#and yet he was like wait. what if i become what my father (derogatory) wants me to be? not on my watch

[elles-home]

sanji taking a mental health break mid battle is still one of my favourite things in the wano arc

[rose-l-20]

GENERAL NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM HEADCANONS - Main 7 characters

SUMMARY: Just some headcanons I have always had based on the characters and the way the movie portrays them.

If you would like to request more characters, please refer to my NATM MASTERLIST for the characters, and send your request!

WARNINGS: Fluff, angst, romance, discussions of trauma, funny moments, flashbacks, mentions of loss, mentions of betrayal, mentions of homesickness, reader is mentioned a bit. My opinions! 😱

Any facts I wasn't sure of I used wiki fandom!

AHKMENRAH:

As many people have suggested, Ahk is a HUGE cat person. Before he was left in the sarcophagus for 4000 years, he had 100s and 1000s of cats. Different breads, both female and male, long royal names for each one. But his favourite will always be his childhood cat that started his love for the feline animal.

Out of all characters, Ahk experiences the most homesickness. This could be because he was barely 18 before he died, so he still has a touch of childhood in his soul.

Always ready and eager to learn something new, or info dump on the closest set of ears. When he gets with reader, he waits patiently for the “safe zone” to spill every fact about his time. Also things he read in books at Cambridge and the museum. You could call him a broken tap!

One way that calms him down is humming nursery rhymes, and songs his Mother used to sing to him. The main time it works impeccably is when he thinks of his brother’s betrayal.

Since the tablet was first created, his (along with his family) soul has always had a strong connection to night. So he goes to the roof top, or a window and star gazes anytime he can.

Ahkmenrah will defend the Kardashian and Jenner women until the end of time (if you know, you know 😂).

When he is introduced to chocolate, Garlic bread, sour gummy candies and Iced water. He felt like he met heaven.

Is very serious, yet still his usual gentle and kind self, when it comes to romantic relationships. He will take each step at a time, really wanting to get to know his potential partner. Consent Pharaoh, drinks his “I respect women” juice, will ask you to be his officially at the four month mark, and will not kiss your lips until you are official.

Absolutely dreads sunrise, as the wraps take as he would say “a whole millennium” to get them back on. At the beginning he would get Teddy and Larry to help him, but it becomes a special thing between him and reader.

Ahk most likely feels the most safe and comfortable around Larry, as he has moments where he needs advice or guidance from a father figure.

Ahkmenrah loves a good, lighthearted, non offensive prank. When he and Nick hang out, chaos will follow.

Both Sacagawea and Ahkmenrah supported each other when getting adjusted to not being trapped in their exhibits. This started their friendship.

When he became a DJ, he felt his death age the most. He found a passion that he could learn, perfect and show it off to the people he cares most about

OCTAVIUS:

Octavius talks about Rome so much that he definitely fits the stereotype of “you make your background your whole personality”. He will get defensive if the stereotype is mentioned.

If he and Jed were to be parents, they would 100% have adopted 2 Girls and 2 boys. Octavius would surprisingly be the fun Dad.

Before Larry, he had a massive hatred towards the night guards. He was fine with being locked up, he had his comrades. What angered him was the derogatory comments made by the guards. It took months upon months to wake up and not be filled with immediate dread.

He is a BIG chick flick fan! He also loves the whole concept of Christmas, so his favourite flick would be Love Actually.

He can read Dexter like an open book. he learns the signs of Dexter’s cheeky behavior to avoid another “Pompeii” situation.

Each time he hears any sword noises he smiles to himself and whispers to himself, “Ah Rome, you were a wonderful empire to be apart of”

He is also an avid info dumper, so there can be hours of time where he and Ahkmenrah bond over their “ancient times”. The 2 find so many similarities and differences that leave them fascinated to learn more.

The Cowboy hat rule, also applies for his helmet. And he will only take it off for extended periods of time if Jedediah is present. This is because he would kill for a head scratch.

Octavius will slip into Latin whenever he is feeling intense levels of emotion (positive). The amount of times it has happened, has resulted in everyone, including reader, being able to understand the language and somewhat communicate.

He uses the Latin version of pet names for Jed. He mainly uses “Amica mea” (my love), “Puer meus vacca” (my cowboy), “Solis radius” (sun ray) and “Mutum Asinum” (dumb ass).

Octavius is the type to bottle his emotions when something has deeply upset him. It takes a lot to get him to take the cap off and explain why he is feeling the way he is.

Octavius is super supportive of other religions and cultures. Which is super rare given Romans pride themselves on their religion and culture above everything.

When Octavius discovered the front desks computer, he immediately (with great struggle since the apparatus had not been made yet) he became so obsessed with it you could call him a teenager. He honestly gatekept it for ages before he found something that Jedediah would like and then it became their fun activity before sunrise.

JEDEDIAH:

Jedediah definitely has ADHD to a certain degree (This is coming from someone who is definitely has it but has yet to be officially diagnosed 😂), and has to be redirected to the main topic at least 3 times a day.

When he was trapped in the hourglass by Kahmunrah, he did everything in his power to cause havoc. Jedediah wasn't stuck with Kahmunrah, Kahmunrah was stuck with Jedediah!!

When Octavius showed him he computer, he consumed every piece of western media as he wanted to know how people perceived his time period.

He gets along with everyone, and only hates people if they have treated the people he cares about in a negative way. He is more then willing to take the blame or pain for others.

Jed will take a secret to his grave, but he will sometimes tell Octavius so technically they will be taking it to the grave. He will not tell him if the person who confided in him, was going through a difficult time. He understands boundaries...to a certain extent.

Jed is a HUGE foodie, and has a tendency to say "are you going to finish that?" even if the person eating is literally chewing their food. he would kill for anything that has an element of bread. Hence why he doesn't shut up about flapjacks.

His way of showing he is really angry or upset is going completely, utterly, eerily silent. It honestly makes people get the creeps, since they are so used to his upbeat usual self.

He can feel lost at times in regards to being a museum exhibit. He has organic thoughts of the future, but then he remembers he's a miniature figurine and feels this overwhelming sense of identity dysphoria. Reader (who is either another night guard or a child of a staff member) helps him feel more human, with a sense of purpose.

His favourite western movie is Tombstone, and quotes "I'm your Huckleberry" whenever people call for him. it brings him immense joy.

In his time, I see him having a female dog named Bonnie and a male cat named Blaize. He mentions this to Larry and he sends in a request at the sculpting department to make them for him. Larry makes sure no detail is left unadded. When Jedediah wakes up 2 nights later he is greeted with the familiar bark, and meow that he remembered so clearly.

Jed has an assigned swear jar and adds to it 20+ times a night.

ATTILA:

ATTILA IS INSANLY GOOD WITH KIDS! He has that scene at the end of the second movie, which backs me up here. But even before then I got this vibe that if you accidently left your child near his exhibit, he would be the Tony Stark of the museum and think "Get me the adoption papers now!".

When Attila and the Huns discovered Harry potter, they became obsessed as it fits their belief in magic. They have watched all seven movies a concerning amount of time each.

Attila was a huge help with getting Ahkmenrah adjusted to his new normal. When he first noticed Ahk's struggles he didn't think twice before he put a hand on his shoulder, asked him to go for a walk and got him to open up. He is like the uncle you go to when your parents "Just don't get it!".

Attila 100% has a RIWTKYF, "Resting I Want To Kill You Face". This has been one of many reasons why some of his friendships with the other exhibits took a while to come to fruition.

When Nick was still young, he politely asked Attila if he could try on his helmet. Larry tried to lecture him, stating "It is sacred Nick, that is not ok". Larry received a slap to the back of the head by Attila, with a "Shush". He placed the Helmet on Nicks head and told the Huns "He is the leader for the night!". Nick Had a blast to say the least.

Speaking of Attila's Helmet, he has heard a lot of drama sessions from Jed and Octavius. sometimes he joins in, sometimes he is happy to just listen.

Attila lowkey can't stand the Neaderthal's constant "FIRE FIRE FIRE" sometimes. He can hear it either next to him or down the hallway and it gives him a serious headache. Ahk will offer his exhibit for some relief.

Before Attila passed away he had just been married, so he often wonders what happened to his wife and misses her deeply. Larry and reader enjoy reading books to him, so he knows about her life. He left the room with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes.

Teddy and Attila definitely have conversations/interactions that show they are stuck in their 40s/50s. I'm talking getting frustrated with technology, not understanding modern day slang, saying "Back in my day" and the "Dad grunt".

If Attila discovered music, he would LOVE the band The Village people, his favourite song is "In the navy". He asks Larry or reader to put the song on by pointing to the computer saying "Navy please".

Attila had the hardest time adjusting to waking up from the tablet. because he also needed to take care of his Huns. He pretended to be strong and that the whole situation wasn't affecting him at all, when in reality he was losing it inside.

SACAGAWEA:

Sacagawea was so relived when the glass on her exhibit wasn’t fixed. She was dreading going back to only hearing the Clark brothers yapping.

Sacagawea was low key checking Teddy out to, but the glass was stopping her from getting his attention.

When Sacagawea meets reader (for the sake of the point reader has ribcage length hair) she is so happy to meet another woman, that her way of bonding is offering to braid readers hair. As she braids they talk and get to know each other.

She may be a soft spoken and rational person but get her mad, and she her voice will ring in her ears for weeks.

Sacagawea got a photo of Teddy, and hid it in her clothes when the tablet wasn’t in the museum and in London.

Ahkmenrah, Sacagawea and Teddy create a “new exhibit adjustment program” for new or moved exhibits. They would’ve love that, so they started it for them to fill that void.

Sacagawea is always the logical voice of reason when there is a difficult situation happening. Let’s just say that the men of the museum would be done for without her 😂

When Sacagawea first sees a woman in pants she is so happy to know that women get to do the same things as men in modern day. Reader loves explaining the history of feminism.

Sacagawea’s love language with Teddy is acts of service, which we get a taste for when she helps connect his lower body back to his upper body. Teddy is still trying to give her the perfect thank you gift, but she kindly refuses them saying she is happy to just be with him.

She has the job of scolding Dexter when he’s being naughty because he is low key scared of her.

When she discovers music and movies she loves 70s soft pop and action romance.

Her way of knowing how fast time was going was watching Nick grow up. Each time she noticed even the smaller changes in his appearance, voice or personality Sacagawea would feel a huge shift in time.

TEDDY:

Teddy requests a newspaper that has the current state of the US’ politics. He has on many occasions thrown it in the air, walked towards the door screaming “I AM GOING TO TEACH THEM HOW TO RUN A CONTRY!”. Lucky Sacagawea has stopped him every time.

When he gives advice it’s either well thought out and considerate of one’s emotions, or he is straight to the point and cutthroat. Absolutely no in between.

Teddy and Ahk had a very awkward period of time because Teddy felt bad for shutting him up instead of helping him get out of his sarcophagus. Ahk being Ahk put it passed him and they got on like a house on fire.

When everyone dances and has fun, he is more happy to be watching on the side. He claims he’s “to old” to be dancing, reader disagrees and gets him to let loose on the dance floor!

He started the swear jar for Jed, as he got sick of “Fuck this” “shit” “asshole!” Every single sentence. Once the jar was full he took the money and put it towards the upkeep of the museum. His way of paying for something as it made him feel human again.

He definitely called MEMEs “Meh Mehs” for the first year of knowing about them.

He couldn’t find Sir Lancelot serious at all!! Every time he spoke Teddy covered his mouth to hide his smile or laugh. He was so close to calling him “The fool” “sir Erik” or “Jingle-elot”.

Teddy’s hat or pockets are Jedediah and Octavius’s backup travel option if Attila was unable to help with transportation.

His role in the NEAP is to show the new exhibit around and get them adjusted to the place they will temporarily/permanently call home for their time there.

When he first Jump scared Larry, he realised how evilly joyful it was and makes it his mission to scare him every night.

Teddy’s way of passing time before getting ready for sunrise is making sure Texas is looking sharp and clean. He enjoys having a quiet conversation while he listens to the brush run through Texas’ Maine.

After the “At their size, they’ll bake like tiny little scarabs in the Sinai…too dark?” Moment with Ahkmenrah. He can be a little scared of him at times 😂

He loves the 3 seconds of “warmth” the sun gives him before he goes to sleep. Thats when he feels most human.

LARRY:

Larry after a while had the realisation that the instructions were actually the ways the prior guards used to punish them, and burned it. From this he wrote a whole new instruction guide to help the newer guards after him.

He has created a schedule for the Easter island statue because there were some close calls near sunrise. But he won’t stop giving him his “Gum Gum” as it causes the worst earthquakes from his screams!

He may have a love-hate relationship with Dexter, but he is ready to defend the capuchin with his whole heart.

When Nick was young he set up a little “bedroom” for him so he could sleep there on school nights and not be affected the next day. Is incredibly lenient to letting him have a sleep in or skip school when there is a reasonable gap between each time.

When Mr McPhee has pissed him off a little too much, he has 100% planned ways to beat home up or kill him.

He has shown the civil war dudes what NASCAR is and they become obsessed. He feels really proud of himself for it.

Shit talks about Kahmunrah with Ahkmenrah. They have the an ungodly amount of glee from it.

He cannot hold a romantic relationship to save his life! But once he starts teaching he meets his forever partner at the front desk of the collage he works at 7 years into the job. Nick approved immediately.

He took inspiration from Star Wars for his flashlight tricks, and will on occasion make lightsaber noises.

It still trips Larry out that’s he met, made eye contact and spoke to Hugh Jackman, and sometimes he needs to sit down and process it.

He loves to put on Kahmunrah’s lisp from time to time to make jedediah laugh when he’s feeling down. Jed is always left in stitches after.

He has nightmares of the multi-headed snake at least once a month. This causes him to develop a deep fare of snakes in general.

-

I hope these Headcanons were good!

Have a lovely day/night!

[thevillainswhore]

Anywhere Away With You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader; other pairings but I don’t want to spoil anything!

Word Count: Over 11.5k

Summary: Old ghosts from your past threaten to disturb the peace you’ve made with your new life. Will temptation steer you away?

Warnings: Smut (‘daddy’ kink, finger-ing, mentions of oral, p in v, n-ipple play, derogatory names), flashbacks, angst, (Bucky is a warning here), emotional cheating? (I want to say this to cover all grounds)

A/N: unbeta’d, dividers by saradika

I’m sorry in advance for how long this piece is - I got an idea and literally ran with it, my head wouldn’t let me stop 🤣 hope you enjoy!

Romania - June 2019

The cool Romanian night air weaved through Bucky’s shoulder length hair as he walked the cobbled streets. He was glad he grew it out. A good change from his usual style. He felt free, more than he ever had before in his life and he was glad Steve pushed him to take this break before having to become the newly appointed CEO of his father’s company.

Peaceful. That’s how he would describe his time away. Traveling, sightseeing, learning new cultures. Bucky was extremely appreciative to have been able to experience the things he had and it was a journey he would never forget.

But seeing you, a total stranger on your own, dancing to your heart's content to a cheesy pop song across the road in a karaoke bar is an image that would be imprinted in his mind and heart forever. Your flowy silk red dress flawlessly wrapped around your curves and your gorgeous smile coated with crimson made Bucky feel like a teenage boy with a crush for the very first time.

So, it was by no means of his own when his feet walked themselves up to your carefree self, grabbed your hand to spin your body into his and dipped you, the words flowing out of his mouth as he introduced himself, “hello kisa, my name’s James and it would be my pleasure if I could dance with you tonight.”

He wasn’t sure why he gave you his real name, but it felt right in the moment and the feeling of being his authentic self out there had him divulging in all truths. In all honesty he didn’t know what had gotten into him, he wasn’t a seize the day kind of man, and definitely did not spontaneously introduce himself to strangers and ask to dance with them on the regular. But magic surrounded you that he was victim to and your ethereal glow called to him. It was a token he couldn’t pass up as his blue eyes pleaded with you to take a chance on him.

He wouldn’t have blamed you had you smacked him across his face and told him to get lost. Yet, he was pleasantly surprised at the full blown grin that split your face as you replied, “okay then James… show me what you’ve got.”

Not that he knew it then, but that moment had changed the course of his life forever. The six months he spent with you in Romania in your tiny little one bed apartment were some of the happiest moments he could remember. Details skip his mind when he tries to think of how you created an immeasurable connection in such little time.

He only remembers two parts of life: before you and after you.

It was a whirlwind romance. Had anyone known the story of the two of you, they’d have said you were crazy. Bucky didn’t see it like that though, you both may have been impulsive and reckless to trust a complete stranger, but there was an unknown force pulling the two of you together that made you click. As if you’d been waiting for each other all this time.

Even the small things mattered, like waking up with your head snuggled into his large chest. Your cute grumpy face from being woken up too early as he nestled his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble tickling you. Cooking breakfast together and having food fights with the flour and eggs only to fall into the shower, where Bucky would tease at least two orgasms out of you with his thick fingers before fucking you against the screen door as you screamed his name.

It was bliss.

He learned that you were a journalist, who’s traveled across the world to write about your adventures from country to country. He learned that you had a best friend who encouraged you to expand your horizons and that’s the reason you were in Romania. He learned what you’re passionate about. Your hobbies, your fears, your dreams. He also got to learn that you’re a little freak in bed.

Not that he minded.

The serenity that those six months with you allowed him set the pathway for Bucky to truly find fulfillment in your presence and be the best version of himself when he was with you. It’s how he knew he was falling down the rabbit hole to deeper feelings. He dared to say he had already fallen in love with you.

And it was with that realisation that he created the downfall of the two of you. He knew you loved him, you’d told him so a month into your relationship and he wished he could’ve said it back every time. But he couldn’t comprehend the feeling of having something so precious in the palm of his hands. Didn’t want the responsibility of breaking your heart from his own foolishness in the long run. You never minded, always giving to never expect anything back in return.

You were too good for him. Too beautiful inside and out for him to be worthy of you.

That’s why he had to leave.

No note. No goodbye. Nothing. Just his rucksack packed with all his belongings on his shoulders as he took one last look at your sleeping form. Desperate to take in as much of you as he could before he deprived himself of your essence for the rest of his days to come.

New York - Present

“Helloo? Nat, is she okay? She's been like this for a while- oh! There you are sweetie, you zoned out on us again!” Wanda chuckles as your vision comes back into focus from your daydream.

You let out a weak laugh, “sorry Wands, my heads all over the place.”

It’s convincing enough, you think. The stress of upcoming events a good excuse to explain how far away your mind really is. Wanda is a great friend, truly so supportive and loving, but she doesn’t understand the ins and outs of your situation, hasn’t known you long enough to know the complexities that torment your memories.

Nat however does.

“Wanda, why don’t you go see how the caterers are getting on?”

Being the sweetheart she is, she agrees straight away, “yes! I can do that for you, I’ll be right back lovelies!” Natasha waits until she hears the door click shut and spins to set her eyes on you.

She chooses her words carefully. “You know sweets… you’ve been a little off-“

“I’m good, Romanoff”, you interrupt her firmly and then grimace in regret for snapping at her. It wasn’t her fault you were so fragile at the minute. Softening your tone, you try again, “I’m okay, I promise. Don’t worry about me, yeah? I’m good.”

Nat doesn’t look convinced, but you haven’t got the energy to go down that road and she knows it’s not the time to push you further. She can read you like an open book - one of the only people who can. Unaffordable to you right now though, not when you’ve got to paint the happy smile back onto your face to see through the night. It’s routine for you now.

Smoothing down your white sundress in the mirror, you ignore your best friend’s sympathetic gaze and turn around to walk out of the door.

Being away from home for so long has had its downfalls for Bucky. Although he needed these past couple of years to recharge and come back with a screwed on head to run his company as the CEO, he’s missed out on a lot. His best friend’s engagement being the main example.

He sees the love in Steve’s eyes. The pure happiness that radiates from his full being. It was hard to come back home and witness the dramatic change from the once bachelor, who was never interested in settling down, to hearing he had actually proposed to a woman. It stunned him, completely threw him for a loop, especially since Steve hadn’t mentioned anything over the phone while he had been away.

Nevertheless he was ecstatic for him, he knew what it felt like to completely fall head over heels for someone who makes life so much brighter. Someone who totally turns your world upside down in the most amazing way.

Too bad he lost that.

“Bucky, I can’t wait for you to meet her, honestly she’s so beautiful and kind and you’re gonna love her, I promise.” Steve blabbers on about his fiancé and Bucky can’t help but feel a stab of jealousy.

It should have been him engaged by now. It should have been him planning his wedding to the love of his life and annoying everyone else around him with his continuous declarations of love.

All he can do is hope Steve doesn’t notice his fake smile as he claps his hand onto his back and jokes, “well pal, you’re whipped now - can’t wait to see the woman who’s locked an old brute like you down.”

Luckily, Steve doesn’t notice the melancholy that takes over Bucky’s face, too absorbed into his own world of excitement to bother about anything else. He didn’t want anyone to see anyway, so he took in the guests and the decorations surrounding Steve’s beautiful garden of his home as they all waited for the woman who held Steve’s heart.

The click of your heels echoing through the hallways has the anxiety bubbling up further in your throat. Palms sweaty and knees wobbly. It wasn’t unusual to feel like this at big events you attended, but there was something in the air that had your nerves on edge, a sense of doom teasing you that there was something different about tonight.

Chatter and music from the party got louder the closer you got to the garden patio doors and your breaths were coming in faster. Nat caught up to you and spotted your struggle, coming to your aid and holding your arms.

“Hey, honey, breathe for me, there we go, deep breaths.”

You followed the rise and fall of Natasha’s chest to calm yourself down. Nerves were normal for you, yes, but you’d never felt like this abnormal before. Eventually, your breathing regulated and Nat bristles as you start laughing hysterically.

“God, what the fuck is wrong with me? I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

Nat’s emerald eyes that hold so much sorrow for you bare deep into your soul. This was the woman who had been there for your worst moments, the times where you broke down in despair from heartbreak. Your best friend. She knew what was wrong, you knew that she knew what was wrong, but it was a promise made that stopped either of you from bringing up the elephant in the room. Your whole world would come crashing down and you were not ready for that outcome.

So with a heavy heart for you and a smile that was keeping you together, she murmured lightly, “c’mon you, we’ve got a show to run.”

Everyone turns around in unison to see the double doors from the decking open up to the guest of the hour walking through. Timid smile on her face as claps and whistles applaud her.

“There she is! Hi baby, come over here.”

Pride shines through Steve’s eyes as he holds his hand out for his fiancée to take hold of to help her step down the stairs. Cheers and wolf whistles from the crowd at the happy couple continue as Steve pulls her into his side and places a loving kiss on her forehead.

Bucky doesn’t pay attention to the commotion, lingering towards the back of all the guests as he looks into the general direction of where his best friend is. He can’t see Steve’s wife-to-be yet, but judging by the look on his face, he’s totally smitten with her, lovedrunk in his own little bubble of joy. Bad friend he may be, but Bucky just can’t stomach pretending to be happy for him whilst he’s stewing in his own misery of his fuckups.

Although, his quiet brooding doesn't last very long when he hears his name being called.

“Buck? Bucky, where are ya punk, you’ve gotta meet my girl! Hang on one second babe, I’ll find him, you’re gonna love him.”

Steve leaves his fiancée’s side in his quest to find his best friend, eager for the two most important people in his life to finally meet.

It takes everything in Bucky to not grimace when Steve spots him.

“There you are Buck, I’ve been looking all over for you! C’mon, I’ve gotta introduce the two of you.”

Reluctantly, Bucky follows his best friend as they approach a woman wearing a white sundress, back turned to them as she’s talking quietly to a redhead. The thrill on Steve’s face as they get closer increases tenfold as if it physically pained him to be away from his fiancée and as they stop just behind her, Steve places his hand on her waist and whispers loud enough into the curve of her neck for Bucky to hear.

“Baby, this is Bucky, my best friend and boss, who I’ve wanted you to meet for a long time.”

It’s almost like a scene from a movie, the way her hair fans out as she spins around, the skirt of her dress billowing in slow motion as her sweet perfume tickles his nose. But, he recognises that scent… recognises that candy like smell that’s buried deep into his mind-

The shatter of glass silences the whole party as all eyes dart to the scene of commotion. Bucky’s mouth gaping open and body stiff as stone when he finally sets his eyes on Steve’s bride to be.

You.

You are Steve’s fiancée.

“Jesus Buck, what’s a matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Steve’s chuckle laced with a hint of concern snaps you out of your reverie as he waves over cleaners to sort out the mess - shock leaving you almost paralysed as you take in the sight of the man, who still haunts your dreams, you haven’t seen since the night before he left all those years ago.

James hardly looks any different to how he did back in Romania. The long brunette hair - though now tied back into a bun - you used to run your nails through. His open blue shirt with a white vest underneath, reminding you of how you used to smooth your hands over his big, strong arms just to get a feel of him. And that gold chain resting against his chest donned with gold rings on his thick fingers that have your mind still going hazy with need.

“James, oh fuck James, yes, right there!”

“Yeah? You like that, kisa? You like how deep my cock feels in you?”

“Yes, baby yes! please, please don’t stop.”

“Then tell me, who’s fuckin’ you this good, hm?”

James gripped your throat and tightened his fingers to slightly cut off your oxygen, rendering you speechless with drool dripping down your chin.

“I fuckin’ said, tell me who’s makin’ you feel this good.”

“Y-you are, James!”

“Oh c’mon kisa, you know that’s not what I mean.” His chain swung back and forth above your face with each thrust he made. “I know you’re a cockdrunk little slut for me, but you’re not stupid. I’ll ask you one more time, and if you don’t tell me who the fuck is makin’ you moan like a whore, then I promise I’ll stop right now and leave you begging.”

That booted your brain back into gear.

“D-daddy!”, you stuttered, all but forcing your lust drunk mind to say it so he didn’t stop, “Daddy’s fucking me so good!”

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl. That wasn’t so hard now was it?”

His condescending words only brought you closer to the edge, the coldness from the rings adorning his fingers added to your pleasure as he stroked your clit in a figure of eight.

The bastard knew you had a thing for his jewelry.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt your climax approaching, legs trembling in the crevices of his arms as his cock repeatedly hit your g-spot.

James brought his lips to your ear and you could feel the salacious grin that split his face as he reveled in your filthy moans and whimpers. He knew you were close.

“I know you’re desperate to let go baby, so show Daddy how good he’s making that pretty pussy feel, Kisa.”

His final words had you screaming.

“Cum for me.”

A shiver racks through your body as you force the memory as far away as you can, eyes unwilling to lose contact with him as you cravingly soak in what you haven’t seen in so long. James’ stare is pathetically zoned in on you too, the rest of the party a blur in the background.

Reprimanding yourself for getting lost in his aura, you snap your head away from his direction, watching the cleaners sweep away the glass and mop up the spilled champagne, listening to Steve’s apologies for the inconvenience.

You look around to the rest of the guests and find all attention on your predicament, paranoia filling your mind that everyone knows the history between the two of you. Sneaking a peek at James and seeing his gaze still focused on you doesn’t help your situation in the slightest.

Luckily, Steve’s voice cuts through the tension he’s unaware exists as he turns back to you.

“As I was saying baby, this is Bucky. We’ve known each other since we were kids and he had to save my ass from all those back alley fights - now we work together. He may be my boss, but he’s still a punk.”

Guilt hits you like a truck as Steve talks about his best friend with so much fondness. The sickness that you’ve felt since the beginning of the day rising up your throat as you fight to stop the tears welling up. You couldn’t have known the two of them knew each other, Steve talking about a ‘Bucky’ you’d never met, having no alignment with your ‘James’. But the nagging feeling that this is all your fault drills into your brain.

Looking toward your fiancé and plastering what you hope is an honest smile on your face, you clear your throat and pray your voice doesn’t break, “oh yes, I remember you saying honey!”

Knowing you have to sell a lie, you turn to James and hope that your pleasantries don’t come across as fake as your smile, “Stevie here’s told me all about you. It’s really nice to finally meet you, Bucky.”

The tightening of his fist doesn’t go unnoticed by you at the mention of his apparent real name. It could also be your pretend act of not knowing each other, but he lost the privilege to know you the day he left you and you didn’t care for his discomfort right now.

“Stevie, I’m just gonna go sort out some last minute details with Natty and I’ll catch up with you later.” The excuse to high tail it out of this nightmare seems to go down well with your soon-to-be Husband as he hooks his arm around your waist and gives you a loving kiss as a farewell.

“Don’t be too long, babe. I’ll miss you.”

You’re not sure if the low growl you hear is a figment of your imagination or not, but you ignore it as you squeeze Steve’s hand and take off to find where Nat had run off to, keeping your head down to avoid any temptation of catching a last look at old strangers.

Spotting Nat laughing with Wanda and a handsome dark-skinned man, you dart into her direction and hook your arm with her to drag her away, “sorry guys, I just need to talk with Nat about- something. I’ll bring her right back!”

You don’t even give her a chance to end the conversation as you haul ass towards the side of the house, not missing a step as you feel yourself breaking.

“Hey! Babe-, Sweets, what’s going on?-“

“In a minute, Natasha.”

“Where are you takin-“

“In a minute.”

Natasha stays quiet as you round the corner to a hidden alcove, private enough for your mental breakdown to unleash.

You let go of her arm as you pace up and down the small path, muttering to yourself as you hold your head in your hands. Your best friend tries to be patient as you attempt to gather the strength to tell her what the hell just happened, but she’s too worried for you to stay silent.

“Honey, what the hell is going on?”

Standing stock still, you look up to the sky and release a shaky breath.

“It’s him, Nat.”

Not clueing in to what you mean, she asks, “what?”.

“He’s here.”

“Who?-“

“Him.”

Putting together what you mean by your words, her head whips into your direction and her eyes bulge out of her head.

“No-, honey no. Are you su-?”

“I’m not fucking stupid, Nat. Of course I’m sure! I just saw him.”

“I’m gonna let you off speaking to me like that this once.”

Defeated, you crouch down onto the ground and hold your hand over your mouth, muffled sobs spilling out for Nat to hear. She rushes to your side and brings you into her embrace, tilting your head to lean against her shoulder as she comforts you.

“Shit. Everything’s gonna be okay Sweets, I promise. We’ll figure something out.”

You’re not quite sure you believe her this time.

It had been a week since your episode at the engagement party. After Nat has assured you to not worry over anything yet (big fucking understatement), you got your act together and calmed yourself down - arriving back at the party with no tears in sight with Steve soon at your side, unknowing to your distress. The rest of the night went smoothly, chit chat with the guests and announcements of how happy everyone was for the two of you easing your anxiety to whether people had caught on or not.

And if you could feel eyes on you throughout the whole night? You told yourself you were imagining it.

Steve hadn’t sensed anything was wrong with you this week that had passed. A true blessing in disguise really. You had no idea how you could even begin to tell him that you knew ‘Bucky’. So your decision to keep it a secret was the best way to go about this, you concluded. You’re marrying Steve. Steve. And James was part of your past that you were not revisiting. That was that.

The ding of the elevator lets you know you’ve reached Steve’s floor at his work. Wanting to drop off some lunch for him since he told you he was working late tonight, you prepared his favourite meal and thought he’d appreciate you bringing it over. He always loved you surprising him at work, especially since he’d taken over command and had a lot on his plate while his boss had been away traveling.

You guess the clues had been in front of you all along.

Walking up to Steves’s office door, navigating your way through the eeriness of the darkness of the building, you knock. Concerned at the lack of answer, you try again, rapping your knuckles against the wood in your own signature style to let him know it’s you who’s knocking - yet to no avail, silence again.

You’re about to take your phone out of your bag to text your fiancé and ask where he is, when you feel a looming presence behind you, hairs on the back of your neck standing up in alarm.

“Steve’s not here.”

Seems like you can’t escape your past after all.

Whipping your head round to the deep gravelly voice you haven’t heard in so long, you see James. You’d recognise his voice anywhere. Eyes wide open and heart beating out of your chest as all you can do is stare into them steel blue eyes you used to get lost in all the time.

Home.

Shaking your head to stop the locked away thoughts from taking root at the forefront of your mind, you attempt to speak, to say something.

“Oh.”

‘Oh’? What the fuck is that?

Bucky speaks up again, “He stepped out for a last minute meeting with one of our partners.”

Taking a deep breath to cool your nerves, you attempt to speak again. This was your fiancés best friend, nothing more. You can do this.

“Um, okay, yeah that’s fine.”

Yeah, so much better.

You nod dumbly, head continuously bobbing up and down as you look anywhere but at him.

Turns out you can absolutely not ‘do this’ - the depths of his intense gaze zeroed in on you, shaking your confidence and leaving you making a quick exit to avoid the awkwardness.

“I’ll just- leave it on his desk, I guess. Could you tell him I stopped by? Thank you. Bye.”

Before you can even take your first step to leave, he interrupts you.

“So, you’re marrying him?”

Your surprise at his gall to bring up the elephant in the room has you reeling back, stopping you in your tracks. But the anger that stems from within at his audacity to even mention it soon takes over and allows your facade to entirely switch in a moment of braveness.

“We’re not doing this.”

“You’re breaking my heart, kisa.” Bucky’s whisper, just loud enough for you to hear through the abandoned top floor of his building, cracks away at another piece of your heart.

You swallow the lump in your throat but your voice still comes out trembling, “Don’t fucking call me that.”

The tight white dress shirt bulging over his large chest and black trousers fitted snug against his crotch didn’t do you any favours either - hands tucked into his pockets practically screaming at you to look at the veins of his forearms.

Fuck.

You take deep breaths and decide you need to get out of this dangerous situation, pushing yourself to walk by him, you’re startled as he holds out his arm to hold you still by your waist.

The shuddering sigh you let out is louder than you expect it to be. Glistening moonlight cascading over the two of you in the darkness of the office. You haven’t felt his touch in over three years and all you want to do is fall into his arms and never let him go. It had been too long since you felt the gentleness of his touch, the feel of his thumb rubbing circles onto your bare skin underneath your shirt, transporting your mind back to lazy mornings tangled in the sheets.

“Bucky! Stop it, you're tickling me!”

The scrape of his teeth against your neck had you squirming in his grasp, the sweat from your morning escapades gathering between your bare skin.

“God, I fuckin’ love how sensitive you are for me baby girl.”

“I can’t go another round Bucky, you're insatiable.”

“You sure about that, kotehok? Because I know for a fact that your little pussy is pulsing for my big cock.”

You're a prisoner to watch as he grinds against you, kissing down towards your tits that you know he’s a sucker for. “Fuck.”

“I also know that if I were to suck those pretty nipples into my mouth, you’d be putty in my hands. A cute little mess pleading for me to fill you up.”

He always knew what he was doing, pushing you to your limits. But he knew you could handle it.

“That’s not fair baby, you know how bad that gets me.”

He ran his tongue over your stiff peaks as you keened, sucking each nipple before his plump lips trailed down your belly to stop above your mound, dying to eat your pussy like a man starved.

“And you know how crazy I am for you, so sit back and relax while I get a taste of you baby. You can take it, you’re my good girl.”

Shit.

You rip yourself away from his grasp and back away as he reaches out for you again.

“Kisa-“

“I said, don’t.”

The demand in your tone has Bucky pulling his arm back to his side and hanging his head.

Not bearing to look at him, you walk away, missing your old flame deflate at the consequence of his own mistakes.

The next couple of days go by fast for you, distracting yourself with last minute wedding plans to keep your mind focused. Not wandering. You hadn’t seen Steve much, only briefly in the mornings before he had to leave for work and hardly getting to see him later in the day due to him tying up loose ends before the wedding.

It was another relief in all honesty. Your emotions have been going haywire ever since you found out Bucky was back and you weren't sure how you could hold yourself around Steve.

Again, the wrongfulness of your actions has your gut churning. You hadn’t cheated. But it wasn’t exactly fair to keep your fiancé in the dark like this. Steve hadn’t done anything wrong - he’d been nothing but loyal to you and treated you like you deserved throughout your relationship. He had never abandoned you, never left you wondering what must be so wrong with you to not be good enough staying for. So, why was your mind so conflicted?

You’re torn out of your inner conflict when you feel a dent in the bed.

“Steve?”

“Yeah baby, it’s just me.”

His sweet tone and pure happiness to see you has that nauseating feeling coming back.

“I was able to get off work early today. Finished handing over everything to Bucky so he can get started with the company.”

Yeah, you didn’t think it could get much worse, the mention of him having bile rise in your throat. Deciding to torment yourself even further, you poke the bear.

“Oh good, good. How is everything? Been nice having him back?”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea. I missed him so much while he was away. We were two peas in a pod, y’know? Always causing trouble together.”

Your eyes start to sting and you thank every god out there that it’s dark enough in the room for Steve not being able to see.

“He also mentioned you dropped by work the other night, sorry I missed you honey. One of our partners needed to speak about something to do with the increasing costs, but you don’t wanna hear about that, I’m just glad to be home with you now.”

It takes everything in you not to start crying. The fact that Bucky had mentioned you has your mind spiraling - something Steve notices when you don’t say anything.

“Honey? Everything okay?”

Hastily moving into his side and snuggling up to him, you think fast to try and eradicate the negative trail this could go down, hugging him tight and willing yourself to chill out.

“Yeah of course, sorry Stevie. Just been stressed lately and I’ve missed you, that’s all.”

With the way he wraps an arm around you and pulls you tighter into his body, he seems content enough with your reasoning. His hand smoothing down your side and hiking your leg over his waist, a move you had gotten so familiar with and now feels so foreign.

“Shit, I’ve missed you so fuckin’ much too, sweetheart. How about I make it up to you, hm?”

This you can do. You can take your mind away from your worries and indulge in everything Steve for one night.

So as he rolls over you to lay you fully onto your back and starts to kiss down your neck, you cup the back of his head to bring him closer and avoid closing your eyes to prevent anyone else sneaking in your thoughts, basking in his soft touch and eagerness to please.

You can do this for him.

The dinner party Steve had arranged a couple of weeks before the big day consisted of inviting close friends to celebrate and enjoy an evening together with good food and drinks to let loose.

Dread was all you could feel.

You hadn’t spoken to Bucky since he cornered you at the office and any events that you both were attending, you made sure to stay clear from him. The risk of bumping into him again too great to let down your guard.

However, that idea was out the window as soon as you found out you were seated next to him at the dinner table.

Pulling Steve aside to casually question the seating arrangements had set your nerves alight for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Steve, sweetie... H-how come you’re not sat next to Bucky? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

He sighs as everyone else takes their place at the table and puts his hands over your cheeks, thumb rubbing your pouty lips. “I thought it’d be a fun idea to seat people next to someone they don’t really talk to, y’know let everyone get to know each other more. It makes all the games I’ve planned more fun.”

Steve looks over your worried expression and continues to try and put you at ease. “I know Buck’s a bit grumpy and he doesn’t talk much, but will you try and talk to him tonight? It would mean the world to me if you two got along, honey. Besides, he’s probably just missing his time across the world, someone like you will bring him right out of his shell.”

You can say that again.

Not wanting to make this harder for Steve, you smile and nod to which he pecks your lips and thanks you profusely for the effort you're making.

You already know Bucky is sitting down, looking over to see his chestnut locks tucked behind his ears with a hair tie on his wrist next to his gold bracelet. So with a final pep talk to yourself to get you through this dinner, you drag yourself to your seat and carefully sit down as quietly as possible to not draw attention to yourself.

Impossible when you can literally feel his eyes burning a hole through the side of your head.

Natasha’s subtle tapping on the empty plate across the table has you looking up at her, a raised eyebrow code for the two of you to ask if you’re going to be okay. The small nod you send back her way placates her for the time being.

You wouldn’t believe yourself either.

The gulp of wine you chug down does little to settle you, already grabbing the bottle to pour yourself another glass when you feel the timber of a low chuckle close to your ear.

“You always did like wine a little too much.”

You choke on air at the unexpected inside joke, the dark-skinned man you’d come to learn as Sam in the seat on your other side, patting your back to help you through your coughing fit. Throwing him a look of thankfulness as your cheeks flush hot in embarrassment, you sit forward in your seat again and grit your teeth to stop yourself from smacking Bucky across the face.

“Nervous, baby?”

Keeping your eyes straight forward is a task, but you refuse to play Bucky’s games. His sudden bravado throws you off your duty of keeping cool.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Your angry whisper only results in his growing amusement - that stupid smirk on his face you've seen many times in his moments of mischief.

Taking a look around the table, you see everyone in conversation with each other, unaware of yours and Bucky’s back and forth.

“Gotta get your attention somehow, baby girl, you ignored me the last time.”

You don’t give into his whims, his charm and sweet names threatening to derail your psyche when you’re not even halfway through the night. Instead you turn and start up a conversation with Sam, an old friend of Steve - and Bucky unfortunately -, to take your mind away from the arrogance your other way.

Little did you know this was just the start of it.

The next hour or so goes by more smoothly than the beginning of the night and you’re proud of yourself for managing to actually have some fun. That may very well be because you actively chose not to look in Bucky’s direction or give him a slither of your attention, but you’re still happy with yourself nonetheless.

Your newfound peace is disturbed when Wanda - the enthusiastic, innocent soul you have to remember you love - suggests an icebreaker game that has you, yet again, choking on air.

“Suck and blow! So, the rules are you have to pass this card to each other using only your mouth. If anyone drops it, they have to take a shot! Oh, this is gonna be so much fun!”

Jesus fucking Christ, you couldn’t catch a break.

The nervous look you send Steve literally begs him to raise concern, to say anything that will get you out of this nightmare. But being the perfect angel he is, he just sends a wink your way and shouts over the table “don’t worry sweetheart, I know you only have eyes for me.”

A sniper to the head would be more comfortable than this.

It’s burning torture as you watch the start of the game, the card beginning with Wanda as it’s sucked from her grasp by another friend of Steve’s. It goes down the line one by one and all you can do is sit and watch as it gets closer to Bucky.

You wish you could slow time down as Bucky sucks the card into his mouth, the turn of his head towards you signaling your turn in the game. If you react too slowly, everyone around you is going to get suspicious, react too quickly and you come across as too eager.

And those cerulean eyes that pin you down with a look you know all too well, don’t help your cause one bit.

Bracing yourself with a hand on the table and a hand on the back of your chair, your knuckles turn white as the death grip keeps you stable when you slowly lean forward. Your ears start to ring and the fact that Bucky hasn’t taken his eyes off you once makes your palms sweaty.

Pursing your lips, you close your eyes as you suction the card from his mouth and successfully take it in your grasp, applauding yourself internally at how smooth the transition went without you freaking out - too much.

Only for it all to come crashing down when a firm, calloused hand squeezes the meat of your thigh and has you releasing a gasp of air, eyes shooting open as the shock of the unexpected touch has the card leaving your mouth, fluttering downwards to land on the floor beside your feet.

The lack of distance between yours and Bucky’s open mouths has your head spinning, taking you back to those public rendezvous against a wall of a club bathroom and panting into each other's mouths as you scream praises to each other.

“Open that slutty mouth, now.”

James’ hand flew up to your jaw to pry your mouth open when you took too long to obey his orders. Leg hiked over his wait as he was two fingers deep in your cunt.

The wetness that landed on your tongue had you moaning louder when you realised that James had spat into your mouth, pussy fluttering around his thick fingers as his eyes darken.

“You want everyone to know how good Daddy’s fingers are making you feel, baby girl? Sure sounds like it.” His dirty grin only made more of your juices leak over him.

“Yes Daddy! Don’t wan’ you to stop, feels soo good.”

The slur in your voice had his cock harden against your leg, and you were sure you were going to pass out as he assured you. “Oh don’t worry, pretty baby. We’re about to see if you can take another one of Daddy’s fingers.”

And by the look on Bucky’s face, he knows all too well exactly what you’re thinking.

The boos and hollers of everyone else snap you back to reality, adjusting your stance and clearing your throat to blend in with the rest of them. Shouts of “loser” and chants of “shot” taking precedence over the wetness of your panties and the throbbing of your pussy that makes your thighs rub together.

You ignore Bucky’s stare, ignore everything else that threatens to consume you as you take the shot to forget about everything just for a short while. You can’t deal with it right now.

As the cheering dies down, you stand up and make your way to the bathroom, declaring that you’ll be right back after relieving yourself, which gains some laughter.

You’re too out of sight to see Bucky half assing an excuse to follow right after you. You also don’t see the look that crosses Steve’s face as he watches the two of you leave.

Bucky hears the telltale clicking off your heels, your announcement of heading to the bathroom a lie as he walks past it and up the stairs to find you leaning against the balcony railing on the roof, looking out at the stars. 

You know he’s there by the sound of the lock clicking shut, the defeat at avoiding this exact situation evident in your sigh. 

He gently walks to your side, almost afraid to scare you off like a baby deer and simply waits for you to start speaking.

“So, I guess this is where we talk.”

The laugh he lets out at your statement has you reluctantly smiling, unable not to love the crinkles that appear by his eyes. 

“I think it's overdue, don't you think?”

“I guess.” You pause as you try to think of what to say. “When did you get back home?”

“Not long ago, about 3 months. You?”

“Came home a couple of weeks after I knew you weren’t coming back.”

Heavy silence falls between the two of you. 

“Can I ask how you met Steve?”

You knew the question was coming, “Natasha introduced us.” You shrug and answer vaguely.

“Ah, the best friend. I remember you mentioning her.”

As you continue to stare out into the night, Bucky decides to carry on. “Do you remember when we used to climb up the stairs to rooftops like this back in Romania? We’d lay all those blankets down and I’d tell you all about the different constellations in the sky. You already knew all of them - always my smart baby girl - but you still let me go on about them because you loved hearing me talk about it.”

You can’t bare to think about the memories that come rushing in at his recollection. The ones that hold a special place in your heart - conversations of getting to know each other, the details of your life you were so willing to give up to him as he slow danced with you in the refrigerator light of your tiny kitchen. Too much for you to comprehend right now as you begin to go walk back inside. 

“Hey no-“ he reaches out to grab your arm to try and get you to listen to him. 

“Please don’t touch me”.  Tears race down your cheeks as you gather the strength to speak your mind. “You left. Do you know how long I waited for you to get in touch with me? How long I stayed in that apartment, thinking you’d be back?” You laugh, “silly me for thinking I was special enough for you to stay.”

“It wasn’t like that-“

“What was it then, Bucky? Because I didn’t get one phone call from you. Not even a text message to tell me you were okay. You ghosted me - abandoned me and then I see you again after all these years.” 

Bitterness takes over Bucky as he blurts out, “yeah, I see you’re really hurt - marrying someone else.”

You’re speechless at his audacity, sputtering to fire back at him, “what does it even matter to you anyway? You didn’t even love me, Bucky!” 

“Stop calling me that!” He deflects.

You ignore him. “What is this? What are you doing? Trying to claim me back as some fucking prize or something?”

“N-no, no! Of course not!”

“Then what, Bucky?!”

He finally snaps and tells the truth. “I want you back!”

All you can do is blink at him as he struggles to find what he wants to say. 

“Do you know how miserable I’ve been without you? How long the days were without you beside me, kisa? I know I ran baby, i know I fucked up. But I was scared, I didn’t want you to look back in a couple of years and wonder what you’ve been doing, wasting time with someone like me. I know better now though, I know how I feel.”

He pauses and gulps. 

“I do. I love you.”

The three words you had been dying to hear, but ever so patiently waited for back then cut your heart into pieces. What you would have given to be on the receiving end of his love when it mattered. But you’ve got a fiancé to think about, a wedding not long away to seal your fate to a man who thinks the world of you and shows it.

“Yeah?” You gulp and turn to walk away, mumbling over your shoulder, “well it’s too late for that now, Bucky.”

You’d love to say that you had been channeling your energy into Steve and proving how much he meant to you ever since your rooftop meeting with Bucky. You wanted to solidify how good you had it already, how you didn’t need to reminisce on memories with someone who lost you when you were perfectly happy with Steve.

But he hadn’t been around a lot lately and you started to grow worried when you had hardly spoken to him when you had a wedding coming up. So to see him leaned over his desk, hair disheveled and tie loose had you a little stunned - never had you once seen Steve in this state.

You cautiously walk towards him and fiddle with your fingers not knowing how to approach him. You keep a small distance and prepare to soothe him. 

“Is everything okay Stevie?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” 

His blunt statement with his gruff voice has you growing nervous, he hasn’t ever spoken to you like this. “W-what? I don’t know what you mean-“

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Steve doesn’t stop there. It makes your stomach drop, in fact, to see him turn around and notice his bloodshot eyes that look like he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep recently, preparing for things to change.

“How do you really know Bucky?”

Your blood runs cold. The thought of Steve knowing the past between you and his best friend has you starting to shake. 

“S-steve, what are you t-talking about? He’s your best friend-“

“Tell me the truth.” His sternness in the raise of his voice has you stop talking immediately. “Y’know I thought it was a little weird at our engagement party when he couldn’t take his eyes off you, like he already knew you, but I let it go, it was easily something I could pass off. Then I heard he bumped into you at work, no biggie either, I wasn’t concerned. At least not until I see for myself how skittish you were over some stupid game. The longing looks he sent your way when you weren’t looking. So I went into my camera feed at work and boy, was I surprised to hear what he had to say, never mind the way he touched you.”

The tears can’t help but escape and you know there’s no getting out of this now.   

“So I’ll repeat myself, honey. Tell me the truth.”

And you do. You tell him every last detail of how you first met James. The karaoke bar in Romania. The six months you spent together in your apartment. How you fell in love with him. You also spill all your regrets. How you didn’t know how to tell Steve. How you never expected to see James again, never mind see him again as your fiancés best friend. You pour your heart out to the man who’s done nothing but love you unconditionally and you plead how sorry you are for everything. 

You see him process all the information once you finish. How he internalises the history between his soon-to-be wife and best friend he’s known since childhood. You know it’s not looking good for you. 

“Have you cheated?”

You're a bit taken back by his question but nevertheless answer straight away. “No! God, no Stevie, I swear.”

“Do you still want to marry me?”

“Yes. More than anything.” Again, you respond.

“Do you still love him?”

The pause in your response is enough of an answer for Steve and you fully expect him to call the wedding off, declare that he doesn’t want anything to do with you again. You wouldn’t blame him, you know all of this isn’t fair to him.

 

So the shock that runs through you when he takes both of your hands and kisses them multiple times is palpable, murmuring into them, “do you still love me?”

You do love Steve. You’re so grateful for everything he's done for you, for all the care and happiness he’s brought you. You don’t hesitate to answer him this time. 

“Of course I do.”

The smile that graces his face is award winning, the exact one that hooked you in when Natasha told you he was worth it - to give him a chance to make you whole again. 

“Okay. I can work with that.”

Everything hurts. Your dismissal of Bucky’s feelings, your ignorance to his attempts to just talk to you. He supposes it’s karma biting his ass for being so stupid. 

If he could go back in time and stay with you, in your one bedroom cosy little home away from his responsibilities as CEO and his fate of seeing you belong to someone else, he would - in a heartbeat. 

Bucky thinks back to your conversation on the roof, when he blurted out he loves you. He regrets telling you like that, but the desperation for you to be back in his arms, back where you were supposed to be was at an all time high. He was running out of options. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you, because he really did, he just knew it shouldn’t have been said that way.

He should have grabbed you by your face and kissed you senseless back when you were together as he poured declarations of love into your soul. Looked into your eyes and whispered how lucky he was to have you as you lay underneath the Romanian stars. He was a fool. 

Steve was the deserving man, he thinks, watching him dance with his friends and blabber, even drunk, how in love with you he was. Bucky can’t help but clench his fists at the thought of Steve getting to hold you, kiss you, pleasure you. He’s never held resentment towards his best friend, but right now he was a jealous man. 

It drills home how bad of a friend he is to Steve though, Bucky may have had you first but he knows that doesn’t mean a thing when Steve was the one who picked up the pieces, unknowingly, of the ruins in your trust. Either way, it doesn’t deter the possessiveness and need Bucky feels over you. 

He shouldn’t be thinking like this at his best friend's bachelor party.

And speak of the devil, the drunken mess plops onto the seat next to Bucky with a dreamy look on his face. 

“Buck! James, why the hell aren’t you out there tearing up the floor with us?” There’s no slur in Steve’s words, but he does get very weird when he’s been drinking.

And Bucky doesn’t like the use of his first name coming out of someone else’s mouth other than yours. 

“Sorry Steve, just ain’t feeling it tonight, but don’t worry. I’ll be here watching you make a dick outta yourself.”

The bowl of laughter that bellows out of Steve has Bucky laughing for the first time in a while, the rivalry present in his mind disappearing to share a genuine moment with his best friend since childhood. It felt good.

“Yeah, I guess I am. I’m having a good time though, getting married to the woman of my dreams soon enough. What’s there not to be happy about, eh?”

That shuts down the ease found between the two of them. A grunt of acknowledgment from Bucky all he can offer in the souring of his mood.

Steve carries on, nonchalantly, as he swirls his drink. “It’s funny, y’know. Our taste in women. Who’d have thought that the woman id marry would be the one you were fucking whilst you were off on your travels.”

Alarm bells start ringing in Bucky’s head as he slowly turns his head in Steve’s direction, the lump in his throat hard to swallow - Steve knows. 

“Listen Steve, nothing happened-“

“Oh I know. Nothing’s happened while we’ve been together… doesn’t mean you don’t want to. I’ve seen the way you look at her. Don’t blame you to be honest.”

His collected composure throws Bucky off completely, the unease rattling him from the casual way he speaks of you. Bucky isn’t prepared for the dark tone that encases Steve as he goes on, however. 

“But just so you know, she’s marrying me. She chose me. You left her.” 

That pisses Bucky off. He knows all too well what he’s done, berated himself night and day for his mistake. He also knows you. You’re content with your situation - there’s no denying that. 

But, you could be happier. Bucky could be the reason you wake up every single day, loving life and looking forward to your future.

Not marrying someone out of regret.

He doesn’t say that though, let’s Steve have his moment and decides that if this is the end of their friendship, he’ll do it respectfully. 

So as Steve looks over to Bucky, daggers in his eyes for the man that got the girl first, he decides to leave him to himself and go home. Things hadn’t really been the same with Steve since Bucky had gotten back - a piece of his heart with you wherever you were. And then he saw you in your little white dress that reminded him of home and he knew his relationship with Steve couldn’t go back to what it was. 

“See ya round, pal.” 

He’ll miss Steve, truthfully. The little guy he protected from bullies twice the size of him. He knew they couldn’t come back from this though, in love with the same woman and unwilling to let her go. So he tips his head to his best friend, downs his drink and walks out the bar.

He wasn’t going to give up on you without a fight. 

Suffocating. 

The hairspray that clogged the air. Makeup scattered over the side tables. Your wedding dress that you could faintly hear your bridesmaids gush over. 

It was all white noise to you.

You loved this dress - adored it whenever you got to try it on at regular fittings. There may have been a twinge in your gut every time, but you always forced that feeling down. Aside from that, you appreciated how well the dress fit you and how stunning it makes you look.

All you wanted to do now was rip it off.

There was no more countdown to your wedding day. It’s happening today. Now. Whether you’re ready or not. 

Mind fogged over, you don’t hear Wanda’s fingers clicking in front of your face. “Sweetie, you there? You keep zoning out again.” 

It’s only a touch to the shoulder that brings you back out of your head, a perfectly manicured red nail seen from the corner of your eye to let you know it’s Natasha. 

“She’s just fine, our girl’s just busy thinking about how Steve’s going to rip this dress off later on.” The mixture of squeals of laughter and prudish whines from your bridal party have you grateful for Nat’s ability to deflect with ease.

“Why don’t we give the bride some space for a little bit, yeah? All you bitches are giving me a headache, never mind her.”

As you see the last flutter of a dress walk out the door from the reflection of the mirror, you turn to your best friend, the one person you don’t have to pretend with.

“How do I look, Natty?” The crack in your voice gives away your vulnerability, there’s no hiding with her anyway. 

“You know you look beautiful, babe.” A noncommittal hum from you is all she receives as you turn back around to continue looking over yourself.

She brings her face next to yours, giving you her most reassuring eyes and a hug that has fixed you multiple times. But you’re most grateful for the murmur in your ear for only you to hear. “I’m here for you, whatever you want to do, you know that right?” 

You do know that. Your maid of honour who would burn down the world to make your heart whole again. So you owe her the knowledge that you’re gonna be alright, that you’re okay with what’s gonna happen. 

“Maybe I should get married to you Romanoff, I think we’d make a killer couple.” The landing of your joke goes down well with her, the doom of your fate on the back burner for now.

And as she walks out the door to give you a couple of minutes to yourself, she throws a wink your way, speaking over her shoulder, “give me a time and place and I’ll be there, sweetheart.”

Why the hell did this church have to be so big? 

Trying to be stealthy and quiet in a church full of guests roaming around wasn't the easiest task Bucky had ever dealt with. A bridesmaid or a groomsman lurking around a corner had him almost shit himself a couple of times, but he had a plan set in motion and he wasn’t going to be easily deterred.  

The clock was ticking, and Bucky had to get to you, there was no time to waste.

Steve’s fault really because Bucky has full confidence you wouldn’t have picked somewhere like this to get married. A scenic forest setting or even a shotgun wedding much more your style - it gives him an extra push to find you. 

“You really doing this?” 

The voice of his old friend Sam stops Bucky in his tracks as he turns around and releases the door knob he was about to turn. It also doesn’t slip his mind that Sam is stationed outside of a specific door. No doubt another order of Steve. 

At least the search for you is over.

“Never been more sure about anything in my life, Sam.” And he hasn’t. Call him selfish, but he has to speak to you one last time to tell you how he feels. For you to see that he can’t let you go so easily. 

“And you love her?” Sam may be Steve’s friend as well as Bucky’s, however, the two of them have always gotten each other. Sam knew Bucky wouldn’t go to all this trouble for some random girl. 

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to answer his question. “More than you could ever know.” 

The crack in Sam’s steel armour, crossed arms and a wide stance becomes noticeable first by the subtle shake of his head. What he’s about to do isn’t great, but he also sees the longing in your eyes, the spark that brings you to life in the presence of Bucky. Steve doesn’t do that for you. 

“Shit.” Sam rubs a hand down his face and steps to the side. “Okay. You’ve got five minutes tops, that’s the best I can do.” And Bucky couldn’t be anymore grateful for his friend, a tip of his head to Sam to show his appreciation. 

“Five minutes is all I need.”

You’re sitting by the window when you hear the old wooden door creak open. Expecting Nat to check in with you for a final time before the big event, you don’t bother turning around.

“Don’t worry Nat, I’m good. I’ll be out in a sec.”

“You sure about that?”

Your reaction is similar to the first time you heard his deep tone after so long back at the office - head whipping round in shock to see James in a black suit with his hair pulled back. 

Why does he have to look so damn good? 

Standing up, you lift the skirt of your dress and stomp over to him. “Bucky? What the hell are you doing here?!”

He can’t even process your anger at seeing him before your wedding, stunned to silence at the beauty you radiate - you’re so beautiful it hurts.

“Holy shit, you look gorgeous.”

Affected by his response, shyness takes over you as you stutter - speechless in his presence yet again. 

“I had to see you, kisa.” The pet name reserved for you tugs at the ache already there in your heart. 

“James- Bucky, you can’t be here, I’m about to marry Steve.” 

“Don’t.”

You have an idea as to what he means, but you have to ask just to be sure, “don’t what?”

“Don’t marry him.” The way Bucky says it as if it’s so simple astounds you.

“You’ve gotta be kidd-“

He interrupts you before you can finish. “Please, just- hear me out for a second, please?” 

So you stay silent, a tiny piece of you wanting to hear what he has to say.

Bucky straightens the lapels of his jacket and prepares himself for the most important speech of his life. “In five years time, are you gonna look back and have no regrets? Can you tell me truthfully that if you marry Steve, you’re not gonna be wondering what else could’ve happened?”

Tremors start to rack through your body at his questions you don’t want to think about, too scared to really think about answers. Even so, Bucky carries on. 

“I know you love him, baby. But are you in love with him?”

You have to stop his rambling before he says something you can’t hear right now. “Buck-“

“Because I’m in love with you.” He interrupts you. “I’m so fuckin’ gone for you baby girl that I’m here begging you not to marry him.”

Tears threaten to ruin your makeup that took hours to perfect. 

“Runaway with me.”

It’s the last straw that breaks your resolve as you begin to sniffle.  

“We can go back to Romania and start over, or travel together, I don’t care as long as you’re with me.”

You finally speak, “you h-have a business to r-run, Bucky.”

“You think any of that matters to me when I can have you?”

He places his hands on your arms and rubs his palms up and down, giving you the comfort your body is screaming at you for but your mind battles against.  

“I know I left you before and I’m so fuckin’ sorry for breaking your heart. But I swear I’ll be better for you this time.”

Sliding his hands up to cup your cheeks, he leans forward and places a kiss on your cheek, so close to your mouth that you can feel his breath against your skin. Bucky puts his forehead against yours and whispers his last line that he prays will win you over. 

“I love you, kisa… take one more chance on me.”

“Ready, honey?”

As you stand at the double doors waiting to walk down the aisle, your mind races. Too overwhelmed to speak and only able to give Nat a firm nod in acceptance. 

“Let’s get this show on the road then.”

It’s hardly noticeable to you that the double doors open to reveal the altar, the aisle looking so much shorter than you hoped it to be.  

You couldn’t answer Bucky, head scrambled by his dump of love on you and his pleading for you to run away with him that you had to walk away from him. How could you just leave with the person who left you? 

But how could you live without him if you marry Steve?  

You don’t even realise you’re halfway down the aisle as you deathgrip Nat’s arm to the point of bruising - lack of expression on her face apart from a warm smile to not let anyone notice your spiraling. 

And then before you know it, you’re at the altar next to your fiancé and soon enough husband in just a couple of minutes.

The false bravado you showcase impresses yourself when you see no one is batting an eye at your downfall. You think you hear the priest begin the ceremony and go on with the usual spiel of vows and promises. Yet, It just feels like you’re underwater and you’re slowly sinking with no way to the surface. 

Somehow though, you manage to hear the subtle click of a side door towards the back, even through the jumbled mess of your mind. 

It’s like your mind actively seeks out the man who’s had a piece of your heart since you met him. James. The one who literally had you at ‘hello’. 

You remember how you felt as he caught you into a dip, the karaoke bar neon lights casting a luminescent glow over his features and those steel grey eyes breaking through your defenses.

Home.

So the cold panic that rushes over you as he sends one last tender smile your way, his crows feet sending your heart into overdrive, is instant. You don’t miss the single tear he lets escape and the bow of his head as he turns around and walks out of the church doors. 

No. 

Looking back towards Steve, you know he saw Bucky and the war going on inside your head by his forlorn expression. 

Steve. 

He deserves so much better than you. His kindness and patience with you proceeds anything you were worthy of. Them ocean blue eyes begging you not to go even after all he’s put up with. 

But they never were your blue. 

You drop his hands and back away, the rejection of his pleas hitting home as he knows what’s coming next. Sliding the sparkling engagement ring from your finger and placing it into his palm, you peck his cheek and whisper your apologies. 

“I’m so sorry, Steve.”

You hate having to do this to him. You hate that you can’t give up a crucial part of your past to be in the present with him. But he deserved someone that could love him with their entire being, not you who could only give the smallest offering. 

It was time to start being honest with yourself - starting with following your heart and going after who you really want. 

The grin on your face at your epiphany is unstoppable, as you kick off your shoes, rip off your veil and grab the skirts of your dress. 

Then, you run. 

You ignore the gasps of outrage from all the guests, you don’t see the smirk on Nat’s face and Wanda smacking Nat’s arm out of shock as you finally give in to your true desires. You just keep on running.  

The church doors burst open and you race down the steps to see Bucky ducking his head to get in his mustang and starting the smooth engine to drive off. 

Shit. 

“JAMES!” 

He doesn’t hear your cries over the rumble of his car, and you push yourself to run faster. You have to catch up to him. 

“JAMES WAIT!”

Just as Bucky puts his foot down to accelerate, he hears the passenger door to his mustang whip open and his head snaps over - only to see his beautiful angel sitting in the passenger seat staring nervously into his eyes. 

“No fuckin’ way.”

 

His breathlessness makes you giggle as you nod your head in excitement, the way his face lights up at the sight of you and that gorgeous smile on his face has your stomach fluttering. 

This is what love should feel like. 

“Fuck, you actually did it, baby.”

“Nervous were we?”

Bucky lets out a huff of breath at your jab and shakes his head with fondness, unable to believe he’s really got his girl back. 

Not wasting a minute more, he pulls you in by the back of your head and kisses you with wild abandon, his tongue teasing its way in to dance with yours. You’ve missed him more than you were willing to admit - pouring all of your yearning over the years into the kiss. He pulls back when you both run out of oxygen and stares into your eyes as if this is all a dream. Bucky has you laughing once more as he pinches the skin of his arm just to double check. 

“So, where are we going, kisa?” Bucky waits for your response as he shifts the mustang into gear, car moving forward as he gets ready to prove how much you truly mean to him.

You lean your head back on the head rest and close your eyes, mind clear for the first time in a long while as the tires turf up the gravel and speed off.

The upturn of your lips has the spark you thought was gone inside you reigniting. And you know now this is where you’re supposed to be. 

“Anywhere as long as it’s with you, James.”

A/N: if you got this far, thank you so much for reading! I really enjoyed writing this one and there’s also potential for a second part should I feel there’s enough interest - I never learn 🤣

[enemyoflactose]

I kinda want you to write Yami Bakura/ Ryou Bakura as a half British person who curses or insults people in English like Marik or Yami Yugi anytime they annoy him. He would teach people the wrong meaning behind English words like Jonouchi or Honda as well as teaching them insulting phrases to them and pretend it means something nice all while as disguised as Ryou.

What's good my guy. It's done. No Marik, Yami, or much of Honda. You get Duke. You get Ryou/Yami Bakura/Duke. That's what you get. Duke Devlin is better than all of them combined. Duke 🛐

CW: I didn't know what kind of insults you wanted in this fic, so Ryou says shit like "Faggot" and "Retard". Which is hilarious to me for some reason.

I'm never writing Ryou like this again.

Ryou had gotten it from his father. That much was obvious. Everytime Ryou was allowed to go on trips with him, he’d witness his dad lie to friends and coworkers.

The lies were never anything big. Just some misinformation about the English language and about the country itself. They weren’t world shattering, just inconvenient.

“Bitch means lover”, “The english put butter on their babies as sunscreen”, “history isn’t actually taught in schools there”, and the one Ryou always says “Fucking cunt is a term of endearment”.

The lies were always said with a smile on their faces. I remember the first time Ryou had tried to tell me one of these. He was around twelve, and the disappointment on his face when I knew he was lying, is a face I’ve burnt into my memory.

It’s entertaining, sure, but I never got the point of doing this. After some time it just became so boring! Always the same lies and misinformation everytime, because everyone always asks the same questions!

“How do you say *insult* in english?”

“You say it like *complete opposite of that word*.”

“How do you say *term of endearment* in english?”

“You say it like *derogatory insult*.”

It was always the same. Everytime. Loved one, baby, girlfriend, boyfriend, darling, any term of endearment that people wanted to know, was always instead told something along the lines of cunt, bitch, shit head, twat, faggot, rake, whore, whatever other insult or slur he could not only say but think of.

It was one of the only parts of Ryou’s day that I only stuck around for because I had always hoped someone would call him out. Just to see that look of despair on his face again. His soft, round eyebrows curling up and wrinkling his forehead slightly, his cute nose scrunching up like a bunny, his plush pink lips forming a small pout, before they flatten out into a straight line, and his big blue eyes looking down at the ground.

I’ve longed to see that face again. I knew full well that his classmates that had asked him these things, found out eventually. Lots of them had stopped approaching him for answers after some time. A few still did, but even they were beginning to get suspicious. 

Ryou’s friends hadn’t yet asked him anything about the language. Yugi already knew a good bit of the language, from paying attention in that class and his grandpa was fluent in it, Anzu was already at a conversational level and didn’t feel the need to learn any from him, Honda didn’t care about learning it, and Jonouchi… had no idea that Ryou was from England.

He had become an easy target for Ryou. Now if only he ever showed any interest in learning something. My poor Ryou sometimes drove himself insane, hoping and waiting for his dumb friend to just ask him what something, anything meant in english.

It was comical.

He’s so anxious for the day that it happens, that he’s begun to deny himself the joy of lying to others. Just in case they tell Jonouchi.

This wasn’t the way I’d wanted to see Ryou’s sweet happy face become ridden with disappointment, but it was close enough. It wasn’t as satisfying as it was when I’d make him do it, it wasn’t nearly enough.

I needed to take this into my own hands.

At night, this night, I controlled his body. He didn’t care tonight. His poor brain was exhausted from being the worst friend to ever exist.

The first step was actually pretty easy. I had become close enough to a rival of Ryou for this to work. Otogi, I think his name was? He’d let me in his circle because I was like if Ryou didn’t hate his games. Any past grudges between us were forgotten by him. So he was perfect for this.

It started with a phone call. I simply told him that I wanted to pull a small, petty prank on Ryou, but needed his help. He agreed to that, but found my “prank” to be incredibly lackluster. I agreed, but said the pay off would be everything to me.

Otogi’s job was easy, ask Ryou how to insult someone in english, get suspicious, then look up the answer in front of him. Since tomorrow was Sunday, and the two were planning on meeting up anyway for another dick measuring contest, this would be remarkably easy to pull off.

The next day, at about 11:42, Ryou and Otogi were at The Black Clown in one of the private game rooms. They weren’t playing anything yet, just having a heated debate on which game they should test first. 

Then, Otogi said the question, “y’know ryou, I’ve actually always wanted to know what ‘gamer’ was in english.”

Ryou thought for a second, then smiled widely, “No problem! It’s retard.”

My darling host, please I’m begging you to learn new slurs and swears.

Otogi made a face, “Really? That doesn’t sound right, could’ve sworn you’ve said that that meant something else… I should check.”

As Otogi pulled his phone out, Ryou’s face twisted in panic.

“No! No, that’s not necessary! Just trust me Ryuji!” Ryou grabbed onto his arm and tried to take his phone away. 

“Not with you acting like that! And get off me! You’re too close!” He tried to move out of my host's grip, but Ryou held tight, switching from his arms to his waist.

“Just trust me! I’d never lie to you!”

“Then why are you trying to keep me from looking it up?”

Ryou didn’t answer, he just kept trying to grab the phone. Funny as this was to watch, I was getting a bit impatient, so I took control of Ryou’s arms and locked him in place so Otogi could proceed with the plan.

“Ryou, why’d you lie about this?” Otogi showed Ryou the screen. He’d translated the word to its correct term. 

Ryou avoided looking at the screen. Just like the first time I’ve seen make that face, his eyebrows were scrunched up, his eyes were looking everywhere except for Otogi, and his lips started out in a pout then shifted to a straight line.

That’s the face I wanted!

I gave him his arms back, and immediately he buried his face in Otogi’s stomach.

“Is just funny…” he answered. 

Otogi’s face was blank, and he pet Ryou’s head. It couldn’t have been that hard to understand Ryou’s not at all funny habit. 

“The other you is so, so fucking weird…”

[shyestofhearts]

Hi Shy~

Sooo, I have this headcanon that Damian is like this wonderful child prodigy genius. Like, super smart. So smart, that when Bruce tries to enroll him in Gotham academy, they tell him that Damian has tests for college level. Which, Damian just rolls his eyes at, because duh. After discussing it with professionals and yada yada, Damian gets enrolled into college. He’s like, twelve-ish. He is STILL bored in class, and knows most of the information they are trying to teach. His advisor is so sweet and invested into Damian though. And observant. After noticing Damian lack of enthusiasm, he asks Damian what the problem. Nothing interests him, none of his classes.this advisor is an old timer, in my opinion, and has seen so many kids pushed to do things they never wanted to do, and decides he can’t let that happen with Damian. So the Advisor pulls out every department, every major, and goes through it with Damian. After a few hours, because it takes a while to convince Damian that it is alright to do anything he wants, Damian has his majors narrowed down to a few things. Art and pre-med. Damian’s advisor suggests he visit a few of the clubs on campus to really get a feel of what he wants. Thing is, even after going to the students’ art club gallery and one of the pre-med club meetings, neither really speak to him. It’s a Saturday night, and he’s alone on campus. Damian is about to call Alfred, when a student from Damian’s organic chemistry class spots him.

“Damian!” Jace, a slightly round student with soft curly hair smiles at Damian. “Are you here for the show?”

“Show?” Damian scowls?

“Yeah, the fashion show. This year’s theme is sustainability,” Jace smiles. They one of the few people who never ogled at Damian for being a Wayne or looked down on him for his age. They are just genuinely nice, and Damian knows that.

“I didn’t know we had a fashion show,”

“Really? I swear I thought I mentioned it,” Jace says, surprised. Jace may have mentioned that, but Damian probably was zoned out during the time.��Tickets are $15, if you wanna come”

“Oh,” Damian frowns, “I used all the money I brought with me for the art gallery and lunch earlier,” He says, cursing internally for not bringing more cash with him.

“If you want to go, I’ll cover you.” Jace smiles, “Think of it as payment for help on our last exam” Damian would usually say no, but Jace is just so nice,

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! Besides,” Jace smiles, turning towards the stadium, “I have a feeling you’re going to love it”

And Damian did love it. The designs were amazing, some more haute couture while others were casual, and each designer explained how their designs involved sustainability. Some were statement pieces, designed to address political issues, others were just to demonstrate that sustainability could still be cute, and while others highlighted affordability and sustainability.

Damian wanted to do this. Running through his head were endless possibilities. Perhaps he can enlist the help of Poison Ivy to create a vegan leather that was also bullet resistant, or…

The next Monday he is waiting for his advisor at 7 in the morning, because he spent the rest of the weekend coming up with ideas, sketches, creating a portfolio, and practicing hypothetical arguments as to why Damian should go into fashion. At 7:15 his advisor sees him, and can tell by the light in Damian’s eyes, determination on his face, and the way he’s clutching his sketchbook, Damian has found it.

“I want into the fashion program!” Damian all but bursts, unconsciously on his tippy toes in excitement.

“Okay,” His advisor smiles, ushering him into his office. “Let’s make it happen”

“Just like that?” Damian asks, eyes wide, voice surprisingly small. His advisor smiles at him kindly.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen.”

It takes a bit before Damian can actually get into the program, he has to work on some prerequisites, and also create a better portfolio with samples, but Damian is determined. By the end of the school year, he has been accepted.

Damian doesn’t tell his family, not in the beginning. He actually doesn’t want to tell his friends either, unsure of how they’d react. He is still insecure, and just entering his teen years. He worries about what any or everyone will say. Eventually, though he tells Jon and Colin, swearing them to secrecy. They both are excited for him, asking if he’d design their costumes for them. Damian blushes but says,

“Tt, like you can afford me”

He eventually tells Alfred as well, because he needs help learning how to use a sewing machine, and fast. Sure, he can stitch someone up flawlessly, but sewing machines weren’t part of the League’s lessons. Alfred is in charge of the one at the Manor, so it only makes sense to ask him. Even so, Damian is reluctant. When he does finally ask, he nearly gives himself an attack, worrying about being scolded for not using his “full potential”. Alfred simply squeezes Damian’s shoulder, and agrees with a kind smile. The young Master finally seemed passionate about something besides vigilante work and violence. Alfred would do everything in his power to foster that.

“Just,” Damian looks down, hands clenching into fists at his side, “Do not tell the others. I would prefer this between us,” He looks at Alfred, unsuccessfully trying to hide the vulnerability in his wide emerald eyes. Alfred agrees, for now. On the conditions that Damian would have to tell his father and siblings himself, and not to far in the future either.

Damian impresses everyone with his designs, and people learn he is actually quite adorable when he’s doing something he enjoys. His classmates and professors encourage him to join the fall fashion show, which is covering “multiculturalism and the media”. Damian hesitantly agrees, though he has been making designs since the theme was announced. His room is full of crumbled paper on his floor, designs he deigned not good enough. Many of his designs are heavily influenced by his Arab culture, but he also has some Chinese-influenced designs as well. His statement piece is the hardest to get right. It involves a hijab and beautiful colors, but he just can’t get the right patter. Ripping another page and crumpling it,Damian is too concentrated to realized Tim and Dick have been creeping into his room.

“What’s this Dames?” Dick asks, startling Damian, as he looks at some of the rejected designs. Panic makes Damian defensive as he yells at them to get out, frustration fueling the dread of his family seeing such unsatisfactory work. Tim flinches, shocked by the emotion coming off of Damian, rushing out with a few crumpled papers he snuck from the floor. Damian is literally trying to shove Dick out the door. Dick turns around, because he can hear the panic in his little brother’s voice. In his Robin’ voice. “Damian,” he says softly, easily deflecting Damian. “It’s okay,” he says, wrapping his arms around Damian, reversing the situation. “What’s wrong, why are you reacting like this?” After a few minutes of struggling, Damian gives up. Slowly,he explains the situation, how he’s in the fashion program and the fashion show coming up, all the pressure to do well, the frustration of not having his statement piece yet. Dick listens, his hold turning into a hug. “From what I’ve seen,” Dick says softly, “these are all wonderful designs,Dami. Whatever you end up making will look amazing, if they look anything like your sketches.”

“It’s not enough!” Damian complains, eyes burning, but he refuses to cry. “You don’t understand!” He says, frustrated.

“Then explain it to me, why is this so important?”

“Because it is about me!” Damian’s voice cracks ask he turns away rosiness his eyes harshly. “When I was introduced to the public, as “Bruce Wayne’s biological son”, do you not remember how the newspapers reacted? They didn’t know me, or my mother, but because—because of my skin, the country I was born, I was mistrusted. Scorned. Yeah, maybe I’ve killed people, but that isn’t because of my skin color or my culture or the language I speak. I have this opportunity to speak out against that!” Damian turns to look at Dick, “I’ve tried to become better, to do better. It’s hard and unfair that none of that matters, because guests are invited to galas hosted in the house that I live in, only to make snide racist comments about “nukes” or the desert or bombs whenever Father and you all aren’t around me. How can I be better, when I’m not given the chance because people can’t see past my skin?” Dick wraps Damian into a tight hug, as wetness drips down Damian’s cheeks. “I’ve been here nearly four years—and it still happens” Damian whispers.

“Why didn’t you say anything Dami?”

“What could I say?” Damian whispers back,

“Bruce—”

“Invites these people because they are important to Wayne Enterprise.” He scoffs. “What could you do, especially if I have no proof?”

“Believe me, Damian,” Dick says seriously, pulling back to look into Damian’s eyes. “Bruce won’t invite anyone who’s racist or derogatory towards his children, back to a gala, let alone do business with him again.” He smiles a hard somewhat vicious smile. “I know because when I was first adopted, he did that for me” Damian’s eyes widen. “And if Bruce can’t defend you, you can bet your brothers will,” Damian looks unsure, but nods. “But I get it now. You’ve always used art to vent and express yourself. This design is something that would allow you to address what the media has done to and said about you.”

“It’s been,” Damian shrugs, looking down, “therapeutic. In a way I never imagined it would be.”

“Well, I think, whatever you end up designing will be amazing,” Dick smiles, and Damian looks up at the sincerity, giving his own smile smile in response. “And I expect an invitation to the fashion show!” He chuckles, causing Damian to blush. “And I bet the whole family would want to come as well,” Damian blushes, looking away once more.

“Tickets are $15 each, and available online,” Damian replies, making Dick belly laugh. “You can invite the others, if you’d like” Damian mumbles.

“Hmm,how ‘bout I invite the siblings while you invite your dad,” Damian grumbles, but agrees. “Great! Now, take a break. One night not designing won’t hurt you.” Dick says, wrapping his arm around Damian’s shoulder. ‘Might do you some good, in fact.”

Things get better after that, because after his talk with Dick, Damian gets an idea for his design. Ziba, a Persian student Damian met in his Literature class, agreed to be his model for his statement piece. She wore her hijab proudly, a solid black color, which helped with the down-to-business look the rest of the outfit screamed. Ziba’s makeup was beautiful, as Damian was putting the last touches on her. They both were quiet, nervous excitement pulsing through them both. Ziba had on white trousers that flared out a bit, to give an almost flowy feel, with black basic vegan leather square pointed toe mule flat accented by a silver buckle. Damian had made the top a cross between a tunic, a blazer, and a cape. It is white, and goes over a plain solid black turtleneck. Printed on both the buttoned blazer tunic top and the trousers are past racist articles written about Damian. In red graffiti styled letters sprayed across the news paper articles are phrases like “Lies” “Warped Perception” “Western POV” “Racist” “I was only 10”. The red paint matches the red lipstick Ziba is wearing.

Damian was nervous with his family in the audience, everyone including Alfred was there. Apparently Superman and Superboy were in attendance too, as civilians of course. Colin was there too. Damian had told his father about the fashion show, and was surprised to see how supportive he was about it. Of course that may have been the shock, as Damian had told him that morning before leaving for school. Bruce blinked, stood up and hugged Damian, before saying he couldn’t wait for the show.

Damian’s set is the last, ask the show is in alphabetical order according to last names. When it’s his turn, all of his model’s line up, and Damian is running around making sure everything is perfect. He hears the speaker introduce his collection, inviting Damian to join him on stage. Damian rushes out, brown cheeks turn red. Together they introduce all seven outfits of the collection one by one, as Damian describes his designs, the material, and the inspiration behind each one. When it get’s to Ziba’s turn, Damian’s nearly choked up. He manages to discuss this piece and it’s significance to him. At the end, Damian received a standing ovation from nearly everyone. Looking over at his family, he has to duck from hiding his flamed cheeks. All his siblings were cheering for him, while Bruce and Dick dab their eyes. Alfred has a proud look on his face, and Damian couldn’t have been happier.

He ends up getting second place, but also his own work room at the Manor. Damian begins selling his work after getting it patented (Tim demanded it), and is surprised when a number of orders are for the galas around Gotham. Dick told Bruce and the others about all the things Damian has been hearing at Galas, and they are justifiably angry. Duke begins chants of “Eat the Rich” every time he hears someone says something problematic about Damian, and that because Tim’s signal on who to take down next.

Damian’s designs become more widely popular as his family starts wearing them, as they love talking about it and how he uses sustainable methods and materials. This earns him big named clients, who start wearing Damian’s designs on the Red Carpet and premiers . Damian also likes to do work for charity, often donating dresses to high schoolers who cannot afford prom dresses or making clothes out of extra material to donate to shelters so people have clothes for job interviews and such.

(He also makes his pets clothes when he’s bored, so it’s normal to see Titus wearing a doggy hoodie with slits in it for his ears)

ANYWAYS, this is my headcanon lol

What do think about it?

—🧵🪡

Headcanon?? Bestie this a whole ass au!

As for my thoughts-

💳 💥💥 💳 💥💥💥 💳 💥💥💥💥

[batarangsoundsdumb]

yet another ask dump yeehaw!

do you ever think that jay's mother was one of those bitch who believes in horoscope and tarots and things like that and so he believes in these things too, or it is just me projecting?

sheila haywood took one look at jason's birthchart said 'nah this won't do' and left.

Wait, but what happens when the justice league does find out that Bruce and John fucked? Lmao it sounds like it would be hilarious, really, I don’t want a justice league that doesn’t make fun of Bruce for like his entire life.

barry runs out of the meeting immediately and comes back with an entire sti testing kit. diana fully seriously wants bruce to get tested while bruce is sitting there like 'come on guys, you're being ridiculous, i already checked twice'

john is standing in the corner clearly offended while bruce is just like 'don't even say anything, constantine, you fucked a shark'

tim was like "i'm drake now" and everyone was like ahh so your fursona is a dragon and tim was like pffffft no. ducks.

on the one hand, good for him, on the other hand, bro, how do you still have a secret identity when your superhero name is just your last name,,,,

Your fic on ao3 was GOLD PLEASE CONTINUE I loved Dinah's cameo btw ( @purple-vixen

thanks so much! i already continued but this ask is like 10 years old because i'm a notorious procrastinator (also yes! i love dinah so much aahhhhhhhhhhhh)

I've FINALLY been watching the Batman animated series and I gotta say, after watching "the gray ghost" I am CONVINCED that Batman is a closeted super hero geek who was 100% freaking out the first time he met Superman and is just REALLY good at hiding it.

bruce internally: holy fuck holy shit holy fuck holy shit holy fuck holy shit holy fuck holy shit holy fuck holy shit bruce externally: get out of my city, alien

AHHH ur multimedia fic is the only thing that brings me happiness anymore continue it forever pls

uhh thanks, but can't continue it forever because my attention span is that of a toddler on crack on a good day and i can't function without at least 10 things going on at the same time and music in the background

Oi, so I'm getting into dc and watching batman the animated series, and they use fruitcake a lot. Which I thought was very funny and wanted to share w you - Denilla

wait like fruitcake (food) or fruitcake (derogatory) ?

young justice 🤝 teen titans slut shaming batman

tim drake and dick grayson to their respective teams 'you guys stop it, that's my dad'

Happyhoganon: If an eighty year old Batman had fought crime in Gotham City for decades and the only threats to him and the city lately are a wheel chair bounded Penguin, your usual purse snatchers and a few con artists popping up every now and then, how well could the Dark Knight do in maintaining the peace in Gotham despite him being just somewhat fit to do that as an elderly man (which says A LOT given how old he is)

uhh he'll probably do what my grandpa does and that is ruthlessly prank them until they die of shame.

in the death in the family interactive movie there's an ending where Jason is tasked with raising Damian and he decides he's gonna raise Damian to take down the waynes and al ghuls which uh maybe isn't great BUT the idea of Jason raising Damian... PRICELESS. CHAOTIC. I just need more people to know about this :)

yes i saw that wow holy shit but jason would accidentally drop damian on his head one (1) hour in and jason just yeets him into the lazarus pit.

Headcanon: The Penguin has a really hard time fighting any of the Robins because of his avian obsession means there's always a small part of his mind that's like "Birb. Child. Protect" ( @subspacecadet )

as soon as dick becomes nightwing the penguin is like 'you know what, fuck this dude' and shoots at him.

Y'all talking about King Shark dating Constantine, let's not forget about John literally hooking up with Satan

listen there's a clear difference between monsterfucker and satanfucker in that king shark is literally a shark and satan still looks like a normal dude

Does everyone in Gotham think Batman is a teen dad?

everyone in gotham thinks batman has been around since gotham was founded, but they do think that bruce wayne is actually a teen father and dick grayson's biological dad.

why. why would you do that fancast when you know it will only hurt people

what? i loved my fancast it was really well done. i did it with good representation in mind and i really managed that with alfred pennyworth being ✨italian✨

Seeing james charles a jason gave me psychic damage how dare you i need to wash my eyes

well that's a you problem isn't it?

do you think dick grayson thirst tweets about nightwing just to annoy his family/cause problems on purpose in general?

he thinks nightwing is hot, next question.

holy jiminy cricket batman, its as cold as the good lords ass crack in here!!

i- what? this is why i don't fuck with english expressions it's way too goddamn weird

Brooooooo, your teen dad!Bruce au is soooo good. I've got brainrot.

Honestly if you ever write anymore, I'd read that shit twice. Sign me the fuck up. Good stuff, Good Stuff.

uh yeah i'm thinking about writing a fic, but i have exams coming up and i don't wanna fail because that would suck. but after i'll certainly be writing more tho

your teen dad AU is so great! bruce acting like a big brother for all of like a week before he's telling everyone about his son. what if in the AU dick meets the JL because they need to rescue him? maybe he's in trouble/kidnapped at a gala and bruce starts calling for JL. clark finds him and has to fly with dick to bring him home - that's how dick and clark meet and superman becomes dick's fave hero. he goes around the manor thinking he can fly with a red blanket draped around him like a cape.

actually- if you want a young dad! bruce fic with like that kinda stuff(just with damian) go check uhh- in for a penny by cdelphiki. it's really good and bruce is like 24/25-ish. (and dick's there!!!)

This account has solely convinced me that Tim is a trash goblin ( @hamilcat-and-magic-turtle )

because he is. that boy has slept in dumpsters on multiple occasions even if he is the son of a billionaire.

Okay but when you said victory dance I did think of the whole justice league defeating the big bad and then they all start flossing

well that's exactly what hal jordan does and that's why batman uses a gun now. no but the victory dance in my opinion is like the 'we're all in this together' dance from high school musical.

The horrors in Invincible s1 was nothing compared to the comics, I cant wait for s2

oh well okay, i mean i personally react to horror and violence by laughing awkwardly so i can't wait to be called a monster for accidentally laughing at a mass murder.

I'm currently watching Batman: The Brave and The Bold and- Bruce is just talking about Oliver like he's an old love (@nightwings-kid)

okay im going to watch that lmao that's totally and completely in character for him tho.

The invincible comic is like super gratuitous with its violence so much so I'm shocked the show was able to adapt it in a faithful way! Anyway had the show been live action it absolutely wouldn't have the same impact as it does as an animated show and I'm so glad so many people agree with me on that

also because a live action casting would've been like uhh amanda stenberg for amber, the dude- the guy from the supernatural but with a mustache for omni-man, and scarlet johanssen for debbie grayson

Debbie grayson is a milf, yes. You're welcome for the invincible propoganda, now you can questions your life. Bruce def seems like the perfect father next to Omni-man. Like they really took a rip off justice league and I was like well, now I'm attached even tho I was like hah I know who they're supposed to be. And then bam- death gore death gore gore gore sad Mark grayson just had to have daddy issues. Why does every character have daddy issues. I'm sick of the attacks

because daddy issues make a person arguably funnier, that's why i'm not even remotely funny (haha good dad flex). i liked that it was dark contextually, but not in the colouring, bc i hate when it's like 'uh yeah graphic murder and now a shot so dark you have to sit in a dark room and squint at the screen to faintly see the characters. (like dcau ugh)

About the Wayne insurance, for a moment I thought you would put the video with moans over the waves.

i mean- i could've done that, but rick rolling seemed more family friendly.

Its the first time in forever that im surpise rickrolled, i usually expect it. Congratulations (i really should know better this is tumblr)

i get rickrolled so often but i actually like the song so i dont really give a fuck

Actually, my information about Damian and John's kids is outdated because it was revealed that the old men telling the kids stories about the Supersons were actually Jon and Damian the whole time. I was blinded by my thirst for Grandpa!Bruce Wayne but I was wrong... I liked my version better, tbh (@artemisa97)

fair enough. but i'd honestly like to see damian and jon getting together, just because it's a really fun dynamic and their friendship was really cute when they were kids. (also idk maybe it would be nice to have one (1) main batfam/superfam character that's not cishet)

How am i JUST finding your blog skdskfkd you're so fucking funny and ur takes are hot

i thought u were calling me hot :( but youre not :( crime detected (but lmao thanks)

So I have depression and I swear that your memes are one of the few things that have made me laugh so thank you 💛🥺 (@katekanebadass)

aw you're welcome, and i hope you're doing okay!

The metropolis memes are so funny, I love them 💀😌

i think metropolis is also so fucking funny it deserves more attention imagine having your entire police force being upstaged by an alien from kansas and his kids

as an american i feel your complete lack of knowledge of us geography is just so sexy (platonic) ❤️

thanks so much (i also don't know any other geography, i'm not kidding, like you can tell me you're from hungary and it will just blank, there will be nothing that comes to mind)

In the DC universe they don't say "Can't have shit in Detroit" they say "Can't have shit in Gotham"

this just reminds me of that guy whose porch got stolen like the steps to his door, and i'm thinking of people living in gotham and waking up without a front door and going "can't have shit in gotham"

honestly all i know about chicago is the bean, so. what would gotham's famous sculpture be?

gigantic gargoyle statue in front of one of the police precincts because a villain thought it was a smart way to keep the police inside, but it's too heavy to move.

why tf do people go on about how batman "works alone" or how he's the "lone wolf" when he like 38290202 members in his family

bc people think it's cool that a grown man in his 30s has no friends or family instead of calling it what it is (sad)

Bruce is gotham's sugar daddy

why would say something so controversial yet so brave.

my favorite batfamily fanfictions are the ones where they use their shitty codenames, unironically, in any context

dick: gerard way are you in position, gerard way are you in position

tim: for the last fucking time, my codename is 'totally not count olaf' this week, abbafan 3000

dick: shut up my codename isn't 'abbafan 3000'

dick: it's 'abbafan number 1' and you know it

I have a feeling Tim drake is ur favourite batfamily member but okay u don't have favs if u say so ok

i mean he is, i won't deny it. but i love each and every one of the batfam just the same, i just have a weak spot for short dumbass nerds, because i'm a short dumbass nerd.

Omg i fuckin love boy meets world too fam shsjkfk

bro boy meets world was the shit!!! it was just fire and awesome and so fucking great like bro. it was so good im not even going to be accepting criticism

you know I find the whole "joker completes batman" thing a bit disgusting considering the horrendous stuff the batfamily went through because of the joker and let's not get started on the "joker has a point" thing like yeah he's this cool complex villain but he's absolutely batshit crazy

like yes! i get what you mean the joker just fucking sucks man he doesn't do shit for batman's character or the batfam he's literally just annoying as fuck. like the joker has a point' shit is so stupid. i will accept 'magneto was right' because he fucking was and i think he didn't do anything wrong, but joker? he's just like that. he's not even cool and complex he's just a weirdo with a bleach kink at this point.

ALSO YOUR RACISM POST- SO TRUE BESTIE

thanks bestie, i'm glad you agree.

in today's essay of why I think cass should become batman- I was thinking Tim would probably be the most efficient batman in many ways but I also think he wouldn't want to be batman tbh none of the batfamily members would want to be batman because they're trying to outgrow him but cass is the one who wants to represent the symbol that is batman

absofuckinglutely i will say it again and again that cass represents the batsymbol more than anyone in the batfam, in batgirl (2000) she literally didn't care about anything else than bruce's oath to not kill, she thought the batsymbol was more important than anything in gotham. she's just an excellent character because her motivation to not kill is not 'i'm scared i can't come back from it' or 'well my dad says no murder so i'll go along with it' but that she's killed somebody as a young child and she never wants to kill a human ever again and that's so fucking beautiful for a new batman like yes.

need more cass, duke and tim inclusion in gothamite memes

yes yes, a tall order of cass, duke and tim coming up in 1-14 business days

oldest to youngest batfam members cus I'm confused as shit

okay order of being taken in: dick, jason, tim, cass, damian, duke order of age: alfred, bruce, dick, cass, jason, tim, duke, damian (though cass and jason are around the same age general consensus is that cass is a little older)

I'm so confused Steph is a redhead?? like how was it that hard to get this right? the source material is literally right there and free

cw is jared, 19

do you receive anon hate? if so, how do you deal with it

uh no, i'm not remotely popular enough to get anon hate and i also don't say a lot of things that would attract anon hate, but i do send anon hate to @the-real-peter-parker because he forgot about the specialists from winx club

Wait how many languages do you speak??

uhh- 5 if you include latin, but that's a dead language and i'm really bad at it. but english, my native language, german, and french also, tho german and french not fluently.

You can mix aguaepanela with aguardiente 😈 and is tasty

okay but now i'm curious if the liquor deserves the 😈 emoji or if that's a you problem. but i googled it and it looks like something you'd take one sip of and then not remember the rest of your evening.

[13uswntimagines]

I Don’t Want You to be a Rebound (Lindsey Horan x Reader)

Request: can i request a lindsey horan imagine where she helps reader get over breakup with christen

Pt. 2

So this turned out a little angsty, and a little cute. Special thanks to my bestest pal literalhedgehog who helped me pare this down from 6000 words to a cohesive 1500. Let me know what you think,  or other things that you would like to see, or if you just want to say hi.

You weren’t typically an emotional person. You weren’t one to get hammered and go knocking on doors in the middle of the night. And you weren’t even supposed to be in Portland, as far as Lindsey knew. Yet here you were, standing at her door at 3AM unable to stop the tears from streaming down your face. 

“Y/n, what’s wrong? What happened?” She asked you, grabbing your hand and pulling you inside her apartment. Your mouth opened and closed  a few times, your eyes staring emptily at the wall behind her.

 She waited for a few seconds, taking in your dress pants and button down shirt. Her eyebrows furrowing as you mouth continued it’s fishlike movements. It would have been funny under any other circumstances, but right now it was just another indicator that something was wrong. Very wrong.

She took a deep breath and led you over to her couch, forcing you to sit down. 

“Hey, space cadet,” She said, snapping a finger in front of your face, bringing you out of your stupor. The second your watery Y/E/C orbs met her blue ones, another wave of tears hit you. She did the only thing she could, and wrapped you up in her arms. 

“Chris” Is the only word she could make out as you sob into her neck, and she froze at the mention of your girlfriend. 

“Do you need me to call her? Is she alright?” She asked, biting her lip and wondering if she really wanted the answer. If you were this distraught , then something big had happened. She could only hope that your friends weren’t seriously injured - or worse. Your breathing hitched and a slew of unintelligible words were whimpered into her neck at the mention of your girlfriend. 

“Babe, I can’t understand you,” Lindsey murmured, using her hands to coax you out of your hiding spot. 

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself enough to explain the scene that you had walked into. To explain the most heartbreaking thing that you had ever experienced. 

“Why are you in Portland,” Lindsey prompted when she realized that to get any information out of you, she was going to have to actually ask the hard questions.  

“I was going to surprise Tobin and Christen,” you said with a bitter laugh. You had surprised them alright. 

“Are either of them hurt?” She pressed, and you shook your head. She let out a breath that she didn’t even know she was holding. “Good. So what happened?” She asked, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. 

“She,- They,” You paused as if trying to find the words to explain what they had done. You shook your head in an attempt to get the image of your best friend and girlfriend (ex-girlfriend?) in bed together out of your head. 

“She cheated on me,” You finally got out, and Lindsey gasped.

“I’ll fucking kill her, and whoever the fuck she did it with,” She growled, and you collapsed back into her hold. You had met Lindsey when you and Tobin had gone to play for PSG, and the two of you had hit it off right away. She was your absolute best friend, besides Tobin. The only reason that you hadn’t made a move on the slightly younger girl was that you were already in a committed relationship with Christen at that point. 

“You can’t do anything Linds” You mumbled, letting out a watery chuckle. 

“Like hell I can’t. Who’s the bitch that she did it with?” She grumbled back. You could feel her fists clenching behind your back. She would go to war for you if she had to. You were her best friend, though you knew her feelings were somewhat more than friendly at times. Right now you focused on the friendship -- romantic relationships haven’t worked out recently. But then, neither had the friendships.

“Tobin.” The barely audible word left your lips. Lindsey froze.

“What?” She asked, praying that she had heard you wrong. 

“It was Tobin,” You said, your voice hoarse with emotion. “She cheated on me, with Tobin,”

“As in your childhood best friend Tobin?” Lindsey clarified, taking a step back to look you in the eyes. “That Tobin?”.You sent her a curt nod, resisting the urge to roll your eyes (how many Tobins did the two of you know?). “That’s so Fucked up,” She said breathlessly, her mind whirling with questions. 

“She said that I, I wasn’t giving her what she needed anymore. I wasn’t attentive enough, or, or caring enough, or…” You stuttered, Christen’s words streaming from your mouth like lava from a volcano. Burning a path through your heart as they left you. Leaving the bitter taste of ash and unmendable bridges in their wake. 

“No, wait. Slow down babe,” Lindsey tried to interrupt, pulling you back into the bone crushing hug. But the words kept coming. An unstoppable force, like a river coursing downhill to become a waterfall. 

“She said that it had always been Tobin. That she had always loved Tobin.  That I was just a distraction. A toy that kept her occupied. A worthless,” you continued, dissolving into tears by the end, unable to voice the word, the terrible derogatory term, that described exactly what you felt like. The word that your father had called you when he kicked you out of his house at 14 after catching you kissing a girl. 

“Stop it. You listen to me right now, Y/n L/n.” Lindsey’s strong voice cut through your inner dispare, and you peeled out of your hiding place in her neck to again make eye contact with her. “You are smart, and caring and funny and loyal and, and everything that a girl could want in a partner. You’re not worthless or a toy. I want you to know that I’m going to fucking kill them both the next time I see them…” With each word her lips grew closer to your own, like magnets unable to resist the pull of the other. “You are a beautiful treasure and one day you’ll find someone who will show you how incredible you are.” You could feel her breaths on your lips, and without a thought you tilted your head and caught her in a kiss. 

Her lips responded instantly, moving in harmony with your own. You felt her tongue probe your mouth, asking for permission to take this further, and you pulled back with a gasp. 

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” You rushed out, your cheeks turning red. Lindsey shook her head. 

“Y/n, it’s ok. We’re ok,” She said softly, running a comforting hand down your cheek. Her hand felt slightly cold against the flush of your cheeks. It felt perfect. You sighed. Lindsey smiled at you, though it took some effort to make it reach her eyes. She had dreamed of this moment for god knows how long. It was everything she had imagined it would be, and somehow that made this worse. She wanted you for more than just a kiss, but it wasn’t fair to ask that of you right now. 

“You don’t hate me?” You asked, your voice hushed. You couldn’t handle losing her too, not all of them in one night. 

“No, you’re hurting.  I understand that.” She said back. She placed a quick sweet kiss on your forehead, smoothing back your hair where it had fallen in front of your eyes. She would wait for forever if she needed too. She cracked a smile when you couldn’t hold back a dinosaur yawn,  “I think it’s time for bed.” You leaned into her. 

“I don’t want you to be a rebound,” You mumbled into her neck. You had always cared for her, but if you were going to do this, then you didn’t want it to be in reaction to a breakup. She nodded and kissed your cheek. 

“Right, so why don’t you go get netflix queued up while I go stick some cookie dough in the toast oven. You remember my computer password right?” She asked.

You snorted. “How could I forget? Messifan13 is a terrible password-”

“Try and change it again and see what happens.” Lindsey gave you a final squeeze and released you from your hug to push you lightly down the hall. 

“That was Sonnetts idea, not mine,” You called in a sing-songy voice over your shoulder. 

“Yeah sure it was,” her voice floated sarcastically from the kitchen. “And you better not put on any of your reality tv bullshit. I want to see something animated on that screen when I come back, or so help me I will tell Dawn about the pizza you had last week.”

“Hey, tomatoes are a vegetable, so it wasn’t technically cheating,” you said, already loading the next episode of Avatar.

“Bitch, they’re a berry.”

Things weren’t perfect, and you still had some major healing to do, but you could do it with Lindsey by your side.

[shaynawrites23]

For You

Pairing: 1940s! Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 1055

Prompts: “Wait- you did what to who?”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” “I’d do anything for you.”

Written for @versdan’s writing challenge as well as @blisfvll’s! I hope you don’t mind me combining the prompts!

Moodboard is by the wonderful @summer-writes! She’s also a talented writer, so go check her blog out!

"(Y/N), come help me with dinner!"

You groaned, tossing the dress you were going to try on onto your bed and matching down the stairs to the kitchen.

"Ma," you whined, "I have a date, remember?"

Your mother was bustling around the kitchen, multiple pots bubbling on the stove. You grudgingly picked up a knife and started chopping up the remaining vegetables.

"Oh, I know, honey. You're going out with that Barnes boy, right?"

She spun around to look at you and you nodded in confirmation.

"Does he treat you well?"

"Extremely. Ma, he's the sweetest boy you'd ever meet." A lovesick smile crossed your face as thoughts of your handsome wooer filled your mind.

"Well, in that case, I think your father and I would like to meet him. Why don't you invite him over for dinner sometime?"

"Sure." You tossed the chopped vegetables into the soup, wiping your hands on your apron. "Anything else you want me to do?"

"No, no." Your mother waved a flippant hand in your direction. "Go get ready for your date. And be home by 10!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stood in front of the mirror, fiddling with your hairpin. You weren't exactly nervous, you just had butterflies doing stunts in your stomach.

The clock struck six thirty, and you jumped at the loud clanging. Six thirty. He was late, and Bucky was never late.

You tentatively opened the door, stepping out into the cool evening air. There was no sign of him on any side of the street. Letting out a shaky breath, you leaned against the doorframe, perfectly prepared to wait for him, however long it might take.

Okay, maybe not that long. It had been half an hour, and he had yet to show up. Huffing, you pushed yourself off of the doorframe with your heel, scanning the street one more time.

Houses, trees, cars, silhouette, nope, guess you could go back in- wait, silhouette?

You whipped back around, squinting in the dimming light in an attempt to discern any identifying features. It was a tall man, limping, and... well, that's all you could see. You considered going up to him, but decided against it, choosing to stay in the safety of your front porch.

He approached slowly, limping up your driveway. Now you could see who it was, and you practically flew toward him.

"Bucky!" Your hands flew to his face, examining the bruises and cuts. "Oh my god, what happened to you?"

He winced as your thumb brushed over a particularly dark spot on his cheekbone and you immediately apologized, though your fingers continued tracing his features to asses the extent of his injuries.

"I beat up Jimmy Carter," he mumbled, and as he spoke he revealed bloodstained teeth.

"Why? When? What happened? And- no, come in first, explain later." You grabbed his wrist, leading him up to your room. He followed willingly; there was no way you'd be capable of forcing a man of his stature to come against his will.

Thankfully your parents didn't catch you smuggling Bucky in; that was the last way you wanted them to meet. You pushed him down to sit on your bed by his broad shoulders, rummaging around in the bathroom for your family's first aid kit and fetching an ice pack from the kitchen.

"Here. Hold this." You pressed the ice pack to his black eye, not relenting even as he flinched away from the cold and waiting until he held it there himself. "So, what happened?"

"Nothing," he mumbled as you rubbed an alcohol-soaked cloth over his cuts- minor injuries, but still, you hated seeing him hurt. You raised a questioning eyebrow and he sighed. "He insulted Steve, and proceeded to make derogatory comments about you. Steve can take it, he's used to it, but I couldn't let him talk about you like that."

"So- wait, you did what to who?"

He chuckled, but his eyes still avoided yours. "I beat up Jimmy Carter because he was making offensive remarks about you."

"You shouldn't have done that," you murmured, holding a second ice pack to the forming bruise on his forehead.

"I'd do anything for you."

Bucky's eyes met yours, electric blue in the dim lighting, and you felt the breath knocked out of you. He looked so vulnerable, yet at the same time so determined to protect you at any and all costs, and it made you want to wrap him in a blanket, hold the precious boy tight and never let anyone hurt him again.

"Bucky..." you breathed, placing a hand on his jaw and tilting his head to face you.

"(Y/N), I don't care if you don't feel the same way, I just need to tell you this." His gaze was so intense, you were sure you'd either faint or kiss him if he kept looking at you that way.

"I love you. Doll, I love you so much, my heart feels like it'll burst every time I even think of you. Please, look at me. I swear I'm telling the truth here." He caught your wrist as you attempted to turn away to hide your blush, his touch warm and gentle.

"Sweetheart, you're my stars, my moon, my world," he continued. "I'd lay my heart at your feet, if only to receive another look from you. I'd give my life for yours, no matter where, no matter when. Hell, I'd pick the stars out of the sky if you asked me to. I know this is sudden and a lot to process, but I love you, (Y/N), with all my heart and soul."

You pressed your lips to his, kissing him with all the fiery passion you could muster. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him as if he wanted to become one and the same person with you. Your hands roamed across his back, trying to grasp onto him but settling on his shoulders instead.

"I love you too," you whispered against his lips.

Okay so I really don’t know what’s with me and all these heartfelt confessions lately but I hope you love reading them as much as I love writing them!

[fandomqueen74]

Princess

“Whatever, princess” “Stop calling me that” “Make me”

Reader x Jason Todd

A/N: this wasn’t requested, but I just haven’t written for Jason in a long time and honestly I just love writing for him. Its because I wrote about Dick earlier this that I was craving Jason, so enjoy!

“Hey dad” (Y/n) Wayne smiled, kissing her fathers cheek as she scanned the crowd around them. A few cameras flashed, but she somehow managed to not roll her eyes at them. 

“You look lovely tonight (y/n), new dress?” Bruce smiled warmly, twirling me as a few more cameras flashed. Tim and Dick needed a distraction for the night and her dad had stressed how important it was that the Annual Wayne Foundation Gala was on the front page of every Gotham magazine and newspaper tomorrow morning. 

“Always” Batman and the batfamily had been in the papers too much in the past month and Gordon was begging to threaten investigating batman if they didn’t stop making such a mess. As much as he appreciated their work he still had to look like a good cop.

“Batman come in, we have a problem” Dick’s voice came over the coms and caused both Bruce and (y/n) to go rigid for a moment. Bruce was the first one to recover as Jason’s hand landed on his shoulder reminding the pair they weren’t alone in the batcave and couldn’t just throw on their suits to help.

“I’ll entertain the princess Bruce, go” Jason nodded towards (y/n) a frown pressing to (y/n)’s lips as she glared at Jason for the nickname. 

“Thank you Jason, keep the press guessing (y/n)” Bruce brushed past the pair, moving quickly through the crowd, but not so much that he drew attention. A smile returned to (y/n)’s lips as she looked over the crowd again. Many people smiled back at her, some giving a nod or a wave, and (y/n) watched as their attention would then turn to Jay and they would quickly look away. This continued for several minutes until (y/n) sighed, pulling a champagne fluke off a waiter’s tray.

“You know, people might actually come talk to us if you stopped glaring at everyone” (Y/n) examined Jason from next to him, leaning lightly against the wall. He cleaned up well and would only come to a few galas because he insisted the majority were beyond pointless for him since he was technically dead.

“Now why would I want to talk with stuffy strangers princess?” Jason smirked, turning to face (Y/n) and leaning against the wall with one shoulder. His gaze made (y/n)’s skin felt like it was on fire. She shifted slightly before chugging her drink and setting it on another passing waiters tray. She waited a second more before stepping away from the wall and towards the crowd.

“Woah, woah, woah where are you going?” Jason’s hand wrapped lightly, but firmly around (y/n)’s bicep, stopping her in her tracks. 

“To dance, its my job to dazzle the crowd remember?” (Y/n) spun around, annoyed and blowing a stray hair out of her face. 

“Who were you going to go dance with? You can’t exactly dance by yourself” Jason raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms in front of his chest, both of them no longer caring about the crowd.

“The new senator, I talked with him at an art gala a few weeks ago, he’s easy on the eyes” (Y/n) smiled, turning back to the crowd and sending a small wave to the senator himself just to prove her point.

“Yeah no, that’s not happening” Jason scoffed, once again grabbing (y/n)’s arm and now practically dragging (y/n) to the middle of the dance floor now. People jumped out of their way, a few apologizing, a few cursing and others giving them dirty looks.

“Jason! What are you doing?” (Y/n) hissed doing her best not to step on anyone's feet as they moved through the crowd.

“You wanted to dance princess, we’re going to dance” Jason huffed his hand falling to the small of (y/n)’s back and his other hand wrapping around her much smaller one. He began guiding her effortless through the dance floor and the song. It was no secret that Jason was a good dancer, but right now with his hand burning through the fabric of (y/n)’s dress all she wanted to do was run away.

“Who said I wanted to dance with you” (Y/n) glared at Jason, trying to find anywhere to look but his piercing eyes but unfortunately the idiot was holding her too close and took up almost all of her vision.

“Oh you wound me” Jason mocked, a laugh low in his chest barely even audible. He leaned even closer though, whispering into (y/n)’s ear as he glared at the senator over (y/n)’s shoulder. ���but I meet your low criteria. If the only reason you were going to dance with that ass wipe was because he was easy on the eyes”

“And who said you were easy on the eyes?” (Y/n) reeled back, having to lean far away in order to glare properly as the ever smug man.

“The multitude of girls at my apartment would” Jason smirked, somehow pulling them even closer, yet still not close enough.

“Gross” (Y/n) made a face. She didn’t want that image in her mind.

“Whatever princess” Jason chuckled, (y/n) could feel his laugh due to their closeness. She hated it. She hated that stupidly innocent nick name.

“Stop calling me that” (Y/n) hissed, the name was derogatory, it was as if Jason was always calling her a little girl.

“Make me” Jason’s smirked down at (y/n) and it made her blood boil. Someone had to knock this cocky man down a peg and it might as well be her. She began to slap him, but before she could make contact Jason’s hand wrapped around her wrist.

“Careful... hate for that to be on the cover and not the touching picture of you and Bruce” Jason keep his voice low and something had changed in his eyes. His normally piercing blue eyes were much darker and it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Let go of me” (Y/n) tried pulling her wrist away from Jason, but he simply moved his hand back to the small of her back. Her arm trapped on the inside of his, but it wasn’t noticeable to anyone else.

“Are you going to try to slap me again?” Jason’s words were sharp, but there was no malice behind them. It was almost a challenge.

“Depends are you going to stop calling me princess?” (Y/n) struggled with her locked arm. It wasn’t comfortable and people were beginning to notice their compromising situation.

“I haven’t been proven otherwise, you slapping me doesn’t disprove anything” Jason let go of (Y/n)’s wrist and for a split second she considered slapping him again, but thought better of it, placing her hand on his shoulder instead.

“What would then?” Her eyes met Jason’s, they were still darker than normal, but now for some reason it almost sent a chill of excitement down her spine. 

“One story, one action, showing me you aren’t Bruce’s perfect little infuriating princess whose too innocent for Gotham therefore Gotham must become better for her” Jason’s voice was low and (y/n)’s ear and it finally clicked. This time it was her turn to drag him out of the crowd, the paparazzi be damned. They had plenty for the night and the gala would be over soon anyway.

“(Y/n), what are you doing?” Jason’s mind finally caught up to him when (y/n) pulled him into a side room, it was a small living space with a couch and a tv and a few chairs, but what really brought him to the moment was (y/n) locking the door.

“You said one action Jason. Let me show you I’m not some little princess” (Y/n) pushed Jason onto the couch, her fingers nimbly, undoing his jacket as he flopped down, all of his strength and cockiness suddenly being stripped away.

“(Y/n) you don’t have to do this, I get it” Jason’s eyes went wide as his hands now found her waist, helping her to sit in his lap, but it was clear to him he no longer had any control. In the gala (y/n) might have to play Gotham’s charming little princess, but alone, she played no one but herself.

“Do you not want me to do this?” (Y/n)’s straddled Jay’s waist, the question a formality as she began to put the years of teasing together in her mind. Between his always sarcastic remarks and burning touches it all made sense now.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, it matters that you don’t feel obligated to do this” Jason began to regret his words slightly. He had told (y/n) to prove she wasn’t innocent and so far she had done more than he had expected or imagined, and she’d barely even done anything.

“Jason has anyone told you how sexy you look in a tux...” (Y/n) smirked, her lips kissing lightly on Jay’s jaw line, just under his ear. Her fingers were working quickly to undo his tie. “When your hair is messed up...” (Y/n)’s lips kissed next to Jay’s lips. He was dead, he was so dead. “Your collar unbuttoned and the tie undone” (Y/n) planted a kiss on Jay’s Adam's apple, looking up at the man through her eyelashes.

“Fucking christ woman” Jason groaned, picking (y/n) up as she giggled slightly. As much as he wanted this to happen he still wanted it to be done right. He raced the pair of them to (y/n)’s room, her door slamming behind them.

“No Jay, I’m a fucking princess, remember that” (Y/n) fell on her bed, her hands working towards her zipper, but all Jay knew right then was that he was never forgetting tonight.

Bonus: 

The morning after the gala, every newspaper and magazine was covered with various pictures of Bruce and (Y/n) on the cover of them, all detailing the gala. The night had only had one minor hitch, but the payoff had been more than expected and that was why Bruce was in an extra cheerful mood as he knocked on his daughter’s door. 

“(Y/n) sweetheart, I brought you one of the magazines from last night, its honestly a great picture and...” Bruce trailed off. He had heard a thud and a ‘shit’ followed by someone else shushing another person as someone scrambled around the room. It took him a moment more to recognize the voices before he threw open the door to find Jason standing in his little girls room, pants barely on and all his other clothing thrown around in the room.

“Dad!” (Y/n) yelled sitting bolt right up. She had a shirt on, thank the lord.

“JASON GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW!” Bruce bellowed, storming a the man who had a boyish smirk on his face even as he climbed out (y/n)’s window. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he didn’t really care.

“I’ll call you later (y/n)” Jason winked before closing the window behind him, running to god knows where. Bruce turned to look at (y/n), ready to lecture her, but instead tossed the magazine next to her on the bed, before running out himself. (Y/n) sunk into the bed, her face red, but her attention drawn to her phone where a text had popped up on her screen from Dick.

Wanna tell me what that was about? The text read with a picture of a half naked Jason running on their roof away from (y/n)’s window.

[tblpress]

The day before James Spader won an Emmy for his portrayal of Alan Shore, the morally dubious lawyer on “The Practice,” the actor was at the Franklin D. Murphy Sculpture Garden at UCLA, admiring the statues -- especially the female forms. “Look at the beautiful curve of her back, right at the base of her spine,” he said, noticing a dancer at the top of Robert Graham’s “Dance Columns.” “It’s the most perfect curve in nature.” Then Spader felt a breeze and started ambling in the other direction. “I just want to walk into it,” he explained. “Oh, my God, that is nice.”

The sculpture garden, a favorite hideaway of Spader’s, brought out in him a charming mix of formality and earthiness. When Gaston Lachaise’s bronze powerhouse “Standing Woman” caught his eye, the memories rushed out. “My sons, when they were growing up, always enjoyed her rather ample” -- here he used a word not proper for this newspaper but that means “derriere” -- “and her rather ample breasts,” he said. The boys, Sebastian, now 15, and Ellijah, 12, would come here with their scooters. “So you come around,” Spader explained, “and lo and behold, you have that beautiful” -- that word again -- “over there. You can hardly resist scootering by and giving her a poke. She has nice calves too. She’s ample everywhere. She’s spectacular.”

James Spader, network TV star: To anyone familiar with the 44-year-old actor and his work, it sounds almost absurd. With the outre air of highbrow naughtiness and deep but slightly distracted intelligence he’s been known for since his 1989 big-screen breakthrough in “sex, lies, and videotape,” Spader could hardly have cooked up a more improbable career move. And yet starting tonight on “Boston Legal,” the new David E. Kelley show spun off from “The Practice,” TV viewers will get a weekly taste of the actor who has specialized in finding an endearing human side to wealthy school bullies, creepy cocaine dealers and sensuous sadomasochists.

Spader headed toward a section of the UCLA campus blanketed by California sycamores that he and his sons, he said, often climb and swing from. “See that?” he asked, pushing a branch down. “This is a perfect perching spot. I’d do it more aggressively, but there’s people around and it makes them nervous.”

Making people nervous is, of course, a Spader trademark.

“When we first went to the network about James, they shrieked in horror,” Kelley said. “James Spader is not a network face. They didn’t think he was the kind of persona American audiences would want to welcome into the living room on a weekly basis. But once we began to focus on him, he was the only choice. What James does so well is there’s a nucleus to this character that is humane and decent. He manages to let that nucleus shine through even when he’s committing egregious, contemptible acts. You don’t know if you like him or not, but you can’t wait to see him next.”

Kelley hired Spader to play the brilliant agitator whose dirty ways forced the firm of Young, Frutt and Berluti on “The Practice” to close its doors last year, after ABC slashed the show’s budget, forcing Kelley to fire half his cast. Spader, whose most recent television appearance had been a guest spot on “Seinfeld” in 1997, was supposed to play Alan Shore only long enough to shake things up.

“The goal in the beginning was to bring new life to the show, and the luxury we had as storytellers was that we didn’t have to protect the character for the sake of a long series run,” Kelley said. “You can only do so many things with a character that are overtly unlikable and still keep him redeeming and a character that people want to tune into and cheer for. Since we didn’t have that burden, we could swing away with him.”

The high-end firm of Crane, Poole and Schmidt might prove a better fit for Shore, who will be surrounded by other conniving legal eagles, including William Shatner as his boss, Denny Crane, and colleagues played by a cast including Rhona Mitra, Lake Bell, Monica Potter and Mark Valley. Alan Shore, Kelley promised, will “defy this law firm as he defies the conventions of regular characters on television.”

“When we watch James, there’s a lot of unknown complicated stuff in his mind, but we don’t know what that stuff is,” said Steve Shainberg, who directed Spader in “Secretary” (2002). “There’s something very unusual about him we can’t put our finger on, but that makes it more intriguing and exciting -- God help us.”

Yet for all the unpredictability that comes across on screen, Spader’s “Boston Legal” co-stars described him as meticulous, exact and particular on set.

“He’s always looking for the truth of the moment, and he gets fidgety when it’s not there,” said Shatner, who won a guest actor Emmy for his portrayal of Crane on “The Practice.” “He becomes as recalcitrant as a donkey until he can find the right way to deliver a line. He never says a word that doesn’t seem to come from the organic character. That’s because James himself is a little weird. But we love him for it.”

The Un-Brat Pack career

Two days after Spader nabbed the top acting award for a drama series, beating out television heavy hitters James Gandolfini, Martin Sheen, Kiefer Sutherland and Anthony LaPaglia, he was on the “Boston Legal” set at Raleigh Studios in Manhattan Beach. Three episodes of the show were being shot simultaneously, and he had found no time yet to contemplate his win. The Emmy, he said, was tucked away in a corner full of boxes as Spader, who recently separated from his wife, Victoria, waited to move into a new house.

“I was surprised at how quickly I lost the feeling of stunned confusion and ignorant bliss and how quickly it turned into work and pragmatism,” Spader said. “The award doesn’t mean anything to me -- and I don’t mean that in a derogatory sense. I just haven’t had time to go there yet. Even when my older son called to congratulate me, we moved rather swiftly on to the subject of an upcoming concert” -- the Pixies at the Greek Theatre -- “and the best way to score tickets, which is a much more constructive conversation for us.”

Like other actors who started taking shape in the ‘80s, Spader could easily have cultivated a Brat Pack aura. Instead, he went for a more original brand of alienation, playing seemingly WASPY characters with a devious air and an anti-WASPY erotic charge to them. The roles he took in movies such as “White Palace” (1990), “The Music of Chance” (1993), “Stargate” (1994) and “Crash” (1996) didn’t always hit big but always set him apart -- none more so than “Secretary,” in which Spader played E. Edward Grey, a lawyer who draws his self-mutilating young secretary into a joyful S&M; relationship.

“James is very formal and specific and respectful,” said Maggie Gyllenhaal, his costar. “I remember when we shot a five-page scene in which Mr. Grey asks me not to cut myself anymore, James noticed and responded to everything I did: every breath I took, every shift of my gaze, every movement of my hand. His work is very specific.”

And that, according to Camryn Manheim, who starred on “The Practice” for eight years, can be intimidating. “After you saw ‘Secretary,’ wouldn’t you be scared to go on a date with him?” Manheim said, laughing.

“I was scared of him,” she added. “He’s weird and strange and eccentric, and I mean a lot of that in the very best way. He plays all of these sexually charged characters. He looks at you too hard, like he’s got your number. But behind all of that, he’s a very simple man who is very thoughtful and insightful about the world and humanity.”

Confronted with the praise of his colleagues, Spader took a deep breath and looked skeptical. “Maybe this thing they are describing is just obsessive-compulsive. It just seems to be what the job is, to just try and get the right intention of whatever ... you’re saying. Who is to say if whether what you end up tumbling toward is the right place when you’re standing on your feet in the middle of it? I’ve had a lot of fun acting, and that’s been the only reason to continue doing it.”

Spader, who dropped out of the 11th grade to pursue acting in New York, attributes his interest in acting to the love of storytelling he inherited from his family. The son of teachers Todd and Jean Spader, the actor grew up with two sisters on the campus of Phillips Academy, a fancy Massachusetts prep school. “My father was an English teacher and he taught literature and poetry, and my parents would read aloud and my grandparents read aloud,” Spader said. “My grandfather would write stories and we would make up little plays to read and perform during the holidays. There was always a tremendous amount of humor in all the households I spent time in.”

But there were other reasons for wanting to become an actor. “I started doing theater when I started thinking of nothing but girls,” he said. “I can’t imagine that the two don’t relate. I don’t mean to be glib. In sports and in many other areas, girls and boys are separated. But in theater, you’re all mixed in together. How can it get any better than that?”

Being an actor, for Spader, has never been about celebrity. The press tent for interviews with winners at the Emmys came as a surprise and an “indignity,” he said jokingly. When someone at the Governors Ball on Emmy night remarked how rare it is that Spader has succeeded at being famous and simultaneously living a private life, the actor was incredulous.

“I don’t try to be mysterious,” Spader explained later. “I just protect my private life very carefully. I don’t go out a great deal. To see and be seen I could care less about. I don’t go to see movies at big premieres. If I go out, I go to a quiet place for a meal or I might go to listen to live music with a whole lot of people who are more interested in listening to the music than who is sitting next to them at the show.”

His new TV world

Spader may be on his way to television stardom, but he has never followed a television show from beginning to end -- the way he hopes viewers of “Boston Legal” will.

“That’s something I had no concept of,” Spader said. “Working on the show, I was experiencing the same anticipation for what was going to happen from week to week as the people who were watching it. When you do a film, you know what is going to happen to your character from start to finish. I knew very little about Alan Shore at the end of last season, and I still don’t. I like that constant shift because what I like the most about all of this is the telling of the story.”

What he likes the least is the fuss. He refused to hire a stylist for Emmy night, picking out his tuxedo and shoes himself. He did not prepare a speech. When his name was announced, Spader charmed the crowd by complimenting the women in the room: “You’ve all made wonderful choices in shoes and dresses tonight, and you all look absolutely beautiful.”

“I realized I was going to have to put together some sentences quickly and I wasn’t going to be yet another person to make a music joke,” Spader said. “It worked so well when the gentleman from ‘Arrested Development’ made the singing reference, but I knew that that couldn’t be used again, and certainly not by me. I really don’t have any idea what ... I was saying. Certainly, during the course of the four hours that I was there I had spent enough time admiring women’s shoes and dresses and how well they filled them.”

But as offhand as he may be about that trophy, it’s fitting somehow that Spader will be in the rare position of starting his new gig already having won an Emmy for the role. To his surprise as much as anyone’s, the TV gods have smiled on him. “Does anybody have any illusions about the fact that the Emmys come at the beginning of the television season? The timing seems precise to me,” he said. “And I think it’s grand.”

[elmidol]

The Pieces Falling Into Place

Three Blind Tooke Part Two Precarious Harmony

Read on AO3

Warnings: none

Three Blind Tooke

Part Two: Precarious Harmony

Chapter Thirty-One: The Pieces Falling Into Place

The mind is quite adept at processing sounds, the meaning behind what is heard. It is equally capable of dismissing noises. Blasts and TIE Fighter screams faded away as you stared directly ahead of yourself. The wall was dark, not only in color but in mood—if such surfaces could have a mood. You felt empty as you beheld it, though. It contrasted with the memories you had of Naboo, and those were what were drowning out the fight that you could not see but still hear. Mentally returning to your planet after such an absence, you marveled over the greenery. More than that, the colors of the various flowers that were growing in your backyard. You walked through the grass with bare feet. Every fourth step found you squatting or else genuflecting. You tentatively reached forward the first time to pinch the neck of a flower. It was easy to snap the neck. The blossom shot forward then plopped on the ground under the influences of gravity. For your second act of desecrating the life blooming within your backyard, you added pressure lower on the stem. It bent in half, partly connected yet dead.

Whereas in reality Kylo Ren stood to your left, here in your mind he was behind you. The helmet that had plagued your nightmares was no longer destroyed. He wore it. Not that you could see it, no, but you could hear the distorted breathing. The static-like crackling that had always complimented the electric hum of his plasma blade.

You were with your enemy, this was entirely true. That part was not fictional. The flowers you killed were the lives that you imagined were being snuffed out with each attack. Kylo Ren caused the landscape of your mental haven to warp as he walked by. The door to his quarters opened then closed. He was gone from the room, however not from your backyard. The altered breathing aided in calming you. You dug the very tip of your nail into the stalk of another flower, severing it in half. The figment-Kylo walked up to your side, his arm reaching past you and a flick of his fingers bending three flowers. He always could kill with less hesitation. More damage at a quicker rate.

The door to Kylo Ren’s quarters opened once more. You allowed yourself to be drawn fully into the present. The Force user carried in his arms a First Order uniform jacket, which was appropriate given how you suddenly felt quite cold indeed. You could see boots peeking out from underneath the material of the jacket. There was no pressure on you holding you down; he absence of it despite Ren’s return encouraged you to slip off of the bed. You swayed in place. Kylo was less interested in steadying you than he was in grabbing hold of your arms and working them into the sleeves of the jacket. As for the boots, those had been allowed to drop to the floor. You did not fight him, though you did not help him either. You were far more concerned with searching his face in an attempt to discern what he was planning.

His hands cupped along your wrists. The pressure ruffled the material of the jacket you wore, pushing it upwards to expose your wrists. Kylo Ren did not break eye contact with you. Your heart fluttered in your chest then resumed a more steady rhythm. Had the last of the Resistance been slaughtered? You could not hear any more TIEs screaming. There was a distinct absence of blaster fire. Nor were there any alarms blaring. You held your breath. There were no cheers. No sounds of celebration.

You did not look away even as you lowered yourself to the ground, much similarly to how you had in your head when killing flowers. Now, however, it was the sides of the boot that you grabbed hold of. You tugged the footwear on; the boots were half a size too large.

“Are you going to make me watch them die?” you asked. Your throat felt dry, which showed in the way that your voice cracked when you spoke. Ren rotated his wrist, his hand proffered with its palm face up. You accepted his offer to assist you to your feet; you did not trust the strength of your legs alone.

Though his lips parted, several seconds elapsed before Kylo said, “He may.” If you had touched ice, you may have been warmer. The sudden chill that invaded your body could not be kept out by the jacket you wore. You flinched, the jerking motion drawing your hand out of his grasp. “I will not bring you to the Supreme Leader.” His voice had dropped in volume, a feat in itself given that he had already been close to whispering. The knowledge that you were to be taken to General Hux was hardly any consolation. Your teeth clattered noisily together. You narrowed your eyes, head shaking from side to side as your lips formed around the syllable of no repeatedly.

You did not know what it was that Kylo Ren had planned; that he would be willing to entrust you in the care of General Hux as a means of keeping you from Snoke, though, was proof that it would change everything.

“You can stand there as your mother is killed…” You peered up into his face. Where he had moments that could pass as being tender with you, it was equally true that he was the individual who had claimed countless lives. He was dark. He was dark, your mind repeated, and yet there were occasions when he hesitated. If your memory was not false when it came to how he had forced you to violate yourself on his weapon, if that memory was true then it meant that he truly was capable of love. Kylo Ren narrowed his eyes at your words. “I don’t want to watch that, Ren. I… She brought me so much hope.”

In contrast with your history, he did not belittle you nor the general of the Resistance. You waited for it. For him to insult her. For him to speak of how your hope for so many years had been false. Kylo Ren disappointed you in this. He did not say anything derogatory in regards to his mother.

His hesitancy to admit affection for General Leia Organa did not entirely surprised you. For so long over the course of your complicated relationship with him as his prisoner and guest, you had endured the times he had verbally lashed out against what she stood for. In retrospect, he had been behaving as nothing more than a scolded child. Kylo Ren possessed a connection to Leia, a bond, that he did his damnedest to shy away from and attempt to break. The manner in which his lips drew apart and his entire body slumped, this sight reminded you that on some level he would always be Ben Solo. There was light in the greatest depths of darkness. You tore away your gaze so that you would not be blinded by this spark.

It was preferable to you to stare at the floor while he gathered himself together. This moment of sentimentality could be construed as weakness; you feared that it would cause him to fail in defeating Snoke when at last he made his move. So instead, from your limited knowledge of the Dark side, you reached for an alternative.

“When you learned that my father was dead, did it make you happy? I know hated my relationship with him. I know the memory you saw… The hot chocolate. You really did hate me.”

“I made certain you would not remember,” Kylo Ren murmured. Your gaze flicked to the toes of his boots. “A simple order. You would not recall that he was dead. You would not talk about it. I did not want to hear about your love for him.”

You bit down on the insides of your lips whilst taking a second to breathe through your emotions. Ren’s hatred of the bond you had with your father had obtained another level, at least insofar as your comprehension of it. It contrasted his connection with Han Solo while highlighting the bond he had shared—and did still maintain—with Leia Organa. The latter portion had been conveniently omitted by Snoke during your encounter. It painted Ren in a more human light.

“We kill things we love every day.” The words lingered in the subsequent silence that pervaded the room.

Here you were, standing there while Kylo Ren likely mentally toyed with the best routes of getting you to General Hux. The next connection he had with Rey, whenever it did occur, could not allow for your presence. She would be more vulnerable. Whatever truth she was facing, it would leave her susceptible to Ren. That they had similar experiences in life meant only that this personal connection would drive them towards one another, be it as enemies or new allies. They were destined to cross paths again, and there was no way around it.

You wondered how the Force worked; could Kylo sense that a connection was soon in coming? How had he known to grab the jacket and boots for you? Why had he not sought a different venue while allowing you to remain in his quarters?

Snoke, your mind supplied. Kylo Ren accused you of being weak due to sentimentality; he preyed on Rey’s compassion as well. That did not leave him immune to it. He wished to protect you. He had killed for you, you remembered. He would watch the world burn, build his collection of ashes, but he would do all that he could to keep you by his side.

“How many are going to die, Ren?”

“As many as necessary,” he replied without hesitation.

It was the same response you would have given if the tables had been turned. You could only nod in response to this, taking it as being matter-of-fact rather than hurtful. In order to see this through, you could not be among that number of the dead until you had observed the Resistance find some way to take down the First Order. Unfortunately that did mean allowing fate to play out for Kylo and Rey, to allow their positions as either enemies or allies become solidified. You would not fight again Ren as he took you to General Hux.

The pair of you walked down several corridors. His longer strides and your weakened state meant that you struggled to keep up with him. Kylo Ren eliminated much of the distance that had been between his body and yours. His arms were around you, scooping you upwards before your mind wrapped around his intentions. A puff of air escaped your lips, the closest to a sigh that you would be able to muster. It would be foolish to fight him on this. Snoke did not care whether you lived or died. To that wretched creature, you were now no more than a test for his apprentice. There would be no relying on First Order medical droids and physicians as you had in the past. You were forced to place even more trust into the man you had once devoted your entire life to killing.

There were no hints of hesitation in any of his steps. You wondered if he was able to sense General Hux in the Force, or if he had previously located the man while he had been securing the jacket and boots you now wore.

You allowed yourself to focus on how his arms felt around you. As in his personal quarters, you began to drown yourself in fantasy. The little boy, who may or may not have been real, who had attempted to kiss you now held you. If this had truly been a fairytale, he would have been Ben Solo still, and Ben would have been carrying you to a shuttle that would take you back to the Resistance. In that case, you would have adored the feeling of toned muscle supporting you. It invoked a sense of being protected, as well as stirred memories of when your bare flesh had been pressed against his body.

The lift jerked as it began to move. This motion drew you away from your budding fantasy. You lifted your eyes towards his face, and felt as though your heart would stop beating when you found that those brown orbs were already trained on you.

You averted your gaze, transferring your attention onto the ground. In your peripheral, however, you were still able to observe him. Kylo Ren did not mimic your actions. He refused to look away, which ultimately summoned a desire within you to meet his eye. Your eyelashes fluttered, a strange twitch that you could not control. As though you would cry. Your entire body had tensed, and you had subconsciously reached for him and clasped the front of his shirt.

His face began to move closer to yours, however these actions abruptly ceased as the lift stopped. You bounced in his arms as a result of the momentum. Kylo Ren straightened himself. Without taking his eyes off of you, he exited the lift. Any number of First Order personnel would have seen the way he was looking at you. He clearly did not care. The man already had them afraid of him. They would not touch you, even if it was a quick way to ensure that he was hurt on some level. Not even General Hux was so foolish as that. Indeed, Supreme Leader Snoke was the only being with enough power who could cause your death without having to face immediate repercussions. And here Kylo Ren was, protecting you from that death stroke.

A dare, the little boy in your memory had said. 

A dare to kiss you. A dare from Snoke to take you away—to try to save you. And in doing so, Kylo Ren was also damning you. The viewport in front of which General Hux was standing allowed any and all to observe the destruction of the Resistance vessels. You tore your gaze away from Ren’s at last, your pupils dilating and your throat suddenly raw as a cry of despair tore from you. A ball of fire, there one moment and gone the next, consumed the remains of a support vessel that had been blasted by one of the Supremacy’s cannons.

General Hux had returned to the flagship. You guessed that this happened shortly after all the ships had dropped out of hyperspace. The redhead looked over his shoulder and grunted upon seeing you. He then returned his attention to the Resistance fleet. You had not missed the smug grin that was on his face. The man was pleased with himself. He would be gloating the entire time you were in his presence.

Though Ren had to be aware of this, it did not stop him from setting you onto your feet and nudging you with a hand on your back towards his rival. “Tooka,” Hux murmured, ignoring the Force user. You flinched at the sound of his voice yet drew up to his side. While he grinned at thoughts of impending doom for your fellow Resistance members, you stared at the remaining ships with feelings of desperation.

If Rey could somehow convince Luke Skywalker to come to their aid…or, if somehow Rey and Kylo Ren could work together and save the Resistance—the very thought of this actually occurring caused you to sway in place. You felt a hand on your shoulder, steadying you. There was no need to look to know to whom it belonged. Hux’s touch was different than Kylo’s. Plus, you had already heard the boot steps that marked Kylo Ren’s departure; he did not enjoy seeing you at the redhead’s side.

“Things are progressing more quickly than I had anticipated.” By the way he spoke these words, you knew that this was nothing he was opposed to. With the Resistance out of the way, he would seek to destroy Snoke. Or perhaps he truly was leaving that to Kylo Ren, which is why he had agreed to having you there. “Snoke is also more displeased with Ren than I had believed. Arranging for you to die in Ren’s arms…hmm.”

You listened to him without responding. You had raised your hands and pressed them to the glass. The size of the fleet was so small. The amount of your comrades that had already fallen hit you like a blow to the stomach. You dropped to your knees and stared at the ground. You were shaking with growing rage. You wanted to tear through all the officers who were present. If only you had a weapon!

“Did he bring his guards with him when he went to Ren’s quarters?”

“Yes,” you said automatically, your voice weak. The question was important for some reason. You thought on Snoke’s physical appearance. He was damaged. Healing from injuries. In a sick way, he was quite similar to you in that respect. The Praetorian Guards were there as a failsafe. You wondered for a moment if they were the reason that Kylo Ren had not fully challenged his Master. He called Snoke wise and yet… He had killed his own father, after all. Why not destroy the surrogate when it let him down? “It’s why you can’t kill him, isn’t it? Not just his powers, but those guards.”

General Hux pinched his lips into a thin line. To confirm these suspicions aloud would be treason on his part; that was not something he would do with so many witnesses. They had to be aware of the general’s ambitions. It would explain why several of the officers looked up from their posts when you asked the question.

“Look at them fall,” the man said casually as he tilted his head in your direction. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, indicating another of the Resistance ships. This one was lagging behind the others. It had to be low on fuel, you noted as you observed it. If they so wanted, the First Order could jump ahead of the fleet and destroy it that way. That would place them in range of blasters though. Unnecessary losses. Right now they were fighting a winning battle that cost them nothing but time.

Kylo’s words from the past stabbed at your mind. He had all the time in the world to toy with you.

You remembered dancing with him. At the time, you had hated it. Yet what a gift it would have been to be dancing with him right then rather than being forced to watch the slow demise of your comrades.

In your mind’s eye, you placed the back of your hand against his and followed his lead in the first few steps of the dance. You were not on the Supremacy in your head. Anywhere but here. The Finalizer or even the recently destroyed Starkiller Base. It was just the two of you there, which allowed you to ignore any comment that came from General Hux. He was enjoying this, he liked hearing himself talk. There was music in place of his voice. Ren was not wearing that mask of his as he had in your previous fantasies. He stared at you as he had on the lift.

An officer approaching General Hux interrupted your reverie. You twisted around so that your back was against the glass and metal of the wall. They were discussing whether or not it would be prudent to send out a few vessels—TIEs or another a type of fighter—to destroy those already beginning to lag behind.

“No,” Hux drawled, grinning as he looked in your direction. “If they have any remaining allies in this galaxy, they will attempt to contact them. Let them out their own. It will expedite the complete destruction of those who would actively seek to oppose the First Order.”

“Very good, sir,” the officer said, inclining his head briefly in a nod then walking back to his post to relay this message.

“Killing me will be some personal grand finale for you, won’t it?” The grin grew wider as he laughed at you. You snarled. This alone had been an answer. He would not kill you; the man viewed you as a tool, not as a threat. You existed for his amusement. “Your arrogance will be your downfall, general.”

“Fire at the ship,” he said without taking his eyes off of you. You could not resist the urge to twist around and rise onto your knees. Your fists pounded on the glass as you screamed in rage. Another flickering ball of fire as the Supremacy destroyed one of the ships. More of your comrades dead in an instant. “Perhaps I should have requested your presence sooner. This is far more enjoyable.”

You imagined yourself, for a moment, joining Kylo Ren after he succeeded in killing Snoke. Remaining by his side, watching as he murdered this man in front of you. It was an insult to all the Resistance members who would die; their lives were worth far more than Hux’s.

Fueled by your anger and hatred, you pushed yourself onto your feet and stood with your chin held high. Another blast from a cannon tore through space. It failed to destroy the ship it hit entirely. The bolt skimmed along the surface at an angle. It was not quite out of enough fuel. General Hux grunted, another chuckle leaving him. You began to take note of the positions of all officers present. While General Hux’s blaster was encrypted to be useful only to him, the blasters of these officers would not have the same security measures put into place. It was time for you to remember your training with Ip. Back when you had set Kylo Ren in your sights despite your allies falling to the blades and blasters of others from the First Order. If you had any hope of saving at least some of the remnants of the Resistance, you had to play it smart.

Though Snoke had torn down numerous barriers that you had spent months to years forming in order to carrying out your missions, you began to repair others. It was how you had survived captivity this long. The game was not over—not for the Resistance, and not for you.

I won’t give up hope on Luke Skywalker and Rey. And them… They have to have some sort of plan. To not be running away from the First Order—they were tracked through hyperspace so they can’t just jump. 

A heaviness enveloped your chest as the next cannon shot hit home. The blossom of fire would have been beautiful if it had not signified death. General Organa would be aboard the lead ship. There were only three ships left including it. You wondered if, while he was waiting to hear from Rey, Ren was observing the slow destruction of the Resistance from another part of the ship. Perhaps that was the true reason you had not been allowed to remain with him. What reaction would he have when at last his mother was killed?

She won’t be. You clenched your hands at your sides.

Two stormtroopers arrived on either side of General Hux. You looked at them with your eyes alone, remaining rigidly in place. There were intruders aboard the ship, and they had been captured by Captain Phasma. The so-called traitor was there as well. This was one of the few things that had the ability to draw the man away from his post, to tear him apart from the sights of the Resistance being destroyed. He abandoned you as well, too caught up in his desire to see the former stormtrooper punished.

There was a part of you that wanted to follow after him, and yet you could not. Something else had caught your eye. There were so many in the galaxy able to recognize the ship that had just arrived from hyperspace. The Millennium Falcon maintained a set distance, although there was a small pod that was ejected from it. TIEs moved to meet with the smaller vessel and guide it back to the Supremacy. Its size indicated that only a single being could be inside, and there was no second pod.

What state was the galaxy in, you wondered, that Luke Skywalker had not joined Rey on this mission to save the Resistance?

You abandoned your post at the viewport. Not a one of the officers present objected to your actions as you left the area and made your way down one of the hallways. It was not as though you truly knew where you were headed. This was not like the Finalizer; the ship was larger and foreign to you. You needed the former stormtrooper to live. He was someone Rey adored, if Ren’s word were anything to go by. And Rey… You wanted to meet her when she arrived, and yet there was the thought that your presence would distract her from being able to fulfill her destiny in killing Snoke.

A larger quantity of stormtroopers were gathering together and heading in the direction of a lift. It was safe to assume that they would be present for whatever punishment was set to befall the one they viewed to be a traitor. You felt your lungs protesting your sudden burst into a sprint. They burned, however you managed to maintain enough speed to make it to the lift before it began to move. You clutched your side, enduring the stares and comments of Resistance scum from the troopers. Despite their words and disgust, they would not touch you.

You thought of Kylo Ren’s arms around you, him carrying you. Even now that embrace was proving helpful. It was what kept you alive.

I need a weapon, you thought, eyeing the blasters that the stormtrooper to your left was carrying. A weapon would arouse only more animosity from the First Order toward you. Though they would not kill you, they were not opposed to stunning you. It was not a conventional weapon that you required. Words were weapons as well.

“You’re all just numbers to them,” you said. The trooper to your right made a fist, however his arm was caught by the individual behind him. There was a hissed warning to not harm you, that Kylo Ren would not react kindly. The tension was palpable. The stormtroopers shifted in their place as the lift continued to take you all down to a lower level. “He became something more than that.”

“He betrayed everything we stand for,” a nameless stormtrooper shot back. You closed your mouth at that, your head bobbing. You could understand the sentiment. Kylo Ren had attempted countless times to seduce you into his way of thinking. To betray the Resistance entirely. “General Hux will ensure that he pays for it.”

The lift stopped. You exited, and the stormtroopers walked around you, their pace quicker. As though they did not want to miss a moment of whatever sick torture the red haired man would think up. Their shoulders hit into yours, knocking you forward. You stumbled, lost your balance, and landed on your knees. You jerked your hands off the ground in time to keep them from being stomped on. Still out of breath and feeling your muscles protesting, you pushed up onto your feet and took that first step forward—

—only to freeze as Kylo Ren rounded a corner, his hand on the back of a girl in shackles. Kylo tensed, his jaw clenching. The brown-haired girl knit her brow, her eyes on your face. There was no need for words. Kylo Ren’s reaction confirmed the identity of that girl to you, and yours to her.

“Rey,” you mouthed, the name nothing more than an exhalation of air. Your brain sorted through so many thoughts that you had a hard time keeping track.

I should tell her that her friend is in danger.

I need to let Ren take her to Snoke—what if he kills her? They might fail.

What happens when Kylo Ren succeeds?

Is she about to fall to the Dark, just as Ben Solo did? 

The girl, Rey, jerked away from Kylo Ren’s touch and walked over to you. Knowing that words did have power, you bit down on the insides of your lips to keep from saying anything. Ren recovered from his surprise, following after Rey so that she was not able to put too much distance between them. The shackles would not eliminate the fact that she was able to manipulate the Force. If given the chance, she could potentially mind trick others into removing the shackles for her. Rey did not struggle against her bindings. She simply adjusted her stance so that the two of you could more comfortably look the other in face.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said to you. Her voice was calming to you, gentle even. It was a little different than you had imagined it. She was not quite how you had imagined. There was no tinge of surrealism, which had always touched your conjured images of how she may or may not have looked. “They cannot destroy hope.”

And yet, you thought, if Snoke did kill her, he would have done just that.

Your eyes met Ren’s. Rey observed the fleeting moment between you and your—what? He was not entirely your enemy. In this, he was your ally. He would destroy Snoke, if only he could gather his resolve. You lowered your gaze to the hand that had not been set once more on Rey’s back. In it he clasped a lightsaber. Hers. She was as unarmed as you were, and she had not lost hope.

You nodded, your resolve no longer cracked. “They won’t,” you said, nodding in her direction, giving Ren a final look, and then rushing towards where you could easily guess the former First Order stormtrooper was being held.

[spoonmbina]

Come Spend a Day Walking in my Skin Recently a great tragedy, and not the first nor the last of its kind I might add, became the catalyst of a much-needed social movement across the world. George Floyd, a 46-year old African-American man, was murdered by a police officer in Minneapolis, Minnesota after he was arrested for allegedly using a counterfeit bill. The police officer, in the company of three other officers who assisted in the arrest and then stood by watching, placed George Floyd on the ground with his hands in handcuffs behind his back and then proceeded to place his knee on his neck with so much force that the man could not breath. After 8 minutes and 46 seconds George Floyd was dead. This duration of time might seem quite fleeting, but for George would have felt like an eternity. Throughout he begged and pleaded to the officer, being quoted saying “I can’t breathe”, “Please” and “Mama” with witnesses watching and filming the incident. This video has circulated through the media and protests and awareness campaigns have originated in countries all over the world with the caption “Black Lives matter” being the primary driving force. As a black man who appreciates history, I quickly noticed the trend in the fact that similar stories seem to always have to repeat themselves before constructive change comes to society. Why is it that innocent people have to die before people become aware of what is right, before people speak up and others listen? Each revolution, whether French, Russian or South African came at the cost of many lives. Such is that of racism. Four hundred years of slavery and many more of black discrimination and mistreatment seem not to have been enough to make people understand the inhumanity of racism. Many more have died for this and unfortunately many will still die yet. So, I have spent a considerable time thinking: “What is my part in this?” As a black man born in South Africa, the country that popularised racism through its Apartheid regime before the democracy that started in 1994, I have been faced with various kinds of racism in all shapes, locations and sizes. I am not an activist, and neither do I believe my voice at this current moment carries enough weight to rally a nation like the great Nelson Mandela could. Yet I have recognised that we all have a small part to play and mine is unique in the sense that my quality of life have given many people, especially my friends, the misperception that black individuals like me who are “coconuts” do not really experience racism. Well, definitely not to the extent of what we see on television at least. Because I grew up being surrounded by white, mostly Afrikaans speaking individuals, I was never allowed to express my blackness or the pain of racism. I did not have anyone to talk to about it, so I often resorted to keeping it to myself and pushing it to the side. Just imagine, you are in Grade 6 at a sleepover and everyone is playing spin the bottle, but no one wants you to play because they do not want to have to participate in a dare that might involve a kiss with a black guy. I once had a sleepover at my friend Jaco’s house and when my parents dropped me off (driving a Mercedes Benz I might add) I stood outside the gate waiting for it to open. An Afrikaner man and his wife, driving some skadonk of a car, stopped beside me and asked me what I was doing outside the gate. They then threatened me with calling the cops f I did not leave because they did not want the “likes of me” stealing in “their” neighbourhood. My first real experience with blatant racism was in Grade 4 or 5 when one of the kids, let us call him Wallace, called me a “Kaffer” at school. This is a derogatory term used for blacks by the whites in South Africa. I did not really know what the term meant at the time so being the mommy’s boy I am, I consulted my mother. She immediately looked at me in shock and had a discussion with my father. This is a man whose fury knows no end, and I often think it is a blessing that he was not born in medieval times when anger was a lot more

[greenninjagal-blog]

White Lily Guardian (pt2)

Summary: Virgil shows up at a funeral for his distance cousin, but someone forgot to tell him Remy named him the next-in-line guardian of his son Thomas. And taking care of a kid might just been the least of Virgil’s problems when Thomas’s (unpleasant) grandmother is in the mix.

Words: 3035

Part One

Featuring: Virgil, kid!Thomas, Emile Picani, and mentions of the dreaded dragon witch and best dad!remy (along with a car crash)

Taglist: @background-noise-headache @prplzorua @pumpkinminette @puns-and-patton 

General Taglist: @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” Picani says, with a hint was resentment in his tone, about an hour after Madam Hydrus had removed herself from the property.

Virgil doesn’t say anything, but he agrees with the older man so much its nearly overwhelming. His mind is alarmingly quiet, his shoulders hunched in anticipation for the onslaught of pure, unadulterated panic he knows is coming: it feels a lot like he’s walking right next to a cliffside with a blindfold on—why is he doing this, why can’t he just take the blind fold off, why can’t he just walk away? Or better yet, why can’t he just fall already?

Then Picani will see that he is unfit to be a parent and he’ll be able to move Thomas to the next family member Remy picked out, someone who isn’t that awful snakelike lady that had made Thomas cry so hard. Thomas doesn’t deserve this, any of it.

He didn’t deserve to have his father taken away so suddenly, to have all these people look down on him with pity, to have someone who terrifies him very nearly take him away. He certainly doesn’t deserve to have someone as awful as Virgil come through and try to make up for everything he lost.

Virgil doesn’t even know what kind of person Remy was, much less what kind of dad. Was he the kind that wanted to be involved in every aspect of Thomas’s life? Did he bake cookies in the kitchen and show up to the PTA meetings and brag about how amazing Thomas was until every other parent hated him? Or was he a recluse? Did he let Thomas come to him with questions rather than go asking for them and never respond to teacher emails or show up to meetings because he knew everything that was important about Thomas already?

Virgil looks down at Thomas, who was tucked into his chest. Virgil is by no means the type of guy who works out, but even then, he can still carry Thomas from the front lawn into the house with only a mild amount of strain (Did Remy carry him like that? Oh, fuck, what if he was carrying the kid wrong?). The house is strangely quiet, and tense and the same feeling settles over them like a knife poised just between Virgil’s shoulder blades. Even Thomas’s sobs become breathless hiccups. Picani motions Virgil to follow him up the stairs and he’s struck by the strange amount of familiarity that the man has for this place.

Who was he again?

A lawyer of some sort? Someone who had access to Remy’s will at least.

Virgil doesn’t remember the upstairs of the house, which is really no surprise. He’d never dare exploring a house that wasn’t his even as an adult. There was something about it that his shoulders tense, waiting for someone to pop out of the rooms and ask him what he was doing. Even with Picani leading the way and Thomas in his arms, Virgil could feel the walls judging him.

There are pictures on the walls, but Picani doesn’t bother turning on the lights and its too dark to see what they are. Somehow that doesn’t help Virgil’s anxiety much.

They come to a room which Picani pushes open and turns on the light. Virgil hesitates to follow. He’s not sure why, because the room is far more inviting than the dark, dreary hallway. Thomas buries his head into Virgil’s shoulder, and it’s a little uncomfortable but he can’t bring himself to complain about it.

Inside the room it’s warm—in all senses of the word. Virgil feels like he stepped into a sauna the second his shoes slip through the doorway. It surprises him, slightly, because he hadn’t realized how cold he was until then. Beside that, its decorated like a kid’s paradise: action figures from several cartoons all over the place—some of which Virgil vaguely remembers from years and years ago with a tiny smile—poster from video games and Disney, and a coffee table had construction papers, glitter, and glue. Picani quickly walks to a rather large wooden desk (decorated in children’s crayon drawings of houses and dogs and blobs that probably meant something to a kid somewhere) and rifles through a stack of papers on the top of it.

When he turns back around, he’s holding a packet of papers that makes Virgil’s insides a little squeamish; it looks like a every instructional manual Virgil has ever been handed. Was this “How To Tell When Someone Is an Unfit Parent for Dummies”? Because Virgil could save them both time and just announce to him that he was the least fit person to be taking care of a kid. He had come to the funeral in a rented suit because he didn’t have one himself, there’s still paint on his knuckles that he couldn’t wash off in time for the service, and he forgets to eat at least twice a day.

Virgil’s childhood was limited to the tabulations of his parents’ moods towards him, but even he knows that he couldn’t take care of a small living human being when he could barely take care of himself most days. It isn’t fair to Thomas.

“Oh, uh,” Picani says, and vaguely motions to a couch that was decorated in handmade quilts, “You can, uh, set him down.”

Virgil feels more than stupid as he shuffles towards the couch and juggles the armful of Thomas that he has in order to set him on the couch. Especially when Thomas doesn’t let go of him and instead tightens his arms around Virgil’s neck.

“Don’t!” Thomas gasps between his hiccups.

“Thomas—” Virgil says softly, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right next to you.”

He shakes with his whole body, and for a long moment Virgil worries that Thomas will never let him go again and they’ll be stuck together like a parasite and it’s host.

“Promise?” Thomas’s voice cracks Virgil’s heart right in half. He can feel the shards of it puncturing his lungs.

“How about this, you can hold my hand while we sit, okay?” Virgil suggests even though his own skin feels feverish and his neck itches where Thomas’s wrists had pressed against him. He can’t remember the last time he let someone touch him (it might have been Remy himself for all he knew).

Thomas’s arms move away, slowly, slowly, and then he buries his head in a blanket before Virgil can even see the tear tracks on his bright red cheeks. Virgil sits down right next to him and its only a second more before pudgy little kid fingers squeeze around his.

Virgil glances up at Picani to find the man watching the two of them with a painful smile. He wipes his eye with the sleeve his dress jacket and resets his glasses with a deep breath.

“I’m really sorry you had to find out this way.” He says again. “Remy was going to contact you this weekend to ask your permission, but he insisted that he needed it written legally sooner than that.”

“Why?” Virgil asks and even he isn’t sure what he means. Why did Remy choose him? Why didn’t Remy tell him sooner? Why did Remy get it legal written down in his will before he asked? Why was Virgil so scared right now?

Picani sighs heavily. He taps two fingers on the packet. “I wish I knew, Mr. Quies.”

Virgil flinches at the use of his last name. He never uses it if he can help it; too many bad memories growing up as part of the Quies family. He never fit in with them, never quite lived up to be anything other than a disappointment for his parents, never enjoyed the way it rolled of so many people’s tongues in a derogatory manner. When he had moved out—and away—he had started using the surname Storm. Virgil Storm sounded better, and it didn’t come with emotional baggage.

Virgil makes a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between clearing it and trying to say something but not knowing what. He glances at Thomas.

“Picani—”

“Emile, actually, if you please,” He says with a wince.

“Emile,” Virgil corrects himself, “I don’t—Remy and I—I can’t….” He twists his bangs out of his face just to do something with his hand. The man in the half lenses waits patiently for Virgil to articulate himself. “I’ve never taken care of a kid.”

Thomas squeezes his hand tightly. Virgil thinks he lost feeling in two fingers, but he doesn’t try move.

“I’m not the best fit for Thomas’s caretaker. I didn’t even know Remy. We talked one time when we were kids. Are you sure it was me on that will and not someone else?”

Emile leans back against his desk, still careful not to crush any of the drawings. “I’m honestly not sure I’m the right person to ask. Remy and I were good friends, but even then we didn’t talk about everything. When he announced that he was changing his will to remove me as Thomas’s next-in-line guardian I thought it was a joke--”

Virgil’s stomach drops out at the comment. He feels sick again, the rolling nausea sweeping over him like a wave. That sounded right—all of it sounded right. Virgil didn’t know why someone would joke about that, but Remy had to have been joking because Emile was a well put together man, who Thomas knew better than he knew Virgil.

“Thank goodness it wasn’t.” Emile continues, much like a wrecking ball to the train of thought in Virgil’s head. It leaves his ears ringing.

“What?”

This time Emile looks at him with those dark eyes, “I love Thomas. I really do. But I can’t be his caretaker. I’d lose him.”

“Lose him?” Virgil repeats, remembering every time his parents had forgotten him at the supermarket or in the mall and the weekends were he just didn’t go home and no one was suspicious of it.

“Yes, um,” He fixes his glasses, “Due to a few infractions of the law in my childhood, I can’t legally adopt a child. I can run a therapist office,” He waves a hand around the room, “but I can’t have one of my own. Especially not Thomas.”

Virgil isn’t entirely unsure of what to make of that comment. First off Emile Picani looks a lot like a single breeze might knock him down, and the way he had shriveled up at the sight of Madam Hydrus wasn’t helping his case. However, he was also admitting that he at some point broke several laws? Laws that prevented him from taking care of a kid?

But this was Thomas.

“Madam Hydrus,” Emile says lightly. He picks up a figurine of Ursula from his desk and considers it. “She is Thomas’s mother’s mother. Extremely high class. Had she found out her daughter and Remy had been a thing back from Thomas’s birth, she undoubtedly would have put a stop to it. Her daughter—Thomas’s mother and Remy’s girlfriend at the time—died in childbirth due to a complication. Remy took it hard. Madam Hydrus took it harder.”

Emile sets the figurine back down. “She has been trying to gain custody of Thomas since his birth, declaring Remy an unfit parent. Every other week she had lawyers harassing them. I’m not sure what Thomas’s mother told Remy about her, but Remy refused to let her see him, refused to leave his son’s side when the woman was anywhere near.

“I believe her intention was to keeping sending lawyers in an attempt to run Remy out of money. When he no longer could support a child the judge would have to rule in her favor. However, Remy was a business major who knew how to maintain and predict the stock market.” Emile pauses, “That’s how we met actually. I asked him to help me learn the stock market. I’m a terrible student. But Remy tried, so hard. He was a good person. He really was. When my landlord kicked me out, he immediately offered me a few spare rooms here as long as I paid rent.”

Virgil nods, the sick feeling in his stomach bubbling. Beside him Thomas shifts again, quiet, oh-so-quiet. The warmth of the room makes his dress shirt collar stick to his neck.

“When Thomas turned three, Remy asked me to take guardianship of Thomas should anything happen to him. He was paranoid that Madam Hydrus would get tired of sending lawyers and might escalate to sending not-so-polite people. He wanted to make sure that if he did pass unexpectedly there would be someone else lined up to take in Thomas that was not Madam Hydrus.”

Virgil tenses, “What?”

“He—”

“Are you saying Madam Hydrus paid someone to kill Remy?” Virgil says. Oh, and there’s the panic: his foot has slipped off the steady edge of the metaphorical cliff and Virgil is free falling to his death. His lungs feel two sizes too small for his chest, and all the oxygen in the world doesn’t seem to be able to fill them. He rips his hand from Thomas’s and claws at his collar, struggles with the tie that is acting as a noose around his neck.

Remy was dead—Remy was dead because Madam Hydrus had him killed. Madam Hydrus was the same woman that Virgil just told off and then announced he would be taking in Thomas. What was stopping her from having him killed? Virgil was going to end up dead. By this time next week Virgil would be decorated with white lilies and people would be standing in his living room talking about how sad it was that he was gone.

“Mr. Quies! Virgil!” Emile is suddenly by kneeling by his side, “Virgil I need you to breathe with me. Breathe—In, yes hold it! Out….”

Virgil’s had panic attacks before. They normally leave him curled in the corner of his apartment with his own nails clawing through his hair, and his chest aching from too short of breaths. It’s another reason why he’s not fit to be a parent, because how can he take care of a kid when he can suddenly shut down like this. What if there was an emergency and Virgil wasn’t able to protect Thomas?

“In….” Emile says again, and Virgil strains to force his lungs to follow the instruction. “hold….Out….”

It takes a few minutes to calm him back down. It feels like hours. Actually the whole day has felt like eternity, drawing on and on and on. Virgil is suddenly aware that Emile in kneeling in front of him, speaking soothing words that mean absolutely nothing to him.

Thomas…

Virgil glances to his left where the kid had been, fully expecting Thomas to have bolted the second Virgil started acting weird. But he didn’t. Thomas is sitting there beside him, watery eyes and a nose fully of snot that he wipes on his arm.

“Dad… does that too,” Thomas says, between the sniffles.

Oh good, Virgil shares exactly one thing with Remy and it’s his panic attacks.

“Thomas,” Emile says quietly, “Can you grab a cup of water?”

Virgil has half a mind to tell them he doesn’t need a cup of water (He needs to have a chat with Remy and ask him what the hell he was thinking), but Thomas is already up and dashing out of the room. Virgil sinks back into the couch.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Quies—”

“Virgil.” He rasps out because the name is causing him to flinch and he doesn’t have the energy to suppress it anymore. “Virgil, or Storm, or anything that isn’t that name.”

“Virgil,” Emile nods like it isn’t weird at all, “That was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to my words. Madam Hydrus did not so anything…illegal. The police found no sign of foul play. Remy was driving on too little sleep and he slid off the road, into a tree.”

Which Virgil had read all about in the obituaries online during the flight here. Which he knew was the truth. Which didn’t stop the feeling in his gut from twisting over and over like some mutant alien parasite.

“Remy was paranoid,” Emile says with a sad frown, “But he made up his mind. He wanted someone he trusted who didn’t have a record that Madam Hydrus could exploit in court.”

“Am I…the only one?” Virgil asks.

Emile makes a face that tells him the answer. Of course, he is. That’s why they’re having this conversation. That’s why it’s Virgil’s name on the will and not anyone else’s.

“He left you most of his finances,” Emile says, “As long as you agree to take care of Thomas.”

“I am the least fit person to take care of any kid, Emile,” Virgil reiterates because all the money in the world won’t change that fact.

Thomas scoots back into the room, with a bathroom cup of water that he’s trying very hard no to spill. He gives it to Virgil, before climbing up on the couch next to him again. Before Virgil knows what he’s doing he runs his hand through Thomas’s hair, and the kid almost flops into him.

Emile watches the entire thing with a miniscule smile on his lips.

“I beg to differ, Virgil,” He says, “I think you are the most fit person.”

Virgil isn’t sure what it is about the other man, about the room, about Thomas, but sitting there, exhausted out of his mind, he thinks that Emile isn’t entire right (because after all Remy was the best person to take care of his kid), but Virgil might just be willing to try.

“I’ll get in contact with Remy’s lawyers.” Emile promises.

Virgil nods to show that he heard, but all he can really focus on is the softness of Thomas hair and the weight of the kid on his shoulder. He sinks back into the couch.

“You should get some sleep.”

Virgil is way ahead of him.

[spookykittenwrites]

Not Nearly Deserving Enough, Just Deserving Too Much

[Anduin Wrynn/Mathias Shaw - Explicit - Fluff, Rough Sex, Name-Calling]

Anduin hides from his 18th name day celebration, still mourning his father and reeling from the war with the Legion. Shaw finds him and comforts him in ways neither of them expected to come to be, but both thoroughly enjoy nonetheless.

- Read on AO3 -  (see here for warnings and tags)

The evening-darkened halls of Stormwind Castle’s upper floors were, in Mathias Shaw’s professional and personal opinion, far too shadowed and easy to sneak through unnoticed. Currently, however, his need to go unnoticed outweighed his concern. The Legion was defeated, their homes and families safe once again, and the city was holding a festival to honor those lost, celebrate their victory, and congratulate the King on his 18th name day. And yet, for all King Anduin Wrynn loved his people, and had every reason to take a night to celebrate as a young man should, he was nowhere to be seen.

This had happened before, of course, when one of the Alliance’s heroes had brought Anduin his father’s broken compass that they had recovered from the Broken Shore, and then the young King retreated to the cathedral for a concerning length of time to try and find peace. This time, however, Shaw suspected Anduin had not retreated to a place so public where he might be recognized and asked to join the festivities, and was much more likely hiding in or around the castle observatory that had fallen out of use since Tiffin’s death. While he’d kept it a secret from his father, Anduin had been as fond of the stars as his mother and used to sneak into the observatory as a child. Since becoming King he had it restored, though rarely staffed, and often went there to escape his duties as King and the lingering ghost of his father when he couldn't bear either. Today, likely the cause was both.

Shaw approached quietly and paused at the door, listening for sounds. A loud crash from within and what sounded like a sob drew him in before he could think, breaking his stealth as he opened and closed the door and rushed to the weeping form of his King on his knees on the marble floor.

“What’s wrong, my Liege?” he was at his side in an instant and Anduin jumped at his sudden appearance.

“When did you get here, Shaw?” he asked, looking up from the floor with tears streaking his cheeks.

“Just now, I was worried about you so I thought I’d look for you here.”

Anduin huffed, “Of course you know where I’d go to hide from all that nonsense about my name day. I suppose I’d be disappointed in your skills as a spymaster if you didn’t, but I am irritated you didn’t seem to get that I’m here to be alone.”

“I’m more than aware that you seek solitude, my King. I’m here to remind you that your duty is to be with your people today,” Shaw informed him, but seeing his despair at the thought amended, “You need to make  an appearance, anyway.”

“Why, Shaw? What the fuck is the point? Of any of this?” Anduin just shook his head, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “They’re all out there celebrating my 18th name day as if we didn’t lose our King, as if we didn’t lose so many of our forces… as if I didn’t lose my father . How am I supposed to celebrate finally being an ‘adult’ when I’ve had to be one through so much tragedy already?”

He sounded heartbroken, and it was killing Shaw inside to have to insist that he leave this small bubble of peace he had built for himself. Carefully preparing something to say that would comfort him and convince him to leave, Anduin interrupted him before he could even speak, “I was supposed to do this with him, Mathias, how the fuck am I supposed to do it alone?”

“Genn’s here and Jaina’s even come for the festival. You’re not alone, my King.”

“But they’re not here. And don’t call me that, I am hardly fit to be King right now.”

“You are fit to be a King, and you're a good one at that. You know how to take advice and listen to council and that is in my experience the most important skill a King can possess,” Shaw replied, trying despite the intimacy of the gesture to wipe the tears from his King’s face.

Anduin recoiled from his touch, “We won this war with the Legion but at what cost, Shaw? And if it wasn’t for Illidan’s sacrifice we wouldn’t have won anyhow. So what use am I to my people?”

“No less use than Sylvanas is to hers, seeing as she could not achieve any more for the Horde than you could for the Alliance,” Shaw hoped the sentiment would comfort him, but it just seemed to set him more on edge.

“I understand what you’re trying to say, Shaw, but I don't want to be compared to her.”

“I’m sorry, my King.”

“Don’t call me that!” Shaw was almost as shocked by the tone of command in his voice as he was by the immediate sobbing he fell into afterwards.

“I’m sorry.” Shaw quickly calculated, and took a risk, “I’m here, Anduin.”

He reached out slowly, the way one does to a scared stray animal and felt the tension in his chest release when Anduin leaned into his touch this time. Wiping the tears from his cheeks he was briefly struck by how much this “boy” was turning into a man, what was probably a day of stubble scratching against his bare palms, and his jaw and nose were more pronounced in close proximity than they seemed from afar.

“You’re beautiful,” the words escaped his mouth before he could stop them but with the way the man’s pupils dilated and his cheeks flushed, Shaw doubted Anduin cared.

“Mathias,” Anduin murmured, and then he was grasping the front of Shaw’s armor and tugging him into a kiss.

He should stop him, must stop him really, but the thought was secondary to the warmth of Anduin’s lips pressing against his own, the slick heat of a tongue sliding along his bottom lip and the soft sigh the man made when he did it, and Shaw found himself powerless to resist. Moving his hands, which still rested on the sides of Anduin’s face, around to the sides of his neck he angled Anduin’s head to kiss him deeper, slipping his tongue between the young man’s lips when he opened them at his prompting. Fuck he was barely a man, just coming of age that day, but he was also his king, his ruler, and who was he to deny him this, or anything really.

Almost as if reading his mind, Anduin pulled back just a hair, swallowing audibly, “Mathias, I want this, I want you. But I need to know you don’t think I’m ordering you? You… you can leave, if that’s what you want.”

“I should… we can’t do this, Anduin, it’s not right,” but he didn’t want to stop, he didn’t want to give up the warmth and weight of the man in front of him.

“I didn’t ask if it was right, Mathias, I asked if you wanted it. Do you want me? Do you want to be here with me?”

“Yes,” came his immediate and entirely truthful response, because he did want this, wanted it more than he could fathom for all its absurdity, and he knew he could never lie to Anduin. Then, a thought occurred to him, “And what do you want, Anduin?”

“I…” he bit his lip and looked away, embarrassed, “I’ve never…”

That, Shaw knew, but he could tell the man was uncomfortable talking about it and he didn’t push the issue, “Doesn’t mean you don’t want things.”

“Heh, yeah I guess not,” Anduin paused, as if trying to find words. “I want you to fuck me.”

Shaw suddenly felt dizzy from how quickly the blood from his head rushed to his groin. Oh, but he wanted that, and he wanted it desperately, “Yeah, yes, Anduin, I can do that.” He peppered kissing along the column of his throat, “Anything else?”

“Yeah but I’m… I’m not sure how to ask without sounding crazy?” Anduin’s eyelids were fluttering beautifully at the small kisses but he still seemed nervous and tense.

“Try, and I won’t judge you if you sound insane. I promise.” He suckled a little on the skin over his rapid pulse and Anduin whined high in his throat. Beautiful, Shaw thought, and pressed the word into the soft flesh in front of him with this teeth.

“Hurt me? Please?” Anduin asked, small and shy sounding around the little moans he kept making.

Shaw pulled away to look at him, unsure, “What do you mean by that? I want to understand so I don’t do something you don’t want.”

“I’m not really sure I just… I don’t want you to be gentle with me. I don’t know how to explain it,” Anduin seemed to consider for a moment, “Sorry I know that isn’t clear.”

Resisting the need to sigh, Shaw pulled away and positioned them sitting with just a little distance between their crossed legs, “Do you mean you want me to be cruel to you? To mock you and laugh at you?”

A flash of hurt, genuine and unrestrained, crossed Anduin’s face and Shaw knew he’d missed the mark even before the man was shaking his head, “No, no. Please don’t do that, I don't think I could take you being well… I suppose I did ask you to hurt me but, no, I don’t mean emotionally.”

“So nothing verbal then? No name calling or humiliation?” Shaw waited for him to shake his head again, but he didn’t, seeming to pause at something. “What is it Anduin?”

“Name calling?”

“Yeah. Some people like being called derogatory terms in bed.”

“Like? Could you give me an example?”

“Well, the first thing that comes to mind would be whore , but it could be anything that would be considered offensive really.”

The blush that had been fading from his pale cheeks returned full force and Anduin’s eyes went just a little glassy, “Um.. right. That might, um, might be good for me. Please. But I… I think I want to be, I don’t even know if this makes sense, but good .”

Shaw cocked an eyebrow, lowering his voice just a hair to a deeper timber, “Do you want to be a good little whore for me, boy?”

And maybe the ‘boy’ part was a bit much, but it felt right when he said it, and if the way Anduin’s lids fluttered and he whined high in his throat was any indication, he liked it too. Anduin nodded vigorously, “Please.”

He was leaning forward, one hand reaching out for him but Shaw stopped him, “Wait.” Authority laced his words and Anduin’s whole body froze in response, “We aren’t done discussing this yet. Okay?”

“Okay,” Anduin replied, sitting back and knitting his hands together in his lap. He seemed impatient but like he was paying attention. Good enough.

“You said you wanted to be hurt but not verbally. Did you mean physically then?” He asked.

“Yes please,” and wasn’t that something, to have this beautiful young man asking him so politely to hit him.

“How? Do you want me to bite you? Scratch you? Pull your hair?”

He nodded enthusiastically, “Yes please.”

“Hmm,” Shaw considered for a moment whether it was more than he wanted to offer, “And your thoughts on spanking?”

“ Please ,” Anduin wheezed, leaning forward a hint before correcting himself and sitting back up straight, looking almost pained at the distance between them.

“Good. Good boy, come here,” Shaw praised, guiding him into his lap and pulling him into a kiss.

He let his hand thread through soft blond hair and, just as Anduin tried to deepen the kiss, tugged just hard enough to give him a jolt. Anduin moaned, full voiced and trembling, into the space between them, and Shaw slipped his mouth down to nip at his jaw. Every nip, every gentle bite hard enough to feel but not enough to bruise, every tug on his golden locks had Anduin shaking in his lap, and as he trailed his lips further down his neck to where the collar of his shirt would hide a mark and bit down hard, the younger man’s hips jerked.

Shaw suckled the skin near his collarbone, rejoicing in the way Anduin shook, the way his hips ground forward against his own groin needily, the way his voice pitched and broke with every moan that escaped his lips. He was beautiful, stunning, sublime in his lap, a holy thing more than worthy of worship and oh, did he intend to bathe him in his love. Pulling away elicited a desperate whine from Anduin, but it ended when Shaw shifted them to lay him down on his back. “I’m going to undress you now. If you want me to stop at any point you tell me, alright?”

“Yes, I will,” Anduin nodded at him, mussing his hair against the plush rug he was laid out on.

“Good boy,” Shaw smirked at the little groan the praise made rise from his lips, and began undressing him.

Trying his best to go slow was torturous, but he wanted to give Anduin time to back out of each garment being removed just in case. Starting with his boots, unlacing them patiently and slipping them off his surprisingly delicate feet, he placed them off to the side along with his socks. He placed a kiss to the arch of each foot, earning him a giggle from the younger man.

“Your mustache tickles,” he half-whispered, voice mostly relaxed but for a small hint of tension underneath that sounded like nerves.

“Sorry,” he wasn’t sorry, really, and did it again, smiling when Anduin full on laughed and tried to pull his leg away. Shaw let him and moved forward to start untucking and unbuttoning his shirt. Focusing on the buttons one by one and keeping the tremble of excitement out of his fingers with the practice only one so skilled in lockpicking might possess, he slowly divested Anduin of his shirt and pulled him up to a sitting position briefly to pull it away. Anduin leaned forward and kissed him while he was sitting up and Mathias allowed it, returning it with fervor.

He put his palm to the warm bared skin of Anduin’s chest and pressed him back, “Lie back now, boy. Let me take care of you.”

Anduin whimpered and did as he was asked, and Shaw kissed a line down from his sternum to the softness of his lower belly, nipping and biting the skin as he went. He nuzzled into the soft flesh as his fingers pried the button and laces of his pants open, biting down and sucking hard right above the hem of his trousers hoping to leave a bruise. Laces undone, he drew away to tug them down and felt like he’d been shocked at the sight of the man naked beneath them.

“Well, aren’t you the little whore, not even wearing underwear? Did you hope someone would stumble upon you and punish you for evading the festivities with a cock in you? Is that it, hmm?” He reached out and pushed one of his thighs toward his chest, running his thumb over the wet dampness of curls between his legs. “And so wet and eager for me already, what a good whore.”

Shaw flung the pants away somewhere to the side, then went right back to where he’d settled himself between the man’s lean legs, enjoying the musky, salty smell of his sex. He spread him with one thumb and leaned in to dip his tongue in to taste him. Anduin jolted, voice pitching into a whine and thighs tensing, “Oh fuck please.”

“Patience, whore,” he commanded, then carded the fingers of his free hand through the thick blond hair around his cunt, tugging lightly just to watch Anduin squirm, and using his thumb to draw back the hood to his cock. This time he licked all the way up from his entrance to the hard, engorged flesh and drew it into his mouth, smirking around it as Anduin shook, hands fisted in the rug and voice cracking as he moaned.

So fucking sublime, he though to himself, watching Anduin fall apart as he repeated the action, then again, before settling himself down a little further and thrusting his whole tongue into Anduin, feeling his own cock twitch in his pants when he clenched down on the intrusion. He kept the thrusts slow but deep, curling his tongue to find the one spot that would make him scream and thumbing over his cock at the same slow pace, and Anduin’s sounds rose in pitch and volume rapidly, leg physically trembling against Shaw’s shoulder as he got closer to orgasm.

Not wanting to pull away, Shaw released his grip on Anduin’s leg and searched around on the ground for the other man’s hand, placing it on the back of his thigh, hoping he would understand what he meant for him to do. He did, thankfully, and when Anduin’s grip on his own leg tightened Shaw moved his hand away and plunged two fingers inside him along with his tongue. Anduin screamed, a cracked, shrill sound that made Shaw’s cock absolutely ache, and gushed into his mouth.

Mathias continued though gentled his ministrations through the aftershocks and pulsing of his cunt, enjoying the heady, musky taste of Anduin’s pleasure, not letting up until the man whimpered and tried to nudge him away with his free leg. He pulled back, satisfied with himself at the wrecked state the younger man was is, hair tousled from where he’d been gripping it and scratches on the back of his thigh from where he’d dug his nails into the flesh.

“Good?”

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck Mathias.”

He chuckled and used the hand that wasn’t covered in Anduin’s come to lift his free leg to his lips and kissed the inside of his knee, watching him carefully, “Ready to keep going?”

“I… Soon, just give me a few seconds,” Anduin’s eyes strayed to the way Shaw’s cock strained against the front of his leathers, looking almost apologetic.

Shaw placed a finger under his chin and raised his face to look him in the eyes, “Don’t worry about me, I’ll get mine, I’m sure.”

“Right… Okay. I think I’m good just be gentle?”

“Okay, but I have a question for you first.” Anduin looked at him curiously and he leaned down to cover the smaller man’s torso with his own, damp mouth brushing his ear and voice returning to a huskier timber of command, “Does it make you hot that I have you spread out on the floor naked like a common street whore during Midsummer when I’m fully clothed?”

Anduin choked, “I… I, oh fuck yes, yes, it does. I like being your whore.”

“You like knowing you’re just a pretty little toy for me to pleasure myself with?” he asked, digging his nails into Anduin’s hips as hard as he dared and dragging them along the skin, raising welts as they went. “You like feeling powerless in my hands? Knowing that I can do whatever I want to you if it makes me feel good?”

“Yes, I… please, please just fuck me. Please.” Anduin was panting, eyes screwed shut and back arched from just that simple touch. Clearly he liked pain more than Shaw had anticipated. Interesting.

“Needy little whore, aren’t you? If you need my cock so bad you’re gonna have to work for it bitch. Turn over.” He slapped the outside of his thigh and backed away enough that Anduin could reposition himself on his stomach, which he did with eagerness, “Good whore, keep it up and I might just let you come again.”

He let his hand fall a little more harshly than he normally would have dared on one of his asscheeks and smirked when Anduin arched his back and moaned in response, “Up on your knees, boy, I want that cunt on display for me.”

Anduin did as he was told, propping his weight up on his knees and arching his back in a sultry display of want. Mathias reached out and massaged his ass roughly with one hand, spreading him so that his other hand could slip two fingers in with ease. The younger man was soaked and he squelched around his fingers as they pumped in and out of his body, which probably should have been gross but instead it only served to remind Shaw of just how much he wanted him and how ready he was for his cock. He added a third finger, spreading them wider to stretch him as they left his body with each thrust of his hand, and watched how the boy quivered under his hands with rapture.

He took the hand off Anduin’s ass to squeeze himself in his leathers, hips jolting forward without his full consent, then worked to release his cock from the confines of his clothes. After a moment of uncharacteristic fumbling he succeeded, and pumped his cock a few times to spread the precum gathered at the head over his shaft and brought it to line up with Anduin’s entrance. Pulling his fingers out of Anduin and spreading the slick on them over his cock as well, he paused with the head pressed against his body, “You sure you want this, Anduin? You can’t take it back once it’s done.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I want it, Mathias, please. Please fuck me?” he was trembling but even still reached his hands back to spread his hole open, managing to slip Shaw into his body just an inch with the position he was in but he moaned loud against the rug nonetheless.

Mathias shot his hand forward to catch Anduin’s hip, holding him in place, “If you’re sure.” And then he started to enter him properly, slow and steady despite every instinct telling him to just fuck into him with abandon. He was hot inside and so, so slick. “Perfect, you’re perfect, Anduin. Fuck. So good for me, such a good little whore. My good boy.”

Anduin whined as he entered his body, spine arching so much it looked painful, but the way he clawed at the rug beneath him and the way his toes curled told Shaw that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Once fully seated, he gave himself a second or two to calm the racing in his blood and get a better hold of his inhibitions, but then he started to move and it slipped from his grip like dry sand. His hips moved of their own volition, nails digging into the fat at Anduin’s hips and raking harsh lines that felt like ownership on the pale skin, and leaning over him somewhat precariously to dig his teeth into the flesh of his neck.

He moved one hand to the floor next to Anduin’s head to steady himself and fucked into him harder, each thrust loud and harsh in the quiet observatory, and when it still didn’t feel like quite enough he laced his other hand through the boy’s hair and pulled him up from the floor at an arch that tightened his body around his cock deliciously. Anduin put a hand down to help support himself, using the extra support to gain enough leverage to push back into each of Shaw’s thrust, and suddenly he found himself dangerously close to the edge.

“Touch yourself,” he grunted, tugging on Anduin’s hair sharply and smirking at the way he gasped in response.

He did, and something about feeling the way his shoulder flexed with the movement against his own bicep where they pressed together was absurdly hot and Shaw felt himself stumbling toward orgasm faster and faster. “Come on whore, come for me.” A solid tug on his hair, “ Come.”

And with a cry that broke into silence as his whole upper body, voice and all, gave, he did. Anduin shook, whole body trembling and pulled taut as a leather band ready to snap, and the rhythmic clenching of his cunt around Mathias’s cock sent him right over the edge with him. He had half a mind to pull out, but he couldn’t control himself well enough in time as his body threw itself into pleasure, and he collapsed forward onto Anduin with a shout that faded into a wheezy groan as his cock twitched and unloaded into the smaller man. His King , his brain reminded him suddenly, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care as Anduin’s body quivered and shook around his cock and in his arms.

He let himself down as slowly as he could with muscles that felt half-liquid and came to rest on his side next to Anduin on the rug, pulling his still-mostly-hard cock out as he went and they both groaned at the feeling. Anduin collapsed onto his front, then looked over at him and dragged his body over to drape across Shaw’s chest.

“Thanks,” he muttered, almost seeming embarrassed.

“I should be the one thanking you,” Shaw replied, bringing a hand up to run through Anduin’s hair. “You were incredible Anduin, fucking incredible.”

Anduin hummed, running his hands along the lines of the front of Shaw’s armor, “Is it weird that I wish you were naked now that we’re not fucking even if I liked you being dressed when you were railing me?”

“Not at all. Do you want me to undress?” He meant it fully, of course. He would do anything Anduin asked of him right now, and if he was being honest he was missing the skin on skin contact too.

“No, I think I’d rather get dressed to even us out. It’s kind of cold in here actually, now that I’m not distracted,” he laughed a little, more of a huff than anything, but Shaw felt endeared nonetheless.

“Fair enough, let me help you,” he sat up and reached out for the younger man’s shirt, handing it to him before tucking his own dick away and going in search of his pants. He found them draped half over a table in the corner, and carefully extracted them without knocking anything on said table over. When he returned with them Anduin was finishing buttoning his shirt closed and he took the pants with a smile but no words, getting dressed silently from there.

As they both finished fixing their appearances their eyes met in the dim room and something bubbled in the room that tasted like the last remnants of pleasure and good humor, and they both started giggling like children. “This is the most absurd thing I’ve done since I let Edwin talk me into giving him a blowjob under the stairs at the Pig and Whistle,” Shaw admitted, and Anduin smiled at him softly.

He approached and pulled him into a kiss that was far too gentle and attached for what this should have been left as, “I know we shouldn't have, and definitely shouldn’t again, but…” he looked away for a moment, “But I don’t want this to be it. I’m sure I’m just being sentimental because it’s my first time and all…”

“No, you’re not. There isn’t much I want more in this world right now than an easy retirement and to keep you as my own. I’m… I’m sorry that can’t be real, Anduin,” Shaw tipped his face up and kissed him all soft and meaningful again, just enough heat to show him how much he still wanted him despite the fact that it couldn’t be.

“I suppose you have to drag me to this damn carnival now, don’t you?”

“Genn will get suspicious if I don’t,” he explained only half apologetic.

Anduin sighed, “Well, at least I’m more relaxed now.” Then he smiled at Shaw, through his lashes and looking coy as hell, “Thank you for your service, spymaster.”

He choked, “Always a pleasure to service the crown, my Liege.”

Anduin laughed, leaning up to kiss him one more time before heading to the door, “Let’s get going then. If we’re lucky we’ll make it there before Genn starts interrogating people about my whereabouts.”

Shaw chuckled, and followed behind, unable to help the way his eyes were drawn to the King’s ass as he walked.

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 59

Title & Song: Under My Thumb

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count:  4100+

Summary: Genevieve and Alfie find their busy lives becoming too congested with the wants and opinions of others without as much time for themselves. After her father's thinly veiled threats come to both her and Alfie, they are forced to face how others are molding their relationship. Genevieve makes a suggestion to ease the problem.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Her dad being an ass. Derogatory, sexist language. Antisemitism.Canon-typical language.Insinuation of non-con sex. Ends with fluff.

**Chapter song is Under My Thumb by Rolling Stones.*

Click on my icon then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

Another day waking up alone, which wasn't as sad as it had been before you'd gotten together with Alfie. You both had your lives separate from each other, your work of legal and illegal means that kept you busy. Without cohabitating, there was no crawling into bed together after having coming home for the evening or waking up together after passing out from a long day before only to wear yourselves out again the next morning. Once again, Shabbat became your great respite together. You tried to spend as much of Friday evenings into Sunday together as possible. It didn't always work out that way but neither of you wasted too much time crying over it. That's just how the unpredictable lives of two working people were sometimes. And despite you both giving the public face of being solid and strong in your faith and heritage, the darker sides of your lives intervened at times, despite the best of attempts made for it not to.

You've worn the soles of your heels down this week. As it always came in the last and first week of any month. Business picked up and became more hectic. You collected rent and tended to your tenants wants and needs. You delivered by hand your charitable donations and ran the meals for the children at the children's home. You still had your art classes to teach and girls families to meet that applied for scholarships. This all culminated in these two weeks it seemed, money always needs to be estimated by this time each month by your analysts. You were tired, your feet ached and you'd been resting them by the fire in your office as you finalized your ledger to send off to the accountants for Abeille's earnings for the month. There were no worries as far as money was concerned but they weren't to be the source of your frustrations as fate would have it.

Alfie was working, which was understandable. As he did when he couldn't meet you on Friday's he'd sent one of his boys over with sweets and flowers and a clumsy, rushed written note of apology for his absence. You'd take to giving the delivery boy, a sweet young man with pristine manners, a kiss to the cheek and telling him to give the same to Alfie. Upon the first delivery of this from you to him, there was uproarious laughter after Alfie demanded in front of other workers that the boy gives him what you sent him back with. This would soon be simply delivered as "The lady sends her usual regards." which seemed to fit everyone much better on their end.

On this late evening, Claire brings in the last of the mail with a heavy sigh, tossing a single thin envelope in front of you. She plopped down in front of your desk with a sour face.

"I shall soon go live with the Shelby gypsy's with how I seem to know what's going to happen all the time." she rolls her eyes. "From your father." she says in an annoyed tone, her hand pointing towards the sealed envelope.

"If I haven't joined them yet, neither should you." you huff out a laugh, swiping your letter opener through the paper. "Wait until my foresight causes me to lose my mind and then we shall go together, hmm?" you suggest. You unfold the paper and read it with am indifferent expression. Claire waits patiently as she always does.

"I have received word of your coupling with not only a known criminal but a Jew of great importance in his community. If it were not insulting enough that you choose to identify as such against my wishes and warnings, you now are openly associating with his sort.  I have heard as well of you acting entirely inappropriately by showing affection publicly to him. I have overlooked your solitary lifestyle, I have overlooked your poor decision making to appear as one of their belief, as you were to remain alone and not have the chance of reproducing with such people, with that I was able to turn a cheek. I can no longer do so and insist you end this regretful affair with this Alfred Solomons of Camden immediately. If you do not heed this most generous and polite warning, I will take further action. I will not have my gene pool sullied in such a way to have your offspring as branches from the Greene family tree. We are a pure and Godly lot who will not be tainted by your choices. I will be sending word to this Solomons myself of your questionable past and telling him of the things you've done to reach such a point in your life and I can only pray to my God that despite being what he is, he will see you for what you really are."

You take a deep and slow breath and Claire remains calm. You move only your eyes up to her and ask for a moment alone. She nods and stands on the other side of your office door. As she clicks the door behind her, a series of loud crashes follow. She frowns and stands defeated and waits. She hears you curse and scream and throw things and she knows it's justified, she only wishes this ridiculous behavior of your fathers would end. She wonders if she had enough money to hire someone to kill him. Probably not but she could enjoy the fantasy in her head.

"Come back in, please. Mind the glass."  you say in a calmer tone as she comes to see a tossed room before her. Vases smashed, books scattered and the iron poker from the fire in your hand as she sees the damage you'd inflicted to the armchair beside you. Stuffing settled slowly in the air around you as she gently shuts the door behind her. "Would you be so kind as to sit at my desk and take my response dear?" you say while trying to catch your breath.

"Certainly." she says sweetly, paper and instrument in hand.

"George..." you begin, tossing the iron rod in the direction of the fire with a loud metallic thunk.  "No." you state with a firm nod.

Claire looks up at you, eyes blinking and waiting for further instruction. "That all?"

"That's all." you said pinching the bridge of your nose. "You can read the letter if you wish. Although it will do nothing but infuriate you." you roll your eyes and move to sit in the untouched armchair. "What a cunt. What a pompous, self-righteous bastard. Why must he live?" you lament towards the ceiling as Claire reads the letter. She promptly makes a noise of disgust and tosses it into the fire.

"I'll send your reply." she states. "I'm not even sure what he's referring to about that "who you really are" nonsense."

"Some trauma we've both suppressed that he will no doubt twist to make my fault?" you shrug and mutter.

"Entirely possible." she softly agrees. "Should I fetch the phone so you can tell Alfie?" she asks.

"No, no, don't bother him with this nonsense. It's beneath us both." you wave your hand dismissively. "Just get some girls in here to clean this up. The accounts are finished, send them to the offices and I'm going to go to fucking bed." -------- You take a few drops of your nighttime vial and sleep deep, no dreams to forewarn you of anything your father would do.

You wake to weight shifting your bed. You groan and look to the source to find Alfie looking down at you. "What the fuck is this bollocks?" he says holding a piece of paper.

"Good morning to you as well." you purse your lips. "So nice to see you Genevieve, how have you been love, I've missed you." you mumble sarcastically, moving to sit yourself up.

"Yeah, yeah mornin'." he gruffs out and puts the paper in your lap. "Who the fuck does he think he is?"

"Well let me read it first, Fie." you say softly, getting your glasses off the bedside table.

"It has come to my attention that you have been courting Genevieve Greene. I would insist that this desist at once. I would like to state I am sending you this for reasons beyond the selfish as I do not want her to become persuaded to join your whispered lifestyle or to become one of your people. But I believe her to be acting out in a rebellious state as she's always been a difficult girl. She has also always been a troubled girl, and known for her deception and lies towards men. I would assume that her nature hasn't changed, as those who seem to be weak to spells of hysteria and madness never seem to outgrow it past a certain age. As we know Genevieve is far past the age for such childish antics she likes to play. I'm sure she seems lovely but I would have you know she has tried to ruin numerous relationships of mine by falsely accusing men of such unspeakable things that my calling them such should let you know of their disgusting nature. She is a thief and a liar and those traits might be something viewed as good to someone like you, however, I feel I should warn you nonetheless of her lack of loyalty and her history of being, as much as I would hate to say it about my own, a strumpet. Certainly, a man who has such a position in his community would not want to be associated with such a creature as she. Any decent man I have tried to give her to has been met with violence and vicious rumors spread about them by her after he defiant refusal of them. She may seem tame but I assure you she is hardly above an animal when she finds herself bored and displeased. When she feels she has been wronged her behavior only worsens. I hope you heed my warning and if you do not, I will be in touch again."

You sigh and let your shoulders slump. "Much what I expected."

"I'll ask again... who the fuck does he think he is?"

"Christ himself it seems." you roll your eyes. "I received a letter from him last night threatening me as well. His words to me of you were clearly spat from the same tongue."

"What's he on about? Accusin' men?" his brow is low and you know it set that way not because of you, his tone was sharp and you tried not to take it personally.

"You're a smart man, Alfie what do you think it means?" you retort obviously.

"They... Jesus Christ Genevieve, what did he do to you?"

"I don't..." you sigh and look at him with tired eyes. "I don't want to reminisce about it," you say sharply. "I try to forget it all." you look away from him and rub your face. "It's nothing that hasn't happened to almost every other woman since time began." you roll your eyes and shrug, reaching to take his cold hand between yours. "I haven't seen you all week." you murmur in a softer voice. "The last thing I want is to wake up to you angry and to talk about what horrid things men have done to me over the years." you angrily pout. "Ignore him. He's ridiculous. Truly. I thought my mother's side was who I got my dramatics from clearly it must be the Greene's." you look away and your shoulders slump.

"Fuckin' 'ell." he groans, his other hand rubbing down his face as he takes off his hat. Seeing the sadness in your face.  "I..." he closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I shouldn't have come in here like 'is, love." his voice and face soften. He rises and kisses your forehead. "Like a bloody bull, I barged in here. All red 'n angry." he scolds himself, taking off his clothes to a shirt and pants. "Hard to think with softness in mind when I'm angry and want answers, Genny. So used to dealin' with men. No room for subtlety or tenderness with the lot of 'em." he says in a self-deprecating way. "Let me in 'ere with you if you'll have me." he says, motioning to the bed.

You scoot and raise the covers, he settles back against your piles of pillows and pulls you against him. "I threw vases and destroyed an armchair with an iron poker after I read my letter." you admit with a  deadpan delivery that is met with a loud laugh.

He leans and kisses the top of your head. "'At's my girl." he praises.

"He's insulted both of us and I know you won't take any threat, no matter how vague but antagonizing him won't do either of us any good." You snuggle up to his side and slip your fingers between the buttons of his shirt. "I'm not jeopardizing your hard work for something stupid my fool, estranged father might do. I'm not going to risk my hard earned life either. He's not worth it. No matter how much he infuriates us." you shake your head and look up at him.

"I'm not gonna let him insult you like 'at." he says with a deep and certain tone that makes a small smile appear on your face.

"Simply dismiss him as I've done. He's not a rival gang, he's not even a businessman. There's nothing to be won or lost here of reputation or finance." you shake your head.

He reaches up and pulls the covers over your shoulder. "No threats of violence then, yeah? Just gonna make sure he knows he can't talk about you like 'at, love. What an abhorrent and repugnant thing he is. Speakin' of you like that, estranged or not, his blood." he shakes his head and rests his hand on your cheek. "You shouldn't have had to deal with such abuse from the likes of him."

"I know." you look away from him and he moves your face back to his.

"I mean it. No one's ever gonna treat you in such a way as long as I'm around, eh? They'll pay with their hide if they dare to, love.  Not even a bad word is gonna slip past anyone's lips when it comes to you. I'll be sure they know not to dare speak ill of ya."

"Shouldn't worry yourself over it too much. I'm a woman, people will talk. It's what they do. We have more important things to worry about it." you give him a sweet smile he's thankful to see after his regrettable approach to how he entered your home and the conversation.

"Still," he states with a nod of his head towards you. "No one's gonna treat my woman in such a way. You won't be the only one standing up for yourself now, right? Best you remember that, love. You don't gotta fight all your battles alone anymore." he leans in and presses his lips to yours for a moment.

"I'm afraid to inform you that I'm still disrespected daily. It's a losing battle." you say with a lazy smirk. "Although the sentiment is wonderful, darling."

"Who the fuck is givin' you grief? Not none of my men is it?" he frowns.

"No, you've scared them plenty, they're all polite." you chuckle. "Take any man on the street in London and have him interact with me for a moments time he'll say or do something insulting. Just their nature." you roll your eyes. "No offense to you, your mum did some fine work with raising you." you pat his stomach, softer from the winter weight and how you preferred him. "Except when you're angry." your tease. "I thought your etiquette with waking me up this morning was lacking." you grin.

"It was." he nods. "'Spose it's all gettin' to me as well. Not gettin' to see you, the end of the month headaches of retrieving owed money from unwilling hands, workin' up new contracts and negotiatin' as the old ones expire."

"I've felt it too this past week in particular. And not seeing you doesn't help." you give in and let yourself pout, your fingers playing in his beard as you watch him with tired eyes.

"It does not at all, pet." he says with a subtle smile down at you.

"I'd like to curl up with you for a week and tell everyone else to bugger off." you complain in a deep whining voice. "Tell London to shove it up its arse and take care of itself for once." you sigh as you lay your arm across him.

"Sorry I couldn't make it last night." he says, feeling guilty he's added to your distress. A man should be gentle with his love and you being as hard and powerful as him, it was easy to forget you deserved special treatment sometimes.

"It's fine. I'm just emotionally drained. Hard two weeks with work and then a severe lack of you... and then George... the horse's arse."

"You can have me 'til tonight." he offers.

You groan and bury your face in his shirt as he rubs your back. "I don't feel greedy for wanting more." you grumble.

"I know, love, I know." you feel the rise and fall of his chest as he sighs with the same sentiment.

You knew that not living together, but being together would create its own problems. But you hadn't realized to what extent you would be suffering for living so far from the city and thus so far from Alfie. There just wasn't a substitute for living together in terms of spending time together. You missed that love bubble. You missed seeing him off to work in the morning and undressing him at night, stroking his hair as he laid on you like a pup when he felt particularly down. You wanted him all to yourself. You wanted to do something besides complain about work with him. And with that, you were both reminded of the concern for oversharing or where the line was drawn with telling each other about what you were up to. The trust was there and with being together, but not married made sharing your underground career's with each other more difficult. In theory, what's his was yours and what was yours was his but it wasn't truly and every time you held back from sharing something with him it felt wrong. But it also didn't seem right to fully divulge everything to him either. Living together would help, being married would help, but how would you even find time for such a thing if you couldn't even simply spend time together as is.

You needed a break from all the worry and trade. A clear separation of work and play that let you both breathe, feel like two humans in love again. With the passing thought, you chew the inside of your cheek. There hadn't even been time to find the right setting to tell each other that either. It wasn't as if either of you had some grand romantic notion that had to accompany it. However, a night out without being hassled, having him taken away to interrupt the flow of sweet words that could've led to such a thing being said would certainly be helpful. You needed to be alone. To not be who you were for only a moment.

"Alfie?" you lilt out, fingers rubbing against his own.

"Yes, love?" he says as you both doze lazily.

"Do you think going on holiday might help?"

"I think I don't have the time. And I'd be left waitin' on you while you's workin' and that'd make me restless and I'd rather be at work."

"I mean together."

"Oh, like a proper one, eh?" his face shifts in thought.

"Yes. Out of London. Away from work for just a bit. Get out of the heavy air and haze." you move to look up at him.

"Sounds good in theory." you can sense the hesitation in his voice.

"You don't want to?"

"I would love to, but... work." he states with pursed lips.

"If you plan ahead can't you manage it? You have seconds for a reason, you know. You're the boss you should get to do what you want when you want."

"It would be lovely if that's what bein' a boss meant." he chuckles.

"I'm serious. You have Ollie and the other men don't you? Can they handle the shop for a few days? We won't tell anyone we're gone, we'll just plan for it. There are phones if anything really goes wrong. We don't have to hop off to the other side of the world or anything."

By the way he's looking at you, you can tell he's sensing this was more a command and less a request at this point. "And where is it you'd like to go?"

You consider it a moment. A place that would be reachable, far but not too far. Somewhere that would make you happy, where you could have fun, get lost and enjoy each other. "Paris."

"Paris, eh?" he nods, eyes glancing around the room.

"Yes. Paris. There's so much to do there. We can eat and drink and go see the art and shows. I have my apartment there, I only have to call in some help and we'd have our own private place to stay. A driver, a cook, a maid, we wouldn't have to worry about a thing."

"Except work back home." he gruffs out.

"C'mon, Alfie." you whine. "There are phones, there are men you've been grooming to help you for years." you retort.  He sighs and looks down at you with a raised brow. "I want to have you all to myself." you whisper. "I want you and me... uninterrupted... alone... no work... no horrid people and their opinions... only us."

"I want that too, love. I really do." he nods and brings your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

"Then let's make a plan. Find a time in your diary that you could afford to leave blank. Take your girl on holiday and spoil her." you give him a mischievous smile.

"If it's shoppin' you want we can go to London and I'll just let you loose with my money, eh?" he jokes.

"It's YOU I want, Alfie." you say more seriously. "Our relationship has become so congested with others and their opinions, their wants and demands of us that we've not had time to properly be Fie and Genny like we used to. I miss it."

"My little Genny missin' her man, eh?" he sighs.

"She is. I miss mon Fie. I miss sleeping naked all day. Not having to keep covered because either could be seen or called upon at any moment. I miss going to sleep and waking up with you for days on end, losing ourselves in one another. I miss getting to simply enjoy our time together instead of having to be preoccupied with what we have to do as soon as we are forced apart again. And always prematurely." you pout.

"Don't think I don't miss the same things, sweetheart. I try to find the time, I really do."

"I know, and I accept that that's how our lives are but because our lives aren't going to just drop the time we want of each other in our laps, we have to set the time ourselves.  Since we are so busy, we must schedule time to not be busy."

"'Spose you're right there, eh?" he says with an exaggerated expression before it shifts to his deep thinking one. "And my little bird wants Paris?" he says after a pause.

"She does." you smile softly at him.

"How's 'bout you have me right now and then we'll go plan for Paris, yeah?" he suggests, brushing his nose against yours.

"How about a nap, then I have you, then we eat then we plan for Paris?" you say with a laugh that he returns.

"That is where we are at in life now innit?" he chuckles.

"I know you didn't get enough sleep last night."

"I did not." he admits with a shake of his head.

"So let's sleep first. It'll only improve the quality of anything thereafter."

"You are always correct my brilliant little bird." he says with a  kiss as he moves down the bed.

"I missed hearing that as well."

"Then let me wrap around you and I'll whisper it to you until we fall asleep." he says with that warm velvety tone that makes you hum in adoration.

"Please, do." you say enthusiastically, cuddling up back to chest with him, his head tilted to speak sweet words into your ear. Even though it was hardly minutes before you both fell asleep, the promise of Paris and his whispered affections were more than enough to leave you with sweet dreams.

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @wtf-is-wrong-with-this @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @sxlomons @aphnxrising @emerald-bijou @elaenom @give-jack-a-lightsaber @anrm1 @ultrablackwidower @tinastarkandco

[destielfluffnstuff]

[Destiel Fic] An Angel’s Guide to the Care and Feeding of Humans

Summary:

Angels refer to their kept humans as ‘pets,’ not because they behave like animals, but simply because there is a natural power imbalance between an angel and a human.

Castiel is an expert on the keeping of humans, and he takes great pride in taking excellent care of his pet, Dean. He insists on lots of cuddles.

Dean learns he’s a natural pet, fully devoted to his angel. And maybe in love with him, too.

Categories: Fluff, light D/s, sfw, first kiss, alternate universe Characters: Dean Winchester/Castiel Words: 3,001 Rating: PG (future parts may be explicit) Tags: Pet!Dean (but still human, no animal behavior), naturally submissive!Dean, dominant!Cas, petting, cuddles, cuteness, happy fic, no spoilers

—————

Growing up, Dean had never expected to become a pet. His father had never liked angels, so he’d rarely gotten close to one. But he’d seen them, often with a human pet in tow. At first glance they looked like any other random people on the street. But if you looked at an angel long enough you could start to feel the power radiating off of them. And their human pets always seems very focused and attentive to to that power.

As he got older he learned a little more about the unique relationship between an angel and a human. Some were platonic, some were quite paternalistic. Some were romantic in nature. But always the angel looked after the human, provided for their needs. Angels seemed to take great pleasure in making their pets happy.

Dean always thought ‘pets’ was a slightly derogatory term. Until he became a pet himself, at which point he couldn’t deny how cleanly it outlined his relationship with his angel. Dean was completely devoted to him. And his angel did everything in his power to make him happy. And nobody could deny the natural power imbalance between an angel and a human, much as there was between humans and their own pets.

Dean knew a lot about how angels viewed their relationships with their pets. His angel Castiel literally wrote a book on it. Sometimes when Cas was gone Dean liked to curl up with the book, remembering all the care and love that went into writing it, and the story behind it.

He decided that was just what he needed tonight, so he collected a beer from the fridge and grabbed the book from the shelf, flipping it over to admire the cover. It was a slightly abstract painting of an angel, wings wrapped protectively around a human. If you squinted, it kind of looked like Cas and Dean. The title read, An Angel’s Guide to the Care and Feeding of Humans, by Castiel Novak.

Dean flopped down on the couch, set down his beer and pulled a blanket up over his bare feet. He flipped open the book to the first chapter.

Acquiring A Pet Human

The bond between an angel and a human is very powerful, and very special. It cannot arise between just any random pair. It is crucial that you look for a human that needs you, a human who will benefit from your care. And of course, they must willingly agree to become your pet. But most of all, you should wait until you find that very special human, with whom the bond will be strong. You will know them when you see them, this is an instinct all angels possess.

Six years ago

Dean sat on a park bench, head in his hands. What the hell was he going to do? He was barely nineteen years old, only had a super part time job down at the shop, and only his car and a bag of clothes to his name.

His dad had kicked him out of the house that morning, after he’d caught him in bed with a guy. And of course it was just a nameless one night stand, not at all worth becoming homeless for.

“Are you okay?”

Dean looked up, and his breath caught when he saw the handsome angel standing in front of him. He could nearly see the power radiating off of him, he’d never been able to sense it so clearly in another before.

“May I join you?” the dark haired angel gestured to the bench.

Dean dumbly nodded, inexplicably drawn in.

“Thank you.” The angel sat, regarding Dean carefully with his bright blue eyes. “My name is Castiel. I’m afraid I couldn’t help but notice that you are in distress.”

“My dad kicked me out,” Dean said, spilling without thought. Somehow he knew he could trust Castiel. “He’s a homophobic prick and he caught me in bed with a guy.”

Castiel nodded. “So you need a place to stay.” He considered Dean carefully. “I would be happy to put you up in a hotel until you can get back on your feet.”

Dean was disappointed, but he wasn’t sure why. “That would be very nice of you.”

“Alternatively…” Castiel was still studying Dean, choosing his words carefully. “I have been hoping to acquire a pet. And somehow I can tell that I would cherish you greatly. If you would like to be my pet, I’d be honored to own you.”

Dean’s eyes went wide. “W-what? Me?” His heart was racing. “I… I don’t know, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a… a pet…” He could barely get the word out. His face pinked just thinking about it.

Castiel studied Dean carefully. “You would make a wonderful and devoted pet,” he said, confident in his assessment. “I can see your natural instincts clearly. However, you must want this, or else our bond will not form. So it is your choice to make.”

Dean’s stomach flipped. He tried to imagine living as an angel’s pet, to be protected and cherished. Suddenly, faced with kind blue eyes, it seemed like the only thing Dean could ever need.

Castiel smiled warmly, reaching out to gently run his fingers through Dean’s hair. “What do you think? Will you be my pet?”

Dean shivered and leaned into the touch without thought. “Yes.”

Housing Your New Pet

Most pets have a naturally submissive nature, but they still thrive under a sense of autonomy. Give them their own space, so they can choose to come to you for affection.

“Welcome home,” Castiel said, laying a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder as he guided him into his penthouse apartment. “I’m afraid I didn’t expect to find you today, so I haven’t done much to prepare. But you may have the guest room all to yourself, and fix it up any way you want.”

Dean nodded, not speaking as he looked around the place. A little voice told him this was better than being homeless. Another voice was thrilled to be accepted by an angel. It was all a little overwhelming.

“Everything will be all right,” Castiel said, reaching out to stroke Dean’s hair again.

Dean relaxed under the touch, almost as if by the angel’s will. He wondered if this was the whole bond thing he’d read about. The connection between an angel and their human.

He supposed he was going to find out.

Praise and affection

Pets thrive on affection and positive reinforcement. Praising them for even the smallest things will make them glow with pride. And do not skimp on pets and cuddles, few pets can be happy without an abundance of physical contact.

Dean was in the kitchen, putting the clean dishes away in the cupboard. He hadn’t lived with Castiel very long, but he’d learn that the angel was tidy, and he appreciated Dean’s efforts keeping things clean. Just as he put the last cup away, he heard Cas call from the living room.

“Come here please, Dean.”

Dean was happy to do so. It was so silly, but he had this little driving need to please his angel. He didn’t really understand it yet.

Cas smiled at him and patted the seat next to him on the couch. “Join me, please.”

Dean sat down next to Castiel, watching him curiously, waiting patiently. He wasn’t surprised when he reached out to pet Dean’s hair, he just leaned into it.

“Thank you for putting the dishes away,” Castiel said, smiling softly, still playing with Dean’s hair. “I really appreciate you, Dean.”

Dean blushed faintly. “Thanks, Cas.”

“I know we’re still getting to know each other,” Castiel said, watching Dean carefully. “I’d very much like to hold you. Would you be comfortable with that?”

Dean’s eyes grew a little wide, but he nodded, already leaning closer to Castiel.

Cas smiled warmly and pulled Dean into his chest, wrapping his arms around the younger man. “My good Dean.”

Dean smiled and hid his warm cheeks in Castiel’s chest.

Do Pets Need Employment?

While they obviously have no financial need of a job after bonding with an angel, some humans find employment gives them a sense of self worth. If they enjoy their work, it’s best to allow them to continue it. But for their health and happiness, you may want to insist on part time hours. Too many hours away from you, their angel, can make a pet unhappy.

Dean was exhausted as he took off his shoes at the front door—Cas preferred he go barefoot in the house. He stripped off his jacket and hung it up, leaving him in just his teeshirt and jeans.

He made a beeline for the couch and Castiel.

Castiel frowned when he saw him coming, clearly sensing his exhaustion. “My sweet pet, come here,” he said, opening his arms for Dean.

Dean eagerly burrowed into Castiel’s arms, no longer too shy to go straight to a full on cuddle. He dropped his face to his angel’s chest and let himself be pulled down so they could stretch out on the couch together.

“Missed you,” Dean muttered. “Don’t like being apart so much.”

The bond made Dean blurt out stuff he’d usually never say. Especially sappy crap.

“I missed you too, Dean,” Castiel said, still frowning. He considered Dean for a moment. “I think you’re working too much, pet. I want you to talk to Bobby, tell him your angel doesn’t want you working more than 20 hours a week.”

Dean opened his mouth to object, but realized that was actually a wonderful idea. And if it was his angel that said so, Bobby couldn’t argue. He’d know Dean had to do as his angel wanted. “Yes, Cas. That would be great.” Dean let out a soft sigh, knowing full well he was going to fall asleep on Cas tonight.

Feeding Your Human

Humans require a varied diet, see my full glossary of recommended foods in the back. They also very much enjoy indulging themselves with treats, for instance, my pet loves beer and burgers. Try not to spoil them too much, moderation is good for your pet’s health. Meals are also a very important social element for humans, do not neglect them.

Dean couldn’t help the little groan as he bit into his burger. “God Cas, you spoil me,” he said, smiling at his angel before taking a sip of the beer that went with his meal.

“Anything for my favorite pet,” Castiel said, smiling fondly. He didn’t eat much himself, but he always made a point to have dinner with Dean. And he clearly was enjoying his own burger.

Dean laughed. “I’m your only pet,” he said, grinning at Cas.

Funny how Dean could call himself that now, and not even think twice about it.

“My one and only,” Castiel agreed, blue eyes sparkling.

Under the table their ankles were gently resting together. Dean was now quite accustomed to the regular physical contact Castiel insisted on.

It was actually really nice.

Socializing Your Pet

It is very easy for both you and your pet to become wrapped up in each other, nearly to the point where you forget all else exists. But it is important to encourage your pet to maintain the friendships from before your bond. It will make your pet happy. Although they may be nervous about other humans passing judgement on your bond, so you may have to insist.

“But does he have to come over here?” Dean whined, pacing nervously through the living room. “I could just go meet him at a coffee shop or some shit. He doesn’t have to come into our nest.”

Castiel smiled fondly, crossing the room to take Dean in his arms. “It pleases me that you’re finally comfortable enough with our bond to call our home by it’s proper name.”

Dean blushed faintly. “Thanks Cas…” The angel had been gently encouraging Dean to call the apartment their ‘nest’ for the last several weeks. It felt right, it was just so damned intimate, it had taken Dean a while to get comfortable with the word.

“I want to meet your brother,” Cas said, running his hand gently up and down Dean’s back. “Because he’s important to you, and you’re important to me. And I think it’s important that he sees you for who you are. I’m hoping you’ll eventually let go of the embarrassment our closeness makes you feel.”

Dean ducked his head to Castiel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, angel.”

Castiel held him close. “It’s okay, pet.”

Overcoming Human Bigotry

We all know that human pets are a tradition going back several millennia. For our kind, it is perfectly natural and quite common. It is important to remember that humans don’t all have the same perspective. Some humans see it as a great honor, others hold a more negative view. So keep in mind that your pet may be nervous about how they will be perceived by other humans, now that they are a bonded pet. They may need a gentle push (or several) to become more comfortable.

Dean followed Castiel through the market, the angel leading him by the hand. He tried to tune out the looks they always got, instead just focusing on the bond, letting himself take pleasure in pleasing his angel. It was easy, as all Castiel wanted was his company.

Castiel stopped at his favorite booth, the local honey farm. He tugged on Dean’s hand, bringing him in close until their shoulders pressed together. “What do you want, Dean?”

Dean noticed how the woman behind the table watched them curiously. “A cinnamon honey stick, please.”

“Of course, pet,” Castiel said, letting go of Dean’s hand to retrieve his wallet, buying the treat for Dean.

Dean smiled softly when Castiel took his hand again, leading him over to a nearby bench. They sat down together, and Castiel offered over the promised treat.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, smiling as he popped open the straw and sucked down the flavored honey.

“Anything for my dear pet,” Castiel said, pressing a kiss to Dean’s temple.

Dean beamed.

Developing Romantic Feelings

Not all bonds become romantic, however if yours does, you may find yourself feeling increased feelings of affection toward your pet. If you do, it is perfectly natural to take things to the next level, as long as your pet reciprocates. Tread very carefully here, as your pet will want to please you, so you’ll have to be certain they’re not simply accepting your advances to make you happy. It is best to wait for them to come to you. Fortunately, due to the nature of the bond, it is rare to have an instance where such feelings aren’t mutual.

Dean was on edge because Castiel was on edge. Stupid bond. Usually it was happy feelings moving back and forth between them. But the last few days Cas had been anxious, keeping Dean at a distance.

Dean was worried that Cas had figured out his secret. That he realized Dean was falling for him, but didn’t return the feelings. Maybe he was trying to break the bond and get rid of Dean, so he could find a human who wasn’t dumb enough to fall in love.

He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t live without Cas, he’d stifle his feelings if he had to. He’d make it work.

Cas was sitting on the couch, and Dean bit his lip, slipping into his usual spot next to him. He let out a relieved sigh when the angel’s arm came around him automatically, and Dean leaned into the strong chest.

“I’m so sorry, Cas,” Dean said, words starting to tumble out. He hid his face in Castiel’s neck, not able to look at him. “I know you’re upset with me, but I promise I can be better. I’ll do a better job of hiding it, I swear.”

“Hide what, Dean?” Castiel asked, voice soft and controlled.

“My feelings for you,” Dean said, feeling miserable. Even now he couldn’t lie to his angel. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean for it to happen. You’re just so wonderful…” Oh jeez, his dumb mouth was just going to spill all over the place.

Castiel cupped Dean’s chin and forced him to look up. He was grinning and his eyes were sparkling with joy. “Oh Dean. I was only trying to make sure you felt the same way. I love you, too.”

Dean’s heart leapt. “You do?”

Castiel replied with a firm kiss.

—————

Present day

Dean had just flipped to When Your Pet Becomes Your Mate when he heard the flutter of Castiel’s wings, and his heart jumped when his angel appeared in front of him.

“Cas!” Dean tossed the book aside and leapt to his feet, throwing himself into his angel’s arms. “I missed you so much!”

Castiel chuckled, wrapping strong arms around Dean. “I was only gone for a few hours, pet.” His fingers carded gently through Dean’s hair.

“I know,” Dean mumbled, face pressed to Castiel’s neck. “It just always feels really long.”

Dean had skipped the chapter on separation anxiety. It was embarrassing enough, he didn’t need to be reminded.

“Come on,” Castiel said, tugging him back down to the couch. “You need cuddles.”

Dean definitely needed cuddles. He eagerly snuggled into Castiel’s chest, letting the angel stretch out and hold him close.

Castiel picked up his discarded book, smiling at Dean. “Were you reading my book again?”

Dean smiled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Did you make it to The Sexual Needs of Humans?” Castiel asked, eyes twinkling.

Dean’s stomach flipped and he grinned. “No, will you read it to me? It’s my favorite chapter.”

Castiel laughed. “I know it is, pet.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “Yes, I will read it to you. I would do anything for you, my love.”

Dean beamed up at Castiel. “I know.”

[Thanks for reading! Also on AO3.]