#because after a brief break to reset my brain and work on other things | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvteez · 4 years ago

Text

bassists do it deeper

pairing: yunho x genderneutral!reader genre + tags: smut, band au | kink discovery, exhibitionism, a brief segment of semi-public sex, hand kink, size kink, yunho monster cock bc this deserves a tag, power play, switch dynamics (i think??), dom!yunho pulls through in the end, unprotected sex wc: 6.3k

note: big thanks to my fav babie @lustjoong for motivating me to combine the two ideas i had for the prompt into one and motivating me to finish this!! here’s my take on the unspoken obligatory yunho size kink fic every ateez smut writer should have written once but make him a bassist. also, the band au to this pwp is literally just there as an excuse to make yeosang the lead singer of the band bc if kq won’t give yeosang lines, i will

A lot can happen throughout a single weekend, as your English professor suddenly quitting her job, your brother Yeosang almost burning down the kitchen from deep frying an egg, an influx of voicemails in your inbox all sent from Wooyoung, as well as Yeosang’s punk rock band losing a member. It’s a lot to process when all you’ve done is stay the night at Yuqi’s, even harder so when Wooyoung keeps repeating every five seconds that Seonghwa quit the band. (”Why did it have to be Seonghwa who left Stereowave? He was the hottest one!”)

That being said, you expected to come home to a beyond grumpy Yeosang who was trying to find a replacement asap. A band without a bassist sounds empty, and while Stereowave has garnered a big enough fanbase over the years that wouldn’t mind the band continuing as a trio, it just feels wrong. Besides, branding a group consisting of Yeosang the frontman, San the guitarist, Mingi the drummer, and nobody covering the bassist position a band doesn’t sit right.

You were prepared for the worst; a messy kitchen, Yeosang walking around in clothes he wore for five days straight, possibly the outbreak of World War III depending on how shitty he’s feeling. But instead, you find the kitchen exceptionally clean and Yeosang acting as if nothing ever happened.

“Can you help set up the camera? The guys and I wanna film a new song.”

“Uh, sure,” you answer irritatedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about finding a replacement for Seonghwa though?”

“Oh, we already have a new bassist,” he waves off casually, “What are you gaping at? Shut that jaw of yours before flies fly into your nasty mouth.”

“First of all, rude.” Yeosang rolls his eyes at that comment. For a split second, you’re contemplating letting him figure out on his own how to use the camera because he’s the walking embodiment of a technology illiterate, but your curiosity about the new band member is bigger. “But how did you manage to find a new replacement so fast? It’s been like, what, a day since Seonghwa left?”

Yeosang sighs. “He’s been thinking of quitting for weeks now, so I had enough time to look for a new bassist. It’s not that big of a deal anyway.”

And this is exactly why you should never get dicked down by your bandmate several times in a month, you think to yourself. Seonghwa and Yeosang thought they were slick, but everyone figured they were more than friends. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until the strain of their relationship wreaked havoc within the band.

“So,” you say as you two walk to the makeshift studio in the basement, “Is the new guy good? What’s his name?”

The change of topic makes Yeosang relax visibly. There’s a sheepish smile on his face and he replies, “You’ll see.”

You arch a brow. For some reason, that doesn’t settle comfortably in your gut. Then there’s the fact that Yeosang is slightly skipping, and that makes you more concerned than relieved. Because Yeosang barely skips, only when he’s being petty and is planning on pranking somebody. (Most of the time, it’s San.)

The faint vibrations of drums and guitars ring in your ears before you step a foot into the basement. Mingi is the first to acknowledge your presence, immediately dampening the cymbals before waving at you. That causes the other two guys to stop playing their instruments and turn their heads around. You greet San like you normally do, and when your eyes flit to the new addition, all brightness drops from your face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Yunho cocks his head to the side almost tauntingly, eyes challenging. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, though more with the intention of saying hah you thought you’d never see me again. “Hello to you too, honey. Looks like fate brought us together once more, eh?”

You blink multiple times to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. To your dismay, they sure aren’t. It really is Yunho standing right next to an utterly confused San, and the bass in his hands just confirms it furthermore.

“Since when do you play an instrument?” you gawk. There’s no fucking way he could’ve had time to pick up music, not when his schedule was already jammed with basketball training and student council activities. Then again, that was his schedule in middle school.

“Since I was fifteen,” he drawls, unaffected by your outburst. “Any other questions, honey? Preferably something along the lines of how have you been? I expected a warmer welcome from you, not gonna lie.”

“What does Yeosang even see in you?” you splutter instead, disgust prevalent in your voice.

“Talent. Believe it or not.”

“Guys, no fighting,” Yeosang warns, but you’re too busy sending Yunho daggers and every pg rated curse under the sun your brain can wrack up.

Meanwhile, San shifts his weight on one leg awkwardly and asks in the background as your verbal dispute continues, “Are they exes or something?”

“Nah, just childhood enemies,” Mingi mumbles, clearly used to your interactions to the point where he’s becoming bored of it. He’s heard all the profanities too many times coming out from the same mouth, hence why he isn’t as disturbed as San is.

“Listen up, you piec—“

“(y/n), the camera. Help your older brother out, will ya?” Yeosang cuts you off urgently, the warning tone in his words hard to miss.

“Yeah, help your brother out, shorty,” Yunho snickers. Appalled by his blatant shamelessness, you scowl.

“I’m not that short—!”

“Still shorter than I am, shorty. Or do you prefer honey?”

World War III would’ve broken out right then and there if it weren’t for Yeosang’s death glare — you know, the look he has etched on his face whenever he means business and is willing to go so far and expose all of the nasty mishaps you’ve done in middle school, which is definitely something that should never see the light of day.

“I prefer neither,” you mutter after weighing the gravity of Yeosang’s wrath, avoiding any eyes before you set up the camera. Luckily, nobody further comments on that and eventually, everybody resumes practicing their parts of the songs.

Just in time as Mingi takes another short break to chug his water down, you stumble across a problem. “Uh, Yeosang? You should buy a new camera. This is still usable, but you might have to reset every ten minutes or so.”

A groan leaves him, followed by a shrill guitar riff, and you can see that he’d prefer death over spending money for a new one. “Can’t you just stay here during practice and reset it? You also get to hear some new tracks of the upcoming EP!” That fucker, he’s just too lazy to run forward and press a button every few minutes.

“I have to be on standby for the Block B ticket sale,” you lie. Technically, it’s not really a lie because you do plan on going to the Block B concert with Wooyoung, but 1) the ticket sale isn’t even today and 2) it’s always Wooyoung who buys the tickets. Yeosang doesn’t need to know that though. Any excuse is better than having to sit through practice and see if Yunho is as good as he claims.

Seems like Yeosang desperately doesn’t want to keep running back and forth to reset the camera as he suddenly says, “You can do it here too.” You would argue that the garage has its separate WiFi and only the band members have access to it, but then: “You can use my laptop instead.”

And letting you use his laptop is something he never does. You failed to submit an assignment in time because your own laptop broke down and he didn’t let you borrow his computer for even that.

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. Yeosang thanks you with a smile so obnoxiously sweet it makes you gag. When all he gets in return from you is the middle finger, his demeanor drops and he mutters something inaudible under his breath, pointing to the small table at the side where all their phones and laptops are lying before he goes back to the others.

Once all four of them are in position and ready to play, you press the record button before flipping yourself onto the old patchwork couch Yeosang bought at a garage sale for only thirty quid a few years back. To your surprise, Yeosang’s MacBook is already unlocked, the default wallpaper of mountains and northern lights quite jarring to your eyes.

When given the rare chance to have unlimited access to your sibling’s devices, it’s self-explanatory what to do. You either a) go through all of their accounts and find as much dirt as possible about them that serves as good material for future blackmail purposes or b) sign them up to as many online subscriptions as possible that will make them go crazy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on Yeosang because 1) he doesn’t mind online subscriptions, and 2) he never checks his email account, hence why his inbox is filled with over 2000 mails, a third of them most likely unopened. On top of that, his MacBook is strictly meant for work, so if you really wanted to find out his most embarrassing secrets, your only shot is his phone.

That being said, you’re left with option c) which is checking out Block B’s concert merch since that’s the only sensible thing you can do right now. Forget productivity; that isn’t doable when Yeosang’s deep timbre is blaring in your ears along with the instruments. To be honest, you really enjoy Stereowave’s music and that’s on their music, not because your brother is the lead singer. You’ve enjoyed each of their performances and perhaps you’ve been indulging in the privilege of hearing their new songs first.

But now that Yunho’s involved, suddenly the prospect of having a new favorite band sounds tempting. What was Yuqi’s favorite band again? Day6? You should take a closer look at their discography.

As much as you want to mute the sound, from San’s riffs to Mingi’s drum solo, you fail to do so. One moment you’re opening the search browser, and in the next, your eyes are set on the group. They’re practicing like they usually do; fun etched on their faces as they lose themselves in the music. Yeosang is singing as if he was performing in front of a million viewers while San improvises a solo on a whim. Mingi messes up the beat for a split second after failing to catch his stick and somehow, your eyes have zoomed in on Yunho. It doesn’t take you five seconds to realize:

Yunho is good.

While he might not seem as fired up as the other three, he’s visibly relaxed. Just like Seonghwa, he plays smoothly and isn’t overpowered by the others, but he seems to have an easier time gliding his fingers across the fingerboard. The bassline is easy to filter out, not the generic pattern you can find in every second pop song, yet still compliments the other instruments.

He can play, fair game. However, that’s the least of your worries. You’re more attentive to the ratio of his hands to the bass. His hands are larger than Seonghwa’s by far, no doubt. That makes sense given his height, maybe an inch taller than Mingi. But Mingi doesn’t have that big hands. Doesn’t that mean that Yunho’s body is disproportional?

Before you know it, you drag your gaze from his shoes up to his legs and stop at his hands briefly, only to proceed upwards until you see the cocky smirk and amused eyes directed at you. All clogs in your brain come to a stillstand and despite that, that’s when you realize you’ve been 1) enjoying his music, 2) checking him out, and 3) checking him out and caught red-handed.

It feels as if you were living on the sun instead of on Earth as you burn up in embarrassment. Knowing there’s no way you can deflect what you just did, you quickly turn back to the laptop, the Google search bar staring back at you.

You’re about to type in something when the search history pops up, catching your eyes. A gasp leaves you but it goes under the music, everyone too immersed in their own thing to notice the prevalent horror settling on your face.

exhibitionism

getting off in public

best crowded places to have sex and get away with it

You blink, thinking that your sleep deprivation got the worst out of you and that you’ve finally reached the stage where you start hallucinating. Except, you know you’re not hallucinating. After going through the words again and again, you know that you’re really not fucking hallucinating and that your nonexistent sleep cycle isn’t as bad as Yuqi makes it out to be.

When you said you wanted to dig up dirt on your brother, you didn’t mean it in the form of his kinks. Money can’t buy everything, but how you wish it could so you could unsee that shocking discovery.

Since this is Yeosang’s work computer and he’s signed into his Google account, he must make use of the drive to save a copy of his ideas. It probably won’t amount to anything since he’s the walking embodiment of staying unbothered, but writing him a note on his docs about how he’s made your life worse by not clearing his search history is better than staying silent.

You click on the little icon on the top right corner, expecting to see Yeosang’s name right above the email address. But then you see Yunho’s name instead, and suddenly everything makes much more sense.

This was never Yeosang’s laptop to begin with.

To say you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. There’s no way someone could have as little self-awareness and leave their laptop unlocked, let alone Yunho out of all people. Then again, the last thing you expected from him was to play the bass and blend well with the rest of the band as if he’s always been the bassist of Stereowave and not the newly found replacement.

This is absolutely bonkers. But:

You could have fun with it. Maybe it’s for the better that money can’t buy everything.

Besides dozens of articles about semi-public sex and even a blogpost titled Shagging in Broad Daylight for Dummies, his search history of the last 24 hours consists of many forum links discussing the morality of exhibitionism, conspiracy theories, and hand care guides. You wheeze when you see the private playlist he saved on his YouTube account; a collection of videos about filing your nails properly and the best hand cream brands for dry skin.

Yeosang calls in for a break, and everyone’s grateful for it. San lets out a relieved noise as he places his guitar on the stand before catching the water bottle Mingi chucks at him.

“My arms are beat,” Mingi complains.

San sends him an incredulous look and snorts, “All you do is bang! crash! ppang! while my throat is fucked! And so are my legs!”

“Not my fault if you keep doing your high pitched oows! while jumping around like a— like a cricket!”

“A cricket? Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, okay!”

“Then that means we should call it a day and go home and rest, right?”

“Choi San, I think you’re onto something.”

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpans, causing the bickering duo to pout in sync. “We have lots to do especially since Yunho’s now part of the band.” When all he’s met with is an attempt of cute puppy eyes that rather looks like a bad rendition of any horror movie featuring creepy dolls, Yeosang sighs, “I ordered chicken for dinner and yes, it’s on me.”

In an instant, Mingi and San’s faces brighten up and they’re celebrating as if they won a free cruise to the Bahamas. They don’t hesitate to envelop Yeosang in a bear hug, crushing the life out of him. A chuckle escapes you at the sight of your brother wringing for his sanity. Sometimes you wonder how on Earth those three guys are the same three guys who perform in abandoned warehouses, jamming out their punk rock songs while looking all edgy (in a cool way that has at least half of their fans thirsting after them).

Meanwhile, Yunho drops himself on the other end of the couch. Propping his right leg on the coffee table in front, he digs around in his pockets before pulling something out.

“Since when do you file your nails?” You pointedly raise a brow at him. Although your extensive research on his browser history already answered that question, you ask him just for the sake of it.

“Hand care is important, shorty,” Yunho replies, keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he works the file around a nail. “If Kageyama Tobio files his nails, I can too. But enough with the small talk, what do you want?”

“I didn’t peg you as an exhibitionist.”

His hand stops moving. Yunho looks up at you, irritation written all over his features. “Because I file my nails...? A bold assumption, honey.”

There’s a reason why Yunho has always gotten away with pretty much everything. He’s a good actor who’s able to feign innocence at any time. His posture is relaxed, voice genuinely sounding flabbergasted that not even your shit-eating grin can throw him off guard.

You can’t, but your proof will do the job.

“I never said it’s because of your hand fixation.” You turn the laptop screen his way and once his eyes flicker on it and decipher the words, his face falls. Gone is the faux-confusion; as all color drains from him, his eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “Is it really a bold assumption now, honey?”

Yunho inhales sharply when you scoot closer to him and put a firm hand on his left leg, his laptop now closed and long forgotten. Your fingers are placed too high for it to be friendly, skimming lightly on the inside of his thigh. Yeosang and the others are busy minding their own business but the chance of getting caught in the act is still there. The simple realization has adrenaline running a hundred miles an hour in your veins, and with the way Yunho clenches his jaw — a desperate attempt to fight the groan that’s threatening in the back of his throat — you’re not the only one who’s aroused by the setup.

Slowly, your hand inches closer to his growing bulge. Before you can dare yet another experimental squeeze, Yunho’s hand surges forward and holds your wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t,” he snarls through gritted teeth, but it sounds sadder than it is intimidating when he’s sporting a boner right in front of your eyes.

You cock your head to the side, almost in a mocking demeanor. “You sure? Think about it, it’s a win-win situation. You get to live out your exhibitionist right here in front of your new bandmates, and I get the confirmation that you’re into it. But if you really don’t want to…” you try to retreat your hand but Yunho doesn’t let you budge, hand still enclosed around yours. That won’t do as an answer.

“Which one is it? Say it, Yunho,” you assert, narrowing your eyes. Yunho looks distraught, feverishly biting his lip while he’s internally fighting with himself, but he eventually chokes out a response.

“As long as nobody notices—”

“You either say you want me to touch you or not. I don’t want any roundabout stories.”

“Touch me,” he whispers defeatedly and the grip on your hand disappears completely. “But I swear to God if anyone realizes what you’re doing— hhnh—!” he cuts himself off with a low moan when you cup him over the material of his jeans.

“Yes yes, I get it. I don’t need Yeosang to know about this,” you dismiss. “And oh wow, you’re getting hard fast when I’m just touching you over your pants.”

“Just get to it.”

The snappish attitude causes you to stop dead in your tracks. “You think you’re in the position to tell me what to do? I can be mean too, y’know,” you start nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the way your heart is shaking in your ribcage. The power you suddenly hold is exhilarating. “I could just leave you like this, and then you’d have to try to cover your situation down there while practice goes on. How would the others react if they only knew your dick is hard? Probably won’t take them too long to find out since standing for a long time can be tiring, hm?”

Yunho’s head lolls back in response as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. His breathing is uneven and the resulting moan that follows suit makes you smirk. You lightly smack the inside of his thigh, causing another wave of arousal to rupture in him. He chokes out a hushed ‘f-fuck’ and at this point, the constriction around his cock must be bordering painful.

“Who would’ve thought that the big bad Jeong Yunho is actually a submissive bitch who’s hungry for attention?” you ask gleefully, delivering another slap before stroking the area. “Who would’ve fucking thought you were a sub?”

“I-I’m not— shit, s-stop that, hngh— a fucking sub.”

“Yeah yeah, say that to yourself.” You rip your gaze away from Yunho’s flushed face to check if the coast is clear before targeting his fisted hands. He stiffens when you pry his hand open and bring three digits to your lips, sticking your tongue out to give kitten licks to his fingertips before pushing them into your mouth. You hum, suck, swirl your tongue around his fingers, giggling when all he does is stare at you wordlessly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “See? Not even once have you put up a fight.”

That seems to snap him out of his daze. In an instant, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

You snicker, seeing through his bluff. “Wow, I’m so scared. What do you wanna do? Leave practice right now? Drag me to my room and pound me into the mattress?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You could never, sub.”

Whatever strands of self-control were still residing in Yunho have turned to dust by now. One moment he’s towering over you in full height, looking down on your sitting form in bitter distaste, and in the next, he’s dragging you out of the basement, unaffected by the sudden silence and Yeosang, Mingi and San’s confused expressions.

Once you’re in the living room, Yunho wastes no time crowding you against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss is a messy clash of teeth and tongues, but it leaves you hot and lightheaded and aching for more. Yunho knows no limits and snakes one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other hand fisting your hair. He tugs harshly and the sharp sting sends all your nerves into a frenzy.

“Bedroom. Now.” The sudden huskiness in his tone catches you off guard and you wonder when his voice has ever sounded so rough. You moan into the kiss, fisting his shirt as you stumble your way to your bedroom.

Yunho pins you against the door once you’re in your bedroom. His lips are addictive, just like the groans he slips in kisses and his hands roaming your body. He gets rid of your clothes until you’re left in your underwear, then forces a knee between your legs to keep them from closing. Your eyes roll back at the friction, growing needier and hotter when he presses his thigh against you harder.

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. There’s no trace of inhibitions left in him as he watches you like a predator. With horror, you realize that the tables have turned, and when he easily locks both of your wrists above your head with one hand only, that’s when you know you’re undisputedly powerless against him.

“Who’s the sub now?” he pants, eyes sparkling with glee.

“Still y-you.” The response sounds pathetic to your own ears, but you have too big of an ego to admit it out loud. Yunho doesn’t buy it either if his quirked brow wasn’t telling enough.

“Still in denial, honey? I see. Guess I’ll have to do more then.” His free hand reaches down to tug on the waistband of your underwear, only to let it snap against your skin. The slight sting is enough to render your knees into mush and set fog into your vision. He does it again, and then he actually tugs the fabric down and you finally grab his motives.

“You’re bluffing— y-you wouldn’t put y-your fingers,” you ramble, hyperaware about how dangerously close his fingers are. Just when you think he’s about to shove a digit in, he pulls away completely.

“You know, you keep talking about my hands. It’s always my hands this, my hands that,” Yunho says casually, giving his nails a quick glance before meeting your eyes. “Rather than me having a hand fixation, it’s you who has a thing for hands. My hands specifically.”

You don’t like how every word is true. You don’t want to acknowledge that he’s correct. Verbally, because your body is moving on its own and has betrayed you long ago.

Yunho taps on your bottom lip and you comply reluctantly, letting him shove the same three fingers you sucked before. Mumbling unintelligible words under his breath, he watches intently as you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut when he slowly moves them in and out of your mouth. A whine escapes you when he pulls them out for good, soaked wet with your spit.

“Tell me.” Yunho grins, “Tell me what you like about them. Or else I’ll leave you hanging.” He’s not lying and you know it. The look he sends you is enough proof that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you high and dry.

You don’t like how he’s stringing you on like a rag doll. You don’t like how he’s stripping you off your dignity step by step. Strangely enough, you feel yourself leaking and wanting nothing but his pretty long fingers inside of you.

“I like how they, agh I— I l-like how—” you stutter, losing all levels of rationality when he suddenly circles around your entrance. Yunho urges you to continue and it takes up all of your brainpower to pick up where you left off, “—they’re so long and big and pretty—”

“So you have a size kink.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Now that, that’s something he shouldn’t have deduced. “W-wha— I don’t!”

“Seems to me that you have one though. You kept stressing how big and bad and tall I was after all.” You stiffen. Did you? Did you really? You don’t recall saying it that many times but it's hard to think straight when Yunho still has your wrists above your head and is looking down at you in a downright patronizing way. It leaves you trembling pitifully, feeling called out and feeling so, so small.

He really wants you to hit your lowest peak because he doesn’t stop there. “Who’s the real sub here? Is it really me? Or is it you who likes feeling so short, small, tiny.” His smirk widens when your breath hitches ever so slightly. “I fucking knew it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you bark back, but to no avail. Your credibility has diminished the moment he caught up to your kinks.

“Say whatever you want but that won’t change the fact that you’re tiny baby,” he pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s giving you a thorough once-over and then enunciates the next syllables with such clarity that forces time to stop, “My tiny, helpless baby.”

The pet name breaks you. It’s the final trigger that takes all your inhibitions away and the pathetic size of an ego that was left in your stubborn head.

“Please,” your voice cracks but that’s the least of your worries. You can’t move, can’t talk back, and won’t get anything in return. Yunho is right in front of you, finding satisfaction in your internal destruction and yet, after all of the things he’s slaughtered you to, he won’t give you anything in return.

“Just a little bit more, baby. I’ll give you what you want if you repeat after me; I’m your—”

“I’m your tiny, helpless baby who desperately wants you to fuck me.” Yunho is mildly taken aback that you were still able to think and get it right before he even finished his sentence. “Now get on to it, Yunho. Please.”

You’re sniffling at this point, begging for any kind of stimulation that shoots you to the stars. You’re fucking sniffling, and that’s all it takes for Yunho to manhandle you on the bed. A gasp escapes you, not expecting this turn of events at all. It all happens in a flash and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours, face buried in the pillow.

“Yunho, I t-thought y-you’d fuck me,” you complain, glancing behind to see what’s taking him so long. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Patience, baby,” he says as he’s unbuckling his belt, taking his sweet time. You rub your legs together to ease the tension, but you can’t really say you’re not enjoying the show. Yunho’s lean, slightly defined, and once he’s only left in his underwear, you swallow heavily. There’s a large, dark patch on the fabric and the bulge seems more prominent than before.

If your mouth was only watering, you’re drooling by now. Yunho takes off his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, tip red and oozing precum. Just like the rest of him, he’s abnormally huge.

You have two thoughts. One: Fuck, you want him. Now. Two:

“That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

“Oh it will,” he says with such confidence it gives you shivers. “I’ll pound you into the mattress and you’ll take it all.”

He grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him before positioning himself right behind you. “W-wait!” you cry, heart suddenly feeling heavy in your chest, “D-don’t just put it in without prep— o-oh, hnngh—” your body feels like jelly when Yunho presses two spit-coated fingers past your entrance, stretching you out with finesse.

“I’m not that heartless,” he chuckles amusedly, right at the same time he curls his digits right against your sweet spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. “You’re so small you wouldn’t be able to take an inch without prep.”

You only whine into the pillow, arching your back as he continues his ministrations. Once Yunho deems you stretched out enough, he retreats his fingers and replaces them immediately with his cock.

The difference is like night and day. It’s like his fingers didn’t amount to anything compared to this. The high-pitched cry that escapes you is loud as you grasp onto the pillow for dear life.

“How can you be so big?” you pant. There’s no way he’s past four inches deep inside of you. You’re far from being filled, but your walls are already clenching hard around him.

“Bassists do it deeper for a reason.” The innuendo is tacky but in your current headspace, it sounds like the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Yunho stills his hips, letting you get used to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Guh—” he chuckles at your inability to form coherent words, let alone thoughts. “So big.”

“You’ll get used to it, honey.” He leans forward to pet your hair. “Tell me when I can move,” he adds gently, and you swear you could melt right then.

It takes you a moment to get your breathing steady, and then he pushes more of his length inside. Whimpering, you writhe beneath him, feeling as if you’re being torn apart. Meanwhile, he’s breathing hard through his nose, trying his damn hardest to go as slow as possible. At a certain point, Yunho stops pressing for more and pulls out ever so slightly before rocking his hips back forward. It starts out slowly, but he gradually picks up the pace and you lose yourself into him.

“Faster,” you moan, bending your back for an even deeper angle. “Hnngh, so full. Want m-more.”

“You were right, you can’t take me to the hilt.” Yunho readjusts his grip on his hips and you know that bruises are going to last until the end of the week. “God, you’re so fucking small that you can’t take me to the fucking hilt.”

Your vision turns foggy once the meaning gets through you. Now that he’s saying it, how much of his cock is inside of you? Half of it? A third? He’s stretching you out so well, filling you up so impossibly deep and that wasn’t even his everything?

“That’s not— want more of you, all of you,” you stammer, not realizing what you’re even saying. “Baby wants all of you.” God, you’re so drunk and desperate for his cock that you can’t refer yourself in the first person anymore.

Yunho reacts just as perplexed, eyes widening. His hips still once more, and though you’d want to shout at him to keep on moving, you don’t find the energy to move your head, or even lift a finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he growls, pulling out of you completely. Not even a second later, he flips you around on your back so that you’re facing him dead in the eye, and then he pushes back in. The new position has you gurgling on broken words as your arms flail around for dear life.

Yunho throws a leg over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle. You don’t know if he’s actually giving you more if he’s managed to force more of him into you. All you register is the messy squelch of liquids and your moans bouncing off the walls. You can’t even see properly, everything a blur and a mix of different colors.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, sensing your demise nearing closer and closer.

“Then cum,” Yunho orders in between groans, then adds in a louder voice, “You hear that baby? Cum and make a mess out of yourself.”

Your orgasm crashes onto you in a big singular wave as you tremble under his frame, walls clenching around him tightly. His name leaves your mouth like a mantra as you continue to convulse. Yunho pulls out moments later, just to spurt white on your abdomen. His face is flushed and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead while he jerks himself dry.

It’s a miracle that Yunho hasn’t toppled on you once he slowly comes down from his high. The fog in your vision clears up gradually, but your limbs are as good as worthless. You won’t be able to move freely for a good day or two.

As you continue to blink at the ceiling, only finding the energy to breathe, Yunho grabs the box of tissues from your nightstand and wipes himself off before doing the same to you. His touch is gentle unlike before, and you’d thank him if your vocal cords were still functioning.

You’re about to drift to sleep until he suddenly leans down and pecks your lips. In an instant, you narrow your eyes at him and ask, “What was that for?”

“You had some cum on your lip. I wanted to taste too.” Yunho smiles cheekily and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, then grimaces. “It tastes... yikes.”

He cleans you up in silence before plopping onto the bed right next to you. No words are exchanged up until you say, “Yeosang is going to kill you.”

“He can’t afford to kill me. He needs me for the band,” he muses.

“He’ll still kill you.”

“I appreciate the concern, honey.”

“Just scram back to practice.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom first?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh really?”

“... Yunho, help me on my legs and then scram back to practice.”

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the guys are waiting for their bandmate to come back so they can finally finish practice and then eat chicken.

“You sure (y/n) and Yunho are only childhood enemies? They’ve been going at it like rabbits if he isn’t back here yet!” San exclaims, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect.

Mingi can’t counter that because San has a point, so he whips his head to Yeosang. “Dude, you sure they’re not in a relationship? They have to be at least fuckbuddies! Or fuckrivals? Fuckenemies? Or…”

“I do not know and I do not care,” Yeosang says blankly, looking like he’s about to bang his head against the wall because he sure won’t walk into your room and curse his eyes for the rest of his life. Damnit, all he wants is to practice and get the band together; their next gig is only a few weeks away. “In fact, I want to unsee what I just saw and unhear what you just said.”

#blame 5*os for the creation of the band au idea #ateez smut #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #ateez hard hours #atz smut #luvsmut #the ending is rushed oopsie but i never know how to end smut scenes ahahaha

1K notes · View notes

luciesbabyboy · 3 years ago

Text

The Letter.

Something momma and me wrote together, the background to this is fact, the solution is pure fantasy. But OMG this was such fun to write together.

Steve came home to an empty house after 21 days working away. It had been the longest stretch working away and he was completely broken. His wife had sent him a message earlier saying she was sorry she wouldn’t be there when he got home from his flight, but not to worry she would be home at 9pm, she was just having coffee with an old friend.

He made himself a cup of tea and sat down on the sofa and flicked on the TV. His eye was drawn to the fireplace and an plain white envelope with “Darling, please read me” written in his wife’s handwriting

Having picked it up he returned to the sofa and gently prised open the envelope, his nostrils caught the sent of his wifes perfume and he smiled at the thought of her. He opened the letter and began to read.

“Darling,

First, let me tell you how much I love you and how proud of you I am for everything you do. You make me feel so loved and our time apart is only made so much better when we are together. However, I’m really worried about you. I know you’re not telling me the whole truth about the hours you are putting in, but I know as you read this letter that you are completely destroyed mentally and physically and its will take you days to recover. But you’re not recovering, you’re surviving, you’re not eating properly, you’re not getting the sleep you need, you’re not getting any exercise, you’re waking up, going to work, eating crap to feed your depleted energy, you’re working 15 hours a day and 7 days a week and you’ve just done this for 21 days. How you’re not in hospital I really don’t know.

What you have done at that business, is beyond remarkable, you’ve single handed built it to an extremely successful, profitable business, but you have to look after yourself. If you don’t I fear you’ll self implode. I’ve seen you when you come home from a tough period away and I can tell you’re just minutes from going down the drain. How you recover enough to face another week is beyond me.

We need to get you back to where you were mentally and physically 4 years ago, cooking and eating great healthy food, loving life, exercising and reading....remember how you used to soak up books, almost a book every week, and we used to sit listening to classic alums on the record player. Now you just sit down and because you’re exhausted you don’t engage with much. I understand, but we used to have so much fun, we’d spend time with friends and family or just being on our own.

I know you’re at breaking point, and I fear that any day I’m going to get a call from your work saying you’ve had a heart attack or a mental breakdown. Thats why, this week, I contacted your CEO and she agrees with me. Again she is amazed at what you have achieved for the company and the group, but she agrees that you’re on the verge. The business will cope, you’ve built the foundations, you have got the staff in there running it, you now need to step away and relax.

So from this weekend, with your bosses blessing, you have a 10 week leave of absence. We have 10 weeks to reset you, to get you back into a mental state that gives me confidence that you’ll not kill yourself before your next birthday.

And I know exactly how to rest you “little man” 😊

On the other side of this letter is a 10 week program to take you back to basics, to allow your brain and body to dump all of that stress and then to slowly build you back up. You will, if you agree, give up all responsibilities and I will make sure you are looked after like the gorgeous little man you are.

Weeks 1 & 2

Regressed to a 9 month old. Momma will take care of your every need, she will bathe you, feed you, clothe you, read you bed time stories, cuddle you, change your nappies, love you unconditionally.

During this period, you are not allowed to walk, talk (9 month olds can’t do either), you communicate by using your hands and either crying or babbling. Just like a little baby. You are allowed to crawl around the house, but you are to use your nappies for their true intended purpose. No phones or computers and no tv except early learning tv like sesame street and in the night garden. Early bed times and day time naps. Me feeding you with a spoon, having all your drinks in baby bottles. Millions of cuddles on the sofa.

Weeks 3 & 4

My little man is now a proper handful as a 2 year old: You can toddle around the house and can use big words, but you still need momma for cuddles and everything else in weeks 1 & 2. You’re still not able to use the toilet, you can watch a few more interesting things on tv and you can play with lego and cars and colour with crayons. Your food is a less babyish, and you love food time and getting all messy with eating with your hands. You need to ask momma for everything you need, even though you can reach the counter top, cookies and treats are off limits without asking. Time out on the naughty step if you get caught doing something momma has said you can’t.

Weeks 5 & 6

Oh my, what a cute little 3 year old you are. So independent, but so naughty, trying to do things yourself and getting into all kinds of scrapes. Momma still has to tie your shoe laces and get you dressed and you still have problems with the potty, so momma is keeping you in nappies for a little while longer. But you’re old enough now to let momma know when you need to go poopy. Where she can undo your nappy and sit you on the big boy potty and wipe your cute little bottom after, and put you in a fresh nappy. You’ll be in a lot of trouble if you forget to tell momma you need to go number two and momma will smack that poopy bottom and make you sit in a dirty nappy to remind you what a dirty boy you are. We can now watch Disney cartons together and you’re learning your abc’s and numbers so well. You still need nap times, and momma needs to still take you for a bath, but can leave you to play with your bath time toys.

Weeks 7 & 8

6 months older and such a handful for this momma. You’re getting much better at potty time, so momma has decided to let you wear pull ups. You need to tell momma when you need to go potty and she will pull your trousers and pull ups down and sit you on the big plastic potty. Little boys who are potty training still need nappies at night and you’ll be wrapped up tightly in a big fluffy nappy after bath time every night. Of course I’m sure you’ll forget about needing to go potty which is why momma will constantly ask you if you need to go, however if you say no and then wet your pull ups, you can expect momma to pull those down and put you over her knee for a well earned bare botty spanking. Momma is going to be strict with you and any rule breaking will result in a red bottom and corner time. But now you’re older you can help momma bake cookies and cakes and she’ll let you lick the spoon. Lots of cuddles with my little man and you can help momma around the house. You’ll look so cute in just your Spider man pullups and dinosaur t-shirts. It makes momma’s job of checking you for wetness so much easier

Weeks 9 & 10

Oh my you’ve grown up and momma is getting you ready to go “back to school” You’re nearly fully potty trained with only the occasional wetting accident. So momma has gone out and bought you some proper big boy briefs. They have lots of cool designs on them. Spiderman obviously, I’ve got several pairs of them, some other marvel prints and some basic plain colours so you can feel like a big boy when we go out. Momma is still going to ask you if you need the potty, especially if she sees you doing your little potty dance. As you’re bigger now, you have lots more responsibilities, you are big enough to put away your toys after play time is over, you can read books by yourself. You help momma clean up the house and do the laundry. And you can help her big person cooking. We have put the big plastic potty away in the cupboard and now you’re using the big boy toilet all by yourself and wiping our bottom properly after poopies. Momma is so proud of your journey to being a proper little man, but understands you still get into mischief. You sometimes still have little wet accidents in your big boy pants and that means momma will turn that cute little bottom of your red and put you back in a nappy for the rest of the day as punishment. You can go the whole night without wetting your night time nappy, but momma knows you sleep more soundly having one on, so she still gets you properly wrapped up for bed every night.

So that’s it my love. I need you to be better, to get you’re head in the correct space you can be a proper functioning adult. We’re going to have so much fun over the next 10 weeks. I’ll take you to the park, we’ll go for picnics and walk the dog and feed the ducks. You’ll get an allowance to spend on sweeties at the shops if you’ve been a good boy. You’ll get to go shopping with momma and she’ll make sure your bottom is checked when we’re out for wetness.

Now the bad news. You’re not allowed any alcohol for the whole 10 weeks. You have to do everything momma says without questions. Any breaking of my rules will result in you getting a proper hard bare bottom spanking. You are never allow to touch your nappy at any time or play with what is in it 😊 Which brings me to “Mommas needs” Obviously momma has needs, that only a grown up can provide, seeing you naked 4 or 5 times a day as I change your nappy, or bathe you, or even when I turn that tight little butt of yours over my knee will inevitably make momma hot in all kinds of places. Therefore momma is going to need you to fix this her whenever she needs to satisfy her needs. I will take you out of your nappy and you will be allowed to be a proper man, then straight after we’ll go back to our plan.

If you agree to this plan, and giving me full responsibility for you over the next 10 weeks, just send me a text with a “Baby emoji” and the words “I’m ready momma”

Love you so much baby boy.

Your darling wife.

He let this sink in for a moment, and an emotional wave came over him. He felt so loved in that very moment that he started to cry, all the stress that had built up was too much for him. With tears in his eyes he reached for his phone and sent the message his wife needed to see.

His phone immediately buzzed back with a heart emoji and 10 seconds later buzzed back again with the following message:

“Finally and you’re not going to like this one little bit. When I get home, I want you standing in the corner in just your underwear. I want you to get a high backed chair from the dining room and place it in the middle of the lounge. You will also need to get the paddle, the hairbrush and the cane from under the bed. I know you have constantly lied to me about the hours you are doing and I know you’ve been going back into work when you said you are tucked up in bed. So I’m going to really punish you for this behaviour so you remember what happens to naughty boys who lie to me. This is not going to be a normal spanking where I turn your bottom red and then we make love afterwards. I’m going to teach you a lesson through your bottom that you will hopefully remember. If you end up sobbing and begging me to stop then I know its working, but only I will decide when the punishment is over. You will be so thankful to be put back into nappies tonight to protect a very sore bottom when you sit down over the next few days. I’m sorry baby, but I have to show you that lies and sneaking around are not good for our relationship and I’m only doing this for your own good. Love you, see you in 30 minutes. Don’t disobey me or it will 10 times worse.

13 notes · View notes

theres-no-protocol-for-this · 4 years ago

Text

Connectivity

My one-shot has become a two-shot somehow. So here’s the continuation of yesterday’s ‘humans adopt a CombatUnit’ story. You can read the first part here.

(Cass)

"Shit, Kris, it's basically a toddler." I sucked in a breath and muttered curses at deities unknown.

Our newly adopted CombatUnit sat in the co-pilot's chair, eyes closed. It remained aware of the world around it, tensing when Kris accidentally dropped a wrench, but it no longer responded to our voices in any meaningful way. Its brainwaves looked like spaghetti, and the rest of its vital signs didn't fare much better.

I pulled up one of the modular cushion chairs and sat down next to the construct. I touched its chest through the blanket, and when it didn't startle or pull away, I rubbed large, slow circles across its chest. That seemed to calm to the Unit, though it still occasionally tried to break free of its restraints.

Watching it struggle broke my heart.

Serenity worked overtime to establish some kind of connection between my augments and the construct, which would hopefully resemble the brainwave patterns and data flow of a handler and stabilize the Unit. It was a hack job with a high probability of failure, but it was still better than letting the construct suffer.

Kris leaned over my shoulder like an asshole and peered at the SecUnit. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it was manufactured less than three years ago."

"Deity! Why the hell was it out there by itself, then?"

I shrugged and gestured at the news feed with my free hand. "Your guess is as good as mine."

A moment later, Serenity notified me that the connection framework was in place and my augments were functioning within reasonable limits. We'd see how long that lasted, but for now they wouldn't fry me or the SecUnit.

"All right, show time." I looked up at Kris. "If anything happens, Sere can disconnect us. But give it a few moments before panicking, all right? This is all jury-rigged, so it might take time for everything to kick in."

Kris pulled back and stared at me. "You're doing something dangerously stupid for a machine, love. This could give you a permanent lobotomy or a heart attack." He frowned and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Bringing this thing on board was a terrible idea."

I kept my voice low, but anger simmered under the surface. "So what was the alternative? Leaving it out there to die?"

"You know what I meant, Cass."

I thought I knew what he meant, but before I could say anything else, the world briefly fell away in a shower of sparks. My augments logged so many error messages at once that the log filled up instantaneously, but they managed to achieve calibration, and suddenly I was aware of another mind existing alongside my own.

The sensation was uncomfortable but mercifully brief.

Unlike me, the CombatUnit had all the appropriate wiring for a brain-to-brain connection, and it was designed specifically with a handler in mind. So, it had less trouble accepting the connection or responding to Serenity's commands to align itself with me.

I felt its fear and confusion and loneliness.

"Shh," I whispered, hopefully out loud. "It's all right. You're safe. You're aboard Serenity. Do you remember what happened?"

The construct blinked a few times before its eyes focused on me. Waves and waves of raw data — information about previous missions, vital signs, other statistics, and outputs from its diagnostics and governor module — flooded into my system. I backburnered all of it because I'm only human, and I would need time to review the data.

Lots of time I didn't have.

"Was that the answer to my question?"

The construct nodded.

Meanwhile, Serenity began parsing the vast amounts of data provided by the Unit. The ship's bot wasn't sentient by any stretch of the imagination, but it had enough pattern-matching and data-crunching modules that it put humans to shame.

A message from the ship popped up on my heads-up display, complete with a timer and dozens of lines of code I couldn't parse. The Combat SecUnit has relayed a concern regarding its continued functionality. There appears to be a countdown to its termination. Connecting to your augments has halted the countdown for an unknown amount of time.

"What? What? What the actual fuck?"

Brow furrowed, I stared at the results scrolling across my display surface and couldn't make heads or tails of them. I know how to repair a ship, not how to mind-meld with a human-bot hybrid created by some corporation with a negative amount of morals.

Kris joined in a shared workspace and also perused through the documents. "I've heard of this," he explained after seeing my stricken expression. "SecUnits have distance limits, I think. If they get too far from their clients, they governor module fries their brains."

"I didn't want to know that, but keep going anyway. How much worse could it be?"

My companion chuckled darkly. "It looks like the Combat models don't have a distance-to-client limit, per se. Instead, they rely on regular check-ins from a handler. Each time a handler contacts the Unit, the time to termination is reset. If the timer gets down low enough, the governor triggers a countdown to a shutdown sequence. Looks like there's a number of intermediate steps, but that's the gist of it."

I was absolutely lost for words. "We do this to people?"

"Yeah, Cass, the Corporation Rim does all kinds of awful things to people." My companion pulled back and paced the room. "It's why I escaped when I could."

"I didn't… know that."

Kris shrugged. "I don't usually talk about it." He waved the topic away with a careless hand. "Let's deal with the SecUnit."

I looked up at the construct and found it watching me with those unreadable eyes. The blank, neutral expression on its face might have belonged to a statue. At least its vital signs were slowly returning to more appropriate ranges, and it was no longer fighting its restraints.

"Try asking for its performance reliability?" the light-haired pilot suggested.

"What's that?"

"An overall measure of how well a construct is doing, usually."

I took a deep breath and squeaked, "SecUnit, what is your, uh, performance reliability?"

What I wanted to do was hide in my cabin for a few hours and maybe cry into a pillow, but we didn't have time for that. Not when we were authorized to leave the station in under three hours. This would be a bad time for a mental breakdown.

In the feed, the construct answered, 72% and holding steady.

That didn't sound like a canned response, which gave me hope.

#fanfiction #murderbot #The Murderbot Diaries #combat secunit

19 notes · View notes

ceealaina · 4 years ago

Text

Title: How to Win a Supersoldier in Ten Months Ship: WinterFalcon Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Protective Sam Wilson, Enemies to Friends to lovers, Snark, Pranks, Humour, Sexual Content, Happy Ending LInk: AO3 Summary: When they realize that all the Winter Soldier's interactions with Sam are just him trying to Awkward MurderBot Flirt (TM) with the sexy man, Steve, Tony, and Nat convince Sam to play the honeypot and bring Bucky in. Sam's pretty sure the honeypot isn't supposed to fall in love with the target, but what can you do? Word Count: 14,901

Mission Parameters: Kill the mark, Captain America, by any means necessary.

Means: Violence, murder, subterfuge, lying, distraction, seduction… Seduction.

Mission Strategy Means Updated.

Means Target: Natalia Romanova. Negative. Subject Immune.

Means Target: Steven Rogers. Negative. Subject--t-t--t-t- no no no. Not St- error.

Asset reset.

Means Target: Sam Wilson. Positive. Means Selected.

***

Looking back, Sam supposed it all started back in Washington. When the steering wheel had been ripped out of his hand while he’d been driving, his initial reaction had been sheer terror, along with a healthy dose of ‘what the fuck’ because, again, he’d just had the steering wheel ripped out of his hand while he was driving.

But there’d been a moment on that overpass when, for just an instant, the Winter Soldier had stilled, head tilting curiously as he peered at Sam. And then again, after Sam had kicked him in the back to get him off Steve. Of course he’d followed that up by kicking Sam about three times as hard on the helicarrier and then pulling his damn wing off, so he hadn’t thought too much of it.

Only then it kept happening.

After they’d ended the Hydra mess at SHIELD, and taken down the helicarriers, and Steve had been found half-drowned on the riverbank, they’d ended up in New York. Or, more specifically, they’d been co-opted to New York when Stark had shown up approximately five minutes later and immediately started coordinating with Natasha to get a handle on everything from clean up and PR to arranging care for Steve. The next thing Sam knew, he was moving into an apartment in Avengers Tower that already contained half his furniture.

There’d been the whole awkwardness with the revelation that Barnes was likely responsible for the death of Tony’s parents. Steve had hemmed and hawed about what to do with the information and while he’d still been dithering Natasha had gotten impatient and just told Tony herself. There’d been a lot of screaming and yelling and things had been pretty tense for awhile, but in less time than Sam would have expected, Tony seemed to come to terms with the fact that Barnes hadn’t truly been responsible. And as an added bonus, he managed to convince Steve not to take off after Barnes half-cocked and without a plan.

Only, as it turned out, he wouldn’t have had to go far because Barnes, it seemed, had followed them to New York.

He and Steve were on a run “together,” which mostly consisted of Steve being an eternal asshole and lapping Sam around the park. He was just passing from under one of the bridges when something slammed into him from the side, knocking him into the grass. It wasn’t as painful as it could have been, but he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he yelped loudly when he rolled over to find the former Winter Soldier looming over him.

“Um.” Sam swallowed hard, felt his heart pound in his chest. “Hey there.”

Barnes didn’t speak, just stared down at him. Trying not to spook him with any sudden movements, Sam drew his legs up, trying to regain his footing. But the second he started to pull himself into a seated position, Barnes moved, giving him a hard enough shove that he found himself flat on his back again, although it hadn’t hurt.

“Okay,” Sam said, holding his hands up. “You want me here, that’s fine.”

For just a second he could swear that he saw the hint of smirk on Bucky’s face.

And then Steve’s voice came from further down the path, yelling Bucky’s name. Sam turned automatically at the sound of his voice, and when he looked back again Bucky was gone. By the time Steve zoomed up beside him (not even winded, the asshole), Barnes was long gone.

“You alright?” Steve asked, looking at him in concern.

Sam nodded, pulling himself to sitting and waving Steve off when he moved to check him over. “I’m fine,” he grunted, brushing dirt off his knees. “He just… Pushed me.”

“He… Pushed you?” Steve repeated. He looked confused, but Sam could see the smile twitching at his lips.

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

“At least he’s getting less violent?” Steve offered. “That’s gotta be a good sign, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam agreed, taking the arm Steve offered and letting him pull him to his feet. “That’s a huge consolation for me. Maybe he confused me for you too, huh?”

***

The next time it happened, Sam was alone, coming back from a dentist appointment, of all things. He was on a relatively quiet street uptown, no one else in sight. He was checking his phone when there was the clank of metal on metal. Before he could look up he was suddenly being doused with a large spray of water.

“What the fuck?” Sam hollered as he was drenched immediately, coughing a little as some of the water got in his mouth. It took him a minute to realize that it was the fire hydrant that he was being sprayed with, another minute to figure out which way was up and get out from under the spray. “What the fuck?” he asked again, coughing and trying to catch his breath. He leaned against the wall of the building and when he looked up he caught a brief glimpse of a very familiar figure standing on the other side of the spray.

It was, at least, a warm day, so Sam didn’t risk hypothermia on his trek back to the tower. That was about the only consolation he had, and by the time he made it home he was uncomfortable and cranky. He couldn’t even be surprised when the elevator opened on the common room floor instead of his own to reveal Steve and Tony. They were arguing amicably over something but stopped when they spotted him, eyes going wide in twin expressions of surprise.

“Um.” Steve snorted and Tony elbowed him. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Your boyfriend,” Sam grumbled, shoving past them because as long as he was here he was going to steal some of those cookies that Tony bulk ordered.

Steve gaped after him. “My… How…” He started before Tony elbowed him again. “Wait, you mean Bucky? Bucky did this?”

Sam shot him a look over his shoulder. “Who else would I be talking about?”

“Right,” Steve agreed, still looking confused. “But why?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Sam asked.

“I think he means more ‘how.’” Tony offered. “Was it an ambush? Did you go after him?”

“Do I look like I got a death wish?” Sam asked with an arched eyebrow. “No, man. I was just walking down the street and all of a sudden I got attacked by a fire hydrant.”

“A fire hydrant?” Tony repeated incredulously. “That’s… A less than effective means for a murderbot.”

“No shit,” Sam agreed. “I wouldn’t have even known it was him if he hadn’t stuck around to gloat.”

He saw Tony mouth a ‘what the fuck’ to himself, before shrugging. “Maybe he’s breaking through more of his brainwashing? Little less murder in the bot?”

“Don’t call him a murderbot,” Steve told him absently, still frowning like his brain hurt. “Why do I feel like I’ve heard this story before?”

***

And then there was the bush.

It had been weeks since the fire hydrant incident, and for all anyone could tell, Barnes had ghosted. No one could track down any sign of him, not Natasha with her super spy skills, not Tony with all his tech and algorithms, and not Steve with his can-do attitude.

Sam was supposed to be meeting Steve for a late dinner, some tiny, hole-in-the-wall place that Steve swore by. Steve, of course, was running late, and Sam was waiting for him outside (since the last time Steve had been ‘running late’ he’d ended up sitting alone at a table for nearly an hour while the servers gave him pity looks, thinking he’d been stood up). One minute he’d been dicking around on his phone to pass the time, and the next thing he knew there’d been a vice grip around his arm, another around his mouth, and he was being hauled into the alley around the corner.

(Though if anyone asked, Sam had not been so distracted that he’d let someone get the jump on him, world’s greatest assassin or no.)

It had taken him a second to catch his bearings after he was practically thrown against the wall and when he looked up there was Bucky, looming over him. Sam could barely make out his face in the shadows and felt his heart start to race.

“ Hey man,” he said, trying to keep calm. “We gotta stop meeting like this.”

There was a noise near the front of the alley, and suddenly Bucky was brandishing a knife, holding it threateningly in his hand. Sam tamped down on the reflex to yell; he didn’t know what Bucky’s reaction would be to that, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be good. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that taking him on in wingless hand-to-hand would be anything other than suicidal, so his best bet was to stay calm and try and work some other way out of here.

And then, while he was still weighing his options, Bucky’s other hand came up. For the briefest of seconds, Sam thought he was holding a dead animal of some kind (it was a scary situation, he could forgive his eyes for playing tricks on him) but when Bucky threw the lump at his feet, it turned out to be some kind of bush.

“Uhh… What’s this?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Bucky blinked at him. “Yours,” he replied, voice sounding gruff and unused. “It’s… Yours.”

“Um.”

And then, while he was still trying to figure out what that meant, Steve’s voice sounded from the street, calling his name. Sam’s head shot up and before he could think the better of it he was shouting back.

“Here! I’m down here!”

Bucky snapped his head to stare at him, eyes wide and wounded before he turned and ran deeper into the alley. In the scant seconds it took Steve to reach him, Bucky had disappeared again.

“What the fuck are you doing in the alley?” Steve asked before he caught sight of Sam and the look on his face. “Shit. Are you okay?”

“Uh.” Sam reached down and picked up the bush. “Your friend’s back.”

Steve stared down at the plant in his hand and some kind of realization cleared across his face. “Oh,” he said, the word coming out on an exhale. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Sam said, before shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I’m good.”

“Okay, good. I think we should go back to the tower. We’ll order in.”

Steve steered Sam out of the alley with a hand on his lower back, and he didn’t need it but it was reassuring enough that he didn’t tell Steve to knock it off. He also didn’t let go of his plant.

By the time they made it back to the Tower, Tony and Nat were waiting for them after Steve’s frantic texts, and Sam was feeling a little less shaken.

“Did he just…” He shook his head as the elevator deposited them on the common floor. “Sorry, man. I thought he was gonna kill me, but he just brought me a bush.”

Tony looked at Sam like he was a fucking idiot. “D’you mean a plant? Like a bouquet but manly? You know, to match his… Murderlicious aura?”

Sam gave him a withering glare. “I know you don’t know me that well yet, but I’m not an idiot, Stark. It’s a goddamn bush,” he explained, holding up the bush in question. He could feel his ears heat with suppressed frustration.

And it was a goddamn bush. He felt a small modicum of satisfaction when Stark’s eyes widened as he took in the root structure, the clumps of dirt falling and breaking all over his precious floor. Sam was half expecting a reprimand, even had a snarky response ready, but Tony wasn’t even looking at him. He only had eyes for Steve, which Sam figured wasn’t anything new.

“Steve, oh my god.”

Steve sighed heavily, rubbing at the back of his neck. “So you see it too, then?”

“Oh my god,” Stark repeated.

Sam finally put the bush down, since it seemed nobody was about to yell at him for dragging it in here. He felt weirdly reluctant to set it aside, even though it was heavy. “What?” he asked, resigned.

“Sam, don’t freak out,” Steve started, and Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Steve either didn’t notice or didn’t care, moving forward to take Sam’s shoulders in both of his big hands. Sam would have laughed at him for being so cheesy, if not for the painfully earnest look on his face. “I think… I think the Winter Soldier has a crush on you.”

Sam blinked back at him as Natasha, who up until now had been observing their exchange with mild interest, cracked the fuck up, laughing so hard she actually grabbed Tony’s shoulder for support. Sam could feel his ears definitely heating up now, the flush migrating down his neck and back.

“Like a big crush,” Stark emphasized, spreading his arms wide to demonstrate his point. “Huge.”

Sam sighed and shook Steve off, rubbing at his forehead. “You all don’t have to sound so thrilled about it,” he grumbled, with a particular glare for Natasha who was still cackling in the background. “Damn.” He sighed and sank onto one of the couches, leaning forward to rub at the tension he could feel building in his neck. He gave a half-hearted kick at the bush, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt that went through him when he did. There was something weirdly endearing about it in a sad sort of way, the tendrils of dirt clinging to the roots. He cleared his throat, feeling weird about the direction his thoughts were taking. “What did the bush do to him anyway, kill his parents?” he asked to cover up his fascination with it. He was pretty sure nobody present was a mind reader, but since he apparently hung out with superheroes now, you couldn’t be too sure (especially Natasha).

There was a beat and he looked up to see Steve staring at him with wide eyes and Tony looking mostly exasperated. Sam just shrugged, out of fucks to give.

“Too soon?” he asked Tony, giving him a slightly guilty smile.

Tony just rolled his eyes. “I can’t decide if I like you, or hate you,” he told him.

Sam shrugged again. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

That got him a laugh before Tony clapped the still horrified looking Steve on the back. “Relax, Cap. We’ve all moved on. The question now is what to do about this boytoy of yours.”

“We were never like that, Tony, you know that,” Steve told him with the voice of someone who had said it a thousand times before.

Tony arched an eyebrow at him. “Who said I was talking to you?” he asked before the two of them turned their gaze back onto Sam.

“Wait, no, what?” Sam held out his hands, palms up. “He’s not my anything.”

“You know,” Nat said, apparently finally managing to get ahold of herself. “I hate to say it—,”

“No you don’t,” Tony interrupted, grinning at her.

Nat shot him a smirk back. “But we could use this to our advantage.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, staring over at her with wide eyes. “We could what now?”

Nat just rolled her eyes. “Oh, relax. I’m just saying, if Barnes likes you, we could use that to our advantage. Let him come to you, let him start to trust you, and then get him to understand that we’re not here to hurt him, we want to help him.”

“But it’s demeaning,” Sam protested, wincing at the blank stare that Nat sent his way. “I mean, it’s not… It’s just…”

This time both she and Tony cracked up, snickering to each other, and Sam shook his head at Steve. “What have you dragged me into, man?” he grumbled. He was working with a bunch of assholes. Steve just shrugged helplessly as Natasha gave a very unladylike snort.

“Relax, Sam,” she told him again. “Don’t act like you’re the world’s first honeypot. I’d offer to do it myself, but clearly I’m missing a key element or three. And he already likes you, which is half the battle.”

“No one’s asking you to marry the man, Samwise,” Tony added. “You don’t even gotta put out. Just… Let him know he can trust you and then bring ‘im in when the time is right?”

“Please, Sam?” Steve added, all hopeful and heart-eyed. It was those eyes that did it, those big, blue Captain America eyes looking so damn eager that Sam found he couldn’t say no.

“Fine.” Sam sighed, burying his face in his hands against the headache he could feel coming on. “Fine, let’s do this.” He looked up at Steve, narrowing his gaze slightly. “Those eyes of yours are dangerous, man.”

“Tell me about it,” Tony sighed.

***

The problem was, Bucky may have liked him but Sam still had no idea how to track him down. He was likely tracking them -- three different encounters seemed like too many to just be a coincidence -- but Sam had no idea what would trigger Bucky to actually show up.

Natasha had been worried that if he showed too much a pattern then Bucky might get suspicious and take off, and Tony had started working on a code that would create an algorithm for when and where Sam should go, and Steve had wanted to create a list of everywhere he might be so that he could scope out hidden spots to watch from ‘just in case’ (Sam wasn’t sure if the ‘just in case was for himself or Barnes).

Sam had ignored them all, and taken to sitting at the same bench in the same, relatively quiet part of Central Park at the same time every morning (weather permitting), holding two cups of coffee. Surprisingly, it had only taken eight days before a shadow had loomed over him and Sam had looked up to find Barnes staring down at him.

“Hey man,” he said, hoping the supersoldier super senses didn’t extend to hearing the way his heartbeat still insisted on doubling up at the sight of him. He extended the hand holding the coffee cup that he hadn’t been drinking from. “Coffee?”

Bucky blinked down at him, and it was hard to tell when he had that resting murder face, but Sam was pretty sure that was the look of an assassin who was taken aback. There was a long moment where they just stared at each other and then, slowly, Bucky reached out and took the coffee from Sam’s hand. An even longer moment, and then Bucky sat down beside him, leaving a careful amount of space between them.

“It’s just black,” Sam told him, more for something to say than because he thought Bucky would actually care. “I didn’t know how you took it.” And then, after another long moment of silence, “Steve’s not coming, by the way. He doesn’t even know I’m here. Tony does, or well, Tony’s ceiling robot does, because I’m not an idiot, so you know. Don’t try anything, I guess? But Steve’s not coming, so you can relax or whatever.”

He chanced a glance over at Bucky. He was staring straight ahead, face revealing nothing, but Sam thought his shoulders were just a fraction less stiff than they had been.

“So everyone seems to think you have a thing for me,” Sam said. “That’s cool man, but we’ve gotta talk about your flirting skills. Are you secretly in the second grade? I didn’t have pigtails to pull, so you had to sic me with a fire hydrant instead? Anyway, that kind of aggressive technique isn’t really the done thing anymore. Toxic masculinity is a thing, my man. Can’t be afraid to show your feelings, you know?”

There was a beat of silence and then Sam yelped as Bucky reached out and shoved him off the bench, knocking him to the ground and spilling the remnants of his coffee all over himself.

He wasn’t hurt, beyond his pride, and Sam had to admire that a little. He was under no misconceptions that Bucky couldn’t have seriously injured him if he’d wanted. Still, he took his time rolling over only to find that Bucky had immediately manspreaded over the entire damn bench, taking up all the room he had without Sam beside him. “Asshole,” Sam grumbled, giving him a flat stare.

Bucky seemed unphased, taking a long swallow of his coffee before getting to his feet. “Sugar,” he told Sam, the only word he’d spoken at all. He stared down at him a minute before he tossed his coffee cup in the trash can and walked away.

It was barely there, but Sam could just see the barely hint of a smirk on Bucky’s face. “Yeah,” he sighed, picking himself up off the muddy ground. “This’ll work.”

***

He was waiting when Bucky showed up three days later, two cups of coffee in hand once more. He didn’t offer him one this time, just held his hand out, but Bucky took it anyway and sat down on the bench beside him. He waited, taking a slow sip of his own coffee, and watched out of the corner of his eye as Bucky took a sip of his own and then stilled, face neutral.

“Hey man, you said you liked sugar. I figured more is less. That’s the saying, right?”

Bucky turned to face him, and though it was one of the more terrifying experiences in his life, Sam met his gaze head on. “How much?” Bucky asked, voice low, and Sam wasn’t sure if the shivers it sent up his spine were fear or arousal.

“I don’t know,” he told him casually. “Like twelve packets?”

Bucky blinked at him exactly once and then, still making eye contact, he knocked back the entire cup in one go.

Sam sighed and shook his head. “So that’s how it is, huh?”

Bucky shrugged, and there was that hint of a smirk on his lips again. “Guess so.”

***

They carried on like this for a while, meeting in the same spot week after week. And gradually, Sam started to notice the shift in Bucky. That little, crooked, half-smile appeared more frequently, and for longer. He still wasn’t a talker, but he spoke more at least, responded to Sam’s incessant chattering. Admittedly, it was mostly affirmative grunts and one-word answers, but slow progress was still progress.

Or at least, that’s what Stark kept insisting. Sam had joined them for movie night, something of a habit of late, but with Bruce at a conference and Nat and Clint on a mission, it had turned into a debrief of the Bucky situation.

Which had then turned to Steve, well… Sam didn’t like to use the word whining, since it seemed unbecoming for Captain America, but that was pretty much exactly what he was doing, sulking in the corner of the couch with his arms folded across his chest.

Sam busied himself with a carton of Chinese food, and fought back a snicker when he caught Stark’s eye over top of the cardboard, and Tony gave a truly impressive eye roll.

“Steve. Steven. Stevarina. Come on, we’ve talked about this,” Tony told him, clearly doing his best to fight back his exasperation. “Your buddy’s spent more than two thirds of his life being brainwashed. He was never just gonna walk it off and waltz back in like nothing happened. It’s gonna be a long haul, and he’ll probably never be completely the guy you grew up with. We talked about all of this, remember?”

“Ad nauseum,” Steve grumbled, emphasizing his reluctance with a needlessly heavy sigh. Sam hastily turned his laugh into his cough, and then coughed harder when Tony winked at him, lips quirked in a grin of his own. Still, when Tony took a seat beside Steve and offered him a box of chow mein, Steve took it with a mumbled thanks.

“Look, I know it doesn’t feel like it, but this really is progress,” Tony insisted. “Remember, he’s pretty much on his own. He’s got no support system, no therapist. He’s just working through his trauma by blowing up Hydra bases -- allegedly -- and hanging out with… Sam.”

Sam eyed him and swallowed down a mouthful of noodles. “I feel like I should be offended by that, but usually people just treat me like I am their therapist, so thanks for that.”

Tony saluted him with his own carton. “Progress,” he insisted.

“It’s true,” Sam agreed, rubbing at the bruise on his thigh that was leftover from his last exchange with Bucky. “I made a dumbass joke and he made a noise that I think was maybe almost a laugh. Of course then he punched my thigh in retaliation, and I’ve been bruised for the past few days, but I’m pretty sure he could have shattered my femur without even thinking about it, so if he’s thinking about it, I’m calling it a win.”

He carefully didn’t tell them how he kept rubbing at that bruise because he kinda liked that edge of pain -- and something about the reminder of how goddamn strong and controlled that asshole was was really doing it for him.

Steve sighed, but he looked a little mollified. “I guess,” he grumbled, although he cracked a smile when Tony tossed a fortune cookie at his head.

“Look,” Tony told him. “We all know Captain Patience you are not, but we’re getting there babe, I promise.”

Sam arched an eyebrow at him. “Babe?”

Tony shrugged. “I call everyone babe. You haven’t noticed?” he asked, like Steve wasn’t blushing up a storm and frantically trying to hide his smile with a faceful of cookie. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

***

“So.” Sam reached into his jacket pocket and shuffled through the cards he pulled out. “Have you ever been escorted out by security?”

Bucky turned to look at him with a blank stare.

“Right, fair point. You’d probably just kill security.” He shuffled through again. “If you could take a selfie anywhere in the world, which location would you choose.”

When he glanced over, Bucky was still staring at him, a slight furrow in his brow that Sam definitely wasn’t privately thinking of as adorable. There was a slight moment of silence as Bucky blinked at him and then,

“Kazakhstan.”

“Yeah?” Sam waited, but apparently there was no additional information coming and after a minute Bucky just turned to look back out over the park. “That’s it, man? No further explanation needed?”

There was a slight shrug from Bucky. “I like the architecture in Astana.”

Sam sighed. “Of course you do.”

He shuffled a few more cards, wrinkling his nose at a couple of them. “Oh! If you had to perform at a karaoke bar, which song would you choose?”

“Okay,” Bucky finally said. “What the fuck are you even reading?”

It was probably the most words that Bucky had said to him all in one go, and Sam did a little internal victory dance before he flashed the back of the cards at Bucky. “Tabletopics,” he said. “Questions to start great conversations. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, Barnes, but you’re kinda terrible at starting conversations, man.”

Bucky actually almost fully smiled at that, lips twitching, before he twisted his face up like he was in physical pain. “You’re an idiot,” he told Sam, voice gruff.

Sam shrugged it off, flicking through some more cards since these ‘conversations’ weren’t really going anywhere. There was a mostly comfortable silence and then Bucky spoke again, voice grudging.

“Call Me Maybe.”

Sam laughed so hard he accidentally scared off a couple pigeons and this time that was definitely the hint of a smile on Bucky’s lips.

***

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a complete idiot?”

Sam turned and grinned wide at Bucky’s dry voice, popping a french fry in his mouth as obnoxiously as possible. He’d had the worst hankering for fries ever since his run with Steve that morning, so he’d grabbed an order along with their regular coffee order. He hadn’t offered any to Bucky, and judging by the way he kept side-eyeing the bag, Bucky was a little put out about that.

“Come on now, handsome,” Sam teased, unable to resist goading him further. “Don’t be like that.”

He gave Bucky a wink and reached into the bag for another fry only to have Bucky’s hand shoot out faster than he could see and close around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. Sam swallowed hard, eyes locked on the metal hand wrapped around his skin. It didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t budge his hand at all, and to be entirely honest, it was making him squirm a little. If you’d asked Sam yesterday if being held immobile was one of his turn ons he would have said no, but apparently yesterday Sam was a moron. His breath caught in his throat and it was another minute before he pulled his gaze away to find Bucky smirking at him. Bucky gave his wrist a tight squeeze before using his free hand to pluck the fry out of Sam’s fingers, popping it in his mouth.

“Thanks,” he told him.

Sam rolled his eyes. “There’s that Barnes charm I’ve heard so much about, huh?” he asked, rubbing absently at his wrist. Bucky gave him a nonchalant shrug and Sam couldn’t help grinning grudgingly back. There was still a smirk on Bucky’s lips, but underneath that he looked genuinely pleased and Sam felt something warm settle at the base of his spine in response. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he told him, making a show of looking Bucky up and down, letting his eyes linger over his chest and arms. Bucky rolled his eyes, but Sam could swear he preened a little too, chest puffing out at the attention.

“Takes one to know one,” Bucky huffed after a moment, eyes carefully focused on the ground in front of the bench. There was a flush crawling up the side of his neck and Sam huffed out a soft laugh before crumpling up the fry bag, tossing it into the trash, and getting to his feet. Immediately Bucky’s head snapped back up. “Where are you going?” he asked, the gruff tone of his voice not quite hiding how disconcerted he was.

Sam shot him a wide grin. “Well, I’m still starving, so I’m gonna go find some more food. You coming?” He didn’t wait for an answer before heading off down the path and it was a minute before he heard Bucky fall into step just slightly behind him. Bucky had snuck up on him any number of times -- making Sam jump was a favourite pastime that he and Steve apparently had in common -- so the fact that he was making his presence so obviously known said something.

There was a little bistro-cafe place a little further into the park, criminally overpriced because tourism, but they had outdoor seating so that’s where Sam headed. They were in that weird in-between section of the afternoon, so while it was a little more crowded than their usual section of the park, the sign at the entry invited them to seat themselves. It only took Sam a second to scout out a table with its back to the cafe proper and a wide-open view of everything around them, and he made a beeline for it, purposely taking the seat with his back to everyone so Bucky could keep an eye out.

“This good?” he asked as Bucky slumped clumsily into the chair across from him. Bucky only grunted in response, but there was a little grin around his lips, so he knew exactly what Sam was doing.

Bucky, the absolute shithead, completely turned on the charm for their server in a way that left Sam a little thrown. He was smiling and making eye contact, and talking to her in that low, gruff voice that somehow came out more seduction than murderbot, and left Sam feeling a little squirmy. The second she’d left again, Sam kicked him under the table, wincing when Bucky kicked him right back, a little bit harder.

“What the fuck, man?” he demanded. “How come you never talk to me like that?”

Bucky shrugged, a grin on his face. “Maybe I just don’t like you that much.”

“I’m your goddamn date, asshole.”

“Are we?” Bucky asked, arching an eyebrow. He cleared his throat. “On a date?”

“I mean, we’re in a restaurant, getting a meal together. Where did you think all that time on the bench was going?”

“Oh.”

Bucky was smiling down at the table again, looking shy and definitely not adorable, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. Oh. So the least you can do is flirt with me a little.”

Bucky looked directly at him then, tongue tracing over his lower lip in a way that probably should have been ridiculous but still made Sam feel a little hot under the collar. Then he huffed out a laugh. “Maybe she deserves it more. She’s bringing me food, after all.”

Sam just huffed at him. “See if I pay for your meal now.”

Sam had been so caught off guard with Bucky’s flirting that he hadn’t even noticed what Bucky had ordered. So when the $18 artisanal toast (it was literally just toast and jam) and the deconstructed coffee showed up, he couldn’t do anything more than stare for a full minute.

“Yeah, I’m definitely not paying for your food now. You’re such a dick.”

Bucky just smiled sweetly at him and shoved his mouth full of toast.

***

Sam yawned, tilting his head back toward the ceiling as he listened to Steve and Tony bicker over Chinese or Thai for dinner (his choice had been pizza, but he’d been outvoted).

“Guys,” he shouted at the sky. “Just pick something. I’m starving.”

“Agreed,” Natasha piped up, dropping onto the couch cushion beside him out of nowhere, and making him yelp.

“Jesus,” he grumbled. “Is sneaking up on people part of your Russian training or something?”

Natasha just winked at him before glancing over at Steve and Tony again. “Seriously guys. You don’t decide soon and we’re starting movie night without you.”

“Blasphemy,” Tony retorted, pausing long enough to point at her accusingly before turning back to Steve and waxing poetic about pad thai. Sam was pretty sure he’d started out rooting for Chinese.

Natasha grinned and looked back over at Sam. “So speaking of Russian training…”

Sam groaned. “Don’t you start. I’ve already got Steve bugging me for hourly updates.”

She shrugged. “Just wondering how things are going,” she said sweetly before waggling her eyebrows. “You bang him yet?”

Sam didn’t quite choke on his own spit, but it was a near thing. “You’re shameless,” he told her. “And no. I only just got him to leave the damn bench.”

“Kinky.”

“I mean that literally,” he told her dryly. “We, uh… I bought him lunch.”

Her grin grew even wider. “Of course you did. Such a gentleman.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, saved from having to defend himself further when his phone buzzed in his lap. Natasha gave him a pointed look.

“Speak of the devil.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he opened the messaging app on his phone. “Hardly,” he protested. “We’re not on text level, believe me. He just kinda… shows up. I don’t know if Barnes even has a cell phone…” He trailed off, frowning down at the series of numbers on his screen. “Are these… Coordinates?”

With apparently no sense of personal space or privacy, Natasha leaned right over his shoulder to peer down at his phone. Sam didn’t bother protesting; she had probably already read his entire chat history in her spare time anyway. “Yup,” she agreed, pointing at the eight digit number that followed. “Date and time too. Sounds like you’ve got a date, hot stuff.”

“What? Come on, it’s just a random string of numbers. That doesn’t mean it’s Bucky,” he argued, although it did kind of sound exactly like him. Nat was smirking at him and he purposely shifted so she couldn’t read over his shoulder as he typed his response.

Barnes? That you?

It was only a second for his phone to buzz with a response. Yeah, asshole. Obviously. Who else would be texting you with date info?

It was completely at odds with the cloak and dagger vibe of the first message, and that made Sam’s lips twitch up into a smile. Not very romantic. You’re terrible at asking me out man, you know that?

Who says I’m asking you out? I’m telling you where our next date is gonna be.

Sam snorted at his phone. Oh, that’s how it is? I don’t know, I feel like I’m owed flowers at the very least. Champagne… Chocolate covered strawberries.

I’m allergic to strawberries.

You’re a supersoldier, dumbass. You’re not allergic to anything.

Whoops. Caught me.

He was about to type in another response when somebody elbowed him hard in the side, making him jump. He looked up with a start to find Natasha smirking at him again and Steve and Tony apparently done with their argument as they watched him curiously.

“We’ve decided on sushi,” she told him, saccharine sweet. “If you’d like to place your order.”

“Who were you texting, Sam?” Steve asked.

“My realtor,” he grumbled.

***

Sam stepped into the restaurant -- crowded enough to go unnoticed but with plenty of open spaces to keep an eye on everyone -- and blinked when he spotted Bucky waiting for him at a table in the corner. He headed over and slid into the seat. “Hey man. You’re usually more of a fashionably late kinda guy. Didn’t think you’d be here already.” Then he blinked again when he spotted the bouquet of daisies on the table. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “You bought me flowers?”

“Told you, I’m allergic to strawberries,” Bucky told him. He was going for all nonchalant, but Sam could see that familiar flush on his neck again.

“Thanks man,” Sam said. “Daisies are my favourite.”

“Yeah, you seemed like a daisy guy.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Of course you don’t.”

It was a minute later that their server brought over the bottle of champagne, and Sam couldn’t stop grinning.

Bucky was his usual charming self (he cracked two jokes, both of which were solely for the benefit of their server, and then kicked Sam in the shin under the table) but when the cheque came he grabbed it before Sam had the chance, pulling out a wad of cash from one of his pockets to pay for it. Sam arched an eyebrow at him.

“And you got that money…?”

Bucky’s lip curled into a smirk that was may more attractive than it had any right to be. “Oh, yeah.”

“Uh huh.” Sam eyed him a minute. “So listen, I don’t know what kind of weird, robocob stuff you usually do to fill up your afternoons…”

“Hunting down and systematically murdering modern-day Nazis,” Bucky supplied without skipping a beat.

“See, I can’t tell if you’re joking, and I kinda feel like you’re not, and that concerns me. But anyway, if you can take a break from your serial killer stint, do you wanna… Do something? I don’t know, do you even like doing things?”

Bucky gave him a flat stare. “I like ice cream,” he offered.

Sam still wasn’t entirely sure if he was serious or still messing with him, but he shrugged anyway. “Let’s go get some ice cream then, hot stuff.”

It was a sunny day, warm enough that Bucky actually stripped out of his jacket, leaving him in a long-sleeved t-shirt that was clinging to every muscle he had. They ended up walking along the river, and Sam couldn’t help eyeing him as they went, especially ogling his biceps every time he lifted his arm to take a lick of his ice cream. It was at least the fifth time when Bucky ‘caught’ him, looking right back at Sam with a pleased smile flirting around his lips.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Sam told him loftily. “You know you’re hot.”

“Yeah, well…” Bucky took a big lick of his ice cream that Sam was pretty sure was intended to make him shiver (it worked). “You’re not too bad yourself.”

“I’m sorry.” Sam stopped dead in the path, making Bucky roll his eyes. “What was that? Are you admitting that I’m hot? You are totally into me, man. You want alllll of this.” He gestured vaguely at his own chest. “You think I’m sexy, you want to kiss me…”

Bucky squinted at him. “Is that Miss Congeniality?”

Sam squinted right back. “You know Miss Congeniality? Weren’t you frozen for that?”

Bucky shrugged. “It was on cable last week.”

Sam just sighed, shaking his head skyward. “Of course it was.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh but a beat later his entire demeanour had changed, going almost eerily still. Sam blinked at him, a little unsettled by the abrupt change.

“What?” he asked, looking over at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Uhh.” Bucky visibly shook himself, but his gaze was caught on something in the distance. Sam followed where he was looking and then felt his heart sink when he spotted Steve further down the path, talking to some kids who had apparently recognized him.

“Oh,” Sam said. “Shit.”

Bucky did look over at him then, face twisted in pain. “Help,” he croaked out, voice helpless.

Without thinking, Sam grabbed his upper arm, turning him down toward a side path. It occurred to him a beat later that yanking on the Winter Soldier without a heads up could turn out very badly, but Bucky didn’t seem upset, just turned and fell into step with Sam. They were out of sight a second later, but Sam could still feel how tense Bucky was so he kept walking. He didn’t stop until they were well away from where Steve had been and until Bucky started to breathe a little easier. He spotted a coffee shop that didn’t look too crowded and nudged Bucky inside, letting him pick out a table while he grabbed them a couple coffees, well-versed in Bucky’s order by now.

“Hey.” He dropped into the seat opposite Bucky and slid the mug across the table toward him. “You okay?”

Bucky met his gaze with a rueful expression and then shrugged. “Sorry about the ice cream,” he muttered, voice low. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Right, because ice cream is what I care about here.”

Bucky didn’t answer, looking down at the table instead, and Sam drew in a deep breath.

“Listen, for what it’s worth, I think you would have been okay. You’re doing better, Bucky. You could just try… Talking to him. I mean, hey, you haven’t killed me yet, right?”

Bucky looked back up and tried to force a smile, but his expression was pained. “I… I don’t…” He trailed off, looking frustrated and Sam held his hands up, trying to put him at ease.

“Hey, it’s okay. If you’re not ready, that’s okay too. You can take as long as you need, man.”

That didn’t seem to make Bucky feel any better. He chewed at the inside of his cheek as he stared somewhere over Sam’s shoulder and then got abruptly to his feet. “I gotta go,” he announced abruptly, glancing down at his untouched cup of coffee. “Thanks.”

***

Sam couldn’t help feeling like he’d fucked up, and that feeling got worse when Bucky was a no-show for their next park date. He’d tried texting too, worried that this was it, Bucky’d gotten spooked and taken off, but there was no answer there either. When almost an entire week went by without any contact, he knew he was going to have to tell the team.

He was in his room, trying to work out how on earth he was going to break the news to Steve, when his phone dinged with an alert. Pulling it out, he felt his eyes went wide. News about Bucky temporarily sidelined, he jogged down to the common area where Tony and Steve were already watching the news about a massive factory explosion somewhere in Austria.

“Holy shit,” Sam breathed. “Should we… Do we…”

“Out of jurisdiction,” Steve told him, sounding less concerned than Sam might have expected.

“Okay…” He narrowed his eyes at him. “What am I missing here?”

“Weirdest thing,” Steve said dryly, eyes still fixed on the screen. “There were no workers on site. They got an official call that there was a chip shortage, and it’s not like they’re going to pay the workers for not working, so they shut down for the day.”

Sam frowned. “Why is that weird?”

“There was no chip shortage,” Tony said. “Higher up who called it in had no idea what was going on when they looked into it.”

Steve glanced over at him. “Tell him the rest.”

Tony gave Sam a pointed look. “This factory? Also on the shortlist of highly likely Hydra covers that JARVIS pulled. Nat was supposed to head out next week for recon and confirmation before we called the team in.”

Sam turned his gaze back to the television. “So someone got all the innocent people out and then destroyed a Hydra base?” He felt his chest do a weird flutter. “Huh.”

And then, right on cue, his phone buzzed in his hand. He wasn’t even surprised when he pulled it open to find another set of coordinates, a date, and a time. A minute later it buzzed again, this time with an actual message.

Sorry for going MIA, btw. Had something to take care of.

Something that starts in H and ends in Nazis? Sam texted back. Honestly I don’t know if I’m more upset about the fact that you took off and did this without any backup, or about the fact that you just used btw. You’re an old man, how do you know text slang? We can’t even get Steve to use actual emojis, just the :)

He regretted it almost as soon as he hit send, worried that talk of Steve would throw Bucky off again. But the little indicator showed Bucky texting back almost immediately.

Steve’s trolling you. Dumbass.

And well, that certainly felt like progress.

***

When Sam looked up the restaurant at the coordinates Bucky had sent him (why he couldn’t give him a name or even an address he wasn’t sure, but he was 99% sure it was just Bucky fucking with him) it looked a little fancier than their usual place. Not Stark Gala fancy, but still. He’d thought about texting Bucky to confirm just how dressy he should be, but didn’t want to stress him out. Instead he opted for dressier pants instead of jeans, and a button down -- though he skipped the tie and wore a leather jacket that he knew made his shoulders look amazing, thank you very much.

It turned out to be the right choice. Sam actually stumbled a little on his way to the table when he caught sight of Bucky in a blue sweater that made his eyes pop and looked like it was cashmere, the tight fit leaving his biceps looking like he could hold Sam up for hours. (Which he obviously could do, but he didn’t have to go around showing off about it.) If the little twitch on his lips was any indication, he’d caught Sam’s slip, but Sam didn’t let on, just sat in the chair opposite him with a broad grin on his face.

“Nice sweater, Bucky,” he told him. “Who’d you steal it from?”

Bucky just shrugged, unrepentant. “Some asshole on Wall Street,” he answered lazily. Sam genuinely couldn’t tell if he was joking, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t.

Bread was dropped off at their table and Bucky immediately grabbed the basket before Sam had a chance, dragging it over to his side of the table and picking out the biggest piece. He smirked when Sam rolled his eyes, but a minute later he was sliding it back into his reach.

“Classy,” Sam told him, but he couldn’t help the fond grin when he said it.

Dinner was quiet, and delicious, and over too fast. Since neither of them were really ready to say goodnight, they went for a walk. Apparently, this was their new habit. Sam kind of liked the idea of them having habits together.

They skipped the ice cream this time, but it was a pleasant walk all the same, the two of them falling into that same comfortable silence -- right up until it was broken by a violent yawn by Sam.

Bucky actually snorted before he arched an eyebrow at him. “I’m sorry, am I boring you?”

“Sorry man.” Sam offered him a slightly sheepish smile. “I need a vacation. We should run away, go to the beach or something.”

He mostly just talking to talk, but Bucky made a scoffing noise. “You think your baby-sitters will clear that?”

“Uh…” Sam squinted at him a minute and then shook his head. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to give me more than that. I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bucky’s expression was dry. “You’re telling me Steve and Stark don’t know exactly where we are right now?”

Sam stopped dead and eyed him a minute before folding his arms across his chest. “Nah,” he drawled. “Not unless they’re tracking my every move, in which case we’re gonna be having some serious words.” He waited for Bucky’s expression to change, somewhere between startled and confused, before leaning forward again. “Your privacy is important to me. They knew about the park bench meetups, you know, just in case. I haven’t told them about any of our other dates since then, except that we’ve had them. And sometimes not even that.”

“Oh.” Bucky nodded down at the ground. “Okay then.” He didn’t say anything further, and Sam grinned at him before bumping his shoulder against Bucky’s and starting to walk again. A second later something bumped against his hand, and when he looked up Bucky gave him a soft, almost shy smile before he curled his hand over Sam’s, twining their fingers together.

***

They carried on like that through the summer. Every few days Sam would get coordinates from Bucky, or sometimes he’d set the date first -- with actual words, like a normal fucking human. And he could practically see Bucky getting better every time they met up. The constant tension that he seemed to carry between his shoulders gradually eased, he smiled and even laughed more, and the pain in his eyes was less, replaced by a spark that Sam could never seem to look away from. Best of all, he seemed to want to get better. He stopped giving Sam side looks like he couldn’t understand why he was spending time with him, and when he’d asked Sam for help finding a supersoldier-approved therapist, Sam had to resist the urge to dance right there, he was so proud (judging by the eye roll and smile that Bucky fought back, he did a terrible job hiding it, but that was neither here nor there).

And goddamn, once he started feeling human again, Bucky was gorgeous. Obviously he’d always been attractive, Sam wasn’t blind. But just that little bit of confidence he’d regained was doing things to him. He didn’t know if it was the way Bucky carried himself now, drawing attention to those thighs, or that smirk that he was always throwing Sam’s way, or C, all of the above, but his thoughts about Bucky had taken a turn toward the filthy.

And he was pretty sure he wasn’t alone in that. Sam hadn’t wanted to push, though he’d made no attempt to hide it every time he ogled Bucky. Bucky took his hand almost every time they went for a walk, and sometimes even while they ate. Sam had thought it was sweet at first, it was sweet at first. But then Bucky had started playing with his hands and fingers while they walked, stroking his thumb over Sam’s palm. Sam was hardly a prude, but the way he did it was nothing short of obscene, sending shivers up Sam’s spine. Then, a couple weeks ago, Bucky had started playing fucking footsie with him under the table, working the toes of his of feet up under the leg of Sam’s pants to stroke over his calf. And after their last date, he’d patted Sam on the thigh as they were leaving the table, and his hand had ended up too high to be anything less than an invitation.

So when it was his turn to pick the date again, he’d switched it up. Instead of a dinner, or another walk, he’d brought Bucky to a dance hall instead. And while he still hadn’t convinced Bucky to actually get up on the dance floor, he wouldn’t say it wasn’t a success. They were tucked up in a table in the corner, Bucky watching the dancers with that befuddled look that Sam was a little in love with, the two of them tucked up so close that Bucky’s thigh was pressed all along his, thick and warm, and he could practically feel Bucky’s voice rumbling through him every time he leaned in to speak.

“What?” Sam asked, elbowing him in the side. “You don’t like dancing?”

Bucky looked startled for a moment before he grinned at Sam. “I love dancing,” he told him, turning his gaze back to the dance floor, that little furrow appearing between his eyebrows again. “I just don’t remember it being quite like this.” He tilted his head, watching a couple grind up against each other a few feet away, and Sam laughed.

“Tell you what, I’ll go see if the DJ has any big band in his album. Get us a couple more drinks while I’m at it, see if that can’t give you the courage to get up there.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow at him. “You know I can’t get drunk, right?”

Sam just shrugged and winked, still grinning, and when he got up to slide past Bucky, that vibranium hand came up against his back, steadying, before sliding purposefully lower, palming Sam’s ass and then giving him a squeeze that made heat furl in Sam’s stomach. It was too obvious to be anything other than deliberate, but Sam looked over his shoulder anyway. Bucky wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it, watching him with a heated gaze that had Sam adjusting himself as he walked away.

Apparently Bucky had already made up his mind, because when Sam came back with the two bottles, Bucky knocked his back in one go before getting to his feet and immediately pulling Sam up after him. “Okay, come on. Let’s go.”

“Hey, I only had one swallow,” Sam protested, because Bucky would expect nothing less. “Don’t you know anything about clubbing? Can’t leave your drinks unattended, Buck. They might get drugged.”

Bucky just rolled his eyes at him and curled his hand around Sam’s wrist, fingertips like spots of fire on his skin as he dragged him out onto the dance floor. Sam had been expecting to have to lead, but as soon as Bucky had claimed their spot, his hands were curling over Sam’s hips, dragging him in close and then moving with him in perfect rhythm.

“Christ.” Sam couldn’t help the way he choked as Bucky’s thigh pressed between his. “When’d you learn to do that?”

Bucky shrugged, that damn smirk back on his lips. “Told you, I love dancing.”

“Yeah?” Sam eyed him, but Bucky seemed genuine, and while his sudden dancing ability had taken Sam by surprise, it wasn’t like he could let him win. He let his palms press against Bucky’s back, sliding down the length of his spine, and when there was no hesitation he let his palms shift lower, gripping Bucky’s ass and pulling him in closer until there was no space at all between them.

He had to give Bucky credit; the man had amazing rhythm. He kept up with every motion that Sam made, the two of them rocking together. He was hyper aware of Bucky’s body, the hot press of his chest against Sam’s through his thin t-shirt, the spicy scent of his cologne mixed with something that was just Bucky. They shifted slightly and then his thigh was grinding right up against Bucky’s cock, thick in his pants. Bucky bit back a moan, his hands squeezing over Sam’s waist as his head shifted forward, breathing thick and raspy in Sam’s ear.

“Christ, Buck,” Sam muttered, grinding up against him harder as the beat of the music changed.

Bucky lifted his head again to meet Sam’s gaze. His face was flushed but he was grinning and Sam really wanted to kiss him. His tongue flicked out against his lower lip, unconscious, and immediately Bucky’s eyes zeroed in on the motion. Sam hesitated just a second, but then Bucky twisted his hips in a way that had Sam’s vision going white and Bucky pressing his forehead against Sam’s neck and the moment to kiss him was gone.

They made it through three more songs before Sam had to admit defeat and request a breather. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, breath coming fast, and his cock was a half hard distraction every time he moved. He squeezed his hands against Bucky’s waist and then leaned in close; he knew Bucky would be able to hear him over the music regardless, but couldn’t resist the temptation of how good the man smelled.

“Hey, come on,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the music. “I need some fresh air.”

Bucky grinned like he’d won, but he refrained from commenting as he let Sam lead them off the dance floor and then down a hall, slipping out a side door and into the night air. It was warm out, but after the hot, heavy air of the club, it was still enough to be refreshing. Sam paused a moment outside the door, leaning back against the concrete wall and trying to calm his racing heart. He let his eyes fall shut for a moment, distantly aware of Bucky beside him.

When he cracked his eyes back open, Bucky was standing just a step too close. Sam’s posture gave Bucky a height advantage, and he was looking down at Sam with heavy eyes. Sam swallowed hard, acutely aware of the way his heart rate ratcheted back up, and the fact that Bucky could probably tell.

“Shit,” he said, trying not to sound so out of breath. “Haven’t danced like that in awhile. You having a good time?”

Bucky nodded mutely, and he was grinning but his gaze dropped to Sam’s lips. Sam couldn’t seem to look away from that expression, and as he stared Bucky’s hand came out, curling over his hip in a mirror of their actions in the club. He tugged enough to slip long fingers under Sam’s t-shirt, thumb stroking over the cut of his hip and Sam cursed under his breath when his hips shifted unwittingly into the barely-there touch. That was enough for Bucky to meet his eyes again, his own wide open and wanting, and without thinking Sam pushed off the wall, curling an arm around Bucky’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

The reaction was instantaneous. Bucky shoved him up against the wall, hard enough that Sam grunted, and kissed him back rough and needy, teeth nicking over Sam’s lip and making his toes curl in his shoes. Bucky’s hands gripped his waist hard enough to bruise, keeping him pinned against the wall, and Sam felt him shudder when he scratched blunt nails over the back of Bucky’s neck.

As quickly as it had started, it was over, Bucky pulling back slightly before freezing completely, expression unreadable. Sam shifted them enough that he could take half a step back, not wanting Bucky to feel trapped, and held his hands up soothingly.

“Hey man, I’m sorry. Should haven’t done that without asking. You okay?”

“We need to get off the street. Now,” was all Bucky said, and Sam resisted the urge to wince -- or kick himself. That wasn’t exactly a resounding ‘yes.’

“Yeah, of course,” he said instead. “Whatever you need. Um…” He looked around, trying to think where they could go, but then Bucky had a tight grip on his wrist and was pulling him down the alley.

“Come on, I gotta place.”

He didn’t let go of Sam’s wrist as they hurried down the street at a pace just short of frantic. Sam was still a little confused, worried he’d pushed Bucky too far or too fast. But at least he hadn't taken off, was keeping Sam close, so that had to be a positive sign. It was less than a block before Bucky’s hand slipped down to curl over Sam’s instead, fingers tangling, but he still didn't speak and it was a long few minutes before he pulled Sam into a building and up the stairs.

Sam blinked as they walked into an apartment, sparsely decorated but in an oddly cozy kind of way. It definitely felt lived in, and Sam stilled as he took a second look at everything. “Wait, is this your place?”

It was all he got out before Bucky’s hold on his hand tightened, pulling him in. “God,” he muttered, pushing Sam against the wall and kissing at his neck. His right hand was still pinning Sam’s wrist, but the other was running up and down over Sam’s side, pulling at his t-shirt until he could ruck his hand up underneath, dragging cold metal fingertips over his skin to leave Sam gasping and twitching.

“You, um…” Sam swallowed, doing his best to ignore the way his cock was firming up fast in his jeans. “You okay, man? We booked it out of there fast.”

But Bucky just huffed out a laugh. He scraped his teeth over Sam’s shoulder before lifting his head to meet Sam’s eyes, his own looking dazed. “I can’t remember the last time I wanted,” he breathed, rutting against Sam’s hip like he fully intended to come that way. Sam wasn’t exactly opposed, but his knees were feeling a little weak and collapsing wasn’t on the list of things he wanted to do tonight.

“Hey, I got you,” he told Bucky, stroking his fingers over the back of his neck and then having to swallow hard at the way Bucky shivered and clutched at him in response, burying his face against Sam’s neck and sucking a bruise into his collarbone. “You got a bed around here?”

Bucky whined into his neck, loathe to let him move, and seeing him all soft and open like this was doing things to Sam. He laughed though, flexing the wrist that was still pinned in Bucky’s grasp.

“Come on, man. My arm’s falling asleep.”

“Yeah.” Bucky finally lifted his head, gave Sam a wide grin. “Yeah, come on.”

Bucky’s ‘bed’ was little more than a mattress on the floor, but Sam didn’t comment, just sank down to sit on the edge, leaving Bucky staring down at him with a hungry expression.

“Look at you,” Sam hummed, shifting forward to run his hands up the outside of Bucky’s legs. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he told him bluntly, leaning in further still to mouth at his cock through the jeans he was still wearing. Bucky choked, body curling forward around Sam as his hands scratched over his head.

“That’s… Fuck,” he mumbled, hips rocking minutely. “Sam.”

His voice was rough and hoarse, pitched low, and Sam shivered a little. He’d never heard his name spoken in quite that tone, and it was really working for him. “Yeah?” he asked, reaching down to squeeze himself quickly through his pants. “What do you want, baby?”

“I… I’m…” Bucky scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking completely overwhelmed, and Sam huffed out a quiet laugh.

“C’mere,” he hummed, curling his hands around Bucky’s hips and yanking. Bucky made a frankly hilarious sound as he tumbled to the mattress, catching himself on his elbows before he squashed Sam completely. Sam laughed at him, reaching up to rub at the back of Bucky’s neck. “There you are,” he purred, spreading his legs a little wider to let Bucky settle more comfortably between his hips.

“Such an asshole,” Bucky grumbled, but he melted at Sam’s touch. His face pressed into Sam’s neck, kissing and biting at his skin until he teased a groan out of him. Bucky ground his hips down at the sound, panting at the sensation. “Shit, Sam,” he muttered. “I just… I want you so bad.”

“Yeah?” Sam wanted to make fun of him, but his own heart was racing. “Me too,” he said, tugging at the hem of Bucky’s shirt. “Come on, man,” he grumbled, tugging and pulling to yank it up over his back. “At least let me see you naked first.”

Bucky huffed, like it was the most demanding thing anyone had ever requested of him, but he pulled back far enough that Sam could haul the fabric over his head. He took a minute to just admire once it was gone, letting his hand trace down between Bucky’s pecs.

“Christ, look at you,” he breathed before flicking his eyes up to meet Bucky’s. “The serum really did a number on you, huh?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a pleased glimmer to his eyes. “Are you implying that I wouldn’t look like this on my own?” He didn’t wait for Sam to answer, instead gripping Sam’s own t-shirt in his fists in tearing it in two with apparently no effort at all.

It took a couple tries for Sam to swallow around his suddenly dry throat. “Jesus,” he muttered, doing his best to pretend that wasn’t turning every crank he had. “Thought we talked about the toxic masculinity thing.”

Bucky rolled his eyes again, smirking down at Sam. “You like it,” he drawled, leaning forward to kiss Sam, heavy and hard, pulling at Sam’s lip with his teeth. Sam groaned into his mouth, sliding his hands down to grip at Bucky’s ass. He squeezed and Bucky made a low, wanting sound, nipping harder at Sam’s lip. Sam squirmed around enough to get a leg between Bucky’s, grinning at the gasping sound he made at the shift in pressure, and pulled away to nip at his earlobe instead.

“Come on baby,” he purred into Bucky’s ear, only half hamming it up. “Let me blow you?”

A punched out sound slipped past Bucky’s lips and he ground down hard against Sam’s thigh before lifting his head enough to nod at him, looking a little dazed. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah, fuck. Please.”

Sam grinned back at him. “Look at you,” he teased. “So polite.” Bucky looked like he was going to protest, but Sam gave him a push instead. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that that would actually be enough to shift Bucky, but he went anyway, flipping over onto his back and looking up at Sam with wanting eyes. “Fuck,” Sam muttered, sprawling on top of him and wrestling with the fly of his jeans. “You’re killing me here, asshole.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh, the sound turning into a sharp hiss through his teeth when Sam’s mouth closed around his nipple, tongue flicking at the sensitive skin. “Could -- shit, Sam -- could say the same.” His hands moved to Sam’s shoulders, dragging paths over his warm skin and Sam grinned as he kissed his way down his chest, shoving at Bucky’s pants as he went.

Bucky’s pants were tight enough that Sam couldn’t quite get them off and he pulled back with a reluctant sigh, sitting up enough to get his hands on them properly. Bucky whined softly under his breath and helpfully arched his hips, wiggling around as Sam tugged his pants down over his thighs. It took a second -- Bucky wasn’t as helpful as he thought he was -- but then his cock was finally springing free, hard and heavy and weeping at the tip.

“Shit,” Bucky cursed, hips arching up again at the rush of cool air on his skin. “Oh, shit.”

Sam echoed the sentiment, staring down at him and swallowing hard. “I could say the same,” he said, voice coming out low and rough. He swallowed again. “Christ, Bucky. Where’ve you been hiding that thing?”

Bucky groaned loudly in response, head rubbing over the pillow. “Sam,” he bit out, an edge of desperation to his voice that had heart flaring in Sam’s belly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam soothed him, lowering down again. “I got you, baby.” He curled his hand around Bucky’s length, staring a moment longer as Bucky twitched in his grip, and then closed his lips around the head, flicking his tongue against the tip of him.

“Ah -- fuck!” Bucky keened at the touch, his hips making an abortive jerk, like he wanted to thrust in but was holding himself back. The idea of Bucky losing control like that made Sam shiver and he hummed, swallowing him a little deeper. Bucky choked back a groan, his left hand moving up to stifle the sound and Sam grinned around him before pulling back with a purposely obscene pop.

“Come on, handsome,” he teased, winking up at Bucky. “Don’t go all strong and silent on me now. I wanna hear you.”

Bucky glowered at him -- he managed to look awfully annoyed for someone getting head -- but Sam didn’t let him respond. He squeezed his hand around the base of Bucky’s cock and closed his mouth around him again, swallowing him deeper this time until his lips were brushing against his own fingers. Bucky was more than a mouthful, but Sam still managed to flick his tongue as worked, his own cock twitching when Bucky’s thighs tensed and another loud moan slipped past his lips.

“Sam,” Bucky choked, his hips rocking up against him. His fingers twitched over the back of Sam’s head. “Sam, fuck. Your fucking mouth.”

Sam grinned around him again, preening a little at the praise, and flexed his hand, squeezing Bucky and swallowing him down further. He’d always loved giving head, and he lost himself in it a little, the rhythm and motion and weight of Bucky in his mouth. His own cock was thick and heavy, aching for touch, but he ignored it for now, focusing on the man before him. Bucky had taken his words to heart apparently, cursing and groaning and breathing Sam’s name like a lifeline, and it was sending little thrills of heat through Sam.

He didn’t even notice Bucky tensing further, the way his heels were digging into the mattress, until the tone of Bucky’s pleas suddenly changed.

“Shit, shit, Sam -- I’m…”

His hand squeezed hard against Sam’s shoulder, and the feeling went directly to his own cock. He couldn’t help the way he groaned around Bucky in response and a beat later Bucky was cursing as he came down Sam’s throat, back arching off the mattress.

Sam pulled back, coughing a little, and stared down at him. Bucky was splayed out, prone on the mattress, damp strands of hair stuck to his forehead and a sheen on his chest as he panted. He was grinning up at the ceiling, a dazed, pleased expression on his face, and it was one of the best sights Sam had ever seen.

“Jesus, Bucky,” he muttered, scrambling to get his jeans unfastened and shoved down. He groaned as he curled a hand around himself, rocking up into his own grip. “That was… Fuck.”

Bucky rolled his head enough to grin at Sam, and his eyes darkened again when he saw him jerking off. “No, no, come on,” he protested, pushing himself up on his elbows, knees bending to frame Sam’s hips. “I’m good, keep going.”

Sam leaned back on his own knees, slowing down the motion of his hand as he arched an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?” he teased. “Sure you don’t need a minute?”

Bucky huffed. “I look like I need a minute?” he asked. He slid his hand down his lower abdomen, pulling Sam’s attention, and Sam swallowed hard when he realized that Bucky was already -- still? -- hard.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice suddenly dry, and ignored Bucky’s knowing smirk in favour of leaning forward to press him into the mattress again. “Shit,” he muttered, curling a hand around the two of them. “God, that’s hot.”

Bucky snorted, the sound shifting into a groan when Sam’s calloused fingers dragged over him just right. “Yeah Sam, god. Just like that. Want you to fuck me, come on.”

Sam stilled at that, ignoring Bucky’s whine of protest. “Wait, what?”

Bucky rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful, flinging his head back against the pillow in frustration. “I’m sorry, what part of that was unclear?” He gave Sam a look like he was stupid. “I. Want you. To fuck me.”

“Alright, smartass.” Sam did his best to glare at him, but it was hard when Bucky was sprawled beneath him, cock thick and hard between his legs and expression still a little dopey from his first orgasm. “Just trying to make sure you’re comfortable. Figured you’d wanna top, be in control. Especially the first time.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide before he laughed, loud and bright. Sam had gotten snorts and chuckles out of him before but never a laugh like this, and it made him feel warm inside in ways that had nothing to do with impending orgasms.

“Fine, sure,” Sam huffed, though he was grinning too. “Laugh at me. I see how it is.”

Buck just gave him a wolfish grin. “The fact that you think this is my first time is adorable.”

“I didn’t say your first time,” Sam grumbled. “I meant us. You and me, together.”

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky told him before reaching up and curling a hand around the back of Sam’s neck, yanking him down to sprawl out on top of him. He kissed Sam hard, rocking up against him and Sam made a punched out noise when their cocks lined up, grinding against each other. “Yeah,” Bucky groaned, grinning against Sam’s lips. “I’m good, I’m fine, I promise.” He pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “I want it.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded, recalibrating, and then lost himself in the smooth expanse of skin beneath him. “God you’re distracting,” he muttered. “Okay. You got any lube?”

He could have sworn there was a hint of a blush on Bucky’s cheeks as he pulled an arm away from him, reaching overhead and rooting around beside the mattress for a moment. There was definitely a flush when the bottle he passed over to Sam was more than half empty, but he was smiling too, lower lip caught between his teeth. Sam shook the bottle slightly, waggling his eyebrows at him.

“You want me to do the honours, or do you want to take of things yourself.”

“You,” Bucky said, just a little too quickly. He cleared his throat as he caught himself. “Uh, if that’s good with you.”

“Oh yeah,” Sam drawled, giving him a quick kiss before he pulled back and snapped open the cap on the lube. “Such a hardship.”

Bucky huffed, looking like he was going to protest, but before he could Sam smacked his hip, catching the side of his ass for good measure. “Come on, hot stuff. Roll over.” He got some grumbling, like Bucky’s cock didn’t twitch at the command, but he shifted over until he was on all fours, the muscles of his back and shoulders standing out in sharp relief as he braced himself.

“I like it better face to face,” Bucky protested, not actually sounding that put out about it.

“And I like it better when I can see what I’m doing,” Sam retorted, offsetting the comment by stretching out over Bucky and pressing a soothing kiss to the back of his neck. “We’ll get there, baby,” he promised, noting the way Bucky shivered at the low tone of his voice.

Now that he had him here, Sam couldn’t resist teasing a little, kissing over his shoulders and spine, nipping at the taut muscle, running calloused fingers up his sides until Bucky’s arms were shaking with want. He didn’t protest, just rocked back into Sam and shivered and moaned when Sam told him how good he was.

“Christ, look at you,” Sam breathed, kissing down his spine. “Could stay here all day.”

Bucky whined through his teeth at that, and when he spoke his voice was rough and out of breath. “I’d really… rather you didn’t,” he huffed, words interspersed with soft little wanting noises, and Sam smiled into his skin.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” he promised. He pulled back again, fully intending to make good on his promise and prep Bucky so he could finally get in him. But the man was a sight before him, still on all fours, head hanging low and ass up and on display just for Sam. Sam had always been an ass man and would happily admit to having checked out Bucky’s at every possible opportunity. But it hadn’t quite prepared him for just how delectable it would be, having Bucky all laid out for him like this. “Fuck,” he breathed out, all in a rush of air. He reached out, giving Bucky’s ass a squeeze and Bucky jolted in response.

“Sam,” he bit out through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam told him. “Just let me…”

It hadn’t been his original plan, but Sam was nothing if not adaptable. He shifted a little further back on the bed and then dove in, licking a long stripe up the cleft of Bucky’s ass, hands squeezing at his skin. Bucky jerked like he’d been electrocuted, a garbled noise slipping past his lips.

“This okay?” Sam asked, confident enough in the answer that he did it again before Bucky had a chance to respond.

“Yes, yes, fuck,” Bucky bit out, squirming beneath him and pressing back against his mouth. “Oh fuck, please.”

Sam grinned and traced his tongue over the rim of Bucky’s hole, feeling the way he shuddered beneath him. He pressed in closer and took his time suckling at the sensitive skin, adding the perfect drag of teeth every once in a while just to keep him guessing. Bucky was keening with every flick of his tongue, hips rocking frantically back against him, trying to push Sam closer. His arms collapsed, face pressed into the pillow, but Sam just squeezed his ass harder, working him open with his lips and tongue until he could press in even deeper.

When Bucky’s hole was loose and fluttery around his tongue Sam pulled back a little, blowing cool air across the skin. Bucky practically sobbed into the pillow in pleasure and Sam grinned, squirting too much lube onto his hand before he dove back in, this time slipping a finger inside too. Bucky sounded like he was dying in the best way, kept pleading for more, and Sam gave it to him, working two and then three fingers inside him, stretching him open and licking around them until Bucky was loose and sloppy and more than ready for him.

He pulled back then, laughing at Bucky’s whine of protest, and smacked his ass just to watch it bounce. “Hey, come on man. Roll over. You’re the one who wanted face to face.”

It seemed to take a second for the words to process, but then Bucky was shifting up onto all fours, movements clumsy and graceless, and flopping onto his back. He blinked up at Sam with a dazed expression, and Sam arched an eyebrow at him.

“You come again?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky told him lazily, voice low and face open and happy. “Maybe.”

Sam snorted. “You still want me to fuck you?”

“God yes,” Bucky said immediately, spreading his legs and canting his hips up.

“Fuck,” Sam muttered, quickly shifting into position. “God, look at you. C’mere.”

He didn’t waste anymore time before lining himself up and pressing in. Bucky was all tight, slick heat and Sam groaned as he slipped past his rim, the pressure around his aching cock almost too much. Bucky was moaning though, soft little pleases slipping out on every other breath, and Sam only paused a moment before pressing in further, not stopping until he was buried balls deep.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky gasped when he finally stopped, hands running aimlessly over Sam’s back. “Oh fuck just… Wait a second.”

Sam nodded sharply, ignoring the way his dick was throbbing, body telling him to move. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Bucky laughed. “Just don’t move. I’m gonna come if you move. Just… Need a sec.”

Sam squeezed his eyes tightly shut, balls throbbing. “Jesus, Buck,” he muttered, resting his forehead against Bucky’s chest. “You’re gonna kill me.”

It was another minute before Bucky finally gave him the go-ahead and Sam couldn’t hold back any longer. Feeling a little out of his mind with pleasure, he fucked into Bucky hard and fast, the noises Bucky made in response only ratcheting him up higher. Bucky was clutching at his hips, squirming around beneath him, and Sam got a grip on his legs, bending him in half until he was dragging over his prostate with every single thrust. Bucky shouted at the shift, metal hand reaching over his head to clutch at the mattress until he tore it. Sam was starting to see why he didn’t have a headboard.

“Oh shit,” Bucky panting, arching his hips a little higher, letting Sam slip a little deeper. “Right there, fuck. I’m gonna, I’m gonna…”

Sam nodded, dropping his head to kiss him, open-mouthed and panting and more sharing air than anything. “Yeah,” he gasped, feeling his own balls draw up tight as he struggled to hold on just a little longer. He wormed a hand between them. “Come on baby, come for me.” He managed to half curl his hand around Bucky’s cock, the angle awkward, and his grip not tight enough, but a beat later Bucky’s back was arching, body tensing as he spilled over Sam’s fingers.

He grew impossibly tighter and Sam let go of his dick, bracing his hands on the mattress instead and managing only two, three more thrusts before he was burying himself deep and coming with a low groan.

They stayed like that for a long minute, Sam splayed over top of Bucky, the room filled with the sound of their panting as they tried to get their breathing back under control. Then Bucky shoved unceremoniously at Sam’s side.

“Get off, man,” he grumbled, a grin in his voice. “You’re heavy.”

Sam sighed but shifted off of Bucky, sprawling out beside him instead. “The hell kind of thank you is that?”

Bucky just rolled his eyes, shifting onto his side to look at Sam, and then scrunched his face up. “God, I am like… Just covered in come,” he grumbled, making Sam snort.

“Charming,” he teased, and Bucky glowered at him, before leaning in and giving Sam a quick, soft kiss.

“Be right back,” he hummed, rolling easily to his feet and padding to the bathroom like he hadn’t just been fucked within an inch of his life. Sam wasn’t jealous. Really.

He dozed a little, listening to Bucky move around in the bathroom, then jolted awake when a cool cloth was dumped unceremoniously on his bare belly. “Thanks,” he grumbled, giving himself a cursory clean up (he’d avoided the worst of Bucky’s mess) as Bucky smirked at him.

Bucky tossed the cloth back in the bathroom when he was done, flopping back down on the mattress beside him. He looked sideways over at Sam, not quite meeting his eyes. “You, uh… You staying?” he asked, sounding just a little nervous, and Sam snorted.

“Well, I’d have to remember how my legs worked to be able to leave, so… Yeah. I’m sticking around. That okay?”

“Yeah.” Bucky did meet his eyes then, grinning. “Yeah, that’s great.” He leaned over to turn off the light and shifted around a little and then they were pressed close, Bucky’s head tucked against Sam’s chest. Sam curled his arm around Bucky’s back, pretending not to notice his soft, pleased sigh at the motion.

They lay in silence for a few easy minutes until Sam couldn’t stand it any longer and nudged his hip against Bucky’s side. “Man. You really came in like five seconds flat, huh?”

Bucky sighed like Sam was the biggest battle he’d ever had to overcome. “Fuck off. It’s been seventy goddamn years,” he told him, rolling his eyes at Sam’s laughter. “Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“No,” Sam agreed, grinning when Bucky’s hand came up to tangle with his. “No I was not.” He hummed for a minute. “Hey, you should know, I kept that bush you gave me.”

“The…” Bucky rolled to squint at him. “The what?”

“The bush. Way back when? You cornered me in an alley and threw a bush at me and then took off?”

“Oh.” Bucky looked embarrassed, but he laughed softly. “That.”

“Yeah, that. I kept it. Nat’s got a little vegetable garden on the roof. She let me have a patch of dirt and I replanted it. She’s thriving. I named her Rita.”

Bucky snorted, embarrassment fading. “Why?”

“Why did I name her Rita?” Sam shrugged and stifled a yawn. “I don’t know man, I guess I was doing some kind of 40s homage to you. It seemed to suit her anyway.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I meant why did you keep it?”

“Oh.” Sam grinned at him then, bumping his shoulder against Bucky’s. “Guess I kinda liked you.”

They fell into easy, comfortable silence. It was late enough that it was early again, the sky outside the bedroom lightening into the soft grey of pre-dawn, and Sam could feel himself drifting, lulled by the regular rhythm of Bucky’s breathing beside him. He was almost asleep when Bucky spoke again.

“Hey, Sam?”

There was something in his voice that made Sam shift to face him, finding Bucky’s eyes gleaming in the early morning light. “Yeah?”

Bucky drew in a deep breath, and his smile was nervous, but happy. “I think I’m ready to see Steve.”

*** One Week Later ***

Sam let the sounds of his teammates eating wash over him, glancing over at the clock at the stove and trying not to let his anticipation show. Saturday morning Avengers brunch wasn’t anything official, but nine times out of ten everyone would find their way into the common room after training and all-nighters and the dreaded weekend meeting, and it seemed as good a time as any for this. He and Bucky had gone over it over and over again, if it was best for him to see everyone at once, if he wouldn’t rather be on neutral territory, but Bucky had decided he was ready, and Sam was ready to support him in whatever he chose to do.

The clock on the stove flicked over to the hour and right on cue Sam heard the faint whoosh of the elevator door opening behind him and, because he was listening for it, faint footfalls crossing the room. From across the table, Sam saw Clint freeze and his eyes go wide, the forkful of waffle and syrup that he’d been about to shovel into his mouth falling to his lap instead. Clint cursed as he realized and then Sam’s chair was being pulled slightly back and he found himself with two hundred and sixty pounds of half-naked supersoldier sitting sideways in his lap.

“Morning, baby,” Bucky hummed, helping himself to some of Sam’s breakfast like this was an everyday occurrence.

From over his shoulder, Bucky could see Steve staring at them, looking like he was having a stroke, and Sam turned his face into Bucky’s neck before Steve could catch him laughing. He met Tony’s eyes in the process, the other man already over any shock and giving Sam a look that was somewhere between amused and impressed.

Bucky turned his attention on Steve then, and though he was still playing it up, his smile was a little softer, a little more earnest. “Morning Stevie.”

Sam pressed a soft kiss to Bucky’s shoulder and squeezed his hip reassuringly as Steve blinked at them several times in a row and finally opened his mouth.

“What the fuck??”

#fic #my fic #winterfalcon #sam wilson #bucky barnes #enemies to friends to lovers #slow burn #recovering bucky barnes #canon divergence #post-CATWS #happy ending #lemon

15 notes · View notes

flightrules · 4 years ago

Text

Which Kind Do You Want to Be?

Chapter 5: Tag

Trust is a straightforward concept, until suddenly it isn't.

Summary: This is a story about trust and kindness, loneliness and loss, belief and transgression. And two people crossing paths just long enough to find each other.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Read on AO3

Relationships and characters: Din/female reader (both similar age to Din in canon), Grogu, and a cameo from Peli.

Rating: Mature? Explicit? Anyhow, grown-up sexy stuff in later chapters. Please be old enough to be reading this kind of thing.

Tags and warnings: Moments of angst, domesticity, kindness, explicit consent, and Din doing his best to be a conscientious parent in the midst of everything. Heads up for descriptions of canon-typical violence, mention of past dubious consent, and a moment of (unintentional) violence between our protagonists. Ending is bittersweet. (Note: I had trouble tagging for this chapter. The violent thing between our two protagonists is in this one. It is brief, it is essentially an accident, there is an apology, and they make their own choices on what to do about it. Your author is not intending to condone abuse in any way, shape or form.)

From your vantage point, there are only so many places you can go in the Razor Crest’s hold. But the child can duck behind wall struts and hide in cupboards. Storage containers that come up to your knees are boulders to climb.

Right now the little one’s careening down the center of the hold, heading for a stack of crates near the far end, a tousled-looking man in very slow pursuit. You make a run around them both to cut off the child’s hiding place. The child lets out a happy squeal as he turns and runs back at the man, who promptly backs away, careful to go slowly enough that the little one can almost catch at his boots.

They get nearly all the way to the refresher compartment when the man reaches down to scoop him up. “Got you!” The child’s cooing as he gets a ride through the air, the man spinning him around before setting him back on his feet. And then he’s off again, running for the carbon freeze nook this time and peeping out between wires and hoses.

The last time you got to play tag was with your brother’s children, chasing two toddlers in the fields at the ends of summer days. They were small enough to be picked up, too, to be flown above your head, your nephew safe with your hands around his middle, high-pitched giggles filling the air and multi-winged firebugs lighting up the twilight.

You tiptoe over to where the child’s hiding in plain sight. You reach for him slowly, taking your time so he can duck back out again and toddle away. Now it’s your turn to chase after, measuring your steps as tiny legs run as fast as they’ll go. The man crouches down a meter or so ahead, right in the little one’s path, and those tiny feet skid to a stop as the child decides which way to turn.

What you do next feels like the most natural thing in the world. “Hey,” you whisper to the child. “Let’s get him!”

The next thing you know you’re on your knees with one arm twisted so far up behind your back you can feel the ligaments in your shoulder about to give way.

Your vision starts to fade at the edges as pain takes over.

Just as fast as it happened, he lets go of your wrist.

Your other hand goes to your shoulder as you sink down onto your heels. For a minute or so you’re focusing on breathing, waiting for the pain to subside. When it finally lifts enough that you can open your eyes, he’s crouched in front of you, the child at his feet.

“Are you ok?”

You’re feeling around the joint with your fingers, looking for any hot spots that would suggest something torn.

You lift your arm gingerly, rotating it through a careful circle. The child’s face turns back and forth between the two of you, the top of his fuzzy head just barely at the level of the man’s boot-top. The big ears are drooping, and the worry wrinkles are back in the little green forehead. “Are you going to take my head off if I pick up your kid?”

He stands, lifting the child into his own arms. “Let’s not find out.”

You can’t read his expression at all right now. He could be thinking of throwing you out the airlock. He could be thinking about what to eat for supper.

You try bending and extending your elbow. It’s tender, but it still works.

He goes to the cupboard where the medkit is.

Less than an hour ago you were curled up in this man’s arms. “What the hell?” you ask him.

“Reflex,” he says, as he hands you a cold-pack. “It usually serves me well.”

You break the seal and wait for it to chill down. “It didn’t serve me well.”

“It would if someone were trying to hurt us.”

Your hand starts to go numb from the cold as you try to parse what he just said. Does “us” include you now?

He holds out his hand.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s asking you to hand back the cold-pack, probably since you don’t seem to be using it. He takes it from your stiffening fingers and kneels beside you, pressing it onto your shoulder. His other arm is still cradling the child, who’s still got a few worry-wrinkles but at least his ears have perked up again.

“What happened to trusting each other?"

He moves the cold pack from the front of your shoulder to the top. The chill feels good against the lingering ache there.

“I let you go,” he says.

Your brain is stuck between how close he is, how carefully he's holding the cold-pack, how steadily he's holding the child… And the fact that you knew he was dangerous… And the idea that you've probably been stupid to think he wouldn’t be dangerous to you.

Well. It's worth a try. "You going to apologize?"

"I'm going to move this to the back of your shoulder," he says, and when you don't object he leans a little closer, shifting the cold pack so it's resting over the back of your deltoid muscle where it connects to the scapula. The child starts to wriggle, and he sets him down while still keeping the cold pack firmly in place. “It’s all right,” he tells the child. “You can go play.”

Chem-packs don’t last all that long. The chill fades as the chemical reaction winds down. He gives the thing a shake, forms it back over your shoulder for another minute, and then gets up to deposit it in the wastebin behind its cupboard door.

You stand up too, tugging your shirt straight. Your shoulder feels better but your back and neck are aching from how suddenly he put you on the floor. There are probably matching bruises forming over your kneecaps.

He latches the cupboard closed.

The child is sitting quietly nearby, chewing on a silvery pendant that’s on a cord around his neck. You saw it when he had his bath, what feels like a thousand parsecs before this moment. It must be tucked into his robe, most of the time.

The table is still set up, the two chairs still pulled up beside it. The man turns one of them around and sits down facing you, hands resting on his knees. His voice is quiet. "If you were Mandalorian," he says, "you'd be apologizing to me."

You aren’t quiet at all. "If you were from my village,” you shoot back at him, “you’d fucking know how to play tag.”

“I know,” he says, still soft. “I’m sorry.”

You’re sitting in the pilot’s chair, because why the hell not. He didn’t try to stop you coming up here.

You can hear him downstairs, tools clanking around as he works on the wiring. There was a buzz in the lights, he said, and he ought to take a look. You hadn’t noticed anything, but then you don’t know this ship.

You don’t know him.

You could change the ship’s course. You could drop it out of hyperdrive and signal anyone you wanted. You could close the sliding doors, short out the control panel, and put the thing on any path you chose.

You can’t think of anywhere in particular you want to go.

The main control panel is old, the switches and buttons bulky and square. Many of the labels are faded or gone. Some of the buttons have a depression worn away where his fingers would land.

It’s also spotless. There’s no grime worn into the crevices. No crumbs from the child’s snacks. You run a finger along the panel above your head. No dust.

It seems he’s precise about this, too.

If you were Mandalorian, you’d be apologizing to me.

But also, I’m sorry.

He knows he crossed a line with you. You didn’t even know where his line was.

The fuel gauge is still well above half. You could reset the hyperdrive, kick up the speed, get to Pavotha that much faster and get off this ship.

Once, you would have turned to your grandmother when you weren’t sure what to do. Your father would have walked the fields with you, checking the depth that you planted the seeds. The first time you and your brother built new irrigation troughs, your grandfather scolded you for taking too much water from the stream.

How do you know what choices are right, if you don’t have rules to follow?

The blues and purples of hyperspace are nothing like the colors of the sky at home. You close your eyes and try to remember your mother’s voice, her hands in the dirt beside you, the way she would give a short, sharp shake to each groundfruit so the soil would fall away. “What do you want to do?” she would have asked.

You take the ladder slowly, stopping on the last rung to make sure he sees you before you step onto the durasteel floor in the hold. He’s still got the toolbox open, but he’s not working on the ship.

He’s sitting beside the stack of armor, one piece in his lap, a bright-tipped tool in his hand. The underside of the piece he’s working on is a maze of exposed circuits. The tool gives off a low electrical buzz where it touches.

You walk over, not too close, and sit, leaving a meter or so between you.

It’s automatic, already, to look around for the child. The little one is seated at the man’s other side, a collection of small tools arrayed around him. Right now he’s banging one of them against the floor and seems pleased by the sound.

The man continues working in silence. He turns the piece over in his hands and you can see that it’s a pauldron, the one with the mudhorn decorating the side. He lays down the tool and picks up a soft-looking rag, drawing it over the surface and rubbing carefully around the raised design. The cloth releases a faint smell of pepper as it moves.

The child is now arranging tools in a pattern, lining them up in rows.

The two thigh guards are already set off to the side, lined up neatly in parallel atop a clean grey blanket. He puts the pauldron down beside them and picks up the other one from the pile, trading the rag for the electrical tool again. Before he gets to work on it, he turns his head your way. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You’re here,” he says. “Is your shoulder still hurting?”

It isn’t, much, but the rest of your muscles feel like they took a beating. “Is yours?”

He looks confused, then seems to remember. “It’ll be fine.”

“Was that really normal for you? You just, fight each other like that?”

“We train for those reflexes,” he says. “They keep us alive.”

“So if I were Mandalorian, I’d know better than to surprise you.”

“Yes,” he says. “But you aren’t Mandalorian.”

Two days ago, you held each piece of his armor in your hands, but you didn’t get a good look at any of it. “May I?”

The moment stretches out for a while, but eventually he answers. “Go ahead."

You choose one of the thigh guards, the simpler one with the surface that’s mirror-smooth. Your fingertips slide over the metal without leaving a smudge. Either beskar won’t hold a fingerprint, or whatever he’s using to polish it has that same effect. You fit it against your own leg. It’s a little long for you, looking awkward against your body.

In your village, you used to play a hiding game. One person would be the seeker, and the point was to hide so well that when they came near you could jump out and tag them. You got extra points if they screamed.

“We had a game like that, too. People usually needed to be patched up afterwards.”

"Did anyone scream?"

"Sometimes." There's the tiniest bit of a smile. "Less as we got older."

You lay the guard back down on the blanket, lining it up again between the pauldron and the other thigh plate.

“I liked,” you tell him, "being held by you.”

He takes a slow breath, ending in a sigh as he touches the glowing tool to circuitry and it makes that low buzz. “I did, too.”

“That can’t happen again.”

He looks up at the ship’s chrono, its numbers glowing red from the little panel near the ceiling. “We’ll be at Pavotha the morning after tomorrow. I can be upstairs most of the time.” He glances at the child, who’s now stacking tools atop each other until they overbalance and fall. ”We won’t bother you.”

The natural thing would be to touch him, to show him that he’s misunderstood. To lay your hand on his thigh, maybe, in the place that the armor used to cover. “I meant you almost breaking my arm.”

He draws the cloth over the second pauldron and sets it down on the blanket. He begins to fold the edges of the blanket over, rolling it up so that each piece of armor is cushioned by a layer of cloth. The child abandons his own project and comes over to help, little claws patting the cloth smooth after each fold. “He’s so small. I need to protect him.”

“Not from me.”

“It’s not connected to thinking,” he says. “I’d be too slow.”

“So, no sudden moves?”

He nods, slowly, as if he’d needed to consider carefully. “No sudden moves.”

“Hey,” you say to the child, who has gone over to poke at the remaining stack of armor, the chestplate and greaves and knee guard. “Let’s get him?” The little face turns toward you, but he doesn’t seem to understand.

You scoot carefully across the floor to close the space between yourself and this man, giving him plenty of time to see what you have in mind. When he lifts his arms to hug you back, he’s shaking again, almost like that very first night. It subsides quickly this time, though, as he pulls you in against his chest, one hand on your lower back, the other between your shoulder blades. His mouth is against your forehead, and your lesson from earlier echoes back to you in the way his lips move against your skin.

You can feel his ribs and belly rise and fall as he breathes deep, and you could swear you can sense his heartbeat against your own chest.

The child toddles over to join you now, climbing up on your thigh to burrow in between the two of you, and snuggle with you both.

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #fanfic #touch-starved din djarin #din djarin needs a hug #reader character also needs a hug

12 notes · View notes

cherryeol04 · 4 years ago

Text

Bump

Pairing: Minho x Reader

Genre: Fluff?

Word Count: 1.8k

It was really annoying you, the way your upper lip felt rough every time your teeth grazed over it. You knew it was a bad habit, to chew on your lips but work was stressful. It was a way to release that stress, if only for a brief few seconds. But now you were honestly wishing you hadn’t touched your lips because all you could focus on was the way it tingled and slightly hurt when your bit at it.

And the skin, it felt so rough. But you always made sure your lips were moisturized because if there was one thing you hated, it was dry lips. You also had a habit of peeling the dry skin off and making your lips bleed and you wanted to try and break that habit. But this roughness didn’t feel like just dry skin. Well, it did, but it didn’t. It felt rough against your tongue and teeth, but when you ran your finger against it, you didn’t even feel the signs of dry lips.

Honestly, what the hell was going on? Was it just your brain playing tricks on you? Were you having an allergic reaction to something? You knew you shouldn’t have trusted Minho when he gave you his lunch. That mischievous smirk had meant something! You just know it!

Groaning, you sat back in your chair, glaring up at the tiled ceiling as you wracked your brain for some sort of logical answer. It shouldn’t have taken you as long as it did to come up with the answer, and you were mentally kicking yourself as you opened one of your filing drawers and pulled out your purse. Digging around inside, you grabbed your compact mirror and opened it, taking a good hard look at your lips and where it felt rough. At first you didn’t even see anything as you rubbed your upper lip slowly to make sure you could feel the general area where you thought the skin was rough.

It was after the fifth pass that you finally saw it, the small round bump at the point of your Cupid’s bow. The flesh of your lip was slightly raised in a circle, looking as if you got stung by something or you were indeed having an allergic reaction. Honestly it didn’t matter what the cause, at least now you had closure on what had been driving you crazy for the past few hours. Putting your mirror away, you dug through your purse again, this time searching for your allergy pills. And despite the amount of pill bottles in your purse, none of them were your allergy pills.

A deep groan left you as you dropped your purse back into the drawer and closed it. You weren’t sure if the office even had allergy pills in the break room, even though they should. You had a number of allergies and probably some you weren’t even aware you. You tended to have reactions to even the smallest of irritations and quite frankly, it was very annoying. But there was honestly nothing you could do about it but take your pills. Which leads to the question of where your allergy pills were? You don’t remember taking them out of your purse, but you were such an indecisive person that you wouldn’t be surprised you had forgot to put them in this purse when you last changed it.

“For fucks sake Y/n, you idiot.” You muttered to yourself as you slumped back into your chair. Closing your eyes, you did your best to try and convince yourself that you’ll make it through the rest of the day with these weird tingling lips and when you got home you would just take a pill and call it an evening. But the longer you sat there trying to convince your body to stop hating you, the worse the irritating feeling got. You were about ready to ask your boss to take a break so you could run to the store and pick up more of the pills when you remembered that your boyfriend also carried pills in his bag.

Relief washed over you as you practically catapulted out of your chair and cubicle, round three corners of tightly bunched cubicles to get to your boss’s door. With a swift knock, you opened the door and gave a slight bow and wary smile.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am.” You started and she looked up from her computer, smiling brightly. “I just wanted to let you know I was going to take a quick 5 minute break and run downstairs.”

“That’s fine. Hurry back.” She waved her hand dismissively and you nodded as you backed out of the office and headed out into the lobby hall. Calling for an elevator, you shifted your weight from one foot to the other as you thought about how you were going to interrupt your boyfriend during his practice. It was one thing to be secretly dating an idol in the company you worked for, but it was another to come barging in during dance practice and ask for your allergy pills. Would seem a little weird, regardless that you two were seen as friends. You thought of coming up with some excuse to get him to come out alone, but in the end you just hoped that maybe they wouldn’t be practicing. As the elevator doors closed behind you, a passing thought of texting crossed your mind but you had stupidly forgotten your phone at your desk. And you weren’t about to go back to get it now that the elevator was descending.

Reaching the second floor, you stepped off the elevator and headed for dance practice room 4. There was a long, slender window attached to the door and you did your best to peek in, but you couldn’t really see much in the way of the room. Just the empty area in front of the door. You debated for a moment if you wanted to risk it and go in or just forget it all together and deal with your tingling lips for the next five hours. It would probably just be better to forget it all and go back - even if it meant you suffered. And just as you were getting ready to turn away, a figure ran by the door, followed shortly by another and you could make out the screams from someone inside.

And it clicked.

They must have been on break. Which was great for you because you could play it off as if someone texted you for a visit while they rested. Grabbing the handle, you opened the door and slipped in, smiling softly as you watched the eight boys shuffle about the room. Jeongin was running from Seungmin while screaming, Felix and Hyunjin were working on the routine, and there in the corner of the room was your boyfriend Minho, idling scrolling into his phone. Stepping in further, you grinned when your presence was noticed.

“Hey Y/n!” Chan called and you waved at him, bowing as the other members called out similar greetings.

“Hey guys!” You watched as Minho looked away from his phone, his eyes locking with yours in an intense stare. Suddenly, you found it difficult to breathe as you stared into those chocolate orbs, swimming with mirth. You had to force yourself to breathe properly, which was a difficult task considering your brain was trying to shut down on all rational thought - only focused on Minho, Minho, Minho.

“Did you need something?” His voice was like the reset button in your brain. Lights seemed to come on and once more you were functioning, clearing your throat as you nodded and took a seat next to him in the couch.

“Uh, yeah.” You gave a quick glance back at the others and they seemed preoccupied with what they had been doing before you entered. Perfect.

“You do know they know we’re dating, right?” He asked and you turned back quickly, eyes wide with shock.

“Minho! You told them?” You hissed out through gritted teeth.

“No, they figured it out.” He said and shrugged. “They’re not stupid.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry though, our secret is safe.” He assured you as he locked his phone and sat up straight. “Now what did you need?” He asked.

Sighing, you shook your head before relaxing a bit. “Do you have some of my allergy pills?” His eyes scanned over your face and down to your neck quickly, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, why? Are you okay?”

“My lips are tingling and I have this bump on my lip.” You told him with a frown. He raised a brow and leaned in, eyes focused on your lips. “See?”

“Where?”

Reaching up, you pointed to the front of your lip. “Here.” Minho hummed and leaned in further, analyzing your lip before shrugging.

“I don’t see anything.” He said.

“Seriously?!” You whined. “It’s right there. I can feel it and I swear it’s a reaction.”

“Alright, calm down. Let me look again.” Minho huffed with a light laugh. He leaned back in and you tilted your head up slightly in hopes that it would help his view. Again he was analyzing your lip and you were praying that he would see what you had. Otherwise, maybe you really were going crazy. And that was a thought you weren’t very comfortable with.

“Still don’t see anything.” He said, and your face fell. A protest was just on the tip of your tongue when Minho closed the gap between the two of you and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was quick, yet soft and sweet still and very much Minho. You loved kissing Minho so much and this occasion wasn’t any different. But when he pulled away, you pouted, arms crossing over your chest.

“Meanie.”

“Meanie?” Minho gasped and scoffed. “I give you a kiss and I’m the mean one?”

“Shut up and just give me my pills.” You muttered. Minho snickered and shook his head as he reached down and grabbed his bag. Opening it, he reached in and pulled out the pill bottle and tossed it to you. You fumbled, but managed to grasp it none the less and clutched it to your chest.

“Thank you.” You smiled. “I need to get back to work. See you later?” Minho nodded as he sat his bag back down.

“Of course. Text me if your lips get worse, okay?” You nodded and stood, flashing him a sweet smile.

“Of course. Love you.” You cooed out teasingly.

“I love me too.” He smirked as you gaped at him. “And you too I guess.” He shrugged. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, turning to leave the practice room with your most coveted prize and a memory of a sweet kiss. Despite his teasing, Minho was a sweet man and you were honestly lucky to call him yours. Even if he did tease you too much. But at least you got your allergy pills.

Tags: @straysrachaa @lordseochangbin @channiesmixtape @starryseung @felixsanxchatbot @jisungsjheekies @amelee23 wanna be included in my tags? Check out my post here!

#stray kids #skz #lee know #lee minho #minho #kpop #fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #skz scenarios #minhoxreader #minho x reader

72 notes · View notes

a-crimson-lion · 4 years ago

Text

A Look At Bakudeku’s Development (Based On That One Instagram Post): A Photo-Narrative Analysis

Word Count: 4,287 (Yikes…)

[This got long. Like, REALLY long. Don't expect too many colors. There's a lot to get through...]

For those out of the loop, I recently came across this Instagram post during unhealthy hours in the morning. The purpose of this post, I’d assume, was to debunk any negativity aimed at the Bakudeku dynamic/ship, claiming it was indeed not abusive and that the antis in question are ignoring canon in favor of playing Bakugo’s suicide instigation on repeat. Before addressing the post in question, I would like to state two things:

I am not stuck on Chapter/Episode 1 in the series. I have been caught up proper with every story arc up to the JT Training Arc and am roughly familiar with everything past that point. I don’t just take Katsuki’s now essentially forgotten suicide instigation into account; I’m taking every part of his actions well beyond that moment and how they reflect on him, internally justified or otherwise.

While I’m among the people who believe that Bakudeku as of the latest incarnation of the manga (up to Ch. 280) is indeed abusive, I am open to discussions on why it is not. In any case, however, I cannot ignore the fact that the dynamic/ship is incredibly problematic besides the skeletons in both Izuku and Katsuki’s closets.

So, in order to address this issue to the best of my half-awake brain’s abilities, I will review the screenshots within said post and break down how they factor into the Bakudeku dynamic and the overall development. Be aware that there are some manga and movie spoilers, and this is just MY OPINION. I could be wrong, and I’m okay with that. If you wanna talk without patronizing me, the comments are open. I also apologize in advance if I myself come of as patronizing. All the screenshots I’ll be discussing can be found in the video link above (or here).

Well then, no point in beating around the bush...

1) Izuku Taking Katsuki Out Of The Final Exam Gate (Anime Screenshot)

The first piece of “evidence” used to show the merit of Bakudeku comes from the Final Exam arc, shortly after Katsuki succumbs to All Might’s assault, only for Izuku to come in and deck the #1 Hero in order to grab Katsuki and carry him to safety, allowing them both to pass.

However, this photo marks a recurring trend throughout some of the other photos: they speak more about IZUKU as a character than Izuku AND Katsuki.

Izuku getting to save Katsuki is a major development… for Izuku. One that we’ve seen before. Think about it. The first time Izuku saves Katsuki towards the beginning of the exam, he has to punch Katsuki in the face because he was considering throwing the match just for working with Izuku. And after he’s been saved, Katsuki blows up (figuratively and literally) before aggressively kabedoning him. In this scene though? Katsuki got knocked the f*** out, so he really has no room to protest if Izuku comes in to save him a second time.

Plus, this isn’t really anything NEW with Izuku. We know that he’s aware in an abstract sense that what Katsuki did to him was “wrong,” but he doesn’t hold a grudge or any animosity to him towards that. He’s one of Katsuki’s biggest defenders and supporters, assuming Katsuki allows it. So really, him saving Katsuki isn’t really surprising or a major step forward, ‘cause he was always willing to do it from the get go. And again, Katsuki isn’t conscious during his second rescue, so we don’t really know if he would have let Izuku save him again or if he would have protested.

There’s nothing new here, and nothing balanced to the overall dynamic. Just Izuku being Izuku.

2) All Might Acknowledges The New Bakudeku Rivalry (Anime Screenshot)

Deku vs Kacchan 2 was a big moment for the Bakudeku dynamic. I’m not saying it’s a positive moment, nor am I saying it was necessary, but it was big. And in the aftermath of that fight, where Izuku and Katsuki are having a back and forth, All Might thinks to himself that the two have become true rivals now, or something along those lines. And it’s nice that he’s willing to spell this out for the audience and all, but uh…

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: show, don’t tell.

All Might is essentially telling us that Izuku and Katsuki are rivals now. What does the story have to show for it? A brief conversation during their house arrest, followed by a massive stall due to the Shie Hassaikai Arc and Cultural Festival Arc (albeit with one more instance we’ll cover later), and then what essentially equates to Katsuki yelling at Izuku a lot during the Joint Training Arc.

...that’s ...not much.

And yeah, you could expect me to be a good bean to the author and wait until the later arcs, but even then, the execution… just falls kinda flat, at least for me. Going back to that particular moment with All Might’s thought process, it kind of reminds me of Eraserhead essentially acting as a mouthpiece for the Ochako vs Katsuki fight during the Sports Festival, but that’s a can of worms I won’t be indulging today.

What I’m getting at is this: All Might letting the audience know that Bakudeku have reached rival status is great! Now if only the series could deliver more on that...

3) Standing With Two One For Alls (Heroes Rising)

Okay, seriously, if you haven’t seen Heroes Rising yet, I implore you, GO. WATCH IT. It is an incredible film and I would recommend it with warm words. And I’ll admit, it gives us a better incarnation of Bakudeku compared to the rest of the series.

Yes, I said “better,” not “great.”

Look, I’m all for Izuku and Katsuki working past their differences and the clusterf*** that was their childhood, and maybe Horikoshi not being as integrally involved with the film’s writing as people think he is has something to do with it, but uh… you do not say “put myself as low as to working with Deku” or something like that and expect to be casually tossed aside, at least if you’re me. And while I’m glad there was some genuine emotional tension as Izuku gave Katsuki OFA, some part about it feels… off. Like, nothing was really truly resolved. Katsuki wasn’t given OFA as a sign of forgiveness, as an acknowledgement. Katsuki was given OFA because there was an AFO level villain about to wreck the place and kill some peeps and oh look, the narrative made it so that Katsuki was the only convenient holder around! It kinda stings when you look at it that way.

Not that it matters, because a big thing most people forget is that at the end of this movie, THE ENTIRE THING IS ESSENTIALLY SWIPED ACROSS THE DESK AND ON THE FLOOR. Even if it was going to have some level of effort towards the development of the dynamic, that effort is essentially GONE because Katsuki doesn’t remember SQUAT, and what happens to OFA after the fight is NEVER DISCUSSED. It’s just a hard reset, BOOM, back to normal. *Sigh*

Really, the whole double OFA thing was for convenience, less so for any emotional leveling up that could have been done. And even then, Izuku is still somehow the one putting more emotional input into the entire thing than Katsuki.

4) “I Thought You Were Gonna Get Ahead Of Me!” (Anime Screenshot)

Katsuki’s methods of motivation are… admittedly not for everyone. They seem to work fine for Izuku, as seen sometime after the Cultural Festival Arc, but again, that’s just Izuku. We know how he takes Katsuki’s words and turns it into motivation, but why does Katsuki bother at all?

Well, maybe this comes with desperately trying to find reasons to like a character but progressively despising him and his narrative placement more and more as time progresses, but here’s my angle on it: Katsuki just doesn’t want Izuku dragging his weight for nothing.

Keep in mind, we’re talking about the same Katsuki who held a grudge against Shoto for holding back during the Sports Festival. The same Katsuki who wanted the #1 Hero to go all out and would continuously press to fight him. The same Katsuki who wanted to fight a deadly villain even after being instructed to get back to camp for his own safety. The same Katsuki who challenged Izuku to a fight to finally determine where the gap was, and who was frustrated when he won because the power Izuku possessed was All Might’s, so clearly he shouldn’t have lost.

In short, Katsuki doesn’t like it when people don’t give it their all. And I believe it’s been stated once or twice that once Izuku makes One For All his own, there’s a good chance they’re gonna fight again. So it’s in Katsuki’s best interest to make sure Izuku isn’t half-assing anything, because he wants to prove he can beat Izuku at his best, thus proving that KATSUKI is the best.

So it’s less so for Izuku’s benefit as it is for Katsuki’s own.

5) One Giant Leap (Heroes Rising)

Arguably one of the best moments of the entire Heroes Rising film amongst the fandom is the big handhold scene between Katsuki and Izuku as they make a last gambit effort to take down Nine with two One for Alls. Admittedly this is one of the best if not the best moment throughout the entire progression of the Bakudeku dynamic thus far. I’ll give it that much.

...which makes it all the more frustrating because again: MIND. WIPE. The audience knows it happened, but in canon we never know if Izuku discusses it with Katsuki or if anyone else was aware of the moment in greater specificity. IT ESSENTIALLY NEVER HAPPENED, and I’m starting to legitimately wonder whether or not it was for the best...

6) Datte Atashi No Hero (Anime Screenshot)

First off: how? Second off: huh?

Believe me, the second ending of Season 3 is an absolute bop, don’t get me wrong, but uh… again, it provides NOTHING balanced for Bakudeku, once again relying on Izuku’s perspective on the entire matter. I once read an interesting meta about this ending and how it could be interpreted (take this with a grain of salt), but the biggest contender is that this is in fact Izuku’s fantasy. Think about it:

Izuku is a humble traveling warrior, with nothing to distinguish himself in his own opinion.

Ochako is a magician because she’s alien to Izuku, an unheard of phenomenon.

Tenya being a knight, Shoto being a prince, and Momo being a warrior princess all correlates to their high standings in society, heroic or otherwise.

The reason Katsuki is a barbarian king is because he’s familiar to Izuku in an ancient sense; he’s known him for a long time. The list goes on, but you get the jist.

With this in mind, it’s not difficult to understand that even Katsuki willing to work with Izuku would be another aspect of Izuku’s fantasy: to be able to stand beside his childhood friend once more. And remember the ending of that scene, when Izuku does that big sword slash? That’s him having fully mastered OFA. Both are things that could happen given the manga’s recent direction, but still have yet to happen because this is, again, a fantasy.

And apparently Datte Atatshi No Hero is a reflection on Izuku’s feelings towards Katsuki. Take that as you will, but again, this does not speak for Bakudeku as a whole. Just Izuku’s feelings on the matter.

7) Win to Save, Save to Win (Manga Screenshot)

Since I’ve already penned myself into a short story at this point, might as well take the time to look at this famous phrase from the story.

Personally, I consider it bulls***. It harms both characters overall; yes, I said both. It excuses Katsuki’s need to be a blunt powerhouse that only targets villains, and it redundantly demands Izuku do more of what he was already doing, albeit with less sympathy. I know it sounds corny to say saving is more important than winning, but in the heat of the moment, what gets to the civilians in danger more often? Seeing a guy in a cape deck the latest disaster right in front of them or from a distance? Or said cape guy risking life and limb making sure that this person gets to see life another day?

There’s no perfect answer to it, but that’s my stance.

And this quote, “Win to save, save to win,” justifies the one thing that keeps Katsuki from truly outgrowing his past: his need to be the best. If winning is on the same level then saving, and Izuku has an innate capacity to save, then that means it’s okay for Katsuki to have to win all the time, right?

No. It’s not. And that’s not speaking for all the “Gary Stu” crap, either.

Because being pressured into being the best is what caused Katsuki to hate any kindness offered to him by Izuku. The desire to be the best had him bully Izuku for a decade to ensure that Izuku remained the loser and Katsuki remained the winner. That desire characterizes arguably the worst aspects of Katsuki’s character, and those aspects aren’t gonna fly in the Pro Hero world. Because if Nana Shimura, Shota Aizawa, the Pussycats, Mirio, Sir Nighteye, and a handful of other incidents have taught us anything, it’s that even at their best efforts, heroes don’t win all the time.

Katsuki needs to learn this, or it will crush him in the long term. But he hasn’t. The narrative has kept letting him rack up wins, and his current actions in the manga were spurred on by the fact that he still has yet to truly take a loss.

Say what you will, but I don’t like this line. For what it says about Izuku or Katsuki.

8) The Only One Who Can Accept His Feelings… (Anime Screenshot)

Me @ #7: Wanna see me go off?

Me @ #8: Wanna see me do it again?

Izuku’s perspective on the entire Bakudeku situation is a major reason why most fans condone it. “Izuku doesn’t appear obviously bothered by Katsuki, so that clearly means it’s not abusive/problematic, so just shut up!” or something like that. Well, I’m no psychologist, so I won’t go into a spiel about people ignoring their pain for the sake of others or people trying to excuse others in order to place fault on themselves whether or not it be accurate.

Really, all I can say is that NONE OF THIS should be Izuku’s responsibility.

I’m not blaming this on Izuku because he hasn’t had actual friends or a healthy support system in a long while, but the fact that he decides to take on and enable Katsuki in his element just… doesn’t sit well with me. The logical conclusion would be talking, not throwing hands. I don’t care if they’re “distressed teenagers,” neither of them should be doing this, and Katsuki was fully aware that the teachers would stop them in the first place; that’s not simply adults meddling in what isn’t their business. Katsuki should have really figured out by now that maybe the best course of action is to actually vent to someone without blowing their face off, and I get that he’s absolute s*** at feelings, but really, that’s more of a red flag that he needs to actually get help. And if you think a little too hard on Izuku’s feelings of the matter, well…

Imagine being ostracized for so long that you lose all sense of self worth.

Imagine being told time and again that your worthless, which checks out for you because clearly if your worthless, the guy that enabled that mindset is obviously better than you, and he’s entitled to use you for his own ends.

That’s what I get from this scene.

And again, this is all from IZUKU at this point; virtually NOTHING from Katsuki.

9) Double Detroit Smash (Heroes Rising)

I’ve already said my piece about the film. At this point, it’s beating a dead horse with a stick. Moving on.

10) Word of God (Miscellaneous)

Here’s the thing about Word of God in fandom: the general consensus is that it’s nice to get confirmation from a credible source, but unless it is portrayed in canon, it’s just more words which may or may not be true.

In this case, Kohei Horikoshi, the mangaka for BNHA, is saying that eventually, Katsuki will have to apologize to Izuku. Eventually.

As in, it still hasn’t happened yet.

As in, Katsuki still has yet to decide that what he did in the past was wrong and he should try to fix it.

As in, it currently shows no bearing towards Katsuki’s current character nor the overall Bakudeku dynamic.

Sure, it MIGHT happen, but in another interview (or mayhaps it’s the same one), Horikoshi stated that Katsuki originally wasn’t intended to get as much screen time as he did. Both of these situations are different of course, but with the recent turbulence of the War Arc shaking up the manga, is it really so hard to believe that an apology might slip away from Katsuki’s thought process?

On the bright side, an apology could happen. But until it’s canon, then it’s only a possibility, and therefore can’t be used fully for the intended argument.

11) X-Catapult Handhold (Heroes Rising)

I bet some people working on the movie and some fans on the movie felt spoiled when they included not one, but two handholding scenes for Izuku and Katsuki.

And while the first handhold is certainly a marvel of battle tactics, again, there isn’t much else going on with it. Is it nice to see Katsuki working with Izuku again? Yes, but contrary to popular belief, it doesn’t go past that. Katsuki’s just willing to work with Izuku, full stop. He’d probably be willing to work with anyone because Nine is f***ing tank. And sure, getting a handhold tease is nice, but it’s only to facilitate Katsuki’s subsequent yeeting of Izuku at Nine in an attempt to do damage. Nothing more pressing about the circumstances of their past or anything like that.

12) A Bit of Advice (Anime Screenshot)

Look, this is one of the tamer, better looks at Izuku and Katsuki’s relationship. He’s willing to put his pride aside and give Izuku some advice. But remember what I said earlier in #4?

It’s not just to make sure Izuku gets better, but so Katsuki can feel like it’s a complete win when he beats his ass.

And if we take the line “It pisses me off” into account, we can look at that flaw from the same angle. Remember, Izuku has All Might’s power, the #1 Hero’s power. To Katsuki, that means he shouldn’t have the luxury of making mistakes. But Izuku does. He makes mistakes, and Katsuki sees them and he doesn’t get to exploit them. He still wins, but not because of those mistakes. And part of that pisses Katsuki off. Izuku shouldn’t get to slack. So, Katsuki gives him some advice. Advice that will no doubt help Izuku in the long run, for his (and Katuki’s) sakes. It’s a good outcome from a not very good reason...

13) Have You Made That Borrowed Power Your Own? (Manga Screenshot)

Yeah, no.

I don’t care if Izuku is used to this treatment, it still isn’t reinforcing an overall positive tone.

I don’t care if Katsuki acknowledges at some level that Izuku’s power is becoming his own, he still has the gall to say it was no wonder he passed BECAUSE of his power. Which may be true, but it’s not like Izuku was relying on it 100%, and lowkey comes off as Quirkist.

All it tells me is that Katsuki is starting to acknowledge Izuku, in the “gadfly I can’t get off my back” sort of way. Is this the “best development” y’all are rooting for? Basic acknowledgement of another human being?

14) Outta My Way Punk! (Manga Screenshot)

Katsuki reflexively tells Izuku to get out of his way.

Izuku is used to it, again, that does not excuse it.

Once again, Katsuki reverts back to his usual behavior instead of showing a more subtle approach to show the audience that maybe he’s changing beyond what a chorus of other characters saying “he’s changed!” has to offer.

...even if it’s not abusive, you can’t really say that’s a “good” relationship, either.

15) Blackwhip Training (Manga Screenshot)

Katsuki willing to train with Izuku to help him master his Quirk(s) is nice.

Still blatantly in his element with lots of needless yelling and dominance assertion, but still nice.

And keep in mind, right after it’s clear they aren’t getting anywhere and Izuku tries to rationalize it, Katsuki decides to dip seeing as it’s not worth his time anymore. And even before that, at least in my translation, Katsuki seems to be more interested in beating out Blackwhip instead of having Izuku get a handle on.

Again, maybe not abusive, but not exactly supportive, either.

16) ??? (Anime Screenshot)

I personally have no idea what they were going for with this screenshot, but if I had to guess, that’s after Katsuki gives Izuku an escape window whilst he faces off against All Might alone during their Final Exams.

While I understand that this is early on in their dynamic’s development, the fact still stands that Katsuki still wants to fight for fighting’s sake. He may have been willing to at least give Izuku a chance, but he still sees Izuku’s retreat as cowardly, even though it’s a perfectly valid way to pass the exam. He still just wants to fight.

There’s no mutuality in that sense.

17) Quote from Justin Briner (Miscellaneous)

I don’t have much of an opinion for Izuku’s English VA, but for what it’s worth, I think overall he’s a really cool dude. The same, however, cannot be said for his quote.

I can buy into Izuku wanting to get stronger because of Katsuki, since that is a major plot point. I can’t do the same for Katsuki seeing the good in people because we don’t ever see it, really? In fact, it’s more like people latch on to Katsuki and he just tolerates them until they’ve completely wormed their way into his life. There’s no scene where Katsuki considers someone a good person because of something Izuku did, or anything even vaguely along those lines, at least to my knowledge.

As for their relationship, there have been more downs than ups, and it isn’t relatable to me in the slightest. Maybe that’s just ‘cause I don’t get the overall appeal, but their friendship never really strikes me as a… well, friendship. You could argue that’s the point and that’s what makes them different and interesting, but I would much rather we see more concrete proof of their relationship being at more understandable highs and lows while actually demonstrating it was mutual.

But again. That’s just me.

18) Joint Training Pep Talk (Manga Screenshot)

I’m basically repeating myself at this point. Katsuki might be keeping tabs on Izuku, but again, it’s not entirely for Izuku’s benefit. He just wants to make sure his new “rival” (successor to the #1 Hero, I might add) isn’t dragging his feet through the mud and actually getting s*** done so their eventual third clash will actually be worth his time.

...this relationship is so one-sided in two entirely different ways, I swear.

19) Speaking With Kacchan So Naturally (Manga Screenshot)

Why are we congratulating Katsuki for adding one more person to his already (surprisingly) sizable tolerance pile?

Why are we congratulating Izuku for bridging a gap other people managed to cross with little to no effort even though he didn’t do anything wrong?

Izuku is essentially saying “Good job on me for finally getting the same treatment as everyone else from that one person after over ten years.” Good on him, but uh… that’s not exactly a landmark worth framing the way the fandom does...

The relationship might not be outright abusive, but HOO BOY the bar has never been set lower...

20) “You’ve got a good friend in him” (Manga Screenshot)

And finally, the pièce de résistance. Which is really more narrative mouthpiece-ing.

Even before that, Katsuki yet again can’t take a compliment from Izuku for whatever reason. Yet again, Izuku just shrugs off all of Katsuki’s discouragement, intentional or otherwise. And I love me some Dadmight as much as the next guy, but really, does he have a good grasp on relationships? His only friends in his life were David and Naomasa, and he’s been shown time and time again to not be the infallible man many think he is due to being the Symbol of Peace? But suddenly he goes “Bakudeku rights” and y’all jump on that with no room for argument?

Katsuki has yet to prove what All Might has been saying. Again, telling rather than showing, therefore removing the meaning from the entire thing. Unless Katsuki proves otherwise, I call bulls***.

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

So, my final verdict? Bakudeku is fine. It’s just not as great as the rest of you are making it out to be. I’m not gonna dictate whatever you ship or what you enjoy, that’s not my place, but at least keep these perspectives in mind. You don’t have to believe them, but just… stay aware, y’know?

Alrighty, I’ve wasted enough of your time. If you’ve read it until the very end, then… thanks. Carry on.

-Crimson Lion (10 August 2020)

36 notes · View notes

appletreeisland · 5 years ago

Text

Life Reset Plan

Okay, things are shit now. But they don’t want to stay like that. You know how to make it better, you just got to do it. So, as always, let’s write it down and get to it, yeah?

Step 1: Life Cleanse

Start by cleaning your room. Open all the windows. Light a candle, start an oil diffuser, just make the air breathable. Strip your bed and wash everything. Sheets, blankets, pillowcases, everything. Throw them all into the wash. Maybe use some extra soap. Some essential oils. Whatever makes you feel good. Then take everything you own and put it on your bare bed. Alright, now you got until the washer and dryer are done to go through all your shit and decide if it stays or goes. (For me, that’s about 1 hour and 15 minutes) Don’t spend to much time on things, you don’t got a lot of time to spare. Most things should be decided instantly. Pick it up. Do you want it? Not an immediate yes. Get rid of it. Donate it. Sell it. Trash it. Just get it out of your life somehow. Now that you know what you want to keep, give them a home. Put them away in a place that makes you feel good and where it could stay forever. Good. Now brush off or vacuum your bed and make the bed. Tuck in your sheets. Fold your throw blankets. Make it look comfy like those beds of Instagram girls and people who have their lives together. Wipe down any and all surfaces. Desktops, windowsill, bedside tables. Make them fresh and clean. Sweep and mop or vacuum your floor. Make it a space that you feel good walking around barefoot on.

Move onto the rest of your space. Repeat everything here in each area of your pace. Bathroom? Throw the towels in the wash, put everything on the floor or counter, go throw it all, clean your surfaces, put everything away, sweep and mop. Kitchen? Empty cabinets and fridge, get rid of old/outdated foods, things you’re not actually ever going to use, consolidate herbs and spices (looking at you, four things of cinnamon), wipe out the inside of cabinets and fridge, put everything away, wipe down counters and stovetop, sweep, mop. Etc, etc.

Lastly, cleanse your technology. No, don’t just wipe down screens. Delete everything that doesn't make you happy. Apps, files, photos, songs, accounts, contacts, etc. Be aggressive with this too. Anything that doesn’t immediately make you feel good, get rid of it. Unfollow accounts that make you feel bad about yourself, that waste your time, that doesn’t inspire you and bring you joy. Yeah, that paper you wrote in school and got an A, delete it. Unless you feel like you’ll use it for another class or research your doing. This is nuanced advice. Adapt it to your current situation. If anything, put it in the cloud.

Step 2: Personal Cleanse

We’re going to start physical and work our way inwards.

Take your old clothes off. Take a shower or a bath. A good long one. Spend at least twice as long as you normally do (unless you normally take hour-long showers, you know, be reasonable), wash your hair, condition it, wash your body, use a sugar scrub, wash your face, exfoliate, hell even brush your teeth. Do whatever you need to do to make yourself feel clean and rejuvenated. Don’t do something just because I said to or someone else said to. Do it because you feel good doing it. Don’t shave if it’s not your thing. Don’t put a face mask on if it’s not your thing. Again, nuance. Dry yourself off, put lotion on, put on your favorite outfit, do your hair, do your makeup, make yourself feel good by looking good. But looking good in a way that makes you feel good. Don’t like makeup, don’t wear it. Your favorite outfit could be sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Could be a suit and tie. A dress, a romper, whatever. Even a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Now, find a way to simplify this routine. Make it a daily thing. Shower every day if it makes you feel good. Use a sugar scrub three times a week if you want. Make a personal hygiene routine that makes you feel your best. You can use mine as an example but definitely take everything you want and nothing you don’t.

Okay, now look inward a bit. At your habits. Do you like them? Do they make you feel good? Do they depress you? Make you feel like a failure? Try to think about everything you tend to do, no matter how small. Write them down if you need to. Make a list and go through each one by one with an overly critical eye. Really consider the place of that habit in your life. Take the ones you want to quit doing and make a plan to quit them. (Maybe read ahead a bit in case they are similar to the ones I’m changing in my own life so you don’t spend all this time on it just for me to go over it again more in-depth) Now, think about the habits you want to have. Do you want to be a runner? Do you want to wake up at 6am every day? Read before bed? Draw daily? Write them all down. Then think about why you want to do them. Because they make you happy? Because someone else does them? Because you were told they were good for you? Again, be overly critical. Only accept the ones that are purely for yourself. Don’t wake up at 5am because someone once told you that that’s how you have a productive day. Do it because you love the quiet stillness of waking up before others. Or because you need that time to do other things that purely make you happy.

Lastly, look at your emotional health. How have you been feeling recently? Good? Bad? Depressed? Really ask yourself some personal questions and be honest with yourself. Again write it down. In whatever way is best for you. Maybe that’s a brain dump or a Level 10 Life approach. Whatever works for you. Now, think about why you’ve been feeling that way. Is it other people in your life? Could you remove them from your life or sit down and discuss with them how they have been impacting your life or find ways to healthily deal with them? Look at all your relationships. You never know where draining and/or toxic people may be when you don’t look at them critically. Is it your habits? Well, we’re already working on that so good job! Is it where you live or work? What can you do about those? Move furniture around? Buy new art? Move? Change jobs? Ask for a promotion? Find out what you need and go get it. Ask for help, build a support network, find the people who truly care and want to help you and utilize them. You’re not a burden or bothering them. fAnd if you are either understand that they may also be going through some tough shit and need to take care of themselves first and that’s okay or maybe they weren’t as good of a relationship as you thought.

Step 3: Social Cleanse

I know we just talked about this, but I want to go into it a bit more.

Look at all your relationships, Family, friends, love interests, coworkers, etc. How do you feel about these relationships? Can you discard them if necessary? Or reinvent them? Analyze all of them and make a conscious decision to keep them in your life.

Want more relationships? Find out how you personally make new ones. Do you go out places and strike up a conversation? Go to a cafe or store and find someone to talk to. Even a brief compliment or something you notice. See where it goes. If it doesn’t have the effect you wanted, try again. Not everyone is going to be your friend and that’s okay. We’re here for true friends, not superficial ones. Do you meet someone online? Download some apps. Be active on forums. Talk to people. State your intentions upfront if it may otherwise be ambiguous. Or do you prefer meeting people through others? Talk to your friends. Ask them about friends they have told you about. See if you all could do something together. Express interest in the people in their life and they’ll maybe introduce you to them. But they definitely won’t if they don’t know you’re interested.

How about yourself? Do you like yourself? How you treat yourself and others? Are there mannerisms you don’t like that you have? That you wish you did have? List them out. Really think about how you react to certain stimuli. If someone compliments you, how do you handle it? If they demean you, how do you respond? You don’t need to go through every little reaction right now, but stay mindful of them. If you notice that there’s something you don’t like, make a mental note of it and come back to it later. Why did you not like it? And, again, make sure you don’t make decisions based on others. Really think about it and decide if you want to make a change truly for yourself or for someone else.

Step 4: Building Your Life

So you got all your stuff figured out. A super clean space. A group of good friends. An understanding of your own feeling towards different aspects of your life. Now that you know these things, change the things you don’t like.

Start with routines. Make them as strict or leisurely as you want. Set a time to wake up, a time to go to sleep. Figure out what you need to do every morning to have a good day, every night to have a good sleep and/or morning. You can look at mine for some ideas. Are there other things you want to do every day? Maybe you want to talk a walk during your lunch break or pick up your space every evening after dinner. Decide on things that you want to do every day and make them a routine. Put them in your schedule. Commit to them. Do them every day. Make weekly routines too. Every Thursday you do laundry. Every Wednesday you go grocery shopping. Every Monday you plan your week. Make as many or as few routines as you need to be happy with your life. Eventually, they will just be another part of your life and you won’t need to think about them anymore.

Then, focus on your habits. You’ve decided which ones you want to get rid of and which ones you want to start. Make plans for each and every one of them. Make a plan to quit smoking or spending less time on social media. Maybe that’s setting a limit. And that limit can be just as many/much as you’ve been doing. But now you’re limited to that. Then reduce it by a small bit. Instead of three cigarettes a day, limit yourself to 2. Instead of 2 hours on social media, spend 1.5 hours. Continue reducing the limit little by little until you’re at a point you are happy with and isn’t interfering with other things you want in life. Want to start a habit? Do the inverse. Start small and work up to your goal. Want to wake up earlier? Wake up five minutes earlier? Or even just work on getting out of bed right as your alarm goes off and then work on getting up earlier.

Step 5: Living Your Life

It’s a process. Creating yourself is a process. You’re not going to have it all figured out in an afternoon. A lot of this is things that will slowly develop over time. You can do your initial overhaul but always come back to things. Review how you’re feeling and how things are going and make more changes as you need to.

So go out, live your life, continue to grow and work towards being the person you feel most happy as, and never let anything stop you.

#life reset #advice #life overhaul

22 notes · View notes

yogaadvise · 5 years ago

Text

Inversions 101: How to go Upside Down with Grace

You're 45 mins right into an excellent class, you're in your vinyasa groove, or you're happy to be relaxing in youngster's posture, and after that the educator utters the dreadful words, "Alright, allowed's step right into an inversion practice, time to go upside down!"

Immediately your heart sinks, your stomach decreases, and you do whatever you can to avoid eye contact with the instructor as swiftly as feasible. You think, "I'm intended to put my feet, where?" Or you closed down entirely and remain frozen in youngster's present really hoping no person notifications you have not relocated for 10 minutes. Or perhaps you have actually been flipping around because you were 3 years of ages as well as you're in the Woohoo I Love Inversions Club (#inversionjunkie).

If the suggestion of balancing on your head/hands/arms/ shoulders simply lights your fire, you may jump right up. If you have fears surrounding inversions, you may need more inspiration. But whether inverting delights you or terrifies you, there is a heap of benefits readily available at your white-knuckled finger-tips when you go upside-down. Below are a couple of:

Gives you an energy boost

Allows for a total emphasis on the present moment

Provides an adjustment of perspective

Is healthy for the heart

Sends a rush of blood to the brain

Builds core strength

Builds upper body strength

Requires spine stabilization

Is really fun!

In my own experience, going inverted can be revitalizing, lively, and also stimulating. When you're up there, the globe slopes as well as all that is left is your breath. That is the power of now, friends.

The major advantages originate from the process of discovering to invert. Ah, yes, the old journey-not-the-destination expression. Well, it holds true. Headstand, handstand, forearm stand, and also shoulder stand are the classic inversions in the Hatha yoga asana method. Nevertheless, even when you get to your so-called destination-- the evasive balance-breathe-smile combo-- there's constantly another variation to try. The trip never ends. Which's where the fun begins.

Here are some ideas to start you on your means, on the floor covering (and in life).

1. Inquire

Get curious, and also encounter your fears. Are you afraid of going upside down? What is the reason behind the concern? Are you bothered with obtaining harmed? Are you worried of looking silly? Are you simply unsure just how to enter into the pose?

Remember, fear is a vital feeling! It is what maintains you secure. Some things are worth doing, despite having worry present: talking out of what you think in, defending justice, taking that leap of belief and also asking somebody out. Ask the tough concerns and obtain to the origin of your concern. You may be amazed by what you discover. As long as you're dealing with a skilled teacher and making use of required safety and security preventative measures, inversions are secure to practice.

2. Reset Expectations

Choose an alternative pose. Partial inversions (where your head is listed below your heart and/or your hips are above your heart) can give similar benefits to conventional inversions as well as are good prep work before copulating upside down. Presents such as Downward-Facing Pet Dog, Standing Wide-Legged Onward Layer, Legs Up the Wall, and also Supported Shoulder Stand with a block under your lower back are excellent places to begin. Keep in mind, also when you "obtain" an inversion, balance is different on a daily basis and it is essential to check your expectations each time you prepare to practice.

3. Play

This is the essential! Kick up. Drop. Provide it a shot. Laugh. Don't take inverting too seriously. Don't take yourself also seriously. Sometimes momentarily of spontaneity, when the expectations as well as the vanity have fallen away, your mind might allow your body to have some enjoyable-- that's when you'll discover on your own put on hold in the air.

4. Establish Objectives and also Write Them Down

Do you truly wish to discover exactly how to stabilize in a headstand? Hold a handstand for five secs? You've inquired as well as played and prepared? It's time to set some goals as well as work toward attaining them.

5. Practice

BKS Iyengar, reworded, claims if you desire to find out just how to do headstands, you require to practice them every day. Not simply every now and then. Not just in course. Every day!

Make it a morning routine to get your legs over your head before you get out of the door. Or kick your feet up on a lunchtime break at the workplace. Establish your objectives in movement by showing up to exercise. You make certain to be rewarded with a minimum of a change of viewpoint, some insights concerning on your own, and also a ruptured of energy.

6. Find Support

Use props like blocks, bands, and coverings for assistance. Ask a buddy to hold your foot in the air. Discover an educator you count on and demand inversions in class. You do not have to do it alone. We're all in this with each other as well as most of us have to hold each various other up.

Tripod Handstand (Salamba Sirsasana 2)

Here's a brief tutorial for pursuing a Tripod Headstand, among the structures for several various other upside down positions. It's an excellent one to start with and offers a preference of being inverted each action of the way.

Come down to your hands as well as knees.

Place your hands regarding as wide as your shoulders and spread your fingers wide.

Tuck your chin right into your breast and place your head down in front of your hands. There should be an equilateral triangle between your hands as well as your head. If you can see your hands and your joints are bent at 90 degrees, your base will certainly be most secure. Make certain you get on real top of your head, not your forehead.

Tuck your toes under and also lift your knees up off the mat.

Walk your toes in toward your hands, sending your tailbone up towards the ceiling.

Roll your shoulders up as well as away from your ears. Press right into your fingers for stability.

Lift your right foot as well as bring your knee to your joint or triceps muscle. Set that foot down and also repeat on the left side.

Bring both knees to your arms as well as hold there. Press into your hands and also discover stamina in your arms. If you really feel consistent, try raising one upper hand off your arm and bringing it back down. Attempt on the opposite side. After that attempt lifting both legs up.

Squeeze your legs together, press right into your hands, and also breathe.

If you're ready to take your yoga exercise technique to the following level, our trademark meditation and yoga resort, Seduction of Spirit, may be what you're looking for. Learn More.

#asana #ashtanga yoga #Hatha Yoga #kundalini yoga #meditation #prenatal yoga #vinyasa yoga #yoga #yoga alliance

1 note · View note

jasonattaman · 2 years ago

Text

New Post has been published on Dr. Jason Attaman | WA Pain Management Doctor | (425) 247-3359

New Post has been published on https://jasonattaman.com/stellate-ganglion-block-treat-ptsd-victims-childhood-trauma-abuse/

Stellate Ganglion Block to Treat PTSD in Victims of Childhood Trauma or Abuse

If you were abused or traumatized as a child, you’ve probably felt some symptoms of PTSD for most of your life. If there’s such a thing as a “normal” state of mind or daily life, you’re not sure you’ve ever felt it, except maybe for brief daydreams here and there. You’ve had a fight-or-flight response for many years, and the typical remedies never seem to help enough. Since childhood your pain has felt like one marathon after another, with no rest days and little sleep.

Whether your PTSD stems from losing a sibling or parent or friend, or suffering abuse at the hands of a parent or stepparent or once-trusted adult, or from another kind of trauma, you know you can’t ever just forget about it. Your trauma may even have forced you to develop great strength or character that has served you well over the years. At the same time, you know you need to get the feelings of trauma farther in the rearview mirror, and that you can do that if you can minimize or eliminate the PTSD explosions. If you can keep a calm heartbeat and not have constant flashbacks, you know you can fix a lot of things.

Stellate ganglion block (SGB) is a completely medical procedure that can help break the cycle by calming your reactions to PTSD triggers. If you’re a victim of childhood trauma or abuse, it’s very likely you’ve seen a psychologist or psychiatrist, and that that mode of therapy has helped to one degree. SGB is complementary to therapy, in that it can work in tandem with a therapist’s efforts, or can pick up where they left off.

The stellate ganglion is a bundle of nerves that is located deep in the lower neck. It is located within the cervical sympathetic chain. Sympathetic nerves play a strong role in our fight-or-flight response. When you have PTSD, these nerves malfunction and are constantly sending distress signals to your brain and body. Injecting local anesthetic (numbing medicine) around these nerves is called a stellate ganglion block (SGB). SGB resets these nerves that are chronically in fight-or-flight response. This is similar to rebooting your computer; after the “SGB reboot,” your nerves function normally. Stellate ganglion block (SGB) injections need to be performed under either ultrasound and/or fluoroscopic guidance as there are major blood vessels and organs nearby. The SGB injection is not new and has been used for 100 years to treat painful conditions such as chronic regional pain syndrome (CRPS) of the upper extremity. More recently, SGB is being used to treat PTSD.

Contrary to popular belief, stellate ganglion block is not only a PTSD treatment option for veterans and law-enforcement officers. It’s effective for a wide range of PTSD sufferers, including victims of childhood abuse.

I (Dr. Jason Attaman) have helped people in all kinds of situations overcome their PTSD. Besides my medical experience, I am in a unique position to help because I understand a few things that may be true of your situation:

You feel you’ve exhausted your options, between therapy, antidepressants or other medications, and advice from others. Those may have helped, but you’re not out of the woods yet, and your time and patience are stretched thin.

You worry the treatment may be painful, and you are concerned that you might not be in control. Some of your pain may stem from having been forced as a child to do something that just didn’t feel right. That’s the last thing you need more of right now.

You may be nervous around doctors and other people often thought of as in positions of authority.

If you’re a woman, you may be anxious around all or most men. It’s not personal, and perhaps it wasn’t always that way, but it’s not a reaction you can control now.

In a strange way, you may have gotten so used to your PTSD that you feel it keeps you alert and on your toes. You may consider it a defense mechanism, one that keeps you “frosty.” Without it, you’re concerned it might get strangely quiet inside your head. In my patients, ultimately that’s always a relief, but in rare cases it seems jarring to lose your anxiety or PTSD responses too quickly. We’ll go at whatever pace feels right to you.

In my care, you’re always in the driver’s seat, and what you are comfortable with is exactly what we’ll do. With stellate ganglion block I have helped many childhood abuse victims calm their nerves, move past PTSD, and regain control of their lives. It is fulfilling for me and doubly so for my patients. You can contact my office in Bellevue, WA to discuss your needs and to schedule an appointment.

Learn More about Stellate Ganglion Block for PTSD

Schedule an Appointment

0 notes

madstars-festival · 3 years ago

Text

AD STARS JURY 2021: MEET MARVIN RAMOS, LEO BURNETT VIETNAM

Two years ago, Marvin Ramos left Publicis JimenezBasic in the Philippines to take on an entirely new challenge as Creative Lead at Leo Burnett in Vietnam. He is joining our Preliminary Jury for the second year running.

Many talented creatives in the Philippines eventually make their way to other markets, including Marvin Ramos, whose career began as an intern at DDB Philippines in 2010. Since then, he’s worked everywhere from Ogilvy & Mather to Publicis Manila and Cheil Worldwide in the Philippines, before moving to Leo Burnett Vietnam as Creative Lead in 2019.

It’s been two years since you moved to Vietnam. What made you jump at the opportunity to move there in the first place?

I was at a point in my life where I kept asking myself what’s next. So many things were happening at that time and I considered the opportunity as a sign. And so I grabbed it. Best life decision yet. The greatest thing about being a stranger is that it allows me to be a total sponge. Culturally there are similarities, but still there are a lot of things to discover: food, traditions, pop culture trends, etc. You name it, there’s something new to absorb every day. And while the language is a barrier, I’m just grateful that I work in an industry where we use the universal language of creativity and humanity.

What is it like to live in Ho Chi Minh City: how does the city inspire you? How does it differ from the creative landscape in the Philippines?

Saigon is same same but different from Manila. Both are craaaazy busy cities. As a creative landscape, I find Manila to be more adjusted to global trends whereas Saigon is really full of vibrant culture and a local touch. Saigon is like one big art hub, which I love. The creative scene here is thriving. So many hidden gems, cool coffee shops, and unique architectures. It’s almost like every block is a pixel of an artwork. You don’t need to go far to find inspiration. Just hop on a motorbike, and you immediately find one. In fact, my friends and I even run an instagram account (@hello_pho) for all our Vietnam findings.

Can you tell us a little about your career path over the past decade: can you remember how you felt on your first day interning at DDB? Have you had any influential mentors and what did you learn from them?

How I felt on my first day? Of course, I was ecstatic! It’s not every day that a newbie ad geek gets introduced to people behind iconic ads. I met co-interns with the same interests too. I remember we would always say ‘see you in the industry’ to each other. And it really happened. We got to be teammates, some became my client, one is even my co-juror now.

Then came the real world. Ogilvy had a one-day exam for aspiring young creatives. I was fortunate to be one of the four chosen among the 100 applicants. I got trained by the most brilliant creatives, and moved to three more agencies afterwards. I had a great set of selfless mentors during this formative part of my career. Marlon Rivera was my advertising professor turned boss. All the ad principles I uphold came from him, from simply doing logic + magic, to always presenting the 3rd argument.

Peachy Bretana was my first ad mom. She taught me a lot not just about work, but life values that I carry on ’til now. Henry Gonzales and Onat Roldan believed in me so much. They always pushed me up and let me shine, pulled me down whenever it was too much. I really admire Trixie Diyco’s brilliance, sharpness, and drive for the work. If only I could be half as good as her, I can already consider myself a great creative.

After 8 years in Manila, I packed my suitcase and moved to Vietnam. Almost like a reset. I’ve done some regional stuff prior to moving, but it was still a different feeling uprooting my life and planting it somewhere else. Work-wise, I’m focusing more on digital and social now. Currently with a great set of people, too.

You’re joining the preliminary jury at AD STARS 2021. What are you most looking forward to?

This is my second time. Last year, I got impressed by how creativity adjusts to different situations and takes in any form to solve problems. From high-budget productions, to a simple social post. Most, if not all, were human-centric. And that’s what I’m still looking forward to this year.

The thing about creativity is that it doesn’t stop. Just when we thought we’ve reached its peak, suddenly a new idea comes. I’m excited to see the newest simplest grandest weirdest most human-centric works. Works that drives humanity forward. Works that truly entertain. Works that make me jealous and stay hungry.

What keeps you awake at night? What gets you out of bed?

As much as possible, it’s not work related. I go out and explore, do sports, or just be a couch potato. We work in a very demanding industry. We constantly need to push and push and it will never be enough. So it’s very important to prioritize mental health. We should be bringing happiness and inspiration to our work, not the other way around.

Do you have a creative process: is there a certain way that you approach a brief and get into a creative 'zone' or 'flow state'?

Let me explain it scientifically. I use my left side of the brain first. I dissect the brief. I try to find the answer to all the ‘Why’s’, reframe and pinpoint the real problem. Once the brief is already in its simplest form, I jump to the right side of my brain (Never use left! Or else the thinking will be too analytical and ticking boxes). I try to unlearn what I’ve learned all these years and bring back my child-like curiosity. There should never be a formula. No overthinking. No ‘NO.’ Like what my former mentor used to say, ‘Hang before you kill.’ Quantity over quality. Quality can be sharpened after. I’m an idea-first person and as long as it excites and entertains me, I go for it.

What kind of kid were you: were you always ‘creative’, curious and breaking rules?

I was always the weird kid. I was more interested in watching documentaries than cartoons. When I was 4, I memorized flags, capital cities, and the scientific names of plants. I think as early as that it already showed how all-out I go when curiosity kicks in. I used to draw a lot. Competed in drawing contests. Played different musical instruments too. But then I got a scholarship for a high school specializing in science, which supposedly leads to taking a science-related course after. I took up an art course instead.

What is your proudest achievement so far? Is there a campaign you're especially proud of?

Now that I think about it, I’ve realized that the campaigns I’m proud of are very family-oriented, especially for moms. Perhaps because my mom is my no. 1 inspiration. We once did a film honoring moms through their moms. Another one honored them through their eldest children, their husbands – ha, ha. I also did a campaign where we asked them to relive their amazing childhood through their kids. All those play under the sun, touch the dirt moments. It launched at a time when tablets were becoming a huge thing. And as I grow wiser in this industry, I would like to assume I’m becoming more like her – generous and selfless.

If you ask me now what is my proudest achievement, it would be my small team. It’s not about me anymore. I’m very happy to see them mature, guide them as they establish themselves as agents of impact.

Marvin Ramos is joining the preliminary jury at AD STARS 2021. Entries close on 31st May via adstars.org

#leoburnett

0 notes

shadeofazmeinya · 7 years ago

Note

In one of Jeremy's streams he talked about playing /competing in chess when he was younger. So if you can, a story where Ryan is playing chess against himself and Lil J comments on his technique and then beats him in a match. Fahc please

(so uhh… this prompt for some reason just made me think of Vulcan chess. Which made me think of star trek, so Star Trek au? Bc why not apparently)

It’s because of a few drinks and some goading from his friends that Jeremy even approaches him for the first time. At least for the first time one-on-one. They’ve seen each other on the bridge of course, seeing as they both work there on the same shift. But still. Jeremy doesn’t remember ever talking to Commander Ryan outside of the bridge.

It all starts because Jeremy’s friends just have to notice him staring at the Vulcan across the room. And just have to open their big mouths.

“Is he playing chess against himself?” Matt asks as he glances to where Jeremy was staring.

Jeremy felt immediately bad for staring, but he couldn’t help it. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ryan in the lounge before. He was pretty well known to just keep to himself, only ever really seen on the bridge. But there he was. Sitting in a chair, a three dimensional chess board in front of him, his face focused as he stared at it for a while and then moved a piece. Several moments of staring and he moved a piece of the other color.

“He’s definitely playing himself,” Trevor comments from Jeremy’s other side.

And then both Trevor and Matt’s faces turn to Jeremy, the same smirk on their faces and Jeremy just narrows his eyes suspiciously and asks “What?”

“Go talk to him,” Matt says. “We know you want to.”

“What?!”

Trevor rolls his eyes. “Don’t think we haven’t caught you staring at him literally every time you see him. We’re friends with Jones too you know. He says its even worse on the bridge.”

“I have no idea what either of you are talking about,” Jeremy huffs, poorly lying.

“Sure you don’t,” Matt says, shaking his head. “But if you want to talk to him, now’s a good time. It’s not like anyone else is bothering him. He’s playing chess. With himself. He’s lonely, go say hi.”

Jeremy opens his mouth to protest, point out he’s technically his superior, how this isn’t appropriate, really going to say any reason his has against this, but both of them just stare him down. Finally he sighs, grumbling under his breath. “Fine. But if this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming both of you forever.”

“But when it goes right you can thank us forever,” Trevor grins, pushing him forward. “Now go before you chicken out.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes, flips them off, and finally goes over to where the First Officer was sitting.

Jeremy walks closer, confidence carrying him a few steps, but then stops. What is he doing? This whole thing is stupid; he probably doesn’t even want to be bothered. He’s clearly busy with whatever he’s doing. It’s rude to just interrupt, no matter how attractive he is. Actually, that might make it ruder. He should just turn around and go back. In fact why doesn’t he? Safe himself some sort of dignity –

“Ensign Dooley?” Ryan’s voice cuts through, making Jeremy freeze on the spot. “Is there something you have walked over here for?”

“I… uh…” Jeremy stutters, mouth opening and closing. Ryan was looking to him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for answer and Jeremy was racing to try to come up with anything that wasn’t incredibly stupid. “You… um, you’re playing chess against yourself.”

Great answer, Dooley. Really showing off that Starfleet intelligence now.

Ryan’s face remained stoic, just as it always is. Making it impossible for Jeremy to tell what he’s thinking about him. “In a way I suppose that I am,” he answers, matter of fact. “I am testing different strategies against each other and observing the results.”

Jeremy nods, still embarrassed, but clearly not enough because the next thing bursting from his mouth is, “Wouldn’t it be nicer having someone to play against? Kind of hard to test strategies against yourself when you know exactly how they’re going to develop.”

“I had extended an invitation to the Captain Ramsey to join me, but he had declined,” Ryan says simply.

“Well… uh… if you want someone to play against, I know a thing or two about chess,” Jeremy offers.

Again Ryan looks to him with an eyebrow raised, a look Jeremy’s quickly learning seems to be the only expression of emotion he gives. There’s a brief moment of Ryan just sort of staring at Jeremy before he nods. “If you wish to play, then we can attempt a game or two. But I must warn I have been playing since my youth and hold a great expertise of the game.”

“Is that you’re way of saying that I’m going to lose?” Jeremy grins, pulling out the chair across from him to sit down.

“I am just preparing you for the statistical likelihood of the outcome of you losing,” Ryan says, resetting the board.

“You can’t say anything about the statistical outcome if you haven’t even played against me yet. Maybe I’m like, the super human of chess players. With a brain more advanced than even Vulcans.”

Ryan does the eyebrow thing again, but there’s something… fond in it. Lips just barely curling up, an almost unnoticeable smile. Jeremy just gives him a big grin back. “We will see,” Ryan just says, pieces reset. “You have first move.”

Jeremy loses spectacularly. He hasn’t played chess much since the academy and even then it was very little. Just something to pass time. While Jeremy had been decent back then, he was hardly playing against masters. But even still, even as he loses in what has to be record time, he just smiles and asks to play again. Ryan seems almost surprised at this, both eyebrows rising. The secret to reading Ryan’s feelings seems to be the eyebrows. But he just silently resets the board and they begin again.

It’s the third game where Jeremy breaks the silence that surrounded them as they played. He was never one for sitting in silence, and keeping with the lack of filter between his brain and his mouth, blurts something out.

“Ryan’s a strange name for a Vulcan,” he says before his brain can tell him to fucking stop. When Ryan pauses and glances over to him, Jeremy swallows and immediately tries backpedaling. “I mean, uh, not that it’s like a bad name or anything. It’s… a good name. Just, um, more human sounding than Vulcan and I just –“

“It is because it is not my name,” Ryan says, cutting off Jeremy’s rambling. “My name is Rylaek. Not Ryan.”

“Wait. What?” Jeremy says, face screwing in confusion.

“The name is a form of ‘nickname’ started by the Captain after he could not pronounce my name,” Ryan explains. “He had called me ‘Ry’ and then ‘Ryan’ was added, though I do not have a clear explanation as to why.”

“So this whole time everyone calls you Ryan because Ramsey couldn’t pronounce your name?”

“That is how I had just explained,” Ryan says.

“And you don’t correct him on it?”

“I had at first. The Captain is well aware of how my name is said, but still insists on the false name. The name has caught on with the rest of the crew and it has proved futile to get it to change.”

“I’m sure there’s a way you can get everyone to stop if it bothers you,” Jeremy says, frowning a bit in concern.

“I have grown rather… used to the name,” Ryan says, moving another piece of the board. “I do not feel the need to spend the effort to get people to change the habit of calling me Ryan.”

“Would you rather me call you Rylaek?” Jeremy asks softly.

Ryan looks to him once more, something almost calculating in his look. “It does not matter as both are efficient in identifying myself.”

“Oh, um, ok then,” Jeremy says, finally moving a piece again.

Another bit of awkward silence surrounds them as they play before Ryan (Rylaek? That’s going to take some getting used to) speaks up as they restart for the fourth game. “How much time have you spent learning this game would you say?”

“Is that your way of noting how bad I am?” Jeremy says with a chuckle. “I have played it before, but clearly not that much.”

“Then why did you offer to spend your time on this game with an opponent far more advanced than yourself?”

Jeremy shrugs. “You seemed bored. Figured it might be better to play against someone. But if you want me to leave you alone, I can. I don’t mean to impose.”

“I am not asking for you to leave,” Ryan corrects, something almost… softer in his voice. “I am enjoying having an opponent who is not myself. Even if the challenge is not difficult.”

“I don’t know if that’s more insult or compliment, but I’m going to take it as a compliment,” Jeremy grins.

“It was neither, merely observation.”

“I’m still taking it as a compliment.”

Ryan’s mouth quirks up, in a just barely there smile and Jeremy finds his own grin growing back.

They play more games, falling into easy conversation. They talk about their current mission, talk about the past ones in the few months they’ve been exploring on the USS Achieve. They discuss what their time back at the Academy, their home worlds. Conversation flows naturally once they get started and Jeremy finds some dry sarcastic humor hidden inside Ryan’s stoic presence that has Jeremy barking out in laughter. And, overall, it’s… nice. Really nice.

It’s the eighth game when Jeremy, naturally, fucks it all up.

They’re just resetting the board as Jeremy reaches across, both of them trying to grab the same piece. Their fingers brush, just for a moment, really not meaning much but Ryan yanks his hand back like he’s just been burned. Jeremy blinks, surprised until he remembers Vulcan’s are touch-telepathic. Though, even then, that doesn’t fully explain how rapidly he recoiled from him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t –“

“You did not do it on purpose,” Ryan says quickly, face too blank, Jeremy can’t tell what he’s thinking, what’s going on that made him retract so quickly, so suddenly. “If you excuse me, I must retire for the evening.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I –“ Jeremy starts, but Ryan’s already standing up and leaving, rushing from the lounge. Leaving the chess set behind.

Jeremy watches him as he leaves, face falling as he glances back to his hand, wondering what the hell just happened.

Ryan rushes back to his quarters, quickly slipping inside, holding his hand that is still nearly burning from the warmth that had come from just that brief touch. Mind trying to quickly justify what had just happened. The brightness, the connection that had formed between them. Deep down he knew what this meant. But for now, he needs to meditate.

#jeremwood #star trek au #ah star trek au #ragehappy #prompts #sorry it took so long to get a prompt out haha #i had much more planned for this au so if yall wanna ask about it go ahead #but im just keeping the prompt to one scene for now haha #rlskipper0

154 notes · View notes

alongwalktoforever · 8 years ago

Text

Misunderstandings & Missteps: Japril Chapter 6

Chapters 1-5: HERE

Last night did not go as April had envisioned it. In her type A, always-plan-ahead brain, April had pictured her and Jackson would sit down with their tea, and have an honest and respectful conversation about being co-parents and moving on. They’d hug, they’d cry, and that would be that. What she didn’t expect is for Jackson to try and kiss her or how’d angry she’d get or… the thing that happened later. April doesn’t know how she found herself outside Jackson’s room, with her hand on the doorknob. She wishes she could say that she was sleepwalking or drunk, but no. She had that very stupid idea all by herself.

April had gone to bed furious. She had laid everything out for Jackson and he still did nothing. April knew that fights with Jackson were never normal. Jackson had a tendency to bite his tongue and stew in his anger. He’d wouldn’t confront the issue until he was pushed to the edge and it was too late. When she was in Jordan, he didn’t tell her how he was really feeling even though they talked on the phone several times a week. He didn’t tell her how angry he still was until the divorce papers were served. God, why couldn’t he ever just say what he meant in the moment? April didn’t want to have to guess what he was thinking anymore.

Lying in a borrowed bed, in a house that never felt like hers, April was wide awake. Her mind just wouldn’t turn off. They’d done some damage, there was no going back now. April thought she would feel relief, but all she felt was sick. But she had to remind herself for the millionth time, this is for the best. In trauma, there is so much pain upfront that saves you from pain later on. You have to reset that bone, you have to amputate that limb, and you have to cut, no matter how much it hurts. The alternatives are usually so much worse.

But as April stared into the darkness, all she could think was tomorrow everything was going to change. Jackson and her were never going to live under the same roof, wake up together, or be what they were. Suddenly, April couldn’t breathe and the walls felt like they were closing in. She throws the blankets aside and finds herself walking towards his room. With each step, her mind was yelling at her at her to turn around, to not take one step further, to listen to reason. But something was propelling her forward and couldn’t fight it. April needed to see him, she needed to touch him, she needed one last...something. So, she entered his room and wasn’t surprised when she found him awake. Their fight was weighing on him too, she could see that. After a moment of just staring at each other, Jackson lifts the blanket so that April could climb in beside him. She lays her head against his chest and feels his warmth engulf her. They lay their for a few minutes, both scared to disrupt the dream. They don’t kiss or try anything more. This wasn’t about sex or their chemical reactions around each other, this was something deeper. This was the struggle of letting go of the person who knows you best, who has been there with you through the darkest moments of your life, who you have loved every single day since the moment you kissed. April thought this could be their goodbye...but then Jackson breaks the silence and the reverie.

I love you.

The words whispered faintly into the darkness. It was so quiet, she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it. April felt like she had been holding her breath for eternity. Like she hadn’t realized she was drowning until she reached the surface. Every nerve in her body wanted to say it back, but something deep down was stopping her. Those words were hidden in a place in heart that had been locked away for a very long time. She relaxed when she realized that he wasn’t waiting for her to say it back. Instead, she let herself fall asleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat. It soothed her. Tomorrow, everything would change, but tonight she just wanted to be with Jackson.

However, tomorrow did come, just like it always does. She had snuck out of the room in the early dawn, unable to handle any awkward conversations about what it all meant. Presently, April was sitting in the hospital parking lot. She had gotten to work almost two hours early. She could go inside and update some charts, organize the ER supplies closet, or some other menial task. But April couldn’t move. Something was bothering her at this exact moment and she couldn’t budge until she remembered what she had forgotten. See, sometime this early morning, April realized that she couldn’t remember the last time that Jackson had said those words to her. I love you.

April had said it plenty of time during their brief reconciliation. She had said it as he left for work, or before they went to bed, or on the phone as they said goodbye. But Jackson never said it back during those times. April thought she understood, that he wasn’t ready, that she would have to prove that she was going to stay. Now, April saw how naive she was. Even in his speech after they had slept together where he called off the divorce, he never said the words. All he could manage was, I want you. It should have been a warning sign. April should have seen the writing on the wall. If he couldn’t even say the words to her, those brief weeks of happiness were doomed from the beginning. However, none of these memories were helping April’s present problem. If he hadn’t said the words then, when did he last say it?

April thought back to the the eve of Richard and Catherine’s wedding, where her and Jackson had talked in front of a wrecked car. “April, I love you so much...but I don’t think I can be here when you come back.” That talk, those moments had been over two years ago. Had it really been that long? However, April’s gut was telling her that wasn’t right, but she couldn’t remember any other time. That talk was the beginning of the end for them. April couldn’t help but wonder if it was fitting that is the last moment he truly meant it. Maybe she was over thinking last night? Maybe, he had just meant it as a friend: I love you, not I love you-I love you. Maybe he just saying because he wanted her to stay for the sake of Harriet.

April shook her head, she was going down a dark path. Sometimes, she was so in her head that she couldn’t see straight. Yes, she loved Jackson. Yes, she wanted to raise a family with him. Yes, he had hurt her. Yes, she had hurt him. Yes, there are things that cannot be fixed. The more she tried to understand, the less sense it all made.

April stepped out of the car and made her way into the hospital. She had thought last night was going to be a clean break, but now everything was more muddled than before. She didn’t know what she was going to say to Jackson if she saw him. She just knew that the next step was moving forward. And that was what she was going to do.

When Jackson headed downstairs to start the coffee pot, he found April’s note on the kitchen table. Heading into the hospital early, Harriet is still asleep when I left. Movers will be here at 4pm. He wondered if she was avoiding him or really did need to get to the hospital, probably a little bit of both. Jackson walked upstairs to check on Harriet and found her wide awake, enthralled in farm animal mobile above her crib. Jackson couldn’t help but smile as he sat and watched his daughter. He knew that Harriet looked like him in plenty of different ways. She even has a crinkle between her eyes, like you. April had laughed to him once. But there were moments that her mother just shown through and never more then when Harriet was smiling. God, that smile was so April that he sometimes felt like his heart was going to burst. Jackson knew that the fight last night and the words he said early this morning would change things. Yet, he hoped that Harriet would know that the truth, that even if her parents didn’t end up together, he still loved April and her more than anything in the world. Jackson picks Harriet up and dresses her for the day. He wouldn’t get to to do this everyday once April moves out. This realization made him sick. The idea of April, Harriet, and him being a family was the only thing Jackson wanted in this world. So why had it taken him this long to realize that? Jackson couldn’t believe how blind he’d been.

I can’t keep feeling like I am paying for my mistakes. I came back. I’ve been right here. Last night, April had opened up old wounds that Jackson thought were gone and healed. Jackson wondered if there were truth to her words that he had been too scared to admit. Maybe, he had been punishing her. Maybe, he thought that the moment that really trusted her to stay that he would open himself to getting hurt all over again. The pain of last year was unbearable. He had lost his son, his wife, and himself. He hadn’t known how to stop it. But he couldn’t help but think back to everything that April had done in the last year. The emergency delivery of Harriet, moving in with him so that they could raise her together, how even after he treated her, she still supported him with his dad. She had been here and Jackson had been to self-centered to realize.

Jackson decided he needed a plan. He needed to make this right, before he lost what was most important to him forever.

Throughout the rest of the day, April had managed to distract herself with a few traumas, but she left early to meet the movers. She thought that she had successfully avoided Jackson, but after checking with the nursery, apparently neither Jackson or Harriet had been to the hospital at all that day. They weren’t at the house either. At first, April was worried, but soon she found a box that Jackson had left, labeled Harriet. He had packed up a few of Harriet’s favorite thing for April to bring to the apartment. She felt like crying. April thought that she would be relieved that he wasn’t here or that she hadn’t seen him, but all she felt was sadness. But she didn’t have time to wallow in her heartache, because the movers arrived shortly after.

For the next few hours, April did everything in her power to make the new apartment feel like home. By 9pm, April was exhausted. She had just unpacked the whole kitchen. Since Jackson had bought all new cutlery and cookware for his house, all her stuff had remained in storage. And she didn’t think that dedusting would be part of her moving-in plan, it took much longer than she thought. April was putting away her coffee mugs, when she hears a loud knock at the door. She opens it to find Jackson.

“Hey,” Jackson was nervous.

“Hi,” April was sweaty from moving boxes all evening. They hadn’t seen each other since last night. April had texted to ask if he could watch Harriet since she hadn’t set up the nursery yet. Before, she can figure out what he is doing here, April notices that Jackson was holding something behind his back. April can’t help but ask,“What is that?”

“Oh, um. This is a ficus tree.” Jackson hands the plant awkwardly to a surprised April. “Harriet and I had to drive to this tree nursery in Tacoma. It took all day, but it is supposed to bring good luck or tranquility or something to every new household.”

“Jackson...” April looks at him confused, she still wasn’t understanding the why behind the plant.

“Well see, you and I are turning over a new leaf,” Jackson grimaces at his bad pun, but is relieved when he sees April crack a smile. He continues, “Everything that we have been through, everything that has been thrown at us, has lead us here. So I was hoping that this could...I don’t know, represent a fresh start for us.”

“Yes, but..” April can’t help but wonder how he thought this could work, not after everything they both said to each other last night.

“All day, I have been playing the what-if game in my head. But we can’t keep looking backwards, it will only drive us crazy,” Jackson knew that he had made mistakes, that he had waited too long.

“Jackson…” April doesn’t know what to say, all she can manage is to shake her head and fight back the tears. This was all her idea, she had been pushing for this new start, but now that it was here, she found herself scared. She was scared to let it all go.

“I don’t know what will happen, or where we will all end up. But April, here is what I do know: you will always be my best friend, the person who knows me best. And I will always love you. And I will always be here for you and Harriet, forever.” Jackson reaches toward April and wipes the tears falling down her cheek with his thumb. As if it was second nature, April rests her head against his palm. Jackson says softly, “So we don’t have to be afraid of change and we don’t have to be afraid of moving forward. Because we are family. And I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

“Me either,” April states solemnly. The stand in silence for a few seconds, before Jackson nods and turns to leave. But April stops him, “Wait!”

April puts down the ficus tree that she was holding and looks up at him. She had to know before she loses her nerve.

“I have to ask you something.” It was April’s turn to be nervous.

“Anything,” Jackson insists.

“I just can’t remember…” April struggles to really ask what she wants. “The last time you said what you said last night. I can’t remember when and it is driving me crazy.”

Jackson is silent for a moment. This was not what he was expecting. He hadn’t even been able to think this far ahead of his plan, he thought he would say his peace and leave. Yet, April continued to surprise him. Jackson knew exactly when the last moment he had said I love you, he remembered every detail. But how to show her, Jackson was not sure that she understood the magnitude of what she was asking. However, April took his silence as ignorance and felt instantly foolish. What the hell was she thinking?

“You know what. It was stupid, forget I asked,” April went to close the door, but Jackson’s foot stops it from closing all the way.

“It was late. You were packing, your flight back to Jordan was in a day or two,” Jackson began, he stared passed her, remembering the scene clearly. “You kept trying to convince me to come with you, but I was too stubborn. We had been fighting all afternoon and we were both exhausted.”

Finally, April could picture the night. It was raining and they weren’t speaking, not really. Jackson continues, “And I was so mad at you for leaving me again. I think I was moping, pretending to watch some game on the television. You were just folding your clothes, listening to the record player I had gotten you last Christmas. And your favorite song came on, you turned it up and began singing and dancing along. Suddenly, you stood in front of me, singing both parts to Ain’t No Mountain High Enough. Even with how angry I was at you, even with everything that was about to change, I couldn’t help but smile. You kissed me after the song ended and I told you that I loved you.” Jackson confesses. He thought about that moment, all the time.

“You agreed to come with me to Jordan that night, but you never showed up to the flight.” April recalls.

“I was at the airport.” He states and April looks up at him surprised. This was brand new information “I sat in the parking lot for about an hour, trying to decide what I should do. By the time I had come to my senses, the plane had just taken off.”

“You never said,” April had thought he had just given up, that was why she didn’t call while she was away.

“I thought that the universe had made the choice for me. But I was just being a coward, I was scared that I wasn’t enough for you.” Jackson whispers that last part. He had never said any of this outloud.

“Oh, Jackson,”April can no longer hold it, her tears flow freely down her face. There were so many things that they hadn’t talked about because it was too painful. God, if they had just been honest with one another, things may have been different.

“April, that may have been the last time I said it outloud. But I never stopped loving you, not for one second. Even at my lowest moments, I love you,” He implored. Before he can say anything else, April grabs him and pulls him into a hug. They stand there for a while, neither wants to be the first to move away.

“I love you, too. And I will be here, always,” April whispers as Jackson pulls her in tightly. It was the first time that they had both exchanged the words to each other in a very long time. Jackson doesn’t want this hug to ever end.

Waahhhh. They both jump at the sound of a baby crying. April is confused until she sees Jackson pull out a baby monitor from his coat pocket.

“She’s asleep in the car. Or she was,” Jackson explains. April nods and wipes the tears from her eyes. They walk Jackson back to his car and April kisses Harriet goodnight. They don’t say anything else, everything that they needed to say has been said. She watches as Jackson gets in the driver seat and waves goodbye as he pulls away. April turned back to look at her new apartment and the promises of a fresh start. It didn’t feel so scary anymore, knowing that Jackson would always be there if she needed him.

Three Months Later:

The months had gone by fairly quickly. Now, that it wasn’t just assumed that they would see each other at home, Jackson made a point to try and see April everyday. They set plans to walk Harriet around the park together, to have coffee and discuss their days, and even weekly tupperware picnics with Harriet out on the quad, something they hadn’t done since they were interns. For all intents and purposes, the new normal was working out nicely.

There was just one thing; Jackson was about to go blow it all up… well maybe. He had talked himself out of it a few times, but Warren had given him a good push.

“Do it. You got nothing to lose and everything to gain,” His friend’s pep talk was after Ben Warren had to sit through another conversation that somehow always turned back to April. Jackson was usually more subtle than that, but these days he had it baaaaad.

“Listen, no. We are in a great place.” Jackson explained, feebly.

“Exactly,” Ben sat back in the chair as if to rest his case.

“But what if it ruins everything?” Jackson begins to pace.

“And what if it is something you both want?” Ben had watched these two people afraid to say what they really felt. Goddamnit, it was time.

“Well, shit.” Jackson couldn’t fight the logic. “Okay, I gotta do it, don’t I?”

“Hell, I’ve been saying this this for months now,” Ben Warren had not seen his friend this giddy, since, well ever.

“Alright. Tonight.” Jackson nodded and looked pleased at his own bravery.

“Nope, now.” Ben pointed down the hallway, April was leaning against the nurse’s station. “No time to waste.”

Jackson took a minute look over April, while she was distracted. Her red hair was down except for a braid pinned to the side. Jackson knew that was how she kept it out of her eyes. She was looking over a chart and he saw her brow furrow and her lips purse, which always happened when she was trying to figure out the best course of treatment. Jackson smiled, he really did love everything about her.

“Don’t be such a teenager. Go get the girl.” Ben gave him the metaphorical and physical push forward. Jackson took a deep breath and headed towards April. She looks up as he approaches and her face lights up.

“Hey you. Oh, you have to see the face Harriet made last night, you are gonna melt,” April pulls out her phone and shows him a picture of a confused Harriet, looking at the ficus tree that Jackson had brought over those months ago. April laughs, “She could not figure out what that was. It was so cute.”

Jackson laughs with her. “God, she is getting so big.”

“You say that everyday,” April says, teasingly.

“I meant the tree, but Harriet too.” Jackson jokes. April lets out a loud laugh. Making April laugh and smile was still one of his favorite things to do. Jackson has to focus, there is something that he is supposed to do. He continues, “Hey, listen…”

“Hmm?” April had returned to updating her chart, but pauses from her work when Jackson doesn’t continue right away.

“I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner,” Jackson felt like his palms were sweaty as he waited for her answer

“Sure, I was going to try and make paella tonight or you can have the leftover mac and cheese that I made for Harriet, yesterday, if you want to come over” April offers, happily. However, this was not what Jackson had in mind.

“No, I was thinking, you and I go out for dinner, without Harriet. Richard and my mom can babysit.” Jackson offers.

“Just the two of us? What, like a date?” She was joking, but when Jackson nods enthusiastically, April nearly drops the tablet that she is holding. Whatever she thought was going to happen today, this was not it.

“Yes.” Jackson nods, before pointing out. “A date. Well, a first date to be exact. We never actually had one of those, did we?”

“A first date? Jackson, are you crazy?” April tried to laugh, tried to convince herself that he was kidding, but the look in his eyes told her otherwise.

“No, I am not crazy. I feel like I am thinking clearly for the first time in a very long time. We can’t rectify the past and carrying around all the mistakes we both have made is unfair. So, we started with a new beginning, we turned over a new leaf. And now, I would very much like to take you on a proper first date. I am talking flowers, nice dinner, and drop you off at your house before 10pm, like a gentleman.”

April stares at Jackson as he patiently waits for her response. These past months had been great. They were finally getting into the groove of their new arrangement: separated, but raising their kid as a family unit. So what if, Game of Thrones nights became a weekly thing, long after Harriet goes to bed. Or the late night phone-calls that start with saying goodnight to Harriet, hours later, they would still be on the phone, talking about work or their day. How the family photo of the three of them sat on her bedside table always makes her smile as she falls asleep. God, who was she kidding? No time or space had diminished her feelings for Jackson. April was so sick of talking herself out of the things she wanted. She didn’t want to think, she just wanted to do. So once again, April follows her heart and it leads straight to Jackson.

“Okay,” She agrees and warmth spreads through her whole body as she sees Jackson smile.

“Okay?” Jackson feels like he is floating on air.

“First date, no funny business though.” April nods. Instantly, they are both beaming at each other, unable to hold in their excitement.

“How does 7:30pm sound?” He asks.

“That sounds perfect.” April agrees.

As they both head down the hallway in opposite direction, Jackson and April realized something at the same time: maybe moving forward didn’t have to mean moving on.

#jackson avery #april kepner #japril #japril fanfiction #end of this story guys #sorry it took so long #inspiration has been scarce to say the least

51 notes · View notes