#and so dick has nothing. no happy memories to comfort himself w no bad memories to make it easier that jay is gone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mcmoth · 4 years ago

Text

BOIS

The aro c!Tommy propoganda is done.

Here:

Friends can be Home, too

Summary:

Love. The thing that supposedly drove the world, that made everyone happy. He thought he knew love. But maybe… maybe not. Maybe there has been something deeply, intangibly wrong about him this whole time, and he hadn't even known. Not to this extent.

'Cause he knew before. Knew it in the unease in his bones, and the panic in his brain, and the annoyed buzz in his chest. But… but he had doubted.

He couldn't doubt anymore.

A journey of introspection, self doubt, and realizing you're not alone.

Or read on ao3!

Warnings: swearing, internalized arophobia, which includes self doubt, a bit of self hate, that sort of stuff. Also, this will have like, mentions of attraction and all that stuff, and Tommy gets pretty confused, so if you'd like to avoid that? This isn't the fic for you, ig. Btw, as a reminder, this is all set in the dsmp universe and is not about the irl people in any way.

Now onto the fic!

Welp.

Tommy sure is ready to stab someone right now.

Well, not really. More accurately he wanted to run, or shrivel up into a fucked up raisin, or snap, or just exist in darkness right now. Because there were his two best friends, cuddling on the couch. And he was sat there, next to them, supposed to be enjoying movie night.

It's not like he wasn't happy for them. They can do what they want, he reminded himself, again and again. They're just expressing their love, they're just close, and Tommy has to stop being such a fucking oddball about it. This wasn't weird. It wasn't weird.

And he could even see Ranboo giving him looks, probably about to ask something stupid. But if he made any comment, expressed discomfort, that would just be him being a dick and a weirdo. He's not going to ruin this for them. He just has to… to ignore it. To ignore it. He can do that. Yes.

“You alright, Tommy?”

Tommy's jaw snapped, he could feel his teeth grinding, and the couch was feeling all too small. So with a fast raise to his feet, he stumbled away, throwing a brash “fine" Ranboo's way, something burning deep in the pit that was his chest.

It was fine. It was fine. Why wasn't it fine? What the fuck was wrong with him??

Maybe he was just…

Jealous.

***

“I think I have a crush on Hannah.”

Tubbo and Ranboo stilled. The silence was… bad.

“oh?”

Tommy gulped, anxiously crinkling the chip bag he got from targay. “Y-yeah.”

Tubbo hummed. “I've never seen you interact with her much. When… did that start?”

Tommy's mind buzzed, and he resisted crushing the food in his hands, reclining heavily against the backrest of the bench. “I-I don't know, uh, recently? I guess? She's just… nice. She uh…. Has pretty hair? And she gave me a flower once! That was just, swe- uh, poggers of her, so. Yeah. I just think… yeah.”

Tubbo nodded, head tilting. “Do you think she likes you back?”

Tommy's eyes widened, and he didn't know why he laughed, but he did, and when he responded, he himself was taken aback by the hiss accompanying the words. “No!! She- why would- no- no, I mean… m-ma- I don't know??”

Ranboo swung his tail. “She better not. I mean, how old is she?”

“What does that matter?”

Ranboo stared. “You’re a child. Technically.”

Tommy bristled. “Fuck you, I am a big man! I'll kill you!”

The conversation moved on after that, and Tommy, somewhere along the way, quickly got lost. Head filled with cotton, electricity running through his veins, feeling horribly, oddly, humiliated and strangely… dissatisfied.

They didn't care. And he just felt more confused than ever.

…Why did he even do that?

***

Tommy was walking, grass up to his knees, a lead in hand. When he reached the village, he tied it to a fence, patting his borrowed horse before placing feet on the path, comforted by the gravel crunching beneath his feet, the feel of the sun on his neck. He looked around, at the wooden houses and half stacked stalls and idle chatter. He looked around and he thought.

He thought back to older days. This was… strangely nostalgic. Walking alone, in an unfamiliar town, the vastness of the world enveloping him in it's many potentials. He still wasn't sure when he felt better. Running around on the streets, just trying to survive, noone by his side, weak but naïve, hopeful. Or now, with some people to care for and trust, a place to return to, enough food in his pack, but shouldered with the weight of a dozen betrayals, life slipping past him three times too many. In a sense, he was still just trying to survive. Everything was so different now, yet the same.

He supposes, one thing that remained, was the sense of loneliness.

He grasped the front of his shirt, taking in the beating of his heart, looking at the strangers mingling amongst themselves. At the pairs, at the couples, at the families, sharing laughs and smiles, a contrast to the furrowed brows or tired amusement of shopkeepers and the idle folk visiting them.

He had always wanted a family.

…there was one way to get a family.

Someone to share laughs with. Someone who would comfort you. Someone who would take your hand, or hold you through the night, and never even leave. Someone who promises to stay.

It was a nice thought.

So why was it so hard to conceptualize? To imagine, to picture someone actually coherent, to look at a person and go – yes. I want to be your partner.

...eugh. just that sentence made his whole nervous system do a double take.

But why? Why? Was it the betrayals? Was it some fucked up self conscious mind shit? Was that it? Was he just fucked up in the head? Maybe.

Maybe.

But as it is, he knew he liked girls. He did. He liked them. They were… they were nice. Like Niki, who smelled of baked goods, and had a soft smile, and who had once given him a hug when she found him crying during the revolution, and who looked very nice in dresses. Or Puffy, who had made him a pickaxe when he asked for one, and who opposed Jack in stealing his hotel, and who offered him therapy, and she had really cool horn rings. Or Hannah, with her red flowers, and pretty builds, and the way the nature seemed just a bit more lively with her around, and her laugh was bright with mischievous intent that he could empathize with. They… they were nice. Yeah. Most girls were so nice.

So why… why hadn't he found one that he could. Actually picture doing… anything. In his head. No kissing, no dates, none of that… shmuck. It was just… he could see many girls his age running around, just now, in front of his eyes, many running through his mind as he searched his memories. None of them… no. And he tried thinking of boys, but that didn't… no. Not that either. …Enbies?

No… no, nothing… nothing felt. Good. None of it felt good, he just felt sick, he just felt weird, he didn't even feel dirty per se, but more like he was charting into foreign grounds, into something alien, and none of the thoughts he forced to visualize behind his eyelids, fleeting from how quickly he shut them out, felt like him. It didn't feel like him.

His fingers trembled, his chest felt tight, throat choked, and his head, on his shoulders, heavy and woozy and oh so muddled. He felt his heart race. Was… was that it? Maybe that was a sign. People said heart racing was a sign of attraction. Was there anyone in particular who did that? Maybe he was wrong – he was not lacking or messed up or broken, he just had buried the feelings so deep below his ribs, underneath fabricated doubts and trauma and the disconnect he had with reality and relationships in general, and once he got over those barriers, and just found someone, he would experience that joy that everyone spoke about. That closeness. He just had to… allow himself to get closer. To know more people, know them better.

That was… that was probably it.

But no matter. He raised his eyes, his senses coming back to him like the wind blowing his hair out of his eyes, blinking at the noise around him.

After all, he still came here for a reason.

***

“Yeah, I like these ones the best,” Tubbo said as he handed Tommy the various colored discs. Tommy nodded, smiling as he sorted through them, writing down the names in his notepad, feeling little stones dig into his elbows. Tubbo joined him fully on the ground, laying down next to him. “What do you need these for, anyways?” he blinked, and there was a smirk growing on his face. “Are they for… someone?”

Tommy furrowed his brows, staring at the other. “What?”

Tubbo chuckled nervously, waving his hand around as he stumbled over his words. “You- you know. Like a gift? Are you going to… to try to, get someone?”

Tommy’s stare just became sharper, becoming even more confused. “What??” What the fuck was he talking about?

“You know, like a- a date?” Tommy blanked. “Cause- you know, you've been talking about girls a lot lately, and I just thought-"

“No.” Tommy interrupted, feeling numb. “No, it's not for a fucking girl.”

“Oh.” Tubbo laid on the grass, clearly uncomfortable. He began to tear up the leaf he had picked up. “Sorry, I just thought- I'm not really good at this whole thing… sorry for assuming. W- …what is the reason, then?”

Tommy sighed, thankful for the topic change. “It's for… you know how I’m going to therapy?”

Tubbo hummed in affirmation.

“Puffy suggested that, since I like music, I should like, indulge in that, use it to calm myself or give myself something to do, that junk. So I’ve just been. Collecting, I guess.” He looked over the list again, then closed the notepad and sat up, discs in hand. “I wanna build a place where I just keep all the records, maybe I’ll even sell the ones I don't like. Good business practice, you know?”

Tubbo brightened. “Oh! That sounds really cool! If you need help with the building part, I can help you, by the way!”

Tommy looked at Tubbo's grin, so sweet and infectious, and his heart thawed, thinking of working with Tubbo again, building towards something together. It was a nice thought. “Alright.”

It would be nice to be with Tubbo again.

***

Tommy felt miserable.

This… this was miserable. He didn't know why. It really shouldn't be – it was just music. He was just sorting through all of his music, picking ones he liked, picking ones to comfort him, he loved music, it was fine, it just…

Why did so many of the songs have to be about love.

It made him feel angry and hurt and alone in a particular way that was so familiar and yet so utterly different. Because when he felt alone before, he fought with himself the same, he sunk into the thoughts of being unlovable or broken or undeserving of company, but at least he could understand it. At least he could look back now and think “Dream was a bitch" and that would be some solace. At least he could have hope that even if he was unlovable, he could still love. Love others. Try to seek others. Even if he never got that back.

But now, hearing all the poetics and sweet confessions that were in such abundance, something that sounded so passionate and revered, so integral, it was like looking into another reality he didn't, couldn't, understand, and suddenly, he felt more alien than ever before.

And most importantly, how fucking stupid that was, that the thing that made him feel that way was love.

Cause he knew before. Knew it in the unease in his bones, and the panic in his brain, and the annoyed buzz in his chest. But… but he had doubted.

He couldn't doubt anymore.

God….

He laid on the ground, head to the cold floor, the record still spinning. The noise bounced off the dark wooden walls and into his skull, grating and aching. He covered his ears, messed up his hair, breathed in and out. In and out. What was wrong. What was wrong.

The record fell to silence. Then it started back again, as it automatically swapped out. Next.

His fingers felt restless, his whole body did. He tapped his skull, feeling the thumps echo. Breathe in, and breathe out. Breathe-

“-ow will I ever know you enough to love you, if you're hiding who you are?

Don't ask me to explain-"

He startled, his breath catching. This disc was scratchier than the others. It felt different. Something in him drew in the lyrics, head loud. He blinked.

…He's not hiding. Is he? Hiding what? He’s- no. Just- Breathe in-

“-Who are you hiding from, across the table with a penny in each eye?

Don't ask me to explain, don’t ask me to explain-"

His breath escaped, arms trembling as his body froze. He didn't understand. He couldn't explain. He wanted to cry. Something was unravelling.

“I'd like to marry all of my close friends, and live in a big house together by an angry sea,”

He sobbed.

He did, he thought, with surprise, as the tears fell.

“Am I the devil's marbles don't move on without me,

Who will be watching my body when I sleep?

Who will I believe in?”

Something… yeah.

Something happened.

Because suddenly, all that stress, all that confusion, all that loathing, was detangling, and the tears ran deep, ran painful, silent, wheezing screams escaping as the sobs continued. He couldn't breathe. His chest was tight. His head swam, and he felt oh so light headed. Light. He felt light. Happy. He felt alive.

He felt understood.

He- he wanted that! He could- he wanted to live with his friends, with Tubbo with Ranboo. He wanted to stay as friends. He wanted them to protect him, to be able to trust them, to be able to protect them in turn, he wanted to reside with them, he wanted to sleep amongst them, to have them watch over him, safe, he wanted to wake up in the morning and see the sun rise with then, he wanted to have casual dinner with them, he wanted to grow old together with them. As friends. As friends.

Friends.

What a lovely thing…

He could… he could live with his friends…

He could build a family with his friends.

And he didn't even care at that moment that he didn't know how Tubbo and Ranboo would feel about that. He didn't care whether they'd want him at their house, whether they'd want him around at all. He didn't even care, at that moment, if he couldn’t join them.

Because he realized that it was a possibility at all. Just the prospect, just the thought, the realization, that spending your life, being intimate, finding a stable ground, with your friends, not romantic partner, was possible, that it was possible to not be able to feel otherwise, that it was shared by other people, who wrote this song, who sung it, who had thought about it…

It meant he couldn't be that alone after all.

“It's so easy to lie to myself,

And pretend that I could love you, but I can't"

And oh so comforting it was, that he couldn't.

***

“Ey, Ranboo! Bitchboy!”

Ranboo suppressed a smile, an exasperated sigh hissing through his teeth. Tail swishing, he glanced to the other boy, who was down below, standing in the snow.

“C'mere!! I gotta give you something.” He yelled.

Ranboo raised a brow, but complied, closing the window he had been looking out of. After making a quick detour to check on Michael, he made his way down the stairs and stepped out of the doorway and into the light. Tommy bounded to him, big grin on his face. He seemed jumpier than usual. Ranboo smiled in turn. “what is it?”

Tommy opened his mouth, then closed it, instead going to rummage through his bag. What he took out was a… box? “Here, fuckboy.”

Ranboo winced, taking the container. “Don't call me that.”

“Why, what does it mean?”

Ranboo stared. “Just…. Don't.”

Tommy blinked, laughing nervously. “o-okay.”

Moving on, Ranboo inspected the item in his hands. It was medium sized, and made of simple, but elegant, smooth black wood. On the top, there was a leather sign embedded in it, with the word Beloved stitched into it. His ears flickered. This seemed… awfully nice. “What’s in it?”

Tommy scoffed. “Just open it, you twat.”

Ranboo, with a glance, could see the anxious way Tommy was holding himself, seeming impatient and uncomfortable. So he wasted no more time, and clicked open the surprisingly sturdy iron latch after a moment of struggling, and what awaited him inside was…

“…Discs…?”

Ranboo held his breath, fingers twitching as he held the gift. …was it a gift?

Tommy was staring at the ground. “Yeah. You know, I’ve just been traveling around, collecting, and I wanted to…” He seemed to shake himself lightly, hands wringing. “I wanted to give you some, I guess. That… yeah. These are yours.”

Ranboo was stiff, still perceiving the actual gift in his hands, that looked hand made, that was hand picked, that Tommy had worked to attain, just to give to him. His tail curled, and he carefully, delicately closed it's lid and hugged it close to his chest. “I… Thank you. Thank- O-oh wow…”

Tommy scowled. “You look like a fish. It's not a big deal. Just… take a listen sometime, won't ya?”

“Y-yeah!” Ranboo reverently nodded, cursing the way his eyes felt misty. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll definitely listen, and cherish it. Thank you, Tommy.”

Tommy curtly nodded. “Alright. Pog.” And then, he was turning around, walking away with a quick “Share it with your family, too, some day. Bye.” Thrown or his shoulder.

And then, he was gone.

***

Tubbo heard music down the hall.

Ears tilting towards the pleasant sound, he skipped with bare feet over to the source, evening light casting warm glow through the windows as he went. When he arrived, to what was Michael's bedroom, he found Ranboo on the couch, curled gently over their son, head resting on his little head as he seemed to just… listen, wistful. Michael was listening too, letting out a little yawn as he turned his head to snuggle even deeper into his parent's warm embrace. Tubbo smiled softly at the scene.

Quietly, he patted over to them both, Ranboo eventually noticing him and watching him as he did. Tubbo buried a hand in Ranboo's hair, and the other leaned in. “What are you listening to?”

Ranboo didn't rush to explain, letting the comforting silence fill the space. When he spoke, it reminded Tubbo of soft flower petals and honey. “I didn't know Tommy's music taste was so…”

Tubbo blinked, turning to the disc lazily turning on the jukebox near them.

“-But in the end, I don't really care what you think,

Cause the bottom line is you make me happier than I’ve ever been...”

“wholesome.” He chuckled, fondly.

Tubbo hummed, unsurprised. “Tommy gave you these?”

Ranboo leaned more heavily in the couch. “Yeah. I don't know why, but…”

Tubbo's smile only deepened as he thought. Slowly, he replied, “I think he just wanted to show you he cared.”

Ranboo seemed to lose his breath a little, looking up at the other. “You think so…?”

Tubbo carded his fingers through Ranboo's hair, looking past Ranboo's twitching ears. “Tommy doesn't do things like these without reason. If he gave you something, it’s safe to say you mean a lot to him. He doesn't like to show it, usually, but… that I know.”

Ranboo stared at the turning of the discs, breathing softly. His tail curled around Michael. “Oh.”

Tubbo sat down at his feet and joined in.

Hearts warm, they laid there and listened until the sun had cast it's last rays and the jukebox no longer had a melody to spin.

***

Tommy sat behind the counter, feet on the counter, just trying to eat his discount chips while some people were being dumb children.

“Stop throwing the fucking food! I'll have to clean this up later!” He whined, to which Tubbo and Ranboo just threw him a glance, Tubbo’s apathetic and Ranboo's at least vaguely guilty, before Tubbo went right back and threw another gummy worm Ranboo's way.

Tommy scowled. “Seriously. At least pick them up and eat them.”

Ranboo made a face of disgust. “I'm not gonna eat candy off the floor, Tommy.”

“Yeah, some of us don't eat mud, Tommy.” Tubbo added.

“There’s no fucking mud here! It's a clean floor! You can totally pick them up and eat them, what the fuck!”

Tubbo raised his brows, staring. “Okay, then go and eat them, trash boy.”

“Okay, that's it.” Tommy raised to his feet, left his chip bag on the table and ran to Tubbo. Tubbo squawked, crawling onto the armchair he was reclining in to curl into a ball around his bag, but Tommy just threw himself onto the armchair with him, trying to reach for the candy. Which, considering the position, it was more like he was half-tickling, half hugging the other more than anything. “Give me that.”

Tubbo just burst out laughing, trying to hide deeper into the couch, attempting to kick the other away. “St-Stoppp!”

“C'mon, you disobeyed my shop's rules, I’m just confiscati-"

Something hit his head. Tommy stilled.

Ranboo peeked from behind his own candy bag, before digging into it again.

Tommy laid off of Tubbo slightly, raising like a puffed up cat. “Ranboo, you fuck!”

Tubbo laughed again, and Tommy was about to go on a murder spree, only for all the commotion to halt when they heard a sudden 4th voice.

Michael.

“Oh shit.”

Ranboo sighed. “He's awake. C'mon.”

Tubbo sighed as well, rolling out of the couch and dragging his feet towards the source of the oinks. “For the record, this is not my fault.”

Both of the other boys gave him the stink eye, but in the name of preserving needed ceasefire they held their tongues.

Michael was sitting up in Tommy's bed that resided in the backrooms, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and hiccuping. Tubbo reached for him, lifting him up. “Aww, did we wake you up? I'm sorry, little bossman.”

Michael clutched Tubbo's shirt, muttering something in piglin.

“He's asking what all that noise was.” Tommy quickly translated, before turning his eyes back to the kid and saying something soft in piglin back. Michael listened, seeming to quiet a little.

Ranboo, gathering that it was an affirmation, smiled and took one of Michael's hooves gently. “Yeah, we were just having fun. Do you want to have fun, too, Michael?”

Michael’s big eyes widened, and he wiggled in Tubbo's grip. “Ye! Ye!”

They chuckled, and Tubbo transferred his hold of Michael to Ranboo, who led the way in making it back to the front of the shop, chatting with his son all the while.

Tommy bumped his shoulder with Tubbo's as they walked, but didn't say anything further. Tubbo bit back a grin.

The next hour was spent feeding Michael and letting him listen to some new discs. Tommy even remembered he had some records that were in piglin, some songs, some stories, and put them on, which seemed to enrapture Michael quite a bit, immersed in the new voices and tales and familiarity. The three boys let him sit in Ranboo's lap and get lost in his own world, residing on a couch together and quietly chatting, around them comfortingly dark walls, bookshelves and the smell of wood and candles.

Eventually, the conversation steered.

“You know, Tommy, why don't you join us?”

…huh?

Tommy blinked, willing his breathing to restart and for the words to come. “W-what?”

Tubbo looked at him with warm eyes and a trepidant smile. “Like, how would you feel about coming to Snowchester? Live with us?”

Ranboo waved his hand. “Of course, you don't have to! But we just thought, you know, if you'd like a bit more, uh, company…”

“We want to be with you, is all.” Tubbo added quietly.

Tommy's heart raced, and he only blinked more, hands clutching the fabric of his pants. “B- be with me… are you…” he gulped down the butterflies clogging down his windpipes, still trying to understand that this is real. “are you sure…?”

Ranboo grinned, patting Michael's head idly. The piglin looked up at them. “Yeah! You're family, Tommy, after all.”

Tubbo tilted his head. As Tommy was still struggling to respond, he assured, “You don't have to if you don't want to, big man. No pressure.”

Tommy laughed, weak and breathless, but bright. “No, I-I’d- I'd really want that, but…” he gestured, trying to put his worries to sudden coherent sentences. “wouldn't that be… awkward? Like… you two, just, l-lovebirds," he chuckled clumsily, “and then there's… me, just, there?”

Tubbo shared a look with Ranboo, then turned back and laughed. “You won't be a third wheel, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yeah, it's not like we’re really romantic partners, even, it'll be fine.” Ranboo said.

Tommy stilled.

Blinked.

“Uhw- what?”

The other two tensed, Tubbo quickly glancing at his husband before grimacing, thinking deep on how to explain it. “You know, we… we're not really… romantic? We just decided to marry? But we're… not platonic either, it's…”

“I-It's something inbetween. Queerplatonic is the word? I think?”

“It's hard to explain-"

“There's- there's a word for that? And you were- Like. Friends? Living together, this whole time??” Tommy reeled, head in hand.

“Well, not exactly friends, or at least, with how we decide to label our relationship, but… yes?”

“Oh my-" Tommy slumped forwards, now both of his hands holding his head upright, just. Breathing. “Shit. What the fuck. I…” he laughed, wrecked.

Tubbo and Ranboo stared at him, uncomfortable. Tubbo frowned. “Look, if you… if you're gonna say something, I’d rather-"

“No- nono, it's…” he raised his eyes, slowly, like coming out of a cave and into the light. His words tripped upon his tongue, but he was so eager to know. “So you two don't want… romantic partners?”

They blinked. “Not… particularly, no.” Ranboo replied. “…are you okay?”

Tommy laughed. It sounded stilted even to his ears, senses muddled as he was wrapped up in his own head, his own elated feelings, his heart nearly bursting at the seams. “I-I’m not alone.”

Tubbo stared, but then his eyes softened. He sighed, and his smile was immensely gentle, while looking at his friend. “Oh, Tommy…” Ranboo, beside him, wilted the same.

Michael, inbetween them, looked at all three of them silently.

“…Do you want a hug?” Tubbo quietly offered.

Tommy quickly nodded, slumping into Tubbo's side and burying his face in Tubbo's soft hair, not even caring for the way one of his horns poked into his cheek slightly. He held the other, and Tubbo held him. He felt the end of Ranboo's tail drape over his leg.

With a delicate tone and worn vocal chords, he quietly, and simply, admitted. “I'd love that. I'd really love that. Living with you three.”

Tubbo tightened his hold.

That night, Tommy fell asleep not alone, but with his two other closest people, his family. Safe, warm, with that insistent nagging at the back of his chest cavity, that told him he was alone, that he was wrong about himself, that he never even knew himself at all, finally silenced.

He had never felt more at home.

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

Text

Picture Perfect (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Summary: You reflect on a perfect vacation with Marcus.

Warnings: language, talk of flying in planes, mentions of food, implied sexual content and sexual flirting

W/C: 3.6k

A/N: happy Easter loves!!! I really adore this fic and hope you guys do too! It’s part of the Beyond the Sea series I’m writing with the lovely @mandoalorian

Beyond The Sea Masterlist

You never thought you’d see the day when Agent Marcus Pike relaxed for more than a few hours at a time. Luckily, your hand holds three Polaroids, all of them proof of the wonderful week of rest and recharging the two of you just experienced. The plane is leaving now, the islands of Hawaii behind you and endless ocean outside of your plane window. Marcus is snoozing softly, head pressed to your shoulder, and you press a kiss to his beautiful temple. This is the man who holds all of your heart in his hands, and you’ve never been so sure that someone would protect it with their life.

He stirs at the sensation and you chuckle quietly. The roar of the airplane’s pressurized cabin makes everything quieter, and you smile as those brown eyes flutter open. “Just me. Love you. Go back to sleep, babe,” you murmur, and he complies, eyes slipping shut as he nuzzles closer. You look down at your hands again, at the three Polaroids.

The first photo makes you giggle. It was taken the first full day the two of you had in town. Marcus holds a tiny crab in his hands, a look of wonder on his sun-kissed face. He’s shirtless and crouched down, wet sand packed beneath him and patterned swim trunks bringing color to the photo.

The second photo melts your heart. Marcus lies in a hammock in the Polaroid, asleep in the shade. Stripes of light peek through palm fronds, illuminating bits of your boyfriend’s warm body. He wears board shorts and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, his normally gelled hair forming soft waves. The sun you’ve spent your days in lightened it, leaving light brown and even blonde streaks in the top layer. A soft pink covers his nose and cheeks- a result of the sun as well. His ukulele is lying next to him in the hammock.

The third photo makes you tear up at the memory. Two dark silhouettes- one clearly yours and one clearly his- are just outlined against an orange, sunset-colored sky.

You and Marcus arrived at your condo late at night, tired after the long flights, both cross-country and then across the Pacific Ocean. You’d flown first-class, Marcus insisting he spoil you. It was comfortable, but the pressure of the cabin made your body ache and your joints swell. It was impossible to sleep, even with him to use as a pillow.

The first morning, Marcus rises late: it’s about 10 A.M. local time, and he sighs as he finds you still snoring next to him. You look so peaceful and sweet that he can’t bring himself to wake you.

For the next half hour, he sits on the condo’s porch, overlooking the water. He smiles softly as the occasional breeze passes through, noticing that the air slowly warms.

When you finally wake, you wander out to find Marcus on the balcony. You gasp in excitement as you see the rushing surf. “Oh my god,” you grin and wrap your arms around him from behind. “It’s so gorgeous.”

“Good morning to you too,” he teases as his hands rest on your arms. “Isn’t it though?” He leans back against you, watching the seagulls play in the splashing water. “How did you sleep?” He asks, still eyeing the sprawling ocean. There’s a small reef a few yards from the shore, shallow enough to walk in.

You notice it too. “Good. Can we make some coffee then go explore those little tidal pools?” You ask excitedly as you point at them, resting your chin atop Marcus’s chocolate-brown bed head.

“Of course,” he chuckles, turning to kiss the side of your face. “It’s the perfect time to get some sun, too. We’ll get our swim gear on.”

You press a soft kiss into the top of his head, smiling contentedly at the ocean and Marcus’s steady breathing beneath your arms. “I love you,” you practically sing to him, overwhelmed by the happiness of the morning.

“I love you too, pretty girl,” he murmurs back and turns to kiss you softly.

Twenty minutes later, each of you finished with one cup of coffee and changed into your bathing suits, you head down to the water and wade in. You squeal as the cold water laps at your ankles, your pink Polaroid camera hanging around your neck. One hand clutches at the pink plastic, lifting it instinctually to keep it dry. Marcus laughs and takes your free hand, the two of you commenting on the water and the sun as you wander to the rocky shoals a few yards out.

The volcanic rock in front of you is filled with holes and crevices, and it’s teeming with life. Marcus’s eyes widen in excitement as he sees a tiny crab. “Oh my god,” he laughs. “Look at this little guy!”

Walking closer, the crab doesn’t scuttle away. “Oh, do you want to be friends?” Marcus coos, squatting down.

“Careful of the waves, babe,” you remind him, a hand on his spine, between those gorgeously thick shoulder blades. “Don’t wanna get a concussion.”

Marcus shakes his head, absolutely beaming as he scoops up the little crab. “Oh, aren’t you the sweetest thing,” he mumbles to it, admiring its brown shell and tiny claws. “You remind me of that guy from Moana.”

Of course your boyfriend would draw that connection. He mutters the lyrics to Shiny from the movie to the crab as he turns to face you, holding it up. “Look, this is our baby now.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Well, I suppose our child needs a name,” you chuckle, daring to stroke the back of the crab’s shell. It snaps its little claws in return, grabbing at nothing in the air.

“Well, how about the crab from Moana? The Tamatoa?” He asks. The little thing’s claws are clacking rhythmically to some inaudible beat.

“Hmm.” You think about it for a moment, lifting the camera and snapping a photo of Marcus holding the tiny crab. “It’s a snippy little thing. Maybe we should name it Teresa,” you snort, laughing to yourself at your own joke.

Marcus frowns. “No, I like it much more than her. You’re our little Tamatoa, aren’t you?” He coos, holding it up to give it a little kiss on the back of his shell.

Classic, typical Marcus. Giving all of his love with no regard for his own safety. You almost see it in slow motion as the tiny crab snips the tip of Marcus’s nose. “Motherfucker,” he cries at the feeling, setting the crab back down immediately.

It makes you laugh much harder than you should. Leaning onto your boyfriend’s tanning skin, you wheeze out laugh after laugh. He joins you too.

When you both finally settle down and catch your breath, you giggle up at Marcus. “Okay, so that little shit was definitely a Teresa.”

Marcus laughs this time, giving you a brief kiss. “You are the absolute love of my fucking life, baby,” he chuckles and the two of you continue your walk.

Marcus has always been an early riser, and you forgot to close the shades last night before you passed out in the ridiculously plush bed. The early sunrise warms Marcus’s face until he wakes. He rolls over with a yawn and a stretch before kissing the side of your face. You grunt. “Hi.”

“Good morning, angel,” Marcus’s soft voice coos to you, an arm snaking around your middle. “The sunrise looks beautiful. Want to see?”

“No,” you frown. “Wanna sleep more.”

Marcus pouts, kissing your forehead. “Baby.”

“Fine,” you groan, the sleep starting to wear off anyway. “Only because I love you so much. And because I love your dick and don’t want it withheld from me this week,” you tease, sitting up and kissing him softly.

“Yeah yeah,” he laughs and stands, wandering over to the large window in the bedroom.

Your eyes widen at the beauty as you see the gorgeous colors of the sky. The sunrise is behind you, but the horizon is still shifting in hue, pinks and purples and oranges with the dark blue slowly fading away. Marcus wraps his arms around you as you stand next to him. “See. This wasn’t so bad to get out of bed for.”

Nodding, you rest your head against his chest. “I suppose it wasn’t. I’ll go make us coffee,” you murmur and press a kiss to his bare pec, giving his ass a light squeeze as you walk past him.

The two of you make your plans for the day over the coffee, discussing your options and ultimately choosing that today would be the perfect day to find a secluded little beach and just relax in the sun. They wouldn’t be hard to find around here: unlike other places you’d been, it seemed like the shore was endlessly beach.

Parking in a free lot, locking your ragtop Jeep behind you, you and Marcus wander down the beach for a while until you find the perfect spot. How did you know? Marcus spotted the perfect marker: a hammock.

Tied between two palm trees, under the shade of the fronds, was a woven hammock. It had no pillows, blankets, no one around and no belongings. Marcus decided it was yours now- or at least for the day.

The white sand is warm beneath your feet, flying out as Marcus chases you. You’d stolen his sunglasses just moments ago and now you’re running. “Get back here!”

“Only if you fuck me right here and right now!” You teasingly call over your shoulder.

Marcus stops, as if he’s considering it. You do too. Then he picks up into a faster run. “There’s too much sand for that, you little shit!”

Giggling, you stop and let Marcus crash into you, his warm body slick from the tanning oil he’d slathered on. You naturally wrap your arms around his neck. Marcus plucks the sunglasses from your head and puts them back on. “Thank you.”

“Any time, Pikey,” you tease and kiss him softly as his arms wrap around your waist. That was the name you’d called him when you first met, when you were young, up-and-coming interns for the FBI.

The two of you wander back, lying on your beach towels for hours and absorbing the warm rays. You and Marcus snack on some packed food, staring out into the ocean and chatting. It’s absolutely perfect.

Marcus is ever the early riser. You’re usually the one to end up taking a nap if the last night of sleep didn’t satisfy you or Marcus woke you up for some godforsaken reason. As he lies next to you, though, you hear a yawn slip from his lips. “Sorry, what was that?” You clarify teasingly.

Marcus scowls. “I get tired too.”

“Bullshit,” you laugh. “Do you want to go cuddle in the hammock?” You ask, and he nods as he sits up.

Marcus is wearing just his board shorts, but there’s a cool breeze in the shade. He tosses on his Hawaiian shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. He looks so effortlessly cool, that brown hair starting to get slightly wavy from the salty air. His sunglasses sit just slightly lower on the bridge of his aquiline nose, and it makes you grin. You toss a t-shirt on as well, and you grin as you realize Marcus opens his ukulele case.

“I knew you’d use it,” you grin at him as he settles in the hammock. He’d debated bringing it along, contemplating the hassle, but you’d told him he practically had to- you’re in Hawaii, after all. You scoot in next to him and rest your head on his shoulder.

“Will you play me a song by Abba?” You ask him softly, the rush of the ocean and the wind filling your ears.

Marcus nods and kisses your forehead before giving the strings a strum to test some chords. He finally starts playing a soft version of Andante Andante, and your eyes slip shut. His voice is so beautiful and soothing, and you can’t help but quietly sing along.

“I’m your music… I’m your song…

Play me time and time again, make me strong…”

He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, ever prayed to whatever being up there that you’d meet the right person for you someday. He’s soft and warm and strong. He’s protective but gentle and the most caring man to ever walk the face of the earth.

Marcus starts noodling around on the ukulele, playing some random chords and notes. “I love you so much,” you sigh and snuggle in tighter against him.

He puts down the ukulele and wraps his arms around you, kissing your temple gently. “I love you too, baby. So much, endlessly.” He’s so perfectly cozy that you cuddle on top of him, and he welcomes the position. He wraps his arms around your body and kisses your neck.

The two of you stay cuddled up like that, tired from the long day in the sun, for quite a while. Before long, you recognize the different breathing pattern Marcus has slipped into- sleep. Smiling softly, you allow yourself to remain nuzzled into your boyfriend’s body for a while longer.

After some time, you sigh and realize you should probably wake him and return to the condo. The sun is starting to sink lower in the sky: not enough to be sunset, but enough to know what’s approaching. Careful not to wake him, you clamber out of the hammock and grin at the image. It’s too perfect.

You grab your Polaroid and snap the photo: Marcus is asleep, sunglasses fallen down his nose, Hawaiian shirt open, ukulele next to him. The hammock sways in the breeze, peeks of light from between palm leaves shining down on him. You giggle when the photo develops and it’s the sound of your laughter that wakes him. “Huh?” He groans, sitting up and losing his balance as he realizes his resting spot is moving.

You walk over on your knees, the sand moving with you and allowing you to do so. You kiss him gently for a moment before breaking away. “You fell asleep, love. It’s just about time to head back to the condo.”

“How long?” He asks groggily, pushing up his sunglasses and rubbing his eyes.

“You were only out for about half an hour,” you assure him and rub his arm.

His eyes are still closed but he smiles at that. “I heard you take that Polaroid,” he chuckles, and pulls you in for another kiss that muffles your noise of defeat.

Two days later, you can hear Marcus singing along to his music in the shower as you get ready for the evening. Sitting at the vanity in the suite’s luxurious bathroom, you apply your makeup, opting to keep things light. You wear a nice outfit and fidget with your appearance in the mirror, touching little things here and there.

A few minutes later, Marcus wanders out with a towel around his waist, his skin reddened from the hot shower. “Hey. You look… amazing,” he grins as he looks at you, taking in the sight. “I can’t compete.”

You grin and walk closer, putting a hand on his warm skin. “It’s a good thing it’s not a competition,” you tease, faces close together. “You’re going to look wonderful too.” You kiss him softly for a moment before he breaks away to get dressed.

The sun is above the horizon, just about to sink into sunset. Fuck, Marcus thinks to himself as he realizes he needs to move quickly. He puts on the nice outfit he’d picked earlier, messing with his hair in the mirror. Not more than few minutes later, he’s back at your side. “Ready?” He asks.

You nod with a smile. “You hurried.”

Marcus shrugs, pursing his lips and shaking his head. You know that look, you’ve known it since the very first time he did it. He’s terrible at bluffing. Something is hidden behind those eyes. “Just… don’t wanna miss sunset,” he murmurs and kisses you on the cheek, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You’d planned on dinner at a luxurious restaurant located within a fancy hotel, but Marcus insisted that you’d be at the beach for the sunset. When you finally reach the resort, you wander through the gorgeous surroundings until you find the white sand beach in front of you.

Marcus walks with one hand in yours, the other in his pocket. He’s quieter than normal, holding back his remarks about the wildlife and gorgeous architecture of the buildings.

There’s a small gazebo just off the sand, and Marcus walks you up. “Well… surprise,” he chuckles, showing you the little shelter. It’s strung with twinkling lights and white gauze, the ocean’s breeze rippling the fabric. There’s a table with a white cloth covering it, champagne glasses at the ready and flowers sat in the center.

“I thought you said we were eating at the restaurant,” you exclaim but laugh in surprise, setting your purse and Polaroid camera next to the chair.

His eyes twinkle with excitement. “Well, they offered this. How could I choose the restaurant when we could have dinner in our own little private gazebo?” He chuckles. “They won’t start the service for a little while. Want to go walk on the beach a little longer?”

“Marcus,” you coo and take his arm, wrapping both of your arms around it. “You’re the most romantic man on the face of the earth.”

He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. “Only for you. Come on, let’s walk.”

The two of you stroll along, the gorgeous sunset behind the dark and rolling ocean. The breeze rustles Marcus’s hair, and you grin as you see it happen. “This is… amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he mumbles and nudges you with his shoulder, making you stumble to the side and laugh. “Can I ask you something?”

Looking up at him, you breathe out a small laugh. “When have you ever asked first?” You tease him, but you stop when he stops walking.

His hand squeezes yours a little tighter and he moves so you’re no longer standing side-to-side but facing each other. He takes both of your hands. “You know how much I love you. I really can’t imagine you wouldn’t, because I know you love me just the same.”

Your brain flies a mile a minute as he starts talking. It sounds too planned, not at all the spontaneous man your Marcus is and has always been. Wait-

“You are, without a doubt, the best thing in my life. I’ve been burned by love before, but you’re everything I’ve ever needed. You’re the only one who has ever reassured me and calmed me and silenced that endless buzzing of fear in my head. I know you’d never leave me, and I hope you know I’d never leave you.”

“Marcus,” you whisper, and your eyes well with tears as he falls to one knee in the soft sand, his own eyes shimmering with tears.

“And, if it’s alright with you, I want to promise you I’ll never leave you. I want to make it so official that nothing can ever separate us, not time or distance or anything. And I figured the best way to do that is, well… fuck, I messed it up,” he winces. “I had all the words, I swear-“

“Just ask me the question, baby,” you laugh, the tears falling down your face. You know what’s coming now, as he reaches into his pocket and presents you with a velvet box.

He opens it and inside is the most gorgeous ring you’ve ever seen. It suits you. Of course it does: Marcus knows you better than you know yourself. You can tell when you look into his eyes that no one else ever would or could know you like he does.

He stutters for a moment before you fall to your knees in the sand in front of him. “It’s okay, you know what I’m gonna say,” you say quietly, cupping his face with both hands. “Just… say it. Please.”

He bites his lip then looks into your eyes. “Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will,” you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him happily. “Yes, Marcus Pike. I will marry you. I love you so much,” you murmur in between kisses.

“I’m so pathetic,” he laughs as the happy tears trail down both of your faces, him sitting back on his heels and you following suit.

“Oh shut up,” you laugh and hold out your left hand. Marcus takes the ring from the small box and slides it onto your finger, grinning as he notices it fits just right.

Swallowing hard, you laugh at the fact that your makeup must be trailing down your face. Marcus wipes the tears with one large hand, his other cupping yours and admiring the way the ring looks against your skin. He kisses your knuckles and you giggle uncontrollably.

“I get to be Mrs. Pikey now,” you grin and he nods.

“Of course. I mean, if you want to take my name. You don’t have to,” he rushes, shaking his head and blowing a raspberry. “I didn’t even think about that really, just figured that you’d tell me what you wanted first.” His words are a blur of relief, the anxiety fading from his body.

“Marcus,” you laugh softly, your hands cupping his face once more. “It’s okay. Just… relax,” you laugh as one of his hands covers yours, his fingers slotting between yours.

He nods. “I think I finally can now,” he chuckles and kisses you one last time.

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @sugarontherims

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike headcanons #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 4 years ago

Text

Top 5 Reasons Doug’s Pretty Great

It’s hard to believe that it’s been nine years since the first episode of S1 was released. I can still remember be a wee little lass first discovering it on youtube and becoming obsessed. At the time, I had no where to play it myself, so I watched as many playthroughs as I could until my family got an xbox.

While the first episode in this series has a lot of memorable moments, the one that always stands out in people’s memories is the moment where you’re trying to escape the drugstore as walkers pound away at the door and windows, and you realize that both Carley and Doug need your help or they’re going to die.

But... you can only save one, and whoever you don’t help, they end up being eaten alive by walkers and you get to feel bad about it for the rest of the episode.

I bring this up because it’s interesting to look back nine years ago and see that... well, not a lot of people saved Doug. Which is crazy, because now the stats are pretty 50/50 with Doug even having a bit of an edge over Carley. That definitely wasn’t the case back then because the stats were more along the line of 20/80.

Why? Well, the writer’s didn’t exactly do the best job of showing how great Doug is in ep1, especially compared to Carley who has more interactions with Lee and more screen time.... which is even funnier because they did actually think they did a good job and were surprised by the results after the episode’s release.

Even back then they had a habit of making imbalanced routes then denying the imbalance... something they never grew out of.

I guess they were a little butthurt about it since Doug is a favorite among the team given that he’s actually based on a real person, Doug Tabacco, an IT guy they worked with. This got to the point where Telltale never missed an opportunity to tell everyone to #SaveDoug over Carley.

I also love that they use the Stranger to guilt trip everyone who saved Carley by having him be like, “Doug was in a worse position! >:( You only saved Carley because she was a pretty girl!!” just.... real subtle, guys haha

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that more often than not, I choose to save Carley over Doug for many reasons, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate Doug and enjoy having him around in the off chance I do save him. So I thought it’d be fun to talk about Doug as a character and why he was pretty great as a little tribute, y’know?

5. Doug’s a pretty funny dude

Now, I wouldn’t exactly call twdg a comedy, y’know? It gets dark, then manages to get even darker at times, but if the game was nothing but doom and gloom, it’d get boring and become unenjoyable.

While other characters do get a laugh out of me from time to time, I enjoy the humor that Doug brings to the group, even if it’s not intentional and just the way he is.

Even from the beginning, Doug had me chuckling with the fact that this nerdy dude didn’t want to bring profanity to Lee’s ears when talking about Larry, so he’s just like “ He's kind of a dick... pardon my french,” like Doug.... it’s okay, you can call him an asshole, no one will judge hahaha.

Then there’s the biscuit scene that I think we all know and love. Helps break the tension of meeting these weirdo’s who own a dairy and are totally not suspicious or anything.

But it’s not even just that Doug is funny, he’s also a character that gets you to crack a smile when he’s talking about something he’s passionate about, or when he’s proud of the alarm he rigged up, or when he’s being adorably awkward.

One of my favorites is in ep3 when Lee goes to ask Doug if he has any chalk, and he goes into this spiel about charcoal-- “You know, a piece of charcoal is a suitable alternative, depending on your marking surface. Since we're on the subject, did you know that while chalk is traditionally known to be calcium carbonate, what's often used in classrooms is actually made of gypsum, thanks to favorable domestic mining conditions?”

And Lee’s response is just-- “Doug, I did not know that.”

“Happy to be of service.”

It’s just really funny... and it makes you feel better after all the implications about Doug’s mental health in the episode... like you gave him a moment to flex his knowledge and get excited about it.

But yeah, what can I say? Doug makes me laugh and he brings a bit of light to the groups constant shitshow.

4. Doug saved the group’s ass at the St John farm

And he did so with a laser pointer.

I always hate it when Doug/Carley leave the group at the St Johns and remain absent for most of the episode, though I chalk that up to the writers trying to make the different routes easier on themselves, y’know?

But, at least they come back to save the day.

In Doug’s case, he’s not comfortable with guns like Carley is, so he’s gotta get creative when it comes to getting Lee’s attention and stopping Andy from hurting Duck and Lee.

That’s where his fancy little laser pointer comes in.

We first see him with it during the walk to the farm, but then see it in action after Lee escapes the barn and is nearly blinded by the light. Doug claims he was doing morse code before Lee tells him and Ben that these assholes cut off Mark’s legs and tried to feed them to the group.

Now, here’s the thing... If Doug and Ben had done what they were told and stayed at the motor inn over night, things probably wouldn’t have turned out so good for the group. Doug is the one who shines the laser pointer in Andy’s eyes when he’s got ahold of Duck, giving Lee the advantage of attack. Without that, if Lee tried anything, he would’ve ended up like dingdong Kenny with a bullet in his side.

Also there’s just a lot of bravery from Doug, y’know? Like as soon as he finds Lee and knows the situation, the first thing he asks is what can they do to help, and he sticks around to do what he can.... even if it is just to point a laser in someone’s eye.

No one gives Doug enough credit for savin’ the day, y’know? And if you have any doubt, even Lee says, “I never thought a laser pointer would be the thing that saved our lives.”

3. Doug’s friendship with Lee

Speaking of Lee, his friendship with Doug is underrated. The two have chemistry and work off each other well in the scene’s they’re in. While it’s not as strong as Carley’s in ep1, saving Doug and having around in ep2 & ep3 lets you see it at it’s best, y’know?

After Lee saves his life at the drugstore, Doug is shown to mourn Carley and asks Lee why he would pick him, lamenting that he wished he had picked her over him and you can tell that Doug feels that he owes Lee a lot for saving him. Hell, he even says as much when Lee tries to give him food in ep2-- “Why don't you keep my share today. I know I said it didn't matter why you saved me and not Carley, but... I owe you a lot more than half a day's rations."

Also, I love this one line from Kenny when you’re on bad terms with him and they’re talking about going separate ways where he’s basically like “We all know Doug’s gonna stay with you because you saved him that ONE time >:(” and on top of it being such a bitchy Kenny line, it also shows that every can see that Doug is a loyal friend to Lee and would want to stick with him where ever he decides to go.

One thing that I think people tend to overlook, though, is how concerned Lee is with Doug’s mental health in ep3. There are implications that Doug might be suffering with depression due to the situation of the walkers, bandits harrassing and threatening them, and believing that he isn’t useful to the group, stating that he feel pretty worthless. Lee asks Clementine if he seems sad, and hell, he even talks to Lilly about it.

In fact, speaking of Clementine, Doug is real sweet with her, too. Of course, he gives her those batteries for her walkie, but he also asks about how she’s doing as they’re leaving the dairy. Hell, 8 years later, Clementine still remembers him by name and how sweet he was when fucking dingdong Lilly can’t remember his damn name. That says a lot.

Y’all know how important Clementine is to Lee, so he wouldn’t have grown as close to Doug if he wasn’t a genuinely good person who treated Clementine with kindess.

I dunno, there’s a lot of trust and care between the two and it’s a relationship that I truly love. I just wish we could’ve seen a bit more of it but y’know...#2 happened.

2. Doug saved Ben’s life

Yeah, I think we all saw this coming...

Look, doesn’t matter what you think about Ben, okay? Not what we’re talkin’ about. We’re talkin’ about Doug saving Ben’s life, which unfortunately meant ending his own.

Still haven’t forgiven Lilly for this one. Though I’ve always found the difference between Doug and Carley’s death’s interesting. With Carley, Lilly intentionally kills her after Carley tells her off. But with Doug, Lilly was aiming for Ben and even when Doug pulled him out of the way, she still fired the gun... even though she didn’t have a clear shot and ended up hitting Doug.

Then she tries to play it off like it was an accident which, yeah I guess it was but that doesn’t change that you were intending to murder this 6ft tall child.

It’s just... I dunno, man, it’s sad. I always feel more sorrow for Doug’s death, but more anger for Carley’s? Even though both make me angry, it’s just different characters, different things that led to their deaths, different feelings. This is the first real “Fuck you, Lilly” moment for me and she can spend the next 8 years wandering around for all I can.

Doug didn’t deserve this shit.

But, the reason I put this at #2 because it really says a lot about Doug as a character. The second he saw Lilly aim that gun, he yanked Ben out of the way. He could’ve gone into shock, he could’ve just yelled “no!”, or he could’ve gone at Lilly instead.... but no, his first instinct was to grab Ben and move himself in front and it really fucking sucks that that’s what killed him.

And y’know this isn’t the first time Doug has put himself in danger to save someone. I already talked about him saving everyone at the dairy, but can we not forget how he and Carley met? She was gonna get eaten by walkers then our big hero Doug came in and saved her?? Didn’t know her or anything, just saw her and her crew getting attacked and did what he could to save any survivors??

Like... no one talks about that because it’s so played off and never brought up again and I need everyone to remember this, okay?

Doug selflessly putting himself in danger to help those around him? Fantastic. Beautiful. Love that.

1. Look, Doug himself is just #1. His personality, intelligence, everything.

Wow, Doug’s personality being the #1 reason he’s so great? Who woulda thought?

Well, ME woulda thought because obviously.

Listen... in case you haven’t gather this from the previous four entries, Doug is an intelligent, awkward, caring, selfless, funny, and brave man, okay? He’s likable, he tries his damnedest to pull his weight for the group, he shows actual loyalty and kindness unlike some people, and when he tends to avoid the constant Lilly and Kenny conflicts, he does his best to step in when things take a serious turn, hence the Ben situation.

No to mention the dude is smart.

I mean, he really took a random remote and was like, “Oh it’s universal, let me just program it to work on ALL the random TV’s across the street as a way to distract these walkers!” like dude.... you just know how to do that, huh?

Or his fun little bell trap that alerts the groups of strangers and walkers? Oh, and remember when he fixed the RV by hitting it with a fucking hammer and was like “It works now, drive!”

And have I mentioned that he bested Andy St John with a goddamn laser pointer??

Oh, also wanna add that I really like his voice acting, as well. He��s voiced by Sam Joan, who does a good job at selling Doug’s soft-spoken but intelligent nature, and knows how to pull off “dorky” when needed... and I mean that in a good way, when he’s talking about charcoal Doug is being a dork and I love him.

I mean... what else is there to say?

All that’s left to do is pull a Telltale and--

#SaveDoug

---

Honorable Mentions

-Doug is a pie guy, going off of that time he named all the different kinds of pie he could thing of and I feel that. -He’s a very fashionable person. I want that weird polar bear deer thing shirt he wears in ep1. -also, you can’t go wrong with socks and sandals, my dude. -He had a crush on Carley and honestly, I feel that, too.

---

There it is, there’s my whole thing about Doug. What are your thoughts? When it comes to that choice in ep1 of s1, do you save Doug or do you save Carley? Do you agree or disagree with any of my choices for this list? Or have anything to add? I’m always down to chat.

Have any suggestions for future T5F’s? Feel free to send ‘em in! :D

—

Next week’s T5F

#twdg t5f #twdg doug #twdg lee #twdg clementine #twdg kenny #twdg lilly #twdg carley #twdg ben #twdg larry #twdg mark #twdg andy #twdg #oh boy next week is gonna be a doozy #talking about characters everyone hates?#lovely

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jinmukangwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 31

Experiment

Ao3

Last day.... 😭

Summary: The people who kidnapped Dick are fans from his circus days. They saw his parents fall, and they saw him never fly again. They decide they want to make him fly again, even if they have to break him to do it.

-o-o-o-o-

They tell him that they were fans... way back when. That they used to follow along on Hayley’s tours and go as far as to attend as many shows as possible, just to see three performers fly. They didn’t care if the lion tamer quit, or if the bearded lady was sick, or if the contortionist sprained her wrist. They came just to sit in the front rows to watch John, Mary, and Dick—the best trapeze artists in the world—flying high above the crowd. It would sound flattering if it wasn’t creepy, especially all these years later as Dick tried to breathe through the agony, pressed against his stomach with his limbs strapped down like a bug with needles through all the little appendages.

They say they went to the Gotham show. They say they saw his parents fall. They say they tried to find him. They say they’re sorry for not finding him quick enough before he was in Bruce Wayne’s care.

Dick hates it. Dick hates that with every passing year of his life, someone will always find him and give him another reason for his happy, joy filled memories of the circus to be tainted with villainy. He’s always in a state of pain now, hardly even able to hear their words, but he saw one of their faces. He recognized one of their faces.

He tries to writhe on the table. All it does is cause something connected to his back to twitch. They gasp, they laugh, they congratulate themselves.

They say they missed him. They say he’s grown so big. They say they want to see him fly again. They say they’ve spent decades learning to make him fly again.

All it took was a kidnapping, an unimaginable amount of agonizing serum injections, a multitude of surgeries where they gave him what painkillers and sedation they could and he’d wake up with pain seeping down from his back into his spine into his very bones.

By the time Bruce came and fought them all down into submission, Dick knew it was already too late. He didn’t need to hear Bruce’s gasp or Jason’s swear or Tim’s frightened sharp intake of air. He didn’t need Cass and Duke to help him sit up, he didn’t need to see Damian look at him with wide, horrified eyes. He didn’t need his family's terror to know he’s different now. To know the weight on his back isn’t his imagination. To know he’ll never be the same, because he’s different now, straight down to the little A’s and C’s and G’s and T’s of his DNA.

He’s different now.

And he doesn’t know if he can ever go back.

The rescue is all a blur. So much so that he’s only slightly aware of the drive back to Gotham... back to the cave. All he remembers is being cradled carefully in Bruce’s arms, feeling lighter than what he should, but more bulky thanks to the weight curled tightly flush against his back. He greets his awakening to find he’s laying on his stomach... and while he knows it’s so they don’t put pressure on his back, it also causes every single one of his nerves to sky rocket with anxiety and terror. He’s spent... months on his stomach.

He’s too weak and he cries. Couldn’t they have laid him on his side?

Someone calls his name, but he’s too deep in his own sorrow to listen. His family asks if he’s hurting, or if he needs something, or something along those lines, but all he can do is try to clutch the medical cot against his stomach and put strength into just one of his arms.

The things on his back jerk violently and something crashes, and he wants to see the damage he’s caused, but the movement screwed up everything in his brain. His vision blurs and his stomach rolls, but thankfully before he can throw up, he’s out like a light.

The next time he’s awake, things are easier. Though, easy doesn’t necessarily mean okay.

The next time he’s awake, he’s not okay. Far from it. But he’s on his side, the weights on his back are comfortably laid out behind him on what feels like another cot and a table to cover the entire expanse. He wonders briefly if they’ve looked at the... at the things on his back. Took samples. Plucked feathers. Blood tests. Bone marrow. Experimented on him in a way that’s so similar and so different from his former captors. He almost cries right there, but then he opens his eyes and he sees Bruce sitting on a chair besides him, instantly perking and giving a sympathetic smile the moment he sees Dick looking at him.

Dick then knows that besides laying out the w- at the things on his back, they haven’t touched them. Dick’s been violated a lot in his life, but never quite like this. His entire body is different now, down to the hollowness of his bones.

Bruce wouldn’t touch him without his permission. Dick can see it in his eyes.

“How bad?” Dick asks. He can feel every nerve in the parts of his body that shouldn’t belong to him, but he hasn’t seen them yet. He’s seen glimpses, but his captors were always careful to keep them either tucked to his back or spread out and strapped down to tables against his side. Dick asks how bad, when in reality he wants to know how ugly.

Bruce sighs, looking so much older than what he is. People always get Bruce’s age wrong, especially when they see Dick first. Here Dick is, less than 5 years shy from thirty, and they expect Bruce to be well into his fifties. He’s not, he’s hardly into his late forties, but right now it looks like Bruce could be a hundred years old.

“They’re expertly attached to your spine,” is what Bruce says, and Dick closes his eyes, and pretends the report Bruce is about to give belongs to someone else. Anyone else. Someone other than Dick Grayson. “The wingspan is about thirteen feet...” Dick now tunes it out. Tunes out the weight, the possibility of flight.

He’s heard wingspan, and now it's all real.

It’s not a weight on his back. It’s not a pressure in his spine. It’s not something he accidentally moves when he’s trying to move his arm.

Wings. They gave him wings.

Wings—he finds when he finally works up the courage to look—that are colored similar to the feathers belonging to a parrot. Similar to the red, green, and yellow of his circus uniform. He had almost expected black and blue feathers, but it seems that when his captors and torturers said they were past fans, they truly meant it.

Red, green, and yellow. Some might immediately think Robin.

Dick just thinks of the circus. Dick thinks of his mom. His dad. The tainted memories that he now has to stuff into a jar.

How badly does the world hate Dick Grayson to corrupt these memories?

Cass tries to help. She says that they look pretty, and Dick appreciates it. He does. She says the colors are fun, and that they’re him. The yellow tips, the green accents, the crimson feathers on the inside. He just wishes they weren’t him. He wishes that he didn’t need to shift his balance the first time Leslie, Bruce, and the vet—who they felt obligated to bring onto the team after much questioning and digging up on—let him stand. It’s dehumanizing, for these wings to belong to him.

He doesn’t tell Cass that.

Leslie says she’ll research ways to help him. Bruce says things will get better. The vet, a nice lady by the name of Tina Butler, says that Dick can call her whenever he needs it and he shouldn’t feel any shame to.

And then they all expect him to go back to his normal life. They expect him to smile. They expect him to get out of bed. They expect him to interact and joke. Maybe they expect him to find a way to go out as Nightwing.

Nightwing. He’ll have to change the name.

If he ever goes out again.

He has wings now. Nobody has mentioned it, but until they find a way to remove the wings without destroying his spine, he has to choose a life.

Dick Grayson can come out to the public about his kidnapping and involuntary body modifications, and stuff secret identities and nightlife’s into a locked box and bury it somewhere... or Nightwing can change his name and look and let Dick Grayson stop existing.

Dick chooses to not care. Dick chooses to stay in his room until someone calls him down for dinner. Dick chooses to hate himself. Hate the wings. Pluck out the tiny feathers he can reach just to throw them into the fireplace.

He doesn’t think about how when birds are stressed, they’ll tear out their own feathers.

He just tucks the appendages that he doesn’t want close to his back and have never wanted to his back, then wraps a blanket around his shoulders to keep his chest warm and tries to pretend he doesn’t exist.

It works well for a week. It works through everybody passing by his locked bedroom door, it works through every meal hastily stuffed in his mouth whenever he finds time to go down in between everyone’s schedules to not talk to any of them.

It works until Jason bursts into his room, looks him up and down, takes in the bald patches of the wings, then grabs him by the hand.

“Jay...” Dick mumbles, trying to tug out of Jason’s grip, but it doesn’t work. Nothing works anymore.

“We’re going outside,” Jason says.

Fear curdles in Dick’s gut as he stumbles along with Jason. He doesn’t want to go outside. He doesn't want anyone to see him. With his free hand, he tightens the blanket around his shoulders and forces himself to ignore the softness of the feathers tickling the small of his back.

Somehow, against all odds, they don’t run into anyone else while going downstairs and outside the back doors into the seemingly endless expanse of the Manors backyard. There’s strategically placed bushes and trees here and there, but it’s a good run away until they run into the forests’ of Bristol, and the surrounding property fences.

There’s a soft breeze in the air, and the sun is... warm. It feels good through his unwashed hair.

He hates that it feels good on the feathers as the outside air slips off his blanket.

“Sit,” Jason instructs after they have walked the expanse of the grounds and came across a small pond with a man-made stream leading into it. Jason plops himself down on a small boulder and sticks his bare feet into what’s definitely cool water. There’s a fish swimming in a circle further into the water.

Dick slowly lowers himself with unsure movements, careful to keep the wings pressed against his back, tied up by the blanket. Jason pulls out a bag that Dick hadn’t noticed he was carrying and opens the sleeve.

He pulls out three books.

“What one?”

Dick stills; looks at the covers over one by one. No Promises in the Wind... Lord of the Rings... a big ol’ book of Shakespeare.

“That one, I think,” Dick says, pointing to Shakespeare. Dick’s always liked Shakespeare, especially Hamlet.

“Wrong,” Jason says, reaching into his bag to pull out a fourth book. “We’re reading Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.”

Dick can’t help it. He lets out a small, genuine feeling laugh. Jason carefully puts the other books back inside his bag and opens the book he probably planned to read from the beginning, but just wanted something to break the ice. Dick unconsciously settles and brings his hand to his chin to watch Jason read. Jason has such a nice reading voice. One that pulls you in. One filled with so much emotion that you forget your own and get sucked into the story and the characters and the imaginary problems...

So much so, that Jason closes the book close to thirty minutes later and stands up and Dick’s practically slammed back into his ruined body.

“Let’s go,” Jason says, and Dick slowly stands up, careful of his center of gravity.

“That’s it?” Dick asks.

“Yup.”

Dick frowns, but follows Jason back to the manor.

As he walks, the breeze crawls under his blanket again and ruffles the feathers, practically chasing that always itchy feeling away. He risks moving his blanket so the breeze can better get to the wings. It feels really good. Better than wind through his hair.

He shakes his head and tightens the blanket again. Just because something feels good doesn’t mean it’s right.

-o-o-o-o-

Jason comes back around the same time the next day and grabs Dick by the hand once again. They make it back to the pond and sit down and Jason starts right where he left off.

Fifteen minutes pass before another body slowly sits down next to him. Damian. About two feet away, not making any move to come closer.

Dick wants him closer. He wants to hug and cuddle. It’s been so long.

But he’s afraid of the tainted wings on his back getting in the way.

The process continues over the week, each drop of fresh air becoming something that he looks forward to more and more every day. It’s the fifth day where he finds himself so engrossed in Jason’s storytelling that he doesn’t even notice that the blanket has slipped down his shoulder towards the middle of his back. Cass and Tim are out with them when it happens, and neither of them say a thing.

It’s the eighth day where Dick lets the blanket down almost fully. The wind feels really good, especially on the spots where he’s torn out his- the feathers. He’s been trying to stop. Someone in the family tattled on him to Tina about him pulling out feathers, and she gave him a cream that should help with the itching and soreness after a stern talking to that this is his body, and he’s hurting it even if he doesn’t want it.

Dick doesn’t think about it that way. They’re not a part of his body. They’re not his. They were grown from his back against his will.

He doesn’t want them.

But the wind feels good. And no one says anything.

And Jason’s really good at reading, even though they’ve gone through four books now.

Four weeks after coming home, about two since Jason began his daily ritual of kidnapping Dick and bringing him outside, Dick decides to leave his room without the blanket on his own power. Hours before Jason is due to arrive. He sneaks past everyone, thinking softly to himself if it would be possible to make some sort of hoodie that could cover his chest but not squish the wings.

He goes outside and just walks. And walks. And it feels really, really good. Those little places of the wings where the torn out feathers are beginning to grow back practically scream with joy.

He walks. Then runs, feeling the burning in his legs until keeping the wings against his back becomes too much. Too strenuous. Too annoying. He stops running and moves the wings twitch by twitch until they’re stretched out further than what his arm-span is. Until every single feather is alive and rustling. For a second, Dick thinks about working the joints until it feels natural, until he can work them up and down and catch the wind, and maybe...

He closes his wings. But he doesn’t frown. He just looks back at the manor and thinks that maybe his life isn’t over. Maybe he can enjoy himself just a little. Maybe... he can turn this awful thing into something tolerable. He strolls back to the pond and sits down and waits for Jason and Damian and Cass and Duke and Tim and Bruce to all come out worried out of their minds because they couldn’t find him in his usual place in his room.

Dick laughs. Stretches his wings, and secretly enjoys how they all look shocked.

“I’m okay,” he says, and he believes it.

Damian immediately runs forward, and Dick meets him with open arms. His wings don’t touch Damian until he slowly risks curling them around in front of him. And when they touch Damian, they don’t taint him.

He laughs, and for the first time in a long time, he feels hopeful that maybe everything can turn out okay.

-o-o-o-o-

Hiya! I bet y'all weren't expecting a little authors not right here huh? Anyway, hi I'm Jin and I just want to tell you all how thankful I have been for all of your support. Every comment, like, and reblog means the world to me. Whumptober has been difficult but so much fun, and I couldn't have done it without any of you. Thanks for reading!

If you want more from me, feel free to go through my ao3 or my blog, I have a ton more whump from my bad things happen bingo series, and I have a few hurt and comfort fics as well, a fluff here and there. Thanks for joining me on this journey! Don't hesitate to reach out to me in asks and comments. I swear I'm not a mean person.

Anyway, thanks again!!! You guys are all amazing.

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stachmousworld · 4 years ago

Text

The Sun

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Black!reader

Phew. I don’t even know how to tag that. You will cry and laugh and cry and be happy.

Tags: angst with happy ending, which includes self-deprecation, low self-esteem.

She entered the communal room with a greeting on the tongue

“Pictures of my...” Bucky pointed his groin. “Really?”

Deciding to eavesdrop, she tiptoed near the couch and hid behind a wall. She leaned and peeked at them. From her hiding place, she could see all of them. It was a chance they hadn’t noticed her.

“Yes, women love that,” Sam said, nodding with confidence. He turned to Clint who also nodded.

“Really? It is…” Bucky trailed off, his voice getting smaller. “…something that women like?” He asked unsure.

“Bucky, you gotta trust me – us. We are happy you came to us for advice and we would never lead you astray,” Clint told him, without any hint of his usual snark.

Doubt crept in her mind. What the hell did they tell him and why did Bucky not come to her first? He knew that Clint and Sam were not reliable. She thought he’d be comfortable with her. After all, she was the closest to him.

“So…when I have her number, I’ll send her a picture of my…” He didn’t dare say the word, which seem too...not so him. “And she’ll like it?”

Pictures of…? Realization dawned her. Bucky had found someone. And this someone wasn’t her. She wiped her dry cheeks and took a big breath. She was his best girl and as such, she’ll be there for him, even though he didn’t love her.

“Y-”

“What the hell is going on here?” She uttered.

All of them jumped. Bucky spun around, a hand on his chest. He looked somewhat guilty and awkward. She smiled softly at him and muttered a small hello. Bucky sputtered a few words. His ears were getting red and his eyes rounder with panic. She repressed her chuckle. He looked like a kid who’s been caught the hand in the cookie jar.

Sam and Clint, though, sported a smug smile. She narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

“I don’t know what you’ve been telling him, but if I find out it’s bullshit…” She threatened, eyes staring deep into Sam’s, who cowered. He jumped to his feet, grabbed Clint and scrambled away. She smiled, with complete satisfaction. The “stare” always worked on Sam and sometimes on Clint, when he wasn’t reckless.

A few months ago, while they were both, Sam and her, talking about their moms. Sam had revealed how he was still scared of his mom’s stare. Even now, as an adult, his mom was able to make him feel like a kid. This information, unfortunately for him, had been stored. In fact, she would have gladly kept this weapon locked in her memory, but since Sam loved to prank Bucky, she’d make sure to keep him in check.

Some pranks could be triggering for Bucky, whether Sam was aware of it or not, and since Bucky didn’t like people to pity him…Let’s just say that the following months she had taken a great pleasure in making him squirm.

Bucky coughed and looked around, still a little awkward.

“What did they talk to you about?” She asked, nonchalant.

“Hm…nothing?”

“Are you asking me?” She laughed, a little nervous.

Bucky huffed and shook his head. She decided to change subject. The last thing she wanted was to make him withdraw.

“I’m going in my room, do you w –.”

Before she could finish her sentence, Bucky jumped to his feet and quickly made his way to her. She shut her mouth close and started walking toward the elevator.

They made their way to her room in silence. Bucky had clearly something on his mind. He was looking straight ahead, moving his hands as if he was talking to himself. Whatever the others told him it really perturbated him. And, if she was to believe what she heard, she hoped they hadn’t plant bad seeds into his head.

She tried not to think of the picture of his – she licked her lips – dick. She had long imagined how it’d be. Long, large with a little curve, the tip would be a reddish color…She had seen him in boxers before and had glanced a few times without getting caught, which has been difficult. Bucky had the bad habit of looking at her, even when they weren’t talking.

At first, she’d thought that there was something wrong with her. Maybe something on her face, or else. But no. Bucky loved to look at her. He could spend up to an hour, not moving, eyes on her. And when she’d turn to face him, he’d not even blush. She didn’t know if it was something common back then, but she’ll have to tell him not to do that with a stranger.

Imagine the lawsuit, she cringed. She could see the title on the first page “The Winter soldier harassed a strange.”

She shook her head and opened her door.

“I’m going to take a shower and I’ll come back,” she signaled, closing the bathroom door behind her.

She took a shorter shower than planned. Her head was buzzing with thoughts that even the hot water couldn’t disperse. She dried herself with her fuzzy towel, relishing in its softness and warmth.

She would forever thank Tony for those heated closets. Surprisingly, he hadn’t known about them. She had even thought he was pulling her leg. But no. Tony Stark, billionaire and genius, hadn’t known about hot towels. It hadn’t been long before he upgraded her own heated closets and set them on every floor. Steve and Natasha had been the first to use them, despite their skepticism and they’d love it.

Bucky had not outright told her he liked the new installment. She even thought he’d never used them, until she received a box full of first editions of her favorite books and records. The love and affection for him had grown tenfold.

She shook her head, a peaceful smile growing on her face. Bucky was really a man of few words.

She put on a boy shorts, and a strapless top before leaving the bathroom.

Bucky was sitting on the bed, looking at his phone. Her smile disappeared. Oh, yeah. He wasn’t interested in her and was talking to someone. She pretended to tidy her paperwork, glancing frequently at Bucky. He had not looked at her once. She didn’t let the disappointment overcome her joy.

“So, I heard what the others said, and I wanted to tell you that if you need an ear I’m here,” she said, nervous.

“No, it’s okay, thanks,” he replied, curtly.

Why wasn’t he looking at her? And what was it with this tone? She didn’t want to force him to open up and seem like a clingy girl. She grimaced. Yep, not a clingy girl.

“Ok. But you shouldn’t send a picture of your penis to no one, unless they ask you. And even if they ask you, you have the choice. And you should also be careful…” Bucky raised his head and looked at her for the first time since the communal room. “…because you also are an Avenger.” She finished, feeling lame.

Bucky tilted his head, pensive. Her confidence was steadily crumbling. He had to say something or she…

“Come here and sit down,” he ordered, calmly.

She released her breath and walked over bed. Bucky tutted and pointed the floor. She raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll do your hair,” he replied, as if it was the most obvious answer.

She sat down legs crossed. Bucky scooted forward, her box containing all of her hair products next to him. In her turmoil, she didn’t even notice it. She placed her hands underneath her butt to stop them from trembling.

Bucky slowly took off her wig making sure to be gentle where the glue was still holding on dear life. She grimaced in pain when it finally came off. Her forehead was burning, and she wanted to pat and press the irritated skin to sooth the pain.

Bucky stopped moving behind her.

“What have you done, again?” He asked, annoyed.

She raised her eyebrows. He couldn’t have found out. Her heart started to beat faster. There was no way he had noticed what she’s done.

“You know that I can see you, right?” He whispered in her ears.

She raised her head and met Bucky’s grey eyes in the mirror. She grimaced guiltily and avoided his intense gaze.

Bucky tilted her head back and observed her forehead. He pressed a metal finger across the mark on her face making her hissed in pain, which didn’t deter him. He kept on massaging the same spot over and over again until she couldn’t feel the pain.

“What have you done?” He asked again.

She sighed. “I wanted it to be more glued.”

He flicked her ear, making her wince. Ouch, she thought, pressing her hand on her ear.

“You are lying.”

“’am not,” she declared, pouting.

“Don’t make me tickle you,” he warned, before starting unbraiding her braids. His nimble fingers worked with practice ease and rapidity.

“I…” She stopped talking. The last thing she wanted was to appear weak in front of him. Not again. She didn’t like to complain or be ungrateful but sometimes her insecurities were too heavy for her to overcome. So, some days, she’d stay in bed, mulling over all the criticism she received. ‘You are not skinny enough.’ ‘You skin isn’t smooth enough.’ ‘You should consider surgery for your horse teeth.’ ‘Your boobs are big but if your waist was slimer you’d be body goal.’ ‘You’d be more beautiful if you had a bigger butt.’ ‘Your legs are too muscular.’ ‘You should wear your hair straight all the time.’ ‘You are too dark.’ ‘You speak white’ etc.

She could go on and on about the things she heard from colleagues, friends or even relatives. She could, most of the time, ignore these thoughts and move one. But the other days, like today, she hadn’t been able too.

There had been an annual brunch at work. She had wanted to be perfect. Not too loud, not to silent, straight hair, clothes that masked or accented what they wanted to see. She hadn’t spoken when not spoken too and didn’t try to be angry at their comments on her blackness.

She has tried. So hard and for so long…

She blinked trying to repress her tears. She sniffed and wiped her nose. But the more she tried and the less she felt like herself. Like this girl coming from a hard-working family. Her parents had made sure she went to the best schools, even if it meant sacrificing their own happiness. She had seen them work their entire life and save enough money to open a restaurant. Money, which ended up in her university fees. And now they were back to square one.

So, she couldn’t fail them. She was working so hard not to become a disappointment. And the worst is that they would never tell explicitly that she was a burden. They’d smile gently and encourage her to find another work, or to maybe go back to university…

“Baby Girl, are you okay?” Bucky asked, putting a halt to the train wreck in her head.

She nodded.

“You do know that I can see you, right?”

She quickly dropped her head, wiping her tears.

“Was it about your brunch?” He asked, now worried.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Did something bad happen? Did someone do something to you?”

She shook her head.

“Does it have to do with why you glued your wig on your forehead.”

“It’s too big,” she wailed. It was ridiculous, she knew it. To have a complex so insignificant. But how many times people had made fun of her about it. She had been able to straighten her teeth and whiten them, use makeup to refine her nose, and lighten her skin, but there was nothing to do for her forehead. It was too damn big.

“What?” Bucky leaned and embraced her tightly. He let her cry and sob without interrupting her. She felt herself fall apart. She was so weak, and Bucky didn’t deserve that. He had already a lot on his plate.

She tried to push him away, which had the opposite effect.

“Don’t push me away, baby doll.” His voice cracked. “Don’t. I’m here for as long you’ll have me.”

“Not true…” she retorted. Her voice came out muffled. “...got a girlfriend…gonna leave me.” She sobbed harder.

“What? What do you mean I have a girlfriend and why would I leave you?” He asked, confused.

This time, when she pushed him away, he let her. He grabbed her face with his hands and pressed their foreheads together.

“What do you mean?” He repeated, his eyes glistening, filled to the brim with tears.

She sniffed, unable to look away.

“I heard your discussion with the other –.” Bucky suck a breath. “And you implied you are interested in someone.”

Bucky stayed silent for a second.

“And…why would I leave you?”

She bit her lip hard enough to make it bleed. Bucky wiped slowly the blood with his finger.

“You really love hurting yourself,’ he complained, half-joking.

He released her and sat back down on the bed. He leaned and pressed a kiss on her forehead. She froze. From one kiss came many more on the sore mark left by the wig. She sighed, not moving one inch.

“For a small head like yours, you really are thinking too much.”

He took some oil in a bottle and started applying it to her roots. She shivered at the cold oil dripping on her scalp.

“You still didn’t answer me,” he reminded her.

She chose to answer to the least painful question. There was no way she could explain why she was afraid he’d leave her.

“Kids used to make fun of me,” she explained, vaguely.

Bucky hummed. There was some oil running down her neck. She didn’t have to notify him that he wiped the nape of her neck with a small towel.

“If it wasn’t my forehead, it was my horse teeth. If it wasn’t the way I talked, it’d be my skin color. Then I hit puberty, and criticism on my breasts size, waist, butt, hair, nose…” She took a shaky breath. Bucky was now massaging her scalp. Usually she’d enjoy it. After all, Bucky was an expert. He would release the tension in her scalp and help her relax, until he braided her hair again. But now, she felt more vulnerable than ever.

He was already twisting her hair into vanilla braids, when she blurted out, her voice full of pain and incomprehension. “Bucky, why am I not enough? Why don’t any of my efforts work? I try so much…I swear Bucky. I promise, I try so hard to fit in…but nothing works. My parents have worked so hard for me to be here and I don’t understand why I am such a failure.” She took a quick breath. “I wear straight hair because my natural ones are not professional. I smile, I try to look less menacing, less smart, less cocky, less…less….” She let out an ugly cry. A sound coming from the deepest part of her chest. She leaned forward and heaved.

She felt Bucky’s arms lift her. He laid her on the bed, embracing big spooning her. He held in his arms and kissed the oily top of her head. She was so lost in her pain to notice.

It took her what felt an eternity to come back. Even if the ugly monster in her brain roared and trampled her defense, she fought to come back.

“’m sorry,” she mumbled.

Bucky stayed silent. The only evidence she had he heard what she just said was how he tightened his arms around her, cutting her oxygen supply. She let him. It was probably her last hug from him. He would probably leave her now he witnessed her breaking down. And maybe…and maybe he’d have the courage to say the words her parents couldn’t. He’d be the one to tell her she was a burden.

“Don’t ever…” He said, harshly. “Don’t ever say that you are a failure, or not good enough.”

She shrugged.

“No!” He screamed suddenly making her jump. He rolled her over and face her. She stood still. Bucky was…he was crying. She had made him cry…She thought her own tears and guilt. She was really a burden. Her weakness brought pain and suffering to everyone around her.

“’sorry. Didn’t want to make you cry.”

Bucky’s face turned into a painful grimace. More tears came out of his eyes.

“I fucking love you.” He whisper-yelled “I fucking love you and hearing you saying those words...it’s like you’ve put me in the electric chair again and again and again.”

She tried to apologize but he pressed a finger on her lips. Guilt gnawed her inside.

“Don’t you ever degrade...” He spat the word. “...yourself like that. Ever.”

He kissed the tip of her nose, closing briefly his eyes.

“If you could see yourself with my eyes, you’d see how amazing you are. Hell! If you could see yourself through every Avengers’ eyes, you’d see that you are gorgeous, smart as hell, snarky, sarcastic, but also kind with a golden heart.”

He caressed her cheeks.

“I love you. And I want you to love yourself for yourself. I want you to tell the colleagues of yours to go to hell. I want you to do everything that pleased you. And not everyone else.”

He kissed each wet cheek.

“Your parents love you. They believe in you. You could never be a failure. Never. And I’m sure they’d agreed with me that you need to find another job.” She shook her head, disagreeing fervently. “Yes, you’ll change job. I have seen you, baby doll. I have seen you wilt and become more depressed. You always told me you wanted to work as a librarian. I know you have enough money to quit and you can become what you truly wanted.”

She opened her mouth to shut his idea down. It was true that on one particular night she’d express her dream of owning a library. But it was…crazy! A mere dream. She could…She should keep working and give her saving to her parents to help them open their restaurant. That was the goal since she was 18.

She didn’t notice Bucky leaning forward and she barely registered the pressure on her lips. She blinked slowly before closing her eyes. She sighed in the kiss. He didn’t try to push deeper. He backed away, then kissed her again. Just a press of two lips on their twins. There again, her thoughts disappeared.

“You need to shut that brain of yours.”

“What about your girlfriend?” She asked, dazed.

“What about her?”

“Wouldn’t she be mad that you just kissed me?” She frowned.

“Are you mad I kissed you?” He asked, a small amused smiled appearing on his face. His eyes were still red and the grey of his pupils were darker.

“What?”

“Are you mad I kissed you?” He reiterated, patiently.

“Why…I don’t understand.”

He brushed his nose against hers.

“You asked me if my baby doll would be mad at me for kissing you. And I just asked my baby doll if she was mad because I kissed her. Clear enough for me.”

Her brain short circuited. She spluttered some unintelligible words.

“Are you?” He asked.

She raised an eyebrow. Her heart was beating to fast and her brain wouldn’t catch up with the situation. One moment she was crying, then he was crying, then they were both crying and then kissing, and now…wait! He said he loved her. She didn’t imagine it, right?

“I love you,” she blurted out, blushing profusely. Let it not be a dream. Please…

“I love you,” he replied with a happy smile. “Took you long enough. I thought you’d never catch up.”

Their body sagged against each other, the pressure and tension leaving their body. All the benefits from the early head massage was gone. Her neck was stiff, and her heart was beating so hard she could feel it through her skull.

“So, I’m your best girl?” She teased him

“If you had opened you eyes before, you’d notice it since the beginning,” he retorted on the same tone. “I have never been one to be good at hiding my feelings. Everyone could see my love for you.”

“Since the beginning, really? I’m sure I’ve loved you longer, though.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You were always talking about this Jeff from work.”

“Jeff?” She frowned. Seeing how sulky Bucky was, he had probably botched the name, as usual. “Do you mean Jeremy?”

His eyes grew comically wide. Why did she had to fall in love with such a kid.

“You see! You remember his name and his been out of the company for more than a year,” he stated, indignant.

She laughed. “Babe, you are unbelievable. I remember his nam –.” She stopped talking. Bucky eyes were now half closed and is grin…oh his grin…

Warmth pooled in her heart as her lips reciprocated his. A tender smile. Full of love and longing.

“Babe,” he repeated slowly, like he was tasting the word on his tongue to see if it was right. His smile grew wider.

“Well, you call me baby doll so…”

He suddenly laughed and grabbed her. She slapped his chest to show her disapprobation.

“I’m not a ragdoll. You’ll have to treat me carefully. And hey! You didn’t even finish my hair!” She exclaimed, in fake outrage.

Bucky doubled and laughed harder. She soon joined him.

Later…later, they’ll discuss again.

Later, he’ll show his love to her.

Later, he’ll help her stand her ground and raise her head high.

He’ll let her shine for the world to see.

And if…And if one day, as she rose high and beyond, she decided to let him go. Bucky would let her. Because his love for her would burn like a thousand suns. No matter what. And she’ll forever hold his heart.

Two years later, it felt inevitable to him. After she opened her library, after she met new people, after she got away a few months overseas, Bucky hadn’t dared hope.

And then she came back. The little box in his jacket felt too heavy. She looked heavenly in her little black dress. A few years ago, she’d have never worn it, but now she was confident. She talked freely and with animation. Her hands had yet to touch the silverware near her cold plate.

She mentioned a few people, fondly. And Bucky knew he wouldn’t be able to stand besides her. She was shining so hard and he was a shadow. But the Sun never needed one. She needed a strong man, who’ll support her through everything.

So, his box stayed in his jacket.

After their date, they wandered around. She had pressed him to talk about his life, in vain. The more they walked and the less they talked, until the silent came. Loud and heavy.

She was cold, he noticed. Without even thinking he gave her his jacket. She barely protested and snuggled in.

Bucky stayed in his thought thinking on how he would break up with her before she did.

“Bucky?” She asked, unsure.

He stopped walking and turned to her. She was holding the box in her hand.

“What is it?” She asked in a small voice.

“Nothing!” He tried to grab the box, but she was too fast. How ironic. Him the Winter Soldier was too slow.

She quickly opened it and…and…time stopped. Bucky had many words, explanations…all of them died before leaving his mouth. He waited with bated breath her reaction. Her eyes widened and…

“Yes!” She screamed, jumping around then in his arms.

Yes? She had said yes. He…Bucky spun her around barely believing his chance. She didn’t want to break up with him. He sighed, breathing in her scent. She was there she still wanted him…

“Of course, I want you, dummy,” she replied in his ear. “You’ll forever be my King. My knight in shining armor…”

Tears of gratitude pooled inside his eyes. His doubts slowly dissolved under her warmth.

His Sun.

“My Sun,” she whispered on his lips.

He tensed at the nickname, thinking it came from him.

But no.

As he stared deeply into her whisky orbs, he finally realized it. He finally realized that they were two pieces from the same sun.

And they’ll burn until the world ended.

Fin

Mother masterrliiiisssstt ✨✨✨🐱‍🏍

#friends to lovers #love story #being a black woman is exhausting #woc #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky barnes × black!reader #bucky barnes #bucky is the best #daily racism #low self image #building confidence #angst with a happy ending #bucky barnes insecure #Clint and Sam are little shits #mcu fic #black female character

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totally-incorrect-theatre-quotes · 5 years ago

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I Feel Like I’m Drowning (Fanfic)

After much ado I have finally finished this story and it is...sad as heck. No lie I cried writing a few scenes of this and I’m a typically sad writer. This is a fanfic about the time between the events of the musical and the events of fannon where Lydia and BJ are chaotic siblings. How did he come back? How did they become friends again? How did Lydia cope with the trauma she endured during the events of the musical?

Is it angsty? Yes

Did I give it a happy-ish ending? I mean probably...

TW: Mentions of Suicide, Blood, Death, Panic Attack, Suicidal ideations, trauma.

__________________________________________________________

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since they had moved into the house, and while it had been a more than interesting experience, to say the least, it seemed like everyone was settling into the new environment. Adam and Barbara had been getting along well with Charles and Delia, though it had still only been a short amount of time Lydia was tempted to say that the four of them were friends, especially Barbara and her father who had a lot more in common than she had ever expected. The house started to feel more like a home as the days went by, but there was still something hanging over Lydia. Something keeping her awake at night and plaguing her dreams when she did manage to sleep.

She killed someone. She killed Beetlejuice. It was self-defense, of course. He was going to kill her father and probably her too but she had killed him. She stabbed him right through the chest and nobody has talked about it since. He was a demon she tried to remind herself, he wasn’t really alive in the first place but he was...she had brought him back to life and she had essentially killed a newborn. She can still hear the sound of the bone-crunching, it made her hands shake and her stomach tie up into knots. Lydia never knew she was capable of such a thing, even when she and BJ were scaring the people coming to their house it was just pranks, nobody died. She felt awful for that too, she still can’t make eye contact with the mailman or her neighbor. She wouldn’t even know how to begin how to apologize. “I’m so sorry I traumatized you because I was struggling to cope with my own mental health issues so I simply passed them onto another person.” That sounded ridiculous, everyone tells her that she’s just a kid and that she didn’t mean for what happened to have happened but it doesn’t change the fact that she did it. She was responsible for all of what happened, and nobody wanted to talk about it.

Her included. She had tried a couple of times to talk to her father or to Barbara about some of what went one, but she couldn’t bring herself to actually open up and tell them what it’s been doing to her. She would stay in her room, for the most part, it didn’t arouse suspicion, she often spent time in her room even before her mother died. She was an introverted person, she got more pleasure from being alone that she did in crowds. It overwhelmed her, but now the solitude was becoming suffocating, and she felt so so alone. She woke up one night from another one of her nightmares, her entire body trembling as she ran into the bathroom to scrub her hands clean of the non-existent blood, no matter how hard she scrubbed she just couldn’t feel clean. Her hands were red and raw from the soap and she slumped down on the tile floor, pulling her knees tight into herself just trying to make all the memories stop. They haunted her days and ruined her nights. She wanted to just be okay, she just wanted to be normal but she had screwed that all up.

“I’m a murderer,” she whispered to herself, saying the words out loud made it ten times worse and she felt panic rising into her chest. She wanted to shrink into herself and disappear but she couldn’t. She couldn’t run away from the consequences of her actions. She couldn’t even say she was fucking sorry because he was in the Netherworld now on a vision quest to go find his father. Summoning him would be selfish, he was probably happy now, finally glad to have some freedom...glad to be rid of her the pathetic sad kid that he was so easily able to trick and manipulate just because she missed her mommy. God her mother, she wondered what her mother would think about all that she has done now. She must be so ashamed of the monster that her daughter has become. She did all of this because she missed her but her mother would hate everything she had done, her mother would hate her.

Lydia shifted, tucking her knees tighter into her chest and fell onto the floor, hot tears running down her cheeks and landing on the floor as she cried. She covered her mouth with her hands, stifling the sobs and screams. She didn’t want to wake anybody because she knew they would just try to tell her it wasn’t her fault, they would tell her it was fine when it wasn’t. She didn’t deserve their pity, she didn’t deserve their comfort. She deserved exactly what she was getting, but she didn’t know it would hurt this bad. She wanted it to stop, she wanted so badly for the pain to stop. She slowly got up from the floor and pulled herself up on the counter, opening the medicine cabinet and holding a bottle of pills in her hands. It had been two weeks since she had been on the roof when Beetlejuice stopped her. There was nobody to stop her now, she could just open the bottle and swallow them all. She didn’t even know what the pills were but she imagined that a bottle full of anything would probably do the job. It would all be over, all the hurt would be over. Just like Juno said she could just fade into the soothing nothingness of the Netherworld.

She clutched the bottle so tight in her hands that her knuckles were starting to turn white, her face red and tear-streaked in the mirror. Taking in a shaky breath she tossed the bottle in the garbage, she couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to leave everyone, especially not her dad who had already lost so much and was coming so far trying to be a better father to her. She didn’t want to leave them, not just for them but because she loved them. She sat back down on the floor, the weight of her break down taking a toll on her as she became exhausted. She was so tired all the time. A mixture of the lack of sleep, the energy it took pretending to be okay, and the weight of all the guilt, all the sadness, all the grief.

“Beetlejuice.”

She didn’t even know if it would work. She didn’t know if her doing this would even summon him anymore.

“Beetlejuice.”

Even if it did work he probably wanted nothing to do with her. She wouldn’t blame him, she wasn’t want to deal with herself either. She was a fucking mess, nobody should have to deal with this. She didn’t know what she was even bothering, she shouldn’t be bothering him he deserved his shot at happiness. Just because she ruined her own doesn’t mean she should do it to him. That just proved to herself more that she was a selfish monster.

“Beetlejuice.”

There he was. She couldn’t believe her eyes at first when he appeared but there he was standing in her bathroom. He didn’t even look confused he simply fixed his hair in the mirror while he casually said, “I was wondering what was taking you so long, kid.”

“W-what?” she hiccuped

“You sure took your time summoning me back,” he glanced down at her and his tone changed instantly, “What’s the matter with you? You okay scarecrow?”

She couldn’t help but give a small smile at the silly nickname he had given her. She lept up from the floor and threw herself into a hug with the demon, “You’re not mad I called you here?”

“Mad?” he questioned, still not sure why Lydia was hugging him. Even when they were friends she didn’t hug him except when she was tricking him in the marriage. He had to admit he admired how clever she was, but something about the way she was holding onto him now made him think this was different than before. She was desperate. She was alone. And she called him. Not Chuck. Not Babs or Sexy. She didn’t even go to Delia. Whatever was wrong this was something either very bad or something she wanted to keep a secret, “Why would I be mad that you called?”

She sniffled in his coat, he ignored the fact that she was getting snot and tears all over his coat, though granted with all the other stains he wouldn’t really be able to tell. She croaked out a weak explanation, “Because you were looking for your dad, and I brought you away from that/”

“Oh my god that was for dramatic effect kid, my dad left when I was a baby I don’t give two shits where he is. What I do give two shits about is why the hell are you sitting alone in the bathroom looking all sad and pitiful after I cleaned up everything so nicely for you? I got rid of my mom, I fixed your whole fucked up family situation. So why am I here.” he looked around the room for any kind of clue. He saw something orange in the garbage can and released himself from Lydia’s grip, grabbing the bottle and shaking it. Sleeping pills. Looking at the script it wasn’t expired so there should be no reason it was thrown away other than... “What did you do?”

“Nothing. Nothing, I didn’t. I didn’t actually do it. I thought about it, but I couldn’t do it.” she turned her face away like she was ashamed of herself, but she stuck her chin up and cleared away the tears in her eyes, “I didn’t want to do it.”

He didn’t know what to say. He had no clue how to handle someone in a fragile emotional state as hers. He was never good at the whole emotional thing, he had stopped her once before but that was because he was being a dick and only wanted to use her to get what he wanted Now they...he saw her as a friend, like the little sister he never had. He asked the only question that he knew, “Why?”

“I can’t take it anymore.” She sunk back down on the floor and burrowed her head into her knees, unable to even make eye contact with him anymore, “I’m a monster and I didn’t think I deserved to keep going on after everything I’ve done. I hurt people! I traumatized people, that poor little girl scout, god I probably ruined her life. I almost exorcised Barbara, I caused so much damage and-and-and I FUCKING KILLED YOU.”

Beetlejuice stopped. He had been listening attentively until she mentioned him, “Kid-”

“I fucking killed you! How can you just be standing here and not screaming at me or hurting me. Don’t you want revenge?’

“Is that really what you think of me?” he asked, hurt by her words, “Kid why the hell do you think I saved you and your family? My mom was going to drag you back to the Netherworld and that would have been the end of it, you would have been dead. Now here we are, you were about to just do it for her and you only wanted to because you thought I was going to hurt you? Really Lydia..you really think I don’t give a fuck about you? Look I did some fucked up shit but I have never wanted to do anything that would hurt you.”

“Why! Why do you care about me? I killed you!”

“Not gonna lie, that did kinda suck but I’m not meant to be alive Lyds, I’m meant to be dead. Think of it as you doing me a favor life is a goddamn roller coaster and I was not at all prepared for any of it. It is a good thing you stopped me, I was so out of control I could have killed you all. Lydia, you did what you had to do. It’s better this way.”

She was silent, not moving or even looking up at him. He sighed and sat down on the floor with her, she eventually roused a little and rested her head on his shoulder. They sat in silence for a while, her breathing slowing down and a little color returning to her unnaturally pale face, a little life returning to her eyes and she glanced in disgust at the pill bottle now thrown in a corner of the floor. Beetlejuice didn’t move, he didn’t make any crappy jokes or poke fun at how emotional she was being, he just let her sit there on the floor as she attempted to regain her composure. While his words had been a slight comfort she still couldn’t shake the feelings brewing in her stomach. She thought she was going to be sick, but she hadn’t been able to properly eat anything almost all day her stomach had been so upset. She huffed out a shaky breath and looked up at the demon in her house. He looked just like he always had, his hair an unusual white color but tinted purple at the ends.

“I still hear it..and see it. I feel like I’m drowning and I’m constantly fighting back the waves. It’s so exhausting fighting all the time. I killed you” She whispered, “You were alive and I took a-aa... and I killed you. How are you sitting here with me right now? I murdered you!”

“It was you or me Lydia.” he reminded her, “And it is honestly better for everyone that it was me. I have a way back, you didn’t. You would have been gone, stuck in the Netherworld forever and you would have no way back. Lydia, you’re just a kid, I couldn’t handle it if I had killed you hell if I had killed any of the assholes in this house. I have no clue why I wanted to be a human so bad, I wouldn’t have any of my cool powers like I do as a demon. Like this-” He waved his hand and two more of him showed up, leaning casually on the door, one making a very silly face earning a weak laugh from Lydia, “I really only wanted to be alive again so that I wasn’t invisible anymore. I wanted so badly for someone to see me, for someone to actually be there and want me there. When you wanted to find your mom I felt like you were abandoning me.”

Lydia bowed her head again, remembering the broken-hearted look on his face when she ran up the stairs so determined that what she was doing was the right thing even though everything she had been doing was so very wrong, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, really kiddo. I’m used to it by now. People only deal with me when they want something and when I stop being that, they’re onto the next thing. Don’t give yourself any credit for originality, you weren’t the first and you definitely won’t be the last. People don’t want me.”

She felt tears running down her face again as memories of how they bonded over their shared invisibility surfaced to her memory. She acted out because she wanted to be seen, she wanted to feel like she belonged in her own family again, and she was so caught it up looking out for herself that she didn’t consider anyone else, but she wasn’t alone in that either. She knew Beetlejuice was the same way. Neither of their actions were justified, they both made mistakes. They both hurt people, including each other, but maybe...maybe they would help each other now. Maybe they could help each other be better. She took his hand in hers, it was so much larger than hers was that his almost swallowed hers when he closed his grasp. She looked up at him with her tear-filled eyes, “I want you here.”

“Kid no offense but you don’t want me here. You wanted me to make you feel better and I hope I did, one of us should be happy.”

“I missed you.”

He stared at her, like a deer in headlights, unsure of his next move. He looked down at this kid...god she really was just a kid. She was so small and young, and vulnerable just like he had been and he fucked her up. He did some real damage to her and she said that she missed him? He couldn’t deny that he missed her too, they had some fun during those two days her dad was gone. She was a funny kid, and it did his cold-dead heart some good when he actually saw her laugh and smile. He thought he was helping, but looking at her now he couldn’t help but to feel responsible for how broken she had become. She was driving herself insane blaming herself for his death, she had bags under her eyes and he believed her about the nightmares it looked like she hadn’t slept since he left. He hadn’t wanted to leave but he thought it would be for the best if when he did come back it was on their terms. When she summoned him he didn’t even care why he was just excited to see his friend again but now he wanted to run away, leave before he made things any worse for her than they already were. Chuck would get her a good therapist and she could have a happy life, and all of this..all of him would just be a distant memory.

He must not have said anything for a while because now Lydia was looking at him with her big sad brown eyes, just waiting for a response, “Beetlejuice..can I ask you something?”

“Sure bud.”

“You can be honest with me, I completely understand all things considered but.” She twisted her fingers in her hands, “Did you miss me?”

“Yeah,” he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and hugged her gently, “Yeah I did.”

“I want you to stay. I want you here, I think we could be good.”

“Good?”

She nodded, “I think we could be good for each other. I want to be good again, I want my mom to be proud of me again.”

He bit back a comment about how her mother was dead and had no clue about what Lydia was doing never the less Lydia’s morality, he figured that wasn’t what she needed to hear right now instead he rolled his eyes playfully trying to ease some of the tension, “You’ve always been good Lydia. I tricked you into doing some shitty stuff. You would have never had to do any of that shit if I hadn’t forced you to. Lydia, it was my fault, trust me I never take responsibility for my actions, that’s how I roll but this? This was all me, you need to stop beating yourself up over it. I was being a real asshole and I fucked up a perfectly good goth kid because I was lonely.”

“I’m lonely.” she admitted to him, “Maybe we can be alone together. Friends?”

He chuckled, ruffling her short black hair, “BFFFFs forever. Now you just have to convince everyone else to let you have a demon roaming around.”

She punched his arm jokingly with a genuine smile on her face, “I’m sure they’ll all come around.”

It was that awkward time of the night where it was both late and early. Too early to be awake for the day, but too late for her to go to bed without sleeping until an ungodly hour. She and BJ went down to the living room and watched movies together until she eventually fell asleep on the couch, her light snoring distracting him from the cinematic masterpiece that was Ratatouille. When the movie ended and he was sure she was asleep he floated out of the living room and went back to the bathroom, he picked the pill bottle up off of the floor and put it back in the medicine cabinet. He picked up the scattered bathroom items that she must have been throwing before she summoned him, making it look like nothing at all had happened. He thought about running away, she was asleep. She wouldn’t notice until the morning but something kept him from leaving, it wasn’t that his abilities were weakened but something inside him was keeping him here. He just kept hearing her repeating in his head that she wanted him to stay.

He was wanted.

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hobiorbit · 6 years ago

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hopping into love II (m.)

pairing: (mainly) park jimin x hybrid!reader, hybrid!jeon jungkook x hybrid!reader. will probably contain future pairings warnings: male masturbation, blowjobs (m/f giving), panty kink, dirty talk, exhibitionism, voyeurism, creampie, threesome (m/m/f), reader is biologically female summary: In which Jimin has no idea what he’s getting himself into when he adopts you, and he finds both him and Jungkook sexually and romantically infatuated with you. A/N: (most) of the sexual tags will be put into effect in chapters 3 and onwards!

When you finally woke up, you were greeted with the sight of Jungkook hovering curiously above your face. Like anyone else, you jumped and let out a startled squeak, to which he leaned back and giggled.

“Sorry, you just looked so cute and content. I didn’t want to wake you up yet.” Jungkook told you, sounding anything but sorry. You tried not to focus on the fact that he called you cute, heart thumping faster due to his silly comment.

“Oh… ‘S okay.” you mumbled sleepily, rubbing your eyes and smoothing down your hair that had became disorganized in your sleep. Jungkook hummed suddenly, making you open an eye to gaze at him. He was staring at you, of course.

“You probably want to shower, right?” Jungkook asked you. Your sleepy state quickly diminished with the other hybrid’s comment, thinking about how nice a hot shower sounded. He must’ve seen you excitement, because he smiled gently. “Do you need clothes?” He asked you, nodding his head to your still blanket covered form. You thought for a moment before memories of the night before popped into you head.

“No, actually. Jimin gave me some of his clothes when he saw my pajamas.” You said shyly, averting your gaze as you muttered the last part. Jungkook was silent for a moment, but seemed okay with your answer nonetheless. “Alright then, I’ll let you get to it. In the meantime, I’ll make some breakfast- I make a pretty mean bowl of cereal.” He joked, making you laugh softly. You thanked him before getting out of your bed and grabbing your clothes, padding down the hallway to where you remembered the bathroom was.

The linen closet was located conveniently next to the bathroom, making your trip a lot easier. You grabbed a towel and shut the door to the tiled bathroom, turning the shower on and brushing your teeth as you waited for the water to warm.

You had to do your best to keep a moan from ripping from your throat once the hot water hit your skin. You thought the food from the night before was good. The bed you slept in was insanely comfortable and it was the best sleep you’d had in a long time. However- the shower probably topped every single one of those, leaving you to stand under the hot stream feeling the most intense rush of euphoria known to man. You’d be lucky if your cereal wasn’t soggy by the time you left the shower.

With that thought in mind, you went to grab Jungkook’s shampoo. You felt bad about having to use it, knowing fairly well that hybrid related toiletries could be quite expensive. As you lathered the soap into your hair, your thoughts wandered to your new owner and… hybrid friend.

It felt wrong, but both men were undeniably attractive. Jimin was so loving and caring toward you, giving you so much appreciation and love in such a short time. Jungkook was the same; except he oozed such a dominant energy, making you eager to please. It was probably your hybrid instincts- the pesky things.

However, compared to the way the other two men thought to you, your thoughts were vanilla. The farthest you went was thinking about kissing them on the lips, and the thought made you hotter than the shower; uncomfortably hot. Due to your embarrassment, you quickly soaped up your body, rinsing the residue off before turning the shower off completely.

You grabbed the fluffy towel you obtained from the linen closet, taking great care to make sure every inch of you was dry as possible before putting on the clothes Jimin had lent you. You slid the boxers on before putting on the shirt you’d opted for. The sweater was nice, but you figured the freeing fabric would be best after a hot shower.

As you stepped into the hall to find Jungkook, you could already hear him munching on his breakfast. You walked faster, wanting to spend as much time eating with him as you could.

When you walked past, Jungkook did everything he could to drink in your form. How the shirt practically his the boxers you were wearing, how the thin fabric left little to the imagination. Your nipples were already stiff peaks, poking at the barrier before them, bearing your glory to the other hybrid. He could already feel his cock inflating in his pants, and he shook his head to try and stop thinking such dirty thoughts about you.

“Was the shower as good as you hoped?” He inquired to get himself back on track. You looked at him, cheeks puffed out and filled with cereal. Of course, you swallowed before answering.

“It was better than I could’ve ever expected, actually. I guess I really needed it!” You said excitedly, feeling energized from the morning shower. Jungkook smiled warmly at you, happy to see you settling into his home so well. He was worried it’d take you a while- not that it mattered, he would’ve kept trying to get you comfortable no matter how long it would’ve taken.

“That’s really good to hear, bunny. Once hyung gets off work I assume we’ll head straight to shopping, because knowing him it’ll take a while…” Jungkook trailed off, as if experiencing flashbacks. “He’ll get off early today ‘cause it’s Friday. I know I said movies, but there’s something else I want to show you. That okay?” Jungkook asked, searching you for agreement or distaste. Instead you just sent him that cute smile of yours, wanting nothing more than for him to show you everything he knew.

“Yeah! That sounds fun.” You nodded, scarfing down the rest of your cereal before standing up. Jungkook took both of your bowls to the dishwasher before leading you to the office, which confused you.

“What’re you gonna show me in here?” You asked, feeling puzzled. Jungkook himself had called the room boring the day before.

“Remember? I said all this room is good for is YouTube videos and video games. And today, I’m gonna show you my favorite game: Overwatch.” Jungkook told you proudly, making you smile despite not knowing half the vocabulary he was using. “Sounds good.” Were the words that left your lips, watching him sit down in the only chair in the room.

That realization must’ve just hit him, because he made a weird noise before sighing. He spun around in the computer chair, legs spread wide and planted to the ground. “We only have one chair, and there’s not much room for me to pull in another one. How about you just sit on my lap, bunny?” Jungkook asked you, hoping you didn’t find the proposal creepy. You seemed worried.

“What if I hurt you?” Was your concern, which made Jungkook’s heart squeeze. He really hoped you weren’t self conscious, because you were easily the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. So, he shook his head vigorously in opposal. “You’d never hurt me. Now c’mere.” Jungkook said, leaning forward grab your waist with his big hands, pulling you down on his thigh before turning back around to face the computer.

Your weight seemed to hardly phase him, something that made you relieved. You watched as he speedily signed into the computer, observing how he worked the device intently.

“Is this it?” You asked once the computer finally logged him on, showcasing his homepage to you. Jungkook laughed heartily at your cluelessness, causing his body to shift under you, making you slide more directly onto his lap. His soft groan went unnoticed by you, who was more concerned with his laugh.

“Huh? Did I say something funny?” You asked him, twisting around to look at him. He was staring up at you, pure enjoyment and adoration shining through his eyes.

“Of course you said something funny… Funny Bunny,” He laughed once more, causing you to also laugh at the nickname he’d given you. “But no, this isn’t the game. I’m booting it up right now.” He told you and resumed to the computer, making you refocus your attention to the machine once more. Soon it was taken over by bright colors, different characters and weapons making you stare interestingly.

“What do you have to do?” You asked him as he started up the game, watching as he controlled a girl with purple-ish skin and dark hair. His eyes never left the screen, but he continued to speak to you.

“Have you ever heard of capture the flag?” Jungkook asked you, his arm coming around your waist to tap at the keyboard, effectively locking you into your position in between his arms. You nodded, but verbalized yourself anyway.

“I think so.” Was all you said, trying to resist moving forward to get a better look, knowing it would probably obscure the other hyrbid’s vision. “It’s basically just that- I have to work with my team to get their flag, but we can’t let the other team steal our own flag.” He told you as he controlled his character with skill, reacting so fast you could barely tell what was going on.

“Woah.” You muttered in wonder, eyes wide as you stared at the screen, so interested with the game itself and how good Jungkook seemed to be at it. It was cool.

However, disaster seemed to strike when a large man with a mask and a hook with a chain practically slapped Jungkook’s character from the screen. You jumped from the suddenness, causing all of the pressure of your body to go straight to Jungkook’s cock. He groaned and cursed, happy that he’d died so you’d think his frustration lied with the game.

Despite his luckiness with the character death, now not only was the other team making a push to his base, but his dick was making a push against his sweatpants. Not the best situation, especially with you situated right above him.

To make matters worse, you were getting increasingly interested with the gameplay, and it showed with the way you would move and jolt with the characters you were watching as an act of imitation. Jungkook thought it was cute, but would’ve found it one hundred times cuter if he didn’t have to constantly will his boner away because of it.

“Kookie! Right there, get him!” You pointed excitedly, leaning forward and pressing your ass back against him. You were signalling to the player who had killed Jungkook moments before, and despite the pleasure you were unknowingly giving him, Jungkook was still able to take the enemy down.

“Good job, bunny. Warming up to a couple of hyung’s nicknames for me, I see.” Jungkook teased lightly, hoping you couldn’t tell how flustered he was from the use of the nickname or his sexual frustration.

Now it was your turn to be embarrassed, because you hadn’t even realized the words had come from your mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…” You trailed off, thoroughly flustered with yourself. Jungkook only leaned forward and rubbed his lips against your scent gland, something that immediately calmed you down.

“Don’t worry, bunny. I like it.” Was all he said before growing silent again, leaving you to think about how much you liked the feel of his lips against your skin… And why had only just realized he had his phone in his pocket- it was kind of uncomfortable.

The rest of your day spent with Jungkook went smoothly. After he had his fill of overwatch, he told you he was going to shower. You were fine with that, but ended up growing worried when you realized how long he stayed in there. You swore you heard a couple of grunts- maybe he made the water too hot. When the hybrid came out he seemed to feel better, so you didn’t comment on it.

After that the two of you pretty much lazed around, mostly because not much could be done without an owner present. Hybrids weren’t allowed to be out on their own, and even if they did have a collar or identification collars, the laws clearly stated they should be with an owner at all times. You always thought that was distasteful.

Despite being confined to the house, things never grew boring. Jungkook’s company was something you found yourself starting to love, enjoying every moment you spent with him. He was a way of making everything he did with you fun, and you always were content.

When you heard the door unlock and Jimin’s voice in the doorway, you bounded over to say hi. Any other time you would’ve been embarrassed, but the emotional attachment you already held for the man made you go a bit crazy once he returned after a long while. Jimin indulged you nonetheless, grabbing at your frame and pulling you against him, greeting you.

“Hi, pretty girl. How was your day with Kookie? Kook, did you have fun?” Jimin asked the two of you when he pulled away from you, trying not to pay attention to how much he longed to have you in his arms again. It felt right. Jungkook nodded. “Yeah, we had fun. I showed her Overwatch and we watched some stuff on the TV.” Jungkook filled Jimin in, making him hum contently.

“Well, as much as I’d love to sit down and talk more, I fear that if I do I won’t get up. Why don’t you two change and we’ll get going to get Y/N’s things?” Jimin asked, giggling when he saw the excitement in your eyes. You and Jungkook both went to your bedrooms, throwing some clothes on before stepping out.

While your decision was easy because you really only had one outfit, you still frowned. Your dress was the only thing that you had, and any other time you would’ve been fine with it, but the weather definitely contradicted the lack of fabric. Deciding you’d have to brave the cold for the day, you slipped it on before stepping out. Jungkook was already dressed, jeans and boots on his bottom along with a short sleeved tee and a long coat.

“Bunny, you’re going to freeze!” Jungkook cried when he saw you, practically running over to you and grabbing your arms. You pouted in response. “This is all I have.” You told him solemnly. Jimin hummed and went back to his room, brushing past the both of you. Jungkook and you both shared a curious gaze as you waited for your owner to come back. When he did, he had a huge, chunky cardigan in his hands. Put this on over it. It’ll warm you up. Okay, Y/N?” He asked you, handing the fabric over as you nodded in confirmation.

The thing was huge on you, but thankfully it seemed pretty chic. Not to mention how warm it was, and it was coated in Jimin’s scent.

“Thank you, Jimin.” You told him graciously, holding the fabric close to your face. Jimin shook his head. “No need to thank me, Y/N. Alright guys, let’s go- we’re gonna have a pretty long night ahead of us.” Jimin told the two of you.

Jungkook followed Jimin out and you followed suit, waiting behind with Jimin as he locked the door before going to his car. Jungkook took the front seat, leaving you to have the back by yourself. As you buckled yourself up, Jimin locked eyes with you in the rearview mirror.

“Is there somewhere you’d like to go, Y/N?” Jimin asked you. You puckered your lips in thought, before shaking your head. “I’ve never really been out shopping, so I don’t really have a store I want to go to.” You told him honestly, figuring wherever he took you would be good enough. Jimin nodded.

“To the mall we go, then!” Jimin cheered, making Jungkook and you giggle. Jungkook took his phone from his pocket and plugged it into the car, playing some of his own music. You spent the car ride in a comfortable silence, blissfully enjoying the soft whirring of the engine coupled with Jungkook’s music.

When the three of you arrived at the mall, Jungkook pretty much barrelled inside, saying something about the last one in being a rotten egg. You might’ve raced him but Jimin interlaced his fingers with yours before you got the chance to, so you obediently stayed behind and watched as Jungkook pouted at the two of you behind the glass doors of the mall entrance.

“You guys are boring.” Jungkook told you, making you frown in mock hurt. Jimin rolled his eyes playfully. “We’re safe, is what we are. You need to look before you go running through a parking like that.” Jimin chastised the younger. “Yeah, sure, dad.” Jungkook said sarcastically, making you laugh.

“Ah, look! We need to go in here.” Jimin said as he saw a sign. When you looked up, you realized the store specialized in hybrid accommodating undergarments, making your body heat up with embarrassment. A small whimper left your lips, something that did not go unnoticed by the males.

“Is there something wrong?” Jungkook leaned in closer as he asked you, making your lips seal into a thin line. “I-It’s embarrassing…” You trailed off, hoping they’d get the idea. However, Jimin laughed while Jungkook averted his gaze, clearly even a little uncomfortable. “I’m sorry Y/N, but you know you need some. I won’t make you show me if you try anything on, I just need to make sure you get what you need. Deal? I’ll try and make it as quick and painless as possible.” Jimin told you, making both you and Jungkook sigh in relief. At least you wouldn’t be spending an eternity in the store.

As you walked in you barely made it a couple feet into the store before a bubbly clerk came to talk to you. She was a human, which shouldn’t have surprised you, but it felt weird seeing one work at a store catered to hybrids.

“Hi guys! Anything I can help you with?” she asked politely, gaze immediately going to Jimin, seeing as he was the only human of the group. Jimin nodded.

“Yes, actually. We need to get her some underwear and a couple bras, please.” Jimin said with completely no shame, making you hang your head low as embarrassment consumed your entire body. If the clerk noticed she didn’t say anything, immediately walking you over to the section of the store that would work best for you.

“You’re a bunny hybrid, right?” She asked you, to which you nodded your head in confirmation. “Thought so, just had to make sure! Ohmygosh, you’re so cute. Anyway, we have a couple underwear lines that cater toward bunny hybrids, due to the fact that your guys’ tails can be a lot fluffier than that of a cat or dog hybrid’s.” She told you, talking with her hands more than her mouth. She signalled to multiple racks that would work for you.

“Is there any kind of underwear you prefer? Comfy? Cheekster? Maybe even a couple thongs?” She asked you as if the other two boys weren’t just right behind you, making you blink rapidly. “I, um, don’t really have a preference.” You squeaked, making her giggle lightly.

“Well, I suggest these ones for comfort. They come in a lot of different styles and colors,” She signalled to a large display before turning back to you. “And even if you’re embarrassed, I recommend getting a couple of these thongs. If you were a dress or leggings, the worst thing ever is panty lines. Trust me.” She told you caringly, making you nod.

“And before I leave you on your own, do you know your bra size?” She asked you, not discrete at all. You swore you could hear Jungkook choke from his spot next to Jimin a couple feet away. You shook your head, not trusting yourself to even speak at that point, feeling thoroughly exhausted despite being in the store for downwards of ten minutes.

When she saw that you didn’t know your bra size, she immediately grasped the measuring tape that hung around her neck, dangling it in front of you. “I’m going to measure you, okay? Can you take the coat off so I can have a more accurate measurement?” She asked you, to which you shrugged off the cardigan and handed it to Jimin, who was looking at the assortment of underwear. You swore he had already started picking some out for you.

Your thoughts were disrupted by the worker, who was carefully wrapping the tape under your bust. One she got that measurement she measure you a couple more times, before proudly telling you your cup size. Well, you and everyone else in the store due to how she practically yelled it.

“These over here are what’s going to work for you. You can kind of judge what you like or what you’re looking for. If you have anything that you want to try on just come and find me, but I’ll leave you guys alone now!” The worker told you before trotting off, making you exhale a breath you didn’t know was lodged in your throat.

“She was nice.” Jimin said when neither you or Jungkook spoke. The other hybrid nodded. “Yeah.” he said, staring hard at the floor so he didn’t have to look at any feminine undergarments.

“Is there a certain style or color you like, Y/N?” Jimin asked you as he stepped forward to the wall of assorted bras. You thought for a moment, before nodding. “I like pastel colors. And maybe like, ruffles or something? Whatever, as long as the color isn’t dark or harsh.” You told him quietly, grabbing for the cardigan that hung over his arm. He gave it to you before turning to face Jungkook.

“Kookie, go get us a basket, will you?” Jimin asked sweetly, to which Jungkook nodded hastily, happy to have some activity to distract him from the current situation. There was so much lingerie in the store, the only thing he could think about was you wearing it for him before he tore it off of you.

Jimin began grabbing at a couple bras, holding them up to you. One was a pink plaid pattern, a cute bow tied in the middle. The other was more sheer, a lavender color that looked like it’d be comfy. “How about these?” Jimin asked, not seeming to have a care in the world about bra shopping with you. You nodded. “They’re pretty.” You said- and they were, the delicate fabric and colors made you want to put them on immediately. “Great!” Jimin said happily, chucking them into the basket Jungkook had come back with. He repeated the same process a couple of times before he felt you had enough bras, deciding to revisit the underwear section as Jungkook trailed behind with the basket.

You started to feel a bit more comfortable, hands ghosting over different panties you decided you liked, holding them up and studying them before handing them to Jimin, who would put them in the basket. Even with the innocent color scheme you had decided for yourself, both men couldn’t help but think about how everything would look on you. When you chose a pair of underwear that had a bow on the back, Jungkook practically lost it, because he could picture the bow nestled perfectly above your perky little bunny tail.

Thankfully, it didn’t take you long to pick out the rest of your underwear. Within a couple minutes all three of you were stood in the checkout line, Jungkook seemingly getting better now that he could practically smell his one way ticket out of the store.

“Thank you for shopping with us!” The cashier told you as you guys walked out of the store with your bags. Both you and Jungkook were happy when you finally stepped into the main area of the mall. You looked to Jimin for direction as to where to go next.

“Why don’t we head down here? There’s a store I think Y/N would like a lot. Then we can go into the decor store and see if there’s anything you like.” Jimin told you, making you nod happily. You were excited to actually go clothes shopping, something you’d never really gotten to do before. Hundreds of different ideas of clothing flashed through your mind, making you walk just a bit faster to get to your destination quicker.

“Someone’s excited.” Jungkook said as you began to separate from them a bit when the store came into view. “Calm down Y/N, we’ve got time.” Jimin tried to scold you, but your attitude was just so endearing, he couldn't really make himself sound all that serious. You mumbled an apology but didn’t feel all that sorry. Even with just seeing the display case for the store, you could tell you were going to fall in love with the clothes.

As you walked in, Jimin began chatting with a clerk as you and Jungkook went off to find things that you fancied. Well- you fancied everything, but as much as Jimin wanted to buy you the whole store, he knew his bank account would get pretty mad at him.

With the help of the store clerk, both Jungkook’s and Jimin’s arms were filled with clothes in a very short amount of time. “Would you like a changing room?” The lady asked and before you could respond, Jimin nodded in confirmation. They piled the clothes up in the room before leaving you to yourself.

“Make sure you show us everything!” They told you, making you giggle. You started off with a nightgown, figuring you should probably get some pajamas so you didn’t have to continuously steal Jimin’s clothes. It was a bit short, but the material was some of the softest you’d ever felt and you adored the style.

When you opened the door Jungkook whistled jokingly and Jimin clapped. “It looks cute! That’s the yes pile.” Jimin told you as Jungkook gave a thumbs up, leaving you to try on more clothes.

For the most part, everything was a yes according to the boys. They seemed to enjoy everything you put on, so very little garments went to the ‘no’ pile. You’d chosen some pretty cute stuff, and you considered your little haul a success. Jungkook had especially liked some silky shorts you had on, though you weren’t very sure why. You weren’t too keen on them because they were pretty short, but both your owner and Jungkook insisted on it. The rest of your shopping trip was pretty fast and exciting as the rest of it. By the time you guys left the mall it was pretty late into the night, and you all opted to eat at a restaurant so Jimin didn’t have to cook. The entire trunk and other half of Jimin’s backseat was filled with different items he’d purchased for you, making you feel a bit guilty. However, whenever you said you were getting too much he’d shut you up by scratching your ears and kissing your forehead, claiming you deserved even more than what he could give you.

“Alright guys, all we’ve got to do is carry this stuff inside and then we can go to bed.” Jimin said, making Jungkook groan and you yawn. Nonetheless, you pulled your weight and grasped as many bags as you possibly could, not wanting to come out into the cold for a second trip. Jungkook seemed to have the same mindset, because between the two of you, there were only two bags left for Jimin to carry. The human speedily unlocked the door, moving to the side so both you and Jungkook could rush to your room and set your new items down. You flopped onto you bed immediately, feeling every bit of your energy leave your body when you hit the mattress.

“Get some pajamas on, Y/N. That nightgown is too cute to neglect,” Jimin told you, digging through the bags to find the gown before tearing the tag off and setting it on your bed. “Do you want me to tuck you in tonight, too?” Jimin asked you. You smiled but shook your head in response. “I think I’m good. You should get some sleep, you’re probably tired, too.” You smiled at him sleepily. Jimin laughed and nodded in confirmation.

“If you say so. Come here so I can at least give you your goodnight kiss.” His words flustered you but you shuffled forward anyway, allowing him to hug you before he placed a kiss on your forehead and each one of your cheeks. You smiled at the feeling, giggling at the light sensation of your owner’s lips against your skin.

When Jimin left the room, you immediately changed into your nightgown before climbing under the covers. Within a couple seconds, you were knocked out.

Jungkook watched as Jimin emerged from your room. He smiled at his hyung’s blushing face, knowing that the other male felt the exact same way for you as Jungkook did. “She’s cute, isn’t she?” Jungkook told him, making Jimin laugh shyly.

“She is. I guess I did a pretty good job.” Jimin said, walking into Jungkook’s room and sitting on his bed, staring at the other hybrid. Any other time it would be innocent, but with the way Jungkook gazed at the older, Jimin wasn’t so sure his intentions were innocent.

“Is your rut coming up, Kook?” Jimin asked worriedly. “Should I get your suppressants? Or get you a partner?” Jimin said concerned. Jungkook just smiled and shook his head, walking over to Jimin and pushing him lightly so he was laying down, leaving his waist exposed for Jungkook to straddle.

“I can’t remember the last time I was so fucking sexually frustrated, hyung,” Jungkook said, punctuating his words with a roll of his hips into Jimin’s. The older groaned at the sensation, feeling his cock grow in size from the other’s actions. Jimin didn’t respond, waiting for Jungkook to continue.

“Yeah, she’s cute hyung. So fucking adorable that all I can really think about is bending her over every single surface of the house and claiming her as mine.” Jungkook rushed, moaning at his own words and the feeling of Jimin’s cock straining against his jeans.

“Kook, I-” Jimin said, trying to think of anything to say. He didn’t really know what was going on, but he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it. Jungkook began pulling at his shirt, yanking it off and throwing it onto the floor. He then began to undo his belt and pants, standing up.

“Hyung, suck me off. I’ll return the favor, but I need something. I can’t sit here and pretend she doesn’t have an effect on me, and the last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortably. I know you feel it too, Jiminie.” Jungkook said lightly, closing his door and kicking his jeans off, leaving himself in his underwear, fully erect cock straining against the fabric. Jimin nodded, licking his lips and salivating at the thought of Jungkook’s heavy cock on his tongue. Even if he wanted to fuck you too, this would be the best thing he could get… At least for a while.

Jungkook moaned in anticipation, rolling onto the bed next to Jimin and waiting for the other to get into position. Jimin wasn’t too far behind, hovering over Jungkook’s underwear and kissing the tip through the fabric, making the other grunt deep in his throat. “Don’t tease me, hyung.” Jungkook said sternly, and any other time Jimin would fight for his dominant role, but he was too horny to care.

So he obeyed, pulling Jungkook’s briefs off and spitting into his hand before wrapping it around Jungkook’s cock, stroking is as he watched the pearly precum bead at the tip. Jimin stuck his tongue out tentatively, licking the salty substance from the skin as Jungkook bucked his hips forward.

Deciding to give the hybrid exactly what he needed, Jimin immediately lowered his mouth onto Jungkook’s cock, as far as it could go. His throat constricted around Jungkook’s cock, making the other fist his hands into the sheets.

“Fuck, hyung, your mouth’s so fucking good. Taking my cock so well, looking all messy while you do it.” Jungkook took one hand from the sheets to thread it into Jimin’s hair, making the older one moan. The vibrations caused Jungkook to thrust his hips up, making Jimin’s eyes roll into the back of his head. “Oh, you like it rough, huh?” Jungkook asked him breathlessly. When he saw Jimin nod even with his mouth stuffed full of cock, Jungkook practically lost it. He began thrusting his hips into Jimin’s mouth with a constant pace, moaning freely at the feeling.

“Fuck, you’re so good. So, so good hyung.” Jungkook praised, looking lazily into Jimin’s teary eyes. The sight of him so fucked out was so pretty, made Jungkook want to do a lot more to him. His rhythm stuttered when Jimin started to swirl his tongue around the head of his dick, making stars appear behind his eyelids.

“Hyung, I’m gonna cum. Shit, I’m gonna cum.” Jungkook said breathlessly. Jimin slid his mouth off of Jungkook’s cock, immediately starting to jerk it with his hand. Jungkook moaned aloud again when he put together what Jimin was doing.

“You want my cum on your face, huh? You’re that desperate? You’re gonna get it then, hyung.” Jungkook growled, pushing his hips against Jimin’s hand, moaning as hot spurts of white shot out onto Jimin’s face, making the human moan at the situation. He was shivering.

When Jungkook finally calmed down, he handed a couple tissues to his owner. “Do you want me to suck you off, too?” Jungkook asked caringly, as if he hadn’t been saying the filthiest things to him just moments earlier. Jimin shook his head slowly, hand running through his now messed up hair.

“Actually, I’m good. I might’ve… came in my pants.” Jimin muttered, making Jungkook giggle. “Am I really that good, hyung?” Jungkook asked, making Jimin roll his eyes and punch the hyrid’s arm lightly. “Shut up! It’s been a while.” Jimin said, sitting on the edge of Jungkook’s bed as his thoughts wandered to you. He hoped you were asleep and didn’t have to hear any of that.

“She’s not that much younger than me, right?” Jungkook asked out of the blue, making Jimin look at him quizzically. “Yeah, why?” Jimin asked, making Jungkook smirk.

“Hyung, don’t you remember?” Jungkook said softly in that soft voice of his. Jimin’s eyebrows only furrowed farther together, clearly not understanding where Jungkook was going with his words.

“Hybrids go into their first heats and ruts when they turn twenty.”

Oh, yeah.

Oh, fuck.

#bts smut #bts fanfic #bts #hybrid bts #bts hybrid au #jimin x reader #jimin smut #park jimin x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #hybrid jungkook

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strangermarvelss · 7 years ago

Text

mission report- b.b | part 3 |

(credit to gif owner as I do not own this gif)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky is assigned to be fake married to Natasha on a mission. Given their history, you’re not happy about the idea.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: angst, swearing, drinking, still might hate Natasha

A/N: again y’all, I’m sorry. enjoy!- sava

Sobs racked your body as you clung to your pillow, desperately seeking some sort of comfort in the form of cuddling your pillow. Your pillow was soaked with your tears, which were not looking to clear up in the near future.

Bucky had been absolutely horrible towards you, and you had done nothing wrong, which was the most confusing part to you. Your sweet, loving Bucky, who before the previous night, had never done anything that ever hurt you, he had been careful not to do so.

Now, two days in a row he had managed to make you feel so bad that you needed to seek the comfort of a pillow as you cried your eyes out.

Everything in your life was so confusing about situation to you, but you knew one thing for sure. Confronting Bucky was not an option. You weren’t going to let Bucky continue to hurt you for no reason, your emotions were not some toy to be tampered with.

A sudden knock at your door pulls you from your thoughts. You pull yourself away from your pillow, sniffling, trying to compose yourself the best you can. “W-wanda?” You asked, your voice hoarse and strangled.

“It’s Steve,” he spoke softly on the other side of the door. Your breath hitched hearing Steve’s voice, thinking of the previous night at the event where Bucky kissed Natas-

You padded over towards the door pressed the button to allow it to open, revealing a disheveled Steve in front of you. He quickly welcomed himself inside your room and you shut your door. You turned to look at him, meeting a gaze that was full of relieve and pity all in one.

“Where’ve you been?” You asked, crossing your arms. You bit your lip as you looked at him. Just looking at him brings back memories of the times you would hang out with him and Bucky. Some of your best memories were with Steve and Bucky.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he answered, quirking a brow. You let out a small laugh, which caused Steve to smile slightly. “I’ve been looking for you, actually. Everyone else thought you were captured, but I hadn’t seen them since last night, so they didn’t know I knew you had left,” he explained.

“I see,” you answered simply, looking at the floor. By now he was probably all filled in about what went down between you and Bucky, seeing it was hard to not know what happens within the walls of this compound when you’re one of the residents of it. Just the memory of your fight, if you could even call it that, with Bucky caused a tear to form in your eye, which you rapidly blinked away.

Steve turned his attention to you once more and frowned, walking towards you and enveloping you in a hug without saying a word. You wrapped your arms around his slim torso, appreciating the comfort that you desperately needed at the moment.

“Hey, it’s okay Y/N, shhhhh. It’s okay,” he murmured, caressing your hair as he calmly reassured you. You didn’t realize you had began crying again until you felt wet patches on Steve’s shirt. “It’s all my fault Steve, it’s all my fault.”

“Don’t say that Y/N, it’s not. Bucky’s just overreacting. I’ll talk to him okay?” He said, pulling away from you slightly. You looked up at him with big, red eyes, a few tears still present in your y/e/c orbs. He gently wiped away the tears that sat on your cheeks and smiled down at you, hoping that you would mimic his image.

“He’s reserved the entire training room for himself for the rest of the day, not letting anyone else inside, which really pissed Sam off. But I promise I will talk to him at Tony’s party tonight,” he reassured you. You furrowed your brows, confused at his previous statement. “What party?”

“Tony is throwing a party to celebrate the fact that we caught the last of the H.Y.D.R.A agents. It’s not a big party, but it’s big enough for Thor to be coming back. You should come, it’d be good for you,” he offered, his hand resting on your shoulder.

A party was the last place you wanted to go. Being around people who would try everything in their power to cheer you up was not something you wanted to associate yourself with. You also didn’t want to be in the same room as Bucky, just in case he has another outburst for the “shit you pulled” on the mission again. You’d much rather have a quiet night in your room with Netflix and a plate of cookies.

“I’ll think about it,” you lied, flashing him a fake smile. Steve nodded and brought you in for another hug. Steve was really bad at detecting lies, so although you weren’t the best liar, you didn’t have to act much in front of the super soldier.

Bucky’s POV

The music thumped off the walls as I entered the bar area, dancing bodies filling the room. I spotted Steve across the room and shimmed my way across the makeshift dance floor over towards him. He wore a tight, blue button down shirt with black slacks, a beer already in hand as he leaned against the bar.

“Thought Tony said this thing was going to be small?” I asked over the music, laughing slightly as I looked at the crowd of people.

“It’s Stark, small isn’t one of his things,” Steve replied. We shared a laugh and I ordered a beer from the bartender, running a hand through my hair. I cracked the beer open and took a swig from the beverage, sighing in relief at the tastiness of it.

“Have you seen Y/N yet? I’ve imagined you been here a while so you’ve probably run into her already,” I asked, raising a brow towards Steve. He shook his head, putting his beer on the bar top and turning more towards me. “No, not yet. I did see her earlier today though. She…she didn’t look so good Buck,” he told me.

I shot him a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“After what you said to her, she’s fuckin’ torn up. From the moment she got in her room to when I got there, I don’t think she stopped crying,” he explained to me. You nodded as you listened to the words coming from his mouth.

“So she was crying just because I yelled at her? That’s so-“

“Jesus Buck! That’s not all of it!” Steve interrupted me, slamming his hand on the bar top. A few heads turned around to look at us, but I gave them a side eyed look that made them direct their attentions elsewhere. “Then what else is it?”

“Buck…she’s insecure. She has these thoughts that go through her head that tell her that she isn’t good enough for you, and when you kissed Nat like that last night, that just spurred those thoughts on. Then you were being a complete dick to her about leaving, making her overwhelmed and she just felt like she’s been doing everything wrong,” he explained in detail.

Once the words left Steve’s mouth, everything made sense to me. Y/N had shown signs of being insecure countless times, but I always shook it off. How could I be so stupid. I quickly backed away from the bar top, looking around from her frantically.

“I gotta go find her Steve. I need to tell her how sorry I am for being such a fucking dick. How could I act so fucking stupid?”

“Because you’re a punk,” he replied, chuckling to himself. I lean over the bar top and punch him on the shoulder, then disappear into the crowd to find you.

I reach the elevators and reached for the button when suddenly I heard my name being called. I turned around to see Natasha walking over to me in a skin tight black dress that came down to her mid thigh.

“Hey there soldier. I just wanted to say congrats on a successful mission. I haven’t seen you since the debriefing earlier,” she said, caressing your flesh arm through the dress shirt’s sleeve, which made you more than slightly uncomfortable.

“Yeah well, I’ve been a little busy today,” I told her, moving my arm closer to my body then scratching the back of my head with my metal hand. I look her in the eyes and see her orbs filled with lust, causing panic to wash over my body.

“Well let me give you my own special reward for completing the mission successfully,” she told you, and before you could respond, she grabbed onto your dress shirt roughly and pulled you close to her body, barely noticing the sound of the elevators going off. You felt the familiar soft texture of her lips gliding against yours, the exact opposite of what you wanted right now.

I pulled away from the kiss and tugged her arms off my body, shooting her a crazed look. Why in the hell did she think it was okay to kiss me when Y/N and I were in a committed relationship. The mission was over, meaning I no longer had to associate with this witch. “Natasha, what the fuck?!”

I huffed out in annoyance and turned to see Y/N standing in the elevator, a mixture of hurt and broken wiped across her face. I froze, unable to think of what to say or do, only able to watch as she let her eyes well with tears for who knows how many times today.

“Y/N,” I managed to let out. Y/N choked back a sob as she hit the floor and close door buttons, disappearing away from me before I could reach out for her. I leaned against the closed doors, mentally cursing myself for not taking the stairs to come save what was left of our relationship.

Bucky taglist: @buckybarnesappreciationsociety

Mission Report taglist: @loveavengersandspn

Permanent taglist: @amillionfandoms-onlyoneme , @multireality , @thefridgeismybestie , @httpmcrvel , @lanilovespsychos , @vesper-lou , @ssweet-empowerment , @jadalecki-jackles , @crazybubblegumgurl , @ria132love , @my-beautiful-wings-blog , @yknott81

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan x reader #avengers #marvel #fanfiction #bucky barnes fic

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whydidyoutakemeaway · 7 years ago

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The strongest people are not those show strength in front of us but win battles we know nothing about

Describe your character; How do you see your character in your own eyes and not based off the bio. How have you developed this character into your own

Jfc, where do I start with this kid? I guess the best way to start is by saying what we all already know; this boy is a mess. But he’s a beautiful disaster, and it’s amazing to watch. He catches me off guard with a lot of things, mainly how much hate this boy is capable of holding in his heart. The amount of hate it can hold is topped only by the amount of love he can feel in his heart. The boy loves with everything he has in him, and because he only has Wally, the kids, and two friends, he can be thought of as over the top sometimes since it’s only a few people who are on the receiving end of that love. Because of that, Oliver has a hard time thinking he’s worth it since he feels like he’s alone more often than not. He’s the type to hide his pain behind a hard shell, and it’s why this boy is such a shit; because really, he’s incredibly broken. However, no matter how many times he gets knocked down, he always gets back up and has an uncanny ability to brush himself off and pretend like he didn’t just have a complete and utter breakdown ten minutes prior. And while he can be the biggest dick ever, he’s also a giant teddy bear who just wants to love and be loved, he’s the biggest sweetheart and as long as you aren’t one of the three people he hates with a burning passion, he can be the nicest and most thoughtful and caring person you’ve ever met in your life.

What’s your favorite thing about your character? what’s your least favorite?

Is it bad that my favorite thing about him is his cursing problem??? I personally find it funny as hell, but then again, I’m not much better than Ollie is, but it’s funny because I never know what’s gonna come out of his mouth. His cursing problem is how he expresses himself, so it gets worse when he’s really happy or really pissed, so that’s always a good indicator about how he’s feeling or how comfortable his is around people.

My least favorite thing is how fragile he is. Oliver is truly held together by tape, and is as fragile as a house of cards. The smallest thing can cause him to crumble and he never really fully recovers from anything, though this boy deserves an oscar for pretending to be.

What are some of your favorite relationships your character has formed? (Friendships, relationships, yada ya)

F A W N holy shit Fawn!!!! ! ! ! Fawn is literally Oliver’s only friend and he is so fucking grateful for her, words literally cannot express how much he loves that girl and how thankful he is to have one friend. That’s a big ass deal for him because it’s never happened before other than Wally. He cherishes her more than she’ll ever know.

Francis, god Francis is the only reason Oliver is alive today. Oliver owes everything to his brother, and nothing and no one can replace Francis.

Wally is a given because these two have been together in some way for about six years at this point. Whatever Oliver doesn’t owe to Francis, he owes Wally. Wally is his everything.

Kanga’s here too, and I really hope we’ll be able to actually do all the things we wanted to with her and Ollie.

I really wish I could add more, but in the current timeline, and the future Spades, I really don’t have any connections outside of Zuley.

Has your character changed you in any way? Or do you yourself in yourself in your character?

Oh god, I’m going to cry during this. As sad as it sounds, I owe everything to Oliver. I literally wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t have any friends, and I never would’ve met my best friend in this entire world without Oliver. Oliver has gotten me through the hardest parts of my life. The fragility of him, both physically and mentally, comes from me. After having had him for so long, we are intertwined, and if you know me, you know it’s hard to tell where Oliver begins and Kaitlyn ends. We are one in the same, but Oliver is also everything I wish I could be. His feeling of loneliness and need for love is something that resonates very greatly within me, and all I can do is hope that maybe, by some miracle, things will turn out okay. This kid makes me believe in hope and love, and honestly, that is the biggest impact anyone or anything could ever have on me, because there’s a reason Zuley named Sadness after me.

Do you think your character has had a big impact on Walt? Is it a good impact or bad?

Not really, no. At least not directly. Like I said, this kid has one friend. If anything, he’s impacted people only indirectly through Wally since he’s all Wally talks about. Not many give this kid a chance.

Favorite thing your character has done and worst.

Honestly, everything this kid has done is my favorite for some reason. Because he means so much to me, I put so much thought and energy into him and his plots and the things he does that I can’t even say which thing is my favorite or least favorite. But I guess both my favorite thing and the worst thing, are things he did for Wally. He literally flew halfway across the world to propose to him, but he almost got himself killed trying and pretty much failing to protect him.

What is some progress you hope to have with your character in the future?

I really, truly hope I can see this boy grow as a friend. He didn’t know what it felt like to have a friend until Fawn, and he’s still trying to figure out how to be a friend and how to let someone be a friend to him. This is a part of Oliver I’ve never gotten to explore, so thank you from the bottom of my heart, Alicia, for letting me.

What is one thing you would tell your character?

That he’s worth it no matter what he feels and that he needs to get out of his head so he can see all that he really has because really, he’s so fucking lucky to have the few people he does. Quality over quantity every time.

What has been YOUR favorite thing about walt?

The fact that it’s a place I can grow creatively and grow this character who is literally a part of me. Having no support when it comes to writing, having a place where I can, is really nice.

Has your experience been a positive one? (BE HONEST YO.)

Honestly, no, not really. I’ve been here from the very beginning, me and Zuley did this together, and honestly, I couldn’t feel more on the outside. A lot of the time I don’t even feel like getting on because there are times it feels pointless. More often than not I feel like either me or my characters are unwanted or not liked and it hurts, it really does because it feels like it’s all of them, present and future. But also, on a completely opposite note, there are a few people who are really the only reason I get on, and who I love with all my heart, because they make me feel like I have a place here.

Got a favorite memory? Share it!

My favorite memory is something none of you know about it because I’m still fucking writing it. I took a break from it to do this because I was going cross eyed editing the 200 page long Spade wedding.

What are you looking forward too in the future?

I really hope I have things to look forward to in the future. But for right now, I guess I just look forward to seeing Oliver’s relationships with people grow. Maybe he’ll make some new friends, we’ll see.

Have you had a favorite event? Favorite plot? Share it right here

My favorites are the AU events because I love getting to come up with new twists in his backstory, and me and Zuley put so much thought and time and energy into all of our AUs that I’ve grown attached to 50s Ollie, Oliverpool, Fem!Oliver and all of our other AUs, whether there’s been an event for them or not.

Favorite character that’s not your own and why

I’m getting repetitive here, but Fawn is one of my absolute favorites. Honestly, I love every. single. one. of Alicia’s characters, and if I could find a way to connect with every last one of them, past, present and future, you better damn believe I would because they’re all beautiful.

I’m also really happy that Bea is back with Shadowman because I love that bitch. I’m a sucker for a good villain and Bea knows I love her dramatic ass.

And as we all know, Dax and Wally hold special places in my heart. Dax stole my heart from the very beginning and you can’t not love that geek. And, Wally, Wally, Wally, jfc I can’t with this boy. Every time I think he can’t get worse, he does and it’s incredible. It’s not hard to see why Oliver loves him so much.

Ideas, shoutouts, request, dedications, questions? Put ‘em here!

@fawneverwould @aurorarose Thank you guys so much for always being willing to put up with me, whether it was with plots or personal things. I honestly consider you guys friends, and thank you for making me want to get on. I love you guys <3

@alwaysa-winner @fastcrthanfast Honestly, god bless you guys for coming back into my life when I needed you most, I love youuuu <3

@wallyspade Thank you for putting up with me all these years and never giving up on me and putting up with all my shit. I love you more than anything but you know that <3

#i might've cried writing this for a couple reasons #watask

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iphoenixrising · 8 years ago

Text

200 Followers Prompt Fill

Ah, over 200 actually, so THANK YOU ALL! I’ve taken a bunch of Asks and answered them here. This is only part 1 tho, so there will be five more I believe? Anway, thanks for the loves :)

From Anon:

Prompt: What if Dick or Jason or both;) are taking care of Tim while he's got the concussion of the century, and staying awake with him and having fun. Tim, noticing Dick or Jason eyeing a really bad scar, and him not being in the right state of mind, tells them where the scar came from. Not from vigilantism or anything dangerous or villainous as Jason/Dick came to expect, but from small Tim taking care of himself (while his neglectful parents were away) and not being careful enough. Love you <3

You got it, babe.

And

—W—

Walter is just a pissy companion for the night.

Seriously.

Walter is a concussion that comes with a distinct lack of boundaries apparently. He’s already told Dick how much he just really enjoys his hands, and Jason is now aware of how fucking cute he thinks that little white tuft of hair is, and just…

He’s never going to live this one down.

Ever.

The Perch is at half-lighting, softly curled around the edges of his vision because of things like sleep dep and owfuck. Luckily, the two eldest Robins tried doing a rock-paper-scissors for who got to come find Timmy’s hurt ass—since, well Bats and shit, there was no chance at ever getting a winner. Dick is just that good and Jay cheats like a nasty bastard.

Cue the two of them jimming the windows open shortly after O put out the word of a possibly bad end to a little fight Red might have been in on down in the Narrows. Commence with the Where’s Red? protocol, Bat edition.

In a little less than twenty seconds using nothing more spectacular than his crappy iPhone to hack into some traffic cams, Dick verifies Red is still in Gotham and looks to be moving toward his own little nest in the city.

B at this juncture just waved them both off into the pre-dawn with the same old, same old: call me if he needs transport, call me if you need transport—just call me.

And yes, B is paranoid as fuck—that doesn’t mean his dad instincts don’t rise to the fore, especially when one of his Robins gets hurt…and doesn’t come back to the Manor for proper treatment (reads as mother-henning).

The call was promptly made within twenty seconds of N and Hood breaching the Perch, strafing through the apartment until the injured bird came out of the shower in only a towel, giving them both an ample chance to look him over for anything else. Gloved hands turned and prodded while B asked a ton of questions over speakerphone.

Anything Tim might have had to say is drowned out with a mix between finger wags, the know your limitations speech, and absurdly attentive vigilantes.

N wrangles him to sit long enough for Hood to dig out boxers and sweats, then kneel down to get the things up his legs, and even if his balance is just fine fuck you very much, N still holds him standing for Hood to get them the rest of the way up. A t-shirt is pulled over his head, muffling his useless protests; the only pause in the mother henning is when a short noise escapes when one of the wrangling hands brushes over his bruised (but no longer bleeding) temple.

Hood tilted his chin with absurdly gentle hands, leaning close to get a good look at the scrape while N fits together a small device from pieces hidden around his suit, effectively pulling out a mini X-ray scanner.

Agent A gets immediate results from the scan, looking at Red’s skull for any fractures.

And coffee is made, frozen pizzas thrown in the oven, calming over-protective Bats taking turns changing into civvies, the fight is discussed, and diagnosis per Alfred made.

Of course it’s a concussion, like he hasn’t had enough of them to know.

“What letter ya on, Timmy?” Jason just happens to ask, putting coffee right in front of him.

“I think W, so Walter it is.”

“Right on. Eat yer pizza.”

From there, since, you know, why bother trying to sleep anyway, the three of them end up on his overstuffed couch, watching something he never gets time to check out, and he just blurts out all kind of embarrassing shit.

The worst is when Jay traces a fine white line on the inside of his forearm, making Tim feel even hazier where he’s laying against Dick’s side, nudged between them. It’s telling how close he’s come to being back.

“Where’d this one come from, Timmy?” Is asked low and quiet, in case he might have dropped off (just to be woken up in an hour or so? Nope, all good here).

“Making dinner when Mrs. Mac couldn’t come for a few days,” he blurts out, “I was trying to make chicken the first time and slipped.”

And that is apparently not what Hood had been expecting to hear.

He makes a noise of protest when Dick straightens a little and reaches a bare hand over to grip his wrist and look closer.

“How old were you?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it, and that’s the problem. With Walter hanging with him, his eidetic memory is at the concussion’s mercy, and he blurts out, “almost eight.”

Both vigilantes stop, the creepy-like Bat-stillness. The only movement is Dick’s hand tightening on his wrist and the increasing downturn of Jay’s mouth.

“How long did she leave you alone, Tim?” Dick asks in a low, dangerous voice.

Tim blinks, knowing he’s walking a very, very fine line here.

“She was snowed in at her sister’s house,” he carefully adds, trying to deflect. “It was a bad blizzard that year.”

“You were seven years old alone in a fucking blizzard?” Is the Red Hood’s snarling reply. “Jesus-motherfucking-Christ, Timmy. How many times were you left alone?”

His mouth drops open (because Walter) automatically, but he manages to stop all processes and laugh a little instead. “Having a housekeeper let me have the opportunity to be Robin, you know.”

“Not the point, Tim,” Dick fills in for a not-happy Red Hood, who is still grinding his teeth. Like, obviously.

But there are hands, making him sit up from his comfortable slouch, and his clothes are pushed, pulled, lifted off while the two are looking for the oldest scars, but it’s not enough. And the two finally manhandle Tim up on his feet to strip him down to boxers and take in every mark on his body, causing a flush to stain his cheeks down to his chest while they find, touch, and ask about a majority of the oldest marks, horrified at his years in a silent house, being left to his own devices.

“Mrs. Mac usually made me meals once a week and left them in the freezer. It wasn’t hard to work a microwave.” He argues at one point, and had no idea why Jay looked completely crushed.

“I think it was fine,” he finally tells them, “that they were always gone. I mean, they couldn’t get sick of me if they never saw me, right?”

Dick completely engulfs him in a full-bodied hug, almost suffocating him enough that he has to literally tap out. Just please stop trying to kill me with your love.

“This one?” Jay points to a tiny nick on the back of his right hand by the knuckle.

“Trying to make a grapple so I could follow you and B better,” he yawns, finally allowed to get dressed again.

The grapple, well, it sort of worked, but really no one needed to see the scars from when it failed. The boxers and sweats are, fortunately, covering that one. (Just, it’s bad enough he’s got such a thing for these two anyway and it’s getting worse each time he comes back to Gotham, each time one of them finds him on patrol, calls out, eats roof tacos, just all of it. Their hands all over him is just not fucking helpful and Walter isn’t making the sitch better.)

“How old?”

“…” They wouldn’t want that answer.

“And none of us noticed?”

“Um, well—“ and he breathes and glances over, “I think Jay saw me. Once.” Then Tim’s face gets hot, cheeks flush a little, a sign that draws both older vigilantes like a moth to a flame.

“Timmy,” Dick draws out.

“I…” and he breathes out, “I may have accidentally been trying to get up to the old Mylar building and…”

And he just leaves it off because really.

Dick blinks down at him; he and Jay exchange a look.

Tim wakes up enough to shift, shove the waistband of his boxers down only a few inches or so by his spine, showing them an old mass of white scars. “I think B took a beating at the hands of Killer Croc because Nightwing and Robin were patrolling side-by-side. It was the first time I’d seen you two together.”

And Jay might be smiling rather than smirking because even with the Pit messing with his mind and memories, he knows he has that time, the one Tim’s talking about, buried so deep, a memory so important, not even death, his death, could smear it. And the Robin that never talks about it, about that time in his life, breathes out through his mouth softly.

“Was the first time B got all kinds of fucked, well ‘a-cause of me anyhow.” And Jay smiles faintly, accepts Dickie’s broad palm on the back of his neck. “Nice that someone took a break from his team ta come home.”

“I’m glad I did,” Dick shrugs, grinning back, and both vigilantes look over at their Baby Bird, slouched over. “How did you get the scars?”

There it is, his face heating up again, “I didn’t know you’d be up there, it surprised me so hard, I fell.”

Both older vigilantes flinch. Everyone in the cape and cowl crew knew the Mylar and its damn treacherous design, four stories of possible doom from crumbling brick to thin wrought iron.

“All the way down?” Jason’s eyes are blown wide, picturing a little kid with a camera falling four stories to the unforgiving pavement below.

“Ah, no,” and Tim scratches the back of his neck, cheeks pink, “Robin caught me, actually. Smelled like cigarettes and told me to get my stupid ass home before I got hurt.”

Dick’s brows shoot up into his hairline at the same time Jay’s jaw drops, “seriously, Baby Bird?”

“Yeah,” and it’s low in his chest because, well, he’d already told Jason when the Pit was riding him and he needed something to bring him back, “you were my Robin.” Literally, it’s true.

“I don’t remember it either, Timmy, I’m sorry,” Dick claims softly, a hand inching into Tim’s hair to rake blunt nails gently against his scalp. And he feels awful about it, the majority of his memories from that night about trying to make it work with the kid that took his place as Batman’s partner. It was the first time he’d been back to the Manor for any length of time since their fallout, and Nightwing had been the next feasible step. Something to keep going.

“S’okay,” Tim slurs, falling right into the motion, “big vigilante now, remember?”

Jason hums as Baby Bird’s eyes finally flutter closed and Dick settles him more comfortably against his chest. He finally passes out to the old scars, the foundation of his life, being outlined, and catalogued by the two vigilantes that will eventually be his undoing.

Justice is Blind AU (for @satire-please) :D

“Ah, there you are, little bird.”

And that voice. He’d know it anywhere. Well, hard to forget the first person that taught you how to maim, isn’t it?

Tim smiles faintly, fingers moving over the grooves of the delicate tea cup in one hand, “long time.”

She hums a little, and with the modified shades covering his dead eyes, the radar array pings just the outline of her lithe form sliding into the chair across from him. The sweet Jasmine always a part of her wafts over in the breeze; she only surprised him being down wind. Well, touché.

“What are you doing in Beijing?” She signals for tea, acting like they’re just here in a random tea house, you know, just hanging out. Not like he was pretty damn sure they’d been an inch from killing each other the last time. But, if there’s one thing he’s learned in his time as part of the cape and cowl crew—bad guys who generally seem to want to kill you? They get all kinds of messed up when the heroes are down for the count.

But Tim Drake smiles, flashing white against the dark sunglasses. “I think you already know the answer to that, Lady Shiva.”

And the gentle laugh rolls down his spine, settles somewhere in the base.

“I suppose you need a reminder then,” and he hears the exchange, get the impression, the outline of the waiter bringing Lady Shiva a fresh pot, her own cup, bowing low in respect.

“Things…are more complicated.” And in his civvies, a young American, ratty jeans and hooded sweatshirts, miles away from the clean-cut CEO he played on video screens wherever he happened to be needed in the world. It’s been painfully easy keeping shades on, making sure he’s in bright enough rooms to explain it away while keeping the confidence of Wayne Enterprises Board of Directors after the successful transfer of power. In less than five months, he’s already expanded Research and Development, put several new products into Production, made suggestions to exiting products to adapt to a changing world.

Profits were up, the Board was happy, and no one was more the wise about his “condition.”

Except Tam, that is.

Being taken by surprise by the Widower is the epic fail of his life, but to be blinded before he’d even found Bruce?

Not to mention that somehow during the punch drunk blood loss and perpetual night, he’d managed to patch Pru up enough that she could pilot the Jeep to one of the League of Assassins’ safe houses not far from the site of the attack. It was Tam’s bad luck to get snatched up by the League’s spies when word reached them she was hot on his heels, wrangling him for Wayne Enterprises. They thought she already found him and was the only reason Ra’s ordered her alive.

Luck of the draw there.

The downside of it all was that Tam had been there while he danced between the League and the Council of Spiders, trying to acclimate to his new condition, trying to bring everyone down, trying to keep himself from falling apart, not when he was ass-deep in bad guys of oh shit proportions.

And yeah, he’d pulled it all off like a boss. Well, other than getting kicked out of a window to a potentially fatal free fall. That? Slightly sucked.

But, all’s well that end well—he’d pulled Bruce out of space/time with the help of S.T.A.R. labs, sent him back to Gotham, and…

Came directly here.

Tam is covering his ass at WE for a few weeks while he gets his head together. The documentation is signed, sealed, and delivered.

Other than that, well, there’s really no reason to go back, is there?

Bruce will train, get himself back, and take up the cowl. Damian will keep breaking criminal faces. Nightwing will start appearing again.

Everything in its place.

Except—

To Do List:

1) Figure out where to live

2) Figure out what to do

3) Figure out how to do it

4) Figure out who to do it with

5) Figure out who to do it against

Yup, that’s why he’s here.

“You must find your balance, little bird.” She sips delicately, “to learn yourself again.”

The laugh coming from his chest is one of those unfunny ha-ha ones because that sounds a lot like one of those crazy platitudes she sprouts just before the fight starts.

“Let me guess,” the radar array pings back, and he gets the impression she’s smiling, “you can help with that, right?”

“I think,” she fills in, steadily sipping her tea, “I have an old acquaintance who may be better suited.”

“He’s in prison,” Tim fills in because she can’t really be suggesting—

“The King Snake is here in Beijing, little bird. Perhaps a week with each of us, and you may find what answers you are desperately looking for.”

His useless eyes are wide behind the shades, his brain picking up on the impossible theme happening here. His career as Robin began with Lady Shiva and the King Snake, Sir Edmund Dorrance, the blind crime lord and exceptional fighter. Kind of fitting to either end his walk down vigilante lane if one of them decides this is the perfect opportunity to kill him, or to give them all the kudos if they manage to get him able to move again.

Either way, it seems like things have a way of coming full circle.

*The list is from the Red Robin comic series ;) Just FYI

Angst

travellover1245 said:

Hey! I am craving some angst right now. Any chance you can take up this prompt: Tim/?? with someone else having feelings for Tim that Tim has never or no longer feel for that person. Please and thank you!!!

Angst, babe? Let’s see what I’ve got ;) Maybe something from the No Home for Dead Birds Verse, yeah? But Mentions of Adult Themes.

And it’s more than he remembered.

The sweet press of their bodies together, hands fitting in the most perfect niches of flesh, muscle, and bone; like this body is made for him, made to respond to his touch, made to give in.

His mouth is still soft and always slightly bitter with coffee or sleep deprivation, and it’s almost painful how much it’s like getting something back, something so crucial missing from beside him in bed, in a fight, in the shower, in all aspects.

Thumbs in the dip of hips, moving in circles, and he growls low, refusing to let up, to let go—

He needs this back in his life.

Hands grip his wrists and push.

An abrupt pain arcs in his chest, thumping hard against his sternum.

“Wait,” is hoarse, a plea, don’t go said right into Tim’s mouth.

He’ll swear it was all muscle memory, grabbing on, pressing Tim against the wall, quieting his messy rambles until they’re both panting, ready for more.

Well, that was all before the downward spiral, the one that cost them one former Robin in Gotham—back when he took up the mantle to keep Jason from staining it with blood, from defiling the meaning behind it all, Bruce’s mission. When he made the call for the right reasons…

Not that it mattered now.

“I can’t do this,” and Timmy doesn’t sound any better, pushing away even further, breaking him open wide. “I can’t—I can’t do this.” And the tone of voice, the words, the deep, husky quality fills in a lot of blank spaces for Dick Grayson; he knows the reactions, knows the subtle tells of Tim’s body when he wants. Under Dick’s hands and mouth, Tim had shown all his previous weaknesses in spades, allowing the eldest Robin a look into his very depths, to unravel all the secrets and mysteries. The only time Tim had ever offered insight into his soul.

Being pushed away, denied, is like a stab, sharp, cutting, biting, in the soft meat and ripe viscera rupturing underneath. It literally feels like he’s dying.

“I miss you,” and oh God is it true. He’s been functioning, moving for over a year feeling like one of his limbs has been cut off, turning automatically to talk to someone—who isn’t there anymore. When he’d taken the tunic away, when he’d done it without thinking, without reminding Tim just how much he was needed, wanted, would always, always, be utterly and completely necessary, when he’d done that, he’d been cutting himself off at the knees. “I miss you and I’m still crazy about you, and—and I did what I thought was right, but I should have done it differently.”

Tim backs up until the kitchen counter in his Perch stops him, looking back at Dick without a cowl or a domino, just those blue-violet eyes narrowed slightly, full of old pain. (And it wasn’t as bad as the look Dick finally saw on old video footage from the Cave, when he was at the big computer with his back to his former boyfriend, missing the way Tim’s expression just crumpled in on itself, a mask of real, true pain before that terrible realization, the ‘I was never really part of it all anyway’ changed his face into the same separated neutrality Dick gets to this day).

And he cuts through Dick’s ramblings, forcing himself not to focus on the sentiments and false declarations (because really), he keeps his tone soft and firm, “unfortunately…I’m not available. Even if I was… I couldn’t. Not with you, not anymore.”

Oh.

Too late.

The pain is an immediate thing, low in hidden places he didn’t realize could hurt like this (too little, too late).

And Dick Grayson just lets his body slide back, brace against Tim’s fridge because his knees feel weak, and for a man that knows his body, knows his limitation, his strengths, his capabilities, he inanely thinks how odd it is. He dives off buildings, throws himself into fights, bends and twists to escape fatal traps, he’s an acrobat, a vigilante, and weakness like this is so uncommon.

With a shaky hand, he pulls at the domino, looking up bare-faced, and makes the question easy, “Kid or the clone, Timmy?”

It’s telling when red heats up Tim’s cheeks, darker against his pale skin, and his eyes move away to an uninteresting spot on the floor, and as absurd as it is right now, with his held hopes crumbling, the old recriminations biting at his heels, that the reaction can make him choke on a laugh, a genuine one. That he can drop his face into a gloved hand and snort because some things just never change.

And even getting this much is more than he could have hoped for.

Anon Sick!Tim or Sick!Tony prompt

Okay. But. If you had to choose. Tim Drake being the absolute badass he is but the second he gets sick around someone he trusts he turns into goo. Like be prepared to be a pillow and a servant until he's better where then he'll pretend it never happened. Or. Tony Stark being the badass he is and when he gets sick he gets more stressed (he thinks he's a burden) that he gets MORE sick until someone stops him and makes him sleep and eat and he never forgets so lots of secret gifts.

You know, I’ve done Sick!Tim, so maybe a little Sick!Tony just to round it off ;) And, ah, sorry but just fluffy? Maybe?

“Sir, this is the third warning. I have permission to set U lose should you not cease and desist at once.”

J.J.’s voice is just so matter of fact that it actually does permeate Tony’s running train of thought; he leans back from the hunched over crouch, several vertebrae popping in succession.

Unfortunately, leaning back makes him immediately light-headed enough that almost falls off the damn stool anyway. “Well, fuck,” is about accurate. The last fight had more of an impact than he realized.

“Scans indicate your core temperature is elevated.” And, yes, his AI sounds smug about it. All that Sir should rest after that many hits taken in one battle.

Well, going to feel it about now then. Fantastic. Schematics for the new navigation systems are due to R&D ASAP, and there’s a whole lot of damaged uniforms in need of fixing before the next Avengers fight, then he owes Fury the upgraded designs for the new helicarrier’s defense system.

Which means he has no time for this.

“All right,” he claps his hands, completely pretending not to feel the tingly soreness in his muscles, the headache starting right at the base of his skull, or the abrupt chill hitting him right in the upper body, “taking a break, J. We’ll start back on the Nav designs in four hours.”

“In that time, I suggest you contact Dr. Banner for a medical exam.”

“He’s not that kind of doctor,” Tony fills in as he stands, rides the headrush that makes the pounding progressively worse. Besides, Bruce always has to gossip to Nat, and Nat will tell everyone in the Tower just for her own amusement. She is exceptionally good at being an evil hell bitch when she wants. Hm, making a t-shirt with that phrase, just for her. In every color.

“I am certain he has and will make an exceptions for you.” Is J.J.’s smooth attempt.

“Touché, but we’ve already got a protocol,” he waves to DUM-E and U from their charging stations, and as he walks to the double doors (maybe slower than usual), the lights and systems power down behind him. The elevator is already waiting to take him upstairs to the Penthouse where he can start checking the reactor seal, make sure nothing was breached.

But, with the familiar arches and sick sucks feeling, he already knows the answer. A low whistle and Butterfingers is rolling out from the stocked shelves, following his creator to the elevator, and whatever previous events he’s learned from are telling when he sticks his arm straight for Tony to strategically lean on without seeming to do so. The bot probably thinks it’s a game, Tony is grateful one of them has some kind of discretion.

When they make it to the Penthouse, Tony gets as far as the island, sliding himself into one of the tall stools and braces himself for the next few steps. He breathes in, tightening his hands into fists to get the tingling sensation in his joints to calm down enough.

Butterfingers boops at him nonchalantly, small talk how about that weather, while he wheels to the cupboard at the back of the island where his tracks can fit just fine. And yes, the name is Butterfingers, but the bot is completely competent in grasping the handle of the bottom cupboard and opening the door. Likewise, he rolls back in to grip the handle of a large kit inside on the lowest shelf and sliding it on to his chassis to wheel around to Tony with more enthusiastic beeps.

“Mmhm,” his creator murmurs, eyes half-mast, “those really are the best kind of wrenches. Next time I’ll get you something better to play with, okay?”

Butterfingers boops back happily in agreement and lifts the large kit up in a claw, moving back and forth to wave it in Tony’s directions.

The mechanic takes it, choking on a laugh, and starts with the preliminaries. He spins slowly (to keep from falling) to scrub his hands at the kitchen sink in hot water before removing his shirt. He lays out the two sealed, sterile trays from the stacks, and gloves up before he opens any of them.

No blood around the reactor, but the bruising is absolutely beautiful, all dark blacks and purple. Apparently, that hit to the chest was a little more ow than he realized. Any compromise to the skin-on-metal seal could allow on-set infection, hitting his system like a freight train. The plan is to get the appropriate samples, ship them to Helen, and see what kind of antibiotics & etc. he would need to fight it off.

All the pizazz of being the Tin Man. Metal heart and all that.

He starts with a blood draw, leaning back to breathe, gathering himself to be steady when he already feels like doing nothing other than falling into bed for a few hours.

Priorities.

Well, that and a slightly compromised immune systems stemming from the metal magnet in his chest.

The band he manages to get around his bicep is faded blue, the ends already have teeth marks from other instances just like this one; he manages to get it tied without more fumbling than necessary and moves on to open the package with the syringe and vacuum sealed container.

He has to sit back and breathe, working the hand open and closed, getting himself steady before he can stabilize his left hand enough to actually hit a vein.

The bright red splashing into the container makes his eyes hurt slightly above aching sinuses.

Butterfingers accepts the padded envelope, one that would be sent to Helen’s lab for a discreet testing, wheels over to the far wall next to the door, and drops the envelope down a suction tube built in to his floor that could disperse anything necessary throughout the Tower (Pep hated it, just gave him more of an excuse to miss meetings).

The next samples are from the reactor/skin connection, the swab opened in gloved hands, run below the primary casing. It’s placed in a sterile vial with shakier hands, fumbled into a padded envelope and given again to Butterfingers.

Now the rough one.

Tony leans back for another get it together moment, waiting to crack the next swab just to make sure the sample is as pure as possible.

“Sir, this is highly unrecommended,” J.J. breaks in and there must be something terribly wrong with the intercom system in here because the voice cracks, fades in and out a bit.

Tony blinks owlishly up at the ceiling, adds checking the systems as another thing on the honey-do list. He ignores the warning and starts up with prepping his chest for the arc reactor seal to be disengaged and the unit to come partially out of his chest.

“Won’t be a problem,” he assures his AI, fighting down an abrupt roll of nausea. “Just a quick swab.”

Butterfingers boops worriedly at him this time, sliding his arm under Tony’s to brace. Agreeably, Tony wipes down the metal with an alcohol wipe; with a deeper breath than necessary, he palms the reactor and—

Opens his eyes to the Winter Soldier crouching a few feet away on top the island.

In full regalia, Jim’s eyes are granite gray and miss nothing.

Tony doesn’t jerk in surprise, but it’s a good damn thing.

“Troll,” the mechanic sneers.

There’s enough light that Tony can see the flash of teeth, a sharp smile, through the slits in the mask (reads as muzzle).

“Doll face,” Jim cocks a brow up at him, “thought we had a talk about this.”

“How was the mission, dear? Did you get to blow up anything exciting?” He diverts immediately and still feels like crap about it since he’s not in the best shape to meet his significant others home from a hard week at the office.

Jim moves out of his crouch, off the island, to look at the charming, charismatic pain in his ass. Between Tony and Stevie, Jim Barnes had enough to keep him mother hen instinct working overtime for the next seventy years. He works his sleeve up to press against Tony’s forehead, tisking at the smirking mechanic.

“Heya Sugar,” Jim calls to the ceiling.

“Yes, Bucky?” She chirps back, sounding suspiciously smug (and she had better not be on their side now—it’s enough Jim and Steve already have J.J.).

“Tell the others I found ‘im first, okay? Hundred points ta me.”

And because it’s just hilarious, he feels like ass and still laughs at the little things.

Good times.

The mask and gloves come off while he chorts, layers of the Winter Soldier sliding away on the island until Jim’s exasperated face makes his eyes dart away and pause in the last swab of the night, admittingly violating his own protocol for sick is ass. Besides, Helen would be able to make a diagnosis with the samples he’s already sent.

“Hit up Stevie too. Let ‘im know our fella ain’t feelin’ well.”

Oh God, not both of them.

“Completely unnecessary, F.R.I.D.A.Y. Belay that!” Tony leans up enough to brace his elbows on the island, talking that loud making his head do that thing again. He snaps the gloves off, still feeling shaky, “this part? Not conducive to hello, honey, how was your day. But, no, seriously, welcome back. Everyone good? Mission go well?”

Jim already puts a glass of water in front of him and two white pills. The flesh hand against his forehead is nice and warm while the metal one cool on the back of his neck.

“Mmhm. Standard usual, Tones. Y’ didn’t miss nothing good.”

As silently commanded, Tony takes the pills and drinks, keeps going until the glass is empty, and sleepy is starting to look like the perfect state of mind. The bandage underneath the reactor from this morning is still holding, so he can definitely take a few hours to get it together before uniforms in need of mending start coming in from the mission, just another thing on his never-ending plate of shit to get done.

“I hate it when I do, you know,” he returns with a somewhat pathetic yawn, and Jim steps a little closer, the hand on the back of his neck directs his listing upper body right against Jim’s stomach and chest where the Winter Soldier can be a total sap and wrap a throw stolen from one of the couches around his shoulders without letting go.

“Considering yer fevering and already starting with the shakes, I’m glad y’ didn’t come anyhow. J.J. woulda ratted you out faster than Sugar-Pie up there.”

“Need to reprogram him, both of them” Tony huffs right into Jim’s abdomen, eyes half-mast. The metal hand rubbing against the ache in his joints, making him huff out low, almost imperceptible moans (but, well, got pretty good ears over here, doll face).

Jim laughs low and soft, the flesh hand tunnels in to the mechanic’s curls, gently raking nails over his scalp, easing the painful points of the headache.

“Don’t much matter. He knows how ta take care o’ you, so’s only a matter o’ time until we got ‘em both on our side.”

Tony hums (because true, rude but true) closing his eyes, letting himself shiver against Jim and pull the blanket further around his shoulders.

“S’okay, Stevie’s gonna carry ya ta bed and I’m gonna make some warm soup, take the chill outta ya bones. Sound good, doll?”

But the shorter man is already half gone, making Jim’s mouth quirk just slightly.

He doesn’t have to wait much longer for the elevator to open up and the Cap, shield on his arm, to take the floor. Always the strategist, Steve’s eyes take in the scene, narrow, and he’s striding across the room, flipping the shield to his back and pulling his gloves off, shoving them in the tactical pocket of his uniform.

“Whadda we got?” He asks low, taking in the snoozing mechanic.

“Dunno. Looked like he was trying ta take a sample of the AR when I caught him at it,” Jim waves a hand to the open medical trays. “Pretty sure he was gonna pull it outta his chest, Stevie.”

The two super soldiers exchange an irritated glance, but Steve is already bending down, sliding his arms carefully under Tony’s back and knees. Jim’s hands gentle as the two of them ease Tony up into the Captain’s arms (and yes, Steve holds him up high enough to kiss the top of his head a few times, glad to see him after a week of being knee-deep in bad guys).

“Plan?” Jim starts down the hall first, opening the Master Bedroom door for Steve and moving to turn down the blankets.

“You hit the showers first. I’m going to start some soup and sandwiches.”

“Aw, Stevie. I was gonna make matzah ball. You geta wash first, and I’ll throw everything together.”

“Haven’t had the Barnes’ special recipe for a while,” Steve admits with a grin as he eases Tony’s lax form down into bed. “Sounds good.”

“When Tony wakes up, we’ll find out what all the trays are for. Gotta feelin’ this ain’t the usual round o’ the flu.” Jim shakes his head and eases the covers up over the sleeping mechanic.

Steve paces over to the wall-length closet and opens a section—one with very familiar jeans, khakis, and t-shirts. He pulls the black case on the floor, the one Tony made for the shield, out of it place first before getting out of uniform. Jim does likewise, opening his section and hanging up the Winter Soldier gear.

“Something with the reactor, huh?” Steve muses, toeing his boots off. “Anything you can tell us, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“I apologize Captain.”

Both men quirk a brow at the ceiling.

“What if he uses his fancy pass code?” Jim snickers, down to an undershirt and the tight pants. He palms the twin .45s and slides them both into the holsters Tony had built in to the back of the closet door.

The notable pause is well worth the question.

“Avengers Emergency Protocol will allow the Captain to request a medical update of the team members, Bucky,” she fills in after a second. A very non-subtle hint, hint.

The Captain gives a put-upon sigh, “fine. But don’t think I’m not aware you just wanna get something to laugh at—“

“True,” Jim cackles, “don’t mean it ain’t gonna work, babe.”

“All right, all right. You take too much enjoyment outta of busting my balls, Sergeant.”

Now that look—that look is the same one from Brooklyn a lifetime ago, when shameless and scandalous was the fella’s M.O. Steve just laughs to himself when he catches it, when his heart stutters for half a second before righting itself. The curse of any time traveler—metaphysical vertigo.

But Steve puts himself back in the moment. They’ve had a rough week, Tony is apparently working his usual hectic schedule while feeling awful (and yes they recognize the signs and can now do something about it—another glaring benefit in the transition to “significant others” as Tony specified), and the others are in various stages of hurt, tired, and grumpy, getting themselves together on their own floor. The usual post-battle communal meal wouldn’t be for a few hours if everyone is already on their way to sleeping off the mission.

So: first, take care of his fellas, then make some food for his people.

Sound plan. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? All right, here it goes. ‘This is Captain Handsome ordering you to rock and roll on that 45.’” *

As usual, Jim plain out laughs (softer than normal since Tony is just passed out a few feet away) with it, and Steve gives him a patient look.

“Subject: Iron Man.” A hologram from one of the wall projectors pops up in front of them, a 3D image of a shadowed human body with circular arc reactor in his chest, a red splash of color around the bottom.

“Was it breached?” Jim asks, stepping closer, eyes wider. How long had Tony been getting sick?

“Not substantially,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. fills in. “A small tear in the connection between skin and metal, Bucky. It is, however highly susceptible to infections.”

The two exchange a look. The look.

“What’s Iron Man gotten into while we were gone, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

The AI goes silent a moment. “Boss has been answering the Avenger’s alarm since your mission, Captain.”

“By himself?” Jim interjects, eyes going to the lump on the bed. “We left Bruce and Wanda—“

The soldiers exchange an irritated glance and go back to eye-balling the bed.

“All right. When the team gets somewhat lucid, we’re having a meeting,” Steve growl out, pulling his undershirt over his head. “Next protocol for consideration: no one goes out on an alarm alone.”

Jim peels his pants down his legs, tossing them in the special uniforms only bin. “He’ll be a pain in the ass about it, Stevie.”

And the Cap, hair a mess from pulling his shirt off, grins a little at one of his two best guys, “really, Buck? When ain’t he?”

They share a rueful expression and lean in, hands pulling, bodies fitting together in all the right niches. A week of being around the others and toning down the PDA was just professional courtesy, but here, in their own bedroom (well, Tony’s but possession is 9/10th of the law, and they own the mechanic as much as he owns them), they can hold, touch, kiss, and take comfort in intimacy—the same way they did in their shared apartment in Brooklyn a lifetime ago, the same way they did in tents stationed outside France, Italy, Spain, and Normandy. The time may be different, the mad mechanic may be part of their bond now, but this, this, hasn’t changed.

Steve holds on to Bucky for another important second, breathing out against the brunette’s temple, stirring the hair there, and Jim sets his worry for Tony aside just long enough to shudder delicately at the press of skin, at Steve’s arms around him, holding on.

It’s comfortable and necessary, only one thing missing from the embrace—

A small noise from the bed, the mechanic shifting to his side, a hand flung out where other bodies should be.

The two soldiers laugh softly and pull back, looking at Tony with warm, soft eyes. But Jim, as much as he claims the opposite, is just as much of a sap as his two boys, and presses his mouth softly against Steve’s before pulling back to throw on sweats and a tank top. He’d get more details out of the AIs while cooking and fill Steve in on them. Once Tony was up to fill in the extra blanks, they were going to feed him, medicate him, cuddle the ever-lovin’ hell out of him, and make him sleep for another day.

“Going to hit the showers,” Steve leans down, noses at Jim’s jugular.

“Mmhm. I’ll have something fer ya ta eat when ya get out, babe.” Jim just tilts his head enough to allow the touch.

“Still worried too much about me, Barnes. Gonna make ya old before your time,” is a gentle tease, Steve sliding into the old accent when he feels particularly warm.

“Stop doing dumb shit then,” Jim snarks back, not even raising his head.

“Really?” And one broad hand goes up, fast and sharp, comes back down with feeling, aiming for Jim’s right ass cheek, the sound muffled through his sweats, and dammit if he doesn’t have to bite his lip to keep from yelping.

Smart, but Steve is already through the bathroom door, doing a little snickering of his own.

Rubbing the spot, Jim sneers at the closed door, but leans over and presses a few kisses to Tony’s forehead and jaw line without even making the mechanic twitch. Once he was awake, at least somewhat, and they got all the details on how do we take better care of you?, Jim will make sure he eats plenty, takes more medicine, and gets better.

After years of making Steve toe the line, Jim Barnes already has a plan.

A noise makes him come to blearily, an itch of panic takes hold. His body works even if his mind hasn’t caught up, legs and hands moving to try and stave off a blow to the—

Broad hand cups the back of his neck, pulls him into a familiar chest where a strong, clear heartbeat sounds like good things.

A hand in his hair, being gentle with nails scratching lightly.

Circles on his back made by a hand without any give.

“—oughta just give her a call, babe. It’s Cho, right?”

“Pretty sure. Don’t think she’ll tell me a whole lot—“

“Aw, Stevie. Like she can resist Captain America?”

Lips on his forehead, warm and just so nice.

“Spiking again?”

“Yeah. Need to try and get some food in him. I don’t like how light he feels.”

“I’ll get a bowl, get Sugar Pie to order us some raw ingredients, make ‘im a couplea good meals. Maybe if he eats, we can get some details on the arc breach.”

“You ask. He gets all weak when you give ‘em that look, Buck.”

“Who ya kidding? You get the same way.”

“…That’s…that’s so true—“

“A’course it is, punk. Just makes ya all the more susceptible ta my charms,” and a soft noise, lips touching, gentle hums.

Consciousness is here, and here to stay (for the moment), and he feels even more like ass when his brain finally catches up with the rest of his synapsis.

The pressure in his chest and sinuses, the ache in his joints, the cold feeling down to his bones, all big flashing signs of reactor breach.

Dammit. One of the unfortunate side effects of having a magnet in one’s chest—getting sick is usually worse than the normal garden variety.

“Hey, hey,” is Steve’s soft voice admonishing when Tony makes the attempt to get up, “don’t gotta move ‘til Buck gets back with some soup, Tony.” And those hands pulling him in just that much closer, do an excellent job of thwarting his well-meaning motion to get up and get back to the workshop.

He rambles, still muddled, about the list of things waiting for him, eyes already falling half-mast because Steve is just always so warm and comfortable, and there’s this perfect place on the shoulder/ collar bone so his ear doesn’t hurt, and he can smell Steve’s aftershave and fresh, clean skin.

“Nope, not happening, Shellhead. No workshop for you.”

The ensuing conversation might have some placating or some justification, but the Captain obviously ignores him, all for keeping a hand in his hair and the other around his back, keeping him completely weak and helpless and—

“Startin’ ta come around, doll face?”

“Work.” Is his slurred return reply because Jim would understand. Things needed to get done and if Tony’s down for any amount of time, who would—

“Ya ain’t going nowhere, Mr. Stark. Already had a word with Pep and One-Eye. Nothing gonna be needed ‘til ya fever’s down.”

Shit. Usually having at least one of them on his side means winning, but it’s really a moot point because he’s getting tired just from being awake and makes a questioning noise while his eyes slip closer and closer to good night.

And the feel of Jim’s warmth against his back again, the other soldier turning him with gentle hold, maneuvering Tony to be laying on Jim’s chest instead of Steve’s. Something warm close to his face, metal arm pressing around him—

“Open up, doll. Slaved over a hot stove ta feed my poor fella.”

And Jim smells absurdly good too, recently showered and shaved (and no fair his brain taunts him, missed the communal shower—saving water and all that), enough that he hums in appreciation and sighs in contentment.

Home. They’re both home—

“S’good ta be home,” is said softly against his mouth while Jim noses at his cheek.

“Missed you two, worried—”

Jim half-hums, half-laughs, and his eyes are that soft kind of gray, one that means he’s happy and safe and—

“Yer a good boyfriend, Tony. Gotta heart and all that. C’mon an open up fer me, yeah?”

When his mouth opens next, something good and warm is spooned in, and he swallows on instinct even if his throat is sore and scratchy. If he was just a little more on the up-and-up, this might be mortifying, being hand-fed like he was helpless. But Jim is relaxed while he focuses on the task, making soft humming noises in his chest, and Steve is right beside him against the headboard, running a hand through Tony’s hair and checking his forehead at intervals.

They talk softly and fondly, mission details he picks up between a spoonful of soup or a drink of water, his mind fuzzy with their presence and the medicine Jim made him take.

And since he’s lying in the tangle of their bodies, being fed, held, and oddly pampered, well, the usual urgency fades down to mild irritation, an itch of creation and completion. But the warm broth, fresh vegetables, noodles, and spices sliding into his stomach rules out the itch just as sure as Steve’s hands and low tone vibrating against Tony’s back and Bucky’s gentle laugh and equally gentle scolding.

*This phrase was really one Tony gave Steve in the comics. Lol, just because Tony couldn’t remember his own birthday.

Sad Anon: JLA Posthumous Award

Just throwing this out there: Tim Drake, AKA Red Robin (or whatever alias he was going at that time given his split from the Batfam), is posthumously and unanimously inducted into the Justice League. This could be after he dies during the multidimensional counterattack in the Fractured Destroyed universe/timeline, or some other verse where Tim dies in the line of duty away separate and away from the Batfam.

Tim is remembered as a Robin of legend among the Titans and the JL at large, but the Batfam struggles with their regrets for the rest of their lives. (I might be a little vindictive on Tim's behalf.)

Ah, I did something similar to this one time because SUFFER BATS! Lol, but I’ll give it another go for you, babe, okay?

Outside the Hall of Justice, the Batman steps out into the early morning quiet. Flanking him, the other founding members follow silently, solemnly. They stay with him, close, as he lowers each flag to half-mast.

The nameplate is added to the wall, below the original seven.

For the ceremony, the Titans accept the award, something to hang in their own remembrance hall. They all wear a yellow bandana (red, gold, and green was the OG Rob) tied around a bicep.

Kon-El and Kid Flash are turned slightly, trying to hide wet eyes and trembling forearms, trying to be the epitome of super and hide their mortal weaknesses.

Superman follows the group away and wastes no time in pulling his sidekick right into his chest to hold on, talking softly against the teenager’s ear—how sorry he is, how much Red will be missed, how he’ll be here for Superboy anytime, anytime.

It’s not the first time the hero has ever taken his “clone” (reads as son) into an embrace, given him desperately needed comfort, but it’s still not an easy thing, stiff and awkward, but Superman can’t help it. Some inner instinct drives him forward, wraps his arms around the younger man to just try. When Kon-El allows it, slumps to let the older hero take his weight, to let the pain and recriminations (where were we when he was bleeding out on the battlefield? Why didn’t I hear his heart slowing, stopping, until it was too late?) overcome him, Superman just picks him, carries him like a child while rubbing circles on his back and making soothing noises in the base of his chest where he can.

It’s a crucial moment that shows him how remiss he’s been—the moment he swears Kon-El, Conner, won’t be left alone without a safety net again.

The rest of the Titans disburse before the service is over—BB and Rave leave go back to their own little apartment in the Village to hold one another and remember the bird, their bird. Bunker will be taking some time off, to remember what it is he’s fighting for, or so he tells Cassie before he leaves, back to El Chilar and the man he left behind. If anything, Miguel has learned to cherish what he has while he has it.

Wonder Woman goes for Wonder Girl, making certain she puts a gentle hand to Bruce’s shoulder first, gives him a squeeze, just before she wraps an arm around the floundering teenager and flies.

A small inlet off the coast, a place where they once trained together, where Cassie Sandsmark was first given the lasso and bracelets, was taught how to use them, she tells all the stories, hands shoved in her thick hair, weeping while she recounts the best times, tries to burn them in her memory. It’s Diana that holds on to her, making supportive noises, laughing when necessary, her eyes wet and heavy with the terrible ones. And when the sun sets, when night picks up a peaceful pace in the rhythm of the sea, Cassie feels like she can breathe again without pain.

Without a word, Kid Flash runs. He runs like the world is ending. He runs like the Speed Force is going to suck the life out of him. He runs like he’s trying to escape the future. He runs until he’s screaming.

The Flash finds him in the Swiss Alps, bent over in the snow, tearing himself apart, ripping his uniform because he just wasn’t fast enough. And the older speedster knows what it’s like to bury someone you love that much—someone that would walk with you from one fight to the next, one catastrophe after another, someone that would step out in front of the fatal shot to save you. Someone that knew you, not the mask. And that’s why he doesn’t let Kid, his little bro, fight him on it. It’s why he breaks off from the JLA, lets the rest of them see to the obviously grieving Batman, follows no matter how far or how fast. It’s why he refuses to let Kid push him away, convince him all good, nothing to see here, it’s why he just sits his ass down in the snow and grips the smaller speedster tight, tucking the smaller boy into the shelter of his body to shake apart, to scream, to rip himself apart at the seams.

The bravest thing he’s done all day—is to keep holding on.

Flanked by superheroes on all sides, Ra’s al Ghul steps up to the podium, dressed in the colors of mourning.

The immortal speaks briefly on the character of the Red Robin, to agree his membership is long overdue. There is no mention of the Council of Spiders, the Widower that ended his life. The undertone, the he died alone in the desert while the rest of you moved on, is certainly there.

Slyly, he laments the loss of a great detective, one that would have fit among the ranks of the League of Assassins with such ease, and turns just enough to catch the Batman’s shadowed figure, offering his condolences for yet another dead bird.

From the audience of mourners, O makes a note to put cameras up around the sparse span of ground where Red would be buried in his civilian identity. Best not to give Ra’s the opportunity, he already has plenty of motive.

Beside her, Batgirl and the Black Bat look pale and worn against the darkness of their masks and suits, even with the whiteouts, O is aware Batgirl has been crying since she heard the news. Of course, didn’t they all have their regrets? Batgirl certainly for the deceptions and betrayal, the broken friendship and lost respect. And O knows the next few weeks, few months, few years are going to be full of the should’ve, could’ves in respect to keeping up with the former Robin, that maybe a phone call, an attempt to catch up, an attempt to get back into his life, no matter how miniscule, some level of effort on the part of the Bats could have made all the difference.

None of them would have felt like he wouldn’t want them to be here.

All his arrangements had been made, his final wishes come through lawyers not associated with Wayne Enterprises. The instructions were short, and obviously never meant to be seen by anyone in the cape and cowl crew. Just a simple coffin already purchased, an ordinary blue suit and white shirt, a generic headstone with his full name and the dates. O and Agent A are the ones who went to see the stone the day after when B was falling apart, down in the Cave, stripped of the Batsuit, and working the punching bag until Superman finally gave in, came to Gotham, and restrained the Bat in his massive arms, forced him to stop trying to work through the pain with more pain.

O and Agent A let the two heroes have their privacy so one of the few people on the planet Bruce would actually yield to at time could get through self-destructive rage.

Instead, they found themselves on the outskirts of Gotham, a husked-out neighborhood, staring down at the stark engraving, and O could keep it together, did so in fact, for N if nothing else. She prides herself on the ability to keep moving despite all the wrongness of the world, the burdens it wrought upon her, prides herself on the distribution of strength—until she and Agent A realize the only other markings on the stone is a small picture in the lower corner.

A robin.

When she cries, Agent A kneels down with old, creaky knees, wraps his arms around her shoulders, and holds on.

In this moment, with the JLA inducting Red Robin into their ranks, to honor his deeds and sacrifices, O is the one with both arms around Batgirl’s shoulders to keep the teenager grounded, to try and give her some much needed strength. Since Nightwing and the Red Hood refuse to let anyone comfort them, to let anyone near them, this is the best she can do.

One week

Robin stands in front of the glass case, staring at the familiar (and yet not) suit displayed. It’s the first one Drake wore during his time in the tunic—red, gold, and green instead of the strict red and black Robin recognized, one that signaled his predecessor’s downfall, when Drake’s Robin lost the vestiges of innocence, of light that previously embodied the Robin mantle, even after the years of fighting the worst, most twisted criminals on the planet. As he learned later, the red and black suit was meant to be the colors of remembrance when really it signaled something in his predecessor breaking open wide.

It is little wonder Father chose this suit to display. To remember Drake as he was before.

And his eyes take in the details, the shuriken R, the laces over the chest, the nearly imperceptible broken stitches to create hidden pockets; he catches the glint off the ring added to the memorial—the same ring Father wore on occasion, the entire obvious one with JLA in a circle.

He had said the appropriate words during the ceremony: a good soldier. He knew the risks and died bravely. The epitome of a positive demise.

He said the right things Robin would have said about anyone in their ranks.

And yet, he has been in the Cave for hours, staring at this suit.

Father is finally sleeping, the alien apparently successful in pinning him down long enough to let his eyes close for longer than a few moments—to put his grief on hold. Grayson is in the wind, Todd chasing after him all over the country probably. Cain remains in residence, seemingly in no hurry to return to Hong Kong.

The three of them, him, Brown, and Cain, patrolled tonight, planned on where to meet up tomorrow.

Like him, like Father and Grayson and Todd, they show how deeply they mourning by fighting, trying to drown out the emotional pain with physical. The least he can do is be there should the situation become dangerous for them, to try and do his best to protect them, these two Drake cared about so deeply.

He’d played Pennyworth’s role in a safehouse close to the Wallstone apartments when dawn was but a few hours away, patching up the road rash on Brown’s arm up to the shoulder, making Cain wiggle her fingers while he bandaged her bloody knuckles.

When they parted ways, Cain followed Brown back to her own haven, and he returned to the Cave, his own meager injuries notwithstanding.

Rather, it is here, in front of the display where Pennyworth brought him tea and toast, informing him Father was out cold and Kent still in residence. Summer is here and no school to attend, so Pennyworth left him to his thoughts while he stares up at the colors of remembrance.

Nightwing has shaken off the Red Hood off his trail twice while he fights his way through Detroit’s seedy underground. He’s in the same suit he’s put on for days, clean, but ripped up and worn, an obvious I don’t give a fuck, I’ll still break you.

The fight tonight is a good one, constant to keep his mind from taking a stroll other places. A lot of guns and knives to keep him on the move, a lot of strong players with righteous left hooks or upper cuts, guys in fight clubs that earn the real cash. It makes the vigilante that much more vindicated when bone crunches under his fist, his boot, when blood arcs wildly, when he takes a few good ones himself.

It’s pain he needs.

And the ghosts follow him when he moves to the next hot spot, only a duffle of belongings for the trip. The next BI safe house is outfitted with the usual gadgets and first aid; he wraps his bad knee and ignores the laptop, the comm link, and anything else that would let O trace him. Instead, he drinks water while standing at the kitchen sink, staring out into the daytime like it’s a curse—he needs nightfall, he needs the dark and the shadows to twist and bend around him (Batman). He needs the fight and all the broken skin that goes right along with it.

It’s the only thing that can stop him from seeing Ra’s al Ghul walking into the Cave holding Tim’s body in his arms, close against his chest.

It’s the only thing that can stop him from screaming until his throat rips and his ribs creak, until his lungs tear, until he can forget the feeling of cradling Tim’s cold, stiff body, of the matted blood around the fatal wound. It’s the only thing that can cover up the recriminations and regrets, the where-were-yous and how-could-you-have-let-this-happen-agains. It lets him get out of the endless loop of reliving the last time they’d spoken in person, when he’d given Damian the Robin mantel without Tim’s knowledge, when he let Tim leave Gotham alone.

In the broken mirror of the shoddy bathroom, his upper body is a roadmap of bruises and contusions, half-assed sewn-up lacerations; he peels the falling apart gauze pads off, ignores the old blood, and gets in a weak shower of cold water, his eyes falling half-mast while the water washes over him.

And it’s just like that moment when he’d taken Tim’s body from Ra’s, fallen to his knees, and laid his cheek against Tim’s to cry, it’s pain and regret, cold and terribly hollow.

It’s a place he expects to be for a while.

One year

Ra’s al Ghul is not normally one for anniversaries. In his extensive lifetime, he’s had many moment, dates, he could celebrate, and all those instances would fill a year ten fold.

Rather, he is a man to celebrate accomplishments. The ones in need to careful planning, time, care, those are the ones he chooses to remember.

This will be one of those.

“Demon’s Head,” one of his soldiers bows low, “we are ready at your will.”

“Excellent,” said absently while he raises a hand to the large, wooden box sitting on a stone slab, the usual eerie green glow reflecting off the dark wood. “Prepare the platform.”

His people do as instructed, working to bring the descending platform level. When the Demon’s Head is pleased with the results, he gives a simple nod to continue.

The box is loaded on the platform by four more soldiers, centered perfectly.

“As I once said to your mentor,” he begins casually, “true greatness cannot be learned or acquired. It cannot be made. It must be bred.” The platform rises steadily, pulled by a soldier at either fulcrum points, and Ra’s eyes follow the progression intently. “Those in this world with the genetics are the ones bound to save it.”

Carefully, the platform moves, follows the track until it looms over the suspicious body of liquid. “I had planned to wait as long as necessary. Until you were older, mature, until you understood the real way the world must work and why the balances of power must be occasionally tipped.”

He sighs a little wistfully for those days, for better days.

“The unforeseeable circumstances almost foiled all of my carefully laid plans, plans to tip the balance. Plans that hinge—on you.”

The platform comes to the end of the track and sways just slightly, alarmingly. An ominous click begins a slow descent.

“But we can still have our day, can’t we? You will still save the world. At my side, we will be unstoppable. Where I have failed with others, I will not fail again with you.”

And the platform starts to sink into the turgid green waters, the box sinking with it.

“We shall have our day, won’t we, Timothy?”

Thank-you for following and reading! I’ll post Part II when I get them done, lol

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