled and rocked back on his heels, “you’re pretty amazing too, Y/N. Don’t sell yourself short.” You felt your whole body warm and, to hide the sense of pride his words gave you, you spoke up once more.

“Isn’t that what you’re going to help with?” Peter met your gaze and it seemed like all nervous energy tapered out of his body. His shoulders relaxed and a soft smile graced his face. 

“Yeah, it is.” The almost cozy, relaxed silence fell over you and Peter once more. A passing car broke the momentary revelry and you stepped back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you called, happy that you could smile as you said it.

“See you!” Peter shouted back as you crossed the street.

Part of you was tempted to turn around, check to see if Peter was still watching to make sure you got inside okay. You fought hard as you ascended the front steps but ultimately lost the battle. Once in the doorway, you turned to glance across the street. Peter was nowhere in sight.

He must walk fast, you surmised and started to unlock the door. Despite the slight disappointment, you were still smiling. You had a feeling that, even with the empty home that awaited you, you would fall asleep with that same smile; and, it turned out, you were right.

[queerofthedagger]

27 or 42 for Jegulus?

Hi nonne, thanks for the Prompt! I went with 42: “ I’m going to save you from the terrible date you’re having.” I hope you like it

On The Edge

Summary: James just wants one night to forget about running and fighting. Saving Regulus from a boring date wasn’t exactly on the list, but it turns out to be one of his better ideas, all things considered. 

Pairing: James Potter/Regulus Black; Wc: 3919;

No Warnings; AO3

James pulls the door to the Leaky Cauldron open, nodding at someone who's passing him without really taking notice. The pub is dimly lit, smoke wafting through the thick air, and his eyes need a moment to adjust to the change from the bright lights of London while he weaves his way through scattered groups of people.

It's not as crowded as it could be, and he once again mourns that all his friends already deserted him. Honestly, he expects as much from Remus, and recently it's rare to catch Peter at all, but Sirius, leaving him for an 'early night'? Unacceptable.

He's not even close to being drunk yet, tipsy at most, and he's planning to take advantage of the whole three days without work, or Order missions, or any other responsibilities in what feels like forever. Friends or no friends.

It doesn't take long for a Firewhiskey to land in his hands and after thanking the barkeeper, he turns to face the room, propping one elbow behind himself onto the bar and crossing his ankles.

He pulls a grimace at the first sip, the burning a stark difference to the cheap Muggle beer they had, but he relishes how he can feel it running down his throat.

Letting his gaze wander through the room, searching if he can’t find someone he knows and who might be more willing to forget the bloody world with him for a night, he startles when he thinks he just found Sirius.

On the second glance it's rather obvious that his friend didn’t abandon him for this – not that encountering Regulus Black here is any less strange, with a date of all things if his eyesight isn't failing him even more than usual.

She looks exactly like James would Regulus' date expect to look - pretty but not exceptionally so, long, brown hair and pristine, obviously expensive robes. Everything about her practically screams Pureblood and James snorts softly at the predictability, ignoring the thought that Regulus could do much better.

They're sitting next to each other, but it seems like she does most of the talking while Regulus merely nods along. James can only make out his profile from where he's standing, but the way Regulus’ eyes keep straying to the door and over the people around them is telling enough.

Shaking his head he turns away, noting with surprise that his glass is already empty and ordering a new one. He exchanges a few words with the barkeeper, how the business is getting worse with every day, how people barely linger anymore and, basically, how the whole war is just shit.

James agrees, wholeheartedly, but he doesn't want to think about it, wants just one night to forget about fighting and being scared and always looking over his shoulder. He thinks he should probably have stayed in Muggle London, but the whiskey is good and he doesn't feel inclined to move again. And his eyes keep straying to that one table despite his best efforts.

He downs his glass in one go and orders another, earning himself an amused look from the barkeeper – Benny, if he remembers correctly – but it’s not like he cares, like he has to justify himself to anyone, and he just wants more of that fuzziness spreading through his whole body, of the way his thinking is getting slower, of how when he moves his head quickly, the colours and faces blur together and everything is becoming more abstract, inconsequential, like there’s only him and whatever he sets his mind to – like he’s 14 again and the whole world is only waiting for him to grasp it, to form it like he wants it to be.

His eyes are drawn to Regulus once again and he wonders if it might be the same for him, if he also just wants to forget for one night, a few hours, ignoring what is happening around them. No matter which side you’re on, war is war, horrible and draining, and they’re both too young for this constant threat of death, of seeing people getting murdered, the fear of losing everyone they love; for fighting, killing, being scared.

Regulus doesn’t look like he’s enjoying himself though, quite the opposite. His shoulders are tense, fingers drumming a rhythm against the table James can’t hear over the low chatter, and even from where he stands, he can make out his expression, as if he has just bitten into a lemon. It’s the same as when they pulled pranks in Hogwarts, just lacking the amusement Regulus tried to hide back then.

Maybe it’s because James is bored, or drunk, or because of a sudden burst of sympathy or just because he always rather liked Regulus – maybe it’s a bit of everything, but it’s not like he’s still in the state of mind to question his impulses. If anyone is going to ask, he’s simply going to blame his friends for abandoning him, he thinks, before ordering two whiskeys and slowly walking over to the table.

They don’t notice him until he’s coming to a halt right in front of them and James doesn’t have a plan, just that he’s going to save Regulus from the obviously terrible date he’s having and so he grins brightly, plopping into the chair next to Regulus and throws an arm around his shoulders.

“Regulus, Merlin it’s been ages since I’ve seen you,” he says cheerfully, ignoring the way Regulus stares at him like he lost his mind. He waits for another beat before turning to the girl, who looks at him like he’s dirt under her shoe, and dims his smile down a bit. “Sorry to interrupt, didn’t look like anything important was going on here.”

They’re both still staring silently but it’s not like he expected anything else. He pointedly slides one glass over to Regulus. “Here, you looked like you could need it, cheers!” he says mirthfully, clinking his own glass against it before taking a sip and leaning back.

“Are you just going to let him treat me like that?!” the girl demands, finding her voice at last.

Regulus is looking from her to him and he pulls up his most innocent expression, the one he used for his mother and McGonagall, but before Regulus can say anything she’s already getting up.

Grabbing her cloak, she sneers at both of them and says, “Don’t bother contacting me again. You were boring anyway,” and within seconds, she’s gone.

James relishes in the way Regulus’ shoulders relax ever so slightly and watches as he takes a sip from the whiskey, the way his throat moves as he swallows, long fingers curled around the glass.

“So,” Regulus says after downing half of the glass, and James has to shake himself a bit to focus on the words. “Care to tell me what you think you’re doing?”

One of his eyebrows is raised in that slightly condescending manner James thinks has to be a family trait, but the corner of his mouth twitches and there’s some amusement dancing in his eyes, so he thinks he might not be as annoyed as he claims to be.

“Saving you, obviously,” he grins, tilting his head a bit. “You didn’t look like you were having fun and I thought you might need some, for a change.”

“Ruining a perfectly good date, that’s what you did – at least as far as my parents will be concerned,” Regulus says, but he doesn’t look too concerned.

“Yes well, your parents are many things, but fun is not one of them,” he shoots back, gesturing for the barkeeper to send them another round. “Though, I’m sorry if they bother you about it. Blame me, they should be used to that.”

Regulus laughs, and James is a bit surprised by how… nice it sounds. It’s not as barking as Sirius’, but it’s an open and carefree sound that makes him smile and feel rather accomplished.

Then Regulus smirks and says, “True enough. Or I might try telling them a joke, the urge to laugh might shock them enough that they forget about the whole thing.”

It takes a moment to process that Regulus is actually joking with him, but then he’s laughing as well, grinning brightly. He’s not sure if it’s really that funny or if he’s just drunk by now, but it doesn’t really matter. “See, that’s already more fun than you had over the last hour.”

“Watched me for a long time, did you?” Regulus asks, eyes gleaming in the flickering light from the candle, and James is most definitely not blushing. “Anyway, what’s your great plan, then?”

He takes the change of subject gratefully, gesturing to the two new glasses that just arrived. “Getting drunk is a good start, don’t you think?”  

Regulus tips his glass towards him, but then his expression sobers visibly and he looks at him with narrowed eyes. “How do I know that this is not some twisted scheme to get me drunk and question me, or some sort of ambush?”

James gapes for a second, his brain having difficulties with the sudden shift of topic before he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “First of all, I wouldn’t do this, I’m not that shrewd. And then, I honestly just want to forget the whole bloody war for one night, I want to… just not talk, not even think about it, alright?”

The time it takes until Regulus slowly nods feels way too long, but the small smile makes it worth it. “Fair enough, no talking about the war or anything related to it. We should probably get out of here though,” he muses, eyes taking in the people around them.

It’s only now that James thinks about how this might look to anyone who has an idea who they are – neither of their allegiances is a secret, and it probably wouldn’t do either of them any good to be seen with the other.

It hits him how weird this situation actually is, spending a night drinking with the enemy, with someone he might be very well fighting for life or death tomorrow, but it’s impossible to see Regulus, to see this boy he watched growing up, watched small and nervous at 11, watched him fighting with Sirius, coming back to school looking haggard and miserable – it’s impossible to hate him, fear him, to see him as a threat.

“I’m not going to the Hogshead,” he says, shoving all those thoughts as far away as possible but intent on making sure that that’s not an option.

“Don’t be stupid,” Regulus laughs, “That would be the equivalent to handing in a defection letter for me. I meant Muggle London, you dimwit.”

He’s gaping again, he knows, but honestly, that’s probably the last statement he expected to hear.

Regulus rolls his eyes but is obviously not inclined to explain himself, just getting up and nudging his shoulder.

“You can’t go into Muggle London in robes,” he says when he decides to just go with it, already pulling his wand to solve that last obstacle.

He didn’t expect the hand on his wrist, pushing it away. “There’s no way I’m letting you transfigure my clothes Potter, you’re way too drunk. Not to mention that it’s unnecessary.”

“I’m not – “ his protest dies on his tongue when Regulus shrugs off his robes, revealing a perfectly acceptable suit underneath. It looks better than should be allowed, the first two buttons of his white shirt unbuttoned and the dark blue waistcoat only showing off how… well, bloody gorgeous he is.

“That should work,” he mutters, mainly to say something and justify his staring, and then quickly turns around and grabs his cloak. He stops at the bar to pay for their drinks and, after a look at his watch, buys a still closed bottle just to be safe. If he remembers correctly, the bars in Muggle London close ridiculously early and he’s not losing his plan of getting so wasted that he can’t remember his own name to some stupid Muggle laws.

He stops Regulus with a hand on his arm, a moment before they step through the door. “This might be a… stupid question, but – did you ever go out drinking in Muggle London? Just, I don’t want to end up with some incident in the end.”

Regulus stares at him before he laughs, opening the door. “Yes, I’ve been to Muggle London before. If you must know, I actually go out for a drink there quite regularly. The pleasure of anonymity and all that.”

Well, it’s unexpected, but he’s slowly coming to accept that this might happen some more times in the course of the night.

It’s cold and raining lightly, the bright colours of signs and streetlamps reflecting on the wet asphalt but there are still people walking around, young students laughing and gathering in loud groups, blissfully oblivious to the threat looming over all their heads.

“You’re not boring, by the way,” he breaks the silence after some time, not knowing why he says it but feeling like it’s important. It’s true, for what it’s worth, he always found him rather intriguing, no matter how many times Sirius insisted that his brother is just like the rest of his family.

To James, it was always kind of obvious that he isn’t – for starters, he’s a brilliant seeker, the only one to actually give him a challenge on the pitch, and in the year he was Head Boy he got to know him, a little bit, got to see that he actually cared. There was no doubt that the loss of Sirius was hard on him, but they’re both stubborn beyond belief and never managed to sort it out.

“Err, thanks, I suppose? Whatever did I do to receive the honour from Mr. Trouble himself?” Regulus asks, and it’s biting but he’s grinning, and James rather enjoys the banter.

“It’s a high honour, let me tell you! No, but I meant because that girl said that. I mean, what kind of flimsy insult is that even, it’s not like she gave you much opportunity to say something.”

Regulus eyes him for a moment, smirking faintly. “You really did watch me for some time, huh? Anyway, I think being persuaded by her parents to date a guy that has no interest in girls whatsoever can be rather boring.”

James stumbles, nearly pushing over a bike leaning against a pillar, and Regulus laughs at him, head thrown back and one hand on James’ shoulder – to steady whom of them, he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t care, either.

“Well, didn’t expect that one,” he grins when Regulus calmed down again, adding, “the advantage of not having a care for gender.”

Regulus raises a brow and tilts his head to the side. “I thought you and – what was her name, Evans? Wasn’t that your ‘happily ever after’?”

He waves a hand, shaking his head but regretting the action when it messes with his balance. “Not really, I mean don’t get me wrong, she’s brilliant and I chased after her for a ridiculously long time, but that’s what it was, mostly. An interesting chase and we quickly realised that we work better as friends.”

Regulus hums, and their arrival at a small pub in the basement of a house lets the conversation end there. They find a table in the corner, the room cosy with coloured lights hanging along the walls and some small groups of people of different ages chatting amongst themselves. There’s some music playing in the background, the kind of stuff Sirius likes to blast through their flat at an obnoxious volume, and James doesn’t hesitate to get them each a beer and some rounds of shots.

It’s surprisingly easy, talking with Regulus. He asks after some of their pranks which James is glad to share, they exchange stories about teachers and former students they knew, about Quidditch and stories of Sirius making an idiot of himself. Not once do they come close to the war or that it really, really shouldn’t be this comfortable and funny, but they’re both drunk and it’s easy to forget how things should be.

It feels like barely any time passed when the tired barkeeper kicks them out, and they’re both swaying slightly on their feet and leaning onto each other.

“Pity they close so early, I mean it’s Saturday,” Regulus whines, a pout gracing his lips and James laughs at the open, nearly childish expression, all sense of poise and composure obviously long forgotten.

It’s even more fun to him, because he can pull out the bottle of whiskey he bought earlier with a self-satisfied grin and dangle it in front of Regulus’ face, watching as his eyes light up and he looks at James like he just promised him that he’s never going to suffer through another horrible date.

“Come on, I know a good spot,” he says, tugging a bit at Regulus’ arm who follows willingly.

“You’re not so bad, Potter,” Regulus grins after taking a sip, holding the bottle out to him.

He holds a hand to his chest and tilts his head back, sighing theatrically. “You only like me for the alcohol! I knew it!”

Regulus snorts and shoves him, but then smiles, softer than he has any right to. “It’s a bonus, but it wouldn’t be enough to win me over. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” he grins, throwing an arm around Regulus' shoulders and pulling him into a narrow side street, revelling in the way Regulus sneaks an arm around his waist without any hesitation.

After a quick glance to make sure that they’re alone, he pulls his wand and spells the grey door open, a finger on his lips to tell Regulus to be silent. To his credit, he only looks amused.

Reaching the fifth floor takes a while in their intoxicated state and he suspects that they’re far less silent than they should be, but they eventually make it onto the roof and he spreads his arms in a wide gesture, ignoring the pang of loss over letting go of Regulus’ warm body against his.

It’s a spot he often visited with Sirius, shortly after they finished school and spent many nights roaming the streets of London, trying to find some escape from the worsening war, from being thrown into adulthood and discovering that it’s not as bright and exciting as they always hoped it would be.

Regulus slowly walks around, smiling to himself and then tips his head back, staring into the dark-grey sky above them, a wistful look on his face. James watches for a while but has to avert his eyes soon. The way he can see a bit of his collarbone and the hollow of his throat, the contrast of black hair and pale skin make him want to reach out, run his fingers over it, make him want to kiss him so badly that it nearly hurts.

There’s only little light up here and the shadows let everything appear softer, a bit unreal as if everything that happens up here has no consequence as soon as he leaves.

He shakes his head to dispel the thoughts and carefully walks over to the edge of the roof to sit down, letting his legs hang over the edge and watching little dots of lights move underneath him.

When Regulus sits down next to him it’s close, their legs pressing together and arms brushing.

“It’s nice up here,” he says quietly, and when James looks at him he’s relaxed with a soft smile that suits him worlds better than the tension and annoyance he witnessed at the beginning of the night.

He hums in agreement and takes another sip of whiskey before he lies down, crossing his arms behind his head and looking up to the sky. The clouds disappeared over the last few hours, but there are only a few stars visible, not enough to make out a single constellation.

“It’s a pity that London is so bright,” he sighs, mostly to himself.

Regulus lies down next to him, taking the bottle. “It really is. When we were children, we had a room at Grimmauld Place with an enchanted ceiling like the Great Hall in Hogwarts. Mind you, it was only for the endless Astronomy lessons every Black has to endure, but I liked to sneak in there and pretend it’s real.”

He turns his head to look at him, only inches apart from each other. Regulus is gazing up with a rueful, almost sad expression but he’s still beautiful like this and James thinks that he would like to take him somewhere where they could lie under the stars in peace, how unfair it is that neither of them ever had the chance, might never get the chance, and then he nearly laughs at how sappy and melodramatic he’s becoming. Sirius always says he’s an emotional drunk.

Regulus turns his head and looks at him, and James realises that he has been staring but he still can’t tear his eyes away. There are a few, faint freckles scattered over Regulus’ nose, his long lashes paint lines over his cheeks and he can’t help the way his eyes flicker to his lips.

He couldn’t say who’s leaning in first, their lips brushing together tentatively before the kiss becomes firmer. Regulus smells like soap and something spicy, like firewhiskey and smoke, and James’ head is spinning, he feels like bursting and curls his hands into Regulus’ collar, pulling him closer so that he’s lying half on top of him.

He spares a fleeting thought for the fact that they’re very close to the edge, a few hundred feet above the unforgiving concrete street but it only adds to the feeling of exhilaration before he promptly forgets it again.

Regulus buries his hands in his hair, his tongue brushing against his bottom lip after biting it softly and James thinks that he doesn’t want this to stop, doesn’t want to ever let go. He unclenches his fingers from the soft material of Regulus’ shirt, hands roaming over his shoulders and chest until he can lock his arms around his waist, pulling him as close as possible.

He loses all sense of time, the world narrowing down to warm, soft lips and hands mapping out lines and edges, of soft hair between his fingers and sharp cheekbones under his palms, but inevitably, dawn is breaking and they’re both freezing, shivering in the cold morning air.

When they finally break apart, James pulls him into a hug, burying his face in his hair and closing his eyes against the sudden wave of sadness that washes over him. There are a million things he wants to say, like “Stay,” – “Don’t keep fighting for them,” – or “run away with me,” but he knows he can’t, that it’s not the right moment and that they’re both in too deep.

“Thanks,” Regulus murmurs, close to his ear and he swallows at the heaviness of his voice.

“For what?” he asks, thinking that he knows but needing to be sure.

“For making me forget.”  

And it’s not a promise, it’s not anything really, but, clinging to him just a bit more to make sure that he knows, there’s a sliver of hope burning inside him that they’ll both make it out of the whole mess, that this is not the end of it.

*

I hope you liked it! You can send me prompts for this ship, James/Sirius or Tom/Harry (or something else, and I see what I can do.)

[lavenderblossom74]

Things Like

SUMMARY: Sometimes, Dick forgets how much he has to be grateful for and how lucky he is to have Bruce. But sometimes, he also remembers.

Rolling down memory lane yay! This is an old one-shot of mine, hope you all enjoy!

--

After five years of living with the man, Dick sometimes forgets how truly lucky he is to have Bruce.

It isn't that there are times when he stops being appreciative, because Dick will always—always—remember the man who had been there for him when no one else had.

It's just that sometimes, Dick forgets the little things. The little things that so often become so normal that eventually they’re easy to take for granted.

--

Things like Bruce helping with a school project.

The scene: One of the many living rooms in the manor, the floor is littered with paper, popsicle sticks, pipe cleaners, puffy balls and of course, glitter.

Beside Dick, paint containers are spread out before him. Bruce in all his artistic vision holds a paintbrush (he’s the only person Dick has ever met who can make a paintbrush look intimidating)

“So I’m painting the words “Kinetic Motion” in blue, right?” Bruce asks.

12 year old Dick nods enthusiastically “Yes! Aaand…” There's a theatrical dramatic pause “I’LL SPRINKLE THE GLITTER!”

Bruce gives him an exasperated look before muttering something under his breath. Catching something about “glitter” and “death wish” Dick just grins as Bruce begins to paint.

“You have a very steady hand you know” Dick observes.

“Mhm” Bruce answers automatically, most of his attention focused on the poster board in front of him.

As he finishes up, Dick—as promised—happily sprinkles glitter with more joy than even a fascinated two year old would have.

Bruce is just glad Alfred put covered the entire wooden floor with layers upon layers of plastic.

After writing down the definition of Kinetic Energy in a sparkly green pen, Dick begins the fun of the party.

His assignment is to make a model that represents Kinetic Energy. So he decides it's a good excuse as any to make a roller coaster.

A roller coaster made out of an assortment of pipe cleaners, colorful popsicle sticks, fluffy puffy balls, and a whole lot of glue.

The rest of the night goes something like this:

“You just glued my fingers. YOU JUST GLUED MY FINGERS!! I’M GONNA DIE, I’M GONNA DIE. WHAT IF THIS GLUE HAS LIKE, WEIRD CHEMICAL PROPERTIES AND I GET A WEIRD BACTERIA AND OH MY GOD, MY WHELMED FINGERS! THEY WERE TOO YOUNG TO BECOME OVERWHELMED!! WHY DEAR FINGERS, —WHY??”

*Amused look from source of great panic* “You done?”

*Dick stares at panic source incredulously* “Am I done? AM I DONE! I WILL SHOW YOU DONE—”

Bruce cuts him off by calmly unsticking Dick’s fingers.

*gape* “You couldn't have done that before I went ballistic?!”

*Stare*

-

“Pipe cleaners hate me. This is a fact.” This is what Dick says as he stubbornly gives an innocent pipe cleaner the death glare.

“Really?” Bruce wryly asks.

“YES!” His charge exclaims. “I mean, is it my fault the stupid first hill has to be high so that the ball we send down can gain energy from it so it can continue the rest of the way? Is it my fault roller coasters are biased against poor 8th graders? IS IT MY FAULT KINETIC ENERGY EXISTS AND I HAVE TO DO A PROJECT FOR IT?!” By the end of his rant, Dick is standing up.

As Bruce sticks a puffy ball onto a pipe cleaner, he retorts, “Yes. You chose the model, didn't you?”

Dick opens his mouth to retort, then he closes it. “Whatever” he grumbles but sits back down and continues working in his roller coaster.

Bruce just smirks.

-

“Long was the haggard night. One blue eyed pre-teen (cough official teen cough) works hard to finish the project assigned by his torturer—teacher—that is due tomorrow. He is ready to drop dead from exhaustion and his stomach clenches in painful hunger but he valiantly continues his work. He will not back down, he will not give up, he—”

“—would not be here if he hadn’t decided to leave everything to the last minute.”

Dick glares at Bruce who shrugs innocently, “It’s true”

“Don’t intrude upon my enthralling narrations!” Dick whines.

Enthralling … ?

At Bruce’s look, Dick pouts. “Don't Judge!!” In a quieter voice he mumbles, “You’re just jealous I can use bigger words than you”

*Another look* I heard that

Dick pouts again. “Whatever”

-

After what feels like eons, the adrenaline starts to fade. Dick knows his previous excitement and absolute optimism are on their deathbed.

And it’s because this stupid roller-coaster-project-thing was so annoying! And frustrating. And mean. And a bully. And uncooperative. And generally insufferable.

He’s done all the calculations and the model should be working—the ball they are rolling should be able to continue the entire way depending only on the initial push… But it isn't!

Every time he tries to make it work with the pipe cleaners, is only another time he fails and becomes even more frustrated.

The solution is simple—it has to be—But Dick’s brain has become a slushy and is so mushy that he can't see the answer.

He’s ready to throw in the towel, crash on his bed, and forget about this dumb project.

But then his grade suffers.

And so does Robin.

Even after knowing Dick left school work to the last minute, Bruce hasn't said anything about grounding Robin but if Dick doesn't pull this project off and proves he can handle both his duties, Dick knows he will say something then.

Suddenly, Bruce nudges him. Dick looks up to an unreadable face.

“Go to bed,” Bruce tells him

Dick’s eyes widen in panic. Because he knows what's going to happen next, Bruce is going to say that in the morning, they're going to “talk” about how Dick needs to be more responsible and how he needs to prioritize. Then he’s benching Robin.

Dick opens his mouth to say that No, he can finish his project and sure maybe he was a little irresponsible but he’d done the actual research beforehand and honestly hadn't thought making the roller coaster model would've taken so long. It wasn't like he’d decided to be sleep deprived and frustrated on purpose!

Before he can anything in though, Bruce repeats himself. “Go to bed, chum”

Then he says, “I’m going out for a couple of hours; When I get back, I'll wake you so you can finish up and actually comprehend what you're doing.” Bruce stares at the roller coaster pointedly, “For now, just get some sleep.”

And so Dick sleeps. 3 hours later, Bruce—as promised—wakes him up and helps Dick finish up the roller coaster.

Dick had been right before—the solution had been indeed very simple.

Then, Dick heads to school and turns his project in.

Bruce doesn't mention anything about it afterwards nor does he give any reason to imply Robin is grounded.

Dick makes an effort to be more responsible with his school work from then on though.

It isn't until two months later that he finds out that the day Bruce helped him on his project was also the day he’d been awake for more than 24 hours already.

He also finds out that despite having two important board meetings that morning, Bruce had still kept his promise about waking him up and helping Dick finish the project.

---

Things like Bruce letting Dick rant about anything and everything.

Age: 10

Rant Topic: Spicy Foods

“It makes no sense! How come that food is so spicy, how come it makes your mouth feel like it's living fire, how come it makes your ears burn and feel hot n’ cold, how come it’s so hot, if it gonna be so good?! With the hint of lemon and the flavor it leaves in your mouth… Mmmm!” *Dick smiles to himself like a sap before snapping out of it* “... Exactly my point!! Why does spicy food enjoy torturing a kid like me?? I mean did I ever do anything against it? Who was the brilliant person who thought it would be an awesome idea to add hot spices to food anyway?!”

Bruce: “Do you need more water?”

Age: 11

Rant topic: The English Language

“In my humble opinion, English is a dumb language.” *as he rakes his fingers down his face* “I mean why are there so many rules?! Silent E, if it's beside a verb you say it's name, i before e except after c, ph makes a fffff sound… So complicated!! And half of them don’t follow their own rules half the time!! Toe-may-toe, Toe-ma-toe… Same thing!!”

Bruce: *shrug* “That’s why you learn other languages”

Age: 13

Rant Topic: Exams

“I’m done… Mark my words Bruce—are you marking them? I. Am. Done. DonedonedonedonedoneDONE!! My brain cells feel non existent right now… I am stressed beyond relief and I'm still nowhere near done with all these exams! It is impossible to retain all this information!! Who cares about random math dudes who found the formulas to life changing equations or the dates of every major event in history?! We aren't gonna need the info in life so why bother? Why does a test have to define you as a person anyway?”

Bruce: *in his most insightful voice* “It doesn't”

---

Things like sitting at the counter and simply eating along with Dick. An apple, a pear, a banana, a kiwi, baby carrots, a ripe tomato… no matter the fruit, the vegetable—just knowing that he wasn't alone… Sometimes that was enough.

Some of his funniest memories had actually happened at the counter.      

Some of his saddest memories had happened at the counter too.   

Some of the moments that didn't stand out, that weren't spectacular, that were just there—they'd happened at the counter too.

---

Things like playing a game of basketball with him.

Things like hiding junk food behind Alfred’s back (but at the same time not really since Dick suspected no one—not even the World's Greatest Detective—could hide anything from Alfred).

Things like taking Dick out when it snowed and helping him build a snow fort.

Things like quizzing Dick for his next Mathlete Competition.

Things like hearing about how Dick’s day went practically everyday and never complaining about it.

Things like everyday things.

Things that when Dick stands back and looks at his life—actually really looks at it—he realizes that he should not take for granted.

Things that make him understand how much luck he has in his life. Even after all the tragedy he has gone through, luck somehow found it’s way to stay.

Luck or Hope.

Knowing that there are still people in this world who care for him, knowing that a man he has learned to love and look up to cares for him so much that the care eventually feels normal…

Somehow, that feels like so much more than just luck.

---

When Dick silently enters Bruce’s study, the man looks up.

When Dick whispers, “Thank you,” Bruce blinks in confusion.

When Dick says, “Thank you for everything,” Bruce’s eyes slowly comprehend the meaning behind the words. And he smiles.

[baekthecorgi]

you’re the cure, you’re the pain (doyoung) genre: college au, med student au, fluff (a quick glimpse of premed!doyoung) words: 3k w. summary: dating a med student has got to be the hardest feat one could ever encounter.

*terms defined at the end

you first meet doyoung at the library on your third year in university. not exactly meet as in meet, it was more of a see doyoung dozing off on top of his thick books at the coldest, most secluded section of the library where you often spend your time studying for your lessons. his hoodie was zipped all the way up to protect him from the cold. you notice how his oversized hoodie covered the spines of his books so you were left clueless about his course.

it became a thursday thing to spot a certain hooded figure slumped over the same trio of books that you found yourself looking forward to thursdays instead of fridays. which was weird actually because all uni students looked forward to the end of the week. all except you.

one fateful thursday afternoon, you find mr. sleepy head in an all-white uniform, still in dreamland, but this time, his head was stuck between pages 124 and 125. you take a quick peek of the book’s header. in bold, all caps, it read: Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5). the scattered sticky notes on the surface indicated that he was in the middle of his thesis. before you pry further, mr. sleepy head shifts his position. you hurriedly fumble back to your seat. mr. sleepy head reveals his haggard yet captivating face towards your direction.

judging from the nameplate on his chest, white uniform, and the DSM-5, you figure out mr. sleepy head’s a graduating psychology student. when he showed no signs of waking up, you make a beeline to where he is. you were near to study his features but far enough to not look like a preying stalker. his raven locks stuck out in different directions, and his bangs swooped down which highlighted his sharp jawline. the white uniform highlighted his broad shoulders which you thought were wider than the pacific ocean (if that even is a thing). there were bags under his eyes but you guessed, even with eyes closed, that mr. sleepy head has those sincere eyes which would make any individual fall in deep.

“are you planning to stare at me the whole day or are you gonna help me with my rrl*?” said guy mumbles, voice low enough to send shivers down your spine. mr. sleepy head opens his eyes, his piercing gaze seemingly passing through you. “do you have any business here?”

“i-i’m sorry, i-i didn’t mean to stare, uhm,” you stutter. glancing at his nameplate, you continue, “kim doyoung? oh, uh, doyoung. sorry, again. i’ll go if that makes you comf–”

“nah, it’s fine i’m just messing with ya,” doyoung snickers, waving it off. “though you might want to practice your staring. it’s not exactly subtle.” you feel heat creeping through your cheeks.

“i’m guessing you’re a third year biology major?” you nod at his inquiry. “and i’m betting this is your private study corner?” you nod once again.

“how’d you know?”

“your materials are all splayed out like you own the place. those are a third year bio student’s books. i have friends from bio too, y'know,” doyoung tells. “i’m also good at studying people’s expressions. perks of being a psych major. in your case, you bite your lower lip when you tell the truth. well, what i hope is the truth.”

you reply with a, “i’m not good at lying.”

doyoung raises a brow as if doubting your words. he retorts, a gummy smile plastered on his face, “aside from your expressions, well, you’re not the only one stealing glances.”

you wanted to bang your head on the wall. was mr. sleepy head flirting with you? did he stare back at you all those past thursdays? oh my god, your head was spinning at the theories crossing your mind. it was only when doyoung cleared his throat that snapped you back to reality.

“i’d love to stay and chat, but i have clinical psych in ten minutes. fifth floor, room 2-4. ends in two hours,” doyoung says in a monotonous tone exactly the way his psych professors him. detached is what they would always remind their students to be, but with you, doyoung might just have to make an exception.

you ask, confused at the details thrown at you, “why are you telling me this?”

“maybe i wanna practice reading people more, or maybe i wanna spend my late night coffee run with the girl who’s been staring at me for like, four thursdays, while i get to know her more and try to cram for my departmental exam tomorrow. pick your poison,” and with that said psychology major doyoung flashes you a mischievous grin as scrambles over his things, stuffing them down his knapsack.

“see you in two hours?” doyoung confirms and you agree. he takes his exit, or what seems to be his exit because he retracts his steps and calls you. “good luck on your zoology quiz. hope you ace it!”

your friends have already warned you on psychology majors. more on dating psychology majors. “they’re just plain weird. it’s like they’re always reading your mind”, they’d always say. your encounter with doyoung proved their hypotheses true. your first ever talk with the weirdly attractive doyoung made you want to form your own conclusions and not from someone else’s.

maybe that’s why you ended up meeting doyoung in front of his last class and spend the entire night chatting away at a 24/7 café. half of it was the actual getting to know each other cliché. you found out doyoung added an extra shot of espresso to his coffee nowadays as his tolerance level rose from all the night shifts during OJT*. his brother was a law student and doyoung, on the other hand, was an aspiring med student. doyoung was lactose intolerant but he absolutely loves cheesecakes, blueberry especially. doyoung knows he’s weird because his roommate, taeyong, fights him about it all the time.

the other half was spent on doyoung tutoring you on biochemistry, ranting for a good thirty minutes on why he chose his stupid thesis proposal when it clearly lacked the studies to back it up, and doyoung snuggling against your arm on the wee hours of the morning.

three months of caffeine overdose and two breakdowns later (it alternates between you and doyoung, depends on who has a dickhead professor), doyoung finally asks you to be his girlfriend in his cramped bedroom. you wholeheartedly say YES!!!! before doyoung even gets to the question. tackling your boyfriend down on his bed, you pepper him with what seems to be a thousand kisses. you spend an hour of making out, then listening to taeyong scolding you both for making out and explicitly moaning for half an hour on the other side of the door, and waking up late on doyoung’s chest, inhaling his musky scent first thing in the morning. it was nothing less than perfect–your relationship, your boyfriend.

(doyoung misses an exam that day but to hell with that, it’s been a long time since he last fell in love. he’d rather hold you in his arms, whispering sweet nothings to your ear at 7AM rather than sulking over a test with a 45% passing rate.)

dating doyoung was so exhausting, you sometimes wonder why you even considered that as an option.he’d piss you off with bio jokes he steals from taeyong on a daily basis. you even tried to coax taeyong from sponsoring doyoung with lame biology jokes but the former also takes joy in pissing you off.

“here comes my Trypanosoma cruzi,” doyoung cooes when he spots you walking towards the sofa.

“i’m not in the mood for jokes, baby,” you snap back but doyoung only squishes your cheeks with his soft lips.

“really? i doubt it. you always find your way back to my heart,” doyoung sends a flirty wink to which you roll your eyes to. he’s cheesy like this.

“doyoung, that’s rude. first of all, i’m not a parasitic bug burrowing through heart muscles. second of all, people are dying because of that bug. third of all, i hate you because that was hella smart.”

“you still love me, though.”

“well, you’re not wrong about that.”

it wasn’t until doyoung graduated and entered med school that you realized relationships aren’t full of rainbows and unicorns. you had small, petty fights with your boyfriend, of course, but this time it was different. with you busy with your thesis and doyoung struggling as a first year med student, everything seemed like a big, fiery heap of mess. both of you were quite new with the whole set-up. of lacking time for each other. of prioritizing academics over your significant other. of having study dates without any conversation at all. or simply, having no dates in weeks.

falling in love was easy to do, almost effortless. it was staying in love that was arduous, puzzling, and just difficult. staying in love is a commitment. it was an everyday choice to love doyoung without expecting anything back.

loving a med student was a hard feat. it takes guts, it takes bravery, it takes courage to love one and to stay in love with one.

time was the one thing doyoung can’t give to you. of course, he spends time with you, going out for dates and whatnot, but most of the time it means sacrificing a part of his academics so you don’t demand much of it as much as you did before.

you always catch him pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose bridge as he tries his best to stuff information in his brain. you were sure his mind was overloading with names of bones, chemical formulas, symptoms, diseases, god knows what more’s inside it. doyoung barely functions as a normal human being anymore. most of the time, he skips buying lunch to answer samplexes*, highlighting transes* to study for his exam which he had every. single. day. so you make it a daily habit to pack him lunch with whatever he was craving, tightly wrapped and ribonned with a pink cloth.

as a thank you, doyoung never fails to leave the apartment or sleep without placing a gentle kiss on your lips. saying “i love you” tenderly was a very kim doyoung thing to do and you’d feel your heart flutter like the first time you had your coffee date.

most of the time, you’d confiscate doyoung’s coffee, snatching it away from his hands. sulking, he’d complain, “babyyyy, i need my caffeine. there’s a shifting exam* tomorrow. please, baby, please!”

you won’t succumb to his pleads even if you’re on the verge of handing him back his drink. doyoung was basically immune to caffeine at this point so it was rather useless for him to drink more.

“take a nap, baby. it’s better than coffee intake. i promise i’ll wake you up in an hour,” you beg to which he shakes his head. “for me? please? you really need it.”

doyoung finally agrees only because your voice sounded worried as fuck and he wants to be the least of your worries, but also because you were right. he needed some sleep. needless to say, you became doyoung’s personal alarm clock. an alarm clock with 8AM classes.

but you were only a living, breathing human with feelings just like kim doyoung. it wasn’t unusual to crave for affection and reassurance. medical school was eating your boyfriend alive that it left you with crumbs of what’s left with doyoung. you weren’t needy, desperate for attention, so it would be nice for boyfriend to compromise once in a while. nice to be cuddled, kissed, made love to like there weren’t requirements to pass and exams to study for the very next day.

it would be nice to be top of doyoung’s priorities even for a split second.

“doyoung, baby, let’s cuddle!” you softly cry, carressing his cheek. you were chilling on his lap. he massages your jet black tresses, eyes buried deep in Guyton & Hall’s “Textbook in Medical Physiology”.

he hums, “later, baby. i’ll just finish a chapter.”

“but you read slow”

“i’m trying to concentrate, baby. let’s talk later,” doyoung scans the page one last time before flipping it.

frowning, you pluck the thick book away from his hand in frustration. “i’m not asking for twenty four hours with you, doyoung! i just want five minutes of your goddamn time! i wanna cuddle and kiss the life out of you, god i’d be perfectly okay with having a conversation without the scientific shit you’ve been studying about because fact check! lately, it seems like you don’t give a flying fuck about me. you don’t care about what i think, what i do, i mean, do you still care about me, doyoung? are you willing to spare me a glance for, i don’t fucking know, a minute of your attention? because that’s what i do, doyoung. others wouldn’t have gotten this far with you, but i did because i fucking love you! god, i’m head over heels for you, baby, because i choose you. every single day. and i just want to know if the person i’m choosing still chooses me cause if not, we might as well break up.”

“i-i’m sorry. i didn’t know you felt that way,” your boyfriend stutters. “i-i’ve been failing almost all my AnaPhy* exams and now i’m about to lose you a-and–”

in a blink, doyoung has his palms covering his face, tears streaming down his cheeks. you didn’t expect to blow up the pent up frustrations welling up inside you for months. you didn’t mean spewing those harsh words. instantly, you envelope him in a reassuring hug, wrapping your arms around his neck. doyoung buries his head on the crook of your neck. it’s a hug that’s warm and homely. one that says sorry for being such an idiot blowing up at you like this. one that provides him complete comfort, and not only support, but also acceptance.

the night ended with loving kisses and a voice of strength which became doyoung’s guiding light through the horrid horror that is medical school.if you thought dating a med student was hard, it was nothing compared to dating an intern. it was like dating a ghost.

sometimes, you’d come home late at night to the inoccupancy of the other side of the bed. sometimes, you’d wake up for work and catch sight of a clearly exhausted doyoung, lightly snoring from his night duty. you take a few moments, staring at your boyfriend’s peaceful aura, the same way you did a few years back at the library. before leaving, you secure a soft kiss on his pink lips, never forgetting to mumble an “i love you” even when he can’t hear your words.

when you do find your schedule synchronizing with doyoung’s you find yourself elated an excited with his daily medical adventures.

“patients complain about having to eat hospital food for three days but imagine having to eat it for your whole career”

"baby, i literally give you two packed lunches what the hell”

“oh shit. i have to explain myself now, don’t i?”

other times, it would be like:

“i nearly dropped this scalpel into the patient’s abdomen. can you stop looking at me like THAT?”

“why the fuck is everything in the hospital broken?” he complains, massaging his forehead. you reply, “baby, you’re a doctor. it’s literally your job to fix people.”

“well, shit,” doyoung sighs. he breathes in a gust of air when you let out a hearty laugh. you jeer, “you might have a MD at the end of your name but you’re dumb sometimes.”

but most of the time, your conversations would go like this:

“are you stressed?” you ask, entangling your limbs over his.

“i’ve been paged five times in the last two minutes, i delivered a baby in surgery today, resuscitated two patients, and haven’t slept in 48 hours. so, yes, forgive me if i’m a little on edge.”

“that’s okay, baby. we can have a nap date today.” he pecks the back of your hand, sighing. you take this as a sign to languidly kiss him on the lips this time.

one time, while driving him home from a spontaneous roadtrip with your boyfriend, you spot the oncoming heavy traffic flow. there has been a car collision causing the road blockage and the slow traffic flow. the vehicles were being towed to the side of the road when the people helping, retreated the injured victims.

once doyoung spots the lack of medical attention, he commands, “baby, pull up. i have to help them.”

slamming the car door close, doyoung rushes to the victims. he kneels down, examining the injuries and pressing lightly on all the right spots. he looks up at the confused expressions of the people surrounding him. “don’t worry, i’m a doctor. now does somebody have a pen? i have to perform an emergency tracheostomy*. this lady has an obstructed airway.”

after the ambulance arrived, you pull a hazy doyoung in a comforting hug. it’s his first time handling a case outside the hospital, his palms were all sweaty.

“i thought i was gonna lose all of ‘em,” he mumbles into your neck. you laugh at his nervous voice, rubbing circles on his back.“

this is the exact reason why you’re a doctor. you saved them, baby,” you pull him off, placing both your palms gently on his cheeks. “i’m proud of you.”

“i love you, baby,” doyoung declares. he says it without hesitation, without doubts. he wears his words as a thank you. for never giving up on loving him, for choosing to love him even when he doesn’t deserve it.

you’ve overcome so much hardships in your relationship with doyoung that looking back, you realized everything was worth it. doyoung was worth it. love was worth it.

–

note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME BIIIIIIITCH IM FINALLY DONE WITH THIS SJKDFHKSJDHF shoutout to the anon who freaked out and requested this!!! ugh med student doyoung in an all-white uniform would be so HOT istg,, i would love to get feedbacks

masterlist is on my bio soooo check it out !! tumblr’s being a little bitch bc when i put the link the post disappears from the tags grr

disclaimer: i’m not a med student. this is based on our country’s education system so it’s not exactly accurate with others.

RRL = Review of Related Literature; the selection and annotation of available documents which contain information, ideas, data and evidence related to the topic that a person proposes to research on

OJT = on the job training; it’s what graduating students do before, during or after thesis. and yes, it’s part of the grade.

Samplex = sample exams or corrected test questionnaires; also from higher batches

Trans = transcribed notes from higher batches; an outline of doctors’ lectures & ppts

AnaPhy = Anatomy & Physiology class

Shifting Exam = taken in each subject; much like departmental quizzes answered in 30 mins during lunch time

Tracheostomy =  a medical procedure that involves creating an opening in the neck in order to place a tube into a person’s windpipe

[amethyst-noir]

I wish you would write a fic where....Stephen is hit with dubious magic and ends up comatose. Of course, Tony is drowning in guilt for letting this happen to Stephen and Stephen is kicking himself for getting distracted and taken down so easily.

*logs in on work computer, posts, logs out and deletes browser history*

Hmm, since I’ve just done comatose Stephen (I’m sorry, okay?) I remembered that I still have this in my inbox. (And another one which I’ll attempt to do tomorrow. I can either do fic or headcanon and the last few days it has been fic.)

Dubious magic. Heh, I like how I get that thrown back at me from time to time. 😍

There is a battle and the threat of the day takes aim at Stephen’s back - he’s unprotected except for the Cloak because all his power is needed for offensive spells. The battle has been raging for a while now, all the combatants are exhausted as hell and Tony’s suit has taken heavy damage. He tries to stay near Stephen to protect the man but it’s difficult.

Tony gets called away to help Peter with dispatching one particular annoying enemy and that’s when it happens: One of them sneaks through and hits Stephen with dubious magic. Stephen has time to call out to the others but by the time Tony finally arrives at his side he’s already down on the floor and unconscious.

He brings Stephen back to the compound and while the doctors are still trying to figure out what happened he calls Wong. Wong arrives via portal minutes later - just in time to see a host of baffled doctors confessing to Tony that they have no idea what happened and how to help Stephen.

While Tony is busy being Tony Wong marches through and checks out Stephen himself. Tony is still debating with the doctors when he comes back out, catches Tony’s eyes and shakes his head.

And just like that Tony’s world crashes and burns; all words gone. He ignores everything else and slowly walks over to Stephen. He stares down at the still form, unaware that he will first stand and then sit at this exact spot for a long time to come.

Wong breaks the news as gently as possible: The spell that hit Stephen is designed to kill a magic user instantly and its only Stephen’s incredible strength and the fact that the Cloak took its share of the blast that allowed him to survive.

Tony looks at the limp and almost lifeless piece of red fabric that lies draped over Stephen. It barely has enough energy to wave at Tony and Tony takes the offered piece and holds it as gently as if it was Stephen’s hand.

The Cloak will recover, Wong tells him. It’ll take time but it will.

“What about Stephen?” Tony asks, already dreading the answer.

Wong’s silence is telling. “I don’t know,” he finally admits in a barely there whisper and Tony closes his eyes to keep the tears from falling. It doesn’t help. “If he ever wakes up again it won’t be soon.”

And Tony just breaks on the inside. He’s not ready to lose yet another friend, especially not one that has started to become something else. They’ve managed to go on exactly one date so far and it had been fun and wonderful and they’d mutually agreed to take things slow. Pepper has only been gone for less than a year and Stephen’s a mess - neither of them is in the right headspace to jump into a relationship.

Slow, mutual courting - that’s what they’d agreed on.

Tony is determined to keep his part of that. He visits Stephen as often as possible, he brings flowers, he hold his hand, he plays with the Cloak when the thing starts to regain some of its energy. He talks to Stephen. About his day, his hopes and fears. The past, the present, the future.

Wong visits regularly, talking more than ever before. Keeping Stephen up to date on the mystical side of things.

Peter turns up from time to time but he’s not sure what to do and just stares at Stephen, unable to say anything at all. He kind of hates himself for that and tries over and over again.

Christine doesn’t come that often, actually. She’s been down that road before and while she will always feel affection for Stephen their paths have diverged a long time ago and she just can’t do this again.

Rhodey first starts to come by to keep Tony company but one day he comes by himself. It happens from time to time. He doesn’t talk much but he’s grown fond of Stephen long before he fell into the coma and misses the witty guy who can not only keep up with Tony but keep him grounded. He’d hoped for them to work out and it shatters his heart to see Tony’s hopes and dreams destroyed once again. He’s spent more than one night with Tony, sadly watching how the man forces himself to stay sober to be able to go and visit Stephen in the morning. It’s great that Tony doesn’t fall back into his okd coping habits but the reason for that is just so damn unfair that Rhodey wants to scream.

After a few months Tony and Wong move Stephen out of the Compound and into the Sanctum. Tony has a ton of equipment installed and FRIDAY can monitor him from here now just as easily and they both hope that the familiar, beloved surroundings will help Stephen in his recovery.

The Cloak is almost back to his old strength but seldom moves from Stephen’s side.

Stephen, trapped in his astral form, is forced to witness how his coma destroys every resemblance for a normal life for his best friend and the man he’s fallen in love with. He has to watch helplessly as Wong tries everything to wake him up and how Tony’s hope fades a little bit more every day.

He hates himself for getting hit, for only using offensive spells and forgetting about his defense. He’s desperately trying to go back but there’s a barrier between him and his body he can’t overcome.

One day, almost two years later, he once again watches Tony fall asleep on the other side of the big bed. He looks on as the Cloak arranges itself carefully to cover them both and how it caresses Tony’s face. He hates how old and haggard Tony looks. He hates and he loves and he wants. So, so, much…

He needs to go back, damnit!

He’ll never know how he manages it but all of a sudden the barrier vanishes.

When Tony wakes up the next morning he looks straight into Stephen’s eyes. Stephen smiles and although it takes his weak and depleted body an age or two he finally manages to bring one shaking hand up and wipe away the tears from Tony’s face.

Their first kiss is tender beyond description.

[everything-lobotomy-corporation]

Worries & Welfare ::Chesed x Reader:: Chapter 15

I’m running out of Chapter titles

A had entered the room shortly after Angela had, most people excusing themselves with the exception of you, Chesed and a Clerk. Chesed was sitting on the sofa, his ankle still painfully pulsating despite the medication. You stood, standing patiently in front of your fathers desk as he himself was just getting to his desk, a clerk walking behind him and desperately trying to speak with him. The haggard man sighed, not wanting to deal with a clerk right now. " Red Riding Hooded Mercenary's account specifically states that during the time of the White Night incident that the punishing bird was seen-" "The Punishing bird escapes all the time." Your father said, waving off the clerk's concern. "It's not unusual to see him flying around-" "Yes, I know but both breaches-" "That will be all, Delta20. I have something a little more...pressing to deal with." Your father's voice was commanding, making everyone in the room feel a little bit smaller. The clerk backed away, thanking A for his time and excusing himself. Now fully behind his desk, your father looked down at you, narrowing his eyes and then shifting his gaze to Chesed. "Dad-" "Daniel, front and center." "He's hurt." "Yes, sir." Chesed obliged, standing quickly and making his way to the front of the desk. The pain was so evident in his eyes and you couldn't help but wince yourself as he hobbled over. He kept his head held high, looking your father directly in the eyes. He was impressed with Chesed's candor but that would only get him so far. "Now," He started, not breaking eye contact with the scared sephirah. "You two will never see each other again-" "Dad-" "Yes, Sir." He agreed, giving a curt nod. You looked over at him in disbelief, your father having absolutely no sympathy. "Good. Y/N, you will be starting work tomorrow in your new office, next door to my own. If you ever see each other it will be business only. I trust we won't have to talk about this again." "Not at all sir." "Good." "Dad, I want to see Chesed." Your father shifted his attention to you but Chesed never stopped looking forward. "There's nothing in the employee handbook that would prevent any kind of relationship like this. You cannot tell me not to see him." "Yes I can, I'm your father." "That's a stupid reason-" "Be quiet, Y/N." "Please, Y/N. It's not worth it" Chesed whispered, catching your ears and making a pang in your heart. Your father scoffed, crossing his arms and returning his gaze to Chesed. "Sir, I will respect your wishes and I will stay away from your daughter but if I am not allowed to pursue her romantically I'd like to say something to her now since it will effectively be the only time I will ever be able to." The boss was caught of guard, raising a brow. This unusual request piqued his interest and so he motioned for Chesed to continue. The Sephirah took in a deep breath, turning to you and cupping both your hands in his. Your little blush took him off his guard, making him chuckle and making a blush creep up in him as well. "Daniel..." There you go again, catching him off guard. "Y/N, I know that we didn't spend a whole lot of time together but you are a beautiful and dedicated person inside and out and if I discovered anything in the past week it's that I've fallen for you. From here on out, We're strictly business. It's dangerous if we're anything more."

Chesed groaned, unlocking his office and hobbling inside on a single crutch. The new welfare department team had surprised their new boss with a shiny blue crutch with all their names on it. Considering everything that he just had to give up, it brought a smile to his face. He gave his orders and told his new team that they would catch up and get to know one another later. Right now, he wanted to be alone. He turned the light on, letting out a light gasp to see Netzach and Yesod waiting in his office. Netzach smiled, seeing his friend on a nice new blue crutch. "...Your teams always love you unconditionally." "What are you both doing here?" "This was not my idea!" Yesod defended, clearly embarrassed. "I'm here as support and in no way want anyone to know I'm involved in this." "What exactly is 'this'?" Chesed said slowly, Netzach aiding him in walking to his desk. As he sat down, Netzach sat on the desk, looking down at Chesed with a big smile. "You don't have to give up your girlfriend OR lose your job." "How do you even know about that?" "We took some educated guesses and assumed that A would not be happy with you dating his daughter, Angela's announcement that she would be starting her new job tomorrow, despite not finishing training, was a giveaway also that he's trying to keep you apart." Yesod answered, nodding every so often. "Angela and A are going to do everything in their power to separate you." "Which is why Yesod did some digging-" "I am not involved in going against our superiors." Yesod cut him off, his denial unconvincing. Netzach shook his head, shooting Yesod a knowing smirk. "Anyway, He discovered that in the event of an emergency, All Lobotomy Corporation offices are connected to a safe room and weapon storage in the center of the facility. It's not on the maps. It's not on the cameras." "Speaking of which." Yesod said lowly, reaching in his pocket and talking out 3 small crushed up things. He tossed them on Chesed's desk, the Sephirah connecting the dots quickly. "....You found those in here?" "I installed them in here." Yesod admitted. "Angela had me bug your office after the Silent Orchestra breach. She said it was to keep Y/N safe. Because she is no longer in your care, I told her I would be removing the bugs in your office. She didn't seem happy, however because Y/N is no longer in your care she has no grounds to continue to monitor you." "Son of a bitch-" "Chesed... I believe they were trying to get Y/N away from you the moment she agreed to help you with your department. They were just looking for excuses and gathering evidence.... Ch-... Daniel... You deserve to be happy with her." Yesod admitted, fiddling with his hands and staring off to the side. "This safe room is only connected by the offices. There is no other way into it.  Most people don't even know it exists. I had no idea myself until looking into it." "Aside from that, there's a couple more ways around it." Netzach cut in. "If she visited my office and you just happened to be visiting also, Her dad wouldn't have to know." "Or my office." Yesod offered. "I've also spoken to Hod. She was easy to convince. If you and Y/n ever visit her office at the same time she'll keep it quiet." "...You guys did all this..for me?" Chesed, leaned back in his chair, mostly looking at Yesod. He embarrassed the purple haired man, who quickly looked away. "We did this because you're an excellent Sephirah who gives everything to this company and the one time that you want something, you are being outright denied. It's not against the rules, it doesn't keep you from your job. The only reason they are keeping you apart is because her father doesn't approve. I don't think that's fair." "Yeah," Netzach said lazily, "So, we're gonna help you keep your girlfriend!"