#REALLY wordy mind sprawl

[dietcokecryptid]

YK WHAT IM MAD ABOUT TODAY

the way vld takes 21st century science fiction and absolutely RAGS ON IT.

(read more for a very longwinded and messy critique/rant about klance, modern science fiction, and my takes on vld's ability to represent queerness)

from what i know and understand and see science fiction as, i'm just sad to know that the vld team had all the resources, popularity, and drive to really embrace the values of new age science fiction with their characters in particular, and failed horribly.

one thing in particular i wanna demonstrate is with klance. yk. queerbaiting. not space operas in particular, but modern science fiction has really become a place for queer/gender non conforming/neurodivergent people to express their worldviews and experiences through a speculative lens. lgbtq+ people have found sanctuary in science fictional spaces for good reason, as it can function to elaborate on experiences from marginalized groups.

anyway, the kind of salvage-esque, 80's futurism vibe we have going on with vld, there's a lot of opportunity for characters to go against the grain in meaningful ways (we had pidge do this, keith's whole character tries this [which is why he should've been gay]).

sf in our age has a very very lucky advantage, we see the legacy of racism, colonialism, toxic masculinity, and sexism in that media, and we have found ways to move the genre out of the hypermasculine fields and into a more diverse and, by all means, productive space.

this is all my personal opinion of course, but i just think that voltron burying some gays, queerbaiting for 8 seasons, and having a cast of cis straight characters is so disappointing to see, knowing how powerful and subversive science fiction can be to represent queer stories. i stand by that if me at age 18 wrote for voltron everything would've been ok.

but, then again, it is my take that if klance had been canon it'd have been really poorly executed (like shiro's arc duh) because they couldn't have written queer characters well if they tried. (them being a group of, i'm assuming, cis straight unskilled writers).

every time i try to be critical about voltron my neck loses all strength and my head lolls to the side because ITS A KIDS SHOW RAYE OH MY GOD BE SO FR but like??? i feel like Basic media literacy tells us that every piece of media says something. it takes a stance. university radicalized me, ok, but everything IS political. but honestly i've gotten to a place in my love for this show where i can understand that, almost every way you look at it, vld is a bad show. if you're not sitting there with daisies dancing over your cerebrum the entire time it's a hard watch past season 2. of course, VA work, art, and most of seasons 1/2 are excused from this, but it's just the WRITING!! it tears everything down with it and it's a really unfortunate fate for this show.

imo it should've ended with a conclusive season 2. maybe a side series where you see what shiro's up to. idk! i remain pissed about the direction the writing took post lion swap, the damage they did to lovable characters like hunk, and lance's whole season 8 fiasco. it's miserable to be a ride or die fan of this show but hey KICK!

[oichumlane]

Oichum Lane In Itself

I think it'd be reasonable enough to first give some clue to what this mystical 'Oichum' even is, and that's convenient, seeing this entry was one of the first I flipped to in this folder. It was a wonder reading it for myself for the first time, actually, and no doubt it'll be the same for you. At least, I think. Heck, I don't really know, I was only really surprised by how much someone could go on about Geography of all things.

It seems that even then it might not even be the full text, but I'm making do with what I found on physical files. It's hard to read some of this god forbidden writing, never mind type it all up.

So here it is, the rather wordy show pony, titled and marked in the papers right there and just there:

O̲I̲C̲H̲U̲M̲ ̲L̲A̲N̲E̲,̲ ̲M̲A̲P̲P̲E̲D̲ ̲T̲W̲O̲S̲E̲N̲S̲E̲

[JHE] [Official logging submission] [To account of Passive Observation]

[HSK] [APPROVED SCORE OF HR, MAY BE REFLECTED AND INFERRED]

[FURTHER COMPLAINTS OR VIOLATIONS, REFER TO JHE OR HSK]

G̲E̲N̲E̲R̲A̲L̲ ̲G̲E̲O̲G̲R̲A̲P̲H̲Y̲

The Town of Oichum Lane's vicinity property is a northern-stated situation most prominently located closely to the North Sea among peaking altitudes of 170m above sea level, on grounds of rough cliff formations of varying toughness - occasionally prone to landslides with such shift in stability and consequence of activity - and material including but not limited to; chalk; basalt; slate; and limestone. Cliff forms form steep overhangs and stumps over their ledges rolling out sea-ward, a formation resulted from the collapse of material from the dense forestry perimeters above the town that also contribute to the uneven scales of relief around the surrounding environment, many sediments of the cliffs visibly held together by fallen dirt and sands in large patches that fill cracks that could possibly cause the structure to dissipate; and such to extreme measures, keeps the land directly above the sea with the only visible breaks of land below the cliff overhangs to be a stretching break under the land itself; a hollow form that upholds itself on the stumps created by water damage to little further issue. Weeds and long grasses are also key in keeping the cliffs at hold, surfacing majorly along the sea-view especially along with the regular dampened grass around the area[1]. On higher altitudes, the cliffs become more practicable with dirt and fine-coarse sediments (grit, fine granite, sands) allowing for situations of high-passing pine and maple trees among the cliffsides as they slope downwards in a steep angle, forming a protective U-like border around the town structures in natural landform. The land at the general standing grounds - of a much softer relief, comparable to small, waving hills or bumps in the land than the rough terrain below - of the forest-cliffs are little more thicketed than below at the closer sea-ledges, sporadic with grass and wild-flower patches that overlay the rock with dirt once more, staining it darker than the coast; on wetter seasons, the darkness effect intensifies due to moss quickly collecting and then fading once more, staining the land murky green in sprawling patterns similar to rainfall tracks on the surface; or tears. Some shrubs and bushes may also be found depending on season, but typically are holly or hawthorn bushes that cling onto the descending ledges of the land, where it becomes equally as haphazard in form due to landslide residues as the bushes themselves. The general borders of the Town of Oichum are quite small, not stretching much kilometers other than jarringly to the east with the town's lakes and rivers - most notably those that directly feed back into the sea via waterfalls, directly located above the sea in dish-like formations, much comparable to the Faroe Islands' Sørvágsvatn wonder[2]. Only half of the rivers present are actual Oichum borders, which have been marked with weeds to avoid confusion among neighboring villages[3], though the lakes are not precisely property despite being in-border.

[1] Despite the damp conditions at the grass, the air remains without moisture despite the situation near the sea. We presumed these were from salt levels of the sea water, but we have yet for a real answer as to why that should vary. [2] We're not very sure what caused such a drastic formation, as no signs of earth erosion to even form the lake's bed in the first place is evident - nor would our geography team even presume such a similar lake could exist due to the conditions needing to be met. The sediments of the shore don't seem to match with those in-land, either. [3] Though convenient, no local recalls planting them, and the possibility of seeds dispersing this far are little; especially seeing no other a-like weeds are in the vicinity.

T̲O̲W̲N̲S̲H̲I̲P̲ ̲/̲ ̲T̲O̲W̲N̲ ̲V̲I̲C̲I̲N̲I̲T̲I̲E̲S̲

Oichum's manmade structures - most typically settlements - are varying from winter-bound to leisurely, confided in thick planks and plating of local pine wood and nearby mined material such as cobble, some utilizing clay for the times of season where the weather's heat grows harsher - buildings are generally well-built with keeping in mind of the town's placement near the sea and cliffs, and occasionally are built as temporary in fear of landslides. Typically, settlements are akin as raised lodges or cabins, though some adorn more of a gazebo-like shape which are prime suspects to being temporary from predicted land mass shifting behaviors[4]- they have been settled rather scattered, though still in friendly distance to one another, to encourage socialness. The locals are, majority, the settling workers of the containment structure into close-by property of the facility, much to ease the conflict of having to arrive so far for their work; despite being settled here as a 'workhouse' ethic, many seem content with their settling and scenery; commonly they are seen to utilize the land for leisure, such as the lakes, which had opened up its own inward opportunities for work outside of their primary job positions. The rest of the settlers are invited locals[5], most tell-tale by more leisure-based settlement and property, and further isolated from the facility. Full accessibility is met, with roads and pavements to fair standard even through the coastal conditions; such does not matter as they are located more in-land; enough to allow visitors, but only if they're sure of their position and destination. The relationship between Oichum and other local town settlements is quite well despite the certain oddities Oichum contains[6], making visitors a common occurrence, securing the town as a much friendlier face without the facility in mind; trade is well-kept; honesty among the people, even if partially; and a deep safety measurement. Most occurrences are either business or leisure, as the town is quite remarking for its atmosphere to relax despite its placement - one can't blame them, the sights of the sea were specially made to calm and distract.

[4] Oichum is nowhere near situated to a tectonic plate of possible movement or any other structure that could cause the landslide occurrences, but despite the oddity such movement can still be predicted - the land seems to have a 'rhythm' and point to when it shifts. [5] Typically family or close friends; Oichum isn't actually that much of a stranger to civilians, simply more recluded. It helps keep the project under wraps if it's less one-sided. [6] It's more so we seem to be the stranger to Oichum. The landslides and tremors, the impossible landscaping, the trees scaling higher than they should. It's conforming.

E̲N̲D̲ ̲O̲F̲ ̲L̲E̲A̲D̲ ̲S̲T̲A̲F̲F̲'̲S̲ ̲L̲O̲G̲

Further information can be compelled to HR or JHE by office submission (both accounts), or by social yards (JHE) at the logging person's own leisure - approved information will be uploaded in addition to digital copies and records. JHE

[rapturously]

this is my very first non anon request! hehee :>

could u do either a fluff or a smut (or maybe even a fluffly smut) where the reader is taking a bubble bath with vinny and include him making himself a little bubble beard? please i'm sobbing just thinking about this. 🥺🥺

also, idc how many time i've said it i'll still say it again, you are amazing and i love your work and i love you! okayy byye <33 🤸‍♀️

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙭 𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙗!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙉𝙎𝙁𝙒-𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨, 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨, 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙬𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙚.

┊ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 2,422.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙤 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 & 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨! 𝙄’𝙢 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮 𝙢𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩! 𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩! 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮’𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮! ❤️

┊ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — @peachygothgirl ; @mrs-heelshire ; @slasherfantasy ; @loraxlola ; @the-wordis-bird ; @suguruswife ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @lttlegore ; @mehidktbh ; @darklylucid ; @liquid-beepers ; @callmemeelah ; @the-anxious-youth ; @dootys ; @bloodwithpeachmilk

Sparkling rays of sunlight glistened through dusty windowpanes, dawn’s first light glaring down upon both you and Vincent, who was contentedly snoozing away between your legs. It was orange, blaring across purple skies as any inkling of dusk began to drain, being replaced with hues of blues and lilacs.

A soft hum escaped you, feeling Vincent’s head nestle against your stomach, arms wrapped tightly around you. He was pretty like this, dark hair all disheveled from sleep, in some tangle around his shoulders. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and pajama pants that seemed a little to snug — not that you minded.

His mask was neatly perched atop the small, rickety nightstand to the left of your creaking mattress. The more you and Vincent really dived into your relationship, the more he was comfortable with taking the mask off.

Vincent’s tall, lanky musculature was all sprawled out and wedged in between your legs — that's how you usually slept sometimes, and you loved it. You trailed your fingers throughout his tresses, gently working out any knots you came across, listening to his breathing and the little flutter within his throat.

It was a rarity for the two of you to not be sleeping down in the basement, but Vincent had a change of heart just for last night, and so the two of you slept in your dismal bedroom. It was made all the more comfortable with Vincent around, at least.

The Louisiana sun was exceptionally warm at such an early hour, even when it cascaded through the windows. Those glittering, orange rays fell across your bed, a sliver hitting your face. You promptly wriggled to the side, carefully avoiding the growing light as if you were some sort of vampire.

Those calloused, nimble hands that had squeezed into your waist happened to stir, and there was movement from below as Vincent began to wake up, slowly but surely. Your fingers ceased within his hair, recoiling toward your chest. A throaty hum escaped him, head tilting in your direction, finding your visage.

His smile was faint, barely noticeable, but present nonetheless as your palm cupped his scarred cheek, fingertips caressing around his nose. Vincent made some sort of purring sound, intermingled with a guttural grunt, turning his face just enough to kiss your hand. Such a simplistic gesture made you get all hot.

“Hey,” You crooned, feeling Vincent take ahold of your other hand. Grogginess began to wear off of the both of you, the hour still relatively early. He acknowledged your whisper with a little nod of his head, caressing his thumb across your knuckles. “Did you sleep well?”

Vincent released your hand, only for a moment, answering your question with a series of sluggish signing, ‘I did, thanks to you,’ That made you smile, exuberant and smitten, and it was worthwhile. ‘What about you? Are you alright?’

You nodded, pushing a hand through your disheveled tresses, lounging back against the pillows with a dopey, contented smile. These sort of mornings were always your favorites, the lazy ones where Vincent was completely and utterly at ease. “Peachy.” You snicker, shrugging your shoulders. “Do you want to take a bath?”

Of course, your inquiry is met with plenty of enthusiasm. Vincent lets out a throaty noise of approval, pressing his lips against your midsection, or what little skin is exposed, at least. ‘Five more minutes.’ Vincent signs, gently easing your shirt up as he peppers your body in sweet kisses.

Goosebumps form along the base of your spine, pleasant tingles that make your heart beat just a little faster. His roughened mouth feels heavenly against your soft skin, especially so early. The gentle noises you make are bound to become moans if he keeps it up, creeping up from between your legs. His mouth settles against your breast, eyes fluttering toward your face for only a moment.

You’re counting down the minutes within the back of your mind, just for punctuality’s sake. Your lips fall agape, a softer gasp being elicited from you as Vincent’s mouth wraps around one of your nipples, slowly sucking and kissing. Your eyes nearly close completely, sinking into some half-lidded stare.

The sensations he delivers are perfect each and every time, always practiced with the perfect amount of compassion and neediness. Vincent’s lips are everywhere, slowly tugging away from your breast, kissing the valley between, dancing across your collarbone, until he comes right up to your own mouth instead.

Like fire and ice, the clash is intoxicating, your kiss is enough to make Vincent groan. His hands are splayed out across your waist, his taller, lanky musculature almost fully on top of you, not that you mind. You trail your fingers through his dark tresses, shuddering beneath him as you let the kiss last just another moment longer.

“Bath time, Van Gogh.” You mumble, and you can hear his throat burst with a chortle of raspy, hoarse laughter. That’s not the first time you’ve called him that, and it certainly won’t be the last — his reaction to the little nickname is always endearing.

Vincent moves out from between your legs, his weight leaving you as he stands up fully. He towers over you, opting to leave his mask on your nightstand for now. He follows behind you, practically glued to your back as the both of you make your way inside of the washroom, and he’s the one who shuts and latches the door — no peeping brother allowed.

Moving toward the bathtub, you start the water, making sure it’s set toward the hotter end. Swatting the curtain aside, your gaze flutters toward Vincent, who’s busy taking his shirt off, tossing the garment onto the floor. It makes you flustered, even if you’ve seen him like this many times before.

As you sit against the edge of the tub, idly bouncing your leg, you barely notice Vincent coming to stand in between your legs, crouching down until he’s nearly eye-level with you. Those familiar hands of his settle themselves atop your thighs, kneading into your supple curves, planting a kiss against your cheek.

“You’re sweet, you know that?” You giggle, unbelievably smitten with him, your skin all warm. There’s a flicker of amusement within Vincent’s adoring stare, and he gently squeezes your legs.

‘And so are you.’ Vincent releases your legs long enough to sign, settling his chin against your thigh, peering at you with his one eye, a darker blue that reminds you of an ocean. ‘You’re my masterpiece.’ There’s a sense of familiarity within those words specifically — it makes your heart soar.

With a stuttered exhale, you can feel your chest tightening with a flurry of mushy emotions, and you realize just how much you love Vincent. It’s more than he believes he’s deserving of, deep down, but he accepts any shred that you give him, he covets it. You lean down to give him a kiss, something sweet and lingering before you lean back to feel the water.

It’s warm enough, prompting you to move to take off your clothes. Vincent watches, completely and utterly mesmerized by you, tossing your clothes into a heap to join his. You aren’t wearing very much, climbing into the bathtub as you wait for him to join you.

Vincent is swift to clamor in after you, ditching the rest of his clothes beside the growing heap, moving into the water until he’s sitting in front of you, drawing the curtains closed. It’s still illuminated enough above the bathtub, the old fan rattling every so often.

You’re adding plenty of soap into the water, making it all bubbly and sudsy, but it all smells like some wild concoction of perfumes. Vincent’s nose wrinkles, but you don’t seem to mind it whatsoever. He nudges your thigh, effectively gaining your attention as you’re pulled away from grabbing the shampoo.

‘May I?’ Vincent points toward your head, offering to wash your hair, and that’s an opportunity you aren’t about to turn down. With a cheeky smile, you hand off the shampoo to him, wading forward before turning yourself around, careful not to slosh any water outside of the tub.

His knees stick out from beneath the water, and Vincent looks amusingly large within the bathtub. He’s quick to hover over you, chest nearly pressed against your back as he globs a handful of some floral shampoo into his palms. Vincent treats your head with plenty of gentleness, perusing his fingers against your scalp, letting it all lather.

Admittedly, it feels fantastic. You probably could’ve fallen asleep this way, but you careen back into his touch instead, a soft exhale escaping you. “Feels good,” You mumble, leaning into his chest with a tender smile. “Thanks.” You sigh, letting him wash your head and your hair to his heart’s content.

Vincent peppers your shoulder with kisses, rinsing your tresses out with handfuls of water, letting it all wash away back into the sudsy basin below. He’s meticulous and sluggish, intentionally dragging it all out, touching you as much as possible. A delightful purr escapes him when you bring one of his hands around, kissing his knuckles.

He adores having you all to himself like this — you aren’t exactly privy to the depths of Vincent’s obsession with you, but it runs so very deep. It’s a festering, volatile obsession, one that will rear its ugly head whenever Bo is around you, intertwined with possessiveness. Every little fiber of your being belongs to him, and he won’t let you go.

Soft giggles escape you as Vincent nestles his face into your neck, having completely cleansed your head of any soap. He’s kept himself busy with one hand, letting it slither between your legs, stroking at the silky expanse of your inner thighs.

Every touch lacks hesitation or shyness as Vincent presses passionate kisses against your throat, his hand wandering wherever he pleases, caressing into your thigh. His closeness is enough to give you butterflies, and you’re falling slack within his hold, reclining into him with a soft sigh.

“It’s your turn,” You murmur, and you can feel the faint traces of a smile embedded into your neck. Vincent moves back just a little bit, letting you spin around so you can wash his hair in return. He’s got some sort of twinkle in his eye, an emotion that you can’t quite place. “So handsome.”

Vincent’s breath hitches slightly, as soon as those sweet utterances go spilling forth from your lips. He’s patient, sitting forward with his hand perched toward his knees, feeling your hands preen throughout his tresses. His posture is relaxed, more than you’ve ever seen him be before, slouching into your embrace.

You lather the glob of shampoo into his hair, rocking up onto your knees, slathering the frothy soap wherever you can reach. There are plenty of smells clashing with one another in the washroom, from floral to something a little more cologne-esque. Vincent’s breathing is steady and shallow, his eye becoming half-lidded.

It’s quiet, but it’s nothing more than a comfortable silence. The serenity you feel within that moment outweighs everything else, and you can feel Vincent keening into your hands — it must feel good. You do a thorough job at washing his hair, gingerly massaging around his scalp.

The water sloshes around you every so often, accompanied by the ambiance of the bathroom fan and Vincent’s throaty breathing. You’ve taken plenty of baths with him before, some of them always ending up on the heated side of things, and the tension is certainly palpable. You want to enjoy the moment, the sweetness of it all.

“Alright, we can rinse it.” You lower your hands, but Vincent is busy gathering some of the suds and soapy heaps from both his foamy tresses and the water, forming some sort of beard upon his face. The bark of laughter you let out makes him snicker, too. “You really are Vincent Van Gogh, now.”

There’s a trace of a grin present behind his soapy beard, and your nose wrinkles in amusement. You sit back, watching him dunk his head underneath the water, cleansing away the soap from both his face and his hair. Once he’s finished, he emerges from below with a soft gasp of air.

You’re both clean and sated, sitting close together in the water, and that’s when Vincent kisses your mouth with a sudden flair of passion. The lightheartedness felt moments earlier seem to be sucked away, replaced with a growing desire that makes your stomach do excitable flips.

Poised against your hip, Vincent’s hand tugs you closer, the other cupping your cheek. The kiss is intoxicating, borderline bruising as you careen inward, draping your arms around his neck, fingers gingerly massaging at the nape of his neck. He makes some sort of noise, a growl building up within the back of his throat.

The entanglement nearly becomes heated, and you’re enticed, eyes fluttering shut as you lean into Vincent, head canting to one side as you deepen the kiss. His fingers tense across your cheekbone, sweeping just underneath your eye as he delivers another barrage of kisses against your mouth.

As much as you want to stay that way, you pull away to breathe, the water jostling around the both of you. Your mouth curls into a vibrant smile, eyes glittering, all dazed and so very much in love with Vincent. His expression is subdued, but even then, you can read him better than most — the feelings are reciprocated.

“We should probably get out,” You whisper, your voice hushed as if the two of you are conspiring. “Don’t wanna get all soggy.” You muse, but before you can start to move, his hands are back on your waist, easing you forward, flush against his chest.

It steals the breath from your lungs, the way he looks at you — one would think you made the earth spin and the sun rise above in the skies. Vincent’s stare is nothing short of completely and utterly adoring, and he hesitates, lips parting slightly as he pushes his forehead into yours.

‘Five more minutes,’ Vincent signs, securing his arms back around you, and before you can open your mouth to speak, to tell him how much you love him, he kisses you again. It’s a searing kiss, burning and bristling with passion, swallowing you whole. The sensations are so raw and so visceral, and it’s almost as if you don’t need to say anything at all.

He knows.

[sodomitecastiel]

Do you have any recommended spn fics? To be restored is consuming all of my non fenario brainspace

This is in no way an exhaustive list - @jewishcharliebradbury is the one to go for that - but these are some favorites of mine, please always heed their tags just in case!

Putting it under a readmore because I'm a wordy bastard:

Sky Verse by starandrea: Angelic civil war! The crispest, most in-character dialogue! Vast, sprawling worldbuilding! Dean and Cas get together and are very bad at it for a long time! This series obsesses me the way other people are obsessed with dta (which I have not read for fear of commitment but fully intend to eventually).

To Be Restored by serenetyfails: You mentioned this one already but it's worth repeating - it's my favorite trans spn fic that I didn't write myself. Cas's transmasc identity is handled so carefully and so competently, Dean flips out in a way that's both in character and still kind to him, and Sam and Rowena are wonderfully fleshed out. I think many people would look at the premise and worry it's either misogynistic or fetishy, but it's neither, it's such a love letter to Cas's well-earned masculinity. Also, I'm obsessed with Rowena knowing and being buddies with a lot of trans women witches :)

Talk Therapy by shara: This is one of my favorite 'Dean is bad at asking for things' fics, it deals with his inability to want things past what he can give to others really well. I also appreciate that not everything in their relationship is fixed just because they're together, although the amount they love each other is always obvious.

Epilogue by JayneL: A weird little time travel story that is NOT a fixit for endverse, but is exceptionally kind to endverse Cas anyway. It aches very badly. I remember it being pretty trippy but also having to sit and look at the ceiling a while after reading it.

The Love Story of the Runner Up by Margo_Kim: Cas dates a normal human man with a good soul for a little while before he gets with Dean. Both of them know it isn't for forever, but they look after each other anyway. Told through the lens of story-swapping between gay friends and written with so much care & love. (You can thank @okologie for finding this one and making me read it despite my reservations.)

where the weeds take root by deathbanjo: Everyone recommends this fic but it's for a reason. Probably the best post-retirement fic there is, and definitely helped me form the neural connections to write Fenario, haha, I can't recommend this one enough. The complicated Dean and Sam issues are held with just as much weight as the Dean and Cas ones, although both are handled gently.

you and me in the war of the end times by stickthelanding (@tallahasseemp3): Alma knocked it out of the park with this one. THEE shotgunning fic. I've reread it more times than I can count, it has the loveliest atmosphere. I want to gnaw on this prose, said with love!

A Drinking Song by Balder12: Endverse snapshot. This one is mostly just bone hurting juice but it's one of my favorite characterizations of them - sometimes I find that endverse stories either make Cas way too soft or fucked up in a way I find goes too far in a direction I don't agree with, this one feels pitch perfect.

Everyone Is Trying to Get to the Bar by Balder12: All time fave angel true form fic!!! It's deliciously weird and fun, definitely a mind-melter. I only read it the once but sometimes I think about it and get a funny little shiver.

Tall Grass by aeli_kindara: This is another 'universal favorite', but also for good reason. Extraordinarily tender, it's my personal favorite Cas-grows-a-garden post canon story, especially because it manages to write a jealousy plotline that doesn't make me want to bite and kill. Dean's voice is exactly right and everything unfurls with this tender inevitability, idk how else to describe it! It also ends on a final image that's so lovely it's seared into my brain.

Dean (and Cas') Top 13 Zepp Traxx by pantheon_of_discord: Nobody does vignettes like supernatural writers. I love the way the road feels in this one, and how carefully picked each moment is. A string of pearls, this fic.

There's Only One Sure Thing That I Know by blinkiesays: Dean and Cas get trapped in the midwest by a curse that doesn't let them leave the state, and they want to break it until they don't. Being trapped gives them an excuse to want to settle down, but the route they take to get there is, of course, circuitous. This one hurts a little because it takes place while Sam is dead, but it isn't gratuitous in its sadness. Sweet and melancholy.

the taste of gravel in the mouth by deathbanjo: FAVE FAVE FAVE FAVE. I push this one at everyone I can. I'm extremely picky about 'Dean's self loathing' fics, mainly because I think it can veer easily into melodrama, but this author weaves Dean's self hatred and his anger together very seamlessly, in a way that feels real to the show. Also, Cas is perfect.

sweeter coming from my hand by perilously: A story that I liked before Nov5 and withstood the test of time!! Dean and Cas get married/soul-bound in order to both remove the Mark of Cain and fix Cas's grace. Features a formative scene for me where Cas expresses worries about if he has a soul and Dean raps knuckles on his chest, going, "knock knock, sounds like a soul in there." If you like this one, perilously has many good fics that are just as in character.

On Labor by a_good_soldier: I very nearly couldn't finish this one, but not because it's bad, haha. The premise just makes me want to tear my clothes in mourning - Dean knows Cas is in love with him, after getting him back from the Empty, and decides that he should give him what he wants without realizing that he wants it too. Dean performatively dating Cas while trying to talk himself into liking it (not knowing that he does actually like it) is exactly the kind of convoluted bullshit Dean's internalized homophobia would do to him. Nauseating and spectacular. Sticks in your brain for weeks.

canticles by 2street2car: An excellent 'weird girl best friends' fic. After striking out at the brothel, Dean decides to treat Cas to the "first date experience" himself, since the guy might die the next day. To sum it up succinctly: the rituals are intricate. And dirty dancing is referenced!

we shovel all the ashes out by xylodemon: As the author states themself, this fic is a love letter to California - it's a road trip casefic that's so rooted in place, the setting is rich and lush and the atmosphere makes me ache, and not just because it's set in my home state! I saved this one for last because this is another prolific author who has many stories I come back to again and again (Sweet Home and Love: A Retrospective are particularly good), they really don't miss. Usually when I read fic, it's a mad dash to the finish, but I took my time with this one. I highly encourage you to do the same :)

[kthynes]

baby me

pairing: chris evans x female reader

request: Can you pls write something about Chris sick with some kind of stomach bug and fever and doesn’t want the reader to help him because he’s embarrassed but then he throw up and almost faint so the reader comes to the rescue and help him, and then cuddles? Thank you!!❤️ - anon

warnings: none, this is pretty pg

a/n: I wrote this one shot a little differently, it’s way less wordy and descriptive (imo). I’m trying to be more ‘to the point’ with my writing ahh we shall see how it goes. Otherwise please enjoy this little gem, thanks for the request, anon!

“What do you mean you can’t have it done? Oh, c’mon Tony that’s not what I— Alright okay, you know what, sure, whatever, do that then.”

You’re annoyed. You’re frustrated. You rummage through your oversized purse for the house keys that Chris has graciously lent you yet you somehow manage to misplace in the silk sheath of lining, receipts and a whole slew of miscellany.

Your one track life becomes an undisputed conundrum of work which never fails to follow you home even on a somewhat good day. Tony, the wrought-up site manager, says something the minute you tune out which allows to spiral right back in. Sometimes you bark. And sometimes you bite.

“Right but the unit division budget doesn’t have anything going forward in respect to that notion! You know this!” You boisterously tell your colleague after jiggling the door open and tossing the keys on top of the nearby console. The house is quiet, and your voice is the loudest carrying tremor that pulls Chris out of his lulling state. “No, no you are not fucking negotiating with Kingsley alright. That isn’t apart of the deal, Tone! Jesus.”

Your call consumes you just until you see your deadbeat partner sprawled up on the couch, sallow and sick. His dry lips are agape, breathing is staggered, little to no life is present in his form. His beautiful mutt looks to you from his side, tail slightly wagging and that is enough to have your heart torn out.

“Hey, hey Tony, can I call you back later? O-Oh sure, okay yeah that’s fine. Okay, alright buh-bye.” You frantically end the call, furrowing your brows as you take long, leaping strides towards Chris who is finally relieved to see you in all of your concerned beauty.

“Everything okay baby?” He croaks like a dying horse, eyes closing as his stomach lurches some more.

“You’re asking me? Goodness Chris, you look terrible.” You cradle the side of his balmy face while crouched in front of him. You are frightened with worry as he kisses the inside of your palm in return. The sweet action itself makes you wince as you scan his sunken and unpropitious features.

Chris is at his worst. You knew he was feeling a bit under the weather but didn't think once that it'd be this bad. He's severely impaled, sweating up a storm yet swathed in his favorite velour duvet. The TV is fuzzily broadcasting C-Span while Chris’s laptop is flipped open with a flood of emails that he wasn’t able to get around to. There’s a half eaten loaf bread and an open sleeve of crackers that doesn’t pass his appetite. While looking around, you casually pet Dodger with one free hand who also seems to be happy to see his momma around and readily waiting for you to do something.

“I don’t know what it is that I had last night at the launch party but it’s rocking my insides honey.” Chris groans after feeling another ripple go through his abdominal cavity.

“Aw baby you should’ve called me. I would’ve picked up some Pedialyte and left work early.” You reach over to turn off the TV and close the laptop.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

"Too late for that, hon." You fearfully laugh while getting back to him and running a hand through the top of his head down to the nape of his neck. "Now c'mon lets get you in bed first and then I can make you some light dinner."

"I'm fine." Chris hums, loving the way your hands felt against the shaft of his scalp. "You just came home from work, you're probably really tired — go shower and get changed. I'm good right here."

"Don't be stupid, Evans. I can do all that later, now up." After some reluctant attempts you manage to get Chris up who for the most part can stand on his own two feet. Dodger barks his cautionary welcome as you and Chris trudge across the threshold of the single storey home together. You both enter his unmade room and that’s when Chris freezes in mid-stride. He has an uneasy feeling wash over him and everything becomes a jolting sprint of madness.

"Oh no babe I think I might—“ Upchuck. Chunks of indistinguishable remnants of undigested food and bile all came down on your frame as you stood in the line of fire. It’s fleeting and there wasn’t much you could do as you wore his vomit, letting it weigh down the front of your seersucker blouse and skirt.

"Fuuuuck." He panics and you exhale shakily with your arms spread apart, studying the wet projectile painting that amasses your body.

"It's fine. It’s okay." You say while trying to remain sympathetic and undeterred by throwing up yourself because the smell was impalpable. You imprudently gag while guiding Chris back to the bed. "How about you lie down and I’ll just —Chris? Chris!"

Chris's eyes gradually roll back, his body swings forward the minute he sits on the edge of the mattress and with your fast reflexes you manage to catch him against you. He's practically deadweight, passed out and that scares you.

"Oh god Chris babe? Baby, hey, hey..." You shake him a little as his face is caught in the crook of your neck, body rigidly leaned up against yours. He moans a little, regaining consciousness in a matter of seconds and calming your increased heart-rate that still continues to thunder. He was truly going through the motions.

"You alright?" You breathe, placing a hand on his cheek and forcing him to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay. I'm so sorry, baby I...I..." He's a bit frazzled as you hush, pacify and hold him close to your form. He breathes you in as you strip off your soiled blouse and skirt. He’s hunched over when you start to peel off the black tee he has on that is smeared with vomit as well, leaving him bare chested in your embrace. You are crouching in front of him, his forehead against you shoulder while your hands were rubbing his back and soothing him. You could hear the low indigestible rumbles coming from his belly knowing how bad he’s been having it on both ends. “Oh I feel terrible Y/N.”

“I know. How about you get in the shower with me." You whisper in a non-sexual way as his body is burning up and the sour smell of regurgitation still lingered around your bodies. He softly nods and with some consuming seconds later, you walk him into the ensuite.

After you both wash up in the shower, you pass Chris some fresh clothes to change into while you travelled across the room in nothing but a towel for the past 10 minutes or so, making sure Chris was able to get himself sorted out first before you stepped away to get changed.

With dinner on your mind, you start thinking to yourself how you can't leave Chris alone in this state. You have an idea and that’s when you text Scott to bring up some dinner so that way you could spend some time holding Chris and making sure that he was okay.

Scott at 7:45 pm:

'On it baby cakes. Ma knows, she's making his favorite chicken noodle with lots of cayenne, ginger and all the good stuff. So you just stay put alright?’

You smile after reading the immediate response from Chris’s sweet brother. While you continue lathering yourself up in lotion you could hear Chris dozing off on the bed. You turn off the bathroom lights and leave to start up a load of laundry before sneaking back into bed with him. Chris stirs a bit before he wraps his arms around you, pulling you in closer.

“I promise I won’t throw up on you again.”

“Only if you don’t have to.” You whisper jokingly while pressing your lips against the underside of his chin. He hums at this with his eyes closed, his hands graze your exposed skin as he’s trying to hold you as inhumanely close to him as possible. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Scott’s going to be dropping off food so don’t go to sleep yet.” You state, drifting in apprehensive thought. Soon Dodger whimpers into the room and you pat the spot next to you for him to jump on. Chris has always been weary of having Dodger on the bed but because of extenuating circumstances you felt like his presence was also needed as well.

“That’s fine. Thanks again for everything.” He shuffles over after he sees Dodger crawling up and wedging himself in between the both of you. “Mmm hi bubba.”

“Anything for you mio amore.” You say, rubbing his soft belly and soothing the ache to the best of your ability.

“You know, you’re going to be an amazing mother some day Y/N.” Chris muses.

“I hope so.”

“I know so.” Chris rebuts, drawing in a deep breath with his eyes closed. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You say in return, spending the rest of the evening in his wake before the entire Evans clan shows up at the front door, each worried silly about their pride and joy, leaving Chris to be theirs and having you watch from afar while they enforced their own tender love and care.

[misterewrites]

Inhuman Interrogation (Welcome to the Underground!)

Hello everyone! E here hoping you are all safe and sound! Here’s the next chapter of the Underground!  A special thank you to everyone who reads my stories. I know they’re not everyone’s speed and I get wordy but I really do appreciate it! I really hope you are having some fun with it. Okay stay safe, sound, keep your loved ones safe, wash your hands, wear masks and get yourself vaccinated, push for vaccines worldwide. Here's the next chapter, enjoy! Feel free to leave likes, tell your friends, reblog and leave feedback I love it all! have a good week and I'll see you later! E is out byeeeeee!

If you want an easier way to read my story here’s the newest chapter at ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/79942294

Curious what this about? Here’s the first chapter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/68094967

Want an overview of my works, you can find me right over here! Fun fact I do, on a occasion, write stuff for fandoms! Shocking I know :D

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

Summary: Oliver's been caught red handed and there's only one thing to do: Claw and lie his way out of the situation. However, the bard might be a little over his head from this stranger who watches all.

-----

Oliver could feel a chill run down his spine, fear gripping him tightly as he scrambled to keep himself calm. Being found out was always a possibility he’d calculated in his plans, he just hadn’t wanted to deal with it tonight. Well you know what they say: When life gives you lemons, squirt lemon juice in life’s eyes and run like hell.

He’d been caught so the next step was to determine by who.

Oliver blew cool air onto his face as he pivoted around to see which person had been acute enough to catch onto his antics.

He had been expected to looking at an unhappy Lea with his sword drawn.

What found waiting for him was worse.

It was good looking man though Oliver couldn’t hazard a guess to his age. His hair was short wispy dark brown like the color of copper. His face was scratched by dozens of tiny whites line, healed scars that somehow did not detract away from his handsomeness. He wore a plain white tunic with black leggings, a large bronze hued cape hung over his unusually thin frame. The most striking feature were his golden eyes. Not golden in shade but actual gold, metallic shimmering and shining like metal caught in the glow of the sun.

He was a sight to behold, perfection made flesh and blessed by the gods.

And Oliver knew he was utterly and terribly inhuman. He was not a mortal being for no human could ever been so perfect.

The Stranger tilted his head quizzically, his eyes dilated into pupil-less orbs.

“You” He spoke in a raspy, low voice “You’ve been busy.”

Oliver coughed, trying to get his dry throat working again.

The Stranger took a step closer, his gaze unflinching “Yes, very busy.”

Oliver chuckled nervously “I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean increasingly creepy man. If you excuse me.”

As Oliver turned to leave, his blood turned cold when the stranger harshly whispered, his words booming in Oliver’s ears.

“How’s Death I wonder? He’s an old friend for you, right?”

Oliver whirled around, fist clenched but the Stranger hadn’t taken a step forward. In fact he had taken a step away, furthering the distance between them.

Oliver gulped nervously, trying his best to stop his racing heart.

“And you” he murmured quietly, trying to hold onto his fleeting courage “Smell of it.”

It was true: Even this far away, Oliver could smell the stench of decay, of death and blood wafting off the Stranger as if he’d come straight from a bloody battle.

The Stranger made no indication he heard Oliver’s comment, just stared with golden eyes unblinking.

Oliver let out a tense breath before closing his eyes. He centered his will, he reached out into the universe and drew in the power of his magic.

He could hear the scrawling of a pen across the scratchy surface of parchment, the squishy wet sounds of paint drying, the tuning of a lute among excited laughter and cheers.

‘I need to escape.’ Oliver spoke in his mind.

Knowledge filled his mind: Spells and their uses. The hand gestures necessary to tug at the weave to make his will, his need a reality.

An unknown force guided his hand, raising it high and surging with magical power. Oliver’s eyes snapped open with a fierce determination. He took a deep breath, his fingers at the ready as he prepared to recite the incantation.

“I…” Oliver began when the Stranger struck. There was a blink and there was the stranger in front of him, his hand wrapped tightly around Oliver’s wrist.

“So.” the Stranger spoke in an oddly smooth voice “You ready to tell me what you were doing squirreling about?”

Oliver was strained against the Stranger but his grip was as strong as iron. Unless he could complete the hand gestures and motions along with the incantation, the spell was incomplete and he was as helpless as a kitten in Stranger’s grasp.

Oliver grimaced in pain “Now you’re remembering to be human? No creepy staring or awkward conversations about death?”

“Sorry, sometimes my lady speaks through me. I am her will incarnate on this plane.” The Stranger gave a sheepish grin

Oliver smiled uneasily “Right mysterious lady sure. That’s totally normal. How about you let me go and I won’t take the psychotic act personally?”

“But it is personal.” The Stranger’s smirk widen, his teeth too sharp to be mortal “You’re up to something and I’d like to know what.”

‘Great.’ Oliver thought to himself, his eyes darting about for a sign of assistance: a cloaked figure nearby fidgeted awkwardly but ultimately did nothing, a few nobles conveniently glanced the opposite direction of their altercation. Even the guards were nowhere in sight. Whoever this person was, he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.

Oliver pursed his lips, his mind desperately grasping at ideas to escape this situation.

“Party planner” Oliver offered helpfully “My job is to keep track of everything, make sure the party is moving smoothly and ensure there is no issues. You know how Mr. Brambleoak dislikes unnecessary distractions.”

The Stranger nodded in understanding “Party planner? That’s a good one. Feasible. If were I shade dumber, I might actually believe you. However…”

Oliver winced in pain as his grip tightened. The bard had been manhandled once or twice before but never this single handedly.

“Now” The Stranger’s golden eyes narrowed threateningly “Let’s try this one more time before you really anger my lady. What were you doing?”

Oliver opened his mouth.

“There you are!”

For one nerve wracking moment Oliver thought the Stranger had backup but he seemed just as confused as he was.

Maria cut in between two men gracefully and forced the Stranger to release his grip. He backed away as she linked herself arm in arm with Oliver.

“Sweetie!” She spoke with honeyed words, patting his arm lovingly “You ran off so quickly. I was worried I’d upset you.”

“Umm.” Oliver eyed the Stranger carefully, wary at any sudden movements “Sorry honey. This person thought I was someone he knew.”

Maria peered closer, getting a good look at the man.

The Stranger smiled cheekily “Fraid I got the wrong person.”

“You should really be careful, the guards here dislike any disturbance to the festivities.”

Almost as if magically summoned by her words, the guards began to approach with hands on their blades.

“Of course. Of course. Wouldn’t want trouble.” the Stranger bowed mockingly “Besides, I don’t think he’s the one I want.”

“That’s certainly ominous.” Oliver murmured under his breath.

Maria jabbed him with her elbow though her gaze never left the Stranger’s golden eyes.

“We should go.” Oliver offered helpfully “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Maria beamed cheerfully “No worries, I was feeling a bit tired myself. Good night good sir.”

“Bye.”

“Good night miss” the Stranger tilted his head “Bard.”

Maria hurriedly dragged Oliver away.

“Thanks for the save.” Oliver said gratefully.

Maria blew a strain of hair from her face “You’re welcome.”

“Not mad about using you as a distraction?”

“Normally I would be” Maria admitted “But that little stunt you pull got the harpies off my back for the rest of night.”

Oliver chuckled “Basking in the admiration of their adoring fans?”

“You have no idea.” she replied wearily “I’m just happy for a moment of peace. So thank you for that.”

“You are welcome then.”

The two made their way outside and straight into quite the scene: a massive cheering crowd formed around a handful of people. Most of the combatants were faced down, sprawled across the cobbled streets though Oliver spotted two familiar faces standing tall and victorious over their fallen foes.

“ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED!?” Terri screamed into the roaring masses, arms flexed. Tyrell looked like he was about to pass out from exhaustion.

Oliver spotted Lea among the thundering crowd, his eyes alive with excitement and joy.

Terri caught Oliver’s eye and gave a proud smile. Oliver offered a subtle thumbs up as Maria led him away from the bank.

“I take it you can’t go far.” Maria stated simply.

“No” Oliver spoke honestly “I’m afraid my business is not yet concluded.”

“Is it alright if I stay with you for now?”

Oliver bit his lip nervously “Sure. Of course. I have a moment. Not curious about what I was up to?”

Maria gave a cheeky smirk “Naturally but I have a feeling secrecy is important here. Better to not ask than force you to lie to me."

“Thank you. I don’t like lying to you.”

The two stood side by side, arms intertwined together in a quiet comfortable near silence.

Maria smiled softly “You know my father used to warn me about my sentimentality for people. About they would use it against me.”

“People like me?”

She smirked mischievously as she puffed out her chest, speaking in a mocking tone “There will come poet whose weapon is his word. He will slay you with his tongue.”

Oliver snorted loudly, trying to hide his flushing skin “Oh lei oh lai oh lord?”

“Oh quiet you.” Maria scolded with a chuckle “Surprise you didn’t take the set up.”

“Too easy.”

“Should I be offend?”

“I mean those are pretty good lyrics” Oliver replied, hand high in surrender “Surprised they came out of your father’s bitter lips.”

“I suppose everyone has their moments. However rare.”

“I suppose so.”

Maria’s hazel eyes met Oliver’s brown, curious yet expecting “Do you remember what you said to me two months ago? At the last competition?”

“Umm…” Oliver scratched his chin thoughtfully “I say a lot of things. You need to be specific.”

“That my voice was utterly angelic?”

“Ah, I didn’t think you actually heard me.” Oliver’s cheeks blushed a bright red.

Maria giggled sweetly “Did you mean it? What you said inside?”

“Yes” Oliver answered without hesitation “You don’t need them. You would be amazing by yourself.”

Maria’s smile was sad. She sighed tiredly as she threw a glance towards the bank “My father won’t let me but you knew that, didn’t you?”

Oliver nodded in confirmation.

“I feel like I am a disappointment. A puppet controlled by a father who craves nothing but influence and status.”

“You’re not.”

“How do you know?”

Oliver shifted uneasily.

“That’s what I thought bard. Nice try though.”

Oliver caught sight of Flora and Sel making their way outside, signaling the others the mission was complete. Terri and Tyrell broke free from the fight circle and began making their way towards the rendezvous point.

Maria slipped her arm out of his “It is time I suppose.”

“Enjoy your night off.” Oliver took her hand in his own and softly kissed it. Maria flushed a pink hue but still curtsy in response.

Oliver turned to face her, his eyes gentle and understanding “You aren’t a disappointment.”

Maria rolled her eyes “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not.” Oliver firmly stated.

Maria’s eyes stared quizzically into his “Certain, are you?”

Oliver cleared his throat “You aren’t a disappointment to me.”

“That’s sweet but I’m afraid I barely know you. Besides you’ve been a thorn in my father’s plans consistently. Technically, I shouldn’t be talking to you let alone assisting.”

Oliver gave an impish grin “Yet you are.”

“You are far too charming for your own good.” Maria frowned mockingly

“Nothing compared to you.”

“Sweet words are nothing without meaning beyond them bard.”

Oliver took a deep calming breath, struggling to get the words out before he lost his nerve “The boy who used to climb your fence still loves you.”

Maria’s eyes widen with confusion before realization dawned upon her hazel eyes “How did you…?”

but Oliver ran, bravery failing. He disappeared into the crowded streets without another word. He ducked and weaved through the people in case Maria decided to chase him though he doubt she would. Perhaps those words didn’t have the same weight as they once did. Oliver really did not want to stick around to find out. He shouldn’t have said anything but he’d never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

-----

It hadn’t taken long for Oliver to meet up with the rest of the crew. Everyone managed to gather in a nearby alley, their chatter excited and cheerful.

“Boss man!” Terri boomed, arms opened wide “WE DID IT! See the pile? Do I get results or do I get results?”

Oliver gave a weak chuckle “Yes you do. Remind me not to piss you off.”

“Damn straight.” Terri flexed unnecessarily once more. Flora gave a playful wink towards her girlfriend which turned Terri a lovely bright pink.

Tyrell looked haggard and sick “I never want to do that again. Ever.”

“You did amazingly Ty! You can be First Chair in no time if you keep this up!” Terri patted his back approvingly, Tyrell nearly went sprawling to the floor below.

Oliver gave a sharp whistle, grabbing the attention of everyone “We did great team and it was an honor to work with you. If you require my assistance, I’ll be in town for a few days at the Right Hook. Ask for Ollie.”

Terri slipped her hand into Flora’s “We won’t be in town much longer. We have business up north but we wish you well! Permission to leave?”

“Granted.” Oliver waved them off “No making out until you leave our sights.”

It was impossible to know who was a redder shade: Terri or Flora.

The pair bowed respectfully before taking their leave, Flora’s head resting lovingly on Terri’s shoulder. Oliver couldn’t help chuckle at Terri’s proud “And you didn’t poison anyone! Great work sweetheart!”

Oliver turned to the remaining two “Sel, destroy the paper and report back to the local Conductor. If there’s any more trouble come get me.”

Sel gave a single nod before disappearing into the crowded streets without another word.

“And me?” Tyrell whispered anxiously “What about me?”

“You.” Oliver stretched his neck, trying to relive the tension of the night “You’re gonna tell me how to get into the Clifftop Distract.”

“E-excuse me?”

Oliver waved his question off “Don’t even. I know you’re a noble born. Your clothes are way too nice to be a simple baker or blacksmith’s son. And barely frayed means you ran away from home recently.”

Tyrell glanced away, fidgeting nervously “You noticed?”

Oliver nodded.

“And you don’t care?”

“Not in the least” Oliver admitted honestly “You got into the Choir. That means you’re good in my book.”

“Thank you.” Tyrell smiled softly “I appreciate it. May I ask why you need to get into the Clifftop Distract?”

Oliver scratched the back of his neck sheepishly “Someone I know has business up there. Figured I might as well ask you to make our lives easier.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“I’m really not.” Oliver murmured quietly, unable to stare Tyrell in the eyes.

Tyrell shook his head is disagreement but didn’t press further “Every month they change the password. This month’s is Knightly Valor.”

“Knightly Valor, thank you.”

“No, thank you for not telling the others. May I go now?”

Oliver ruffled Tyrell’s hair playfully “Go on scamp.”

Tyrell bowed and with a skip in his step, made his way out of the alleyway.

Oliver stood there alone for a moment before turning towards the shadows.

“You gonna keep follow me or we’re finally going to talk?”

The figure did not break the silence of the night as they stepped out seemingly from darkness itself.

“You knew I was following you? Impressive given not many can sense my presence” the cloaked figured spoke. unable to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

“Mhm.” Oliver grunted “Ever since West End. You were in the bar the night Abigail and I hired Archie. I heard you moving about when we camped for the night, just down the tunnel out of sight. I assume you lost us when we went down the side tunnels and decided to stake out West Haven for us to pass through. You’ve been tailing me all night since I left the Right Hook.

The figure said nothing.

“That’s what I thought.” Oliver sighed tiredly “Alright, we gonna have a problem? I've had a long night and I've been threaten one times too many today.”

“No problem.” The figure muttered.

Oliver narrowed his eyes suspiciously “Then why show yourself?”

“You need to know my presence.”

Oliver sighed “You are being very cryptic.”

“Now you know how everyone else feels.”

Oliver smirked mockingly, unable to hide the sarcasm from his voice “Thanks, I hate it!”

“Be careful bard.” the figured glanced about, worried “Something is coming.”

“Nice and vague, thanks for the tip ninja.”

The figure shifted uncomfortably but remained silent.

“Fine, go on then if you're not gonna be any more helpful.” Oliver shook his head before closing his eyes. When he opened them, the figure was gone, upped and vanished into nothingness.

Oliver ran his hand through hair tiredly as he began making his way back to the Right Hook.

“And I still have to climb two stories. Fucking hell, what a night.”

[twinkiemaximoff]

Peter Maximoff x GN!Reader - A Freight Train

× requested: nope!!

× summary: poor reader has been sleep deprived and peter has been blissfully unaware until now.

A/N: i myself have been a bit sleep deprived so this is very wordy and all around bad so i apologize. it also hasnt been proofread and is the first full 'imagine' I've written in a long time so,,im sorry.

-

3 am. it was 3 am and since you were once again unable to sleep due to your boyfriend's incessant snoring you were left staring at the ceiling of your shared bedroom. at the start of the relationship, you found the snoring to be cute and maybe a little endearing but it quickly became tedious. if you weren't so sleep deprived you might go so far as to say it still was, everything peter does is, at least to you. he's lucky you think so at least, considering with anyone else you'd be on your way to the couch, pillow, and blanket in hand. you'd join them in the morning. you couldn't bear to leave him in here by himself though so you'll be bearing through it.

rolling over onto your side, you find peter facing you, sprawled out across the mattress with an arm stretched out to find your own. he has your comforter, which you're surprised he hasn't kicked away from himself, wrapped around his shoulders. at least he looks comfortable.

pushing his silver locks behind his ear, you kiss peter softly on the forehead and try to settle back in bed yourself to at least try to get a few hours of sleep.

you wake up a few times throughout the night, but once morning rolls around and the sun peeks through the blinds, you sigh in defeat and let your eyes drift open. you try to move but peter has his face tucked into your shoulder now and legs entangled with your own. not that you mind too much. the sudden movement though, wakes him up you feel his warm breath against your neck as he groans, trying to hide his face further into your shoulder.

peter settles back down against you for a few minutes, only moving to peer arpund you to check the alarm clock, a whine making its way out of his throat as he registers what time it is.

"its 8 am! why're you always up so early??" his words slur together and he lets his head fall back to your shoulder, burying his face there as if he's trying to shield himself from the sun. you stifle a laugh and run a soothing hand along his back. he's wearing a pink floyd shirt you got him a while back. they were on tour and you knew you had to snag tickets as soon as you could. the small debt you were in was worth it to see the way his face lit up, all bright eyes and goofy grin.

"don't worry about it,, we should probably get up anyhow, charles will have our heads if we sleep in all day bunny." you shift to see his face, leaning over him now, and are met with sleepy eyes paired with furrowed brows and a pout.

"c'mon!! you're always up before me now, what gives?" peter hums, leaning into your touch as your hands find their way to his face, "you've practically been a walking zombie. has something been keeping you up?"

"mhm,,something sure has." you tease back, letting your thumb tenderly run across his cheek, "you,,snore sometimes. its not a big deal though, really!"

leaning in, you try to kiss him but never get the chance to as a dramatic gasp escapes his lips, "no way, you're joking. i dont snore!!"

"baby, i hate to break it to you but you definitely do. its,,cute though!"

peter squirms his way out from under you and off the bed, an offended look written across his face, "you're definitely fucking with me! aren't you?"

"pete,," he's out the bedroom door before you can finish, leaving you stranded on the bed. you laugh and pull on a pair of his sweatpants, following behind him. as you near the kitchen you hear peter and a few extra people. you recognize one voice out of the group of mumuring voices, erik who has, ever so delicately compared peters snoring to a 'freight train' resulting in noises of protest from your boyfriend and laughs from someone, scott you think. you tread into the kitchen and press a kiss to peters temple as you pass him, listening to the exchanged arguments and apologizing to charles as he rounds the corner. this was bound to be a long day. although looking around at the people you now consider your family, you dont think you'd change it for the world.

[forbiddenfantasies1]

J/B Smut Swap Fic Recs

There have been so many amazing fics posted in the @jb-smut-swap, but I wanted to share the ones that have really stuck out for me. The amount of talent this fandom has continues to be ridiculous so this is long but in no way comprehensive.

Shocker...I got wordy so it's under the cut. I limited this one to 5 just because I couldn't shut up about them. At least one more will be coming (that's what she said).

with those who know secret things for SimoneBlack, rated E. The premise for Brienne as a sex worker and Jaime, a client who is seeking freedom and trust, could so easily be mishandled. This was anything but. It is somehow simultaneously wonderfully dirty and so, so tender. I lost my mind reading this, and it was worth every throw of my pillow. I'm still trying to understand how it had so much heat with so much heart.

Lines that will live in my head forever: There are several, but I'm gonna go with:

“Do you like to be touched, Jaime?”

“Yes,” he breathed.

Her finger stopped just above his navel, and when she pulled her hand away he swayed towards her. “But you aren't touched often,” she said, warm as a lazy afternoon. He listened for mockery, but there was none, just a fact, stated with quiet empathy.

“No.”

Blue placed her palm – studded with smoothed-down calluses and cooler than he expected – over his heart. “Do you want me to touch you tonight?”

The answer is yes, by the way

what is dark in me illumine for @bussdowntarthiana, rated E. Yall. This fic ruined me for an hour solid. My note on it says "made me want to throw myself through a plate glass window, and then eat the glass" and it's true. Jaime is a bar owner (and an ethical, exiled demon). Brienne is an ethics professor. Their attraction feels so layered, and the vibes of consent, and honor, and acceptance are woven through the smuttiest smut perfectly.

Lines that will live in my head forever: Again, there are so many, BUT this and the scene directly after it will live in my head FOREVER.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Her pupils are spreading, darkness over the ocean. "I like hard and fast and filthy," she says evenly. "But do you want to know what happens to me when I hear you talk about how you've chosen to make your way in this world?"

He does. Desperately. "What?"

She opens her mouth, then seems to change her mind. "Maybe in this case, a demonstration would be the better pedagogical tool."

That prim word with all those consonants bouncing around in her mouth makes him want to sink his teeth into her. "Please feel free, Doctor Tarth."

(I can't talk about what her demonstration was because it makes me want to break things).

Hush for TwoKnightsOneCup, rated E. This is another that fell in the "Fuck this fic and this writer" category for me. It's a 5+1 structured fic where Jaime is a chopper pilot and Brienne is a researcher in Antarctica, and they're trying to fuck quietly all over the place without getting caught. Stupidly hot with amazing scenery porn, and some singular lines that will have you wanting to throw hands at the author for burrowing into your brain.

Lines that will live in my head forever: I almost picked the part with the belt, but honestly it's so fucking horny on main and I'm trying to have some decorum here. So I'll go with this instead.

“I’m taking these off,” Jaime tells her, his voice a low growl, and Brienne flushes but she lets him peel her thermal tights and underwear down while she sprawls on the bedroll before him, and it feels like flying in low out of the clouds over the frozen coastline for the first time, seeing the glacier rolling down to the water’s edge: the impossible extent of it, the startled sense of wonder. There are fading bruises on her shins and the vivid bright rash of a scrape on her knee, and he marvels at all the colors that make up the endless landscape of her. But then he nudges her knees apart and sees her cunt wet and open for him, smells her, and he realizes she’s not like that pallid, uninhabitable scenery at all: she’s pink and red and alive, almost steaming in the cool air. His mouth waters, and he shoves his arms under her thighs and descends.

But seriously...the part with the belt? Whew.

Lines that will live in my head forever: When they eventually came up for air, he looked at her with a look she’d seen on him in the courtyard every time he was going to go on the offence. Here, she knew not what it meant, yet it still sent a similar sort of anticipation down her spine.

Thrust Exercises for greenmtwoman, rated E. God this damn fic. First of all, it's basically canon divergence with a young Jaime and Brienne. Jaime has been Master at Arms at Evenfall ever since Selwyn lugged his ass home after the Rebellion like the world's mouthiest souvenir. There are three things to know about this fic: 1) Jaime and Brienne are genuinely friends in this. Their history and affection are just so apparent. 2) Jaime plans (beforehand!) to introduce Brienne to strip sparring (!!!) before the bedding. And 3) Jaime is so horny for his wife, y'all. He wants her so bad and there's a moment where he realizes she wants him too that made my heart migrate to my eyes.

“It means, I want you.” Before she could ask, he said, “I told you before, didn't I? Your face is very loud.”

She frowned; he lifted himself on his toes and kissed the knot between her brows.

“I quite like it,” he said, “your very loud face.”

They just like each other so much. I can't stand it.

Light my fire for me, and rated E. I've already recced this one in a separate post, but it's my list and I can do what I want. And what I want is to tell people to read this fic because I loved it so much. Brienne and Jaime are coworkers at a ski lodge, and are celebrating the end of a season. Jaime, bless his thotty soul, is wearing a union suit under his ski wear, and if that isn't code for "wants his dick admired" well then I don't know what is. When their roommates hook up, Jaime and Brienne are forced to share a cabin and if it has so many of my favorite tropes in it, I can barely stand it. I was so, so happy with my gift, and I just want everyone to read it and be happy too.

Lines that will live in my head forever: They stand in front of the fireplace and Jaime backs up half a step, watching her from beneath hooded eyelids as he undoes more buttons of his union suit. He takes his time, and she lets her eyes devour every sliver of skin he slowly exposes – muscled chest with dark blond hair scattered across it, defined abs highlighted by the orange glow of the fire, the V of muscle at the bottom of his stomach that leads her eyes down to the hard jut of his cock outlined by the cloth. He stops unbuttoning just there, sliding the top of the union suit down off his shoulders and letting the arms hang at his sides.

This is literally why I prompted the union suit. All I wanted was Jaime in a union suit with Brienne admiring the shape of his cock through the thin fabric. That's it. The one paragraph hit every dream I had for it, but all the other paragraphs are good too.

[xfandomwritingsx]

His Girl – Steve Rogers – Part 2

-gif source-

Description: You’ve always been Bucky’s girl. But Bucky’s not here anymore…

Warnings/Labels: Angst. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. A bit of a Dom!Steve. A pinch of sexting. Masturbation. Smut. Minor choking kink. Unprotected Sex.

Approx. Word Count: 8,500

A/N: 10 months later here I am! Jesus, this wasn't supposed to take this long. Sorry guys!  

Part One

---

You’ve retreated to your apartment for the week, finding comfort in your cozy little place as your last assignment ended. You light a few of your favorite scented candles, fill the bath with water that is probably a little too hot, load it with bubble bath, and pour yourself your favorite drink in the fanciest glass you have. It’s a much needed and overdue relaxation. The hot water does wonders for the tension in your shoulders and the atmosphere you set puts you at peace.

You’ve been soaking for nearly twenty minutes when your phone pings annoyingly on the floor next to you. You toy with the idea of just flipping it off, but you still haven’t been able to shake that habit drilled into you that forces you to, at the very least, check your phone in case it’s an emergency.

Emergency, it is not, but seeing Steve’s name pop up in the little text notification bubble makes you smile with excitement. Texting is still not his favorite form of communication, but he partakes with you and you can never leave him without a response. You swipe to read his message.

Chicago’s settled for now. It’s funny how much it feels like “old times” around here.

Steve left for Chicago a couple of days ago. With most the city population dissolved into ash, criminal activity skyrocketed and two groups had been going the direction of starting war with each other. It was extremely reminiscent of the days of mobsters and mafia running cities which is what you assume he’s referring to. You type out a quick, light-hearted reply.

Think Al Capone would have survived the snap?

You let your arm hang over the edge of the tub, keeping your phone in your hand in anticipation of his next text. You have your drink in your other hand and take a sip from it. When your phone vibrates, you put the glass down onto the little floating drink holder bobbing in your lap.

Who knows. How’s your night going?

You type a couple of replies, deleting them all as they all seem too wordy, too much. He didn’t need to know your dinner was underwhelming or that the cheap dryer hadn’t dried your pajamas all the way. As you try again, you silently thank the creator of the PopSocket for all but completely removing your fear of dropping your phone in the tub.

Could be better. Finally relaxing now.

You don’t even close out of the text window or put your phone to sleep. You simply watch as the ellipses appear on your screen almost instantly as he types back to you.

What are you doing?

You chew on your lower lip, debating if you really want to act on the idea that runs through your head. You take a larger gulp of your drink before throwing away your hesitation. You sweep your arm over the surface of the water to gather all of the remaining bubbles to your chest in order to cover your breasts for the picture you snap a moment later.

Your damp hair is tied up at the back of your head in a mess of a bun, cheeks and collar pink from the heat, and no trace of makeup on your skin. You’ve also been soaking long enough that the bubbles have turned mostly to a thin foam on the surface of the water, barely concealing your body beneath it. The candle flames give a dark, suggestive aura to the photo and you can’t help but be pleased with how it turned out as you hit send with a brief caption.

What about you?

His reply is slower this time, the lack of ellipses making you wonder if he didn’t appreciate the photo as you hoped. When your phone turns black, changing into rest mode due to lack of activity, your heart starts beating a little faster and you start to worry it was a mistake. You have never exchanged pictures before, let alone one of you stark naked in a bath. It was pretty bold and despite what he’s implied about his feelings for you, maybe he didn’t like it.

When your phone lights up again, it notifies you that Steve has sent you a picture in return. You’re not really sure what you had expected, but this is not it. Before you can even convince yourself it’s going to be something completely innocent and bland, you’re already opening the message.

Steve is laying down on what is obviously a bed in a fairly fancy hotel room. One of the “perks” of The Snap; fancy things aren’t expensive anymore. He’s leaning partially on the headboard, propped up on big, fluffy white pillows. He’s got the smallest little smirk on his lips, his eyes on the camera lens and not the screen. One arm is thrown behind his head lazily, the other clearly raising his phone up as high as he can. And due to that little detail, you’re able to see clearly that he is not wearing a shirt. It’s accompanied by a short message.

Missing home… Missing you.

You breathe deeply and sink a little further into the water. You’ve seen Steve shirtless on a number of occasions, even touched his super-soldier-given perfect skin patching him up. This is different though. This is quiet and personal, intimate. This is a picture he snapped just for you to see and the angle he took it at, the effort put into making sure his phone was that high, it wasn’t by accident that his chest is on display.

You’re stuck for words, nothing coming to your blank mind, completely enthralled by his photo. You stare so long that your screen goes black again and you have to unlock your phone once more.

Wish I could have come with you.

After hitting send, you keep staring at that picture while wondering, hoping even, that he’s just as entranced by yours as you are his. You run your wet hand along your neck, the water still not cool enough to quench your flaming skin. You trail it down to your breastbone, palm resting at the very top of your breast.

You should have. Only had rooms with one bed available though. Consolidation and such.

You let your hand slide down and cup around your breast in full, giving it a small lift and squeeze. You clench your thighs together, trying to ease the steadily building excitement between them and type your reply.

Well now I really feel like I’m missing out.

Is he in sweatpants, you wonder. Shorts? Underwear? Nothing? That building desire is clearly not going anywhere. You finish the last of your drink in a hurry.

Bed’s small. Might have ended up on top of each other.

Well, hell. The man is going to drive you insane. Or cause you to spontaneously combust. The water doesn’t feel quite as warm as it did a few minutes ago. Your squeeze your legs together again and shift, jostling the water a little as you sink to a more comfortable position, hand resting on your lower stomach, daring and itching to sink down.

Good thing I like you on top of me.

God, what was it about texting that made you so bold? You try not to think about how mortified you’ll be tomorrow if this ends disastrously. His reply is just a little slower and you wonder if he’s trying to find a graceful way to abandon the conversation. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s readjusting himself, removing his pants or simply pushing them down far enough to get his dick out.

Oh yeah? Anything else in particular you like?

He’s giving you an out, letting you lead how far this conversation is going to go. You’re too far gone to stop though. Your legs open practically on their own and your hand glides through the water to cup your sex. The pressure of your palm on your clit and the image of Steve sprawled out on a hotel bed causing a small moan. It takes you a moment to gather yourself enough to respond.

I like when you pin me down, hands over head, and grind into me.

Your middle finger teases your entrance, easily remembering how it feels to have his large hands wrapped around your wrists, his hips on yours. So many times you wanted to just wrap your legs around him, lock your ankles at the lowest part of his back and keep him there.

Want to know what I like?

Your body is on edge, heart pounding at your chest. You can only manage to type out a single word.

Yes.

Your eyes drift shut, letting your finger run up and down your lips through the water. Your mind is filled with images of Steve, so many you can barely keep them straight. You want so badly to see him, to know if he’s as worked up as you are. You’re so distracted that you don’t notice the minute tick by, or that he’s typing back the whole time.

I like when you follow orders and when you try to be subtle when you stare. I like thinking about you on your knees. I like the way your whole body shuddered when I suggested you call me Daddy. I like that I can practically hear you moan my name when I pin you to a wall. I also like when you cook breakfast in those little blue shorts of yours. Think you could manage that for me the morning after? That’s assuming my babygirl can still move after a night with me.

Your mind is a melted mess as you read it. Your entire body feels like a tight coil with lust and your hips grind up into your palm as you slip your middle finger inside of you. You moan louder this time, images of the two of you bombarding your mind. Your thumb numbly types out a pleading text you pray isn’t pathetic in comparison.

Send me another picture. Please.

Waiting for his reply isn’t difficult. It comes quickly, but even if it didn’t, his previous text is enough to keep you running and satisfied for the whole night. Perhaps even longer.

Since you asked so nicely.

The words come through a few seconds before the picture. The room he’s in is dimly lit, but the photo itself is still clear enough for you to see what he’s showing you. He’d brought the camera up to his chest, taking a picture looking down his body. The thin, white hotel bedsheet is laid loosely on top of him, the edge of it lightly tickling his waist. The bulge tenting it up between his legs is obvious, but just in case it wasn’t, his hand is there; thumb pressing into the base of his cock, large hand at the juncture of his thigh, the rest of his fingers likely cradling his balls out of view.

You want so badly to peel that sheet away from him and see what’s underneath. You tap your thumb on the screen occasionally just to make sure your phone doesn’t turn black and take that image from your eyes. Your body is thrumming, your skin practically vibrating on you as your finger slides in and out of you, indulging in some of pleasure you’ve been trying to deny yourself for years.

Another text comes through from him.

Was that too far?

You realize now that you’ve failed to respond for a few minutes. He just sent you what you’re qualifying as a dick pic and he’d been met with silence. Instead of being worried you weren’t impressed by it, that old, gentlemanly Captain America peaks out and is worried he’d taken your little game too far. The four little words crack through the lust and give your heart the slightest pang. You type back quickly, eager to ease his concerns.

No! You’re good. I was just… admiring the view.

Good. I was worried maybe you had second thoughts.

The pleasure in you threatens to turn. When were you not having second thoughts about it all? But no! Not tonight. You refuse to let it sour everything. It’s been years. Years. You deserve some amount of pleasure, of release.

My only thoughts right now are about what’s under that sheet.

His response is quick.

Some things are better seen in person.

Your breath catches and your finger starts to move a little faster inside of you.

Is that an offer?

Absolutely.

You know he believes there’s a good chance this conversation will never see the light of day, that it will be some dirty little secret kept hidden away. You don’t want that though. The very idea of jumping into his arms and kissing him when you see him next has you squirming.

What are you going to do when I actually take you up on that offer?

You push the heel of your palm into your clit a little harder and grind your hips. You’ve moved your hand and phone outside the tub, no longer trusting yourself not to fumble it.

Maybe one day you’ll find out.

You moan, hoping with everything you have that Steve has his dick in his hand and is as much of a mess as you are.

Get your ass back home Cap.

You can almost hear his chuckle in your ear.

So needy babygirl.

You can feel your pleasure building, everything in you tense and wound up. You withdraw your finger so that you can make circles on your clit and try to bring yourself over the edge. Your thumb shakes as you type out a short response.

Need you.

Say the word and you have me.

He follows up almost instantly with another text.

In person though. Not now, not like this. Call me old school.

You ease the pressure off your clit enough for you to focus on typing on a coherent reply to him.

Then you might want to tell me goodnight or I’m going to take this too far.

You don’t actually want him to do it. You want to take it too far, to take that leap of faith and get a taste of what you’ve been craving, but you know you can’t right now. He doesn’t want some quick, technological affair that can be literally erased at any point and quite frankly, neither do you.

Goodnight, babygirl. Be home soon.

I can’t wait. Goodnight, Steve.

And with that, you drop your phone onto the bathroom tile and sink your hand into the water, fully succumbing to your own pleasure.

-

When the sunlight streams in the next morning, you’re expecting the guilt to come with it. It always does after a night thinking about Steve. It’s a crushing weight that sits right in your stomach and pulls down on your throat. It’s familiar by now, but no less unsettling.

You lie in bed, waiting for it to hit you, but the only thing you feel is a slight fear. You feel a tensing and a pressure, afraid that when you look at your phone, there will be a text from Steve that retracts everything. Sorry about last night. or We shouldn’t have said those things. Let’s forget it happened. Something like that.

The fear is an unwelcome intruder amongst your feelings. Self-hate and guilt you can handle, have handled for a long time, but fear is not something you want to deal with. So, you bite the bullet and roll over to snatch your phone off the night stand.

One unread text from Steve Rogers sent thirteen minutes ago.

You open your phone before you can convince yourself not to, before the fear sinks teeth into you and forces you to leave his message unread all day long.

Morning beautiful. Had a complication this morning and I am headed to a place with little cell service. I’ll also be home a little later than planned. Only a day or so I hope.

The fear lifts off of you and is replaced with a light, floaty feeling. While you’re disappointed that he won’t be coming back on time, the relief you have is much stronger. Maybe, just maybe this won’t end in disaster after all.

-

Steve ends up being home a week later than originally planned and you haven’t talked to him much during that time. When you did speak, it was professionally about his mission or another issue. Cell service around the county is much spottier than it was before The Snap which can make communication in certain areas more difficult.

You’re working out at The Haven when he returns. You’ve worked up a slight sweat and are pummeling a punching bag when he finds you. You don’t notice him at first since the doorway is behind you and he takes the moment to silently watch you.

“You shouldn’t let your form get sloppy,” he calls once you finish a sequence. The sound of his voice brings a smile to your face, but his words cause you to huff and roll your eyes before turning around.

“It’s just practice,” you chide, wiping your wrist over your brow. He’s leaning against the doorway casually, a duffel bag at his feet. He hadn’t even stopped at home first.

“Practice for the real thing. You lose it in practice, you’ll lose it in a fight.” You give him a sarcastic look to display your disbelief at his critique. It doesn’t faze him. “Fix your stance next time.”

“Yes, sir,” you mock as you begin to unwrap your hands and try to bite back your smile. It’s impossible though once his stoic mentor face breaks and his own smile appears on his lips. “How was your trip?” you ask, leaning down a bit to grab your water bottle. He sighs and considers his answer briefly.

“Long,” he says. “Long and annoying, but successful.” There’s a moment where your eyes connect with his and the air in the room gets heavy. “Glad to be home.” There’s a meaning beneath his words that reads loud and clear, but you force yourself to swallow it down. If you didn’t, you may just end up leaping into his arms right here in the gym.

“Glad to have you home, Cap.” You say it as jovially, as platonically as you can muster, which isn’t much. There’s still a little look in his eye, a deepness in the air, and you’ll be damned if you can’t break your gaze with him. You bring the bottle up and gulp down water, the tilt of the bottle forcing a disconnect in your eye contact.

“Nat has a conference call in twenty,” he says, voice slipping back into work mode. “Are you going?” You finish the rest of the water and breathe deeply.

“I probably should.” He reads the translation easily; you hadn’t intended on going.

“I’ve got to give a status report on my trip.” Translation; he has to go. “I’ll save you a seat.” You give him a short nod as he grabs his duffle bag and moves to exit. It’s not like you could ever say no to him anyways.

-

True to his word and unsurprising to you, Steve had in fact kept the seat next to him open. The only people in physically in the room are Steve, Natasha, Rhodey, and yourself so it could be simple coincidence that the chair is open, but you suspect it was more strategic than that. In your usual fashion, you’ve arrived just moments before the holographic conference call opens over the table, spilling a flickering blue light from overhead. Light particles float around like miniscule puzzle pieces before coming together to form the shapes of your friends, recreating them standing onto the large table.

You slip into your seat as Natasha greets everyone and Steve gives you a small smile that you return easily despite the way your heart is starting to hammer in your chest. It’s an odd feeling trying to be the same kind of friendly you’ve always been with him when you’ve both admitted attraction, when you’ve both exchanged racy photos. You scold yourself silently as your mind drifts back to the photo of him which you’d saved onto your phone. Now is not the time to let those thoughts wander freely.

Rocket calls your name and your attention snaps to the raccoon.

“We can’t see you. Scoot in next to Steve more.” There’s a humor in his voice that makes you fully believe he can see you just fine, but no one corrects him and they all wait for you. Natasha is biting the inside of her cheek and purposefully looking down at papers she is most certainly not reading. With a heavy breath, you scoot your chair closer to Steve’s side. “Little bit more,” Rocket teases and again, no one swoops in to say you’re in view yet. You bite your tongue and scoot ever closer, the armrests of the chairs nearly touching. “Just a little more.”

“If I move anymore, I’ll be in his damn lap,” you snap at him, annoyed by this play. He smiles and shrugs and is about to open his mouth when Natasha finally cuts in and starts the meeting. If that raccoon ever comes to Earth, you’re going to strangle him and ruin every betting pool he’s ever run.

Steve is nothing but professional as he gives his report. You hear the business in his voice, but fail to retain what he’s actually saying, all of your attention focused on the way his lips move and the way his tongue occasionally licks them. It’s not obvious, right? It’s common for people to watch someone’s mouth when they speak.

What might be more obvious is when your eyes finally drift from his mouth and travel down his neck. The muscle and tendons tighten just under the thin skin of his throat as he talks, especially when he’s annoyed with whatever he’s talking about. Your eyes keep slipping down. Down to the biceps left mostly uncovered by his short sleeve shirt. Down the veins in his forearms. Down to his hips and his thighs, to the seam of his jeans between his legs that you can only see because of your close proximity.

He’s stopped talking you realize. You’re not sure exactly when he did that, but you quickly snap your eyes back up to his face. You hope to seem casual about it and perhaps no one would have noticed your little daze you slipped into. The subtle smirk on Steve’s face makes it clear he’s caught you though.

You duck your chin and clear your throat as if that’s going to stop the embarrassed heat from spreading up your neck to your face. You refocus your attention on your holographic teammates, try to murder Rocket with your eyes, but you can feel Steve continuing to watch you. It’s nearly impossible to hear what the team is bickering about with the heat in your face spreading up to your ears and your mind entirely unable to keep a straight train of thought.

You cast your glance his way, knowing you won’t be able to concentrate until you get him to stop staring. The smirk remains on his lips and his eyes lock with yours, full of amusement and intrigue and something a little darker, a little heavier behind his irises. A nervous and unconscious lick of your lips guides his eyes down and his mouth parts slightly.

Then he’s turning his head to look at your teammates and speak to them as though he’s been fully involved in whatever conversation they’ve been having. The man could multitask when he wanted to. You’ll give him that.

“If they’re having trouble with their crops,” he says, all too cheerfully. “I know someone who can help.” He reaches over the very short distance between you and him to pat your thigh. “Our resident gardener here can probably lend a few tips.” It takes every ounce of you not to choke on your tongue and to respond in an acceptable fashion.

“Yeah,” you say with minimal stumbling and another clearing of your throat. “Give them my contact info if they don’t have it.” You’re impressed with how steady you manage to make it sound and just hope they hadn’t been talking about someone you knew very well because if they were, your response would sound silly. Thankfully, there’s no odd looks or questions and the conversation continues on without you. Which is very good. Because your heart is starting to catch in your ribcage as you notice that Steve hasn’t removed his hand from your thigh.

He’s not doing anything, just resting his hand there, fingers close to your knee, thumb grazing the outside of your leg. His hand is large and you can feel the warmth of his palm sink through the fabric of your leggings. You should have changed after your workout. Jeans wouldn’t have allowed him to feel so close to your skin.

He’s not looking at you anymore, his eyes following the conversation professionally and staying a silent participant in the meeting. You try to do the same, but your eyes never seem to focus on anyone, instead staring off into blank space. If anyone notices, they don’t say anything and even if they had, you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t hear them through the blood rushing in your ears.

Steve moves his hand and years of stealth training falls out the window as you flinch at the movement. Not only that, but you flinch towards the motion, going so far as to reach your hand out to his and while that gesture could be construed as something negative, your body had zero intentions of pushing him away, wanting rather to pull him closer. Thankfully, you manage to stop yourself from actually getting to him.

His hand turns and he brushes his knuckles along the outside of your thigh, slowly gliding up and then back down. The shiver that shoots up your spine doesn’t quench the heat still steadily building up from your core. His touch is gentle and tentative, waiting of any sign of possible rejection from you. None comes of course. You’re so far past rejecting him. In fact, you’re not entirely sure you wouldn’t let him feel you up right here mid-conference.

And just like that, you’re imagining his knuckles sliding all the way up your thigh to the juncture of your hip. He’d flatten his palm against the very top of your thigh again and twist his hand down so his fingers can gently tease you through your leggings.

Biting your lip, you push those thoughts from your mind. His knuckles are still slowly stroking your thigh. You’ve stopped trying to focus on the meeting and sink a little more fully into your chair. Taking a deep breath, you take his hand in yours, taking a little bit of pride in the way he suddenly stills in surprise. It lasts for only a moment before his fingers wrap around yours and you’re left holding each other’s hands on your thigh.

“Anyone else have anything else they want to bring up?” Natasha’s voice breaks through to you and pulls Steve’s attention.

“I think we’re all good,” he says confidently, pretty much ending any conversation from continuing. There’s a gentle squeeze on your hand and it’s so soft that your breath gets caught in your chest. The way he slips from making dirty smirks to delicate touch amazes you.

Before you know it, the holograms have disintegrated and Natasha is all but escorting Rhodey out of the room, leaving you alone with Steve, still holding your hand. He leans back into his chair, fully relaxing and smiles at you.

“I still owe you ice cream,” he says, giving your hand another small squeeze.

“That… is true.” The awkwardness of your reply makes you both let out breathy laughs. You’d never been awkward before and in recognizing it, it breaks some of the strange tension in your body. This is still Steve. Nerves and excitement were bound to happen, but awkwardness just feels silly. “You offering to make it up to me?” That sounded better.

“I don’t have any plans tonight.” He says it as an offer and instantly your mind starts going over your apartment. Is your laundry done? How clean is it? Do you have food in the fridge? Beer? When did you shave your legs last? He can see the questions rolling around in your head, watches the wheels turn behind your eyes. “I’m actually pretty free all week,” he amends, giving you an out.

“Tonight would be great.” You think maybe you say it too quickly, but he just smiles at you warmly. He stands, taking your hand up with him for a moment. Then he bends and brings your hand to his lips and kiss your knuckles softly.

“I’ll see you tonight.” There’s a flutter in your stomach and you hold your breath for longer than you realize, only letting it out after your hand has fallen from his and he’s sending you a wink over his shoulder before he walks out of the door.

-

You spend the rest of your day cleaning your apartment. It’s not a disaster and it’s not like Steve hasn’t seen it a mess before, but tonight is different. You can feel it in everything from the way your hands shake to how you push the cheap beer to the back of the fridge. You also pull a dress from the back of your closet and hold it against yourself for far too long before deciding that would just be too much. You don’t have to try so hard, not with Steve.

You’ve managed to calm your nerves enough that by the time he knocks on the door, your hands aren’t shaking. When you swing the door open, he holds up a plastic grocery bag with at least five pints of ice cream inside and flashes you a smile. It’s such a genuine, unapologetically bright smile that it makes you feel like you had been missing it somehow. The corners of your mouth pull back in a reflective smile that threatens to make your cheeks hurt.

“Think this will be enough?” he jokes, motioning to the bag.

“I don’t know,” you tease back, tilting your head to examine it. “I mean, I’m clearly going to eat all of that myself so what are you going to eat?” You can tell by the way he hesitates and bites the inside of his cheek that he’s pushing down a dirty response. “Come on in,” you say, stepping aside and saving him from the internal debate of voicing his thoughts.

You had been concerned all day about how the evening would go. Were you supposed to just jump right into his arms when he walked in? Did he want to talk about this first? Would anything even actually happen tonight? More than anything, you expected awkwardness; small laughs and bites of your lip and both of you trying not to make eye contact.

And yet... that awkwardness never comes. As soon as Steve is in your door, things feel fairly normal between you two. If anything, there’s just an added energy to the air, a weight to your flirtations.

As you both unload the bag onto your kitchen table, Steve acts as though he’s forgotten your favorite flavor of ice cream. He does it every year and tonight, he has it behind his back. You can’t see it, but the way his arm is twisted behind him and how he's slowly putting himself closer to the kitchen wall, you can tell that’s where it is when you notice it’s not on the table and the bag is empty.

“You know... It was on the top shelf and I meant to get an employee to help me, but by the time I got finished, I completely forgot.” He spins the ridiculous story terribly, unable to stop the amused smile that breaks out on his face. You advance on him, nodding along and pursing your face. “Real sorry about that.” He’s got his back as close to the wall as he can with the pint of ice cream behind him and it only takes a moment for you to get close.

“Mmhmm,” you hum. “Then what’s behind your back?”

“Oh that?” he feigns innocently. “Nothing you’d be interested in, I’m sure.”

You hum again and find yourself nearly pressed against his front, mere inches between your chests. Slowly, you reach around him with one hand. His body larger and arms longer than you, force you to lean in to reach. Pressing against him, you almost feel his breath hitch in his chest. Your eyes flicker away from his and you can feel the chill of the ice cream as your fingers get close.

You don’t see his eyes darken and when he grabs your wrist, shifting the pint to one hand and using the other to pull yours away, it startles you. It gives him enough leverage to spin you around and push you to the wall, lifting your hand above your head and pinning your wrist there. You gasp softly and look up at him with parted lips. Steve smiles down at you and leans in stopping just short of pressing himself into you.

And then in a moment, he’s gone, leaving you with your hand still over your head while your mind catches up. He puts the pint down with the rest and goes to get spoons from your drawer. Your body tingling and craving more, you can tell tonight will be interesting.

It became clear pretty quickly that there would be no jumping right into each other’s arms and there would be no talking about it. Instead, you shot each other charged looks and flirtatious innuendos and got physically into each other’s space as much as possible. It left you wanting more, wishing desperately, without a shadow of guilt, that Steve would just throw you up against any surface he could find. And then you realized he wasn’t going to. Even this hardened, dirty New Steve was a gentleman and he was very clearly waiting for you to make the first move.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table when you finally crack. The table is small and round. The chairs aren’t directly across from each other, but rather next to each other and you’ve each turned them to face one another, the table more on your sides than in front of you now. It makes it easy for Steve to lean forward towards you.

“You’re a mess,” he says, reaching to swipe his thumb along the corner of your mouth and scoop away some of the melted ice cream on your face. You react before you can even think about it.

You turn your face and capture his thumb between your lips. You both pause, the gesture unexpected. The weight of his thumb resting on your tongue spurs something inside of you and as you watch Steve’s eyes glaze over, turning from surprise to lust, you run your tongue over him and suck lightly. Steve leans his body in and his fingers cradle your jaw, encouraging you.

He watches you closely, coming to the edge of his seat and tilting your jaw upwards just a little bit. It’s a firm gesture, one that shows you that even though he’s letting you lead, he’s still in charge and damn if that doesn’t make you suck a little harder on his thumb to please him. You squeeze your knees together as he pushes his thumb further into your mouth. The sweetness of the ice cream is well gone, replaced by the slight salt of his skin and you only wish there was more to take from him.

He drags his thumb back out, letting it drag your lower lip down as you release it. Your breath is heavy and you can feel a wetness between your legs already starting. You want to glance down between Steve’s legs, to see if he’s got a similar problem, but he holds your eyes so firmly you have no choice but to focus on his face.

“That was a good girl,” he praises. He makes you want to just drop onto your knees right there, but he’s coming forward instead. Pushing off his chair and slipping that hand back along your jaw to your neck, he pulls you up with him until you’re standing in front of him. Your hands come to his waist, just to have something to steady yourself with. He grabs the base of your skull and tilts your head up to look at him. “You have to say it,” he tells you, voice a lot softer than his eyes. His other hand brushes through your hair. “You have to tell me you want it.” You swallow thickly before whispering back to him.

“I want you, Steve.”

His mouth crashes down to yours. There’s no softness or hesitancy. The kiss is rough, rushed, and hot. Steve pulls you flush against him, one hand still holding the back of your neck and the other running down your back. Now having your permission, he takes what he wants. He opens your mouth under his and pushes his tongue inside. There’s no fight for dominance. You’re entirely compliant and willing under him. He turns you sharply, pulling his mouth from yours for a moment and bending you back so that he can sweep the table clean. Pints of ice cream, spoons, your mail, everything clatters to the floor.

“A mess for you to bend over and clear later,” he tells you hoarsely. Any thought of being irritated at the melted ice cream on your floor vanishes. He moves his hands to your waist, but doesn’t lift you up like you expect. Instead, his fingers dip into the waistband of both your pants and underwear. “We’ve moved slowly for too long,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. No sooner than he heard the word did he drop away from you, down to his knees, and drag your clothes down to your ankles. You let out a low moan, your weight shifting back and leaning into your table. “Steve...”

He wastes no time. Asks no more questions. He slips off your shoes quickly and once he’s rid you of your pants entirely, he grabs behind one of your knees and hikes your leg up and open, giving him full access to your hot, wet pussy. He doesn’t even give you the chance to beg him. He comes forward and licks only a single stripe up your lips before delving his tongue deeper.

Your body tries to gasp and moan at the same time and instead a strangled sound barely rises from your throat. Your body tenses and you throw one hand into his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more. He places your leg over his shoulder and tilts his chin up to take your clit between his lips and suck. Somewhere in the back recesses of your mind, you wonder where in the world Captain America learned to eat pussy like this, but then his tongue is working again and your mind blanks.

“Fuck,” you whisper harshly, followed by a moan. The hand not tangled in his hair grips the edge of the table, trying to keep your balance. He gives another hard suck on your clit and pulls away just slightly.

“You taste so good, babygirl.” He leans forward and licks at you one last time. “But I’m an impatient man.” He carefully removes your leg from your shoulder, a hand on your hip to make sure you get both feet on the ground and balanced before he stands back up. He starts unbuckling his belt and your dry mouth waters. You push off the table, start to sink to your knees when he stops you, hand on your chin, and keeps you standing. “So eager,” he coos, still using his other hand to undo his pants. “I like that.” He brings your mouth to his and kisses you deeply, letting you taste your own juices on his tongue. “But if you put that pretty mouth anywhere near my dick, I’m going to cum,” he admits harshly. The brashness in his voice sends electricity down your spine. The very idea of Steve’s cock in your mouth, cumming down your throat with his hands in your hair makes you quiver. You reach out, fingertips tickling at the open waistband of his pants.

“Please?” you ask, as sweet as your voice will manage. You swallow and steel yourself to be brave. You’re already naked from the waist down. Steve’s face is glistening with your juices. Now isn’t the time to be shy. “Please, daddy?” The hand at your jaw slips down around your neck ever so gently as he chuckles.

“Don’t tempt me,” he warns, unable to resist pressing another kiss to your mouth. “I'll use that pretty throat another day,” he promises, giving just a whisper of a squeeze around the column of your neck before removing his hand and continuing to free himself from his pants. “Turn around,” he tells you. “Bend over the table.” You listen to his commands without question.

Before, you’d always thought Steve would be vanilla; straight up missionary in bed with the lights off kind of a guy. After The Snap, after he hardened up and caught your attention, after he admitted to his very own Daddy kink, you knew he had a little spice in him, but you still hadn’t expected this. You get lost in his dominance. Turn into a wet, writing mess at his touch. God, you wish you hadn’t waited so long for this.

“Last chance to run, babygirl,” he says, bringing you back from your thoughts. You wish you could see his cock, could feel it, but the excitement of not knowing as he rubbed the budging tip against your wet slip, made you crave it all the more. You look back over your shoulder at him and wait for his eyes to meet yours.

“Steve... Fuck me.” It’s less of a plea and more of a demand of your own. He smirks down at you and presses one hand into your lower back, pushing your belly to the table. When he slides in, you drop your face down and moan. He goes slow, his entire length slowly pushing inside of you, stretching you, filling you. “Fuck,” you moan into the table. Steve represses a groan as he pulls out just a little and then pushes back in, fitting his entire cock in you.

There’s only a brief moment of stillness where you both revel in the feeling. Then Steve is moving, slowly pulling out then pushing forward. His pace increases, his thrusts get harder. Soon, you’re a panting, moaning mess on your kitchen table as Steve glides one hand up your back and tangles in your hair.

“You feel so good,” he groans out, voice barely above a whisper as though it’s hard for him to speak at all. “Touch yourself,” he says. “Touch yourself for me.” You lift off the table just enough to sneak your hand beneath you and play with your clit. You can feel his cock thrusting so close to your hand and you can’t help but reach just a little further and let your fingers touch it. Steve shudders and his thrusts stutter for just a moment before he gets it together. “Such a good girl,” he praises.

“Wanted this for so long,” you mumble, cheek pressed to the table and eyes closed, grinding your palm into your clit while you try to circle your fingers around his thick cock.

“Ever since Tony’s last Christmas party,” he admits. “That fucking blue dress.” He groans, recalling how you looked. “Wanted to bend you over the table right there in the middle of room.” He slows his thrusts, getting too close to his end with your fingers teasing him and your tight pussy wrapped around him. It gives you enough clarity in your head to think back. Christmas party?

“That was...” you breathe out loud. Before The Snap. Steve leans himself over your back, shallowing his thrusts and pulling the hair from your neck so he can kiss and lick at your skin.

“Yeah,” he groans, bringing his lips up to your ear. “Not like I could tell anyone I wanted to fuck my best friend’s girl.” Your breath hitches and your hand stills for a moment, but the low, long moan that escapes you involuntarily only encourages him.

He’d wanted you for that long? Years. While Bucky was still alive. While you hadn’t even given Steve a second look. How many nights did he spend locked away in his room thinking about you? Had he touched himself wishing it was you? How hard did he get imagining being inside of you just like he is right now?

“Steve,” you moan, reaching back with your other hand to feel for his hip, to hold onto him. Suddenly, you crave to give him everything. He’d waited so many years for you. You want to give him everything he wanted. You circle your fingers around him again. “I want you to cum in me.” His motions stop and he breathes heavily near your ear.

“Are you sure?” he asks, old fashioned concern in his voice. You hadn’t exactly discussed birth control or expectations or wants, but the way his cock twitches inside of you says everything. You take your hand off his hip and push up on the table enough to twist your head to kiss him.

“Please, daddy,” you try the line again. His hand snakes around to your front, cradling the very bottom of your neck by your collarbone and pulls you up, arching your back and taking some of his weight off of you. “Fill me up,” you beg.

“That what you want?” The concern in his voice is replaced with confidence as he starts moving again. “You want me to cum inside of you?” You barely manage to nod as he starts thrusting harder. You dig your palm into your clit, chasing your own release as much as his. “That’s right, babygirl.” You’re moaning hard now as he fucks you and you can feel his dick swell against your walls. “Oh, fuck,” his hips sputter again and with one more grind of your palm, you feel your own orgasm wash over you.

“Fill me,” you moan through the waves, clenching tight around his dick. “Make me yours.” Steve’s hand tightens around your neck briefly as he cums, pulling your body against him as he buries himself as deep as he can and spills inside of you. A mess of moans and sharp gasps, shuddering bodies and slickness, you both start to come down from your high, hands falling away from each other and breath shaky.

Steve recovers first, kissing gently at your neck before helping to lower you to the table. Your muscles feel wobbly and skin hot, sweaty. You’re spent and used and sticky and utterly satisfied. When Steve slowly pulls out of you, you feel fluid drip down your thighs and you clench down as if you can keep him inside of you.

“I can...” He pauses, still catching his breath. “Help you with the mess,” he says, motioning to the floor. You start to straighten yourself out, fighting your own body as your vision goes a little fuzzy, your blood still not back up to your head where it should be. You let out an airy laugh at his sudden concern to be gentlemanly again.

“Should probably clean ourselves first,” you joke lightly. He laughs and dips his head.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You worry he’s going to get awkward now, that the spark will vanish as quick as it lit the fire. Then he smiles when he looks at you and pulls you in for a kiss softer than any other he’d given you. It’s slow and gentle, melting any worry away from you. “Ladies first.”

After you’ve both washed yourselves up and made quick work of the melted ice cream, you move to the couch. You sit across from each other, each of sitting back against an armrest, feet and legs intertwined in the middle. Steve is staring at you softly and it causes a blush to rise up on your neck.

“So...” you sigh. “The Christmas party?” He bites his lower lip and grimaces a little bit.

“Yeah. I didn’t actually intend on ever telling you that,” he admits sheepishly and for a moment you see the Old Steve show up. It’s endearing and cute and makes you smile all the more.

“I honestly had no clue,” you tell him through a small laugh.

“I got pretty good at hiding the blushing after a while,” he says. “And you were happy. I wasn’t going to mess that up for either of you.” The tone humbles and you crawl over to seat yourself between his legs, back to his chest, and wrap his arms around yourself.

“So, tell me,” you say coyly. “Did I live up to the years of dirty fantasies?” He chuckles and puts his face into your neck.

“Better than I could have ever imagined,” he mumbles into your skin. “And what about you?” he asks, tightening his grip around you and settling you into his arms.

“Never even dreamed the good ol’ Captain America had such an intense side,” you tell him, humming and dropping your head to his shoulder contently.

“I took it easy on you,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your pulse.

You giggle and push back on his chest with your back as a playful shove. He chuckles again and eases up, settling into just holding onto you and enjoying the moment.

The happiness you feel is long overdue. It feels good. It finally feels right. You turn and give Steve a slow, lazy kiss and smile at him, unable to stop yourself. Your thoughts float back to your final words before his orgasm. Make me yours. It’s what set him off; the idea of you being fully and completely his.

What he didn’t realize is that you’d been his girl for a long while now. This just made it official.

~~~

A/N #2: So... keeping in mind it took me ten fucking months to write a part two... what would you all think about a sequel that is a "choose your own ending" in which you get to be conflicted over and ultimately choose if you stay with Steve or get back with Bucky after The Blip? Anyone interested?

Tumblr has been a bitch getting my work out to people so I ask that you like, comment, and reblog. Of course, if you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee! https://ko-fi.com/writerashley

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Faux (A fake dating Silvaze Fic)

Here’s a little something I wrote to promote Silvaze Week 2020. It starts on September 27th, for more information please go see the Silvaze Week twitter! This story uses the oblivious prompt and is over 11,000 words wrong!

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“I still don’t think I get it, Blaze. If nothing’s changing, what’re you asking me to actually do?” Silver the hedgehog said, sat at the foot royal bed. A book was sprawled open in his lap, but his attention was fully focused on the princess.

Blaze the cat was supposed to be working at her desk. The sun was well on its way to setting yet papers were still stacked high before her; agreements to endorse and budgets to look over and constructions to sign off on, it was nothing too out of the ordinary. Rather than tending to those though, she’d turned her chair to discuss a more personal matter and project with her closest companion. She’d thought it would be easy to explain but, in hindsight, the plan she’d propose was nothing like their usual fair. It didn’t help matters that neither of them had any experience in this department. Well, as far as she knew, he didn’t.

“I’m proposing that you say and pretend that you’re my boyfriend, Silver. That’s really all there is to it,” She instructed, using as simple and plain terms as possible, “I’ll do the same for you and we’ll go on a date tomorrow,” She caught the flexing of his brow and elaborated further, “A fake date, of course, just something small, we could visit the beach for a picnic lunch?

“Right,” He nodded but confusion still twisted his face, “But I’ve never actually been a boyfriend before, how will I know what to do?” It didn’t surprise Blaze that he was willing to go along with this, but it did surprise her that, of all the first questions, he’d landed on that. Not why they were going through this in the first place, just what he was supposed to do; it was very like him, but it still managed to catch her off-guard.

“I’ve not been a girlfriend, we’re both going into this blind and I think that’s what’ll make the ruse more believable,” She answered, “Honestly, I don’t think you’ll have to do anything different. If anything, I’ll have to be a little more forward.”

“More forward?” His head gently tilted, and his eyes squinted; her phrasing was throwing him off. Perhaps she wasn’t being clear with him.

“We’re both new to this but I think it’s clear that I understand this potential task better than you. While I have not been in a relationship, those around me have,” Blaze elaborated, “That means I’ll have to take the lead, initiate bolder actions that’ll suggest to the public that we’re an actual couple; that we’re not just partners.”

Then again, that’d hardly be difficult. Silver was perfect for this plan because, frankly, that nature of their partnership was nebulous. They’d been mistaken for a couple more times than she could count. When Silver had first arrived in the Sol Dimension and her public had observed a total stranger hugging, laughing with and being doted on by the princess, rumours and gossip had quickly sailed to inform all corners of her kingdom. She’d never acknowledged that hearsay, denying a rumour only spread it further, but now she was going to use it to her advantage; she was going to turn that gossip on its head.

His ears were still slightly folded and, though it had faded, befuddlement lingered in his eyes and on his brow. The why was almost as important as the action itself, his curious nature would surely gnaw away at him and she wasn’t opposed to explaining. It was just a wordy and rather sad story, ideally the cliff notes alone would suffice.

“I know it’s all a little strange but my birthday’s only a couple of months away and I’m starting to worry,” Blaze began to explain, “When my mother turned eighteen, she started to get letters from suitors. People she’d never met wrote to her and asked for her hand in marriage. They were rich and powerful people, important to her kingdom but, equally, they were people she hardly even knew let alone loved,” The cogs in Silver’s head were turning, his fist tightened at what he surely thought and injustice, but Blaze thought it best to tell a more complete tale, “She was afraid to turn any of them down for fear of worsening her professional relationships but, atop that issue, she had already fallen in love with my father; she had a secret boyfriend. When that information became public those letters stopped arriving, but a few families felt as though they’d been led on and public relations worsened. Many of them refused to speak with her for several years, some won’t even speak to me.”

“What? People cut her off because she didn’t marry them, even though they didn’t even know her? Of course she didn’t want to marry them, why would she want to marry someone she doesn’t know?” Silver was aghast, she couldn’t help but smile at his innocence and the sense of justice behind it, “That’s awful! Did they just want to be in charge?”

“Yes,” Blaze affirmed, “They didn’t love her; they just wanted the royal name, be it to further their brands or grow their pride. A lot of parents wrote in on behalf of their children, many either much too old or much too young, offering them up to further the family’s social status.”

“So, you want to avoid all that by making them think you already have a boyfriend? That way, they won’t send any letters in the first place and won’t have anything to be angry about?” The hedgehog surmised. His stare was still galvanised by the tale of her mother.

“If you wouldn’t mind being that person Silver, yes,” Having made that request twice now, feeling a pang of guilt, Blaze hesitated, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do this, but I know it’s a lot to ask. It’ll take up time and, obviously, stop you having this kind of relationship with anyone else. If you’re uncomfortable then we don’t have to, I don’t want to impose-

“If it’ll make you feel more comfortable, I’m willing to do anything, Blaze. I’ve never dated anyone before, but I’ll do my best to do it right,” Before she could finish, he’d bounded from his seated position and let his book tumble to the floor. He’d flown forward and taken her by the shoulders. When the hedgehog agreed to something, no matter how small, he made it his duty to see it through. She should have known that he’d want to see this through, “Starting tomorrow we’ll tell people that we’re dating. It can’t be that hard!”

The hedgehog had never quite understood personal space, his forehead was practically against hers and it’d only take a small push for their noses to collide. Blaze rolled her eyes, reaching up and returning his hold, “Thank you, Silver. Really, you have no idea how much more comfortable this will make me. I’ve been worrying about it for months now, weighing my options.”

“I just hope I can play the part well enough to convince everyone,” He awkwardly smiled, failing to mask his concern, “I’ve never had to act before, let alone trick people.”

“I doubt you’ll even have to act, just be yourself, you’re a very…” She searched for the perfect word, “Passionate person. When your mind is set on doing something, you invest in it so deeply; I’m sure that’ll come through and it’ll be more than enough,” Concern faded from his eyes, just a little, “But, like I said, I’ll take the lead. If I don’t think we’re being convincing enough, I’ll make a move.”

“Do you want me to do anything to help prepare? What about tomorrow’s date?” He asked, already trying to help even more, “I’ve got stuff back at the hut, I could easily put together a picnic if we do want to do a beach date?”

“I think that would be perfect, Silver,” She admitted, having intended to imply that was what she wanted later. Though he claimed to love her cooking, she had a far more rational palette, “This should be the last weekend before the weather turns, it’s already getting too cold for beach going. The crowds shouldn’t be huge but hopefully we’ll be visible enough that the word will spread itself.”

“We can go around the rock pools, walk along the beach and look for shells,” A new idea popped into his mind, his eyes lit up, “O-Or we could just relax if you prefer? Take a few books to read, maybe even get ice cream and…” Silver seemed to catch himself, his eyes began to lower, “I’m sorry, I’m trying to plan all this out. I want to help you Blaze; you should be free to choose who you want to love; you shouldn’t have to do this in the first place.”

He wanted to make things right, of course he did. The princess found herself shifting just a little closer as her grasp on him grew just a little tighter. Silver’s strong sense of justice didn’t have as many opportunities to shine through in this dimension, the world’s state of relative peace contributed to that, but it was a part of him she adored seeing. He was willing to put himself through so much and try so hard, she didn’t think he was romantically interested in anyone but even still; he was willing to put future romances on hold just so she could be comfortable.

“It’ll be easy, Silver. Don’t think of this like a date, think of it as one of our usual outings; like stargazing or visiting the crystal caves, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. We’ll do whatever comes naturally. All you need to do is stay by my side and be how you always are, all that’s changing is how we refer to each other,” Despite her reinforcement, his gaze drifted further from hers. She reached across and pushed his chin, turning him to face her. The worry seemed to vanish from his bright yellow eyes, “Just act natural, it’ll be fine. I’ll do the heavy lifting; it was my idea after all.”

“I’ll do my best,” As he promised, their heads came to touch. The contact seemed to invigorate him, “I’ll be the best boyfriend I can be! You don’t have to carry all the weight; I’ll handle it!”

Her smile only grew as she pushed against his contact, “You’re so naïve…”

----

Whittling the evening away, talking and toying with Silver, proved to be foolish. By the time he’d left, midnight was mere minutes away and a good two hours’ work still lay upon her desk. Coffee had helped her through it all but, unfortunately, it’d also scared away sleep for an additional hour at least. By the time she’d finally drifted off, it couldn’t have been far from four.

The princess awoke just after nine, her head made heavy and ears brought to curl by the incessant blaring of her alarm clock. Groggily rising, stretching cricks from her body, Blaze managed to stumble the path from her bed into her en suite. Warm water and morning rituals washed away much of her morning daze, though a small pain continued gnawing just behind her forehead. She supposed it was her own fault for leaving so much undone, but it surely wouldn’t make today any easier.

This proved to be true as the princess entered her walk-in wardrobe only to find herself befuddled. She’d already chosen an outfit for today, the same outfit she usually wore (her long sleeved tabard and tights, her standard guardian-wear), but, for whatever reason, it wasn’t appealing to her. Something about it didn’t seem right for today, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Though she didn’t fight her gut intuition, Blaze told herself that it was the fault of nerves and a want to be more convincing more than anything. After all, the public had seen her dressed like that and with him a good few dozen times. Rather than take the garb at the front of her closet, she pressed herself to take a few steps deeper inside. Her stomach fizzed at the sight of jeans, dresses and other casual wear. She’d never intended to wear most of these articles, but they’d gathered here regardless of her want.

Most of her alternate outfits were gifts sent from fashion designers and clothing chains, dropped on her in the foolish hope that the princess would act as their living advertisement. She’d learned as a youth that it was wiser to wait a year and donate them rather than simply send them back, it was just another way she managed to avoid sour responses. Still, as she found herself near the back of her closet, none of those gifted items called out to her. One ensemble was singing to her, both loudly and clearly, but it had a far more embarrassing origin.

When Amy Rose set her mind to something, it was difficult to stop her. During one of her brief excursions to the other world, the young hedgehog had dragged the older feline away to pick out some summer clothes. Blaze had successfully rejected most of Amy’s recommendations but one of them had managed to pierce her armour, early into the outing Blaze had been caught off guard by a certain garb and the hedgehog had built upon it.

She pulled the hanger free and its scary splendour was fully revealed to her. It was an amber sundress, the fabric littered with inconsistent clusters of white lilies. Once Amy had pushed her into a changing room, the pink blur had rushed off to gather some matching accessories. An amber scrunchie to replace her usual red ring, a set of saltwater sandals and a pair of white rimmed sunglasses had been shoved beneath the changing room curtain before Blaze was even half changed.

This outfit would play into their charade incredibly well, Blaze knew how much a change in garb could do, but her stomach was doing backflips. She knew she was overreacting, when she’d tried it on for the first time she hadn’t felt like this, but that knowledge did nothing to curtain her errant emotions. It was only after she donned the full outfit the Blaze realised why she felt quite so tense. Utilising the full-length mirror attached to the closet’s outer door, Blaze found that her reflection’s cheeks had turned scarlet. The dress was pretty, undeniably pretty, and the lower five sixths of it were fine… but…

The dress hung from her shoulder on two, rather thin, fabric straps. The white fur of her underbelly wasn’t quite visible but, this dress exposed her shoulders, her arms and almost the entirety of her collar. Everything else about it was perfect but those straps were just too thin for her liking and the neckline was just a little too deep. Perhaps it was made for someone with a different body shape?

Why was she wasting so much time on this? For whatever reason she wanted to wear this dress but, simultaneously, couldn’t overcome its collar. Blaze knew that if she’d just force herself to wear her usual attire this’d be over with already but something about this just felt… right for today. She was worried about fully convincing her public, perhaps this change really was needed.

Eventually, she managed to come to a compromise. She decided to wear the amber sundress, and all the additions Amy had piled upon her, but don her swimsuit beneath. It was a plain, dark purple, one-piece leotard intended for sport rather than casual use. Fortunately, the dress was baggy enough to hide the under-outfit but its straps were too thick to be covered by those of the dress. Well, it didn’t alter the outfit and it did immediately make her feel a lot more comfortable. It wasn’t uncommon for people to wear swimsuits under their beachgoing clothes, was it? Settled, she managed to finally leave her room and, having snatched a banana for breakfast on the go, made her way out the front doors of the palace.

Immediately, the arrival of sunlight forced her to don her sunglasses. They were supposed to be in autumn but, even despite her pyrokinetic nature, Blaze could feel the heat. It wasn’t even muggy; the day was dry, and the sky was totally clear, it was as though a summer day had been transplanted later into the year. That would complicate things a little, she assumed. It was better this than it being rainy, but the beach would probably be a little better stocked than she’d assumed last night. This was a Saturday too…

Regardless, it’d take more than a new garb and a little sun to stop her. Silver was waiting, everything was prepared, their late-night planning couldn’t go to waste!

----

The uproar on the beach wasn’t just a little louder than she’d anticipated, it was much louder. She’d arrived outside Marine’s driftwood-hut, a good hundred or so metres from the sands, but the princess could hear the sounds of families shouting and playing… so many families. She’d hesitated at the doorstep, that noise and all it implied had managed to paralyse the powerful pyrokinetic. A few eyes she could handle, she’d given hundreds of speeches, but this was different. Blaze told herself that she could endure the stares, but would he be okay with this?

She hadn’t known the hedgehog to get stage fright, but this was new ground for both of them. If she didn’t know how she’d handle this, what chance did she have of guessing how he would? Well, then again, she’d watched him more than she’d watched herself. They probably had a better idea of how the other would react than themselves. Hopefully, ideally, he’d be too focused on their task to notice anyone else.

Mustering all of her courage, the princess brought her knuckle to rap against the door. Her thoughts on the hedgehog’s state were split into two distinct pieces. The first was that he’d try his best to lie and put on a front, following her lead, but, ultimately, his inability to lie convincingly would make today more than a little silly. Perhaps that was for the better, maybe that’d make her feel more relaxed.

Alternatively, it was entirely possible that his obliviousness in regard to romance would make this incredibly easy. He’d play along blissfully unaware of what he was actually doing, entirely comfortable in his position. Try as she might; Blaze struggled to picture Silver being romantic, let alone in a relationship. He’d been through so much, both with her and without her, that ideas of who he’d want to be with, let alone what he’d want to do with another person, assumedly hadn’t arrived in his mind. He almost seemed too selfless for love, too focused on other things.

Blaze supposed she hadn’t really pondered it until recently, whether he actually had an interest in romance. Just before she’d proposed this plan, she’d considered it and come to a similar conclusion but now, for whatever reason, that questioning refused to abate. Was he actually interested in romance? Who would he even be interested in? Were it not for her discordant mind, she’d be far more comfortable making assumptions about his position. Something about this morning was simply off, working too late must have been taking its toll.

The feline, so lost in a world of her own, almost fell backwards as the door flew open. Marine the Raccoon, garbed in her usual green dress and wearing a ludicrously knowing grin, had reared her head in Silver’s place. It was as though she’d been up and waiting for this moment for hours.

“Picked out some nifty duds, didn’t ya? Strewth, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen them. You’re lookin’ for your fella, aren’t ya?” Her smirk seemed to grow evermore with every passing second. Before Blaze could even offer up an answer, the raccoon had turned her back, “Silver! Your Sheila’s here! How could you just leave her out on the doorstep, some boyfriend you are, are you even up? Oi, mate? Mate…?” She toddled back inside, leaving Blaze’s eyes to roll in the sailor’s wake.

Marine had been more than a little insistent that the pair were together long before this plan had been hatched. She’d undoubtedly been overjoyed to hear the false news from Silver, she’d probably been the first person it’d spread to. When the truth eventually came out, she’d probably be a little disappointed but, surely, she’d be old enough by then to understand the princess’ position.

That was a thought, how long were they going to keep this up? Months perhaps, but years? She supposed they’d have to, the moment they admitted to the contrary she’d likely be bombarded with letters and gifts. Well, they didn’t have to, but she couldn’t see herself finding a reason to stop. No one really appealed to her but if Silver ever wanted out, she’d let him out. If he met someone or-

“Oh, Blaze! You’re here!” Just as her mind had refocused on Silver, she heard the hedgehog approaching from behind. She turned to look over her shoulder and his smile almost knocked Blaze from her feet, “Sorry I’m late, I had something to pick up in town. I hope you didn’t have to wait too long?”

Something about him was different today… well, many things looked different. Like her, the hedgehog was wearing casual attire, but it was an outfit she recognised all too well. She’d bought it for one of his birthdays, when she’d noticed him outgrowing much of the wardrobe he’d been gifted upon his arrival to this dimension. It was a basic but well-fitting garb she’d picked out because she’d thought it’d suit him and, well, today it especially seemed to. He was wearing a button up, short-sleeved, teal and navy shirt with a set of long navy shorts. In place of his typical boots, Silver had donned a thicker set of walking sandals, almost intended for hiking. Naturally, his cuffs and anklets had to remain so she’d chosen colours that wouldn’t clash with his aura or gold.

The psychic had worn the outfit quite a few times, though only on occasions he seemed to consider important. For as plain as they were, the hedgehog was very much making them work. They let him look relaxed, as she always liked him to be now that he was safely away from the future, without looking untidy. She hadn’t noticed that the outfit rather… accentuated a distracting feature of his. His quills were pulled back into a messy ponytail, an attempt to avoid battle with the sea breeze, but the edge of his chest fluff had managed to breach his shirt. Hiding some of his fluffiness only drew her eyes to what little remained. She blamed her choice in neckline for that latter issue.

There was something else though, something deeper than fabric that was drawing her attention; causing some strange quaking in her gut. She told herself that it was just grogginess, that she was just being silly, but even as her eyes broke from his form, the hedgehog’s visage lingered in her mind. Blaze supposed she just hadn’t seen him dressed in them for a while, the hedgehog liked to wear clothes but his outfits were usually more ragtag; tempest tossed quills, a hoodie pulled over his bare shoulders, dirty boots and crumpled trousers. He’d made an effort for her and… well…

It’d paid off. Try as Blaze might; she couldn’t deny it, he wasn’t exactly unpleasant to look at. But then, why were her eyes locked onto the ground?

“He was up half the night putting everything together; the clothes, the food…” Marine listed from the corner of the feline’s eye, “I’m glad you both finally came to your senses, I always knew he’d make the perfect boyfriend for you.”

For whatever reason, those words had stoked something within Blaze. The wriggling within her stomach longed to go on the offensive and chastise Marine but, being such a foolish feeling, the princess knew it would do neither her nor them any good. Instead, she simply brought her toes to curl and fists to ball. When the hedgehog arrived at the doorstep, the scent of sweet goods hit her nose and further drew her attention.

“Marine, could you get everything I made last night? There should be a little basket on the kitchen counter,” Rather immediately, the little sailor scampered off to do what he asked, “So, are we still doing this?

“Y-Yes,” Her response was quick, but that stutter wasn’t a result of speed. She swallowed, “As long as you’re still okay going through with this, I’m okay.”

“I feel the same. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. This is still a little strange to me but then it must be for you too. We can do this, I’m sure of it,” He hesitated for a moment, blinking at her slightly, “I don’t think I’ve seen this outfit before. You look really pretty!”

Her face went from red to boiling, he clearly had no idea what he was doing to her. Well, to be frank, she had no idea what he was doing to her either. She scrambled for a reply, “Y-You look nice too,” Was that arrogant to say? She had bought him that outfit after all.

As she looked up to him- no, as she realised that their difference in height forced her to look up to him, the wriggling and jostling in her stomach exploded into two dozen angry butterflies. Something about him today, the way his eyes met hers and his shoulders seemed broader, was holding her full attention. It was as though she hadn’t seen him in a while, no… it was more like she hadn’t looked at him in a while. He was surely still the naïve hedgehog she knew, but Silver had grown. He looked far more mature than Blaze recalled even last night. What had changed beyond her clothes? She supposed they had fake titles for each other now? But why would that-

“Blaze?” A shock ran from the top of her shoulders to the tip of her tail, bringing it to dance and curl around her waist, “Are you alright? You were staring…” He reached up, rubbing at his muzzle, “Do I have something on my face?”

“N-No Silver,” The princess practically choked on her stutter, she tore her gaze from him again, “I just didn’t get much sleep last night, I was too busy… planning all this. It was a lot of work.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” He cringed slightly, “I would have stayed and helped if you’d said.”

“I-It’s fine, don’t worry about it. What’s done is done,” She was usually better at lying but, for whatever reason, today was proving to be an exception to all of her norms.

He didn’t look entirely convinced but Marine had returned, he gently stuffed his current bag into the she’d retrieved basket, “What’s the plan then? Are we still heading for the beach?”

“It does seem a little busy,” Blaze mused, trying to resign his worry to the business of the beach, “Perhaps we could keep to the cliff face, the near edge. That way we won’t be getting in anyone’s way and their attention should be towards the water.”

“That seems like a great idea, that way we’ll be seen but not too seen,” He enthusiastically nodded, “The cliff should keep our picnic in the shade too, it’ll be perfect!”

The excitement in his voice sent a wave of heat up her face to tip her ears, as her temperature rose the hedgehog’s gaze overwhelmed her; Blaze’s stare fell to the ground. Only three words managed to slip beyond her lips, “Y-You’re so naïve.”

With an awkward wave goodbye to Marine the two finally set off towards the beach, walking together as faux boyfriend and girlfriend for the first time.

----

The beach was just as busy as it had sounded; children were running wild, frolicking in and out of the water with reckless abandon. Beach towel after beach towel littered the sand, slovenly forms comfortably spread across each and every one of them. They’d stuck to their plan, keeping to the far side of the beach and walking alongside the great cliff edge that shaded it; passing into and out of its shadow based upon the warping of bluffs.

Talk had been, admittedly, sparser than usual. He had made attempts to start conversations, but her mouth had been rather useless today. Speaking seemed to further the heat on her face and strip her tongue of its rationality, resulting in stuttering. Thus, she’d kept replies brief; a handful of words at best, awkward nods and headshakes at worst. If she was walking with anyone else, they’d surely think she was being rude. At least with Silver, he’d been around long enough that walking quietly was normalised. Still, given the nature of this current outing, she couldn’t help but assume he was either worried or confused.

Blaze was a good half pace behind him, rending her stare from the sand to throw him a look every so often. Since their arrival on the beach, she’d kept her sunglasses firmly covering her eyes; both to partially obscure where she was looking and hide some of her panic. Unfortunately, they weren’t doing much to prevent her embarrassment.

Their difference in height was really throwing her off, the feline felt like she should have been walking on her tiptoes to better match him. Had it really been so long since she’d worn flats? Had the difference between their heights grown so great without her even noticing? The Silver she saw in her mind’s eye was sweet and insecure, she could hardly even identify him as anything beyond his name; he was simply Silver, her partner, a person she could trust above all others. Looking at him now it was… it was as though she was actually seeing him as a man and that was, somehow, far more embarrassing than being dressed as she was. She’d probably find it easier to publicly admit that they were together than spend five minutes eye to eye with him, something had changed; he wasn’t the same cute, naïve, hedgehog she’d once known.

Well, he was still naïve, and he was undeniably cute; just not in the way she recalled it, not in a way she could bring herself to describe internally let alone audibly. How had he gone from the amorphous, fluffy, form she pictured in her mind’s eye, to this in only one night? What had changed? It couldn’t just be his clothes. It was so fascinating and yet so hard to dwell upon.

As he turned to look at her, Blaze’s gaze darted towards the waters and stumbled between the people watching them. There weren’t too many gazes on them, at least not consistently. A few people were whispering, and an elderly pair were throwing some kind of stare their way but most of the public seemed squarely focused on their time at the beach.

“Blaze?” His words drew her stare back to him, there was concern in his eyes.

She couldn’t muster a word in response, only an acknowledging hum. Her tongue was weighed, if she spoke then she’d surely stutter. How long would this feeling last?

“Is everything okay? Am I doing this right?” He’d slowed and taken a step closer, her eyes dropped to meet what little chest fur was free before darting up to meet his eye again. At this distance, she had no idea if he could make out where she was looking, “You’ve been very quiet. I thought we were supposed to be making a scene, drawing attention to us being together.”

“O-Oh,“ She gulped, ballistic at herself for swallowing, “I’m not entirely certain how we’d go about that. I think we’re drawing enough stares as it is, it’s probably fine...”

“Is this making you uncomfortable? Is it too much?” He fumbled with the picnic basket, switching it into his right hand as he looked past her and to the beach, “We can swap places if you want, that way they’d be looking at me instead.”

Despite this feeling in her gut, Silver was still Silver. If he thought he could do anything to help, even the slightest thing, he’d offer it without hesitation. She didn’t have the heart to tell him he was wrong, let alone that she was being bombarded by feelings she couldn’t explain, “Thank you, Silver.”

He shifted to her outer side, acting as a barrier between her and the stares, but part of the endeavour caused her heart to skip a beat. Once he’d arrived on that side, Silver had slipped his left hand into her right. She almost stumbled and he quickly looked back at her, very clearly confused. This kind of contact was regular for them, whenever the other was troubled the other would take their hand or wrap an arm around their shoulder; last night even, he’d held her by the shoulders and she’d casually returned that grasp. They’d held hands thousands of times, more than she could ever hope to count but, today, this afternoon, there was something almost electrifying about that contact.

He was staring, waiting for some kind of response, but her tongue would surely fail her again. She had to make up for its lack of fluidity.

Bluntly, boldly, she brought her fingers to lock between his and squeezed his hand tight; forcing herself into the leading position, she spoke without turning back to him, “L-Lets find somewhere quieter to eat. I’m starving.”

Her cheeks were on fire, she locked her eyes on the path ahead but no matter how she charged or tried to distract herself; Blaze’s embarrassment refused to shift. A lack of sleep had never done anything like this to her, at least not before today. Was that all this was? Tiredness and the stupor brought on by it? It had to be, nothing else made sense.

He’d caught up, matching her quickened pace to walk beside her, “Somewhere quieter, okay, um…”

Silver cast his eyes to the beach and Blaze’s stare followed, it seemed that their shift in pace had caused them to draw more attention. Rather than one or two older couples, a larger group of multiple families seemed to have noticed them. That, or word had simply spread up the beach and the world had finally noticed them together; dressed differently and holding hands, more than likely on a date. She slowed her pace again, turning to the cliff face. She’d had an idea, born of his recommendation of picnicking in the cliff’s shade. It was a stupid thought, so very stupid, but she knew somewhere more private. People might still see them, people could still reach them, but it’d perhaps make her feel more comfortable long term… even if it was bound to make her less comfortable in the short term and draw many more eyes.

“What about up there? We’d be away from the beach itself, but it’d be a little more private. I think we’d still be seen enough,” She suggested, gesturing up the cliff face, “They’d see you carrying me up there, perhaps that’s enough of a sign that we’re...”

He came to a stop, glancing up the cliff’s edge before quickly turning to the beach behind them, “Are you sure you’d be comfortable with that?”

Blaze knew what he was implying. Not only would this draw more eyes to them initially, but it involved scaling to a height that, while not ludicrous, was a little beyond what he knew her to be comfortable with. The concern in his eyes was so genuine…

“I know you won’t drop me, Silver. I trust you,” She squeezed his hand again, “Just, please, make it quick but not too quick.”

He managed a nod, his worry quelled, and slipped his hand from hers to shift the picnic basket further up his arm. Without blinking or flinching, he turned and put his right hand to her back while crouching and lowering his left arm for her to swing her legs up and across. While she’d focused on his concern her embarrassment had faded. Now, the heat had returned.

This was how he usually lifted her, it was more comfortable to lie in his grasp than to cling to him as he flew, but, due to her addled and tired mind, she was having further thoughts. Usually she’d have stepped up without flinching, she’d allow her head to fall against his shoulder and focus solely on his face until they reached their destination. They’d make conversation, he’d distract her from the distance between them and the ground. Today however, that seemed more difficult. Her tiredness couldn’t be responsible for that. Was it because she was wearing a dress?

Briefly catching his eye again, Blaze rapidly neatened her clothes a little. As she finally brought her legs over his arm, she tried to keep herself decent. It was stupid, the skirt of her dress was long, but it didn’t do anything to dispel the heat on her face. Her head still found his shoulder and, although she’d been looking up at him all day, at least this was a more familiar view.

“Are you ready?” He made sure, she felt his grasp tighten just above her knee and around her shoulders. Something about that contact, contact she’d experienced hundreds of times, coupled with the view energised the butterflies in her stomach.

She forced her gaze to roll from him and to the rock wall in front of them, “Yes.”

Cyan light crept into her vision and weightlessness set in. Her choice to focus on the wall didn’t serve her well. While it was better than looking down, she could tell that they were rising and with each passing second the ground drifted further away. They weren’t going slowly, but Silver was making sure to keep things stable; ergo, their pace wasn’t as fast as she knew he could fly, or he’d even normally fly with her.

As his concern for her was made manifest and the shifting rockface began to make her queasy, the princess couldn’t help but return to her normal position. Historically, her cheek would be cushioned by the edge of his chest fluff but now his shirt was in the way. Why did she miss that comfort?

Her shifting brought his attention back to her; those piercing yellow eyes were upon her again. Without so much as thinking, she stuttered out; “Sh-Shouldn’t you be watching the sky?”

He responded to her request immediately, shifting to look upwards, so he didn’t catch her grimacing at her own stupidity. Her gaze lowered slightly, and she ended up staring at what little of his fluff was visible. Despite his endeavour to look presentable, a few tufts were out of place. If she was feeling more regular, she might have seen reason to undo its tugs and neaten him. As things were though, Blaze could only stare.

Though he stopped ascending when he reached the green grass that topped the cliff, he didn’t quite put her down. Instead, the hedgehog flew just a little more inland so that she wouldn’t have to see the worst of the height; they touched down a good twenty paces from the edge. He gently set her down, dipping her legs and allowing her to step free from his hold. The grass wasn’t exactly thin up here, they were a little off the beaten trail, but it seemed like a fine spot for a picnic. The tide was out, so they could see where the beach met the waves, and to their backs was a lush palm tree forest. They would only be visible to those close to the water’s edge and out at sea. More eyes were on them for the moment than had been before, a few kids had run up the beach to watch their flight, but she knew they would drift with time. In the long run, this was better.

“Here seems pretty perfect for a picnic,” He commented, taking in their surroundings, “This was a great idea Blaze!”

“I suppose it will do,” Blaze tried to underplay her decision, unwilling to claim praise for what was an impulse decision rather than a planned one, “Let’s just relax for a while, away from so many prying eyes, and return to our walk later.”

The princess wasn’t sure if she was instructing him or herself.

With a nod, Silver reached into the hamper and drew out a large plaid picnic blanket. Without so much as blinking, he tossed it into the air and caught it with his psychic aura; completely flattening it and holding it in the air. He slowly lowered it with a single glowing hand, the long grass beneath the blanket was made to bend down flat, free to pop up whenever the cover was removed but smoothed for their sitting. That done, he dropped to the ground and dug through the basket. First revealed was a flask and two tin mugs, next a reasonably sized plastic container and, finally, a smaller white paper bag that was, assumedly, the reason he’d been late to meet her

Everything set out, he caught Blaze in the midst of staring. Rather quickly, the feline dropped down to sit with him; positioning herself on the other side of their bounty. The lid was popped free from the container and steam rose from its depths. Six pastry parcels, surely too much for the pair of them to eat, were revealed, perfectly browned and sealed along their top.

“They’ve got prawn and salmon in them with a cream sauce and some vegetables,” He quickly explained, offering her the box.

She knew his taste; this was more for her than it was for him. Without so much as hesitating, she picked up one and took a bite. They’d managed to maintain their heat in the box, she’d known that by sight and touch, but the taste managed to fully draw her attention. The blending of flavours was perfect, the sauce didn’t overwhelm the fish and the fish didn’t overwhelm the sauce; the prawns were just small enough not to manifest in large chunks.

He’d been about to reach for the box himself only for a realisation to strike him, “I’m supposed to be being the best boyfriend I can, r-right, okay…” With a wave of his hand, the flask and tin cups were pulled toward him. He poured her a cup of tea, gesturing again to hover napkins, a small sugar-jar and a spoon from the basket. Once he’d presented her the mug, he unwrapped and opened the white paper bag. Inside was a small assortment of muffins and fairy cakes, “I would have baked us a cake, but we were a little too short notice. I hope that’s okay…”

She took the jar, adding two teaspoonfuls of sugar to her brew, “Silver, this is more than okay. I was expecting sandwiches or something small, not all this. How long did you stay up last night?”

Somehow, unlike the stares or most of today’s endeavour, that managed to prompt a bashful response from the hedgehog. His cheeks lit pink as he claimed a pasty of his own, “It took a couple of tries to get them perfect, but It wasn’t too long. I got up a few hours earlier rather than staying up late, I just wish I’d had a little more time.”

“Don’t be silly, I only planned the walk while you did so much; even though this was all my idea,” She passed him back the jar as he poured the flask.

He added far more sugar to his cup, the blush had spread from his muzzle to his ears, “But this is just what we normally do. If we’re pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend, shouldn’t I be doing more?”

Having something to eat, as well as seeing his blush, seemed to reduce her own embarrassment, “This isn’t about actually embodying those roles so much as just making others think we are. You don’t have to go to extra effort like that, you do more than enough by just being you. A lot of people already debate whether we are a couple,” She managed to smile, blowing her tea to cool it, “All we need to do are the public things, the more blatant things. Go out together, hold hands and hug in public, those kinds of things. Don’t worry too much about the little details.”

“I’ll try not to, but I promised to do this right,” He affirmed as she took a sip. Despite his flush still lingering, he gave a proclamation, “I’m going to do my best, I’m going to be the best boyfriend possible!”

“Y-You’re so naïve,” She pretended to sigh and grumble, turning her attention towards the meal.

He’d probably said that both to renew his promise to her and to bolster himself for the coming task. Just as she’d begun to overcome her embarrassment, he’d managed to stoke it again. Despite that fact and despite the renewed heat on her face, Blaze flicked her sunglasses up. She couldn’t keep hiding forever and brewing thoughts were becoming too much to contain.

He wasn’t wrong to have done all this, and Blaze knew she should be showing more gratitude, but the feline’s state was making that impossible. The hedgehog had also led her to think on an interesting aspect of their plan; just what should they be doing, what would convince the public and what were they willing to do? Were there lines she wanted to draw and what lines would he like to draw? A certain concept, a thought, fluttered up to reach her brain that Blaze couldn’t help pondering. There was no easy way of broaching it though. Two questions were gnawing at the back of her head, a thought that was relevant to this concept, but she wasn’t willing to entertain.

Was she willing to kiss him, and would he be willing to kiss her? If they did kiss among the public, that was all the proof they’d ever need.

Last night she would have said yes to that question without hesitation. If it meant completing their ruse, she’d be more than willing. But as these feelings spiralled both in her head and through her gut, Blaze couldn’t help but squirm. She threw Silver a quick glance only to find him entirely focused on his meal, being up so early and going to the bakery had perhaps caused him to miss breakfast. He was willing to go so far for her, could she plant her lips on his for her own sake?

For a split second, her eyes drifted to her muzzle only to be torn away and thrown to the plaid blanket beneath them. She wouldn’t have been opposed to it before, so she supposed she wasn’t now, just a lot more nervous about it. If they did it, it’d only have to be a peck; nothing too scandalous, something small. Blaze had chosen him to play this role for a reason, she trusted him and was willing to do things with him that she wasn’t comfortable doing with others. She could see herself doing it, embarrassment aside, but what about him?

Silver was like her; he’d never been in a relationship before. While she’d accept him as her first kiss, would she be his? Would he want her to be his? Well, she’d brought up not knowing how to draw stares before. Perhaps she could ask through that? Now that the concept was in her head, Blaze wanted to know if there were any boundaries between them; was he saving certain things for someone else? As he reached for his next pasty, she took a deep breath and made a move.

“Well,” It was going to be roundabout, but she had to prompt this discussion somehow, “Is there anything you think would make it more obvious that we’re a couple? Something quick and easy, anything we can do to get the message across. I was up last night considering options but couldn’t come up with a concrete solution.”

“We already do most of the things couples do, right? We hug, we hold hands and we visit all kinds of places together,” He pondered aloud, tugging at what little exposed chest fur he had as he thought, “I guess there’s other stuff we can do; like writing each other love letters, wearing clothes that match or just telling others how much we’re in love. More blunt stuff,” Silver managed to answer, “I think that’s what couples do. You know, they kiss and stuff; give people some kind of undeniable sign.”

What he thought couples did; he’d phrased it so innocently but implied so much. He’d hit the nail on the head, brought up the very object of her curiosity. He’d been so casual, did that mean he was willing to do it?!

“R-Right, yes, th-they…” Her stuttering came to a head, her tongue was useless; she should have taken a moment and considered her words.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Blaze? You’ve been kind of red all day,” He, so helpfully, informed her.

“Yes, don’t worry, I’m fine,” She waved him off, almost pulling down her shades but catching herself before she could, “I’ve probably just caught a cold, they’re common at this time of year.”

That’d surely worried him, her brain was going a mile a minute. Blaze knew he’d never been in a relationship, but that didn’t mean his heart wasn’t set on someone. She didn’t know who they could be, a fact that made her want to assume that there was nobody, but a larger chunk of herself wanted to be sure.

“Silver,” She was fighting to keep a straight face, attempting to hold back her stutter merely forced Blaze to pause and hold her breath, “Have you ever actually…” She knew it was better to be blunt, best to keep things simple, but it was the most embarrassing way to ask, “Kissed anyone before?”

“No,” His reply was immediate, he didn’t even blink!

“Oh,” He looked confused at her response, “I-It’s just that, most people think first kisses are important. I wouldn’t want to take something like that from you. By having you pretend to be my boyfriend, I feel like I’m already asking a lot,” She was blabbering, not asking what she really wanted. Her fists clenched, “I-I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with kissing me or…”

“Blaze,” He crawled closer, their knees almost came to touch, “You’re my partner. I agreed to do this because I want to help you, you’re not asking anything of me. I decided to do this, it’s not like you’re forcing me.”

“It’s still…” She wrestled with herself. There was only one way to reach her desired answer; to ask her desired question, “Is there anyone you’d want to be that first kiss?”

“Well, people only kiss those they’re close to, right? Specifically, the person they’re closest to and want to stay with…” He defined, clearly deep in thought but trying to relax her at the same time, “I’m not an expert on it or anything, but that’s how it always seems in books. I don’t really know a lot about this dating stuff, just what I’ve heard from Amy really.”

The mention of Amy immediately explained a lot of things; his change in garb, the holding of her hand and this picnic. Though they’d only met a handful of times, across both this and their past life, the pink hedgehog overabundant love for Sonic made sense as an informant to Silver’s understanding. She was though, admittedly, a terrifying informant.

Swallowing, she nodded, “Yes, that’s not how it always is but that’s how people romanticise it, Silver. If there was someone you wanted to kiss, that should be someone you care about in a way that’s different to how you care for everyone else.”

“Well, the person I’m closest to is you, Blaze. I don’t think I could ever share the kind of bond we have with anyone else,” That feeling was undeniably mutual, she knew where this was going but he wasn’t done talking. She felt the butterflies squirm in her stomach, “So, if I was going to kiss anyone, I guess I’d want to kiss you.”

Her heart skipped beats and she couldn’t help but shift, he’d called out her blushing before but now it was surely worse. He’d used such simple and honest words, the likes of which she had no defence against. His heart was on his sleeve, she couldn’t deny its existence; there was no front, there was no lie.

“Just, promise me you’ll say if that changes,” She insisted, taking on a sterner tone in an attempt to smother her slurring, “If, for whatever reason, you either don’t feel the same about us or you meet someone or… whatever it is, just promise you’ll say.”

“I don’t think that will ever happen…” She couldn’t help but frown at that. His eyes softened, her concern had gotten through to him, “If that happens then I’ll say, but I’ll still help you in whatever other ways I can. You’re my best friend and I want you to be happy.”

“Good,” She managed to huff, “A-And thank you.”

A moment passed. While he’d smiled at her response, after another sip of tea and a few bites, confusion crossed his brow and he dared to ask, “Blaze, have you ever kissed anyone?”

“No, I haven’t really considered…” Well, she had no more than a moment ago. She’d worried about whether he’d be okay with her kissing him, albeit to further their ruse. With that exception though; “I’ve never even thought about it. I worried so much that it’d be a suitor that I never considered who I’d rather k-kiss instead.”

She longed to snuff her stutter, but an immediate shift in Silver’s demeanour caught her off guard. His brow hardened and he’d set down his food, shifting closer still to put his hand atop hers, he said, “Well, now you will be able to think about that without worrying. You’re amazing, whoever you chose will be so lucky; after all, they get to be the closest person to you.”

He was just being protective, being a good friend and bearing his sense of justice, but the combination of his honesty and physical touch sent her senses into further disarray. She couldn’t meet his eye and, for what felt like hours, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. Part of her was screaming to admit, as he had, that Silver was the only person she’d truly consider kissing but another part kept promising Blaze that saying so would lead to ruination. He’d ask more questions, or he’d ask if they should kiss or something else naïve yet heartfelt.

“I-I only asked because…” Her tail was dragging across the ground without her consent, “If this goes on for too long, people might expect us to kiss. I’m glad you’re okay with that.”

“If you’re okay with it then I’m okay with it,” He swore, squeezing her hand, “First kisses are supposed to be important but, I guess, since we’re not actually together, it wouldn’t count if we kissed? So, you don’t have to worry about that.”

The way that was worded, it was almost an invitation to kiss him whenever she felt like it. While it didn’t outright state it, it implied that they could essentially practice using each other. Somewhat stunned, Blaze could only manage a meagre, “S-Sure, I guess so.”

“If you ever think we should, just say and we can!” He promised, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

Thoughts and emotions bubbled and boiled; his hand was still in hers, had he even noticed? The butterflies had never settled in her stomach, but their vigour seemed to have been renewed. What was wrong with today, what was wrong with her today? Ever since she’d woken up, something had been off. Everything they’d done so far was regular for them, they’d regularly visit the beach and picnic, let alone hold hands and talk.

“Oh, huh,” The engine of her heart skipped a beat, bringing her train of thought to a ludicrously quick stop. What could possibly fall from his mouth next? “We’ve got the same hair now.”

The most bizarre concoction of relief, embarrassment and anguish flared across Blaze’s face. Her muzzle was cast in scarlet, but not the burning red of before, “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Pushing herself, to speak more quickly proved unwise. Rather than complementing the change, her blush led her to chastise him, “You should take better care of your quills. I-If you kept them like this, they wouldn’t get into such a mess.”

Despite her rudeness he continued to smile at her and enjoy the meal, “They’re getting a little too long again,” He admitted, trying to look over his shoulder at those fluffy extremities, “Maybe I should cut them more properly.”

Despite her initial outburst, this conversation was a relaxing breath of fresh air compared to their last one. Drawing her tea to her lips, she tried to talk from her heart rather than her flushed face, “I wouldn’t clip them too short, just short enough that they’re easier to manage. I could do it tomorrow if you’d like?”

“That’d be great! We can try to have a more relaxed day,” He immediately grinned, but a realisation overtook him, “Wait, would that be our second date? Or would we just be doing that as friends?”

“It can be whatever we want it to be,” She practically blurted out before quickly realising what that implied, “I-It’ll be in private though, so we hardly have to call it a date. Perhaps, if someone asks about your quills, then we’ll say it was, but we can actually treat it like a normal day.”

“Alright, that’ll work!” He practically cheered, finally releasing her hand and drawing out another pastry from the box.

She took that opportunity to change her grasp, holding her teacup in both hands. Despite her pyrokinesis and the mug’s heat, her hand felt substantially colder without his touch. This grogginess was playing games with her senses now, what could be next?

She managed to turn her attention towards the picnic spread, quickly reaching down and claiming another pasty. It was only as she did that, that Blaze realised why he’d brought up their matching ponytails. He’d mentioned matching clothes before, clearly implying the likes of matching shirts and wedding rings, but their current hairstyles were a way they matched. While she didn’t think it made them look more like a couple, he had planned this out even more than she thought.

Attempting to distract herself, she began to eat the baked good and tried her hardest to focus upon its creamy flavour. Despite how delicious it was, it was not enough. Blaze found herself dwelling upon the shift in how she viewed their relationship; the change she had undergone but he hadn’t. She’d done all this to avoid marrying a suitor, but who did she want to take the place of a suitor? She’d convinced herself that this was for long term convenience, that it would give her the chance to find someone, but, the truth was, she hadn’t planned to look. She hadn’t considered where to start, let alone where to find someone she trusted as much as Silver. She couldn’t see herself being closer to anyone than she was to him; their bond had lasted beyond her death and into this next life, they’d survived the unsurvivable together. Who could even come close to filling his role?

She’d never considered her endeavours with Silver to be romantic, it was simply how they were with each other, but some combination of their lifted burdens, their actions’ current context and time had freed this realisation from her subconscious. Time was surely an important factor, in their last life things hadn’t had the opportunity to blossom this far; they hadn’t had the chance to grow both physically, as individuals, and as a pair. This time though, not only had they been in a more comfortable position for growth but they’d both learned what life was like without the other; they understood what that loss felt like. Not to mention, they were newly adults now; they’d aged further than that last life. No wonder she was embarrassed, she’d asked the only person she’d consider dating to pretend to go out with her.

She didn’t think she’d change much physically, but Silver had undeniably grown while she hadn’t been paying attention. The most obvious changes were physical, he’d grown taller and his shoulders had broadened, but there’d surely been internal shifts that Blaze couldn’t quite discern. Silver was still very naïve, his heart was attached to his sleeve and he’d shown his want for justice throughout the whole endeavour, but his living in a more peaceful world had led him to acquire hobbies and interests. She was seeing him at his best, better than he’d ever been. Many of his skills, his interests too, either matched or complemented hers.

Having finished the pasty just as her thoughts concluded, Blaze threw him another glance. He was fairly focused on the coast, absentmindedly making headway on a third pasty. Following his gaze, she found that his eyes had landed upon a flock of migrating birds; a sign of the coming Winter. This would be their last chance to walk the beach comfortably for at least three months. She should have been making the most of this.

She reached into the bakery bag, drawing out a muffin before pushing the bag his way, “Come on, let’s hurry and head down again.”

----

Unfortunately, despite now understanding her state, Blaze found herself no better equipped to combat her embarrassment. Talk was less scant than it had been last time, Blaze was trying her best, but she still wasn’t comfortable with this sudden upwelling of understanding. She’d stutter and stammer, catch herself staring, tear her eyes from him and, occasionally, chastise him when her embarrassment became too much to bear. It wasn’t perfect, but at least they were talking this time.

Still, she was managing to walk hand in hand with him. The hedgehog himself, seemingly in response to her slightly calmer demeanour, had shed most of his worry. He’d panic, just a little whenever she told him off too harshly, but he was certainly smiling more now. They were almost walking shoulder to shoulder, Silver on the water’s side, approaching the rockier far edge of the beach; where sand gave way to low crags, a prime site for rock pools. Of course, as a result of that, this part of the beach was particularly swamped. Many families with younger children were searching for the likes of hermit crabs and trying to make memories.

As they reached the shift in ground, Silver came to a halt. Before she could even fully turn to him, his hand had slipped from hers; both his left palm and right were suddenly on her shoulders. Her eyes collided with his and a pair of stern brows. The concern that she’d just thought abolished had returned in an instant, bringing her prior embarrassment with it.

“Is this going to be okay? Are there too many people over there?” He asked, his concern and care on display, “We can turn around if you want.”

Blaze looked over her shoulder, both to better scan how many families had gathered and, more primarily, to simply hide her renewed blush. The hedgehog’s hands were in the exact same position they had been last night; she had looked him in the eyes, returned his touch and thanked him for his aid. Right now, she could only think to avoid his gaze and call him naïve.

But she didn’t want to do that. There were families by the rockpools, yes, but before today she would’ve been entirely comfortable among her people and beside him. Her boosted bashfulness had swollen to such an extent that not only was Silver pointing it out, he was actively concerned about it. She couldn’t let this stick; she couldn’t let it drag into the future days! She’d promised to take initiative and that was exactly what she’d do.

Her hands came to latch on his biceps, her brow steeled, and lips pursed as she met his eyes once more, “W-Well, what about you, Silver?”

“Wh-What about me?” He asked, concern quickly being dashed by confusion.

“You’ve said it before, but I’ll ask again; are you okay with this?” She had to be more specific. She took a step forward; surprised, he almost stumbled back, “Are you okay with us being seen like this?”

“I am!” He swore without hesitation, “As long as you are, I am.”

“So, you do want to be here with me?” She went further, tightening her grasp and taking another step. As long as she kept moving, she could overlook the stutter in her voice and the heat on her muzzle. If she controlled the pace, if she took hold of the momentum, then she could manage all of this.

“Of course I do,” He immediately answered. His seriousness grew further but it couldn’t match hers, she’d always known this, “Even if we weren’t pretending to be together, you know I like being with you.”

He had no idea what she’d prompted from him but, essentially, she’d managed to tease free an admittance that he wanted to be here with her. That fact he’d admitted to wanting to be there, regardless of their overall scheme, went a long way to setting her at ease. Despite that though, she still had a point to get across.

“And as long as you’re okay with this, I’m okay with this. This was all my idea after all,” She forced her amber orbs to burn into his brighter set, “Don’t worry about me being uncomfortable, but I want to know if you are,” Blaze refused to let herself flinch and denied herself even the right to blink. She rose to her tiptoes and brought her head closer to his, mirroring the way he’d leaned down to her last night, “As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”

“R-Right,” His stutter wasn’t born of embarrassment, merely a combination of surprise and confusion. He broke from her gaze and took a deep breath. His grasp had tightened when he met her eyes again, “Let’s do it then, it’ll be easy.”

“If you change your mind or worry about anything, you just have to say,” She wanted to press her forehead against his, but height wouldn’t allow it. Instead, she opted to take yet another step. With that, they escaped the shade of the cliff, “You can rely on me just as much as I do you, you know this?”

“I do, of course I do! I don’t know what I’d do without you,” He insisted, not so much embarrassed but flustered by her endeavour. Strangely, Silver somehow looked cuter still when positioned like this. Despite that, he managed to keep talking, “You look out for me and I look out for you, th-that’s what we do.”

She let herself drop to her heels, her arms left his, “Good. Then we’ll make it through this,” He, almost lost and confused, replicated her release; allowing her to turn back towards the rockpools, “We’ll look out for each other, no matter what.”

They resumed their approach, many eyes had turned upon them but, noticing their shift, were quickly dropping towards the pools. Blaze hadn’t had the gall to retake his hand, but she was still leading, she was succeeding!

This would be easy. If she could keep a tight grip on herself and control of the pace, then she was certain she’d make it through today’s date at least. Tomorrow would be a more private affair, prime for both self-discovery and prying further into how he felt. She wasn’t sure how long this fake dating scheme could last now, it would be immoral to steal kisses from him with her new understanding, but hopefully this state’s replacement would eventually grant her that freedom. She couldn’t help feeling embarrassed by that thought but, as long as she could subdue it, overcoming this meant future efforts would become easier. She just had to chip away at these feelings, work and practice until she could properly control th-

“Oh, I meant to ask earlier,” Her ear twitched, registering the return to his more casual tone, “Why’re you wearing a swimsuit under your dress, are we going swimming later?”

She’d entirely forgotten that was a choice she’d made; a choice that’d become especially obvious when his hands found her shoulders and she’d drawn so close. As Blaze’s cheeks reddened, and her temperature spiked, the undeniable became clear. She was far from overcoming this embarrassment. With a quick fumble, her sunglasses were made to lower again in a half-hearted attempt to hide her panic.

“It’s just, I didn’t bring my stuff with me,” He continued, seemingly oblivious, “I don’t want to ruin these-

“Sh-Shush!” She took hold of his hand again, dragging him towards the rocks with a speed unmatched by any prior, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it! Let’s just go find some crabs, o-or something.”

Finding her ideal partner, the very goal of this scheme, had taken no time at all, but being comfortable seeing him in such a light… that was going to take much longer.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Her Monster (part one)

[Wing AU; Tour!verse]

A new and improved rewrite of a very old fic! Hopefully this one will be better than the past one! I’ve cleaned it up a lot because GOD there were so many tense shifts lol

EB belongs to @spooner7308!!

TW: Blood

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

Chapter One - Devils Don’t Fly

Sometimes bad things just happened to good people. Sometimes fate just has other plans for someone. In EB’s case, that was very much true.

Elizabeth Barton--or simply EB--had been missing for a year and two months. She was remembered for her biting wit, harsh retorts, and overabundance of sarcasm. It wasn’t easy to get along with her, but there were a select few who were close to her, and that’s why her disappearance hit as hard as it did.

By now, though, mostly everyone had moved on.

The funeral was an open casket with just photos and one of her beanies inside. It was hard to look at, painful even. The idea that she was still alive, since her body was never found, came about, but it had been dropped for awhile.

EB became a mere memory in the back of the cast’s mind.

But Joan was still hanging onto the memories that she was still there.

Jane told her she needed to move on, and she knew she did, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t accept the fact that her friend was really gone, that there was no one around to affectionately call her a “weird little creature” or beat up the hybrid-hating racists that sometimes loudly complained at stagedoors. No more warm hugs from giant griffon vulture wings that seemed to envelope her entire body, no more late night flies because nobody else would humor her nocturnal nature, no more wordy retorts that always made her giggle no matter how awful she was feeling.

No more best friend.

It was November, now. Fall was coming into full bloom. It was Anne’s idea to go to the park on their day off, and everyone obliged, knowing that the trip would be a good chance to stretch their wings. Joan hadn’t wanted to go, but Kat had sternly said she needed some fresh air, as she became more and more reclusive ever since EB’s death (not death, not death, she’s not dead, she can’t be--) and rarely ever went out. But she branched off from the group to venture further into the forest, wanting to be alone.

It’s funny, she thought. She hated the fact that she was alone that EB was now gone, but she hated the company of other people. There was only one avian she wanted, and everyone was sure she wouldn’t ever be coming back.

Joan spread her wings to the slim slivers of sunlight leaking through the canopy of trees. She used to hate them, but EB said they made her interesting. But now she was back to hating them all over again.

Rustling snapped her out of her trance. Deer jumped out of the underbrush and rushed right past Joan, causing her to leap away and fall on her back. Her wings thrusted outwards in surprise, tail lashing. She rolled over, wincing slightly, then realized the odd behavior of the animals. Deer normally didn’t run towards an avian.

They ran away.

Joan stood up and brushed herself off, ruffling out her feathers to rid them of any dirt. She was still pondering why the deer were acting so weirdly when she heard it.

The squeaking.

Curious and concerned, she tiptoed forward and peeked through the brush. There, only a few feet away, was a doe lying in a pool of its own blood. Its stomach was ripped open, but it was still alive, like whatever had killed it wasn’t interested in eating at the moment. The sight made Joan’s veins turn icy in fear.

What did this?

When she found out, she wished she had just ran off with the rest of the herd.

Growling came to the left. A large, bulky creature emerged from its hiding spot in the trees, perching on a branch with long, curved talons. It had molted green skin and bug-like eyes. Multiple rows of teeth poked out of its maw, dripping with drool. The barb at the end of its tail was just as menacing as its seven-inch claws. When it noticed Joan, it exhaled a low hissing breath and buzzed its four insect wings.

A WingEater.

But that’s impossible! WingEaters shouldn’t exist anymore! Wasn’t the gene to activate the form dead or something?

Joan flung her wings open but it was too late; the monster was upon her. There was a terrible pain- everything went black when she hit that tree.

Joan woke up on the ground.

No-- Wait-- Waking up implied she was in a bed, at home, safe.

Joan came to.

She was lying face-down on the ground, mouth full of dirt. There was a metallic tang on her tongue- she was frothing red at the lips.

Joan lifted her head up and coughed out gritty clots of scarlet. She saw the WingEater hunched over a few feet away, distracted by something. This was her only chance to get away so she crawled. She crawled until she could finally force herself to stand up and run.

She staggered back towards the park. Someone screamed. Multiple people scream. Jane was covering her mouth in shock- but why? Maria was shielding Bessie’s eyes, Aragon had backed herself up into Kat’s arms, Anne looked like she was about to faint…

Joan’s knees were wobbling and her vision kept blurring with a blizzard of black. She couldn’t focus on anything. She attempted to speak, to ask what was wrong, but only blood flooded out. Deliriously, she dabbed her fingertips against her lips and stared in bewilderment when they came back red, like she was just now noticing her body violently ejecting its own fluids. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Cleves, maybe Maggie, sprint somewhere- where was she going?

Joan couldn’t follow, couldn’t ask what was going on. Her legs gave out. She dropped into a pool of her own blood.

It wasn’t the deer that WingEater was eating.

---

The Flightless. That was what people who have lost their ability to fly were called. Almost as disgraceful as hybrids. That was what Joan was now sorted into.

The doctors spent six hours trying to stabilize Joan. Eventually, they got the bleeding to stop--it was a lot of blood for one body--and stitched up the gash, but nothing could bring back the wing that was ripped off.

Joan would never fly again.

When she woke up, she cried. Joan shivered and sobbed and had bad panic attacks. The anguish was blinding- the pain was worse. Even with the antibiotics, she was overwhelmed by white hot agony that seared up through her back, ripping her apart from the inside out.

Her world was crashing down.

She hadn’t realized the damage at first, apparently. She was in a severe state of shock when she came hobbling into the park, clothing drenched in her own blood. People who had witnessed it said she looked extremely dazed and completely out-of-it, unaware of the gore she was soaked in, unaware that her back was spitting like a spigot. She just kept asking herself why. Why her? Why did this have to happen to her? What did she ever do?

When she was released from the hospital, Joan went home and lay in her bed for six days. For six days she suffered. She didn’t eat, barely drank anything, and just about everything had to be forced down her throat.

Eventually, she recovered, but she didn’t get better. Not psychologically. That was why her new psychiatrist prescribed her antidepressants. She didn’t think they worked.

Still, she eventually forced herself to get up. Even when it felt like someone had just ripped out her spine and proceeded to beat her into a pulp with it, she hauled her body off to work.

Without her other wing, though, her balance was completely thrown off. She stumbled around like a giraffe with broken legs, unable to stay upright. Not to mention all the stares she got.

The one-winged fledgling was a freak.

The others did their best to ward off gawkers, but they couldn’t always be there. Not when kids plucked out her feathers or tried to touch the spot where her other wing used to be when she was at stagedoor or out near fans. Not when adults made snide remarks when they thought she couldn’t hear them. Not when other avians posted on social media about the Flightless hybrid in SIX.

The anger and despair from it all simmered inside of Joan.

After work one day, Joan avoided the other ladies in waiting and the queens. She felt delirious and achy and just wanted to be alone.

Guided by the evening light, Joan stumbled right into predator territory.

The WingEater came out of nowhere, ramming into Joan with the force of a charging bull and sending her sprawling across the ground. She tried to scamper away, but a powerful beak clamped down on her remaining wing and threw her into a tree. 

Joan was roughed up badly, so much so that she thought the WingEater that had taken her wing had come back for revenge. But that one had been a Cimex. This one was a very angry Avem.

It stood at a staggering eight feet tall, with choppy tail feathers and massive wings. Its plumage, sand-colored that faded to dark brown, was now smeared in her blood. Its narrow white head lacked feathers, rather having the fuzz that most vultures had, but that made its enraged expression even more clear to her.

The WingEater soon pinned her to the ground. A massive, bird-like foot that was tipped with razor sharp black talons pressed down on her chest with so much weight that she thought her ribs were cracking beneath the force. The beast opened its hooked beak around her neck, preparing to rip her throat out, and Joan sobbed, “Just do it.”

The beast’s jaws twitched, then it pulled back slightly. It looked down at Joan, bloody and sobbing beneath it.

  “Just kill me already!” Joan cried, tears streaming down her face. “Do it! Please! I-- I don’t even care. I don’t wanna be alive anymore.”

That did it.

Some humanity returned to those pitch black eyes. 

The WingEater dipped its head to Joan and gently began to lick one of her many wounds clean. Joan flinched, trying to squirm away, but the foot on top of her curled its claws around her and dragged her into the fluffy girth of the creature when it laid down. All she could do was look up at the sky and sob, letting the monster clean her of all the blood, though she was sure it was just trying to calm her down so she’ll be easier to eat. 

Goddesses, she wished EB was there.

[soitmightgetweird]

Drenched (Halloween fic)

Bucky x reader

Summary: an accidental prank at a party flips your entire night upside down

Warnings: swearing, as per usual

Word Count: ~3300

A/N: Holy fucknuts. It’s been a year and a half since I posted a fic. Damn guys. I dunno who the heck is still paying attention to little ol’ me, but here it is anyway. ((I’m working off a very old taglist, so let me know if you want to be removed. Also let me know if you want to be tagged. I mostly write for Steve and Buck, so you could request all tag or just one dude. Side question.. do Steve fics still happen?? I’m so out of the loop guys.))

Popcorn ceilings are good for collecting dust and giving you something to stare at when you’re bored. They’re not so good at showing you how to handle a conversation you don’t really want to have. After another little whine from your friend, you finally pull your eyes away to look toward the person sitting on the arm at the far end of the couch. She’s decked out in a gorgeous 1940s-style dress and her hair is delicately styled to match.

“I’m really not feeling like going to a party this year, Nat.”

She frowns. “But you love Halloween.”

“You’re right. But I just feel like turning on my little pumpkin lights and watching scary movies in the dark. I’m not really in a go-out-and-drink-around-a-bunch-of-strangers mood.”

“Not everyone will be strangers.”

“Well, work has been kicking my butt—”

“Honey, I know. You’re busting your ass for that company. But your friends miss you. Steve and Sam both ask how you’re doing all the time. Apparently your texts aren’t very… wordy.”

If it was anyone else in your apartment giving you sad eyes and practically begging you to be social, you’d be irritated. Nat has been the friend who’s helped pull you out of your funks for years. She knows just when to test the waters and when to back off. She’s able to read you insanely well.

The fact that she didn’t drop the conversation immediately means she knows you haven’t reached the burnt out point yet. Once that thought crosses your mind, you know you’ll end up going with her.

“I don’t have a costume,” you say in a resigned tone.

She smiles softly. “Just put on jeans and a hoodie. I’ve got a mask from Mr. Robot. Boom, simple.”

“Nerd.”

“Guilty. But hey, the party isn’t supposed to be that big.”

You level your stare at your friend. “Isn’t it at Stark’s?”

“Oh. Good point. Well, you can always tell me when you’ve had enough. I just want you to spend time with friends to help you recharge. You know work gets more tolerable when you have fun memories to occupy your mind.”

It’s hard to argue with Nat when she hits the nail on the head. “Alright,” you say as you roll off the couch with a faux-dramatic groan.

A few minutes later, you leave your room in your standard attire and slip into your Converse. Nat smiles again as she watches you turn on little accent lights in your living room before grabbing your keys and following her out the door.

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

The first thing you notice as you approach the building is the flashing lights, dancing through the sky and originating at the penthouse apartment, thirty stories above your head. You reach up and touch the mask that’s currently pushed up on top of your head.

“He really does go all out. Is this enough of a costume?” you ask.

Nat hooks her arm through yours as you close the distance between yourselves and your destination. “Of course. But honestly he doesn’t care; he just wants people to come and have fun.”

You fall into comfortable silence with your friend as you make your way through the lobby and into an elevator. As you climb, the cheesy elevator music is slowly drowned out by the sounds of the party.

The elevator doors open to a spacious modern penthouse that you’re sure looks a hundred times bigger when it’s not full of people. There’s fake spiderwebs with little plastic spiders on most surfaces—bookshelves, pictures on the walls, the stairwell to the second floor, the hanging lights in the entry. There’s a cauldron sitting on a high shelf, spilling fog from dry ice over the opening to the living room. Rubber bats are hanging from string, there’s a small witch with light-up eyes swinging around the room by the blades of a ceiling fan, a skeleton in sunglasses sprawled across the kitchen island and surrounded by snacks, and there’s a life-sized werewolf statue standing off to the side of the room.

You’re actually… not sure if it’s a statue or someone waiting for the opportune moment to scare everyone around them.

As you’re finishing your visual tour of the room, muscular arms drape over your and Nat’s shoulders. You turn your head to see another mask like the one that’s still on your head instead of pulled down over your face.

“Nice mask,” the person says, and even through the music and people you immediately recognize the voice as Steve.

You laugh. “Great minds I guess.”

“I just saw Wanda a little while ago, who knows where Tony is, Scott is desperately trying to Clint at beer pong, and Sam and Bucky are on the balcony.”

Your face scrunches a little before you’re able to stop it, an expression that Nat and Steve both notice.

“Haven’t warmed up to him yet?” Steve asks, and you’re sure there’s a small frown hidden behind his mask.

You sigh. You know Steve and Bucky have been friends since childhood. Nat has been friends with him since college. But you… no encounter with Bucky Barnes has ever been easy.

Nat was your first friend in the city—a chance meeting at a coffee shop near your apartment. A few months after you’d settled into your new home and job, she started inviting you to outings with her friends.

Steve became an immediately calming presence in your life. Sam offered charm and humor, Wanda was your go-to when you wanted music recommendations, Clint and Scott were the big brothers you never (secretly, always) wanted. Even Tony was fine. He was a little eccentric and sometimes flashy with money, but he had a good heart.

Bucky. You wanted to like Bucky. You did like him at first… for a few minutes.

He was charming too, all smiles and bright blue eyes when Nat introduced you. Over the course of the night though, you heard a lot of stories about his dating reputation and Bucky got way too drunk. Your night ended abruptly when you turned away from the bar and suddenly had beer all down your shirt and jeans.

And when Bucky said “watch it, asshole,” you marched back to the table and told the group you were going home. The night faded into the past, but that’s what started your dislike for Bucky Barnes.

It’s been five years and you still aren’t really “on board” with him. You’re civil enough when you’re around each other but you also won’t seek out conversation with him, even going so far as to direct most of your attention to your phone if you happen to end up seated near each other when you all go out to eat.

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

It occurs to you a couple hours into the party that you’re enjoying yourself and you’re glad Nat was a little insistent.

You spent a little while in the dining room watching Scott (dressed in a full Jedi robe) do relatively well at beer pong, but not as well as Clint, who was wearing a more modern version of a Robin Hood costume.

"No way in hell I’m wearing tights," he’d said as he sunk another ping pong ball in an orange cup.

Wanda was the next friend you found, in a grungy outfit that resembled Furiosa from Mad Max. You stood with her and Nat for a while, sharing updates on work projects and movies you’d all seen recently. Tony passed by in a long, fitted coat that accented his steampunk look. He even had a little gadget on his lapel made of gears that actually moved. He made it himself and was very proud of it.

You’ve been on the balcony for the past two hours talking to Nat and Steve when you notice your drink is empty. After asking your friends if they want anything, you decide to pull your mask over your face and head through the large glass doors into the living room. As you weave your way through the crowd you spot a large amount of people on one side of the room, so you veer a little to the left to walk through the foggy opening into the hallway.

Before you make it to the other side of the hall, you spot Sam leaning against the wall in front of you, next to the bottom of the stairs that climb up the wall to your left. He has a lazy smirk on his face, like he’s never been more comfortable in his life, just leaning against that wall.

You raise your hand to wave as you call out his name, hoping he can hear since your voice is slightly muffled by your mask. You then notice the speed in which the smile shifts into an expression of full-on panic before you’re suddenly doused in water.

Through the sound of the shouts from the people who were splashed near you, you hear Sam speaking your name and a different voice swearing above you.

You rip your mask away to see that Sam has his hands out toward you, a sincere look of apology on his face. When you turn and look up, you see Bucky. There’s an equally petrified look on his face and he swears again as you bolt for the stairs, Sam’s voice and footsteps following behind you.

Bucky runs through the second door on the left and almost has the door shut before you push through, the door crashing into his shoulder.

“Ow, hey, what the shit! I’m trying to get you a towel!” He grabs a towel out of the closet behind the door and shoves it at you before backing further into the bathroom.

“What the actual fuck, Barnes?” you yell, unzipping your hoodie and throwing it on the counter. It doesn’t make much difference, your shirt is soaked too, but that’s staying on.

“I thought you were Steve!” He has his hands out now, mirroring Sam’s earlier stance, but you’re pissed and you want to get in his face.

You feel a hand gently grab onto your arm as Sam tries to pull you away from his friend. “That’s entirely my fault. I was only paying attention to the mask.”

“Steve has a foot in height on me! And who the fuck drops a bucket of water in someone’s house?”

“We put a tarp down—”

“I was having fun!” Bucky’s still getting the full force of your yelling. “I’ve been stressed the fuck out and Nat convinced me to come out and now I’m fucking drenched—”

Sam says your name again.

You turn around. “Go get Nat please, I want to go home now.”

“Wait,” Bucky protests and Sam stops in the doorway. “Sam just… go enjoy the party, I’ll take her home.”

“Like hell you will.” You finally let go of half the towel and dry off your arms before wrapping the thing around your body, trapping your wet hair against your back.

“I mean to your home, smartass. I’m sorry we pranked you; it was an honest mistake. Let me… I dunno, let me buy you a coffee or something. You’re cold, it’ll warm you up.”

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

You keep three feet between you and Bucky as you walk back down the sidewalk toward your apartment. The silence is heavy and awkward, and you stare down at your shoes that squish quietly with every step. Your wet hoodie clings to your arms, sending a shiver down your spine. Unfortunately, the only two options are to wear a wet hoodie or leave your arms exposed to the chilly night air and you’re not sure which is worse.

Another chill hits you moments before a second hoodie is draped over your shoulders. You want to throw it back at him, but it’s already helping to shield you against the wind. At that thought, you glance sideways. Bucky’s arms are exposed now but he doesn’t seem to mind the chill.

Before you look away, he reaches up to rub his shoulder.

You huff out a breath. “Sorry I hit you with the door,” you mumble,

A couple beats of silence pass before he answers. “That doesn’t sound like a sincere apology, but I understand. Sorry again about the water.”

You respond with a grunt.

“Why do you hate me?”

You look at him again, your annoyed expression back on your face. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just asking why you hate me? What did I do? Before the water.”

“First of all, you apparently have a habit of spilling things on me.”

“What?”

“Do you remember the night we met? You spilled an entire glass of beer on me.”

He stops walking. “Shit. That was you.”

You stopped a few paces in front of him and turned toward him. “Do you remember calling me an asshole right after?”

 Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Why would I do that?”

“How should I know? But you did. You spilled beer on me then called me an asshole. And I left. Doesn’t really make a girl want to be your friend.” You turn around and start walking again only to realize after a few steps that he isn’t following you. “Are you coming or am I walking the rest of the way alone? Not that I care.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t call you an asshole?”

“You were also a little drunk that night, maybe you don’t remember.”

“No, I… yeah, I had a bit to drink. This girl I’d been seeing had broken things off and I was upset… we’d actually gotten kinda serious. But I didn’t talk about her much because... I dunno, maybe I didn't wanna jinx it. I was having fun distracting myself when they started making jokes about my dating life and I guess I tried to drown my sorrow instead of just talking about it.”

You just stare at him. That absolutely isn’t the response you expected.

“So I'd just got another beer and this dude bumped into me while trying to get some girl’s attention. I called the guy an asshole and was gonna apologize but you were gone. I guess that explains why you avoided even talking to me in passing after that night. Doesn’t really make a guy wanna be your friend.”

You just stare at him. Your dislike had been entirely based off a misunderstanding? “Great. I am an asshole." You turn away from him and continue walking toward your apartment.

"Hey wait, you're not--"

His footsteps sound as he catches up to you. He reaches out and touches your elbow to get you to look at him, pulling his hand away quickly. Physical contact is entirely foreign for you two.

"Can we just forget that night? I mean you can forget about this one too if you want, but I genuinely am sorry. It always kinda bummed me out that you didn't like me--you seemed pretty cool based on all the stories I heard from Steve and Sam."

You frown. "That almost makes me feel worse."

"Please don't. I could've tried to fix things too."

The silence that follows isn't quite as uncomfortable but you still break it shortly after you start walking again.

"I am actually sorry I hit your shoulder. Even when I thought you didn't like me, I would've never intentionally struck you."

He reaches up again to rub his shoulder. There's a smirk on his face as he drops his hand and lifts that shoulder in a small shrug. "I kinda deserved it."

"Maybe. About that coffee though. Just... your hoodie's wet now and I'm not going into a cafe in these clothes. I can just throw this in the dryer and make a pot of coffee. If you want."

Bucky laughs. "I want to make a joke about you inviting me over after dark, but I'll spare it since we're only just now becoming friends."

"Are we becoming friends?"

Bucky turns a worried expression toward you, as if he's scared he pushed too far. When you return a small laugh with a shake of your head, he smiles too.

"You basically said the joke by referencing the joke. But I'll give you a pass this time."

----------------------------- 

You're hyper aware of Bucky's presence as you ride the elevator to the fifth floor together and even more so as you're unlocking your front door and allowing a person into your apartment you never expected to invite over.

"I like your decorations," Bucky says from behind you.

You turn to see him looking at the mantle over your fireplace. There are fake webs and little cheese-cloth ghosts in jars on one side and sparkly black and purple pumpkins next to a little figure of a bird dressed as a witch on the other.

"Thanks. Um... I'm gonna go change and throw this in the dryer. Be right back."

The nerves that arise when you're changing are completely unwelcome. Do you need to put on actual clothes or is leggings and a sweatshirt alright? What do you talk about while you're waiting on his hoodie to dry? What if it's just awkward silence?

You stop mid-movement when you realize you've had those thoughts... before you went on dates.

Nope.

You pull a leggings and a blissfully dry sweatshirt on and walk out of your room, throwing all the wet clothes in the dryer together on the way back to the living room. When you walk in the room, Bucky's crouched in front of the tv, going through the stack of movies you set out a couple days ago. He stops shuffling the cases and holds up your copy of Tucker & Dale vs. Evil with a very serious expression on his face.

"You... have excellent taste in movies."

"Jeez, I thought you were about to lecture me. We can watch it while we wait on the dryer if you want. I'll go start coffee."

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

The next morning, you wake up wondering why your neck hurts. Opening one eye, you squint through the sunlight and are met with the sight of your living room. Well, sleeping on the couch explains the neck pain. With a yawn, you stretch your legs and nudge a solid mass on the other end of the couch. Bucky is still there, his socked feet propped on your coffee table and his head resting against the back of the couch.

You nudge him again and he stirs. Then he starts and sits up straight.

"Shit. I'm sorry, I dozed off. Oh... it's morning."

"It is.”

"I um... I guess I'll take my hoodie and go?"

"More coffee."

He chuckles, the sound deep and warm. "Trying to keep me here?"

You put your head back down. "Trying to get you to make coffee."

After you’ve both had two cups of coffee—you’re choosing not to think too much about the fact that he apparently remembered exactly how you like your drink because the first cup he handed you was absolutely perfect—you walk back into the living room with Bucky’s hoodie, holding it out as he finishes slipping on his shoes.

“Oh, it’s warm,” she says with a grin, slipping the garment on and immediately zipping it up.

“It’s chilly outside and despite what you may think, I am actually nice to friends.”

“Oooo, we’re friends. You said it, no take-backsies.”

You laugh. “Well, you do make a decent cup of coffee.”

“You’re right, I do. I’ll get out of your hair now, though. And next time we all go to dinner, you have to actually talk to me. No more cold shoulder?”

He’s standing at the door, hand on the doorknob and ready to leave when he asks the question. There’s an easy smile on his face, but you still see a trace of that same worried expression.

“No more cold shoulder,” you agree. “You don’t have a long walk, do you?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. S’only two blocks. See you around.”

And with that, he opens the door and leaves your apartment, casting one more look over his shoulder to smile as he walks down the hallway.

The realization that you also have a goofy smirk on your face as you walk toward your bedroom stops you momentarily, along with the thought that his presence is already something you know you want more of.

Well shit.

Tags: @stanevansalways19​ @scarlettsoldier​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @shakzer00​ @pixierox101​ @chrevastan​ @aubzylynn​

Bucky only tag: @nerdyandproud9​

[crownandwriter]

Prompt: an ace!DMC character of your choice with an ace!S/O, and however they express love and affection with one another.

I couldn’t choose one, so I did two shorter ones ;u;

Trish

It confused onlookers often to discover the nature of your relationship with Trish.

She was the “Bewitching Devil,” a woman of both great power and seduction, and yet she hardly used her body for anything beyond hunting demons. Admittedly, it had surprised you too at first. Your crush on the beauty had seemed nothing but unfortunate–surely she was a sexual being, with her leather-and-lace wardrobe and comfortably exposed skin. Trish exuded feminine sexuality. Fine as that was, it would make the two of you opposites.

But before you could give up on her, Trish’s keen eyes saw the worry in you and explained simply that her aesthetic presentation was merely her execution of a personal power fantasy–it had nothing to do with sexual desire, which she had very, very little of–and that changed things entirely. Any fear of physical interaction with the women melted away, leaving the both of you with what has come to be your most safe and loving relationship.

Trish often lays across you like a lithe cat, all sprawling, warm limbs and splaying hair. (She has to pick the fallen blonde strands off of you. Frequently.) It’s how she occupies herself now, in fact, stretched over your thighs and chewing the grapes and cherries you press to her lips between page turns. Occasionally, she catches your fingertips gently between her teeth, only to wink playfully when you side-eye her and press little kisses to the swirls of your fingerprints.

She entertains herself by memorizing the textures of you, dragging painted nails over your arms to know where goosebumps will rise; rubbing the strands of your hair between her fingers and tracing the shell of your ear for its exact shape; splaying your fingers and massaging the soft, vulnerable spaces between. All places she can reach are subject to idle investigation, and her eyes pierce them all and you know by the end of the day she could sculpt your likeness down to every pore.

But these things never keep her for long.

“How can you be so still this much?” She raises a hand from behind her head to trace coyly the closer side of your jaw.

“How can you not?” Somehow you stop the laugh from coming with the quip, but not the smirk. “You’re always doing something, don’t you ever get tired?” Between her demon hunting jobs and bickering with allies, sometimes it seemed like you never got these intimate little moments. It was nice to be close again.

“There are far too many games to win, my dear, and you haven’t been my player two in quite some time.” Trish is up suddenly, snapping the book from your hand in a single, precise movement. It taps against her hip, cocked to one side while her head tips the other. “Besides, seeing your lovely face keeps me quite energized. Now, why don’t we go do something more…rigorous?”

She’s pulling you to your feet before you can very well respond, but her word choice pulls a laugh from you, as it always does now.

“If by rigorous you mean moving all of Dante’s furniture over a few inches again, I’m in.”

She leans in with the prettiest smile, red lips tempting like the apple, and presses them innocently against yours. “Causing trouble is always so much more fun with you, dear.”

V(itale)

He liked the little things; you figured that out quite rapidly. Little experiences, sensations, because they all went so far beyond his short time in Redgrave, which had been intended as his only time. While there were memories of a life before this, V was acutely aware of how differently he experienced the world now. All things were new to him, like living in a world entirely comprised of deja vus.

Sharing the time and space of these events was intimate. The way V let you see himself open and breathless at the foot of the world, every tiny, insignificant thing that comprised it, was a little overwhelming. He liked to talk about them, too, try to put his experiences and feelings into words. When he had no words, he searched for those while he did not know, foreign or lost, or assumed the abstract on some occasions. He piled journal upon journal with revelations and musings and swore someday he might ask your help in organizing them. For now, they were as jumbled as his thoughts.

Somehow, baths became a shared ritual. They were a simple, stable event in the jumble of day-to-day explorations–and also he liked to experiment with the balms and oils; candles on the edge of the tub; bubbles, and occasionally some nice wine. He even bought one of those quaint little trays to rest your glasses on, as well as whatever book he decided to bring into your leisure time.

It’s a sensual sort of intimacy, sitting so close together, bare and warm, and also the most beautiful thing. Seeing his skin so close and personal brings no desire to ravish it, but to admire and inspect every inch like the finest sculpture. V never pays much mind to it, so confident you knew his comfort as well as your own. He lets your fingers roam up and down his arms, chest, sometimes a leg, and he just sits there with a smile into his books.

“You’re quite adventurous tonight,” he comments softly. “Is this what they mean by worshiping another’s body?”

“No, not really,” you huff playfully, admiring a swirl of black over his shoulder. V closes his book gently and sets it to rest.

“Perhaps I ought to write my own dictionary, then? I’ll change the meaning of it. To suit us for once.”

“With how wordy you get? Make it encyclopedias.” V scoffs gently and dumps a handful of bubbles on your head. “Don’t be sour at me for speaking the truth! You’ve got how many notebooks in–no, no, no–” His arm comes around you and you know instantly he intends to dunk you into the colored, sparkling water and ruin your washed hair. You lurch for the other end of the tub, but V’s arms are longer than you are fast and he pulls you quickly back into his chest.

“Fine, fine, you little devil, I won’t retaliate here,” V growls playfully against your ear, even while you shake from giggles. “But you owe me a waltz after this.”

“Only if we do it naked!”

V laughs heartily. “My, won’t that be an experience?”

[ladyofsnark]

Kindest Snark Lady, Defeater of the Flame, would it be too much for me to ask you what sorts of things inspire you to write in a certain era? I'm attempting to write a late Victorian/early Edwardian romance but I'm super stuck.

I want this on my headstone. That’s metal as fuck.

SO FIRST OF ALL, sit yourself down with a nice cup of milky tea or a cold coke or whatever because this answer is going to be wordy.

Full disclosure: I tend to write more in the realm of the Regency era. That’s the empire waists, feathered hat time Jane Austen’s later novels took place in, but prepping yourself for any kind of historical writing is going to be the same..

Firstly: don’t be intimidated.

You’re going to want to do research, but don’t get overwhelmed by the idea that you have to somehow constantly SHOW your work to prove it. And don’t get intimidated if you read about other historical writers being very opinionated about what they do and don’t consider immersive.

Use your research to help you understand your characters as people living in the time. Not as paper caricatures of people. People have been the same for literally hundreds of years. Even people back then bound by “strict” rules of propriety? They also made fart jokes and the women thought men were morons.

Secondly: fashions

I personally love the fashions of times gone by and I find a lot of inspiration in looking at clothes from the period I’m writing about, because it helps build the scene in my mind. Surprisingly, the best place I’ve found for this is Pinterest.

Actually, Pinterest in general will be your friend. Scenery? Houses? Manors? Sprawling, English gardens? Pinterest has it. I tend to build boards for my stories and then review them whenever I’m trying to picture a scene or when I need inspiration.

Third: Pick your voice

Doest thou speak like this? Or something more modern but understandable?

This might just be something that I alone stressed about because I am just that kind of freak, but I honestly worried so much about using contractions in my writing! “Did people in the day use contractions?” I fretted.

And then I realized that without them, everyone sounds really robotic and strange.

So, in the end I didn’t get my answer about whether people in the Regency used contractions like a bunch of heathens, but I decided to make the call for the sake of my writing being coherent.

But the voice you choose to write in will do a lot to build the world and give it its voice.

Fourth: Movies and Music

Movies try for accuracy like never, but I never get as pumped to write some good valley-running, wind-in-the-hair historical shit as I do after I’ve balled my eyes out to Pride and Prejudice or North and South. It’s a lot about setting the mood I think--which ties in closely with music. Olafur Arnalds and Peter Glass have created some beautiful instrumental works that I find it easy to write while listening to. You should check them out.

[stardust-and-blades]

Lost future au pt. 7

okay I lied there are a few more scenes I’d like to do before the letter revealTM

#SorryNotSorry

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

It was 3 in the morning, and Keith couldn’t sleep.

He tossed and turned, shocked to see Lance did not so much as stir or curse at his boyfriend for all the movement. He was known to be a deep sleeper; so deep his alarm has to be set a whole hour before he is meant to wake up simply because he wouldn’t budge. There would be times Keith would have to smack him with a pillow to make sure he did not get a third ass chewing from his boss. No matter how much Lance pushed for an afternoon shift or night shift, they love scheduling him in the mornings. 

It’s no wonder he crashed at Keith’s plenty of times. His apartment was closer. And with them being official for eight months, Keith’s home suddenly became Lance’s.

He didn’t mind. It was nice not to come home to an empty bedroom, wondering if he should adopt a cat just to ease the loneliness. 

But as he and Lance grew closer, Keith became incredibly anxious. Not because he was thinking of breaking up with him, god forbid. He may not be able to fully say ‘I love you’ yet, but it doesn’t mean he cared for Lance any less.

No, what made him anxious was the future. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something gnawed at him; whispered to him daily that he is running out of time. That he needs to take precautions, for if he doesn’t he would be setting Lance up for the same pain he endured from the loss of his parents. He didn’t want that. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

Keith turned to his sleeping Lance, the boy’s limbs sprawled out and an arm reaching for Keith. When he felt the sheets instead of a warm body, Lance opened one sleepy eye and mumbled a groggy “Keith? Come back to bed...”

Keith smiled gently at his significant other, taking his hand and combing his hair out of his face.

“Go back to bed. I’ll be a minute.”

“Mmmkay...” Like that, he was out like a light. Keith carefully removed his hand from Lance’s, waiting for him to snatch him back up and prevent him from going anywhere. For a moment he was sure Lance would iron grip him, but he simply squeezed Keith’s hand and rubbed his thumb on the inside of Keith’s palm. He did nothing after that, Keith free to move about.

He did not want to let go. He wanted to curl up next to Lance and forget his thoughts; cast them to the wind and live each day by slow day. But if he didn’t do what is on his mind now, he may never do it. Who knows what fate has in store for him.

Better safe than sorry.

Keith shuffled to the desk not far off. He messily searched for the small lamp, fumbling for the erected switch on the back. He flicked it on and opened a drawer, extracting a pen and paper. He sat on the creaky chair and wracked his brain for what exactly he would like to say, the subject grave yet needing...needing...what?

He clicked the top of the pen several times, chewing on his lip. He wasn’t a wordy person. Never had been. That’s Lance’s job. Keith was all about action, yet this was the only thing he could do. Was capable of doing.

He looked towards the shelf with his hippos, thinking back to that terrible day. His tiny arms around two very big stuffed animals. A smiling lady dropping him off at a foster family. The kids running to their parents after school, engulfed in long awaited kisses and hugs.

Then, he got it.

He began to write, and did not stop until dawn, when his eyes were the heaviest and when he knew he could nap the rest of the day as Lance headed to his job for the morning. 

Lance no doubt would wonder what kept him up.

It’s a good thing insomnia is something he can use as a cover.

As the sun broke through the surface of the window and Lance’s alarm went off for the second time (the first Lance chucked the clock on the floor), Keith finished the letter and hid it in a notebook of his. 

He did not hesitate to crawl back into bed and hide himself in the embrace of his best friend; his partner; his life. He pushed away what he wrote and allowed himself to truly live in the moment. To take in Lance’s sweet scent, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the smooth, undisturbed brow. 

Keith closed his eyes. For once--just once--he prayed to be wrong.

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

“Here,” Hunk says, breathy and nervous. He holds an envelope towards Lance, the front inscribed with his name in Keith’s handwriting. Lance stares down at it, confusion taking hold of him.

“What...what’s this?” He doesn’t dare touch it, as if it would burn him in an instant. His mother, sitting by his side on the couch and also in the dark, grew weary. Her son hasn’t been recovering well, but just today he ate a full meal without trouble. She fears he will go back to his poor diet and continue to call into work, the mourning period they granted him growing strain. 

Hunk avoids his eyes. Rather, he flips and cracks the cookie Lance’s mother gave him, not really hungry.

“It’s a letter. From Keith.”

Lance’s tired gaze sharpens, dashing to Hunk’s soft, conflicted orbs. 

“What?”

“Keith. He...he gave me this years ago.” Hunk explains, Lance’s mother going still and her mouth hanging open. “When you two were getting serious, he began to take precautions. For this. He asked me to hold onto this in case a day comes where he wasn’t here anymore. I was going to give it to you before the funeral, but...you were in enough pain.”

“Yeah, and I’m totally doing swell now.” Lance says, sarcastic and bitter. He stands up a dark look shadowing his face. “Keep it. I’m going back to bed.”

“It’s five in the afternoon.”

“And I’m done with this conversation.” He slowly walks to his room. “I’ll see you later.”

“Lance, sweetie,” His mother calls out, hushed and dripping in worry. Lance stops, tilting his head in the direction of her voice. He has never heard that tone from her. Not since his father passed, his mother deep in grief but holding on for the sake of the family. She begs him with her gaze to come back, to hear what Hunk has to say. Out of all people she should understand how he is feeling, so why is she looking at him as if he were heading to his own demise?

“Please. Look at the letter. For weeks now I have been looking after you, and the grief is eating you alive. It has invaded your heart and is turning it to ash. While I do not know what is said in the letter, I know Keith wouldn’t want to leave you like this. He wouldn’t want to leave you dying on the inside; blaming yourself for what happened. Please, my sweet boy. Look at what he left for you.”

“You don’t understand--”

“But honey, I do.” She whispers. She stands up, walking over to him and taking his hands in hers. Rivers of sorrow swim in her eyes, yet they never leak out from their prison.

“Lance, do you remember the day your father died?”

Lance is quiet for a moment. “Yes...”

“And do you remember the week after the funeral? The day of my birthday?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to tell me--to tell Hunk--what happened that day. What I received and what you said to me.”

Lance, bristles, awkwardly looking at Hunk. He never told the story. Never bothered to, since it happened when they were just about ready to enter college. Lance did not want to bother Hunk at the time, he was really busy traveling across the state checking out which college was the best for him to spend his four years. He heard about his father’s passing, yes, and he sent his condolences. Offered to cease his college hunt to spend a couple days with the mourning family. But Lance, the youngest of the family and the one closest to his mama, told him he would be fine. Technically Lance wasn’t fine, but he had to be strong for his mother. Had to be there for her, and he wanted to do it without outside help. His mother always portrayed a large amount of strength, but at the time he had to switch places with her and be the son she needed.

Now in exchange, Lance’s mother is being strong for him.

“You received flowers that day,” Lance whispers, Hunk having to inch closer to fully understand what Lance was saying. “It was your birthday, and you were delivered roses. It was what dad did every year--that and a loving note and a trip out to your favorite restaurant. Except he couldn’t take you out that time. Or anymore afterwards. And...and...” 

Lance tries his hardest to continue the story; to do what his mother asks. But a flood of tears overwhelms him, Lance shoving the edge of his hands against his eyelids, turning away from his mother. He hasn’t thought of his dad in a long time. With him and Keith, Lance wonders how he made it this far. 

His mother cups his face in her hands, turning him to face her and cease hiding. she bends his head to meet hers, their foreheads touching as she wipes away his tears. It reminds her of when he was a toddler, crying as soon as he tripped and made contact with the ground. His exorcised his lungs, the high shrills of a baby Lance coursing through the hallways and bleeding into his siblings peaceful spaces. His mother did the same thing as she is doing now, holding her son and whispering gentle declarations of praise and love for his efforts to walk. Her son does not need to learn how to walk like then, but he does need help in standing back up when life has pushed him down. 

“He said in a letter surrounded by two dozen roses ‘My love, if you are receiving this, I unfortunately left the earth before you. While I may not physically be able to show my adoration, I will do it in spirit and send you two dozen roses until you meet me again in God’s embrace. Do not dwell on what could have been, my dear. But remain in the now, and take our children in my stead out on the town. Smile like the old days in Cuba when we bumped into each other on the beach. Laugh like the time I dropped ice cream on a cyclist as we talked for long hours on the balcony of a hotel. Dance like we did on our wedding day, full of merriment and your belly consumed by butterflies and our first born. Go out among the stars and know I am walking beside you, bathing in the light of your soul. Do not stay sad, my love, for we will reunite again.’ “

“Me and Veronica took turns consoling you.”

His mother lets out a shaky laugh. “Yes, but you two also did what seemed impossible: you made me smile during a horrible time in our lives. Afterwards, you and your father helped me pick myself up when I felt lost among a sea of grief.” She combs her hands through his hair. “I don’t want you to remain in the dark. Neither does Keith. So please, my dear son, look at what he left you, because just like your father he has left you the words you need to read. To breathe again. It may hurt, but in the end it may leave you with less of a hole in your heart.”

Lance slumps, giving in to her wishes and allows her to pull him back to the couch. He silently held his hand out to Hunk, his friend placing it in his palm.

He takes a breath, holds it, and opens it.

Dear Lance,

[chaoticnootrals]

Hargrove

AN: This is going to be my first series! It’s pretty wordy at the beginning and there isn’t much Reader x Billy interaction in this part but there’ll be a lot in the next part!

Summary: The reader is one of Hawkins brightest students with a top notch reputation, it isn’t until the arrival of some newbies from California that she begins to break out of her shell. The blossoming of a  beneficial relationship between y/n and the Californian bad boy himself.

Part summary: Introductions have gone better than this one... (Takes place in episode one of season 2)

Word count: 4.7k

First period. History with Mrs.Langham, or “Mrs Lang” on a good day when her husband isn’t spending so much time with his mother than with her. You sat poised in your assigned seat at the very front of the class, smack bang in the middle row. You watched with sophisticated intent as your teacher sprawled out details of the revolutionary war upon the dusted over black board. At this time of year when the seasons had settled and the spirit of halloween began to intensely consume everyone’s October lives, your school hours began to calm as teachers seemed more concerned about how they were going to manipulate the halloween season to get students to be more interactive in their classes.

With the dull and lifeless droning of Miss Langham’s voice, paired with the early hours of the school morning, you observed as your history class peers dozed off and entertained one another with Hawkins high’s latest tall-tales and teenage gossip rather than paying any notice to what was happening in today’s lesson, everyone except you. Instead you sat in your forward on position in your seat jotting down specific bullet points and information regarding who did what when and where what happened in regards to the war that won your country’s independence.

You sat silent. Everything around you was clouded by the intensity of your own concentration, a habit you’d developed from a childhood governed by the numerous expensive and strict tutors your parents had hired to get you a head start on your education. Since then, you’ve excelled in all of your classes throughout your schooling, earning the title of one of Hawkins’ most respected honour students, both socially and academically praised because of it, therefore lying the reason that you were the only one paying close attention to the lesson playing out in front of you, whilst your classmates swapped gossiping whispers behind you.

“Did you see the new guy this morning?” A feminine voiced chirped quietly.

“Oh my gosh, yes, and did you see his car?” Another sang cheekily.

As their whispers continued behind you, your focus fought with your curiosity as you desperately tried to block them out. To your own dismay, you are human, and a teenager at that, and from time to time you can’t help but indulge in the joys of being a teenager, if only for a moment. You watched Miss Langham closely as she continued to drone on about the war and wrote up crucial information as she spewed it. You watched and waited for an opening, for a moment in which you could engage with the girls behind you without getting singled out for not paying attention. Within seconds she picked up the old blue dusted history textbook from her desk to copy out information she hadn’t already memorized onto the blackboard, providing you with the perfect opportune moment to join in the conversation.

You swiveled your body around, immediately capturing the attention of the group, “I don’t mean to ease drop, but did you say something about a new guy?” You whispered coyly.

Carol shifted her eyes from left to right, examining her surroundings with such smugness. She looked looked as if she was about to reveal the information of a celebrity scandal she’d been forbidden to talk about, which only seemed to peak your interest.

“He just arrived this morning in a sexy blue Camaro.” She purred, “and apparently, he moved all the way from California to Hawkins. Isn’t that crazy?” Carol exclaimed in a whisper.

“It honestly just makes him hotter.” Tina added with a giggle, earning exaggerated gasps of surprise and a wave of mischievous giggles from the group.

You laughed along with them, despite having missed Tina’s comment, your mind adrift somewhere else. As the girls continued to exchange stories and information about Hawkins high’s hottest new gossip topic, your thoughts remained elsewhere as you pondered who exactly this new guy was and what in the world he was doing moving to Hawkins of all places. It baffled you to think that anyone from somewhere as lively and rambunctious as California would move to Hawkins. Yes, it was common for people from large cities to move and settle in small towns for new beginnings and fresh starts, yet such things never happened in Hawkins, nothing ever really happened in Hawkins. At least that’s what most thought anyway. Living in Hawkins for the most part of your life no one had ever been known to move from somewhere that big and that far just to settle down in your town. No one except for you.

Before you were able to piece your thoughts together, the flow of your concentration is interrupted by a familiar grating voice calling your name.

“Miss Y/L/N.” She repeated.

You leerily turned around to see Mrs.Langham standing in front of your desk, arms firmly planted upon her hips. She stared down at you disappointedly, her thick rimmed glasses sitting loosely on the bridge of her nose.

“I expect better from you, young lady,” She scolded, “but since you have so much to say, would you care to tell me who our first president, George Washington’s right hand man was during the war?” She had a smug expression slapped across her features, expressive and obvious through the way her lips tightened and her brows cocked.

The question was sudden, and you weren’t paying attention but you didn’t need to in order for you to answer, and although it may be rude you looked forward to putting her in her place.

“Uh, Alexander Hamilton, Ma’am. The main author of the economic policies of the George Washington administration and one out of the seven key founding fathers.” You finished with a sickly sweet smile.

“Well done, Miss Y/L/N, well done indeed, although I expect no less from you from now on.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Happily contempt with your impressive display of intellect she strode over to her desk proudly, internally praising herself for your own genius despite none of it being to her credit. A few minutes flew by before that same mundane ring of the bell echoed throughout the halls; at last, the end of first period. You hurriedly packed up yours things, wanting to get out as soon as possible you hadn’t been bothered to put away your textbooks. You had waited in anticipation for the remainder of your history lesson, prohibited from finding out anything else about this Californian new guy if you waited to stay on good terms with Mrs.Langham, and with class over you had a chance to group up with your friends to find out more, because if anyone knew about any new arrival it’d be Steve.

As you walked through the halls of Hawkins high, you notice yourself closely scanning those who pass you by, watching to see if you could find any unrecognizable faces in the sea of familiarity. It was cliché, but oddly you felt a weird connection with whoever this guy was. Much like him, you weren’t from Hawkins, you were from Washington, and you knew the heartbreak and detachment that came from abruptly leaving behind the only place you’ve ever called home, only to be suddenly being somewhere completely foreign to what you’ve known.

Despite moving to somewhere quite the opposite to Washington, you knew Hawkins fairly well. Every summer break your parents would send you and your older brother to Hawkins to stay with your grandmother. When she fell severely ill, unable to care for herself, your parents decided to buy a house in Hawkins so they could move and take care of her since she sternly refused to be admitted to a retirement home. Looking back now, you’re certain she just wanted her family back with her one last time. When she finally passed, you never moved back to Washington. Your parents liked the quiet, they liked the atmosphere, and it was easier for them to work in a secluded area rather than a loud and hectic city, and it wasn’t like they’d have any trouble traveling elsewhere for work, if need be. Since then, you’ve lived in Hawkins, but you never stopped missing the life you left behind in Washington.

You proceeded to scan the faces of the students who passed you by, with none seeming to stick out. Your eyes continued to browse when your gaze landed on three familiar faces, faces in which you were rather over joyed to see. You began to speed up your step to catch up with the group when of course, Steve and Nancy shamelessly display their affection to everyone passing, by making out in the hallway. You can clearly see the discomfort in Jonathan’s face as he slips away from the two and you can’t help but giggle at the motion; these were you’re closest friends, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Not wanting to third wheel the couple, you decided to pass them by and catch up with Jonathan instead as you had the same class.

“Hey, Nance!” You called out as you ran past the pair, “Hey, Steve!” You greeted.

When you finally caught up to Jonathan’s side, from the momentum you’d built up trying to catch up to him, you lightly placed your hands on his shoulders and used them to assist lifting you off the ground for the jumping greeting you decided give Jonathan. “Hey there, shutterbug!” You announced giddily upon landing on the smooth hallway floor.

“Hey, jumpy” He replies timidly, yet still mockingly so. “How’s it going?” He says, looking down at you curiously.

“Pretty good, found out I aced my history test.” You answer with a gushing smile.

“As usual.” Jonathan comments with a half smirk.

“Shut up,” You nudge him playfully, “How about you?”

“Same old, same old. Had English first period, so y’know.” He shrugs. You know.

A lot of your casual conversations were simple and plain, but you enjoyed them thoroughly. So much so, you found yourself often looking forward to them during the day. It’s always been like this between you and Jonathan. One minute you could be talking about the dullness of your school days and the next you two could fall down a hole of what the true function of the male nipple is, no matter what, it was always refreshing with him and it’d been like this since the beginning. Your grandmother used to babysit Jonathan in the summers you would visit so naturally you spent a lot of time together, and just as naturally a friendship blossomed between the two of you, and your move to Hawkins only strengthened your bond. The two of you grew closer with age and even though you had managed to branch out and make more friends over the course of your school years, whereas Jonathan seemed to become more recluse and isolated himself off from others, you always had him within arms reach. He was more than a friend after all, arguably more than family.

The two of you continued to walk and talk about the most odd topics you could conjure up to discuss, when out of the corner of your eye a glint of vibrant blonde hair flashed in your passing sight. From what you could see, it had been styled in a way you had only ever seen on rock stars on TV. Accompanying such a hairstyle, you saw that their body had been fully covered in light denim which seemed to cling to them in all the right areas. It was natural for the school halls to be crowded, but it seemed that whoever this rockstar-esque person was, had a small group of people trailing after them.

Initially you were intrigued, but for the most part it just seemed odd. Who could possibly be so important (at Hawkins no less) that they could cause a band of people to follow after them so desperately? Despite thinking it silly, due to your curious nature, you still wanted to know who it was, and judging by the attention, all signs pointed to it being the new guy. You stopped mid conversation to turn around and get a better look, Jonathan walking a few steps ahead of you before stopping to see you weren’t by his side. Your eyes darted over the waves of students, your head tilting and feet tip toeing to get a better view, focussed on finding that same cluster of unruly blonde hair and denim, but just as quickly as it’d appeared, it seemed to melt away into the ocean of Hawkins teenagers.

“Hey, are you okay?” You heard a small voice peep in front of you.

It was calm and quiet but it’s familiarity dragged you out of your own mind and landed you back into reality. Looking in front of you, you see Nancy now standing before you with an expression of concern and confusion painted across her features, mellowed out by her trademark Nancy Wheeler smile.

“Oh, hey! No, yeah, I’m fine.” You said giggling at the realisation of your own distraction.

“Okay, good.” She sighed, linking her arm with yours, “You scarred me for a second there.” She continued, pulling you along to meet up at Jonathan’s side.

“Sorry about that, I just thought I saw the new guy everyone’s been talking about.” You laughed.

“New guy?” Jonathan asked, looking cluelessly between the two of you.

You simply shrugged in reply, being just as clueless as him on the matter.

“Wait- I think I saw him this morning?” Nancy chirped, drawing both yours and Jonathan’s attention, “Yeah, I was helping Steve with college applications when some guy shows up in the parking lot in a blue Camaro.”

“Seriously? A Camaro?” Jonathan asked with furrowed eyebrows, jaw practically dropped.

“A blue one too.” You added cheekily, hiding your mischievous smile. Your comment earning a playful bump from Jonathan.

“Yes, a blue Camaro.” Nancy giggled, “I think he has a sister in Mike and Will’s grade too?”

“So, what grade’s the brother in?”

“Ours? Maybe Steve’s?”

With no other curiosities, you nodded with content as the three of you continued to walk to your classes. You felt comforted by the fact that Jonathan was just as oblivious to the situation as you were, at least you weren’t the only one out of the loop.

“On another note,” Nancy began, “Unlike Jonathan, I expect to be seeing you at Tina’s Halloween party?” She continued, practically bouncing with anticipation.

Your lips tightened and your eyes narrowed as you scrunched your face in response, humming in a higher tone than your usual. Parties were never really your thing, yet you weren’t opposed to the idea, but you had other commitments you tended to prioritise over parties. You had your job, school work and grades, not to mention all of the clubs you were involved in that added to your busy schedule. So, just like all the others, you weren’t planning on going, even if Nancy begged you to change your mind.

“Come on, y/n! Don’t be a party pooper like Jonathan-“ She whined.

“Hey-” Jonathan interjected, half offended.

“Oh, hush, you know you are.”

Jonathan scoffed.

“I dunno, Nance? I’m just so busy with work and school, a-and I’ve got cheer practice as well-”

“Please, y/n? It’s just one night.” Nancy pleaded with clasped hands. You laughed at her seeming desperation, but with how anxious she was to have you there it was almost impossible to say no to her.

“Maybe, okay? I’ll think about it.” You sighed, flashing her a reluctant smile.

Nancy clapped her hands together happily and quickly wrapped you in a hug of excitement.

“I’ll take that as a yes” She exclaimed, flashing you a triumphant smile, “and I will see you two after bio”

With that Nancy skipped off down the hall towards the science labs, leaving you and Jonathan at the entry of your shared calculus class. As students began to flood into the room past you, you noticed Jonathan looking straight ahead smugly, avoiding eye contact with you. His arms were tightly tucked into his pockets by his sides as he tried to hide the mischief that was so clearly written across his face.

You looked up at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips before speaking, “What?” You stated bluntly, piercing him with narrowed eyes.

Finally looking down at you, you can see just how pleased Jonathan looks. You stare at him expectantly, which only seems to amuse Jonathan’s more.

“You’re so easy.” He says chuckling and shaking his head at how easily Nancy had coerced you into (basically) saying you’d go to the Halloween party. He’s now leaning against the door frame of the classroom, still laughing at your own dismay.

“I am not!” You protest.

“You so are.” He detests, “I just said no.”

“Wait- You’re seriously not going?”

“Nope, I’m taking Will trick or treating. Plus, me and parties don’t really mix.”

“Ugh, really? Can’t I just, I don’t know, come with you? I’ll help look out for Will and I haven’t seen the kids in ages and I just-“ As much as you wanted to plead your way out of it, by the way Jonathan stood there with crossed arms and content facials, you could tell that there was no way out of it. Yet, it wasn’t his expression that gave it away, it was the familiar look in his eyes you’ve seen too many times before. He was studying you; listening without taking it in since you both knew there’s no turning back.

You slump your head and shoulders, sighing heavily, “I’m going to that party aren’t I?”

Jonathan pushes himself off the door frame and places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“Hey,” He speaks with a soften tone. You look up at him with an exaggerated bummed out expression, “You’ll have fun, I know you will. Besides you definitely fit in with that crowd a lot better than I do and you’ll have Nancy and Steve with you too”

You reply with a groan, but you can’t help but smile when Jonathan laughs at your extravagant reactions.

“It’ll be fine,” He drags the ‘i’, “Plus, you might get to hang out with that new guy you’ve been looking for so much.”

“I don’t-“ Is all you can manage before your words are caught in your throat, and before you can recollect yourself, Jonathan’s already walking into the class and finding his assigned seat near the back of the room. You follow his lead and sit down in your seat beside him. “Shut up.” Is the best comeback you could think of.

Jonathan simply chuckles and ready’s his books for class.

You had to admit to yourself that Jonathan wasn’t one hundred percent off the mark with his last remark. Your curiosity had been peaked and in a town where seemingly nothing happens you couldn’t help but find yourself interested in the new and exciting strangers from California.

From then on your classes went by like a breeze as the majority of your teachers were focussed on incorporating the topic of halloween into their lessons rather than the actual subject lesson. It was corny but nonetheless entertaining. As your day drawled on, you were surprised to find no trace of this supposed ‘new guy’, you were beginning to wonder if there even was one. Were your classmates all in on the this joke about a new kid from California? If you were honest with yourself, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was all a rumour. Hawkins wasn’t exactly the most exciting town to live in. As a matter of fact the last most exciting thing to happen other than the sudden disappearance, death and revival of Will Byers was when your family moved to town, other than that, Hawkins was as dry as a desert when it came to eventfulness.

Before you knew it, it was your last period. You had senior english with Steve and Nancy, a class in which you had both been moved up a grade; a natural progression as a result of your grades. While Nancy and Steve sat closer than need be in a classroom, you sat beside them, quietly listening to your walkman since your teacher, Mr.Harlock, had so carelessly popped in a tape for the class to watch while he reclined in his chair for an afternoon nap. That’s when it happened, the door to your classroom opened with purpose as Hawkins high’s principal stepped in, causing Mr.Harlock to whip forward in his seat.

“Good afternoon, seniors,” She paused, eyebrows raised at your teacher, “Mr.Harlock.”

“G-good afternoon, Ms.Valli,” He stuttered, trying to compose himself. “What seems to be the occasion of your visit?”

“Class, we have a new student joining us at Hawkin’s high. I am here simply because he had seemed to lose his way to this class, so I thought I would escort him.” The sarcasm was blatant in her speech. “Therefore, I would like to introduce you to Mr.Hargrove.”

With that, a tall and rugged figure walked through the door. He was the spitting image of confidence and trouble, all clad in denim and hair product. He was who everyone at Hawkins High tried to be, but failed tremendously, you could hardly believe your own eyes.

“Feel free to introduce yourself, Mr.Hargrove.” Ms.Valli continued.

He looked over the room of dumbfounded stares and smirked, “The name’s Billy. Billy Hargrove.” His voice was gruff yet smooth, more matured than a teenager’s should be, leaving you and what seemed like half of your class speechless.

“Oh, so you’re the Californian, huh?” Commented Mr.Harlock.

“That I am.” Ms.Valli then cleared her throat with expectancy. Billy merely looked at her with defiant eyes before complying with a simply, “Sir.” to conclude his sentence.

“If he’s any trouble, you let me know. I’ve had two of his teachers come to me already.”

“Will do, ma’am.”

The principal then proceeds to exit the classroom, leaving Billy to stand before your class in an aura of superiority.

“Alright then Mr.Hargrove, you may take the free seat at the back of the class.” Your teacher directed before continuing to play the film.

You watched as he walked down the rows of students to his newly assigned desk. You watched as your classmates stared up at him as if he were some kind of celebrity, an idol, a deity, and understandably so, he was definitely a sight to behold. Although, you were more intrigued by the fact that there was legitimately a new student at Hawkins high. Yes, his looks were something to behold but his presence was a rarity which sparked your interest more than anything.

He’d taken up the desk three seats over from yours at the back of the class. You wouldn’t normally be seated so far from the front, but Steve and Nancy insisted. For the remainder of that class you kept sneaking involuntary glances across at him. He leaned back in his seat carelessly as he etched whatever defacement he’d thought of into the desk’s surface. His hair was styled to look messy, but you could tell it was done thoughtfully so. His personality screamed indifference, but his clothing labeled him with desired popularity. He was definitely an anomaly in Hawkins. An anomaly you couldn’t keep your eyes off.

Before you knew it class was over, and Nancy was dragging you out the door alongside Steve who looked more in love than ever.

“So I was thinking we could go in themed costumes y’know like we could-“

“Uuuh, I wasn’t really gonna dress up for the party.”

“What? Why not?” Nancy said in a puppy soft voice.

“You know me Nance, I’m not really into all that stuff.” Steve said, guiltily rubbing the back of his head.

Their conversation went on, but you were disinterested, your mind still on Billy. You got to your locker and let the couple continue their usual petty argument beside you as you loaded and unloaded schools books. It wasn’t until you shut your locker that you caught a glimpse of the anomaly himself. His locker had been located on the opposite wall across from yours. A sudden determination came over you. You didn’t know what it was, but you wanted to make yourself known to likes of him.

“I’m gonna go introduce myself.” You blurted out, shutting your locker behind you.

“Oh, Y/N, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea-“ but it was too late, you had already made your way into the crowded stream of students to meet Billy on the other side.

You took in a deep breath and with that, “Hey there,” You said sweetly.

He looked down at you with hungry eyes, giving off no intention of speaking.

“It’s Billy, right? We’re in Mr.Harlock’s English class together.” You smiled.

“Funny,” He said leaning against his locker, now facing you, “You don’t look like a senior.”

“Oh, I’m not, I’m a junior. I was moved up a grade for English.” You laughed, attempting to seem more relatable.

“Is that right?” He replied lowly, a smirk plastered across his lips as he looked you up and down like a predator does it’s prey.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m-“ Before you can finish, Billy cuts you off.

“Oh, I know who you are, Y/N.” Your name feels dark rolling off his lips, unlike any other way you’ve heard your name spoken before, “and I got one question for you, sweetheart. What is it that you want from me?” With that sentence, Billy’s entire composure shifts. He’s no longer looking at you like he could devour you in seconds, his gaze is now cutting through you with malicious intent; you’re nervous.

“I’m not sure I get what you mean-“

“I said what do you want from me?”

“Why would I want something from you?” You ask timidly, trying to make sense of Billy’s brash question to which you had no answer.

“Well, from what I’ve been told, considering that you’re known around school as Hawkins high’s signature good girl, next to Wheeler over there,”

“Good girl?” You interject, slightly aggravated. Billy only talks over you.

“Y’know, perfect grades, perfect life, a scholarly reputation, and I bet you belong to at least a club or two. With all that under your prim belt, I have serious doubts that you would waltz your ass over to me without a motive. So, what is it, Princess?”

You look up at Billy, at a loss for words. It was a rhetorical question, yet you could see he still examined your face for any sign of an answer. How could you say anything, when really there was nothing to say? Normally you would’ve stood your ground, called Billy out on his rude and crude behavior, but in that moment he had you stumped. Be it the way his eyes burned right through you with their piercing blue, or the way that Billy had gotten progressively closer towards you, close enough that he was looming above you like a grim reaper; you were stunned, and all you could do was study him.

“That’s what I thought.” He spat, finally breaking the intense silence between the two of you. “Now, you stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours, okay sweetheart?”

With that sentence, Billy firmly jolted himself off the lockers he’d leaned on and walked past you, acting as if your encounter hadn’t just happened. That was it, your first encounter with the now infamous new kid, Billy Hargrove.