#break me shake me 2 wip | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xxnashiraxx · 2 months ago

Text

Pairing: Astarion/f!Tav ~ Astarion/f!OC (Ofelia) Word Count: 6,774 Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Inappropriate Use of the Tadpole, PiV Sex, Riding, Oral (Female & Male Receiving), Fingering, Masturbation, Slight BDSM, Restraints, Gagged, Blindfold, Melted Candle Wax, +Some Soft Astarion, Porn Without Plot, Slight Fluff, Biting Summary: Ofelia's mundane evening is interrupted by a certain vampire utilizing the tadpole to entice her to his tent during dinner. She takes the bait, ending up biting off more than she chew... literally. ˖ A fun, all porn no plot oneshot featuring Astarion and my longfic main character, Ofelia set during Act 3 but completely separate from the main fic!

divider here 🩸

AO3 | Song Reference: No One Like You - Scorpions

Ahh, the final installment is here!! These were all so fun to write!!! I had such a blast making these this month- it made for some great practice for the main fic, and also helped me explore their dynamics for once they're in a more trusting and happy place later on in the story! ❤ This was seriously such a fun time- I couldn't have done it without the encouragement and inspiration from some of the coolest and most talented people (@khywren, @pinkberrytea, & @verbenaa to name just a few!)

Now, please enjoy this one- it's a bit shorter than the others (for my sanity). It'll be back to my regularly scheduled programming of With Stars to Fill My Dream updates after this, and look forward to a fun one-shot for Christmas where Ofelia shares the tradition with her companions! ❤ (Spicy art WIP for a scene in this fic at the end!)

Tags: @zozoparsnips ❤

Prompt 1 | Prompt 2 | Masterlist

Girl, there are really no words strong enough,

To describe all my longing for love.

I don’t want my feelings restrained.

Oh, babe,

I just need you like never before,

Just imagine you’d come through this door,

You’d take all my sorrow away,

***

Ofelia stares into her soup, slightly groggy.

The day had been long, full of fighting through a disgusting sewer looking for Jaheira’s old comrade- who turned out to be surprisingly nice, but it was still a sewer. Ugh. The bath she’d taken still didn’t feel like enough. Despite everything, her companions manage to find entertainment in the form of Scratch performing tricks to which they happily clap and cheer in their little camp beside the harbor.

“Is it not to your tastes?” Gale murmurs, hushed tones doing nothing to mask his question from the others around the campfire. She smiles softly, stirring the clear broth and noodles.

“No, it’s really good… I’m just a little tired from the day.” He offers her an understanding smile before Karlach knocks into him from behind in her bid to have Scratch chase the ball she holds aloft.

Ofelia pushes her utensil around the bowl, mind wandering to their resident vampire as vague loneliness distracts her from truly joining the others. Astarion had gone to his tent long before dinner was served and with a chaste kiss, he left her beside the fire, a glimmer to his eyes and a lingering touch on her shoulder. She had wondered if he wanted her to join him, but she hadn’t been sure. Usually, he’d just ask—this time he didn’t. So she’s stayed, catching herself almost falling face-first into her food a few times.

As the rest gather closer to the campfire, listening to Jaheira and Minsc tell stories of their old adventures, Ofelia starts to feel it. It begins as a tingle in her belly and a gentle onset of warmth that unfolds over her face and abdomen, making her feel overheated and flustered. At first, she blames the broth, wondering if she’s starting to get sick until the sensation settles between her thighs and she inhales sharply.

“Ofelia? Is everything alright?” Shadowheart asks, but Ofelia doesn’t reply. Her heart starts to race, sweat breaking over the back of her neck, and she shifts in her seat to stifle the feeling but it’s no use. An ache, stunning in its force, unfolds below and she sets her bowl down on the ground with shaking hands. The tadpole chitters in her skull- a familiar throb beginning at her temples and she instantly knows what’s happening.

She feels him, his motions, the air puffing through his flared nostrils as his teeth anchor over his rolled-up shirt, long, deft fingers palming the hard bulge over his pants. She feels it as if she is him and she tenses when he unties the laces and lets his cock spring free as a quiet sigh of relief pours from his lips.

“U-uh yeah…” Ofelia looks up at Shadowheart, eyes misty and cheeks red. The half-elf frowns, holding the back of her hand over her forehead, and Ofelia jumps at the contact.

“You’re feeling a little warm…” Shadowheart continues, but Ofelia’s lost in the feeling of Astarion finally stroking himself, she can feel his stomach tightening and his fangs digging through the fabric into his lower lip as he holds back a soft moan. Sensations build across her skin, her forehead feverish and her mouth dry. She shifts on the log, holding back a soft whine as heat pools between her legs and the feeling of him swiping his thumb over the wetness gathering at the tip lights her nerves on fire.

She feels him set a slow pace, driving himself mad at the gentle rocking of his hips as he fucks his hand. Ofelia bites her cheek hard, eyes squinting shut as the sensations of relief clash with her unrestrained desire- frustration causing her to twitch and dig her nails into her arms. She tries to reach out, but there’s a strange wall up between them keeping her strictly in receiving territory.

“Ofelia…” The blunt edges of her teeth almost cut the tip of her tongue off when her jaw snaps shut. His voice in her mind, chanting her name, is the gavel that seals her fate. She fights the urge to make a sound of discomfort, more of his pleasant sighs ringing in her ears as she stands abruptly.

“I… don’t feel well. I think I’m going to lie down.” She says through gritted teeth as Astarion quickens the pace of his movements, her body flooding with a rush of heat that spreads from her core outward. Shadowheart looks vaguely troubled, as do the rest who’d looked up at the quiet commotion, but no one interjects. Ofelia manages to slip away, thanking whatever gods that Astarion had put his tent as far from the fire as possible- yet still very much in hearing range. She throws open the entrance to find him smirking up at her, the culprit in hand glistening gloriously in the candlelight. The sight makes her knees weak.

“You… did you do that on purpose? How come I couldn’t get through?” Her voice is hushed but measured and dangerous, his smile deepening as she steps fully inside.

“How else was I going to get you over here?” he murmurs, soft and seductive. She carefully lowers herself to her knees beside him as he idly moves his hand back and forth, maintaining eye contact as they remain connected. She can feel the twist of his fingers and the subtle flex of his wrist. When a soft groan echoes in her mind, she opens her eyes to blink in confusion.

“Was that only in my head?” His grin deepens, hands abandoning their task to unclasp her corset and tug it off completely.

“Correct,” He reaches up and pulls her down till her lips crash over his and he devours every little breathless sigh and tremble of her body. “We haven’t touched like this in so long… we’re too close to everyone…” She hums at the words in her head, soft as she can, unable to linger on them as the slightest touch of his lips to her neck sends chills down her spine. He undoes her bra and her nipples stiffen in the chilled air, unable to restrain the gasps that slip past her teeth as his fingers barely brush over them. She’s so sensitive… doesn’t remember ever feeling it this intensely before.

Perhaps it has been a while for them… they’d not done much else but fight through the Lower City for the last few days, and before that, it had been fighting to get to the gates and through Gortash’s Steel Watch. Which hadn’t put up much of a fight, since they’d been allowed entry at the cost of a sham deal. Her eyes widen at the mental count she’s gone through, the number eighteen shining in her vision as his soft tut slices through the realization.

“Eighteen gods damn days and I haven’t been inside you for a single one of them. I feel like I’m dying,” He growls. She flushes hard, lips parted as she holds his ruby eyes in her gaze. They pierce right through her and he uses the connection to withdraw the scene playing within, lips ticking up at the corner to reveal his pretty fangs.

“No snooping,” She pouts, her cheeks rising in temperature as his hands move to enact the craving she’d accidentally let slip.

“Please, you were leaving that exactly where you hoped I’d find it.” She squints her eyes shut and holds back a noise, unwilling to tell him out loud what that gravelly growl just did to her. With a light chuckle, she knows he’s very aware, and one hand nudges her thighs apart so he can dip between them and lightly run up the seam of her through her clothes.

“Mmmph!” Her hand flies up to cover her mouth, heat surging through her veins at the light touch. It’s enough to leave her trembling, eyes snapping open to zero in on him through the haze around the edges of her vision.

“I barely have to try and you’re already so wet for me… tssk tssk.” She whimpers softly, letting him do it again, and another gush of wetness dooms her further, making denial impossible as she bites down on her fingers to stifle the moan.

Shakily she lets him guide her onto her back on the blankets, heart fluttering as his cool digits caress the plump skin of her belly to rest at the waistband of her pants. His eyes linger over hers as he sits up, moving smoothly through her vision as he gently prods her knees and she complies by propping them up. Once he’s pushed them apart, he sits between them, those painstakingly perfect curls of his now tousled and lying in soft sweeps over his forehead and ears. Cute and messy- just the way she likes.

“Everyone’s still awake and just outside…” She whispers, though her eager pants and the waves of longing growing within push the concern aside. He tightens his grip on her legs, leaning down ever so slightly, and as he hovers above a wicked smile unfurls over his pale pink lips.

“And?” Cheeks aflame, she brings her hands up to rest over her bare breasts, obscuring the stiff peaks from his sight, and his eyes glint with disapproval. “Hmm. Seems like I’ll have to use them after all.” Before she can open her mouth to question him, he’s reaching for something beneath a cushion in the corner, and her eyes widen in realization when he pulls it and its companions out from their hiding place.

“Really? I didn’t think you’d like this sort of stuff,” She smirks, watching his smile deepen.

“Oh, but your eyes lingered a little too long on them in that shop window, and I assumed. Do feel free to tell me if I’ve made a mistake.” Her entire body roars with heat at the sight of the pretty, silken red rope as he beckons for her to give him her wrists.

“Astarion… this is dangerous. What about everybody?” She murmurs, obeying his command as she weaves her fingers together so he can restrain her properly.

“Use the tadpole.” She cocks a brow, focusing on the sweet divot between his brows as he focuses on the task of now tying her forearms together. Her eyes dip further, taking in the bunched-up fabric of his shirt sitting above his narrow waist, and further still until they find the flushed head of his cock and the soft bulging veins that decorate his shaft, saliva pooling in her mouth as she pictures her tongue following the thickest of them from root to tip.

“Naughty,” He chides with a laugh, pinching her nipple as punishment, and with a soft gasp he finishes securing her arms.

“Use the tadpole how?” He sits back on his heels, admiring his handy work, before pulling his shirt off to discard behind him.

“Watch, feel,” She does. His long pale fingers move down the front of his body, gleaming like alabaster beneath the soft golden light. He winds his talented hands around the base of him, trousers slipping down his thighs, and her eyes follow the gentle fist he makes as he drags it up once, lashes fluttering shut as a soft groan enters her mind.

“Wow…” She breathes, and his lips tick up to expose the sharp points of his fangs as her voice mixes within their shared connection. His eyes open, narrow crimson irises tethering to hers, and she shifts and squirms beneath him, desperate for relief as he pumps his hand back and forth faster. Every stroke draws a soft noise from him, breath stolen from her lungs as she lies captivated by the glistening fluid he spreads from the tip over his twitching shaft, the lewd schlick schlick sounds as he pleasures himself in front of her leaving her shaking all over.

“Astarion,” She warns, pinching him with her knees. He laughs under his breath, pausing in his motions to reach forward and slowly drag both her underthings and pants off. She lies there naked, need pooling in her core, and he shuffles his pants off before reaching for one of the other items he’d retrieved earlier.

“Lift your head up, love.” She complies, stealing a kiss from him before silk covers her eyes and he ties it securely in the back.

“Hmmm full of surprises tonight, aren’t you.” She smirks, not knowing if he’s still hovering over her or if he’s leaned back again courtesy of the blindfold.

“Do you trust me, Ofelia?” She frowns at the odd question, shaking her head.

“Of course, why?” She hears a light hum, bubbling out of his throat before his hands run over her hips. It makes her jump, not expecting the contact, and angry waves of lust grow ever insistent against her skin.

“Good. Just remember- the tadpole, darling,” She nods, still mystified, as his fingers begin to work soft breathy sighs from her lips. They caress her cheeks, dance along her neck, stroke the pillowy swells of her breasts to linger over her stiff nipples, before descending further. She gasps when his tongue moves to lave over the places his hands have been as he starts to spread her thighs, gently squeezing the plump flesh.

“Nng… Astarion…” She rolls her hips up into his hands, redirecting the noises she’d like to be making into demanding whines that flow through the stream binding their minds together. His voice is smooth and soft as velvet as he coos back, lips idling below her navel as he kisses her there.

“Good girl,” She spasms as his tongue gathers the juices leaking from her core to flick lightly over her clit, teeth digging into her lip as she fights the urge to voice her reactions into the night air. Her hands strain against the rope, wanting madly to touch him, to do anything, but it’s no use. The material digs deliciously into her skin, her breath coming out in ragged bursts as he does it again and the spark of pleasure that flashes between her legs and behind her eyes almost blinds her.

“So pent up… so wet… and you taste so sweet.” Her head thrashes from side to side as he resumes his gentle laps over her soaked core, fighting to keep still beneath his strong hands. A few sounds slip from her lips, strangled and soft, and she feels him drag his fangs over her skin in a warning.

“Please go slower…” She pleads, swallowing each whimper that threatens to pour over her lips. It’s so hard… so hard… and he’s ignoring her request, the tip of his tongue pushing the hood back to expose the sensitive nerve as he sucks it roughly. Her hips jerk and her legs tent around him, muted moans escaping her control.

“I thought I told you to keep quiet.” The growl in her mind leaves her thighs trembling and she startles when she feels his fingers grip her chin, a touch on the stern side, as a piece of damp cloth gets pushed against her mouth. She opens up, stifling another groan as her teeth dig into the smooth cotton, tasting herself on the fabric as a shiver pulses down her body at the realization, and every nerve lights up anew.

His mouth closes around her tender bud, sucking lightly just as his fingers sweep over her thigh to leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Every light touch feels magnified, her eyes closed beneath the blindfold yet straining to get a glimpse him. She bites harder down onto the fabric when his fingers find her slick entrance to lightly trace the fluttering outline, her muscles seizing and her hips grinding against his mouth in an effort to gain relief. He’s been teasing her thus far, even his lips bathing her in only the daintiest of glances. A growing whine builds in her throat, spilling into his mind through the tadpole, and his pleased hums thunder in her ears as she rests her bound hands over her stomach.

“Please, Astarion,” Her tone is desperate, far past the notion of dignity. When she’s with him, there’s no outer shell. He dismantles her with practiced hands, slow and sweet, and it's both agony and bliss to be known this way.

He plunges his middle finger in to the knuckle and she throws her head back against the cushions, teeth digging into the material further dampened by her saliva as the flames threaten to burn her alive. She utilizes the connection, making sure he can hear every noise she wishes she could voice aloud, and his soft laughs carry through the air in reply- not unkind, but frustratingly smug. He adds another digit and curls them perfectly, her muscles tightening and her impending climax looming closer as he flicks his tongue over her clit.

“Do you think you could be even sweeter and come on my fingers, darling?” She inhales sharply, feeling her walls clench around him in response.

“Yes… anything you want… yes,” He kisses her stomach softly, fangs leaving treasured impressions against her skin, and his free hand tugs her closer before curling beneath her leg, face fully buried between her thighs. Her heart throbs in her chest at the attention, arms extending as far as she can reach to tangle her fingers in his soft hair.

He pumps his fingers in once, twice, mouth latching on fully to suck and lick and push her closer, and suddenly before she can fall off the edge, his face and head leave her grasp. His digits work faster until withdrawing completely to replace his mouth and before she can adjust to the change, the swollen head of his cock is plunging inside, pleasure snapping like a whip over her as he thrusts to the hilt.

“Astarion!” She complies with his request, though he’d been the one to change the terms. Her entire body curls in, the intensity of white-hot ecstasy stealing her breath and raking over her with sharp claws. Her mind lists, falling from the connection before his tadpole latches back on forcefully and she’s gazing at her sweat-slick body through his eyes, watching her chest rise and fall in an effort to come back down.

“Beautiful,” His voice is reverent and soft in the tent, her vision dimming back into the welcoming darkness of the blindfold as he strokes over her waist. She sighs, still riding out the aftershocks of her climax as he throbs inside her, and she feels his hands close around hers before dragging them up above her head. She lifts a brow, curiosity crossing the bridge between their minds, and he clicks his tongue.

“You'll see…” She waits impatiently as his movements cause him to sink even deeper, and she gasps as she adjusts to the stretch. He does something to secure her hands before his warmth leaves her, raw and aching in the space where he’d been.

“Oh, you really planned this out,” Humor laces through the words she projects to him, and with a punitive flick to her nipple, she quiets with a yelp, fire burning hot in her belly at the action.

“Don't sound so surprised,” His tone sends shivers down her spine- deep and flaring with warning. She decides to test her luck further, pulling futilely at the rope around her hands before letting him hear the laugh she wishes she could make.

“Sorry darling,” She chides, hissing as he drags his length out of her. She mourns the loss, but her smile around the gag in her mouth widens at the possibility of where he may end up next. “Just didn't expect this level of forethought-”

“Silence,” He growls in her ear, pulling her underthings out of her mouth much more gently than she'd expected as his tongue sweeps over the wetness left in their wake. “Even gagged you still keep talking. Seems I'll have to shut you up some other way.”

She whimpers with anticipation, only having a second to rub her thighs together once he's left his place between them before the fat head of his cock presses against her grin. She greedily opens her mouth, groaning as he slips inside, and his echoing moans fill the tent with almost alarming volume.

“Thought we were being quiet?” He fists her hair and tips her face to get a better angle, her soft cry smothered by his shaft, and she blissfully dissolves into the feeling of him filling her as his hips move in barely subdued snaps.

“Hells, enough woman. Now be good and stay. Quiet,” He punctuates the last word with a growl and a sharp thrust, slick gushing from her at the sound of his voice. She hums in delight, rosy waves of devotion mixing with the peel of want that crackles through her mind. He strokes her cheek in approval and she trembles at the contrast in comparison to his deep thrusts.

“Alright, pet?” He coos, voice rushing through her and hard to fully grasp as it trickles between her thoughts. She tries to nod, wanting to see the way his hips move as he rocks them back and forth, hunger sharpening into heady desire and he chuckles in reply.

“Suppose you deserve a reward for taking me so well, darling.” She shudders and her cunt clenches around nothing, longing for him in two places at once.

She blinks when he pulls the blindfold up to rest over her forehead, awash in his pale glow as he moves in the candlelight. Every undulation of his body fans hot flames of desire burning low in her abdomen, dangerous and all-consuming. She could stare at him all day- all night. She's especially hypnotized by his spit-soaked length disappearing beneath her nose as her fucks her mouth, her vision going blurry with tears as he starts to rock deeper.

“Gods, look at you,” The words exude awe and barely restrained lust, ragged and restless as they echo back to her. She hums, hollowing her cheeks and swirling her tongue and he hits the back of her throat at last with a shift of her jaw, broken whines spilling from him.

“Fuck,” He hisses outloud, voice barely a whisper as he pulls out enough to let her catch her breath. His face is devastating, screwed up in pleasure and flushed full of the blood she'd given him before dinner. With a loving swipe of his thumb, he gathers the drool covering her chin before pressing the tip of his cock back over her lips.

“Can I feel it too?” She whispers, watching his ruby eyes darken into tiny slivers.

“Gods, yes… Open,” He commands, and she does, their connection strengthening as he pushes inside again.

A bolt of pleasure sparks between her legs at the odd sensation of his entry, and she feels faint at the disorienting pulse of want throwing her into the fire as she discovers firsthand just how lovely her own mouth feels wrapped around him.

“Don't… move for a second,” Her voice rings back, sounding embarrassingly depraved, and she shudders at the way lightly flicking her tongue over the tip feels. He crowns her head with his fingers, lightly scratching at her scalp, and a fever breaks over her skin as he drags himself out before gently pushing back inside.

“Ofelia… this may not be a good idea,” She releases him with a soft pop, feeling their link slacken until only intentional thoughts remain shared.

“What’s wrong?” She speaks low, watching his brow furrow as he releases his lower lip from beneath his teeth.

“I… your bleeding over… gods, it feels new. I won’t last.” A smug grin tugs at her lips and he exhales in sharp rasps.

“Would that really be so bad?” He sighs, stroking her hair, before shuffling down her body. No matter how much she whines in protest, he ignores her, knees caging in her legs as his elbows rest beside her shoulders.

“It is when I’ve got more planned,” She rolls her eyes playfully, huffing a laugh when he tugs the blindfold back down and affectionately pinches her cheek.

With her senses rendered to four once more, she strains for any indication of his next move as she feels him sit up, backside resting against the tops of her thighs as his heavy cock bumps her stomach. She twists her arms until the silk closes around her wrists painfully, letting out a shuddering sigh at the feeling as she lies in wait.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Astarion murmurs, finally, and she tenses in anticipation of what he’s alluding to. She doesn’t have to count the seconds for long, a drop of heat landing on her right breast to singe her before cooling against her skin.

“You didn’t…” She rasps, feeling the web holding her thoughts aloft begin to fray at the seams. She writhes and moans, inhaling sharply when his palm covers her mouth and a few more drops spill over her chest.

“You make such lovely noises for me, darling” He whispers, thumb caressing her nipple as wax drips across her sternum. She catches a finger in her mouth and nips at him, earning a gravelly growl as he presses two digits against her lips. She sucks them in like her life depends on it, teeth closing around a bite every time he spills more.

The sting of the rope and the molten fire trickling down her breasts shred her mind into ribbons, lungs heaving for oxygen as she tries to hang on. She can hear him everywhere, cool breath tickling her skin as he whispers filthy affections into her ear. Her body simmers beneath the pain of the wax and the lightness of his touch as breathing normally becomes a herculean task.

She weeps beneath the fabric covering her eyes, tears sinking into her scalp as a few scorching drops roll down the plump planes of her stomach. Every sear against her skin has her softly pleading his name through the tadpole, surprised to feel their bond strengthen as breathless whines spill from his lips and he experiences the melted bliss of the wax as if it were grazing his skin.

“You look lovely…” He whispers to her, a fresh drip landing on her clavicle to pool against the hollow of her throat. She reacts to him with feeling alone, pulling at her restraints as she rolls her hips against him.

“A-astarion…” Her voice barely passes from her throat, nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

“Ofelia,” He croons, both hands back on her body now. He must have set it down or blown it out, and she sighs in relief as he drifts over the cool, hardening liquid against her skin. “Like you’re covered in blood,”

She startles when the blindfold slides off, disoriented and struggling to keep his face in view as everything blurs together. Through her daze, she looks down to appreciate the deep wine hues of the wax covering her body like pretty splatters of the sanguine liquid he’s so fond of. He leans down to softly cradle her face in his hands and she gazes up at him, eyes glancing off his flushed cheeks, his pupils eclipsing the pools of flaming red as he captures her lips in a kiss full of sharp teeth and earnest, sweet sighs.

She shivers when he moves her thighs apart and sinks between them, cock sliding against her wet slit before dipping further to brush her clit with each pass. Her fingers twitch, longing to pull free and touch him everywhere, but the slow torture of him doing whatever he likes to her has her drunk on the feeling.

His to mold, his to take. His, his, his.

His hands run up her arms and she feels the rope slacken, allowing her to remove them and linger over the pretty red marks crisscrossing her skin. Her affectionate eyes find him and he kisses her again, breath stolen from her lungs as her body yearns to press against him, like this forever if she were allowed. Her arms wrap around his neck and he slides inside her slowly, little noises mixing on their tongues as he bottoms out and they both exhale in relief.

“You always feel so good, Star,” She murmurs in his ear as he presses his nose against the side of her face. A rumbling growl vibrates against her chest and she smiles, feeling him kiss the drying tears near her temples. “So good,” He groans and finally thrusts, hard, earning a sweet gasp in return.

The inferno burns hotter in her belly, every drag against her walls leaving her desperate for more of him to cling to, to kiss, to touch. The bruising grip he has on her hips leaves her dizzy in the wake of his tender kisses, and she strengthens their bond to share the feeling with him. His pace stutters to a halt, each muscle rippling in a struggle to hold back as his eyes fall shut and he bites his lip to suppress the guttural noise catching in his throat.

“You can’t,” He pants, moving involuntarily and she watches a full-body shiver run through him at the sensation.

“Let me,” She pleads, propping herself up on her elbows to gain leverage, and with it, she pushes him down on his back against the soft blankets. She clambers on top of him, wanting him back inside, but she represses the instinct to softly caress the planes of his chest. He shivers, looking up at her, and once she confirms his consent, she moves her hands over her breasts and touches them like he does.

“Nng… Ofelia…” He whines, hands slipping over her hips. The way his features twist in pleasure and his body curls towards her has her mind spinning, flush with the feeling of him.

She wants to make him feel just as good as he makes her feel, wants him to enjoy every moment, as she always does, forever grateful that he'd chosen to share the pain of his past with her and trusts her with it enough to embrace her in this way. She'll hold it all in her heart, for as long as he'll have her, and longer still if he chooses to bury any of it with her once she's gone.

“You're not going anywhere,” He mumbles, eyes stuck on her. She smiles adoringly, running her fingers over his lips before she sinks to kiss him.

She can hear her heart race through his ears, sharpened by his abilities. She runs her hands up his arms, worshiping every square inch with soft fingertips and eventually her mouth, too. Every noise that he makes sinks her deeper, reveling in the way it all reflects on her body and sends tingling pleasure across her skin. The Astarion she knows, with his haughty attitude and snide remarks, falls away beneath her touch and she can’t hide the pride that tears through her mind, knowing it’s all because of her. Every sigh, every twitch, every whispered plea washes over her and it’s almost hard to tell which moves are his and which are hers.

“Ahh… ahh… slow…” He murmurs and she nods, hovering over him, shaking from the promise of having him inside and wanting it so badly she can hardly breathe. She closes her eyes, sinking her teeth into her lip until the flesh splits beneath them when he finally slips in.

“Gods…” Their voices mix within their minds, and she’s looking up at herself and looking down at him, uncertain which sets of eyes she's supposed to be seeing through. Her vision spins and she grows dizzy, mind melting into pleasure as she forces her hips down in one quick thrust that has her sight leaving her in a flash of light followed by the sweet darkness of her fluttering lashes.

She sways astride him, the sounds he’s making loud and frantic, his entire body pulsing with need and blinding sensation. There’s no way they’ve managed to hide their affairs from the rest of camp by now, but that thought drifts from her mind and vanishes among the unbearable heat building in her core.

“Are you okay?” She whispers, reigning in her sense of self as much as she’s able to while laboring under the feeling of his cock swelling and pulsing inside her. She can’t look at him, eyes shut tight as her thumbs brush over his chest, trying to soothe him into a reply as the ghost of her touch drifts over her skin.

At an unspeakable urge, she opens her eyes to lock onto his, and she digs her nails into his skin at the look he gives her. His hands tighten over her hips and she reaches for the stool behind him, letting her breath out in a rush as he lifts her and slams her back down against him.

“Star!” She tastes iron in her mouth, eyes trained on his and thoughts lost to the void as she rides him. With each thrust she loses the dividing line distinguishing their bodies from each other, feeling the insistent demand to take him deeper, harder- anything to get to the edge. The impressions of his fingers adorn her skin in violet petals, each thrust leaving her trembling as she chants his name in her head. Her gaze seeks reprieve within his as he tangles his fingers in the hair at the base of her skull while the other hand rests over her shoulder, pulling her close as they chase the building heat unraveling them.

“Love…” His voice is raw when he opens his mouth, her fingers tracing his cheek as she tightens her hold on his waist to slow to a less energetic bounce. “I love you.” She blinks in surprise, the phrase rare and sweet in her ears- one he never utters frivolously. Thoughts of him dapple her vision, a recollection of every moment she’s felt so sincerely in love with him. She melts into a breathless laugh, smitten beyond the point of no return as they fade back into precious memories, edges tinged in hues of warm pink.

“I love you too,” She sighs, kissing him once before peppering more over his jaw and down his throat. His answering groans have her walls constricting around him as he pulls her against his chest, deep thrusts propelling them closer and closer. She licks a stripe up the side of his neck, reveling in the twitch of his cock inside her before she nips him.

“Ofelia!” It’s just as sweet as she’s always pictured when her teeth sink into his flesh, her neck throbbing at the phantom pain. He stills, lust and roaring heat dancing between their connection as his nails sink into her hips. She reaches down, stealing his hands to intertwine with her own, and rises to resume the punishing rhythm as she dredges wounded cries from deep inside his chest.

The band tightens, walls fluttering when he angles himself and hits the spot that has high-pitched moans marking each upward drive of his hips as she stares into his eyes. His smolder with approval and his hands slip from her own to cover her breasts, kneading the soft flesh and drawing little breathy whines from her mouth. Gods… she could ride him all night.

“I won’t stop you,” He huffs with a smile and she laughs, ending on a needy whimper.

“Need more…” She pleads and he wraps his arms around her back, stealing kisses from her mouth, before stilling her movements and readjusting their bodies. Once he’s settled, she’s perched in his lap, holding onto his shoulders for balance as he lifts her once, holding just the tip inside, before thrusting up.

“Hells…” He sighs, expression contorted as if in pain. “Come for me?” Her eyes fly shut and she nods madly, fireworks bursting behind her lids as one hand snakes between their bodies to rest where they’re intimately connected. Deft fingers slide over her aching clit and she digs her nails into his back as her thighs begin to shake.

“Astarion… I’m so close… please.” She begs, whimpering beneath the soft swirls of his fingers. His face nestles against her neck, fangs hovering over her skin in a vow to pierce and drink and she silently compels him forward, craving the intrusion and the overwhelming maelstrom it provides. Bitten and dizzy, she cries his name, falling apart as he strokes over her and her climax bleeds onto his mind.

His strangled shout is lost amid the flood, following right behind as he spills inside her. He presses them together, shivering and sweaty, the mental thread between them finally severing as they drift in and out of coherence. She caresses his hair, fighting for breath as his lips brush over the punctures in her neck before pulling away.

Heavy-lidded, he appraises her form before softening and she smiles sleepily at him, hooked on the pretty blush covering his cheeks and the blood smeared at the corner of his mouth. As her hands move to his jaw, she grazes the delicate points of his ears until shivers wrack his body and her mouth widens in amusement. He grumbles dramatically before pulling her down to cover her smile with a passionate kiss, hands fisted into her hair as she rocks against him.

“Maybe we should go without for a month next time if this is what I get for it.” She laughs at the disdain on his face, humming softly as his hands run over her breasts and gently squeeze.

“Over my dead body,”

“Star, you are dead.” He lays her on her back, stiff and swelling inside, and she makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat as his lips drop to the shell of her ear.

“Mmm, not happening. I think I'll have you again now,” His teeth catch the tender lobe and her breath hitches, the sweet rolls of his hips drawing more hoarse moans from her mouth.

“Wait… do you hear that?” Astarion stills at her question, quirking a silver brow.

“What?” She shakes her head, listening for any noise but not even the lapping of the water against the docks is audible.

“I don't hear anything…” Embarrassment washes her face in a sheen of scarlet and he laughs.

“I heard Gale cast it thirty minutes ago. Not to worry dear, you can scream as hard as you want when I make you come again. No one will hear.”

“Ughhh!” She covers her face with her hands, shame like a brand heating the surface of her skin. “That’s so humiliating!” He chuckles and resumes his thrusts, apparently serious about going again, and she sighs as her hands fall onto the cushion beside her head.

“Don’t be such a prude, they’ve all heard us before.” She rolls her eyes, gradually forgetting her discomfort as he brings the stars close again.

In their own little haven, separate from the rest of the world- the Absolute, her complicated heritage, and the looming fight to finally free him from his master- the silence shields them from it all. She loses count of how many times they fall apart, the spell from before crumbling before he’s finished with her, but that doesn’t stop him. She holds fast, his neck muffling her sobs as he draws out their bliss with every soft-spoken word and move of his body. He hovers above her when he’s spent, and even as she’s rapidly losing the fight to stay conscious, the smile won’t leave her face.

“We have to get up in a few hours,” Ofelia mumbles, trying to swat him away when he goes to pinch her cheeks.

“Don’t tell me you’re regretting it all,” He laments, expression breaking into those big wet eyes she both loves and despises, mostly because he uses them to get his way.

“Of course not… but I’m going to be exhausted tomorrow, so if I ask you to carry my pack I don’t want to hear it.”

“Deal,” He noses at her neck, soft and sweet as he finishes cleaning them up, and when they curl together under the blankets she presses kisses to his lips.

“What do we do once this is all over… no more tadpoles?” Her question is hushed, posed in such a way that it could lead to a multitude of answers.

He stares at her, wrapped up in his arms, and he brings a hand up to rest against her face. Cool marble against a sun-soaked beach.

“I don’t know. But at least we’ll be together.”

***

Guys- I HATE DRAWING HANDS but please look at this WIP I'm working on. 👉👈

#kinktober 2024 #kinktober: week 3 #kinktober prompts #bg3 kinktober #bg3 smut #astarion smut #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #tavstarion #astarion x oc #astarion x f!tav #my writing #ofelia montez #my art #astarion fanart #astarion fanart wip

84 notes · View notes

levandright · 2 months ago

Note

HII this is my fluff wip tht i scratch away bc i hv too many smut reqs

Summary : One of them writes a love letter to get over their feelings, but it accidentally ends up in the other’s hands. Not knowing the letter is about them, they ask the writer for advice on how to respond to their own letter, sparking a chain of misunderstandings until the truth is revealed.

What i had in mind :

-Jake wrote it to y/n

-He accidentally lost the letter while he was walking on the hallway

-The letter ended up in front of y/n’s locker

-She picked it up and read it

-Told jake abt the letter (but they r both idiots) until somehow they figure it out bc it got obvious

Feel free to change the plot!! ( I might write a part 2 from ur fic if u make it <3)

Letter of the Heart

pairing : jake x f!reader ୨ৎ content / warning(s) : fluff, they're friends, funny misunderstanding cause they're idiots(jake specifically but its okay <3), highschool au ୨ৎ word count : 1k ・ archive

synopsis. when y/n finds a love letter at her locker, she has no idea who it’s from, so she asks her best friend, jake, for help with what to say. jake, being the good friend he is, jumps in—giving advice, joking around, and even offering to “practice” her responses.

ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : ended this on a cliffhanger hehe >:3 hope you like what i did mama belle <3 cause i had an awesome time, thinking of what to add on to make it more fun.

part 2 here!

it all starts with a love letter. jake, who’s been silently carrying a crush on you for ages, finally pours out his feelings on paper. he didn't plan on giving you the letter—it just something he wrote to work through his emotions. but the next day, while walking to class in a rush, the letter slips out of his notebook and lands right in front of your locker.

later, you spot the folded note, curious, and decide to read it. your heart flutters as you take in the words—gentle, vulnerable, clearly written by someone who has been holding these feelings close. but who could it be? the handwriting is neat, but familiar. intrigued, you decide to find out.

during break time, you bring it up to jake. “i found this letter outside my locker,” you say, holding it up, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “it’s… really sweet. but i have no idea who wrote it!”

jake, obliviously laughs. “a secret admirer, huh?” he teases, thinking of all the possible suspects. “what did it say?”

you blush reading a line out loud: “‘every time i see you smile, i feel like everything makes sense.’” jake’s heart skips a beat, hearing his own words, but he quickly pushes away the strange familiarity of it.

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

later that afternoon in the cafeteria. you hold up the love letter, cheeks flushed as you read through it again. you sigh looking to jake for help. “it says, ‘you make me believe in all the little things that make life beautiful.’ how… how am i supposed to respond to something like that?”

jake laughs, trying to brush off the pang of recognition he feels. did he… write that? he wonders but shakes the thought away, assuming it’s just an odd coincidence.

“maybe say something like, ‘i didn’t know i had such an impact on you!’” he suggests. “or if you want to be bolder, add, ‘tell me more about these little things.’ you know, just to tease them a bit.”

you beam, nodding. “that’s actually perfect! you’re a genius at this.”

jake chuckles, putting on a casual smile while his heart races. “just call me the love doctor.” he can’t shake the strange feeling, but he pushes it aside, too embarrassed to imagine he might be your admirer.

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

in the library the next day, you and jake go over the letter again, trying to analyze every word.

“whoever wrote this,” you murmur, pointing to a line, “has a way with words. ‘every time i see you smile, i feel like the world gets a little brighter.’ that’s… that’s intense. do you know anyone who’d say something like that?”

jake’s pulse quickens as the words ring a familiar bell in his head. that sounds like… something he would write.

trying to cover, he shrugs. “uh, well, it’s probably someone with a soft side,” he jokes, mentally kicking himself. “maybe they read a lot, or… watch a lot of rom-coms?”

you laugh, clearly enjoying the mystery. “could be… but it feels so genuine, like they really meant it.”

he tries to smile, but his mind races. could it really be… his own letter? the thought sends his heart racing, and he fights to keep his cool, feeling embarrassed that he might be guiding you to respond to his letter.

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

that night, as jake lies in bed, an unsettling thought lingers in his mind. could it actually be… my letter?

the more he thinks about it, the more familiar those lines sound, and his stomach twists with both excitement and dread. sitting up, he grabs his backpack and rummages through it, pulling out his notebook. he flips through the pages, looking for the tucked-away letter he remembers putting there. but as he gets to the back of the notebook, his stomach drops.

the letter isn’t there.

“no, no, no…” he mutters, flipping through each page again. but it’s nowhere to be found. he recalls that day in the hallway when he’d been rushing to class. it must’ve slipped out then!

jake groans, covering his face with both hands, completely mortified. 'she’s been reading my letter this whole time… and i’ve been helping her respond to it!'

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

as you sit in class together, you try to bring up the letter again. “so, about my response… i was thinking of adding a line about—”

jake quickly interrupts, laughing a bit too loudly. “oh, yeah, sure, whatever you think, it’s all good!” he blushes, then looks away. “i mean… i’m sure whoever it is would be thrilled with anything you say.”

you narros your eyes, studying his red face. “are you okay, jake? you’ve been acting really… weird since yesterday.”

jake scratches the back of his neck, glancing everywhere but you. “who, me? no, no, i’m fine. totally normal. it’s… totally normal for me to help you write a love letter to someone i don’t even know, right?”

he lets out a nervous laugh, mentally cringing at how ridiculous he sounds, and you just raise an eyebrow, watching him closely. is he blushing? you wonder, putting the pieces together bit by bit. but you don’t say anything yet, waiting for the right moment.

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

the next day, you read the letter over again, something finally clicking. as you recall jake’s reactions, the strange look in his eyes every time you talked about the letter, you suddenly realize the truth.

the next day during lunch, you turn to jake, a small knowing smile on your face. “jake… i have a hunch. about who wrote the letter.”

jake’s heart stops. “oh? who… who do you think it is?”

your eyes search his, twinkling with a new understanding. “i think it was… you.”

jake’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens, but before he can respond, the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. you stand up, leaving him stunned in his seat as you head off to class with a glance over your shoulder, you give him a teasing smile.

“see you after class, jakey~” you say with a playful tone.

jake is left sitting there, his heart racing, unsure of what you’ll say—or what he’ll say—when you finally meet again.

perm taglist.@honeybelleee @honeychocos @manaah02 @kozumesphone (open!)

requests. open!

©levandright

128 notes · View notes

witch-and-her-witcher · 7 days ago

Text

2024 Fic Writer End of Year Roundup

Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going! Thank you to everyone who tagged me and have had me in their inspo sections, I adore each and every one of you!

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

518,691 (hoping to add another 3-4k to this before midnight hehe)

I CANNOT drop that number without thanking the fucking dream team who has read EVERY SINGLE PUBLISHED WORD of mine: @popjunkie42 and @climbthemountain2020. From cheerleading, to pumping the breaks when my run ons be running, I appreciate the ever-loving hell out of both of you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Honorable mention betas who hold up that number: @cauldronblssd, @wilde-knight, @thesistersarcheron, and @rosanna-writer. I truly appreciate every one of you babes and your critical, brilliant eyes on my self indulgent streams of thought.

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

21! 13 of those were one shots.

If I can be real, I have two multi-chapter WIPs sitting in my docs, but it felt too irresponsible to post those once I started getting buried in grad school.

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

Heading into the new year, I have 2 in progress fics: Ruin Me for the Fourth Wing fandom and Who's Gonna Know You Like Me? for ACOTAR.

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

Any of my poly fics! I really have to thank @acourtofladydeath for her beautiful brain child @polyacotarweek for getting me into the poly mind set. Although I only wrote throuples for that week (and since aside from the background Nesta/Eris/Azriel/Cassian in Who's Gonna Know You Like Me?), I am interested in writing more complex poly pairings in 2025.

I also can't leave out @yanny-77, @copperfirebird and @hockeyspiral23 for supporting the violaiden obsession! I adore writing the three of them together so so much and it's so fun to have others to share the brain rot with!

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

I had never done a true canon rewrite before dripping in gold! It was so so fun taking an in text scene and making it queer as hell.

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

It's undeniable that A Court of Chaos and Darkness's reception took me by surprise. From the moment I couldn't shake the concept of the fic to the over one hundred kudos it received before I took it off of anon. But even more so, the absolute comfort blanket this fic was as I wrote it was shocking. Something in the healing occurring, in the recognition of the complexity of parenting and the messiness of the parent/child relationship really struck me.

The fic @revenge??? I love you filthy azris lovers. This was an outlet for some of my dating app blunders and shenanigans and you all really said "serve."

And then there's my first omegaverse fic and the first of it's kind in the Fourth Wing ao3 tag (when it was posted, I believe there's several more now!): so what now? The Fourth Wing fandom has been warm as hell and so inviting to me, but you have all really embraced me bringing weird into the tags and I just can't thank you enough as I gape at the stats.

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

Either of my sapphic fics: dripping in gold (genderbent feysand) and lunch. (morlain ft the mommy kink tag!)

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

There are so, so many talented artists that inspire me! @thrumugnyr, @copypastus , @queercontrarian and @lucychanart have been my muses for all things Tamlin. @climbthemountain2020 and @wilde-knight are triple threats and their art brings me such joy! There's also @dustjacketdraws that always has primo Cassian and Nesta vibes!

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

There are SO many. First and foremost, my babe @popjunkie42. I love you, my muse. Something about reading your writing and just chatting with you inspires all of my ideas to flow. @asnowfern is another muse and writer I can always turn to for inspiration, we were just recalling her Turning Darkness Into Light elucien spooktober fic that tickles my imagination so much among her other works!

I'm inspired and impressed endlessly by @climbthemountain2020 ability to flawlessly produce well developed, gorgeously vivid stories.

@highlordofkrypton, @missfckingfortune and @beesays inspire me constantly with their raw talent and skill and for the first two, the hot and steamy smut they can turn out. @jules-writes-stories inspires me with her OC work and beautifully layered plots (Mithras, my toxic love.) @c-e-d-dreamer inspires me with her fun AU worlds, but also with her fearlessness to tackle toxic relationships - @secret-third-thing is in this same boat as well as @iftheshoef1tz, @foundress0fnothing, and of course the OGs @thesistersarcheron, @whisperingmidnights, @separatist-apologist and @the-lonelybarricade.

There are so many more of you. I love this community and the inspiration that flows all around your creative, galaxy brained minds.

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

SO many, but those I haven't mentioned yet who are so so talented (but not limited to this list): @dusk-muse, @chairofchaos, @shadowsandlint, @xxvalkyriesxx, @fourteentrout, and @littedidyouknow.

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start?

None this year, but the idea is fun!

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

Could You Love Me While I Hate Myself is my proudest accomplishment this year by far. I always told myself I couldn't: write OCs, write a longfic, or write a fic that would ever break the UNBELIEVABLE stats this fic has done. I proved myself wrong on every front.

Thank you so much to @asnowfern, @popjunkie42 and @wilde-knight for seeing me through this capstone fic and for believing in me and helping me see myself in a totally different light.

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

Be as silly and self-indulgent as possible.

If you have a killer idea/dialogue line/etc - WRITE IT DOWN. YOU WILL NOT REMEMBER IT LATER.

14. What is your advice?

Surround yourself with people who make you feel like you can accomplish anything and you will never fail because there they will be, gassing you up flop or not.

I love you, harem. Writing is so fun BECAUSE of you. <3

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

Continuing to eat, serve and let the haters drown in it.

#2024 Fic Writer End of Year Roundup #tag game #I LOVE YOU ALL #sorry this is so long omg #apparently i had a lot to say about this year #my writing

51 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 4 months ago

Text

Of Butterflies and Backstrokes Part 4

Shiny new schedule! Lets see how it shakes out. I'm hoping this will give each story time to shine on its own. But as my husband pointed out, it is four days in a row of stories followed by a day of no posting and then WIP Wednesday for the next two. So there really isn't a break between them lol!

Eh, it's fine!

In this Eddie finds what happened to Steve and decides to do something about it. And Steve develops a crush on Eddie's swimming.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Steve was grateful when the party ended. He was about ready to vibrate out of his skin. He needed to talk to Robin.

“All right spit it out,” she huffed when they got into the car. “I can tell you’ve been antsy all day.”

He let out a sigh. He loved her so much. He never had to over-explain himself with her. The way he always did with Tommy.

“When you guys do the staff swim on Saturdays, how often is Eddie there?”

She blinked at the question. It was the last thing she would have thought he would ask.

“Almost every week,” Robin said. “He wasn’t there last week because he had to help his uncle in the yard, but yeah. If he can be there, he will.”

Steve pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah, okay. Does he play around usually or does he do laps and shit?”

She frowned as she thought back. “He’s usually doing laps when we get there and then plays around with us when we get in the pool.”

“Is he doing a basic breaststroke or...?” he hedged, biting on his bottom lip.

“All right, what’s with the twenty questions?” Robin replied. “Just ask what’s really on your mind.”

Steve let out a long breath. “Is there a chance he could have been trained to swim and not just taught?”

She sat back in the passenger seat and thought about it.

“Huh.”

“Yeah,” he said dryly. “Because Robin, he’s fucking good. Like could be better than me with the right coach good.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Wait, really?”

Steve nodded.

They sat on that thought the rest of the way home.

Eddie got home from his swim and immediately hopped into the shower. He hated showering in locker rooms. Even when they were supposedly empty. Too many close calls with the jocks at his high school to feel safe in those things.

When he got out his Uncle Wayne was sitting on the armchair reading the newspaper.

“You know those things are going go the way the dodo any day now, right?” he teased, flopping on the nearby sofa.

“Uh-huh,” Wayne said dryly, not bothering to look up. “You’re back early.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “The rec center general manager was having her son’s birthday party today so I dipped out early.”

Wayne put down his paper and took off his glasses. “They didn’t tell you they’d need to use the pool? That’s not fair, Ed.”

“No, no,” Eddie said waving his hands back and forth. “They were using the kiddie pool. They were just super loud and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with just lifeguards today with Robin helping out.”

“She getting paid for that?” Wayne said, steely-eyed.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yes Uncle Wayne, they were asked if they wanted to and were paid overtime for it.”

Wayne nodded curtly and went back to his paper. “I went to the library and looked up that Harrington fellow. Five gold medals, two silver and a bronze. Probably would have had even more gold medals if it weren’t for that accident at the beginning of the games.”

“Tragic,” Eddie said. He was aiming for sarcastic but it came out more sincere than he would have liked.

“I think it was sabotage.”

Eddie’s head whipped up to look at his uncle. “You want to repeat that?”

Wayne carefully folded the paper and set it on the side table next to him. He pulled off his glasses and looked him in the eye. “I think it was a deliberate attempt to get Steve out the games.” Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Now I don’t know if it was meant to go as far as it did, but without a doubt that jumping board was tampered with.”

Eddie sat back and looked at him skeptically. “You shitting with me right now?” Wayne shook his head. “Because why would anyone do that? He only did okay in the second Olympics he was in. He didn’t even medal the first time.”

“Because they were throwing around phrases like ‘world record’ and ‘best swimmer of his generation’ about Steve Harrington at Beijing,” Wayne explained. “Like proper news worthy stuff. All eyes would have been on him and I’m betting that whoever it was wanted him out.”

Eddie sat back on the sofa with a “Huh.” He pulled out his phone and pulled up the internet. He typed in Steve Harrington’s name and the top results was his 2008 Olympic trials. Which Eddie privately wondered if someone paid heavily for that.

He clicked on the link. The final swim for butterfly and no one else was even in frame. He could hear the zoooom, click, of the camera zooming back out. Hargrove came in second, Hagan third and then everyone else was tight cluster of bodies at the finish line.

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathed. “He’s not just good. He’s God’s gift to swimming, son of Poseidon levels of ability here. If you’re right and someone did this to him, I hope they fucking hang for it.”

“Kick him out of the sport at the very least,” Wayne said gruffly. “Maybe even criminal charges if they call pull them.”

Eddie nodded. “Speaking of criminal charges, how the hell did you convince Chief Hopper to get me off mine? Because I should have gotten probation at least. A criminal record and jail time at the worst.”

Wayne looked him straight in the eye. “Because I know everyone deserves a second chance. Not everyone is like your daddy. He used up every ounce of goodwill he had with everyone before they locked him up threw away the key. Hopper was a delinquent before he got into a big enough trouble and his parents sent him to military school.”

Eddie’s eyebrows went up. That explained a lot more than anything else he knew about the man. “And you what? Covered it up for him? Took the fall? What?”

Wayne chuckled and shook his head. “No, nothing like that.”

Eddie leveled his uncle with a glare. “It must have been something big because he picks me up every day and is part of the trio that has to sign off on my paper work. That’s not a small favor, Uncle Wayne.”

“That’s certainly true,” he agreed. “I was a character witness for him to adopt his daughter, Elinor. He’s pretty damn sure that if it wasn’t for me going to bat for him they would’ve never let him some much as foster let alone adopt.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, nodding thoughtfully. “That is a pretty big favor.”

“You being good to him?” Wayne asked after a moment.

Eddie reared his head back and tilted in confusion. “Who? Hopper?”

“No,” Wayne scoffed. “Steve. You might have not have known at first what he went through, but you do now. So are you being good to him?”

Eddie opened his mouth to instantly reply ‘of course!’ but he forced himself to stop and think about it. “I don’t really spend enough time with him to be one way or another, but I haven’t gone out of my way to be a dick, you know?”

Wayne nodded and then picked back up his paper and Eddie knew that was the end of that. He went back to watching videos of Steve completely smash his American teammates to smithereens. Like the way the guy moved through the water was like a hot knife through butter, it was that smooth.

Then he pulled up the video. The one that ended the guy’s Olympic dreams for good. They were all at the starting line and everything looked normal. Calm. Then the gun went off and suddenly it all went wrong. The spring board literal flew out from under Steve. He tried to correct his trajectory, but Eddie could see he only made it worse.

He clung to it desperately, but his head bashed the side and suddenly he was under. Sinking like a stone. People held their breath as they watched, waiting for him to surface again. But he didn't. Suddenly, a streak of white flashed by everyone and dove in, straight for him. The figure grabbed Steve and dragged him to the surface. When they both crested the surface, it revealed just exactly who his savior was.

Robin.

Somehow there wasn’t any blood, just a giant bruise where he hit his head. Eddie can tell he’s unconscious and Robin barely holding on. Then finally a couple of the coaches jumped in after them and helped pull him to edge of the pool where EMTs were waiting with a stretcher. They immediately wrapped his neck in brace and then carefully hauled him out of the water.

All this to fucking commentary. Like Eddie wanted to reach back in time and punch those assholes until they bled. Sure, tell people what happened. But this? This was disgusting. A play by play.

Eddie exited out of the video and threw his phone on the sofa next to him. Afraid of the water. That’s what Jeff had suggested back when he first started doing his community service. Murray had even suggested something to the like. But this? This cinched it.

Fuck.

“Would something like almost drowning make you afraid of the water?” Eddie asked out loud, chewing on his lip and rubbing the bottom of his lip.

Wayne looked up from his newspaper again with a questioning hum. So Eddie repeated the question. “Could do, I suppose. Trauma is a bit funny like that. Why do you ask?”

Eddie told him about Steve’s avoidance of main pool and how he stayed to the kiddie pool and endless pool. “Like he obviously takes showers and shit, so it’s not a complete aversion, but it’s something, right?”

Wayne hummed again, this time more thoughtfully. “Certainly sounds like it’s more than something, Ed.”

Eddie slapped his knees and stood up. “Right, I think I know what I need to do.” He grabbed his phone off the sofa and patted his pockets to make sure he had his keys.

“I’ll be back later,” he called out over his shoulder and Wayne hummed his acknowledgment that he heard him, before he was flying out the door.

He got in his van and drove straight over. He skidded to a stop in front of nice house in Loch Nora. He barely managed to yank the keys out of the ignition before storming up the stairs to the front door. He pounded on the door until Gareth opened it.

“Hey,” he said with a grin. “Your dad’s a psychologist, right?”

Gareth blinked at him a moment, unsure what was going on. “Dude, you do realize it’s barely ten o’clock on a Saturday? You know, that day most people use to sleep in?”

Eddie looked at his watch for a moment and then looked up at his friend with a chagrined expression. “Sorry, dude. I can come back later if you want.” He jutted his thumb behind him at his van.

Gareth peered around him and then looked at Eddie blearily. “No, no I don’t want to unleash you on the unsuspecting populous when you get like this.” He turned around and waved for Eddie to follow.

Eddie bounced on his toes for a moment trying to decide if he should come in or not. He was about to decide not, when Mrs. Hughes came around the corner.

“Eddie!” she cried cheerfully. “You’re just in time for breakfast. I’ll throw another couple of slices of bacon on the griddle for you.”

So he came in, lured by the promise of bacon.

“So what did you need to my dad about?” Gareth asked, setting the table for breakfast.

Eddie jumped, nearly forgetting he had a mission. “There’s this guy at the pool they have me doing community service at, who has a shit ton of trauma and I wanted to ask him for advice on not accidentally fucking the guy up worse, you know?”

“That’s admirable, Eddie,” Dr. Hughes said, coming into the kitchen with the newspaper. “Trauma is such a tricky thing and by educating yourself in knowing where the common landmines are is good place to start.”

Eddie sighed in relief. He had been worried that Gareth’s dad would tell him to keep his nose out of it.

So once breakfast was on the table and they had dug in a bit, Gareth’s twin Gethin having spent the night at a friend’s, Eddie started telling Dr. Hughes all about Steve.

Dr. Hughes nodded. “Trauma in relation to pain is a tricky thing to unravel because they avoid the thing for fear of getting hurt again.”

Eddie nodded, soaking up everything and even taking notes. “Thanks, Dr. H, this was really helpful. I won’t feel so nervous around him anymore.”

“You’re a good kid, Eddie,” Dr. Hughes murmured. “I’m glad my personal psych profile was able to help in keeping you out of jail. It never sat right with me that poor people have to resort to crime to stay afloat and then be punished more severely for it.”

Eddie blushed. “Thanks for that, too.”

He knew was reductive to claim that it was Hopper that got him off, especially when so many people came out to help him stay out of jail and out of having a criminal record. But Hopper’s testimony was certainly the most memorable.

He finished breakfast and then spent time with Gareth going over the next session of their current D&D game.

Come Monday, he was going to help Steve in every way he could. Because if anyone knew the consequences of having a shit hand dealt you, it was Eddie.

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chameleonhair @sadisticaltarts @dreamercec @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mac-attack19

10- @aol19 @eriquin @tartarusknight @gloomysoup @morallyundefined

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #olympic steddie #olympic swimmer au

96 notes · View notes

iinryer · 28 days ago

Text

wip whatever! ive been tagged by @try-set-me-on-fire @bigfootsmom @pelorsdyke the past few days and im sure others i cannot recall even further back <3 ty for tagging me sorry I don’t always have stuff 2 share

(from chris comes home too soon fic, shortly after waking up in the hospital)

—

“Buck called…” Chris says it slowly, deliberately. He says it in a way that makes Eddie think maybe it’s not the first time Chris has told him, “He said you were hurt,”

Eddie swallows harshly. His eyes burn with tears he tries to blink back.

He has hazy memories about a call, and slipping down… falling from… he’s not sure. He wants to know, but he doesn’t want to ask his teenage son. Who’s here. Really actually here, in the same room as him for the first time in almost four months.

“You…” Eddie starts, voice hoarse, breath hiccuping in his chest, “how long…”

He’s not sure whether he wants to know how long Chris has been here, or how long he’ll stay. He still feels groggy and heavy. His thoughts are sticky, but he thinks he’s clinging to them with a better grip than he was earlier. He takes a deep breath. Feels a twinge somewhere for the first time. It hurts, in a far away kind of way, but it’s a sudden relief he didn’t know he needed. To be able to feel his body.

Eddie swallows, deciding it’s probably best not to have a heavier conversation before he’s fully present, and settles on, “How long have you been here…?”

Chris sits up straighter suddenly—that wary look still on his face, but there’s an alertness that wasn’t there before.

Alarm bells start going off in the back of Eddie’s head, somewhere muffled, but he can feel them. His brow furrows, a heavy arm trying its best to move across the bed to reach feebly towards Chris. His voice is raspy and thick around the tears he’s bit back, “Hey… what’s wrong?”

The smallest, shakiest voice he’s heard from his kid in years, says, “Dad?”

And then, Eddie’s horror, Chris’ bottom lip wobbles.

“Hey—hey, hey, Chris,” Eddie chokes, forcing his heavy, uncooperative hand over the edge of the mattress, “C’mere, you’re—you’re okay—,”

Chris lets out a gasping breath and lurches forward to, gently, ever so softly, grasp onto Eddie’s uncoordinated, reaching fingers.

They just look at each other for a moment. Then Chris’ brow furrows a bit, hesitating as his gaze drifts upward.

“Are you back? For real, this time?” Chris whispers, not crying, but still clearly distressed, “You were confused, before. You kept forgetting I was here,”

Tears well up in Eddie’s eyes, so suddenly, and with such ferocity it startles him. His first instinct is to shake his head vehemently and insist that no, he would never forget. He could never forget. But… He takes in Chris again. Remembers the way he spoke earlier…

Eddie takes a breath and claws at his residual grogginess, gives Chris’ hand a squeeze and says, “Yeah, buddy. I think—I think so,”

Chris nods slowly, still looking a little shell shocked, eyes drifting off to the side. Then says, “I’m supposed to call the nurse,”

Eddie wants nothing less than to have to deal with the medical staff when his son is right here. He’s here. But Chris looks shaken. Not just shaken, but shaken and containing it. And that breaks Eddie’s heart in two.

So Eddie just nods belatedly, clears his dry throat, and whispers, “Okay,”

Chris doesn’t move for a moment, looking at Eddie again. But before Eddie’s mind can catch up, Chris is reaching over to press the call button.

—

tagging @gayeddieagenda bc i want to see the thing you’re working on 🫵

#eddie WILL fall from a great height #if tim won’t commit to the vertigo of it all then i will take it into my own hands #iinryer wip

54 notes · View notes

lilydalexf · 5 days ago

Note

hello! I'm new to following you on Tumblr, but I followed your content from Golgle, I wanted to know if by any chance you knew of any fanfic in which Scully recovered her memories of the abduction, I've been wanting to read one like that for a while, but I can't find it, thanks!

Welcome, and thank you for the ask! Here are some good fics where Scully remembers something about her season 2 abduction. Enjoy!

12 Rites of Passage: Regression by Anne Haynes Part 9 of the 12 Rites of Passage series: Mulder and Scully seek a missing woman and discover frightening truths about their pasts. (Sequel to the series: 12 Degrees of Separation.)

Anamorphosis by Megan Reilly Assigned to find a horrifying serial murderer, Agent Scully discovers things about herself and her past that she never suspected.

Comfortably Numb by Paige Caldwell There is no pain...you are receding...a distant ship...smoke on the horizon...you are coming through in waves...Your lips move but I can't hear what you say...I have become comfortably numb...

The Cry of the Truth by A.I. Irving As their love affair unfolds, Scully reveals to Mulder a painful secret relating to her abduction. Mulder's reaction tests their bond and eventually leads Scully to discover a few truths about herself.

Dance Without Sleeping by wonderland (@amplifyme) Scully learns to live with her cancer and take back control of her life. Meanwhile, Mulder works on fulfilling a wish list. (Fic in the same universe: Into Each Other Sinking.)

grief by ms_starlight71 Scully goes in for a routine pap smear sometime post-cancer arc and has a panic attack/flashback related to her abduction.

i'm still in love with who i wish you were by comeherebooch “You were abducted, Scully,” Mulder said, sensing her confusion, “do you remember anything?” Post Requiem.

Ingénue by Punk (@punkm) Mulder and Scully investigate the circumstances surrounding a fifteen-year-old girl's multiple disappearances.

locking out the ghosts by skuls (@ghostbustermelanieking) Post-Emily arc, an emotionally vulnerable Scully breaks off the incredibly new relationship she and Mulder have recently been engaged in. As the season moves forward, how do they cope with this new development in their relationship, and how do the stressful situations their job puts them in affect this?

Malleus Maleficarum by Pellinor A stranger with a tempting offer promises hope in Mulder's time of need. Refusal could cost him and Scully their lives, but could the price of acceptance be greater still?

Movie Night by @nowwhateinstein “Talk about spooky,” he says as the movie fades to black and the credits begin to roll. She laughs and gives a small shake of her head. “That word,” she says. “It means something different to me now.”

Revanche by Ryo Sen Revanche - (noun) political policy designed to recover lost territory or status

Skin by Annie Sewell-Jennings In a world where Mulder and Scully have never met, fate intervenes and brings two worlds colliding in the city of Charleston, as a vicious murderer reigns and a storm approaches.

Right Hand Return by orphan_account An alternative universe in which Scully is returned from her abduction with a baby, no memories of anything prior to her captivity and some PTSD.

Time Can Heal by PostApocolypticAlien (@scullysexual) Mulder realises that his quest for the truth costs too much (WIP)

Truthseekers by Leyla Harrison (No summary provided)

until it heals by actualchangeling (@actual-changeling) Nightmares cannot be fought with logic or light, there is no way of expelling them from her brain, not a single moment of peace to catch her breath. Scully knows one thing that always helps, though. Or rather—someone. When she finds herself lost and drowning, she calls the one person in the world whom she trusts to keep her safe. She calls Mulder.

The Way by KMNAHILL and MD1016 Scully becomes mysteriously ill. Mulder, Melissa, and Tao help to heal her. / On assignment in Chicago, Scully’s illness progresses. / An assignment in Oregon turns out to be more than first expected. Humorous antics from the Lone Gunmen. / Samantha returns and isn’t what Mulder had expected.

White Light by aka_Jake While investigating a young woman's claim of alien abduction, Mulder and Scully are led on a cross-country chase of intrigue and murder. As they search for answers, Scully's own abduction memories resurface.

#fic rec #roundup #abduction arc #season 2 #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #magxlxfreakk

52 notes · View notes

seiya-starsniper · 2 months ago

Note

Trick or Treat!

Happy Halloween dearie! Have a snippet from the sequel to Break Me, Shake Me

“Holy shit Dream do you know what all this means?” Johanna asks excitedly. Dream only shrugs.

“I imagine there's possibly the locations of a few valuable assets your people could seize,” he says. In truth, he has no idea what any of those documents represent, but if he had to guess based on Johanna and Hob's line of work, they've likely stumbled upon the big payout Johanna had mentioned they were looking for. But Johanna shakes her head, even as her grin grows wider.

“This is worth more than money,” she replies, waving some of the files about. “It's proof. Connections. Trade routes. We can provide these to the right authorities and put Burgess behind bars once and for all.”

Dream thinks it's a bit naive of an outlook, but he doesn't share his thoughts out loud. Roderick has plenty of powerful associates, and Dream doubts even presenting his own documents as evidence that his soon to be ex husband would go away to prison for long, if he were sentenced at all.

#dreamling #break me shake me 2 wip #seiya's wip previews #trick or treat!

16 notes · View notes

altschmerzes · 28 days ago

Note

I want to hear about your fics. Tell me about your wips. What are you working on now. What's got you really excited?

OOOOOOOO YOU HAVE UNLEASHED ME, MY FRIEND...

the thing about me that i'm sure you will have noticed by now if you've spent more than five minutes on my blog or in my general company is that i am always working on five hundred projects at once. this is not... like, great, so to speak for my ability to consistently finish one thing but i don't know how much steam i'd be able to maintain if i wasn't constantly playing hopscotch with projects so like. win some lose some?

anyways. i have five hundred projects always. right now i would say the ones i am working on with the greatest degree of dedication/effort, in terms of Major Projects at least and not just like. oneshots here and there are wriggle up on dry land (baby jamie ted lasso fic), history rhymes (ted lasso fic centred on sexual trauma), loneliness into loneliness (the qpr two aces fic and its associated concepts), and the newest of the bunch that i don't think i've really talked about, which is titled 'drive the wedge' (from the tmg song 'heel turn 2'). here is a needlessly thorough explanation of THAT fic. the short version is, in the excellent words of my friend @cartwrong, "Thought River had a bad time in s4? Its about to get to worse."

drive the wedge is a slow horses fic wherein at the end of 4x05, patrice abducts river at gunpoint and when he does so he doesn't drive him to that cafe to meet with frank. instead, patrice takes river to a remote, isolated manor where frank is waiting for them.

it goes downhill from there.

the horses do not see or hear from river again for almost five months. during that time, frank does his level best to break river and rebuild him into a soldier, into a weapon worth using. this... doesn't really work. in fact, the process ends up breaking not river, but patrice, who watches his father torture the only brother he has left until he can't take watching it anymore.

meanwhile, slough house is on overdrive trying to find a missing colleague who the park is all to quick to deem missing (presumed dead) and rubber-stamp his file as such before tucking it away in a dusty corner. louisa almost quits. (she tries to quit. the only reason that she doesn't is because lamb shows up to ask her back, because she's at least almost competent and if they want any hope of getting river back they're going to need her. he also promises that he won't make her do fuck-all that isn't to do with finding river. she agrees to return on these conditions. catherine comes back too, of her own accord, because she can't tolerate the idea of being outside of the loop on this one. she has to be there.)

louisa is generally having a bad fucking time. she is dealing with grief and terror over the maybe-loss of her best friend, and she is also trying to find him, not to mention dealing with his mother. she ends up spending a lot of time working late with lamb, and filling out that dynamic is one of my favourite things in planning this thing out. they're astonishingly similar sometimes, and they inadvertently keep each other afloat during the long, difficult months river spends in captivity. (lamb is not handling this well either. he will not be acknowledging this. he WILL be yelling at the park for trying to legally declare river dead.)

ultimately, everything comes to a head when louisa follows a lead that she knows better than to follow, and comes to in a room in a manor she's never been to before. she is intended to be the final blow that breaks river's resolve, except that it doesn't quite end up shaking out that way, and they're both found alive, if not exactly well.

the following months are hard, too, in their own way, as everyone tries to re-find their footing again. there's endless hours of debriefing from the park, who aren't totally convinced river didn't go dark-side during his captivity. there's what to tell david, whose condition has deteriorated sharply thanks to the sudden and traumatic loss of his grandson. there's the severe physical and emotional trauma river is carrying and trying to recover from. there's louisa's own profound trauma from the whole ordeal - from his disappearance and his absence and everything she had to deal with during that to her own abduction and near-death. lamb tries, with varying levels of success, to be a human being, because they need him to be and because catherine told him in no uncertain terms that this time he has no choice. we all know i'm a rescue and recovery bitch, this is the part i am All About.

anyways. it's a mess, it's so much fun, there's so much going on here. im having a blast. :)

#gav gab #gav answers #patrice in this fic is fascinating. he's not like... this isn't a Good Guy Patrice fic #it's like. what if frank tried to break river and he ended up breaking patrice's loyalty instead.#patrice at first tries to help river survive with um. well he's not kind about it #he's fucking scary and horrible and violent and river is terrified of him #but the choices he makes in the end are... they're reflective of the fact that like #torture doesn't work. it backfires and it backfires on frank here HARD.#patrice has lost all of his brothers and now there is a new one here and this new brother is like a fucking child #with the way he is soft and stubborn and how much he fucking *cries*#and watching frank do his level best to destroy this brand new baby brother... yeah. no. it doesn't last #anyways i love this fic it's a lot of fun for me #fic: drive the wedge #long post #writing liveblog

38 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

In Bloom 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, allusions to trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After wasting much of your youth in a toxic situation, things are starting to look up. That’s until you meet a certain flower seller.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Note: It's a fine Tuesday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You walk around the market with your cone. Strawberry. You never really had ice cream much, not until Aunt Bev. It's good but sweet. The coldness makes your head ache.

As you traverse the crowd, you grow overwhelmed. So many people in one place makes your head spin. Aunt Bev is too distracted by all the sights and sounds to notice when you drop your cone. You leave it on the ground and keep going.

A girl stands behind a table of goods. Second-hand but pretty. Purses with hand-sewn patterns and crochet sweaters with frilly collars. They're cute. You browse from afar but don't point them out. A large blond man blocks her from your view and your nerves get the of you.

As you look back to your aunt, you don't find her. Where is she? She was just there.

You spin and search the crowd. She's not there. What happened? You only looked away for a moment.

Your heart picks up as you stumble back. Your lashes flutter and your lungs burn. What do you do? You hug tight the flower pot with one arm, your other hand on your purse. Oh no, no, no.

You turn and rush through the first opening you see. You just need to get in the clear then you can find her. You need somewhere to see her from. A vantage point to get your bearings.

You keep telling yourself it will be okay but it doesn't feel okay. You rush past people, a smear of faces and bodies all around, the world a cacophony to your ears. You break free of the press and gasp for air.

Just as you think you're free, you crash into something. Someone. You step back and look up. You know them.

It's that flower seller. Cole. He barely catches the pot before it slips from your arm.

“Hey, you alright?” He asks as he helps you get a hold of the daylilies. “Where's Bev?”

You crane to see over your shoulder then look back to him. You shake your head and give a frazzled grimace. You can't even speak.

“You lost her, didn't you?” He says, “no worries, you can hang out with me. Mrs. Lee was just watching my booth while I ran to the bathroom. I'm on my way back now.”

You push your shoulders higher and bounce on your heels. You don't know what else to do. He's the only other familiar face there, even if he is a stranger still.

You nod and clutch the plant tighter. He gestures you ahead of him and you step past him. He points you towards his stall, directing you with his voice. Even from behind, you can sense his size, you can feel how big he is. You know what damage someone your own size can wrought, so to even imagine what he could do, if he wanted, chills you to the bone.

You slow as you near the table of plants and pots. He skirts around you, beckoning you behind the long table at the front. A woman with rosy cheeks smiles to greet him.

“There you are. And you found a friend, no wonder you took so long,” she chides.

“Sorry, it’s a bit hectic,” Cole rubs his forehead.

“Oh, I understand,” she winks at you.

“Mrs. Lee,” Cole motions to her as he introduces her, “you know Bev, this is her niece. She’s looking for her aunt.”

“Ah, I’m sure you’ll find her,” Mrs. Lee says, “I’ll let her know if I see her. Cole will keep you good company.”

“Ha, er, thanks, Mrs. Lee,” he sniffs, “I don’t wanna keep you any longer. Thanks for watching the booth.”

“I tell you all the time, you should get some help,” she tuts, “see you around.”

She waves at you as she sidles out from the booth and you watch her cross to her own, just across from Cole’s. He turns to you, sweeping back a stray shank of hair back into a fluffy swoop. You look around nervously. You feel bad for intruding. You’d hate to get in his way.

“Here, sit,” he outstretches his arm to the chair as he touches your shoulder.

He surprises you and you wince away from him. You don’t argue. You shouldn’t. He’s being nice and he’s trying to help you. Even if you never asked. Even if you barely know him. He gives you a smile and lifts his chin, peering around over the heads of the crowd around him.

You sit and cross your ankles. You rock nervously as you find yourself walled in by the flowers. There isn’t much space between you and Cole. He’s distracted from his search by some approaching customers. He serves them in the same gentle tone he had you and Aunt Bev.

You feel worse the longer you sit there. You’re like a child. You just turned twenty-five and you’re still just a burden to everyone.

You feel your pulse racing and your ears thrumming. The longer you sit there, the more helpless you feel. Your vision skews and you put your chin down, staring at the yellow petals as you try to rein in your panic. Will Aunt Bev come find you?

“You okay?” Cole’s voice makes you flinch.

You look up at him and just stare. A droplet of sweat rolls down from your hairline as the sun beats into your scalp. He grabs the bottle of water from beneath the front table and bends to look you in the eye. You shy away as he puts the back of his fingers to your cheek.

“You’re pretty warm. You should have something to drink,” he advises as he pulls back his hand to uncap the bottle, “here. It’s fresh. Yours.”

You look at him dumbly then the bottle. You move the pot to balance on your lap, one hand on the rim, as you take the water with your other. You shakily hold it and put it to your lips. You are awfully thirsty.

“Is that—Cole!” Your aunt calls shrilly and appears on the other side of the table, “oh thank god! I’ve been running around searching everywhere. You found her.” She touches her chest, a swoon trembling on her lip, “oh, how can I ever thank you?"

Cole turns, standing straight. Once more his figure makes you feel even smaller.

“No need. She was just hanging out,” he turns his hands out, “no big deal, right? Everyone’s in one piece. Lost and found.”

“Oh, but you didn’t have to...” she fans herself and glances at you. You don’t miss the gesture she tries to make subtle as she beckons him further down the table. You look at the flowers as she lowers her voice. You can’t make out her words but you assume she’s warning him about you.

“Honey, we should go,” she chirps as Cole backs up, “Lena will be worried.”

“Alright,” you stand, hands full as your purse slips to dangle at your elbow.

Cole faces you and you can barely look at him. It isn’t just that he frightens you, it’s his expression. It must be whatever your aunt told him.

“Thanks,” you croak as you near and offer him the bottle back.

“Keep it,” he says as he shows his palms, “please. Go. Have a happy birthday.”

You put your head down and brush by him. It’s tight behind the table but he could move more, couldn’t he? Your aunt clings to your arm as you come close.

“Oh, Cole, you are a life saver,” she says, “I owe you one.” She tugs you away from the flowers, “come on, hon. Are you okay?”

You nod as you let her usher you away. You’ve had enough excitement for one day, even your birthday. You just want to go back to her house and figure out where to plant the daylilies. You know that won’t be what happens. You have to paste on a smile and eat cake, be the good girl you were raised to be.

🪻

The sun bores down on your back as you keep your head down to the light. You sit amid the soil, pulling out errant weeds as you check the stems and petals for any signs of pest. There is only you and the smell of dirt, the vibrance of a multitude of hues, and the low hum of insects crawling and flying around the lush garden.

In those moments, you can forget. There is no noise in your head, there are no memories, there is only beauty. Time is nothing. You exist in a standstill.

"How lucky I am to have a diligent little gardener," Aunt Bev frightens you from your foiliage-induced meditation, "it looks wonderful out here. I'm afraid if it were up to me, it may have all turned brown."

"Oh, uh," you fall of your knees, sitting on your bum as you turn to see her, "sorry, is it late?"

"No, hon, I'm just checking on you," she smiles.

You push your lips together and dust off your hands, "how was work?"

"Good, thanks for asking," she comes down the steps of the deck and sits on the lowest one, "How's it going out here? It looks spectacular?"

"Mmm, I had to pull the petunias, there was an infestation," you point to the barren patch. "Sorry."

"Oh, well that's fine," she smiles, "I'm sure Cole can come up with some suggestions for a replacement."

You nod and purse your lips. The reminder of him makes you cringe inside. You're still embarrassed to think of how lost you were at the market. You must have come off as a weirdo.

"He's coming for dinner so he'll want to check out the garden," she chimes.

"Coming for dinner?" You repeat, "tonight?"

"Of course," she laughs as if it's no big deal. "I want to thank him for keeping you safe last week. Again, I'm so sorry, honey, I didn't mean to lose you like that."

"It's... it's okay. I'm an adult, I..." you falter. You're an adult but you've never lived like one.

"I know. You are. You're so very mature but you're also special and you need a little extra care, just like you do for the flowers."

You hum flatly and look away. She always has such a nice way of saying the ugly things. You know exactly what she means. You're all messed up in your head.

“Mm, okay, I...” you glance at your clothes. Your jeans are smeared with dirt and your nails are filthy. You blanch and look at your aunt.

“No worries, you finish up out here,” she smiles, “then you can come in and get cleaned up. He won’t be here for...” she pauses to check her watch, “more than an hour.”

“Right, er...” you blink. You always feel so lost. You never know what the proper thing to do it but you’re learning. “Could-- can I help with anything?”

She smiles, “oh, that’s so sweet of you to offer. If you like, you can make a salad. Your uncles going to fire up the barbecue, he doesn’t want to heat up the house too much. And it’ll be nice to eat outside and admire all your hard work.”

“Um, okay,” you grab the trowel and your forgotten gloves, disposed to allow for more tactile grip, “I’m pretty much done now.”

You stand and shake off the rest of the dirt. She gets up too, groaning as she rubs her lower back. You cross to trail her up the steps and can’t help a mope. You love your Aunt Bev, she’s done so much for her, but you will never be like her or the rest of them. You’re trying but you just don’t think you’ll ever be normal.

You put the towel in the orange pot with the rest of the garden tools and drop the gloves on top. You kick your shoes off before you follow Aunt Bev through the sliding door. You leave your dirt caked treads on the mat and go to wash your hands.

As you try to decide what to put in the salad, you get an idea, the kind that tickles your brain. You finish scrubbing under your nails and dry your hands. You wander out to find Aunt Bev, your nerves flurrying. Maybe you should ask. You already have so much.

“Hey, hon, what’s up?” She appears as she tugs on the hem of a loose flowered tee, “you look lost.”

“Oh, erm, I was thinking... about the salad,” you wring your hands and shrug, “it was silly though.”

“What?” She looks excited, “now you have to tell me.”

“Well, er, what if... what if I grew some tomatoes? We could put them in salads.”

“Ah, that’s lovely!” She claps her hands, “you’ll have to ask Cole about that too.”

You fold your arms and tuck your chin down. Cole... just the mention of him makes you tense. It’s enough that you’re always surrounded by people; Lena, Mason, Uncle Morris. You can’t handle another new face, another person to deal with. Even he did help you, you never asked for it.

#cole turner #dark cole turner #dark!cole turner #cole turner x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #ghosted #series #in bloom

134 notes · View notes

soft-girl-musings · 1 year ago

Text

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 1 (Strangers In The Night)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,222

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

A/N: can't believe this is the product of covid-induced hcs and thots between me and @mrs-lockley, thank you so much for encouraging this buddy (also @lunar-ghoulie if i had a nickel for each time you've sent an ask/dm about a WIP and it ended up being where i put all my energy, i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's hilarious that it's happened twice).

----------

On nights like tonight, Jake Lockley regrets his choice of profession.

It’s a dreary November evening, darkening by the second as the New York streets grow damp and cold. The wise had decided not to venture out; the blindsided rush across slick pavement to whatever shelter they can find. The desperate stay on the clock and curse their luck.

He should know by now that when a client says they’ll be “just a minute,” it’s a boldfaced lie: even if they have every intention of being efficient, he’s been stranded on the curb more times than he can count.

So he keeps the meter running. He’s seen the duds his regular client has on each week; the man could afford to fork over a few extra bucks. Might even build character.

The steady rhythm of the rain had been fine at first, but after half an hour parked beneath the neon sign of The Paper Moon– hat, coat and gloves doing nothing to ward off the chill creeping into his cab– every raindrop taunts him in his isolation.

To hell with this.

He shuts off the engine, pops his collar, and braces himself before stepping out onto the street. The rain falls fast and hard, so he rushes toward the brick exterior of The Paper Moon. He’s never been inside, but the glowing crescent of the sign had piqued his interest the first time he’d dropped his client here. He may as well see what all the fuss is about.

The doorman– a tall, dapperly dressed unit with a neutral grimace– casts a wary look his way. Jake ducks into the alley beside the building. Guess it’s exclusive.

Through the rain he spots a side door with a meagerly covered stoop, upon which is hunched a smaller, yet equally well-dressed figure. The young man’s tawny complexion pops against the emerald green of his just-too-big blazer, mist gathering in the dark brown waves slicked back from his creased brow. He grips a cigarette between clenched teeth, stuttering curses around it as he strikes a flimsy matchbook to no avail.

“¿Necesitas un fuego?”

At his offer, Jake is met by startled, impossibly wide brown eyes. The shock turns to glee as his face breaks into a toothy smile.

“Sí– sí sería genial, señor.” He makes room on the stoop, his dimpled cheeks betraying his youth. Jake pulls out a lighter and deftly lights the end of his cigarette, earning another dimpled grin after a few christening puffs. “Muchísimas gracias.”

“No hay problema.”

He lights one of his own, the smoke mixing with the fog of his breath as he holds out his free hand. “Jake.”

“Mauricio.” His newfound companion grips his hand and shakes vigorously.

They sit in silence for a few moments, their subtle exhalations and the slowing rain the only sounds between them.

The mood is disrupted by shouting from the other side of the door, followed by clattering and the unmistakable sound of someone falling. The door behind them flies open and a lanky, dark skinned man in a matching green blazer pokes his head outside.

“You’d better get your tail in here, Maurie. She’s in one of her moods tonight.”

“Rats, alright,” he groans, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stamping it out with his heel. Mauricio straightens his blazer and pushes a hand through his hair. He pauses at the door and looks back at Jake.

“Do you wanna come inside, dry off for a spell? We put on a mean show,” he swears. The kid's face isn't one Jake imagines people say “no” to very often.

“...Yeah, alright. Thanks.”

“Great! There’s a couple of tables toward the back that should still be free, you can sneak in there no problem.” Mauricio holds the door open a bit wider for Jake to step through. “If anyone gives you any trouble, just tell ‘em you’re with me.” With a wink and another winning smile, he darts off to follow the other blazer.

Jake finds his spot easily enough, taking in the atmosphere as he weaves between tables and patrons. So this is The Paper Moon.

The building’s drab exterior is deceptive: inside is a small lounge, bustling with activity and humming with life. Richly draped walls envelop the space, with ornate lamps and soft candlelight radiating from every table. The room looks as warm as it feels, a welcome relief from Jake’s prior solitude.

He takes off his soaked coat and loosens his tie. Across the room Jake sees his client– a cold, calculating Mr. Wesley– who gives a curt nod, as if granting his permission to take a load off (for now).

He orders a drink from a slightly bewildered waiter and continues to survey the space. People of all shapes and sizes occupy tables and barstools, with the chatter of at least three languages creating a dizzying buzz around him. The crowd dies down when stage lights flash on at the far end of the room.

Out marches the band: the guy who'd clambered to the back door sits at the piano, cracking his knuckles before playing a few notes on the keys; an older man with a similar complexion props an upright bass in position, riffing along with the scattered piano melody; an impressively mustachioed fellow polishes the mouthpiece of his trumpet; Mauricio settles in behind a set of drums, waving a stick in the air when he spots Jake.

As warm as he's gotten after coming inside, the temperature seems to skyrocket as the click of heels and the shimmer of the last band member crossing the stage sends his heartbeat right into his throat. In walks– no, floats – a vision, evening gown the same color as the richly painted lips that curl into a smile as easily as breathing. Something Jake seems to have forgotten how to do.

He can’t take his eyes off you.

----------

There’s something in the air tonight.

Maybe it’s the smoke lingering on Mauricio’s jacket (you’ve told him time and time again how smoking before a show irritates you; he must have snuck a pack backstage), or maybe the weather has you out of sorts. Whatever it is, you’re one false step away from losing your cool. Which, of course, cannot happen. Not onstage.

As the band warms up, you take one last look in your compact mirror, blot your lipstick, and take a deep breath. It’s showtime.

The moment you step onstage, you turn on the charm. Nothing can touch you up here. Not when there’s music to play, a band to lead. A night to make unforgettable.

You approach the microphone and smile. “Hello again, darlings. Did you miss us while we were away?”

Applause and cheers echo back to you from the audience. There’s a distinct two-toned whistle that rises above the noise, but you don’t think anything of it.

Not until you scan the crowd and see something– someone – that doesn’t belong.

Lounging at the previously unoccupied back table is a man you’ve never seen before. Which wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t know the face and name of everyone who enters your club.

His eyes stay trained on you as you nod to the band to begin. One outlier a bad night will not make– you’ll deal with him later. For now, you let the caress of the opening notes ease the new tension in your body, and you start to sing.

With six shows a week, one would think the routine would become tedious. Quite the opposite: any night you play the same standards with the band is bound to be a good night. The chemistry between you and your boys is perfect– even on an off night like tonight, you still manage to follow each other and make the same hour of music sound brand new.

You lead one song, then another, completely in your own world. Of course, the constant cheers and occasional audience participation don’t hurt. But just when you hit your stride and forget your troubles, that whistle rings out above the noise.

The stranger's on the edge of his seat, rapt attention never leaving the stage. Seems innocent enough, but you’re still on high alert.

The set comes to a close, ending with a vibrant flourish. The band improvises a steady beat as you take a sip of water, then smile once more into the microphone.

“Oh, stop. Really…. well, alright, you can keep going,” you croon at the crowd as they cheer louder.

You gesture to the band. “Let’s give a big round of applause to The Jays, what do you say?”

“On piano we have the dazzling Jackie Thomas,” you call out as he trills a fancy melody a little louder than the rest. “Followed by this absolute Adonis on the bass, Benny Hayes,” you add as the smooth licks of his instrument sound out a reply.

“Let’s hear it for Leo Castellón and his magnificent mustache on the trumpet,” you tease as he blasts out a tune. “And our baby bird on drums, Mauricio Farrés!” You raise your voice as the youth bangs out a closing rhythm.

“And as always, I’m Ms. Songbird. We hope you’ll join us again soon, my doves. Goodnight!”

The band plays themselves out as you descend downstage to the front of the room. Time for the next act.

You know how to work a crowd both on and offstage; hospitality is as much a part of the gig as the music. Tonight’s a full house, but you take your time gliding past each table, front to back. Does everyone have their preferred drink? How’s the food? Was the music to their liking? All questions you ask with genuine interest, but you know the answer: everything is perfect.

"Hey, little songbird," a voice calls above the noise.

Everything except him.

You've been avoiding the back table for a while, trying to collect your thoughts before confronting him. No time like the present, I suppose.

You turn to see the outlier standing by the table he’d commandeered, a shimmering bundle of rhinestones dangling from his hand. The glint of a grin catches the low light the same way your traitorous earring does.

You touch your ear and your face grows hot. “Where did you–”

“Fell off as you floated by the last few tables, angel.”

Your heels tap out a warning as you approach. Toe-to-toe, with the added height of your shoes, you practically tower over him. Your brow furrows as you size him up: too forward to have something to hide, too laissez-faire to be up to any obvious trouble. All the same, you don't trust him.

You look him up and down; he does the same. "You're not very tall, are you?" More of a challenge than a question as you reach for the rhinestones in his hand.

Leaning back against the table, jewelry dangling just out of reach, his sly smile grows. "Well, miss, I tried to be."

"Right." You snatch the earring back before he says anything else. "I see you also tried to be discreet, and that didn't go so well for you, did it Chuck?"

"Actually, it's–"

“–club policy to check your coat at the door. Something our hostess would have insisted upon, meaning you– ” you emphasize as you lean in, fingertips pressed to the tabletop by his side, "–slipped in under the wire." You search his face for anything to betray his intentions. "Now how did you manage that?”

The stranger lowers himself into his seat, hands raised in surrender. "A little backstage access, courtesy of your drummer there." He nods toward the stage: you catch a glimpse of Mauricio clumsily ducking back behind the curtain. You'll scold him later.

His gaze shifts across the room. “See that fella over there– the one who looks like it'd kill him to smile? I’m just waiting to drive him home, like I do every week.” He grins again, that same look in his eyes. A look that sets you on edge. “Just a humble cab driver, miss– nothing up my sleeves.”

“Didn't know cabbies could be so exclusive,” you say, still eyeing him. James Wesley has been a regular for a few weeks, but you've never met his driver.

“With what he tips? Doll, I'd do damn near anything he asked.” The stranger chuckles, sipping his drink.

You know what he means: the wait staff has noted a major uptick in gratuities since Mr. Wesley has started frequenting the lounge.

“Very well,” you offer stiffly. It all checks out, but you get the feeling there's something he's not telling you. “I hope everything is to your liking.”

You turn to leave, but he takes your hand before you can go far.

“Oh believe me, it is… Ms. Songbird. ” A wink and a smile play on his lips as he swiftly presses them to your knuckles, letting go just as fast. You storm away before giving the satisfaction of showing how flustered you are.

“Mr. Manalo,” you beckon a waiter as he passes. He stands at attention. You gesture to the table you’d just left, not bothering to look and see if his eyes are still on you.

“Watch out for this one, will you? I get the feeling he isn’t just here for the music.”

----------

A/N: !!!! every story i write becomes my new favorite, but Noir!Jake has carved a pretty special spot in my heart this autumn. so excited to share more of him with y'all!

as always, thank you for reading :)

addtl tag list: @fandxmslxt69 @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

#my works #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight au #jake lockley #jake lockley fanfiction #noir!jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x woc!reader #jake lockley x poc!reader #jake lockley/reader #jake lockley/fem!reader #jake lockley/woc! reader #jake lockley/poc!reader

154 notes · View notes

riotwritesthings · 16 days ago

Text

An Agony We Deserve (Throwing Off Sparks)

WinterIron - M, 9.9k, WIP - reluctant soulmates, thriller/horror?, CW salt, not particularly Steve friendly, violence

There are legends. Soulmate bonds have started and ended wars, they used to reshape the world without any warning. People would change in an instant, abandon and betray everything, become completely unrecognizable, but those are just legends- It can’t be- But they are.

This chapter got a wee bit long, but hopefully it was worth the wait! and yes I took some liberties with the Mark XV armor, but only a couple.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

~~~

Chapter 5: what will I do

An awful mechanical rattling sound snaps Tony awake.

He flails his way upright, his back immediately complaining about the position he’d slept in. His elbow collides with something hard and Bucky grunts beside him.

Tony blinks into the dark of the cabin around him, trying to remember moving to the couch, or when night fell-

It finally clicks that the loud clanging sound is coming from the ancient phone on the wall, and there’s only one person who’s likely to call here.

Bucky’s hands reach out to steady him as Tony climbs clumsily to his feet. He barely detangles their legs in time to avoid falling on his face, and he’s not sure when that happened either.

His head pounds in time with the ringing of the phone as he stumbles across the small shack. When he lifts the receiver the noise finally cuts off, and Tony is pretty sure that Bucky echoes his relieved sigh.

He clears his throat and presses the phone to his ear, trying to ignore the awful taste in his mouth. Like liquor and a mix of the preserves he half-remembers finishing both jars of, and just a hint of vomit.

“Big Bob’s Burger Hut,” Tony says in greeting, his voice still hoarse with sleep.

“Bad news,” Rhodey says without preamble.

"I can’t believe you woke me up for bad news," Tony grumbles, his nose wrinkling as he smacks his lips. He needs water-

He hasn’t even finished the thought before Bucky pushes himself off the couch and heads for the kitchen. The wave of gratitude that rushes over Tony makes him sway on his already unsteady feet, and he watches avidly as Bucky starts filling two glasses of water.

Even in the dark, with just the glow of the moon filtered through the window and the cracks in the roof, watching Bucky move is almost hypnotic. The bunch and pull of his shoulders, the shift of muscle along his back as his tips his head back to down a glass of water in one go.

Tony can still feel the warmth of where they must have been pressed together as they slept, along his legs and his entire left side. As Bucky turns towards him, he’s struck with a half-memory of falling asleep to the steady pattern of Bucky’s pulse beneath his ear-

“And I can’t believe you didn’t answer with a restaurant more on-theme for Lithuania, which is where I know you are,” Rhodey shoots back pointedly, breaking into Tony’s wandering thoughts.

“What?” He demands, his spine straightening in alarm.

“Ross traced your call yesterday, he-”

"How?" Tony interrupts, “how did he get the okay for that? I thought you and your phone both have super-top-secret clearances that keep Ross up at night with jealousy?”

“I don’t know,” Rhodey says with an audible roll of his eyes, "it seemed more important to figure out what he knows, rather than how."

“Good point,” Tony allows, “please continue.”

He gratefully takes the glass of water that Bucky hands him, then shakes his head minutely when Bucky gives him a questioning look. So instead of pretending he’s not listening, Bucky stays close as Rhodey starts to explain.

"It doesn’t seem like he got the content of the call, although it might just be that you told me a grand total of nothing useful," Rhodey says. He sounds tired, and it occurs to Tony that if Rhodey is still in Germany it’s also the middle of the night for him. “What I do know is that he tracked down exactly where you are, and he’s already sent a team to pick the two of you up.”

“Shit,” Tony says with feeling. He flicks his gaze up from watching Bucky’s thumb tap anxiously against his glass to meet the man’s eye, and Bucky nods. “Okay,” he says as as Bucky wordlessly steps away, “okay, we’ll get moving again-”

“That’s not all,” Rhodey interrupts, “apparently Rogers found out too, because he and Wilson just busted out of custody in Berlin.”

“Great,” Tony groans and Bucky pauses in gathering supplies to glance at him.

“Ross has the resources, but Rogers is a man possessed, and my money is on him finding you first,” Rhodey says. “So if I were you, I’d be getting ready to explain why you stole his other half.”

That choice of wording has a strangled laugh bursting out of Tony’s chest. Rhodey has no idea just how right he is, and Tony doesn’t know how he’s supposed to explain it.

Bucky flinches a little as he stands at the sink filling spare jars with water.

“Don’t be jealous, SourPatch,” Tony says, his voice tight despite his best efforts. “I have no idea what to say to him either.”

He’s not sure which would be worse, being caught by Ross' team or being confronted by Steve.

Either way, he’s pretty sure someone is going to try and take Bucky from him. He can’t let that happen, they- They decided to stay together. He won’t let anyone separate them.

But all Tony has on him is a prototype watch gauntlet, which could really use a charge after their last fight to escape. He needs something-

“How soon can you get to one of my workshops?” He asks in a rush, shoving his fingers through his hair.

“I’m almost back to New York, heading there now,” Rhodey replies without missing a beat despite the long pause. “Pepper and I are going to see what we can find and actually share from SI and your files to continue fighting the Hydra rumors.”

Bucky’s lips pull into a frown, guilt flooding through him again. Tony can feel it filling Bucky’s chest as he gathers up the shirt and suit jacket Tony scattered around the shack.

“Perfect,” Tony says, his attention on the tense line of Bucky’s shoulders. “And while you’re at it, tell FRIDAY to run Find My Friend, version 3.15.”

Rhodey huffs, but doesn’t ask. “Will do. Stay safe, Tones.”

“You too,” Tony says distractedly. He hurries to hang up so he can turn his attention to Bucky and say, “Stop being sorry.”

That has Bucky’s head jerking up, and he looks at Tony wide-eyed for a second. Then he drops his gaze and starts loudly gathering up an armful of jars.

“It’s not your fault that people think I might be with Hydra now,” Tony insists as crosses the shack to start grabbing jars too. “Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long for those particular rumors to start, I’ve heard just about everything else. Plus, it’s not even your fault that people think you’re Hydra, so stop feeling guilty over things that aren’t your fault. It’s really bumming me out.”

Bucky doesn’t reply, but his worried frown lessens a little and his shoulders relax.

They load up their stolen truck without talking, focused on moving quickly. More than once Tony catches Bucky pausing to stare out into the night, like he’s listening for something.

Last thing before they head out, Tony leaves most of the cash from his wallet on the table, more than enough to cover all the jars and the samanė. Just in case whoever owns this place ever intends to come back, although he’s pretty sure it’s abandoned.

As he tucks his wallet away he realizes that Bucky is watching him, an odd look on his face. But he just shakes his head when Tony raises an eyebrow at him.

Without a word they agree that Bucky should drive, and they pull away from the shack with all of the truck's lights turned off.

---

“Are you sure this is apple?” Tony asks, his nose wrinkling.

He squints down into the jar of preserves. Dawn has barely started to glow on the horizon, and in the weak light he can’t quite make out the color.

“Pretty sure,” Bucky says with a snort of laughter. He doesn’t turn his gaze away from the dark of the dirt road in front of them, but when Tony starts to stick his fork back into the jar he protests, “Quit stealin’ my apples if you don’ even like 'em.”

“Excuse me, we both stole these from some poor unsuspecting farmer, I can eat and not enjoy them if I want,” Tony argues. “Plus, I haven’t decided yet. I’m still not convinced this isn’t- crabapples, or something.”

“Give it here,” Bucky demands, holding a hand out.

Tony considers protesting, but whatever fruit is preserved in this jar is leaving a weird aftertaste on his tongue. So he shoves the fork into the jar and hands it over with a final ‘ick’ noise.

Then he has to try not to stare as Bucky shoves the jar between his thighs, pulling the denim tight across thick muscles.

Now that Tony is more awake, last night is less hazy. He remembers moving to the couch when his back started to complain about sitting on the floor. He remembers the liquor hitting him again, and he’s pretty sure Bucky had wrapped an arm around him without protest when Tony tipped over into him.

He definitely remembers their legs tangling as Bucky made himself comfortable, too. Bucky's fingers carding through his hair as he drifted off.

And now Tony is having trouble thinking about anything but Bucky’s warm weight against him, wrapped around him. Their newest stolen farm truck isn’t big, but Bucky still feels entirely too far away.

But not so far that if Tony were to reach out-

“Then what?” Bucky asks, and it takes Tony a second to remember what the hell they had been talking about.

“Right,” Tony says.

He tears his gaze away from the jar shoved between Bucky’s thick thighs, and even manages not to get caught up staring at Bucky’s mouth as he takes another bite of preserves.

“So the UN got together,” Tony says, forcing himself to stay focused. “And 117 of those countries agreed that maybe The Avengers- maybe we shouldn’t be able to run around the world doing whatever we think is best and making, just- a giant fucking mess everywhere we go in the process.”

He starts digging around on the floorboard for one of the jars of water in a useless attempt to hide the way his hands have started to shake, the tremor in his voice. Like there’s a point in trying to hide anything from Bucky.

“I thought they had a decent point, and that we should at least be part of the conversation,” he continues, pretending that opening the jar takes all of his attention. “Steve- He disagreed, we argued, as we do. Then the ratification of the Accords was interrupted by a very convincing frame job. And then Steve and I argued some more, you broke out of confinement, and now here we are. Boom, you’re all caught up.”

Tony takes a big drink of water, although this hasn’t been quite as upsetting to get into as he expected. Sure, the guilt is just as overwhelming, all of his mistakes still weighing heavily enough to crush him if he let them. But the pain of leaving the team, of fighting with Steve-

The wounds are more than healed, they’re completely scarred over. No more painful to think about now than the friends he made and lost way back in college.

He cares way more what Bucky thinks of all his mistakes.

Not that it matters, Bucky is stuck with him. Tony learned the hard way last night that they can't even stay mad at each other, no matter the fucking reason. Bucky can’t leave him.

A sick feeling of relief is trying to grow in Tony’s chest again, and he viciously shoves it down.

When he finally glances over Bucky has a thoughtful look on his face. He must have heard the very basics of what happened with Ultron and Sokovia, but Tony can’t blame him for wanting to know exactly what he’s found himself in the middle of.

Bucky opens his mouth, and Tony braces himself for all the familiar questions. Maybe Bucky can't stay mad at him, but he’ll still probably want to know what the hell were you thinking? How could you let that happen? Why didn’t you know better by now?

“An’ what exactly was the battle of New York?” Bucky asks.

It startles a sound out of Tony that’s caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

“Not relevant at the moment,” he says with a quick shake of his head. “So we are definitely not getting into that whole story right now.”

Bucky’s expression doesn’t change, but Tony can tell that he’s pouting. Which is a little unfair, since Tony can’t exactly interrogate him back.

They’ve already determined that Bucky remembers basically nothing between being taken into custody by the anti-terror taskforce and running into Tony. And touching anything Bucky remembers before that feels- dicey.

“How long have we been on the road? About two hours?” Tony asks instead.

The sun still hasn’t risen, but the sky is light enough now that he can make out the empty fields around them. Apparently it's also light enough that Bucky can finally look away from the road to give Tony a curious look.

“A lil’ over that, yeah,” he replies.

“And we’re going- North? Ish?” Tony guesses.

"No, East," Bucky says with a huff and shoots him another look. “We’re drivin’ into the sunrise.”

“I don’t know, I’m an engineer, not a navigator,” Tony defends himself, glaring at the haze of fog that turns the entire horizon into a glowing golden line. “And for all I know those crabapple preserves are making me fucking- hallucinate.”

Bucky snorts and pointedly shoves another forkful of preserves into his mouth. Tony ignores him in favor of doing some quick mental math.

“Good,” he finally decides, “pull over here.”

"What?"

“You wanted to know what ‘Find My Friend’ means, right? Pull over and you’ll find out,” Tony says with a smirk.

Bucky looks doubtful, but he pulls over to the side of the dirt road.

Tony considers getting out of the truck to wait, but that seems like a good way to get spotted by a satellite. So he rolls the window down instead and turns off the rattling heater in the truck, listening carefully.

All Tony hears though is the soft sounds of wind through the dry grass around them. He can feel Bucky’s curiosity spiking, and Tony keeps his gaze fixed out the window to hide his smirk.

The minutes tick by without another sound. Even the wind dies down, and Tony’s confidence wavers.

Just as Bucky starts to get twitchy in response to Tony’s growing worry that something has gone wrong, Bucky’s attention jerks around to the right. A second later Tony can hear it, too.

The dull roar gets louder, quickly moving closer, and Tony grins when Bucky shoots him a worried look. Within seconds the sound descends on them, whipping the air around before dying out with a soft crunch of grass. Because he’s looking for it, Tony can barely make out the distortion of the air a couple of feet from the passenger side of the truck.

“Found you,” comes FRIDAY’s familiar voice from the spot of shimmering air.

Bucky sucks in a sharp, alarmed breath.

“Took you long enough,” Tony says to the empty air. “Now get in the car before you give the old man a heart attack.”

Tony glances over in time to see Bucky shoot him a quick, unimpressed look.

The back door of the truck opens, and the suspension groans in complaint as a heavy weight settles into the back seat. Once the door has closed, the air shifts and the dark gray Mark VI armor is revealed as it drops its visual camouflages.

The quiet sound that Bucky lets out this time sounds much closer to impressed. Tony doesn’t bother trying to hide his smug grin.

"Bucky, meet FRIDAY, my AI, currently playing the part of my armor," he says, gesturing to the mass of metal awkwardly crammed into the backseat. Then he turns his attention to the armor and says, “FRIDAY, meet Bucky, m-my- Apparently, we are s-soulmates.”

Tony is a little surprised to find himself still stumbling over the word, after their conversation last night. Almost like ‘deciding’ to stick together doesn’t change how goddamn weird it is that he has a soulmate. To find out that soulmates are real.

FRIDAY takes a split second longer than usual before replying, “A pleasure to meet you, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Nice- uh, nice to meet you too,” Bucky says slowly.

His eyes flick from Tony to the armor and back again. He’s trying to play it cool, but Tony can feel Bucky’s awe as a warm ball in his own chest. He tries not to let his smug grin get too wide.

“Any trouble?” Tony asks the AI.

“None, Boss,” she replies, “there were lots of eyes on the tower, but Colonel Rhodes ensured I was not detected leaving.”

“Good-”

“How’d- how did she find us?” Bucky asks quickly, looking torn between being confused and concerned.

“Homing devices under my skin,” Tony says dismissively, but Bucky’s concern spikes. So he adds, “Don’t worry, the suits are the only things that can access them.”

Bucky looks like he wants to ask more questions, but Tony waves him off and turns back to FRIDAY.

“Hand over the helmet, I need to check the news,” he says, turning a little more to face the backseat.

“Of course,” she says and the arms of the suit start to lift before pausing. FRIDAY’s voice sounds almost hesitant when she adds, “Boss, Captain Rogers has been trying to reach you near-constantly on the Avenger’s emergency channel, and I have several messages from Agent Romanoff-”

“Nuh-uh-uh,” Tony cuts her off quickly, shaking his head. “We’re not dealing with that right now. Just the news, thank you.”

He’s aware of Bucky watching with fascination as FRIDAY has the armor nod shortly before grabbing either side of the helmet. There’s a hiss and clack as latches open, and then the helmet lifts away.

“Wow,” Bucky mutters under his breath, craning his neck to get a better look down the empty neck hole of the suit. His voice is distracted as he asks, “So that’s th- that’s your armor?”

He’s more than just impressed, Bucky is awed and almost painfully curious. Tony has to struggle to fight down his smug grin as he twists forward and drops back down in his seat.

“One of them,” Tony says, holding the helmet up for a moment. “This is the Mark VI, codename Sneaky.”

“Sneaky?” Bucky repeats slowly, quirking an eyebrow.

“What? Tell me that wasn’t sneaky!” Tony protests with a huff. “Radar, sonar, pathetic human eyes, nothing can track this baby.”

Bucky hums thoughtfully, then points out, “We did hear it comin’, though.”

Tony nearly chokes on his offended gasp when he can’t completely fight down a laugh. He knows that Bucky is teasing, and for once there’s no tiny part of him wondering if there’s a hidden barbthat he’s missing. If Bucky is just waiting to catch him off guard.

“Yeah yeah, well you let me know when you figure out completely silent flight,” Tony mutters and slouches down pointedly in his seat. He drops his chin in an attempt to hide his twitching lips as he continues grumbling loudly under his breath.

“Will do,” Bucky says easily. He ignores Tony’s top-notch pouting in favor of pulling back out onto the road, the truck’s suspension creaking much more loudly than before.

“Mean to me,” Tony accuses, shifting his grip on the helmet so he can cross his arms. He’s still struggling to stop a smile from spreading across his face.

Bucky isn’t fighting down his grin at all and Tony’s breath catches to see the way it crinkles the skin around his eyes, the hint of a dimple in his cheek. It’s a real smile, one that Tony vaguely remembers seeing in photos of Bucky from before the war. Seeing it in person, because of him-

Then Bucky glances over at him just long enough to wink and blow him a kiss.

Tony chokes on nothing as his heart lurches in his chest. Bucky’s gaze is fixed firmly on the road again but Tony can see the way his eyes go wide, like he hadn’t been expecting himself to do that either. There’s a faint pink rising in Bucky’s cheeks, and Tony can feel a matching warmth on his own face.

He quickly yanks the helmet down over his head in a useless attempt to hide his blush.

Everything is dark for a second, and then the internal battery kicks in and the familiar lights of the helmet’s HUD fills his vision. FRIDAY has already pulled up a multitude of news sources on the display for him, and he starts to pour over them. But in the back of his mind Tony can’t think about anything except how dangerous this is.

Talking with Bucky- being with him, it’s just-

It’s easy.

He knows exactly when Bucky is teasing and when he’s being genuine. He knows there’s no actual judgement in Bucky’s dry tone, and he knows that Bucky isn’t playing up how impressed he is just to stroke Tony’s ego. He can feel all of Bucky’s emotions somewhere in the complicated mess that’s taken up residence in his chest.

They’re not always clear, but Tony is quickly learning how to decipher them.

Tony is so used to second-guessing everything, every move someone makes and every single thing they say. He’s been doing it his entire life, but now- Now he can’t even force himself to go through the familiar routine of over-thinking all of Bucky’s motivations.

He knows why Bucky is here, why they’re both here. He knows what Bucky means by every single thing he says.

It’s all dangerously easy.

Even if the bond would let them stand to be separated, why would Tony want to?

Why would he want to be away from this feeling of easy familiarity, even if it isn’t real? It feels real.

And there are so few people that he can read completely, that he can trust completely. Why would he not want to stick with Bucky? Even if talking to Rhodey hadn’t felt so- so different than it did before, it wouldn’t compare to what he’s feeling now- The level of connection-

How could he want to walk away from that?

When they ‘decided’ to stick together, they both knew that it was for show. They just needed to pretend for a second that they have a choice. In any of this.

But he’d also heard the sincerity buried in Bucky’s voice when he’d agreed. And Tony had felt the strange mix of resignation and relief that had flooded through the other man.

So does it matter how real the choice actually is?

If the soulmate bond was only half as strong, if it did give them some semblance of a choice-

At this point Tony is pretty sure that he would choose to stay right here. In a stolen truck, on the run from everyone he knows. With Bucky and this easy familiarity.

He isn’t sure how he feels about that realization.

---

It takes Tony a couple hours to go through all of the info he can find, and by the end he can determine that Rhodey was wildly sugarcoating things.

The gossip mill is running rampant, as expected, and no one can even begin to agree on why they ran off together. Tony is a little amused that not a single person, from reporter to blogger, has guessed the truth.

But Tony is much more concerned with the military response to their little escape. Basically everyone is looking for them, the US, Wakanda, and every country in between. All things considered, he’s a little surprised they haven’t been swarmed by half a dozen strike teams yet.

The only upside is that SI was quickly cleared from any suspicion of ties to Hydra, which makes one more reason he was right to put Pepper in charge. The ratification of the Accords has also been delayed until the ‘mystery bomber’ is caught, and at least that buys him a little more time on that front.

He already has a couple ideas about how they can fix this, how to clear their names and maybe even make some progress on the Accords front. But all of his possible plans start with figuring out who’s trying to frame Bucky, and why, and then actually finding the asshole.

And they can’t exactly do that here, without access to any of Tony’s computers or equipment. There’s only so much he can do from the suit without pinging an alert and drawing attention to themselves. They can’t even stop long enough for Tony to rig up some kind of relay that will let him do a little more digging.

All of his ideas require them to be not on run, which means at some point they’ll have to stop. It’s just a matter of who will find them first when they do, and hoping like hell they’ll at least let Tony get on with one of his many plans.

As if to really drive that point home, he gets a notification that Steve is calling on the emergency line. For the fifth time in the past hour.

Tony rejects the call for the fifth time in the past hour.

Talking to Rhodey was one thing, but he is not ready to talk to Steve. He’s not ready to- to have to finally explain all of this to someone else. And Steve will definitely demand an explanation, he won’t settle for ‘I’ll explain later’ after- after everything that happened with Ultron.

He can’t put it off forever though, and he’s pretty sure Steve and the Avengers will be their best best to actually solve this mess. He’s just-

He’s not ready yet.

The helmet isn’t exactly stuffy, but the rush of fresh air over his face when he pulls it off is still a relief. Tony drags in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly as he rests the helmet in his lap, his mind still racing.

“We still most wanted?” Bucky asks, the words casual but his tone soft.

He can probably feel how quickly Tony’s thoughts are spinning and colliding into each other, and Tony feels a little bad. No one should be subjected to the inside of his head.

"The most wanted," Tony says with faux-excitement. “Not to brag, but hanging out with me is probably one of the few things that could make you more dangerous and wanted. And here we are.”

“Hooray,” Bucky says dryly, and Tony laughs.

The sun is high in the sky now, and Tony glances around at the identical fields around them. Not quite identical, he realizes, the randomly scattered houses have increased in frequency. He glances into the backseat to make sure the armor is still cloaked.

“Where are we going, anyways?” He finally thinks to ask.

Bucky snorts and glances over at him with a grin as he asks, “Did you get kidnapped a lot, as a kid?”

“Haha,” Tony says, rolling his eyes, “three and a half times. Now answer the question.”

"‘An’ a half?’ How does that work?"

“Keep dodging the question and find out,” Tony warns, reaching for the handle of the car door.

The laugh that Bucky lets out is deep and rolling and so real. Warmth spreads through Tony’s chest and spirals out through his limbs, melting away a lot of the tension that built up in his muscles as he read through the news.

“There’s a safehouse near the Russian border,” Bucky says slowly, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. "One of th’ generals kept it- It was off th’ books. An’ that was years ago, so- I don’t think anyone still knows about it. If it's still there."

“That’s the spirit,” Tony says, and Bucky snorts again.

“Dunno how old they’ll be, but these should still be a computer or two lyin' around,” Bucky adds, glancing over at him with a small grin.

Tony clutches at his chest and slumps back against the door, pretending to swoon. Bucky smiles wider, until his blue eyes practically shine with it and crinkle around the corners.

“And what are the odds we’ll find some old weapons lying around?” Tony asks knowingly as he sits upright again, and Bucky smiles innocently. Tony shakes his head with a chuckle and then asks, “So, where near the border, exactly?”

Bucky’s expression pinches again as he haltingly admits, “I’m not- I don’ remember, exactly. But I- I know I can get us there s’long as- as I don’t think about it too hard.”

That raises the question of how often Bucky had to navigate his way to this ‘off the books safehouse’, but Tony knows better than to voice it. He doesn’t need the bond to tell him to keep his mouth shut, it's obvious in Bucky’s tight shoulders and the haunted look that’s completely replaced his smile.

Tony is once again flooded with the urge- the need to reach out to him. It’s just like when he saw Bucky sitting miserable and dejected in the corner of that one-room shack and Tony had been physically incapable of not doing something. And when he’s not futility trying to keep hold of an unfair anger, he doesn’t want to resist.

But he still doesn’t know what to do. For all of the ‘need to comfort’ that the bond throws at him, it doesn’t exactly come with instructions on how to comfort a stranger. Especially one who used to be, and sometimes still is, a deadly assassin.

“Well, three cheers for muscle memory, I guess,” Tony says after a pause that stretches just a little too long.

A weak smile twitches at the corner of Bucky’s lips. Much more importantly, Tony can feel the chill receding from Bucky’s mind as he lets go of the half-memories. As he realizes that Tony isn’t going to ask him to drag them up.

Bucky relaxes back in his seat minutely, and Tony gets a little more brave. Under the flimsy guise of getting a look at the dash, he scoots awkwardly across the bench seat until his shoulder brushes against Bucky’s.

“We’ll need more gas before that,” Tony remarks, fighting down his grin as Bucky shifts to lean against him the tiniest amount. “And by gas, I mean a new car.”

“There’s a town not far from here,” Bucky says with a small nod.

His fingers tap against the steering wheel for a second, and he starts to lift his hand away before quickly wrapping it tight around the wheel again. Like he was going to reach out but then stopped himself. Tony has the strangest urge to pout, but he settles for leaning a little more heavily into Bucky’s shoulder.

When Tony drops his gaze he catches sight of the helmet still clenched between his hands. He’d almost forgotten he was holding it, and his grip tightens as reality tries to make itself known.

There’s a good chance he’s missed at least one more call since he took the helmet off. And he still hasn’t even looked at the message from Natasha, it makes his chest pull tight just to think about after he- he attacked her-

Tony is fighting and running from his own team. He’s running from everything, all of his responsibilities. And Steve apparently thinks he’s abducting people for unknown reasons now, that’s how low his credibility has fallen. It’s no wonder people think he’s gone rogue, or that he’s working for Hydra.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s started anxiously tapping his fingers against the metal of the helmet until Bucky’s hand spreads over his, his fingers slipping between Tony’s to gently still them.

Tony drags in a shuddering breath as warmth rushes up his arm and through his chest, trying to wash reality away again.

It nearly works. The amount of calm he gets from the simple contact is absurd, honestly, but it’s hard to care about the why when Tony can literally feel his heartbeat steadying.

“I- We should- Once we get to this safehouse, we should probably call Steve back,” Tony reluctantly bites out. He curls his fingers around Bucky’s, making it clear he has no intention of letting go, and uses his free hand to set the helmet beside him on the bench seat.

“‘We?’” Bucky asks, glancing over at him with one eyebrow raised. Tony doesn’t miss the pleased warmth that floods through him at the word, though, or the way Bucky’s fingers tighten around his.

“We,” Tony agrees with a firm nod, trying to pretend the word doesn’t make him a little breathless too. “You are not getting out of dealing with this with me. And by this, I mean your best friend. Who thinks I kidnapped you. He’s going to want proof of life.”

“Okay,” Bucky says easily. “Should we pick up a paper with today’s date, too? Send 'im a photo?”

Tony lets out a snort that turns into surprised laughter, once again caught off guard by Bucky’s dry humor. Bucky keeps his attention fixed on the road, but he’s also not trying to hide his wide grin as he carefully twists his hand in Tony’s grip until their palms slide together. Their fingers slip together again easily, and now they are officially holding hands.

The heat that floods Tony’s face and the way his heart skips in his chest over hand holding makes him feel like a pre-teen again. But that doesn’t stop him from tightening his grip on Bucky’s hand. He settles back in his seat a little more, pressed a little more firmly against Bucky’s side.

They fall into comfortable silence as a small city starts to grow in the distance. Bucky’s thumb drags absently along the side of his hand, and Tony smiles as he tips his head back against the seat.

---

The town seems to have already quieted down for the evening as they drive in. They find a delivery van is an empty alley, and its suspension complains way less about the weight of the armor in the back.

Spending this long in a vehicle that he’s not driving is making him a little crazy, but Tony slides into the passenger seat without complaint. The passenger seat that is entirely too separate from the driver seat.

Tony’s left side feels cold, and his hand feels painfully empty. It doesn’t matter that Bucky is less than two feet away in the other seat, navigating them out of the narrow alleyway. Without that physical contact Tony feels-

He feels untethered.

And he knows that should freak him out. It would have just a couple days ago, but Tony-

He can’t care about that right now. He has so many bigger problems right now than the urge to hold hands, so why worry about it?

Especially when he also knows- knows it to his core- that when he sticks his hand out and wiggles his fingers expectantly, he only has to wait a second before Bucky’s fingers are lacing with his. Instantly he feels calm and grounded again, and Tony lets out a slow breath.

As they drive out of town without incident, he makes a mental note of yet another place on their tour of Europe that he’ll have to make a little anonymous donation. The list is getting pretty long.

Tony ends up dozing on and off as Bucky drives them through Belarus. The entire time, Bucky's fingers stay laced through his, thumb running absently over the side of Tony’s hand.

The sun is going down when Tony wakes up, but there’s still enough light to see that they’re driving through a sparse forest. Tony’s arm kind of aches from hanging between the seats, but he squeezes Bucky’s hand and smiles to himself.

“Pretty sure I’ve seen this horror movie,” Tony says, his voice thick with sleep.

Bucky huffs out a laugh and squeezes his hand back as he asks, “So what’s your fate gonna be?”

“I- do not actually remember,” Tony admits, “but I’m pretty sure I’d rather be found by a strike team.”

“Think we’re about there, so let’s find out,” Bucky says, still grinning as he pulls off the small dirt road and onto a smaller dirt road.

“Uh-oh,” Tony says dryly. Then the house comes into view, and he says, “Oh.”

It’s not nearly as bad as he was expecting. Instead of a creepy log cabin, the house looks like it’s been plucked out of a suburb and dropped in the middle of a forest. There’s only one story, but it looks solidly built and probably has multiple rooms, at least. And indoor plumbing.

As much as Tony is looking forward to that, he’d also sworn to himself that he’d stop putting off calling Steve as soon as they got here. He probably owes that to Steve, he did run off with the man’s oldest friend, and all of their best chances to find the real bomber involve getting some kind of help.

But still, he really doesn’t want to call Steve.

Bucky does a couple sweeps around the perimeter of the house while Tony uses the armor to scan the woods for any signs of life, and eventually they determine that the place is about as abandoned as they can hope for. Another quick scan tells Tony that the house doesn’t have power for any kind of security system, so he waves Bucky on and the man easily rips through the multiple rusted locks on the back door.

“From farm house to weird, forest safe house,” Tony says as he looks around the dark kitchen. “We’re really moving up in the world.”

“Next time I’ll find you a safe-mansion,” Bucky promises, sounding oddly sincere.

Tony clutches his hands to his chest and flutters his eyelashes, but he knows Bucky can tell that his heart isn’t in it.

All of his thoughts are on the phone call that he has to make. And figuring out what the hell he’s even going to say, because he still hasn’t done that. The idea of saying to someone that he has a soulmate is still- It still doesn’t feel quite real.

Tony is way past trying to deny the bond between them, but- But if it gets out, other people will. He has no doubt there will be demands for some kind of proof, despite the fact that no one has ever found hard proof of the soulmate bond. There are only stories, and now Tony is living one of them.

Who is even going to believe him-

“I need a shower,” Tony decides, using the helmet like a flashlight and pointing it down the narrow hallway. “Shower, and then dealing with things.”

“I’ll try’n fix the power,” Bucky says, peering around the corner into the living room. When Tony hesitates Bucky turns to him with a small smile and says, “Save me some water, if there is any.”

“We’ll see,” Tony says, but they both know he will.

He’s halfway through a dark, cold shower when the lights flicker on, and apparently Bucky found the generator.

Spending the day eating preserves while driving down rural roads has left his suit pants flecked with bits of fruit, and Tony winces as he pulls them back on. Even with the lights on, he doesn’t really want to go raiding the closet of a Hydra general, so dirty slacks it is. His button-up is a lost cause though, and he has to face the chill of the house in just his undershirt.

Bucky blinks at him as he walks into the living room, then hurries off to the bathroom himself with his chin ducked low.

After getting the suit inside and making sure that turning on the power didn’t trip any of the out-dated security systems, Tony manages to dig up some old military rations while he waits.

When Bucky does come back, it’s with a wide grin and a large knife that he must have found somewhere. Tony shakes his head with a huff and doesn’t ask.

They eat in tense silence, sitting across from each other with their legs tangled under the small kitchen table. When they’re done, Tony solemnly sets the helmet in the center of the table.

No more putting it off.

“Ready?” He asks.

“No,” Bucky says with a weak attempt at a grin, and Tony nods in agreement.

“FRIDAY,” he says, “get me- Get us Captain Spangles on the emergency emergency line.”

The eyes of the helmet light up, and Tony drags in a steadying breath.

“Tony!” Steve says in a rush of air as soon as the line connects. His strained, frantic voice fills the small kitchen as he demands, “Where is- what did you do to Bucky?!”

"What- nothing," Tony says with a roll of his eyes, “why would-”

"What did you do?" Steve interrupts to demand again, sounding beyond panicked.

However low Steve’s opinion of him might be at the moment, Tony can’t imagine what Steve thinks he’s done that has him this worked up. When Tony glances up at Bucky, he seems just as confused.

“Steve,” Tony tries, “what-”

"It wasn’t his fault," Steve cuts him off again, and Tony huffs. “He wasn’t- you don’t understand, you- You can’t blame him,” Steve insists, skipping from one thought to the next without finishing any of them. “It wasn’t his- he’s-”

“I know,” Tony interrupts this time, his annoyance spiking to match his confusion, “Dammit Steve, I’m trying to tell you that I know he wasn’t in Vienna.”

“You- Vienna-” Steve repeats slowly, “That- okay, good. Right. That’s good.”

Tony gets the distinct feeling that they’re having two different conversations. Talking to Rhodey had felt like- like talking to a stranger, but at least a familiar one. This, though-

This is something else.

“So, so where is he?” Steve asks and he’s trying not to sound panicked now, but he’s not fooling anyone.

“Right here, drama queen,” Tony huffs, distracted. Steve hadn’t been talking about the Vienna bombing, he’s sure of that, but what-

“'M here, Stevie,” Bucky chimes in, his voice hoarse.

Tony fixes him with a look, trying to convey that he’d hoped Bucky would sound less like an abused hostage during this phone call. Bucky’s lips twitch weakly and his legs shift against Tony’s as he clears his throat.

"'M fine, I swear," he adds and Tony is all too familiar with the complicated mix of emotions behind the words, because he’s feeling it too.

They are fine, but they’re not sure that they should be. They’re more fine with all of this than they were yesterday and they should be concerned about that, right? But Tony isn’t, and he can tell that Bucky isn’t either. Why would he be, when he hasn’t found a reason yet that he wouldn’t choose this? Choose Bucky? When it feels so-

Right.

“You- g-good,” Steve stutters, clearly caught off guard. Like this conversation isn’t going the way he expected, and Tony knows that feeling too. “T-That’s good, so wh- What happened? I mean, w- why’re you-”

He trails off, struggling for words, and Tony is pretty sure he should be offended again.

Bucky bites his lip so hard the skin goes white and Tony is momentarily distracted from trying to figure out what the hell is going on with Steve. He’s already reaching across the table to pull Bucky’s lower lip free before he catches himself and drops his arm back to his side.

“Why’m I with Tony?” Bucky asks, his gaze flicking up from the helmet to meet Tony’s and the tiniest smile pulling at his lips.

Tony’s breath catches and he wonders if Steve can hear the same thing he can, the way Bucky’s voice curls warm and familiar around his name. Like he’s been saying it forever.

A surprised inhale from the other end of the line means that Steve probably did.

"Well, yeah," Steve says in a hard rush, like all the air is being knocked out of him. “I mean, I thought-”

He cuts himself off, but Tony is dying to know what exactly Steve had thought was going on. Before he can ask, though, Steve is talking again.

“I know I told you about Tony, but I didn’t think you’d hit it off quite that fast,” Steve says with a strained laugh, and Tony isn’t buying it.

Something is off-

“Uh, yeah, we-” Bucky starts and then his voice cuts off as he looks up at Tony again, like Tony has any idea how to start explaining this. Bucky abruptly laughs softly and shakes his head as he says, “You’re not gonna believe me.”

Steve lets out a frustrated, incomprehensible sound that almost manages to make Tony smile.

“Listen Stevie,” Bucky says and then pauses, swallowing hard.

He blinks rapidly, expression twisted, and Tony’s heart clenches in his chest at the sight. When Bucky’s right hand starts to creep across the table Tony doesn’t hesitate to reach out and wrap his fingers around Bucky’s again.

Bucky jolts slightly, like he hadn’t even realized he was reaching out. But then he grips Tony’s hand back tightly and his lips curl up at the edges. Tony has no idea what Bucky is going to say, no idea what he would say. But he knows they’re in this together.

“I had to leave with Tony,” Bucky finally says simply, like that explains it.

To them it does, and Tony feels a small smile spreading across his own face. Steve makes another confused, frustrated sound.

"I don’t- I don’t understand, " Steve says slowly, "why- I mean, is that- are you sure-"

It’s obvious he’s trying to choose his words very carefully, and now Tony is sure there’s something Steve isn’t saying. Before he can demand answers, however hypocritical that might be at the moment, Steve is cut off by another voice in the background.

For a minute all Tony can make out is hushed conversation. Bucky frowns down at the helmet, like if he just focuses hard enough he’ll be able to identify voices or words. It might be working, because Bucky’s frown deepens a second before a new voice comes on the line.

“Start from the beginning and tell us exactly what happened,” Natasha says briskly.

The air rushes out of Tony’s lungs as the image of the last time he saw her flashes through his mind. Crumpled against the wall in that brightly lit building, her hair a mess, unmoving. He hadn’t even known if she was still alive when he’d turned and left with Bucky, hadn’t even thought to check, he’d just-

Tony can still feel the burn of the repulsor against his palm and he flexes his hand anxiously, stomach churning. Bucky leans across the table and captures Tony’s shaking hand in his.

It’s almost like they’re having some kind of strange seance, sitting on either side of the table with their clenched hands framing the glowing helmet. The image makes Tony smile weakly, and Bucky smiles back as he drags his cool metal thumb over Tony’s palm.

After dragging in a steadying breath, Bucky says, “I- I remember bein’ in custody.” His expression twists as he struggles to remember, that same deep chill creeping over his mind again. Tony clings to his hands tighter. “I- someone must’ve a-activated the solider-”

“We’re pretty sure it was someone disguised as a doctor,” Steve interrupts, his voice getting louder as he no-doubt leans over Natasha’s shoulder. There’s a soft ‘oof’ as she elbows him in the gut.

"Do you know who? Or why?" Tony can’t resist breaking in to ask.

“We’re working on it,” Natasha says, a subtle iciness in her voice that Tony hasn’t heard in- he doesn’t know if he’s ever heard it directed at him. “Vision is trying to track where he went after Berlin,” she continues, "so if you can remember anything-"

She trails off pointedly and Bucky’s forehead creases as he squeezes his eyes closed. His foot taps against Tony’s as he thinks, and the cold is sinking deeper.

“The doctor-” Bucky says slowly, his voice hoarse, "he- he wanted to- to know something."

Bucky’s grip tightens on Tony’s hands. The cold is sinking deeper into his mind, deep enough that it sends a shiver down Tony’s spine.

Tony has to bite his lip so he won’t tell him to stop, that it’s not worth it. He knows they need answers, he just- he doesn’t care.

On the other end of the line he can hear Steve whispering to someone, still sounding a little more worried than Tony thinks the situation really calls for.

Bucky’s eyes abruptly fly open wide, so blue and fixed on Tony.

“Siberia,” he says shortly and the other end of the line falls silent. “The base, the other soldiers in cryo- He wanted to know where it is. And I- I told him.”

Steve swears colorfully in the background of the call, but Tony isn’t in the mood to tease him about it.

Natasha gets what Bucky can remember of the coordinates and then asks, “Anything else?”

Bucky nods silently, then huffs when Tony squeezes his hand.

“Yeah. He wanted to know about one of my- my missions,” Bucky says, dropping his gaze. He takes a deep breath, bracing himself, and then looks back up at Tony. “He asked about- about December 19th.”

Tony feels his expression pinch as he tries to figure out why this doctor-imposter would want to know that, and he’s about to ask-

On the other end of the line, Steve sucks in a sharp breath. Alarmed, almost panicked.

It doesn’t make sense.

Unless-

There’s a buzzing starting in Tony’s ears.

He can feel Bucky watching him with concern, but Tony is staring at the helmet on the table. Like he’ll be able to read Steve’s face through it.

There is one reason Steve might be so damn worried about Bucky being with Tony, but he shouldn’t know about that.

Tony only found out about his parents yesterday, there’s no way that Steve- He would have said something if he-

“Did you know?” Tony asks, his voice flat. He can barely hear himself over the roaring in his ears.

“About the Winter Soldier program?” Natasha asks, sounding caught off guard by his tone. “Yes, I-”

Tony isn’t listening to her though. He’s listening to Steve in the background, breathing a little too quickly. He can hear Steve coming up with some excuse.

Tony knows him better than most, after all. Or at least he used to. He thought he did.

“Don’t bullshit me, Rogers!” Tony snaps and Natasha cuts off abruptly.

There’s a shuffling sound as she apparently hands the communicator over to Steve.

“Did you know?” Tony grits out, his voice rough.

Steve swallows audibly and then says, ��I didn’t know it was him.”

The laugh that tears its way out of Tony’s chest startles even him, harsh and edged with hysteria.

Someone in the background of the call gasps.

When he looks up again Bucky’s eyes are wide, pained and surprised.

“Tony, listen,” Steve starts, like he’s going to explain himself.

"That’s worse!" Tony snaps, cutting him off. "That’s so much- you knew that Hydra had my parents m-murdered and didn’t tell me on the chance that it was your brainwashed best friend?! That’s fucking worse!"

Steve is silent, and Tony can just picture the flexing of his stupid jaw.

“How long have you known?” Tony demands and he’s dimly aware that he’s shaking. Bucky’s hands are still clutching his tightly. “Did- Did you know while you were giving me shit for keeping secrets?”

“I- I thought-” Steve starts, which isn’t a no.

“Stop, I don’t care what you thought,” Tony hisses, “you should have told me, I-”

‘I talked to you about them,’ Tony doesn’t say. ‘I told you that I blamed Howard for the crash and you just kept letting me.’

“No wonder you didn’t want my help looking for him,” Tony says instead, shaking his head.

Laughter is trying to bubble up his throat again, but it can’t make it past the thick knot of hurt. Even with the artificial distance of the bond, he’d never questioned if he could trust Steve-

But Steve hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him. Steve never intended to tell him.

“Tony,” Bucky says softly and Tony blinks, dragging in a ragged breath.

His lungs burn. His eyes burn. Bucky is watching him with that same sad, guilty look.

Apparently this is another thing Bucky is going to blame himself for. Tony wants to tell him to stop, but he can’t get any words out past the lump in his throat.

“Buck,” Steve says and Tony is sure that his sad, hopeful tone would have made him feel something, before.

Now he just feels angry. And he feels the gentle warmth of Bucky’s thumb running over the back of his hand.

“You should’a told him,” Bucky says softly, shaking his head. “He deserves t’ know.”

In the background, Natasha is trying to insist that they get back on track. Someone else is demanding to know what they’re talking about.

Bucky meets Tony’s eye again, one eyebrow raised in question and a tiny smirk pulling at his lips. Tony nods in relief, letting out a hard breath.

“I didn’t know if- I wasn’t sure-” Steve is saying as Tony reluctantly lets go of Bucky’s hands.

He grabs the helmet and disconnects the line, cutting off Steve’s excuses.

Silence falls over the kitchen, broken only by Tony’s still unsteady breathing. He grabs for Bucky’s hands again almost desperately and Bucky doesn’t hesitate to lace their fingers together.

“That-” Tony says slowly, “did not go the way I expected.”

Bucky huffs out a soft laugh and taps his foot against Tony’s again as he asks, “You okay?”

“Nope,” Tony says easily, “you?”

“Been worse,” Bucky says with a shrug and a tiny grin.

Tony manages a weak laugh of his own, and then sighs.

“So, Siberia,” he says, and Bucky simply nods. After a second of thought Tony admits, “I know Steve and the others are probably going to be heading there now, but-”

“You don’t wanna just leave it to 'em?” Bucky guesses when he trails off, and Tony smiles a little wider. “It’d take us a couple days to drive there,” he warns.

"Or, we could fly," Tony suggests. “We might be spotted, but I’d rather that than more Winter Soldiers running around.”

Bucky doesn’t look at all thrilled with the idea.

“I would never drop you,” Tony adds, and Bucky’s lips twitch.

“Okay,” Bucky says reluctantly, “okay, we- We can fly.”

He still looks far from excited, so Tony resists the urge to cheer.

“We probably won’t get there before the team,” Tony admits, “but at the very least we’ll hopefully get there in time to have a chance of tracking down loose murder puppets.”

Bucky nods, looking thoughtful, and then that guilty expression starts to creep across his face again.

“Stop it,” Tony says seriously, and Bucky doesn’t even need to ask.

“Fine,” Bucky says with a weak laugh. “I just-” He sighs and his expression turns grave again, “I can’t believe he didn’ tell you.”

Tony can feel the mix of emotions tangled in Bucky’s chest, but picking out individual feelings is difficult. Disappointment and confusion and something that- it might be loss.

It’s similar to what Tony felt talking to Rhodey, but more. Like a wire that’s been cut, too short to be reconnected.

Bucky sighs and shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear it. When he looks at Tony again his eyes are clear, a small smile on his face, and it takes Tony's breath away.

“I’m gonna eat more before you fly me through the Russian skies,” Bucky says with a tone like he might as well be facing a firing squad, and Tony laughs. “Want anythin’?” He asks, grinning and pleased with himself.

“Crabapple preserves,” Tony says without hesitation, smiling wide.

“You and the apples,” Bucky huffs as he starts pushing himself to his feet, “you-”

The small window above the sink shatters.

Bucky falls silent, his eyes going wide.

Red is spreading across the front of his shirt.

It’s blood, Tony realizes slowly.

Everything is happening so slowly.

Shards of glass are still falling to the tile floor with oddly musical sounds.

The fingers of Bucky’s right hand are still tangled with Tony’s, and they start to go limp.

Distantly, Tony can hear a door slamming open. More windows breaking.

Bucky’s eyelids flutter and start to close.

It’s blood, it’s blood, it’s-

Tony doesn’t remember getting to his feet. He doesn’t remember speaking, but he must have. The armor is closing itself around him even as he tries to catch Bucky’s falling weight.

He can hear approaching footsteps. Someone is shouting.

More muffled gunshots ring out.

Tony barely feels the impact of the bullets bouncing off his armor.

He tries to curl himself around Bucky protectively, but there’s red spreading from his stomach and his leg.

Red.

It’s blood.

All Tony sees is red.

The charge and blast of the repulsors sounds like screaming.

Gunfire.

His HUD inside the helmet flashes warnings and Tony ignores them.

Men dressed in all black continue pouring into the house. Holding rifles. Firing them.

Red.

Shell casings rain around the feet of the armor as Tony moves.

Someone is shouting. The repulsors scream.

Red. Red. Red.

The roar of gunfire.

Repulsors scream. Or maybe it was a person.

All Tony can see is-

Shine of metal. Muzzle flash. Light and sparks.

And red.

Red.

Red-

Tony yanks the helmet off ungracefully and gulps in fresh lungfuls of air.

His hands are shaking.

He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the red from his vision.

Everything is too bright again and he needs to find Bucky- he needs to feel settled-

Tony’s eyes land on a blood splattered figure and he gasps, going tense until he realizes that it’s- It’s him.

His reflection stares back at him. His armor is splattered with blood, standing out bright against the Mark IV’s shades of gray.

He was in the kitchen, but this- there’s a dusty mirror and chipped sink in front of him. Where is he?

As he continues staring at himself Tony realizes that there’s blood on his face, somehow. It must have gotten there before he put the helmet on, which means-

It’s Bucky’s blood.

Bucky.

Tony remembers Bucky falling, the red- the blood spreading across his clothes.

What happened after that? He remembers-

Red.

Tony’s breath wheezes in and out of his chest. He needs to find Bucky- He needs- he needs to remember-

“Tony.”

The weak croak makes Tony jump again and he spins in place. The heels of his armor make an awful sound as they drag against the tile.

Bucky is slumped against the wall in a walk-in shower that looks vaguely familiar. Blood is running sluggishly down the drain. Bucky’s eyes aren’t quite focused as they move over Tony.

It looks like they’re back in the bathroom of the safe house, but how- When- Tony doesn’t-

“Wha’ happened?” Bucky asks, his voice weak and wet.

“I- I don’t-” Tony chokes out, his own voice breaking, "I don’t remember."

#my fic #winteriron #starkbucks #bucky/tony #riot writes #an agony we deserve #buckyxtony

24 notes · View notes