#but I suppose it doesn’t hurt to tag if more people doing or following that challenge would enjoy this content

[toxicxsugarxart]

Commissioned by @greenvillainredemption once again to draw their lovely miss Claudia, this time with fem!Bruno. I haven’t drawn a genderbend character since middle school, and never with an older character, so this was really new and fun to do! I love their fem!Bruno design and headcanons given to me for reference, and the colors used in their own art. Thanks again for commissioning me!

[marvelouslizzie]

You're My Desire - Co-written with @notafunkiller

Summary: Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers' date, but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes' arms.

Pairing: 40s Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW MINORS DNI, first date, public sex, ripped clothing, teasing, rough sex, dirty talk, praise, pet names, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 5.5K

A/N: We really don't have an excuse for this one. We just wanted 40s Bucky to have a good time, you know? This is basically smut with little bit of plot.

Please give my lovely co-writer @notafunkiller a follow. She's also a Bucky Barnes writer and her stories are amazing.

All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it's hate. That's never welcome.

Read more tag starts after the first paragraph of the story.

Even though you really didn’t want to, you find yourself on a double date with your best friend. She literally begged you to come because she promised she would bring someone for her date’s best friend and apparently she really doesn’t wanna disappoint the handsome soldier.

You're shocked, though, when you arrive at the fair and see Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes in the flesh waiting for you two at the gate.

You were pretty sure she brought you here for Bucky Barnes but it turns out your date is actually Steve Rogers, aka Captain America himself.

You don't know what to do at first, awkwardly watching your friend hugging Bucky as if they knew each other for ages. Even though they met just a day ago. Steve extends his hand politely, which you immediately shake.

It doesn’t take long for you to go inside the fun fair together while chatting casually. Your friend, Cassie, starts asking questions about the war. She loves front-line stories, but Bucky doesn’t seem like he enjoys telling them.

Steve, on the other hand, is very excited to do it, answering all of Cassie's questions as you quietly watch them. You wonder why you said yes to this date. You've never been into soldiers and even less into war discussions. But you love your friend very much even when she ignores you.

You find yourself looking at Bucky while Cassie and Steve start to chat and exchange stories. He kinda seems amused by this development. You shrug looking in his direction, waiting for him to say something. After all, you are both already bored and your friends don't even seem to care or notice you anymore in the first place.

Bucky just smiles and then tries to change the subject. You think he actually handles that topic change pretty smoothly and it sticks for a while until Cassie gets bored of talking about books.

You remark Bucky's sad face, but you don't say anything. Instead, you subtly start to walk slower, hoping he'll do the same. As Cassie keeps talking to Steve, Bucky notices you are getting behind and just slows down a little.

"You're okay? Are your legs hurting?" Bucky asks concerned while looking at her shoes.

“No, no, I’m fine. Just got tired of the war stories, that’s all.” You keep walking slowly.

"Me, too." He sighs. "It's a never-ending subject at this point."

“Well, where there's life there's hope.” You quote the Hobbit instinctively. You hold on to the hope, one day you won’t have to talk about this war.

Bucky gasps, looking at you in a way you never experienced before. "What did you say?"

“I just said where there's life there's hope.” You repeat, surprised by the way he probably recognized the quote. People usually have no idea what you are referring to. Not him though.

"You're a fan? Oh god!"

That starts your actual conversation with Bucky Barnes. It turns out he’s a big bookworm himself. He reads as much as he can, always buying more books that he manages to read.

You didn't even realize how close you are until your shoulders slightly brush. You blush when he smiles, clearly not minding. Still, you feel very conscious about your closeness and quickly look toward your friend, feeling guilty that you are enjoying the company of her date, but she doesn’t seem to care one bit. On the contrary, she’s actually holding Steve Rogers’ arm while talking and laughing.

"You're very beautiful." You hear Bucky murmur shily.

His compliment catches you off guard. You were about to apologize on behalf of Cassie. Yet you find yourself blushing.

"And you love reading. I am a lucky man. I get to talk to you."

“I could say the same thing myself, Sergeant. I much rather talk about books instead of the war.”

"Then you got the right company." Bucky smiles and looks around. "Should we get some ice cream?"

“That would be amazing.” And that’s how you end up separated from Cassie and Steve. Bucky informs them about their plan and then leaves without waiting for them.

You spend the next hour talking and walking around the entire fair. James even won a teddy bear for you. Once in a while both of you act like you wanna find Steve and Cassie, but you definitely don’t care.

"I don't remember the last time I felt so comfortable and good with someone."

“I’m glad I’m not boring the shit out of you.” You know it’s not ladylike to speak this way, but you feel comfortable around him. It’s crazy when you consider you just met him maybe two hours ago.

Bucky smiles. "I can say the same. Steve says I'm quite boring."

“He’s quite boring himself.”

"Is he?" He snorts.

“Yeah. Who knew Captain America would be into war stories?”

"Doesn't the name say it?" He continues in the same joking tone.

“The name suggests he’s heroic and boring but he’s more boring and less heroic than expected. Stealing his best friend's date doesn’t scream honorable to me.”

Bucky is shocked to see her indirectly standing up for him. "Maybe I stole his date, though."

“His date was uninterested from the start and just being nice to her best friend.”

"Is she still uninterested?"

“In him? Yes.” You act like you don’t understand what he is actually asking.

"Well, the feelings are mutual. About the date and now…"

“You were uninterested in Cassie?” You say it in a way that shows you don’t believe him.

"Wasn't it obvious?"

“Nope.” It definitely wasn’t when they hugged each other the moment they arrived.

"I was trying to be polite. She insisted on this… meeting because I helped her out. I was relieved I could bring Steve."

“She sounded very interested in you until Captain Rogers started with war stories.”

"She was staring at his… back ever since we arrived."

You burst out laughing and he joins you right after. It sets the tone for the rest of the night and makes you notice you both don’t give a shit.

*

"I want to show you something," you say after a few seconds and quickly drag him after you until you reach a darker alley close to the last attraction. You drop the teddy bear carefully at your feet. "Hi."

“Hi.” He still seems a bit confused, but it’s so cute. He looks at the teddy bear and then his eyes turn back to your face. You can’t help but smile.

"You're so cute. Has anyone told you that?" You smile in return.

He acts like thinking for a second. “No, not really. Just cute?” He fishes for more.

"And smart." You touch his chest shily. "And kind."

“Hmm, those are not what people notice first.” He moves a little bit closer. “You have something…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead, his thumb brushes the corner of your lips. You wait for him to wipe off whatever you had on your face before opening your mouth and letting your tongue touch his finger shamelessly.

You watch Bucky’s eyes widen out of surprise. He didn't expect that at all. You grab his hand, bringing his finger inside your mouth, and notice how his breathing quickens. Yet he doesn’t stop you.

You let your tongue play for a few seconds until you let his finger go with a small bite. He lets out the lowest moan but not only do you hear it, but you also love it.

"Wow, I…" He doesn't know what to say, all red and excited.

“You what? Do you feel uncomfortable? Excited? I mean, I can stop if you want.”

In response, brave and happy, Bucky kisses you. His tongue is already on your bottom lip asking for permission, which you grant by opening your mouth without realizing it.

The kiss isn’t shy like you expected, and he definitely knows how to kiss. The way his lips and tongue move makes you want more, right then and there.

Your hands go to his neck as you let yourself enjoy the kiss even more. You keep kissing until you feel breathless. When Bucky breaks it, he doesn’t move away. His forehead touches yours as you try to catch your breath.

"This was…"

“I wanna do something if that’s okay…” You say while suddenly getting on your knees. You are wearing your favorite nylon stockings and you're sure they are gonna get ripped, but you don't care.

Bucky thinks he's daydreaming because how can this happen? How?

"What? What are you doing?"

“I think you know what I am doing, Sergeant. Just tell me to stop if you don’t want it, okay?” Your hands move to his belt but you wait for a reaction first.

"Stop. That's not… you don't have to do this. We are having a great time anyway."

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. Is that okay for you?”

He can only nod, totally shocked and excited at the same time.

You unbuckle him slowly. Even though you are in a public place, you're in no hurry. You unzip him while looking into his eyes. When you finally take him out of his pants, he seems speechless. He’s already hard, but as soon as you start to move your hand, he gets rock hard after maybe four pumps.

"Jesus, you're so pretty. You look like a doll on your knees."

You smile proudly. “Tell me what I look like when I do this,” you say before taking him inside your mouth.

He closes his eyes, groaning. Your mouth is so wet and warm. You take it slow at first. Your mouth moves gently while you swirl your tongue around the head.

"Please." You hear him whisper, his left hand resting against the wall behind him.

You move your mouth away from him just to ask “Please what?” Your lipstick is already a little smudged.

"Oh god, keep going. Please, you're such a pretty sight."

“Tell me how I look when you're inside my mouth and I'll continue, promise.” You wink and remind him he still hasn’t fulfilled your request.

"Like a dream. Like a goddess."

“Hmm…” You go back to taking him inside your mouth without making another comment. This time, you move a bit faster than before and start using your hand.

"Your mouth will be the death of me."

That makes you smile but you don’t stop, moving your hand and mouth at the same time, hoping for a good reaction. His hand finds its way to your hair, wrapping it enough to pull a little. That encourages you to go faster, in need for a tighter grip. And you get it: soon, he wraps more of your hair around his whole fist, moaning your name.

“I think I'm gonna…” He sounds so breathy. “You should pull away.”

You look at him, acknowledging his warning, but showing him you are ignoring it. You keep moving fast, making sure your tongue flicks around the right spot every time until he spills inside your mouth. It’s a lot more than you are used to, but you still keep going until he completely empties himself. You take your mouth off, looking into his eyes before swallowing.

"No." He covers his eyes while groaning. "You can't do this to me, doll. Jesus…"

“Do what?” You innocently ask.

He doesn't answer you, taking you by the back of the neck and kissing you sloppily. You don’t get a chance to warn him about the taste and he doesn’t seem to care one bit. He groans into your mouth when he feels your hands on his ass and breaks the kiss just to suck on your neck.

Then you feel his hands between your bodies, trying to pull up his pants again.

You break the kiss to ask: “What are you doing?”

"I'm putting on my pants," he sounds like a kid. "And I wanna get on my knees for you, too."

“Maybe I want something else that doesn’t require you to put your pants on.”

He nods, without understanding what you mean. "Alright. I'll just-" He drops his right hand until it reaches her skirt. "Is it okay?" You nod with a smile. Even though it’s not what you meant, it’s fine.

His fingers immediately go to your underwear and push it aside.

"Fuck me. Look at that." You are really wet and his curses don't help either. "Soaked. Is that for me, doll?"

“No, it’s for Captain Rogers, who bored the shit out of me.” You joke.

You feel his fingers stopping on your slit as he lifts his head. "What did you say?"

“I said it’s for Captain Rogers, who bored the shit out of me. You know that gets the girls wet.” You hope he won’t be offended by this. It’s just a silly joke.

In response, Bucky pushes a finger inside you quickly, his lips curling into a smirk. "Should I start talking about war, too? Bet that would get you even wetter."

You let out a deep breath, relieved. Thank God he isn’t offended. “That would get me dry as a desert, Sergeant Barnes.”

"Should I dye my hair then?" He snorts, moving his finger faster.

“Maybe you should get a shield. It would definitely look better on you.”

"A shield, huh?" Bucky adds another finger, trying to scissor them inside you a couple of times. "Is it too much?"

“Nope,” you say after a moan. “It’s not enough.”

"Fuck, you…" he closes his eyes. "You want another?"

“I want something else.” You smile, hoping him to understand this time.

"Yeah? Like what?"

You grab his cock and gently rub it without saying a word. You are not surprised he’s hard because his erection has been pressed on your leg for a while.

"Fuck. You want my cock, baby?"

“Yeah. Why do you think I didn’t let you pull your pants back up?”

"I don't-" He moans. "I didn't think."

“Come on. You are making me wait while I’m soaking your fingers.”

"Wanna make you…" Bucky interrupts himself by adding a third finger, his other hand going to your clit. "Happy."

“Fuck.” You throw your head back, that felt so good.

"You like this?" He rubs a little more, paying attention to your body. His fingers inside you keep the same pace, though. He isn't slowing down now even if it's the end of the world.

“Yeah, that.” You breathe out. You already feel your legs shaking and you're afraid your knees might give out, but it feels so good, you can’t seem to focus on the concerns.

"Hold on to me."

You put your hands on his shoulders and it helps you relax a bit more. After that, your orgasm comes crashing in like a big wave that leaves you breathless. He doesn't stop moving his fingers until you finish coming, then he slowly pulls them out, making sure to lick them before kissing you.

“You are such a dirty soldier, Sergeant Barnes,” you say with a smile.

"What is dirty about this?" He shrugs. "I'm a good soldier, of course."

“Doing this in a dark alley with me and licking your fingers clean like that. Very good soldier, indeed.”

"Ihm." He buries his head right onto your shoulder and breathes in. "Thank you."

“For what?” You find yourself kissing his hair while asking the question.

"For this evening and this. Thank you for trusting me."

“You are something else, Bucky,” you say while caressing his hair.

"Hmm?"

You kiss his hair and his ear, then move your lips to his neck. “You can thank me later. We are not done yet.”

"Changed your mind?" He smiles. "Want me on my knees after all?

“Maybe later.” You wink. “Now don’t act like you don’t know what I want because I know you want it, too.”

He freezes. "Wait, you're serious?"

“Of course I am serious. Just don’t finish inside, okay?”

He looks at you again all serious. "Are you sure? We don't have to, I can use my tongue."

“Don’t worry, it’s not my first time and yeah, I’m sure unless you don’t want to.”

Bucky looks at you with puppy eyes. "Uhm, it's my first time."

“Oh god.” Your eyes widen. “I… didn’t consider… that possibility. I’m sorry.”

Bucky starts laughing at your worried expression and kisses your cheek. "My first time with a bookworm doll."

You punch his shoulder. “You worried me!”

That makes him laugh even harder, and you can't help but smile. Because he's extra beautiful like this.

"Why? Do you have something against innocent boys, ma'am? Shame!"

“No, nothing against it. Absolutely would love to teach and corrupt but wouldn’t want that to be your first time.”

"You don't want to take advantage of me, huh? Such a good girl." He surprises you by suddenly lifting you and helping you wrap your legs around his torso.

“Would you like me to take advantage of you?” You kiss his jaw and cheeks.

"Fuck, yes. Yes."

“Then you have my permission to take advantage of me, too.”

He doesn't ask you again if you're sure. Instead, he lifts his right hand to your blouse and starts unbuttoning it as fast as he can. He's so impatient he even manages to rip a button. You just watch him work and smile, hoping the gentleman side of Bucky finally stops holding him back.

He groans at the sight of your hard nipples and quickly leans in to take one in his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” you whimper while he uses his tongue to play with your nipple. It feels so good you don't even notice when his hand drops under your skirt. Until you hear the ripping sound.

“What the fuck?” You can’t believe he's just ripped your nylon stockings. They are so hard to find and so expensive!

"Whha?" He doesn't even take his mouth off your nipple as he speaks.

“Do you know how expensive those stockings are?” Your surprise is so clear in your voice. “You owe me a pair of nylon stockings, Sargeant.”

"They were in the way, baby."

“Getting impatient?” You mock a little.

He pushes his hips a little more. "Can't you feel?"

“You still owe me a pair.”

"What about these?" His hands are now on her panties. "How many do I need to buy you so I can rip these off?"

“Just one pair, but if you wanna rip that one, too, this cycle might never end.”

He sighs, contemplating, but he finally decides not to, only pushing your underwear aside. "How do you want it?"

“What do you mean?”

Bucky takes another step until your back barely brushes against the wall. "How do you like this? The sex."

“Don’t try to act all kind and push aside what you actually want to do. That’s how I want it.”

"Do you uhm… like it fast or slow? The pace I mean." He's slowly pushing inside you while he asks, trying to be as gentle as possible.

“That’s exactly what I meant. Do it however you want and we will see how I like it. Don’t be too gentle like this.”

"Talk to me, okay?" He's halfway inside you now, staying still for a few seconds as he leaves small kisses on your neck.

“Oh, I will, don’t worry, handsome. No one can stop me from complaining if I don’t like something.”

"Good girl." He tries different types of thrusts and angles at first, wanting to see what you respond to the most.

“Fuck. Why do you keep saying that?” She moves her hips to make him thrust faster.

"Because you're my good girl. Dirty too." He moans when he feels you. "God, you want it faster, baby?"

“Yes, yes, I do. Please. Move faster.”

And he does, his grip on your ass tightening as he starts thrusting just the way you want. "Fuck, you're soaked. You feel so good around me."

“You feel good, too.” You moan in between words. “And you are strong. Really strong,” you remark because he doesn’t look tired while holding you.

But he doesn't seem to acknowledge that. "I'm so fucking lucky, Jesus." He groans when he feels your lips sucking on his collarbone.

“You didn’t think your double date would end this way, huh?”

"Deep inside you? Not a chance." He smiles, speeding up.

“Maybe deep inside someone else.” You tease on purpose.

Bucky immediately stops thrusting. "What?"

“I was just joking about how we were meant to be on a date with other people.” You hate that you can’t shut your mouth sometimes.

"Oh," he nods, restarting to move. "Well, I can assure you, he wouldn't have done this tonight." He jokes back.

“Fuck me against the wall like this?”

"Fuck you at all. But especially like this. And the language?" He laughs. "Never."

“Oh, so honorable of him.” You keep joking. “Poor Cassie.”

His right-hand flies behind your head to protect it as his thrusts become way too quick. "Fuck. You feel like heaven, I swear."

“God, how do you do that?” You are surprised that he can carry you with one hand. “Are you sure you aren’t a super soldier yourself?”

Bucky shakes his head amused. "That will go straight to my ego."

“You're carrying me with one hand while protecting my head with the other, and you keep fucking me at the same time. I think it should go straight to your ego.”

He groans. "Lower one of your hands now."

“Lower it where exactly?” You don’t understand what he wants.

His hand moves from the back of her head for a few seconds just to bring her fingers to her clitoris. "Right here. Can you rub this for me?"

“Ohh.” You finally understand what he’s trying to do, so you listen and start rubbing yourself while his hand goes back to your head.

"Good, good girl. Look at you." He doesn't even realize how deep his thrusts are because his focus is on your fingers.

“Oh god… It feels so good.” You have never done something like this before. No public sex, no touching yourself during sex, no good girl whispers next to your ear. They all make you feel dizzy.

"Yeah? Just good?" His mouth finds your breasts this time, and you just know he's leaving a few marks there by the way he sucks on your skin.

“You wanna hear how good it makes me feel?”

"Ihmm."

“Oh, you are even dirtier than you are showing, aren’t you, Sergeant Barnes?”

He looks up immediately. "Say that again." He demands.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

"Fuck, you need to rub faster."

“You need to fuck me harder.” You say while listening to his order.

"Harder?" He repeats, shocked, not expecting that in the slightest. But he does as you demand in a heartbeat, biting his tongue because it feels so good.

You have a hard time holding back your reaction because it feels just perfect. You can feel your orgasm approaching.

“Shit, you need to cover my mouth,” you say as quickly as possible.

"Just use me. Bite my shoulder," he suggests quickly, keeping the pace exactly the same.

You wanna say no, because you don’t wanna hurt him but there’s no other choice left. You sink your teeth in somewhere between his neck and shoulder and try to muffle yourself. The orgasm hits you so hard that you are afraid someone is gonna hear you even like this.

"Fuck," he groans, the pain feeling amazing as you keep coming, your legs wrapping even more tightly around his ass.

“Please, don’t stop,” you manage to say and go back to biting him, very aware of the hickey you are giving him, but that doesn’t stop you because you don’t want to get caught like this.

"Can't stop." At this point you wonder how no one noticed you by now. The sound of your skin touching and your groans are not quite silent. But even if they did, you know you wouldn't stop. How could you?

"Keep rubbing, I want you to find pleasure again."

“Again?” You sound shocked because you've literally just come.

"Again." He tries to lift one of your legs a little more. "Please."

“I don’t think I can, but keep going, okay?” You already came twice in a short amount of time. How much more can you do?

"Well, I think you can." He smiles. "Gonna mark me up, baby?"

“I think I already did.” You can see your teeth marks on his neck. You are sure it will turn into purple really soon.

"I'm your property now?" The hand he has on the back of your head quickly grabs your hair and wraps it around his fist.

“Are you?” You like the sound of that and how he’s pulling your hair.

"I am." He's frantically thrusting in and out of you. "Rub faster."

“Fuck,��� you mumble while rubbing yourself. You aren’t sure if it’s gonna do anything, but it feels good. “Can I keep you then? You know, kidnap you and hide you in my apartment so you don’t have to go back to the war. We can just do this every day.”

"Fuck, do it." He smiles. "I dare you."

“Should I tie you up so it looks more realistic?” And suddenly all that rubbing starts to feel different, more pleasurable.

"On your bed? Go ahead."

You laugh at how easily he’s convinced, but your laugh is interrupted by a moan.

"Gonna come for me, dolly?"

“I am not sure.” You struggle to speak. “It feels like it.”

He pulls your hair hard. "Please, please."

“You beg so beautifully, how can I say no?” It’s not like your body is saying no, either.

When you finish coming again, you watch with your eyes semi-closed as James takes himself out without dropping you even a little and comes right on your thighs and ripped stockings. You feel the warmth of his come while you both are trying to catch your breath.

"This was… wow."

“This is a hell of a first date.” You find yourself giggling. Did all that really happen? The soreness between your legs says yes.

Bucky slowly puts you down. "You think?" He snorts.

“Oh yeah, very memorable.” You notice that your stockings are completely ruined so you have no other choice but to take them off.

"Fuck, you're dripping." He doesn't look like he's sorry and he can't say he is, either. He's actually very proud.

“Yeah, I am aware.” You laugh while taking them off and using them like a washcloth to clean yourself up.

"You have no idea how lovely the sight is." He winks at you while zipping up his pants.

You bite your bottom lip while looking at him. “Likewise. You look satisfied, Sargeant. Did something happen while you were gone?” You pull your skirt down.

"I got touched by an angel."

You laugh. “So cheesy. You are lucky that you are a bookworm. A really good-looking one, who is also good at bed even though we didn’t even need one.”

"Next time. Maybe we'll break it." He sounds so confident, but not demanding at all at the same time.

“When are you going back?” You find yourself asking. If he’s promising you a second time, you are gonna take it.

"In one week."

You make a sad face without realizing then take a deep breath to help yourself focus on the positive side. “That’s a lot of sex.”

He immediately lifts your chin and presses a kiss on your forehead. "I was joking. We got two months."

“You are such a liar.” You punch him in his shoulder.

Which only makes him laugh. "You like it hard."

But your attention is on his neck, on the spot you bit so hard. The purple spot looks really old and mostly faded already.

"No comment?" He snorts. "We're gonna have a lot of fun for sure."

“I have a question.” Your eyes are still on that same spot. “Does Steve heal quickly?”

"Why? You plan on kicking his ass?"

“Just answer the question, please.”

"Yeah, he does." Bucky shrugs. "One of the perks of the serum."

“Even the small scars or purple spots?”

"Yes." Bucky doesn't even think about it. "Which is great. Why? You think your friend will want to know?"

You don’t comment about his question, instead, touch the spot you bit down so hard. “You are nearly completely healed. My mark has vanished.”

"What?" He asks, confused.

“I bit down on your neck so hard, it was dark red. Now it’s gone.”

"I don't get purple easily. Never did. I guess you have to suck a little more." He smiles leaning in to kiss you again.

“I fully bit you,” you say before he does.

"I noticed." He giggled.

Since he doesn’t take it that seriously you let it go. “Fine. I will prove it to you later.”

"Prove what?" He gives you another kiss.

“That you heal quickly.” You try to fix yourself while you kiss him back.

"Oh, I feel healed every time I look at you."

“You are so cheesy.” Yet you can’t help but laugh. “How do I look?”

"Good boy version or?" He pauses dramatically.

“Both.”

"Good boy version first: you look like an angel." He smiles cheekily.

You snort. “I’m asking if I look decent, Bucky.”

"Angel,” he repeats before dropping his hands to your ass and squeezing. "They won't know you've got fucked against the wall if that's what you're afraid of. But you look strangely content and happy."

“That’s because I had a good date.” You scrunch your nose cheekily.

"Me too. The best date ever."

“Should we try to find our best friends?”

"Oh, sure." Bucky leans in to get the teddy bear before handing it to you.

"Ready for more war stories?"

“No, I’m not.” You hug the bear. “I gotta wash this.”

Bucky snorts. "Poor bear. Got traumatized."

“Traumatized and all dirty.” You don’t notice how close you are to Bucky until you feel him next to you. “Should we keep this a secret from our friends?”

"Do you want to?"

“I meant the having sex in a dark alley part. I don’t think my friend needs to know that.” She definitely shouldn’t know all this.

"We should totally keep that part to ourselves." He smiles.

“I could say that you kissed me or something. I don’t know. Is that too forward for the first date?”

"There's no such thing. You can say I kissed you."

“I was genuinely asking.” You smile. “I normally don’t even kiss on the first date.”

Bucky giggles, his hand squeezing your hip. "I am a lucky gal." You smile back at him until you notice a familiar face.

“Oh, is that Steve?” You point to the tall blonde guy.

"Yes, that's him. But where is your friend?"

“Right in front of him. I can see her dress.” It’s sticking on the side.

"Oh, yes. Gonna drive you home after that if that's alright with you." He sounds so casual like he already did that many times, but you notice something else.

“You have a car and you didn’t think of using it until now?”

"Oh." Redness takes over his cheeks. "I got… distracted."

"You are such an idiot." You start to giggle while walking toward your friends.

"Your idiot now. You got stuck with me for at least two months." He laughs.

"Just for two months?" You test his intentions.

"I can't assume you'd want to wait for me, can I?"

"I will tell your best friend to bring you back home in one piece. He's the hero after all. That should be easy, right?"

Bucky looks at her with a soft expression before kissing her hair. "Guess you really got stuck with me."

"Oh shit, Steve saw you kissing my hair." It’s going to be hard to keep this thing between you two.

"Does it bother you?"

“No, no, no.” You quickly try to explain. “It’s just I’m worried that they might think the worst of me. I mean… questioning our closeness.”

"I dare them." She is surprised by how serious and determined he is as he speaks.

“I would kiss you right now if I could.”

"I won't stop you." He giggles like a kid.

“Our friends are,” you whisper and look at your best friend, who is coming toward you. Cassie is holding Steve’s arm proudly.

"Oh, hello," Steve says. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there." Bucky shrugs. "Did you have fun?"

"Yes!" Cass immediately giggles, joining the conversation. "He has the best, best stories. What about-" She cuts herself off when she notices your appearance. "What happened to your stockings?"

“Oh.” You blush a little, thinking about how they got ruined. “I tripped and ruined them. They looked so horrible I had to take them off completely.”

"Yes, they got really dirty," Bucky confirms with the biggest grin Steve has seen in ages.

"Oh, really?" He lifts his eyebrow. "What a shame."

“Yeah. Sergeant Barnes promised me a new pair. What a gentleman he is.”

"A gentleman indeed." Steve shakes his head, well aware of what you two have done.

You bite your lip and give Bucky a look, hoping at least Cassie has no idea. You are sure the three of you can keep a secret. For now…

You may wanna read the next part: Trust In What Tomorrow Brings

[chaosandmarigolds]

Dreamscape

(canon? whats that? we go with vibes in this house. Fem!reader, based off an amazing!! ask....um this is just sadness, I'm sorry.....if you want to add more sadness listen to Chasing Cars (yeah I cry to that song 99% of the time sorry))

One day..

With a grumble, he adjusted to the sudden shift of your body weight, to where you were essentially laying over him, and out of pure habit he wrapped his arm over the small of your back- only for you to whisper a soft ‘sorry’ before standing up all the way. Which caused him to think, it was a Saturday and there weren’t any Ops he had been assigned, so there was no purpose in waking up before the sun. So with a tilt of the head, he moves to sit up, watching as you tug out the duffle bag from the couch.

Maybe when the war is over…

“Love?”

You almost jump as your fiance calls the nickname and you turn around, giving him a little smile, “Good morning.”

Simon gives you a look as he turns on the lamp and watches your mannerisms, the timidness behind every movement, “Wha’s goin on?” A valid question, what had happened was that you and Johnny were assigned to what Price lightly put as a ‘suicide mission,’ and what you didn’t want to happen was for Simon to force then add himself to it- as it would then decrease your chances of survival by that much. So you falter for a moment, trying to avert your gaze. With a panicked breath you motion to the kitchenette, “I’ll make tea! Oh! And let’s use the special type, the one we got from Inida? Yeah! Yeah-”

Of course, the echoed whisper of your name made you stop your walk and you slowly turned to face him, your face downturned, you were an awful lair, you were never sent to integrations because you hated to see people hurt. And it killed you to see him searching for an answer, to see him scared for your sake- and for the great and terrifying Simon Riley…that was saying something.

Once the smoke settles…

“You’re not going.”

“It doesn’t-” You groan and throw your head into your hands, “It doesn’t work like that, you know that.”

“No, you’re not going, ‘ll take the spot,” He was grasping at broken shards of sense because he knew the choice was set in stone that not even a sword made of the purest of intentions couldn’t crack it. “Let me talk to-”

“SIMON.”

You take a sharp breath and look at him from across the room, by that time you were fully dressed, hair tied back, boots laced up. Engangment ring which was supposed to be switched out in less than a week hanging onto your dog tags. It took a moment to find the words but they were able to come after a moment, “There is no talking to Laswell or the Captain, there is no loophole, there is no replacing, there is nothing you can do. I have it covered. I do not need you to come and save me when I can save myself.”

Maybe once we got ourselves picked up…

The silence was stiff, and he then finally relented, slowly walking over to you, tucking the tags into your shirt, voice hushed, “Johnny ‘ll take care of ya.”

“I did…I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” He pressed his lip to the crown of your head, “Jus lemme think I can save you from everythin.”

You stay silent, then with a short step you move to allow him to hold you, “You can.”

We can move somewhere far away, within the groves of tranquility …

You give Johnny a dull laugh as you walk down the rusted corridor, his laugh echoing through your earpiece. It was nice, laughing for what felt like the first time in forty or so hours, the mission was not even close to being finished and you were already running on steam. So obviously it was time for some lame jokes, “As much as fireworks sound fun, I don’t think I want that in my wedding.”

“Gah,” He chuckled from his spot, waiting for you to clear the hallway so he could follow, “Ghosty woulda lemme.”

“Oh yeah, Ghost would have loved it,” You return with a bitten-back laugh, and then turn the corner, leading with your gun, eyes looking over the blood splatters on the ground and you then whisper, “Clear.”

Before you could even blink the hiss of a gunshot hissed into your earpiece burning with such a pain you had to rip it out, hand going to your ear.

With a staggering step to catch your balance and blink the tears out of your eyes you were then met with a gun being shoved to the back of your head.

You never thought blinding light could hold such peace.

I would prefer our home to not be the shadows cast by the towering and rickety oaks, rather it be in the sun, lightened by new lives we could live

The carrier came back with supplies, no saved hostage, just two bodies left mangled by the enemy no captain even- the craft had been on autopilot.

A message, a warning left within that metal body.

The silence as the door swung itself open. They had all seen death, they had seen things no human should have seen.

There was something about the sight of their teammates laying tossed on the floor of an aircraft that made Kyle turn away

That made Price need a day before he filed the paperwork.

Something about it ruined Simon.

A large house ideally, so that way we can have as many kids and dogs as we want, something to usher in a new meaning behind our names

Silence is what he use to hold peace in, yet all he could hear when there was silence was the what-ifs, did you scream? Was it quick? Did it hurt? Why didn’t he go? Why did he let it happen?

That day he lost the only people he had loved and it was cursing him, bottles couldn’t cure it, opioids didn’t numb more than he had already been, nothing was saving him. He summed that up by saying maybe he didn’t deserve saving.

A garden, lively with bees and colorful with every flower I can manage to grow,

He couldn’t bring himself to go through your things, he was the next of kin, as for Johnny- all of his things had been shipped back to his family, yours? They sat where you had left them that morning you left, your notebook collecting desk on the coffee table, mug still half-filled with water. Lipstick stain still on his balaclava from the last time he took you out on a proper date.

In a drunken stupor, he grabbed the notebook, for the intention of tossing it away, forcing himself to forget every tiny detail of what was. But something told him to open up the pages, so for a millionth of a second he did, yet the sight of your handwriting which you would jokingly name ‘chicken scratch’ forever ingrained on the pages caused something in him to break all over again.

A porch where we can dance in the moonlight

“Riley.” John seemed shocked by the sight of the former lieutenant on his doorstep, sure he had offered ‘anything’ after the deaths, yet he never expected for Simon to take him up on it. For the first time in two years, for the first time since he had to discharge him, he saw what he thought was a completely sober man before him.

It was taking every ounce of Simon to not just turn away, to say it was a bad idea and run, run away from the emotions, but he was going to this…he had to. “You wanna build a house?”

A library so I can put all of those books you bought me, somewhere we can escape the haunting reality of the past

A year, he and John spent a year of work on the house once Simon found the perfect lot of land not too far out of London. Weekends spent from morning to dusk, John’s kids helping when they were in town and Eliza, John’s wife, coming by with food and to do the painting. The foundation has your name forever printed within it.

All of it sounds so poetic when I scribble them down, but the reality is as long as I have your love I am home

A garden he tended every morning and dusk to make sure they were perfectly planted, large enough to where the neighbors would come by to pick bouquets. He would watch the child run through the stone pathways, wondering what could have been.

The library was filled with novels he swore to collect, writing your name as the owner as he placed them in the rows of the shelving he took careful time carving.

I will love you forever and always, Ghost-boy

“You built a good home,” Kyle had told him, close to ten years after all of it had happened, sitting beside him on the porch. He knew it was probably the only thing that kept him alive this long, so he was thankful for it.

Simon nodded slowly, “Thank you.”

(annnyway, that’s all! Any and all comments, feedback and all that mean so much! Thanks for the ask!! <3)

[folkwhoredoll]

soothing touch - rafe cameron x fem!reader

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

synopsis: after a tiresome week, your boyfriend knows just how to help

word count: 2.1k

warnings/tags: smut! (f oral, unprotected sex, nipple play), soft bf!rafe

a/n: hi everyone! i don't think i can ever say this enough but thank you for your support! however i might be inactive for the next days or weeks because easter break is over :< but i promise to keep writing whenever i can <3 i hope you'll like this one. happy reading!

masterlist

+*:ꔫ:*﹤

“Baby, come lay with me.” You heard your boyfriend whine from the bed.

“Just a few more minutes, Rafey. I need to finish this essay, or I’ll lose my train of thought.” You replied without looking at him, eyes steady between your laptop screen and keyboard.

Rafe groaned, growing impatient after hearing you use the same excuse for the third time.

It had been over two hours since he laid on the bed and over two hours that you refused to join him. The past weeks have made you busy, considering you were a graduating student. There were deadlines here and there, you have experienced sleepless nights for the past few days, and coffee is probably the only liquid cursing through your veins.

Rafe knew it was coming and made sure to help in any way possible, but it doesn’t mean he was okay with it. He missed taking you out on dates and golfing sessions, but it has been almost a month since he was able to do so.

He came to your house a few hours ago and brought you snacks you felt incredibly grateful for. You welcomed and greeted him, then returned to your room to sit in front of your laptop.

“I’m sorry, babe. I promise I’ll just finish this essay, and then we can cuddle, okay?” You offered to him softly, feeling bad that you’d ignored him.

Rafe, who has a stern exterior towards other people, is always soft towards you. His eyes softened upon hearing your offer, wanting nothing more than for you two to spend the night together.

“Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

You flashed him a smile, your fingers desperately working to finish your essay.

Around half an hour later, you were typing out the last sentence for your draft. You inhaled deeply and stretched your back before shutting down the computer, deciding that you would just do your revisions in the morning.

“Finally.” You heard Rafe’s voice, making you chuckle, and excitedly made your way to the bed where your boyfriend was adorably tucked in the covers. “Hi, baby.”

You crawled in his arms, feeling extremely relaxed now that you were out of your stiff chair. “Hi, Rafey.”

“What do you want to do now?” He asked you sweetly, letting you decide depending on how you were feeling.

You thought momentarily, looking at the time and realizing it was almost midnight. Yet, surprisingly, you didn’t feel an ounce of sleepiness.

“Hmm, I don’t know. I’m not sleepy yet. You?”

 “Nah. I’m not sleepy, too.” Rafe shook his head before an idea popped into his mind. “You want me to give you a massage?”

Without hesitation, you agreed, nodding your head quickly. “Yes, please. My back hurts so much.”

Rafe gave you a pitied look. “Aw, baby. I got you; go get ready.”

You positioned yourself on the bed, grabbing a pillow where you can rest your head on. You sat up for a while to remove the thin sweater that hugged your torso. Your bra followed after you skillfully removed the clasps on your back. The amount of times that Rafe had seen you naked has made you shameless in making such gestures in front of him.

Meanwhile, Rafe watched your actions as he positioned himself behind you, hungrily eyeing your bare back before reminding himself that he was supposed to help you relax.

“Lay down on your stomach, pretty girl.” He spoke.

You did as he asked, sighing relief when your front side made contact with your sheets.

Knowing your room like the back of his hand, Rafe grabbed a bottle of lavender oil from your bedside drawer. He squeezed out a small amount, only enough to cover your back. Once satisfied, he warmed up the oil by rubbing it between his palms before putting it on your skin.

You let out a soft moan at the contact; the minty feeling from the oil and the feeling of your boyfriend’s large hands on your back made you instantly relax.

Rafe continued to give you a massage until his hands were dry from the oil, giving your back continuous strokes while you were on the verge of sleeping.

Little do you know, your breathy sighs have awakened something in Rafe.

He cleared his throat after several minutes, leaning down to check if you were sleeping. After seeing your opened eyes, Rafe relaxed and gave you a smile. “You feeling better?”

You mumbled a ‘yes,’ groaning as you slowly turned around on your back. “Thank you, Rafe.”

Rafe replied nothing, instead just lowering his face to yours in order to press a kiss on your lips. You smiled into the kiss, making Rafe go crazy. He wanted nothing more than to go further but hesitated as he thought of your tired body.

Unexpectedly, you were the one who deepened the kiss, your hands subtly moving up to his hair.

“Baby…” Rafe gasped, pulling away slightly. “Are you not tired?”

“Not really.” You said honestly as you looked into his eyes. “Feels good, Rafe. Please.”

Your words were confirmation for Rafe, making him press his lips back to yours. You let out a gasp when your boyfriend’s lips went from your mouth to your neck, kissing and sucking your skin softly.

“Hey, no marks.” You reminded him, remembering the time that your parents almost fainted when they saw Rafe’s love marks on your neck and chest.

“Yes, ma’am.” He cheekily smiled.

Rafe’s attention was suddenly on your breasts. He already had easy access to them after you removed your top. You moaned in surprise when his lips wrapped around your left nipple, your back arching as you tried to catch your breath.

“Rafe.” You heaved when his mouth attached to your other nipple, his fingers now working simultaneously as he toyed with the other one. When he was satisfied with the attention that he gave to your breasts, he straightened up his posture, and you took the opportunity to start removing his shirt.

You quickly get rid of his shirt, throwing it sideways as you focus on his shorts.

“Someone’s excited.” He chuckled.

“It’s been a while.” You pouted.

“I know, sweetheart. We have a lot of time.” Rafe replied softly. He pecked your lips once before crouching down. “Lift your hips slightly, baby. Let me take this off of you.”

You obeyed, pushing yourself up from the bed to allow Rafe to pull down your shorts and underwear. You took a deep breath at the realization that you were fully exposed but paid no attention when you caught Rafe eyeing your pussy while licking his lips.

“Well, what do we have here?” He smirked, his right-hand landing gently on your thigh.

“Rafe…” You whined lowly, feeling frustrated as his fingers teased you by drawing random circles along your skin.

“What do you want, Y/n?” He asked innocently.

You groaned. “Stop teasing me.”

He smirked. Rafe loves nothing more than seeing you surrender to his touches. And right now, he’s enjoying the growing smell and wetness of your arousal.

Removing his hand from your thigh, he pressed a finger against your clit. You jolted forward; the pressure alone is enough to stimulate pleasure to your core. “Fuck.”

Rafe’s finger gently circled your clit, both his cock and smile becoming more prominent at the sight of you. He surprised you by pressing two fingers in, his thumb taking over your clit. He began pumping, enjoying your moans mixed with the sound of your wet folds.

“Fucking hell, Rafe. More.” You demanded through deep breaths, your chest rising and falling.

He didn’t respond, pulling out his fingers after a few moments. Your brows pinched together in confusion, looking at him as he brought his fingers to his mouth.

“You taste amazing, darling.” He smirked and watched as you stared at his lips. After licking his two fingers clean, he lifted his hands and brought his thumb to your face. “Open.”

Without hesitation, you opened your mouth and took his thumb in. You sucked, tasting yourself and letting out a moan while maintaining eye contact.

“Fuck.” Rafe spoke, feeling his cock straining. “I was planning to go soft on you. But you seem more eager than I do.”

After you’re done licking his finger, he pulls down his trousers and underwear. Despite seeing him naked multiple times, you still can’t help but be amazed at his size, your thoughts growing wild with desire.

You watched as Rafe kneeled before you, his eyes on the same level as your folds. He pulled you nearer to him, your lower half almost hanging off the edge of the table as he wrapped your legs around his shoulder.

“You gotta keep quiet, baby. We don’t want to get caught by your parents, do we?”

Without any warning, Rafe pressed his face to your pussy, his tongue expertly slipping inside and sucking on your clit.

“Fuck!” You moaned aloud, instantly forgetting his words as you pressed your weight against the bookshelf behind you.

He slapped your thigh softly. “What did I just say?”

You ignored him, too focused on the pleasure that you’re feeling to control the sounds from your mouth. You squirmed against his lips, grinding your hips upwards to get more. Your boyfriend smiled proudly.

“Yes, yes, Rafe…. Shit.”

He pulled one of his hands away from you, lowering it to pump his manhood. His occasional moans caused vibrations throughout your body, your toes curling and your eyes shutting.

Rafe felt your legs shake, and he started to pull away. He needed you to cum, but not yet.

“W-what?” You asked desperately, almost whining at the loss of contact.

He gently shushed you, pushing himself up and lining his cock directly at your slits. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll finish you right here.”

He pushed himself into you inch by inch, your warm folds wrapping around him perfectly. Rafe groaned at the damp and tight feeling surrounding him, head falling back in pleasure as he settled perfectly within you.

You moaned once more, loudly this time as he started thrusting, his rhythm steady yet forceful. You repeatedly called his name, hands gripping the sheets around you as you shook in pleasure. Rafe looked down to watch himself disappear inside you, eyes filled with lust and pride every time his hips meet yours. He grabbed your thighs and pushed your legs forward, almost keeping them against your chest.

“That’s right, darling. Moan my name.” Sweat started to form on his forehead, his thrusts becoming harsher and quicker in desperate need. “C’mon, Y/n. Let me see you cum.”

“Rafe…” You cried, your cunt clenching and throbbing. The bed was creaking slowly, and you could only hope that your parents were currently deep in slumber.

The pleasure was overwhelming as Rafe focused on every part of you as much as possible. Both of you panting and covered in sweat, his hands working wonders on your clit and nipple while he perfectly filled your cunt.

“R-Rafe, I’m…”

“I know, baby. Cum with me. Come on, pretty girl.” He whispered closely in your ear, maintaining the speed of his thrusts as he rubbed your clit faster.

Your heart rate was increasing, and your body was shaking. But it was Rafe’s direct eye contact and sudden pinch on your clit that pushed you over the edge, eyes rolling at the back of your head as you released.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Rafe moaned at the sight, loving the feeling of your tight walls and warm release around his cock.

It wasn’t long until he pumped several more times before he gave in, releasing his juices inside of you with heavy breaths.

Neither of you moved for a while, still breathless and shaking.

Rafe pulled out of you slowly, making you whine. He cooed at you, pressing kisses on both of your cheeks. “Are you feeling better, baby?”

Unable to form words because you were still catching your breath, you just grinned and nodded, your hand rising to cup and stroke his cheek.

“Let’s get you ready for bed now, sweetheart.”

The rest of the night, you didn’t break any sweat. Rafe took charge of changing your clothes and sheets, even giving you a quick bath to refresh you.

On times like these, you thank the heavens for giving you a boyfriend like Rafe Cameron.

[ataliagold]

I Want Ours To Be An Endless Song

For @astrangersummer week 12 prompt 'not-date.' Title from Love Like Ghosts by Lord Huron.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: T

W/C: 1245

Tags: Post Series 4, Everyone Lives, Eddie's in love with Steve, Steve loves him back but Eddie's a bit oblivious, fluff, first date, summer, picnic, first kiss, getting together

Summary: Eddie's been trying for months to keep his feelings for Steve in check. But unbeknownst to Eddie, Steve's taken him on a date.

___

It’s not a date, Eddie reminds himself for about the hundredth time that afternoon.

It’s just that the others must’ve cancelled, he figures. Robin and Nancy, because they definitely would’ve been asked too, maybe even Jonathan and Argyle, but it’s summer, people have other plans, the others just…must not have been available.

He tells himself this firmly as he follows Steve on the little path through the woods to the edge of Lover’s Lake.

As Steve sets up the picnic blanket, Eddie repeats it to himself again. And while he puts the little basket down, while he pulls out baked goods and small sandwiches with the crusts cut off Eddie chews on his bottom lip and digs his nails into his palms because Steve’s so fucking perfect and Eddie would love more than anything for the two of them to be something more, for this picnic to be something other than just an outing of friends…

But Steve isn’t his, and this is not a date.

“Want a beer?” Steve asks, blinking up at Eddie.

“Uh…yeah,” Eddie wills himself to speak, to unfreeze, to act fucking normal.

He lowers himself onto the blanket next to Steve, looks out across the lake. It’s a hot day, barely a breeze to shift the muggy air around, and the lake is still and clear as glass. Eddie sneaks glances at Steve as he rifles around in the basket for the beers he’d stashed there earlier. Steve’s in a tank top and stupidly short shorts, and he’s all golden skin kissed with moles and cheeks slightly reddened from long days spent in the sun and Eddie wants to reach out and touch…

He swallows thickly instead. Takes the beer Steve’s holding out to him, sips at it, then again to give his mouth something to do so he doesn’t say something stupid…

“S’nice here, huh?” Steve comments, taking the lid off one of his containers and offering it to Eddie.

Eddie reaches in, pulls out a cookie, no doubt carefully baked by Steve the day before.

Why did he have to be so perfect?

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, clearing his throat. He flaps a hand towards the water. “Certainly nicer than when we were last here.”

Steve chuckles lightly, nods. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to – they all know they’re remembering that time in the dark, in the cold; slimy tentacles and black depths and a gaping gate to hell.

They’ve come to the opposite side of the lake today, Eddie notices. As far away from…that spot as they can be. And everything looks different from this angle, like if he squinted they could be somewhere else entirely.

That had no doubt been intentional on Steve’s part, he supposes.

They eat in silence for a short time, until Eddie can’t bear it anymore – he never was very good at keeping his mouth shut.

“A shame Buckley and the others couldn’t make it,” he says through a mouthful of bread.

Steve frowns, a flicker of confusion passing over his face. “Huh?”

“Buckley,” Eddie repeats, swallowing before he was quite ready to, wincing as the food hurt his throat going down. “And Nance, Jonathan and Argyle…were they busy or something? They would’ve liked this.”

Steve’s frown deepens. “I dunno, I didn’t…I didn’t ask them.”

What?

Eddie falters. Stutters around his sentence a bit. “You didn’t? I – I just…well, I thought…you and Robin do everything together and Nancy often tags along with her now and so I just figured you would’ve asked them at least, too.”

Steve’s brow unknits. He puts down his beer, turns to Eddie, sunlight dancing in his eyes.

Eddie’s heart thumps at the sight.

“Eds…I wanted to come here with you. Just you.”

“Why?” Eddie refuses to admit the way that word came out as a squeak.

Steve tilts his head, a small smile playing across his lips. “You don’t know?”

No, Eddie very much doesn’t, because he’s been refusing to let himself believe even for a moment that Steve is remotely interested in him for anything other than friendship because he’ll be let down, he’ll be so fucking disappointed when it turns out not to be true. So he’s been strict with himself, he’s told himself over and over that Steve doesn’t like him like that, has ignored the lingering looks from the other man and the soft touches to the back of his hand, to his shoulder, because Steve’s a touchy sort of guy, they don’t mean anything.

Eddie’s not in love with Steve Harrington, he’s told himself every single damn day for months now.

The truth is, he’d fallen ass over tit in love with the former King that fateful night in Reefer Rick’s boatshed.

“Eddie,” Steve continues softly, reaching cautiously for his hand, taking it gently.

Eddie lets him. Thinks he’d let this man do anything.

“I…I like you. All this -” Steve gestures around them, to the lake, to the picnic blanket, to the food he’d prepared, “ – you know this is…a date, right?”

Oh.

Oh.

“This is me trying to…woo you, or whatever, maybe it sounds stupid but I’ve only ever done this with girls and they always liked this sort of thing so I thought…well. Sorry. If it’s stupid. Or…” Steve waves a hand, drops his chin to his chest, cheeks flushed with something more than just the sun now. “We can go somewhere else, if you want. Or home. If you want to go home. I could drive you back -”

“No,” Eddie interrupts, perhaps a little too zealously because Steve snaps his mouth shut. “I didn’t…I didn’t know this was a date.”

Amusement dances across Steve’s face. “You didn’t think the picnic with just the two of us at Lover’s Lake of all places was a date?”

Eddie sniffs, because when it was put like that…

Steve laughs, shuffles closer to him. “Sorry, Eds. Maybe I should’ve just told you. I was nervous, ok?”

“You? Nervous? Because of a date?” Eddie splutters. “You’ve been on so many, you could like…tutor people on dating, and shit.” And that was…a little lame, but Eddie’s reeling here.

“But this is you,” Steve says quietly, and it’s so sincere that Eddie goes still, looks down at their joined hands. “It matters.”

Eddie breathes out. Looks up again, meets Steve’s eyes and goes warm all over because Steve’s gazing at him like he hung the moon or something.

He’d try, if Steve asked him to.

He let Steve bring a hand to his cheek. Let him guide him forward, until their noses brushed, until their lips pressed together, and then Eddie Munson was kissing Steve Harrington and stranger things had happened - the two of them were all too fucking aware of that, they were sitting on top of a nightmare realm for fuck’s sake.

But somehow the Upside Down had been easier for Eddie to wrap his head around than this.

Steve kisses him. Gently, with his hand tangled in Eddie’s curls, and Eddie thinks he could die here, on the shore of the lake that really had nearly killed them.

But then Steve’s pulling back a little, and Eddie remembers how to breathe, and he’s very much not dead, he’s alive and Steve’s smiling at him and Eddie feels like the luckiest man alive.

“You do that on every date, Stevie?” Eddie quips, but he’s panting a little, Steve having stolen the air from his lungs.

Steve grins. “Only the best ones.”

___

[holllandtrash]

gone | daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x driver!reader (part 3 to fragile line)

I just know You're not gone You can't be gone

The 2023 season is painful, its challenging and Daniel is still very much in your life in all the ways he shouldn't be.

word count: 9.9k (i dont even know how) warnings/tags: angst, heartbreak, all the painful stuff

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” 

You exhaled a breath that made your entire body shake, “You know what, Daniel.” 

Of course he did. For the last few months, he was experiencing the exact same things you were. The uncertainty, the tension, the sleepless nights, god you were so tired. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be you and him. You were supposed to be a team. 

So much went wrong, too much. Daniel stood in front of you now as you asked yourself if you were too far gone. 

And you both knew the answer to that one. 

That first race back in Hungary…you were a mess. You probably would have been a little bit more put together had Oliver not pointed out the lineup for the driver’s press conference. 

“You’re kidding,” your jaw dropped, staring at the list. “Who’s smart idea was it to put myself and Daniel together?”

“This is Formula 1,” Oliver sounded apologetic, he did feel bad about the situation. “The FIA doesn’t care if he’s your ex.”

The FIA didn’t care but the entire world watching did. Speculations on what would happen, where you would sit, what would be asked flooded social media. 

When you showed up on Thursday, Lando patted your back and told you to breathe.

“Easier said than done, Lando. I don’t see you being forced to sit with your ex.”

He chuckled at that because you had a point. “Look, I love Danny, but don’t let him get to you, alright?”

Originally, Lando did try to switch the sessions. He talked to Zak, PR, everyone, just because he knew how much you were dreading it. But alas, it was you who was now standing outside the media room, leaning against the wall as you waited to go in and get these next twenty minutes over and done with.

Your plan was to just say as little as possible to everyone. You were banking on the fact that the attention would be solely on Daniel and his return, and that was made clear when he walked into the hallway, getting warm greetings from other drivers and those standing nearby.

He had absolutely no reason to stand next to you, not when there were about ten other people who would have been dying for a few seconds of his time. 

Daniel cleared his throat, hands behind his back as he leaned against the wall as well. 

You counted six seconds before he opened his mouth, speaking to you for the first time since the awards dinner months ago. 

“Not even a hello?” He asked, but he wasn’t the least bit surprised that you were completely avoiding looking in his direction. You ignored him and Daniel laughed to himself at your lack of response.

The door opened again and you took a breath of relief when you realised you were about to be called into the press conference. Just get it over and done with.

Daniel didn’t have the same priorities and spoke up again, “I just want to know-”

You promptly cut him off, you had to. “Look I think it would be best if we just-” god this hurt, you couldn’t even look him in the eye. “Let’s just not talk, okay?”

You pushed yourself away from the wall when one of the media assistants handed each of you a mic and gave you the thumbs up that it was time for the five of you to head out onto the couch. Daniel quickly followed behind you, voice low enough that you could hear but it was unlikely anyone else could.

“So that’s it? You have nothing to say to me?” He asked. “For the person who got you into Formula 1?”

You as well spoke in a harsh whisper, “You may have fast tracked my career but I could have made it to Formula 1 without your help.”

You liked to believe that was true. Was it? You’d never know now.

“But you did take my help,” he pointed out, a groan slipping past his lips as he sat down on the couch. You made sure to distance yourself from him, leaving room for Carlos to sit between you. Even still, Daniel wasn’t done. “You took my help, my resources and then my seat.”

“And what did you do?” You hissed, arms crossed over your chest as different media personnel started to slowly trickle into the room, the lucky ones who claimed the first row were probably close enough to hear you and Daniel.

“Pardon?” He turned his head towards you. Carlos instinctively leaned further back, not wanting to be in the middle of this conversation, but watching and listening intently, as were the other drivers.

“What did you do, hmm?” You repeated, eyes scanning the growing crowd before you snapped your head in his direction. 

For a moment, this feud didn’t matter. Your heart skipped a beat, like it had the hundreds, thousands, of other times when his eyes met yours. The same brown eyes that for months you allowed yourself to get lost in. One look from him and everything around you faded to black. Nothing else seemed important when Daniel was looking at you, giving you his undivided attention.

But this moment wasn’t like all of those other ones.

You snapped out of it, returning to your original thought, much to Carlos’ dismay as he thought you guys were done and had started to relax in between you. 

“We both replaced a driver before their contract was up, Daniel.” You stated, wanting to point out the hypocrisy in his actions. “You are no better than me. We did the exact same thing.”

“It wasn’t the same and you know it,” Daniel retorted, not skipping a beat. He had those words lined up for weeks now, waiting for the chance to say them because there was no way in hell you weren’t going to point out the similarities in your actions.

But Daniel was right. It wasn’t the same. The biggest difference being, you were in love with Daniel when you signed that contract with McLaren, and he was in love with you. 

It wasn’t just a driver screwing over another driver. You drove a wedge between the two of you.

You had the thought to stand up and walk out. The press conference hadn’t officially started yet, the last few reporters were just finding their seats. You could say you’re ill, something came up, really any excuse to get out of here and away from Daniel’s harsh stare.

Don’t let him get to you. Lando’s reminder floated to the front of your mind and you forced yourself to just sit back and look at the small crowd instead. It was clear to everyone who even glanced your way that you did not want to be sitting there, but thankfully Tom Clarkson got the session up and running.

Of course Daniel was the star. Tom had questions about his return, about his short break, about being back with familiar faces. Daniel answered them all with such ease, the familiar heartwarming grin on his face that you couldn’t bear to look at. 

You zoned out, really, arms crossed in front of your chest as you tried to ignore the double standards coming from your right. You doubted Daniel was going to get as much hate online as you had gotten. No one was asking him how he felt about taking another’s seat, everyone was just happy he was back.

“And Y/N, onto you-”

You snapped your head up, plastering on your best smile.

“Last year you finished quite high in Hungary in Formula 2 and after your best finish out in Silverstone, you must feel quite confident going into this weekend?”

You lifted the mic up to your lips, “Yes and no, you know the car’s upgrades are proving to be paying off and we’re hoping to use them to our advantage this weekend but one can never be too confident. As a team we’ll be fighting to be at the front again but in the back of our minds we know that everyone else is doing the same.”

Tom nodded, content with that answer, “And is it nice to have another familiar face on the grid? Daniel acted as a sort of mentor for you during your time in F2, did he not?”

You tensed up and next to you, Carlos felt it. He nudged his arm against yours, a subtle move of encouragement. Carlos, like most of the drivers, knew how uncomfortable the situation was for all involved.

But you couldn’t process the kind gesture. Not when you could practically feel Daniel staring at you, burning holes into the side of your head as he waited for your response.

“I think, yeah a lot of people are probably happy to welcome him back,” you spoke quietly, and not at all convincing. But hey, at least you removed yourself from the answer and gave a general response. One that no one could flip on you.

Tom tried, though, “But personally, what’s going through your mind right now?”

You had so much media training. You knew the proper answer would be something along the lines of how Daniel is a great asset to the sport and how the grid is better with him. Nothing personal, but just facts the general public could agree with. You knew what to say.

But you scoffed instead, “Why aren’t you asking the other drivers how they feel?”

Max spoke up from the opposite end of the couch, “It’s great having Daniel back.”

You shot him a quick, yet thankful, smile. While he was good friends with Daniel, anyone on that couch could see how that question was only given to you because of your history with the Australian. And this press conference was supposed to be about motorsport, about the racing coming up. 

You stayed quiet for the rest of it and as soon as it ended you bolted out of that room. 

Unfortunately, so did Daniel.

He caught up to you with ease, “Hold up, Y/N, I want to talk.”

Daniel reached for your arm and you pulled it out of his grasp as you turned around to face him, “I don’t think there’s anything left to say. No, you said plenty last year. What was it, exactly? Something about how taking your seat before your contract was even up was the worst thing I could have possibly done? I’m not going to sit there and listen to everyone praise you for coming back when you dragged my name through the dirt for the exact same fucking move. I’m not going to listen to a single thing you have to say, knowing you’re the biggest hypocrite this sport has ever seen but won’t admit it.”

Daniel huffed out a short breath. For a second, you thought he was going to apologise, but that thought quickly left when his forehead creased, his jaw tightening, “Sometimes you gotta burn a few bridges in this industry, but you figured that out all on your own, didn’t you?”

You shook your head, taking a few more steps backwards as heavy sarcasm dripped from your tongue, “Nice to have you back, Daniel.”

It really was anything but nice. Not when that entire race was focused on how you and Daniel interacted in the paddock- or the lack of interaction was probably a better way to phrase it. Everyone knew you two to be connected at the hip. Now you were turning around and walking in the opposite direction to avoid him.

The next race was worse. Spa. It was a challenging track already, you knew this going into the practice sessions. You were prepared for a difficult weekend.

What you weren’t prepared for was leaving the garage towards the end of Q1 to set a lap time, only to be blocked by Daniel before you could cross the finish line. He slowed down before the straight, like many drivers did before giving it all they had on their way to start a flying lap. 

But Daniel didn’t speed up like you expected him to. He kept you behind him for as long as he could before shifting gears and taking off. When it was your turn to cross the line and get your time started, you heard the call come in from the garage. 

“Times up,” your engineer, Ronnie, said through the radio. “You didn’t cross the line in time.”

Once that timer hit 0, no one was allowed to start a new lap. Every other driver made it across in time, but Daniel’s little move kept you from throwing your hat into the ring for Q2. 

You embarrassingly made your way back around the track, pulling into the pit lane to park in the garage. It wasn’t long before other drivers followed, but they had all set lap times. Climbing out of the car, you noticed that Daniel didn’t make it through either.

Serves him right, you thought. 

God, you wanted to give him a piece of your mind. 

Right on time, you watched on the screen as Daniel dove into the pit lane. You ignored the calls from Ronnie and Oliver, not a single thought in your mind except to ask Daniel what his problem was.

Oliver knew what you were doing as soon as you stepped out of the garage. You ripped your helmet off and shoved it into his hands as he hurried to walk at your pace. Your eyes were set on the AlphaTauri garage just up ahead and you could hear Oliver warning you, telling you to just turn around and go back to McLaren but the second you saw Daniel get out of his car, you snapped.

“What the hell was that?” You asked, eyeing him up from where he stood at the garage opening. 

Daniel wasn’t the least bit surprised to see you, but he did stand up straighter, already anticipating whatever you had to say to him. 

“You’re a prick, you know that?” Your insult did little to offend him. 

“It's not my fault you left the garage late,” Daniel shrugged, taking no responsibility for your inability to set a lap time. 

“It’s completely your fault for slowing down more than necessary.”

“I didn’t want to run into traffic.”

“You fucked up my qualifying, Daniel.”

You felt Oliver’s hand on your shoulder. He wasn’t trying to pull you away, but the touch was to get your attention. Aside from AlphaTauri crew members watching this interaction, there was also a camera pointed directly at the two of you, streaming live to F1TV and whatever else broadcast that chose to air it. 

Daniel wasn’t as concerned about his media appearance, stepping forward the slightest bit so you were only inches apart. 

“If I were you, sweets, I wouldn’t be blaming your problems on the person who got you into this sport.”

You were so close to losing it on him for that comment. You probably would have, had he not thrown in his old nickname for you. Only it wasn’t sweet anymore. There was a distaste on his tongue as he said it, you heard it. He only said it to throw you off, to remind you that he no longer cared for you the way he used to. He was using it against you now.

Daniel saw the way you froze, completely losing your train of thought and he used it to his advantage to walk away from this conversation. He was happy to get the last word in and all you could do was drop your head and walk as close to Oliver as humanly possible as you made your way back to McLaren.

The altercation was heavily split down the middle by all who watched. Some people agreed that Daniel slowed down purposely to keep you from crossing the line in time to start a lap. They also agreed that he should have owned up and apologised for it, saying that it wasn’t in his character to leave another driver so defeated after something that was clearly his fault.

Other people agreed that it was your fault for leaving the garage too late, taking Daniel’s side. They said that it wasn’t very mature of you to confront him like that, or to swear at him. It only added to the conversation of how women weren’t ready to have a place in Formula 1. 

Your PR manager advised you to put out a statement about it, an apology. You ignored her advice. In your opinion, the only person who had to apologise was Daniel.

Of course he didn’t, though. 

Which meant you didn’t apologise when after the summer, In Zandvoort, you braked a little early when Daniel was behind you. You played it off saying you anticipated the turn too early. Daniel happily complained about you in the media pen when he was forced into the grass and then ultimately the barrier, forcing his race to end early. Social media blew up, like usual, feeding into this childish feud. 

That’s how it went for most all, of the races. It wasn’t as though you were purposely trying to ruin his weekends, nor was it his goal to ruin yours, but if you happened to be alongside each other during the race or near each other during qualifying, fans started to put their money on who would target who first.

You didn’t like that that was what your weekends turned into. It was one thing to want to know where the rest of the drivers were in comparison to you, but to be so focused on Daniel was taking it to the extreme.

But you were determined to prove you were a good driver without him, that you were a better driver than him. That taking that McLaren seat wasn’t a mistake and if anything, he should be regretting being so harsh on you. You wanted him to eat his words, and it helped your case that he was definitely struggling in the AlphaTauri. 

You finished ahead of him a handful of times. You could try and convince yourself it was skill, but a determining factor really was how horrible Daniel’s car was. That was proven when you were struggling with an upgrade package in Singapore. Some analysts compared the pace of the McLaren to the AlphaTauri, and said that the upgrades were really more like downgrades. 

When Daniel finished ahead of you, claiming sixth that race while you crossed the line in 17th, you were furious. You told the team that as a whole, you were much better than that. That the McLarens should not be finishing in the bottom five considering how successful you had been mid season. 

Those closest to you knew what you meant. You shouldn’t be finishing behind Daniel. 

Things weren’t perfect after that, despite going back to the old set up. You were back to fighting for points, but so was Daniel. And you hated it. You thought you could rely on the McLaren being better than the AlphaTauri, but you forgot to take into account that Daniel truly was one of the best drivers on the grid.

It got to the point where you and Ronnie had a code. If you finished ahead of him, on the radio, Ronnie would say way to go champ. If Daniel finished ahead of you and you weren’t already aware of it during the race, Ronnie would say there’s still work to be done. 

Again, those closest to you knew how much it meant to beat Daniel. 

You wanted to prove to him, and everyone but you wouldn’t lie to yourself it was mostly him, that you deserved that fucking seat. That you made the right choice by signing the contract, despite it meaning he was without a car for a few months. You shouldn’t have felt guilty for putting yourself first, your career first, if you were doing something great, which you were. 

Plus, the better you did, the less of a reason Daniel had to judge you. How could he still be upset with you for taking that McLaren seat when you were doing what he couldn’t? Scoring in the high points, being consistent, for the most part. How could he say that taking his seat was the worst thing you could have done when ultimately, it would boil down to jealousy? Daniel struggled in that McLaren, and he assumed you would too. That wasn’t the case. 

And deep down, even if you didn’t want to admit it, there was still a part of you that aimed to make Daniel proud. Even if you couldn’t get back to when you were each other's biggest fans, you hoped that he had moments when he looked at the driver standings and nodded to himself, smiling maybe, because even if you weren't on the best of terms, you were doing what he always knew you could do. 

You had no idea, but moments like that did come for Daniel. They were far and few between, rarely caught on camera or at least, never brought to your attention. You had no way of knowing Daniel was leaving the AlphaTauri garage, conflicted about how he felt about your accomplishments. You were doing better than him, there was no denying that. He just chose not to admit it.

The only time that season where you knew he was proud was at COTA. One of his favourite races on the calendar.

You qualified well, P3. That hadn’t happened since Silverstone. The race itself didn’t produce anything too horrible, aside from a few drivers at the back of the grid collided early on and unfortunately Daniel was one of them, being forced to retire. 

You, though, you were flying. Your biggest competition was Lando who had started P2, again, similar to Silverstone. For most of the race, your job was to defend Carlos who was aiming for that podium, wanting to take P3 from you. 

Typically, you would have boxed first. That’s usually what happened to give Lando the advantage. And with Carlos most likely being on an undercut strategy, you expected the call to come in to box ahead of him. 

But that didn’t happen. Instead, you watched Lando pull into the pit lane, giving you the automatic second place position. In your mirrors, you watched as Carlos pulled into the pits as well.

“What’s going on?” You asked Ronnie through the headset. 

“Plan F.”

Plan F was one you joked about, but never actually executed. Plan Fight you and Lando called it, but both of you knew that you’d never actually be given the go ahead to fight it out for the podium positions, not wanting to risk damage to the cars.

“Plan F?” You repeated, the shock in your voice evident. That made for good content on F1 Twitter.

“Box this lap,” Ronnie instructed before going on to explain. “Carlos is struggling with his pace, we believe his main goal will be to defend.”

From what you knew, Lewis was behind him, and if Carlos was struggling with his pace he wouldn’t be fighting for a podium, he’d be fighting to keep that fourth place position. 

Which meant you and Lando were also free to fight. 

Pitting for new tyres dropped you back a bit, but it didn’t take long at all until you were right on Lando’s tail again. You stayed there for the majority of the last half of the race, the gap wavering anywhere between half of a second to three seconds behind. 

You tried to pass, truly. But Lando’s defensive game had always been strong. You looked for the opportunities in the corners, along the straights, but it wasn’t until the third to last lap did the chance come. 

You had closed the gap as much as you could, not needing to worry about whoever was behind you, you figured it was still Carlos. As you approached the back straight, you knew Lando was expecting you to dart to the left in an attempt for an overtake on the inside, you had tried it in five out of the last ten laps and each time you were still left eating his dust. 

You veered slightly to the left, giving Lando the impression that was your goal and the second he made the move to defend, you steered the car to the right and gave it everything you had. It was a tricky move, vying for the outside overtake going into the tight corner, but when it seemed to work out, you had the inside line for the following turn and Lando was soon in your mirrors. 

He tried to take that position back, but you took advantage of the clear air and set off, determined for your first podium, determined to finish ahead of Lando.

Lando ended up claiming third, crossing the finish line only a second after you did. After a victory lap, where he jokingly flipped you off, the two of you pulled into parc ferme. Immediately, you collapsed into Lando, arms tight around him because not only was this a success for you, but for the team. Both McLaren drivers on the podium for the first time this season.

Through the cheers, you could hear Lando yell something about making history. Whether that was in regards to both of you or the fact that you were the first female to ever podium in F1, you weren’t sure. It didn’t matter anyway. You just knew you were proud.

You jumped into the arms of your team next, those standing behind the barrier. Adrenaline was pumping through you, you just wanted to celebrate with everyone. When you eventually took your helmet off, a few tears were streaming down your face and you didn’t even think about the risk of turning into the new George Russell crying meme. 

You were shaking as you stood in the cool down room, too amped up to sit. Max had been through this dozens of times before. Nor was this Lando’s first podium either, but you were on top of the world.

The ceremony went by in a blur. As did the post race conference. You really did try to take in each second of it, thankful that Lando was there at your side the entire time. This entire process was new to you and if Lando wasn’t in your ear telling you to breathe, where to go, to enjoy the moment, you would have been a mess.

There was so much that happened following that race, there was no way you could have known what was going on with any of the other drivers. It wasn’t until you got back to your hotel room at the end of the day with instructions to ‘get changed because we’re going out’ from Lando, did you see what you had missed.

It felt like hours since you even looked at your phone. You had called your parents, but you didn’t have much time for anything else. Now that you were sat on the edge of your bed, you were able to scroll through your texts and notifications. 

You were able to see the clip you were tagged in way too many times, on way too many platforms.

It was short, but any longer and you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You clicked play and watched the video of you crossing the finish line. Lando was following behind, but whatever broadcast this was from didn’t care about his finish. The shot switched to Daniel, from where he stood in the AlphaTauri garage.

Whoever was filming caught his live reaction of you coming second at COTA.

The nod, the faint curl of the corner of his lips because as much as he tried, he couldn’t fight the smile on his face as he watched you take your first podium position in F1, something that he once dreamed for you.

But you not being part of his dreams anymore didn’t mean that he stopped wishing you accomplished yours. 

This brought you back to the first video you watched of him a few years back, before you even met him, where he spoke so highly of you. He wanted you to succeed so badly back then and he wanted to be at your side while you did so.

Now here you were, succeeding, but where was Daniel?

Maybe that’s where some of his hostility lied. You didn’t need him, clearly. Or at least, that’s what he thought. 

The reality was, you wanted to prove you could do this without him, but you wished you didn’t have to. 

You were conflicted, you both were. And it didn’t help that you weren’t speaking civilly to each other because my god a simple conversation would probably do wonders for both of you. 

That was Lando’s thought, as he sat down next to you in the booth and handed you the glass of coke, no rum much to his dismay. You didn’t drink during the season, even if you had something to celebrate, Lando knew this. Champagne on the podium was the only exception.

Tonight, though, as you sat in your thoughts and replayed the image in your mind of Daniel smiling up at the screen, you figured that another exception wouldn’t hurt. 

You turned down the coke and grabbed his drink instead, downing it in one gulp and instantly regretting it because you were fairly certain it was tequila based and tequila just wasn’t something you ever enjoyed. Lando laughed and handed you the coke to chase it down with. 

“You’re letting loose tonight?” He asked, sitting down beside you. His arm stretched across the bench behind your shoulders. He didn’t even try stifling his chuckle as you struggled with the bitter taste left in your mouth.

“I need to,” you answered. 

“You deserve to,” he corrected. Lando reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet and then a sleek black card. He didn’t say anything to you, nor to the server who came by and knew that by him dropping the card on the table meant he was asking for bottle service. 

It wasn’t long before you had a row of shots to split between the two of you and a few others who had crowded the booth, some you knew, some you didn’t. Not that it mattered, you just wanted to drink, you didn’t care who you were with.

Lando being there was a godsend, though. He knew that you were a lightweight and told you that the glass in your hand was a vodka soda when in reality he asked the server for you to just be given water after a few hours of the most carefree drinking he had ever witnessed from you. 

The music was blaring, you had gotten up to dance at one point, but you kept finding your way back to the booth. Clubbing wasn’t your thing and Lando, whether he liked it or not, was an anchor for you tonight. He kept you safe, kept you from drowning in the sea of people and alcohol. 

He could do a lot that night, but he couldn’t prevent the inevitable storm that was Daniel Ricciardo making an appearance at that Austin night club.

Lando saw him first and turned to you with the intention of suggesting that you both called it a night. But no words came out when he saw the painful look of desire and despair mashed together on your features as you spotted the Australian driver. 

You didn’t drink often, but if you did, you would know that feelings are often elevated under the influence. You’d also know that alcohol lowers inhibition, giving you a false sense of security to say what was really on your mind.

“I don’t get it,” you spoke quietly and Lando leaned in closer to hear you over the music blasting from all corners. 

“Get what?”

You pulled your gaze off of Daniel before you could accidentally make eye contact and looked at your teammate instead. He seemed concerned for you, he always did when Daniel was involved. 

Lando always did what he could to get your mind off Daniel and the past. He was a good friend, a good person to have in your corner but he wasn’t who you wanted there at the end of the day. You had grown to love Lando, not in the way you loved Daniel, though, so you couldn’t deny that you wished it was the Aussie sitting next to you in the booth, celebrating your podium. You hated that you wanted that.

“Do you miss him, still?” Lando prompted, knowing you had lost your train of thought. 

When you shook your head, Lando gave you a look that clearly showed he didn’t believe you, but it was true. You didn’t miss Daniel. What you felt was much worse.

“I don’t miss him,” you answered, glancing towards him again. He stood at the bar talking to a girl that you envied because at least she was talking to him. “But I think he’s my missing piece.”

You hadn’t felt whole since the day you and Daniel split. You walked out of his flat but you left a piece of you there, a piece you desperately tried to get back through race weekends and training and distractions but it was no use. It would always belong to Daniel and you feared he had no intention of giving it back. You feared, that no matter how much time had passed, you’d always feel a little incomplete. 

You stood up to leave soon after, thanking Lando for the drinks and assuring him you’d send a text when you got back to the hotel. 

Lando tried to follow you to the door, wanting to tell you that he would go with you, the concerned friend making another appearance, but before he could get a word out he watched as someone cut him off, also making a direct line towards the door of the club.

It took Lando a second to realise it was Daniel who was walking after you now. Lando just stood there and raised his hand to the back of his neck, asking himself if he had just made a mistake by not stopping Daniel.

When Lando asked the next morning if Daniel spoke to you, you gave him a questionable look, telling him that you didn’t talk to him at all. Lando explained that he had seen Daniel leave the club right after you, but you just shrugged, chalking it up to getting into the uber before Daniel had the chance to catch up to you.

But Lando saw the photos. He, like everyone else, saw images of Daniel climbing into the car right after you. He wasn't the least bit surprised you lied about it. 

You didn't want to tell Lando that Daniel had grabbed the side of the car door before you could shut it, pulling it back just enough for him to slide into the backseat next to you. You shuffled over to make room, but you couldn’t get a single word out. All liquid courage vanished and instead your palms were clammy, the car felt stuffy and you couldn’t even look at him.

Daniel as well, didn’t say anything. His legs were spread out slightly, knee hitting yours as his hands were folded together in his lap. 

Why did he follow you?

This was the first time in ages you had been alone together, minus the driver. 

The hotel was a short drive away, but it felt like ages, the two of you sitting in uncomfortable silence. You weren’t bickering like you often did if you were in the same room, but at this point you’d rather that than whatever this eeriness was. 

You thought maybe, maybe, this was your saving grace. Maybe Daniel had followed you out of the club to tell you he was proud of you, to tell you he still loved you, to tell you he was tired of this feud and wanted you back.

But the longer you sat in silence, the more it sank in that that wasn’t the case. 

You used to love each other. Now you couldn’t even hold eye contact.

Daniel waited until the driver pulled onto the street of your hotel before saying anything. 

“Checo’s gone after this year.”

You turned to him, unsure if you had heard correctly. “What?”

“He’s gone,” Daniel repeated, more confident this time, still not looking at you though. “Marko told me on Friday.”

You had way too much alcohol flowing through your system to be able to process this. Checo’s contract wasn’t supposed to be up until the end of 2024. 

But Nyck’s wasn’t supposed to be up in June and Daniel’s wasn’t supposed to be done at McLaren in 2022. These things happened in Formula 1, as unfortunate as it was for the driver getting the boot, these things often happened. 

And Daniel…why did he know this information? Why didn’t the rest of the grid know it? Did Checo even know?

You inhaled sharply, “Does this mean-”

“The news is dropping tomorrow morning, but I wanted you to know first,” Daniel cut you off, his forehead creased with tension. His jaw was clenched, like he wasn’t happy to be saying this but felt the need to anyway. “I’m driving for Red Bull next year.”

The first thought that came to mind was he’s done it again. Taking another driver's seat before their contact ended. 2-1 now. He was officially a shittier person than you were and you so badly wanted to rub it in his face. 

But you could see now that that was why he told you personally. He didn’t want to wait until you heard the news like everyone else, he didn’t want to give you an opportunity to attack him for this, to make him feel like the bad guy even though that’s how he made you feel this entire season so far.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t all that difficult to bite your tongue. 

“Congratulations,” you settled on, quietly but you meant it and you caught him off guard because he truly was expecting some sort of lashing out. 

The driver pulled up to the hotel right at that second and you thanked him before stepping out, not giving Daniel a second look, again catching him off guard because you always looked back at him when you were together. 

Daniel waited a second. And then a few more before he bolted out of the car and into the hotel. You had made it to the elevator by that point and Daniel had to slide his hand between the doors to keep them from shutting. You watched as he pushed his way in and just like the car ride, said nothing.

You were on your way up to the twelve floor and Daniel waited until you arrived at the level before opening his mouth, waiting till the last second, wanting to cling onto this civil moment with you because who knew when it would come again?

“You’re not mad?” He asked.

The door opened and you had to brace yourself before standing up straight and walking out of the elevator, needing a moment to remember what side of the hall your room was on.

“I’m livid,” you answered, honestly. You were happy for him, but you were also angry about the situation. You didn’t know it was possible to feel both things at once, but in your drunk state, it was extremely possible. 

“Livid?” Daniel walked behind you, trying to gauge the rest of this conversation because you didn’t sound livid. 

“Enraged,” you said.

“Enraged,” he repeated.

“I want to wring your neck, Daniel,” you said, hearing him chuckle behind you because you didn’t sound the least bit threatening as you fumbled to unlock the hotel room door. The lock kept lighting up red and after your third failed attempt, Daniel took the card from your hand and unlocked it with ease, pushing the door open for you. 

You didn’t thank him, instead relying on the wall once you stepped inside to lean against as you pulled your heels off. Daniel followed you inside, standing at a cautious distance until you dropped your shoes because part of him thought that maybe you would throw them at him. You were enraged after all.

You weren’t sure why he was still there. He had told you what he wanted to tell you and he had no reason to still be hanging around. 

“What?” You finally asked, now sounding a little more on the annoyed side as you turned to stare at him. “What do you want? Why are you still here?”

“I want to talk.”

“About what?” You scoffed at him. “About the Red Bull contract? Congratulations, Danny. You deserve it. You deserve every fucking seat on this grid apparently.”

There it was.

“I knew you were mad.”

“I said I was mad!” You exclaimed, appalled that he was saying it like he discovered what you had already made perfectly clear. “I’m pissed, Dan. You have such a cult following that no one is going to bat an eye at you taking Checo’s seat, just like no one complained about you taking Nyck’s. Whereas I do it, I get offered the chance of a lifetime, to make history and I’m considered the villain? I didn’t end your contract, Daniel, I just replaced you and for some reason, no one cares about that narrative! They just care about you.”

You were yelling now. Daniel was probably regretting having followed you but it was too late for him to turn and walk out at this point.

“You know what the shitty part is?” You asked, stepping closer to him. Daniel could smell the vodka on your breath. That's how minimal the distance was between you. The last time you were this close you were wanting to rip his head off outside the AlphaTauri garage. 

“What?” He raised his eyebrows. Daniel couldn’t even begin to guess where you were going with this.

“This news is going to drop and my name is going to be circulating in the media again. They’re going to compare this, you taking his seat, to me taking yours. I will never be known as the first female signed to McLaren. I will forever be linked to you, no matter what you do in this fucking sport.”

You shook your head at him when he stayed silent. Pulling your eyes off of him, the heaviest exhale passed through your lips and you turned around, wanting this night to end. After you waved your hand in the air you muttered something about how he could see himself out.

But he didn’t go anywhere. 

And because he didn’t go anywhere and because you were drunk, you easily thought of more to say.

“You didn’t even like McLaren,” you sighed as you turned back around to face him, leaning against the wall. Your head was spinning. Maybe if you were lucky, this conversation wasn’t actually happening and it was a drunk figment of your imagination.

“No, but I loved you.” 

You definitely didn’t imagine him saying that.

“I loved you,��� he repeated, the past-tense admittance felt like a stab to your chest. “And I wanted nothing more than to race alongside you without feeling the need to prove something, to be your partner off the grid. I wanted to love you and race at the same time and you ruined that.”

All you could do was shrug your shoulders. You had said everything you needed to say at this point in defence of your contract, “I’m a driver, Dan. The race, the seat, it comes first, everything else second. You of all people know that.”

“We could have had both.”

Both. Love and a spot in Formula 1. 

Clearly not.

“Could we have?” You asked, unsure if you even had an answer, but you needed him to really think about it. To think about it if that really was a possibility for the two of you. 

Daniel and you held each other's stares for a minute, waiting for the other to say something. You were still waiting, hoping, for him to say he was proud of you, that he still loved you, that it didn’t matter what happened in the past, but it did matter. Daniel was still waiting for a sincere apology, but you had nothing to apologise for. Signing that McLaren contract was the best thing you’d ever done for yourself, despite the strings to Daniel you had now found yourself tangled in, McLaren was where you were supposed to be.

“I’m tired, Dan,” you shook your head and glanced towards your room down the hall. Physically, mentally, you were drained. And you weren’t ready for what was to happen tomorrow when his contract news came to light.

It didn’t even feel like you had gotten a podium a few hours ago. The last thing you wanted to do was celebrate. You just wanted to crawl into bed and forget that Daniel had followed you here.

He didn’t stop you as you walked down the hall. He waited for you to look at him, but again, you were past that. What was a second look going to do at this point? You wiped your makeup off as best as you could and slid under the covers of your bed, quickly falling into a dreamless sleep.

And sure enough, the news dropped of his contract, of his new seat, and it wasn’t long before people started comparing it to what you had done the year prior. 

The first thing you saw when you woke up that morning, aside from the glass of water that Daniel had put next to your bed, was the news alert on your phone stating that Daniel was to replace Checo for 2024. 

The second article you read was about you. Speculating how you would feel about Daniel’s permanent return. The article highlighted the moments of your relationship, starting from the day he signed on to be your mentor to the time in the AlphaTauri garage when you were fighting over the qualifying lap he ruined.

And then there was a photo of you climbing into the car from last night, followed by Daniel getting into the car shortly after.

His name was trending. Your name was trending. Half the people online cared about his return to RBR. The other half wanted to know if you two were getting back together.

No one gave a single shit that you made history yesterday, landing that podium. 

You were the first female to score a podium position in Formula 1 and all anyone cared about was your connection to Daniel. Just like when you won the Monaco Grand Prix during F2, all anyone cared about was Daniel’s influence in your racing. When you were signed to McLaren, all anyone cared about was how you were replacing Daniel.

Daniel. Daniel. Daniel.

People didn’t care about your accomplishments. They only wanted to find a way to connect them all to Daniel.

You scrolled through the article and a new one was suggested for you at the bottom of it. Why Y/N Y/L/N Owes Her Career to The Honey Badger.

Instead of reading it, you threw your phone with as much strength as you had down the hall, out of your sight. You heard it hit the floor and slide across the hardwood. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you read something positive about yourself without a hint of Daniel’s influence. 

This wouldn’t have been as hard of a pill to swallow if he was still in your life the way you wanted him to be. If he really was still at your side, supporting you, cheering you on, you could look past the articles and speculations about how he was the only reason you were in the sport. It wouldn’t matter what people were saying if Daniel was in your ear reminding you of your potential, reminding you that you deserved that F1 seat.

But he wasn’t going to do that, not anymore. What you had was gone and you were left with the bitter memories and an unforgiving path you had to walk alone to prove yourself in this field.

You wanted to prove you didn’t need Daniel, but the entire world was making it their mission to remind you that at one point, you did. Maybe you still did, maybe you didn’t know who you were without him because let’s face it, everything you did on the track still revolved around him.

You cared about where he finished. You went out of your way to outscore him and only him. You didn’t do anything to relieve the tension in the paddock. You were very much playing into the narrative that he was still a key player in your life.

How could the world move on if you hadn’t?

Hearing footsteps make their way towards you, you sat up in bed, already knowing it was Daniel who didn’t leave when he should have.

You weren’t concerned about your appearance, he had seen you in a much worse state. He had better mornings as well, still wearing his clothes from last night, the bags under his eyes gave away the fact that he was about as tired as you were.

He had your phone in his hands, but he didn’t spend much time looking at the article on the screen. Instead, he dropped it to the table next to him and leaned against the doorframe, exhaling a heavy breath.

You didn’t move, content with the distance between you now because you had to be. Despite wanting nothing more than to be with him, you couldn’t have that anymore. Everything had to be at a distance.

Your phone chimed. Once, twice, and then about four more times. You knew it was people telling you about Daniel’s contract, not knowing that you had been given the inside scoop last night. 

At one point, you loved being connected to Daniel. Now, it was a burden. It was haunting. Each time someone mentioned him to you, sent you something about him, asked you a question about him, you were reminded that the connection was gone. 

Your lips parted and you had to take a quick, self-assuring breath before finally saying what had to be said.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” 

Your entire body trembled as you spoke, “You know what, Daniel.” 

Of course he did. He was as tired as you were. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this and yet here you were, staring at each other knowing that you were both too far gone to ever find your way back. 

You thought, maybe, possibly, you could work things out. For a brief moment, when you knew he was proud of you, you thought you saw a silver lining amongst the grey skies. And maybe you did, maybe it was there, but it was way beyond your grasp. You couldn’t reach out and grab it, you could only dream of it.

There was one solution. One that broke you, knowing you were stuck with it. You didn’t want to admit it. You wished you could push it down and keep living the way you had but you just couldn’t do it anymore. 

You were tired. This was hopeless. You both needed closure, but he wasn’t going to say anything which meant you had to.

“I’m stuck, Daniel. I’m stuck living in the moments between the day we met and the day I left because those are the moments that meant the most to me and I haven't been ready to let them go. I’ve never wanted to move on but you forced me to. You forced me to become the bad guy, to do this without you, to grow without you, to prove that I don’t need you but I do need you, I’ve always needed you. From day one, I needed you. My first time in the F1 car, I needed you. If I crashed out, I needed you. I always needed you, Daniel, and then after a five minute conversation you decided that I didn’t anymore. You made that decision for me, for us.”

You paused, you took a breath, you weren’t done. Despite being so painfully close to breaking down, you weren’t done.

“And now here I am, finally succeeding, finally making history in this sport, but it doesn’t mean anything because no one cares unless they find a way to connect it to you. I will always be in the shadow of the man I love and for this entire season, I’ve let it happen because it was the only way you’d still be in my life.”

Daniel cleared his throat when he heard that four letter word, standing up a little straighter, “You still love me?”

You glanced down at the duvet wrapped around your hips. It was heavy, suffocating, much like this conversation. “Truthfully, Daniel, I can’t imagine the day I stop.”

Daniel didn’t need to say anything for you to know he no longer felt the same. He had stopped loving you the day you signed the contract with McLaren. He may have been proud of your achievements, he may have appeared to have extended a short olive branch, one that gave you false hope, but he didn’t love you. 

Because it always came back to that one question. How could he love you- how could he be in your corner when you had pushed him out of his own? You may not have been the one to initiate his leave, but you gave him that final shove. 

That was a move you had to live with. 

“I love you,” you repeated, your eyes then trailing towards your phone where that stupid article was still displayed on the screen. “I always will, but I can’t be tied to you anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”

Even though Daniel was the one that had broken up with you all those months ago, this hurt more. Hearing you finally cut ties, knowing you didn’t want to be done but had to be, broke him. There was no salvaging this. 

“I think-” your voice cracked as you spoke, but for the sake of this conversation you did your damn best to hold it together. “I think we need to be done.”

We are done, Daniel wanted to say, but he knew there was more to your words.

Watching your bottom lip quiver made him want to pull you into his arms one last time. He wanted to apologise and hold you close before the tears could fall. 

“No more comments to the media,” you stated firmly. Daniel nodded. 

You were stronger than him, maybe you always were. Daniel could barely get a word out and here you were, laying down what had to happen moving forward.

“No more interactions,” you then said, raising your hand to your arm, a soothing gesture or maybe an anxious one, he couldn’t tell. “No more- no more following me out of clubs for people to see. No more giving anyone a reason to connect us. I don’t want you in my life as anything more than another driver on the grid. You’re not my teammate. You’re not my partner. You’re not in my corner. I don’t want to worry about what you think about me anymore. I don’t want to worry about where you finish and I don’t want you to care about where I’m at. I want you to focus on driving just like I want to focus on driving. That’s it. That’s who we are. We’re drivers, Daniel. That’s all we’ve ever been. Strip back every layer of us and racing remains. That’s how it should be. We’ve-” you sucked in a breath, your words getting caught in your throat for a second. “We’ve always known that, I think. That at the end of it all, we’re drivers first. We were foolish to think we could be anything more.”

You couldn’t have both. You couldn’t be in love while on the grid together.

You were only ever drivers. That’s why you signed the McLaren contract. That’s why Daniel didn’t think twice before replacing Nyck and now Checo. You both put your careers first. It wasn’t selfish, it was in your blood, and you couldn’t hold it against each other anymore. 

And you couldn’t hold onto it either.

As much as you liked to think there would come a day where you would still be in love, both of you on the grid, you accepted now that it would never happen. It was a dream, one you had to let go of. You had to mend the hole in your chest that he created. You couldn’t let him be that missing piece.

You had to respect Daniel as a driver, much like he had to with you. But that was it. No more conversations. No more subtle comments made about each other or to each other. You needed distance. No more missed looks in the paddock, because surely someone with a camera would catch it. No more watching the screen if the other was showcased. No more petty feuds. No more interactions. No more caring.

You had to cut ties with Daniel. It was the only way you could focus on yourself and your career.

Surely, enough time would pass where an article would be written about you that didn’t mention his name and his assistance in getting you to where you were now. But that wouldn’t happen if you were still holding onto him. You had to let go for the rest of the world to.

Daniel pushed himself away from the wall without saying a word. You watched, tense, as he slowly made his way towards you and sat down next to you on the bed. Knees touching like they were in the car ride last night. As you turned your head and stared up at him, you could make out the details in his face that you used to cherish, that you had memorised so early on in your relationship. 

But he had changed. There was a sliver of unfamiliarity in his eyes, a reminder that this wasn’t the Daniel who was in love with you anymore.

You had to look away.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you whispered. You kept your hands folded in your lap, worried that if you unclenched your fingers you would reach out for him. 

Daniel nodded, agreeing with you. He raised his arm up, tucking it over your shoulders and pulling you against his side. You inhaled a sharp breath at the gesture, knowing this would be the last time you’d feel his touch. He rubbed his hand over your arm, neither of you thinking to say anything else, because there really was nothing left to say.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You were supposed to be in love. 

And maybe, in another world, you would be. If you didn’t make the move to F1, you could still be in love. If you settled with F2, if you moved to a different series, he could still support you and you could still be his biggest fan. 

But you were drivers. Career focused, determined, passionate drivers who wanted nothing more than to win. You both craved the honour and prestige of a Formula 1 seat more than anything, more than each other. You’d be lying if you thought otherwise.

You were drivers, so inevitably, it was always going to end like this.

__________________

is this the finale or is there one more chapter for these loveless drivers?

taglist: @torossosebs@whatthefuckerr@jspitwall@oconso@tsarinablogs@landowecanbewc@somanyfandomsbruh@christianpulisic10@storminacloud@sunnytkm23@formula1mount@azxulaa@icarus-nex@spideyspeaches @moonvr @destourtereaux @baw-sixteen @cinderellawithashoe @love4lando @alesainz @blueanfield @itsmeempar @vellicora

for some reason im struggling to add anyone else to the taglist, i deeply apologise. i would recommend turning on post notifs but i know its sometimes annoying, but i rly am struggling with my mentions

[alloftheimagines]

joel miller | survive

masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

words: 4.7k

warnings: 18+! not for minors! please please please read the warnings and skip this one if you're uncomfortable with the subject matter.

episode eight reimagining with the same hard-hitting themes: blood, violence, cannibalism, sexual assault, killing, abduction, vomit. reader takes the place of ellie. angst. hurt/comfort. no happy ending as requested because i wasn't sure that could exist in these circumstances, but there is now a part two where joel takes care of reader and the fic ends on a lighter note.

prompt: Hi! Would love to request something for Joel Miller 🥰 Angst but with a happy ending, after seeing episode 8 I thought maybe reader is with Joel and Ellie, but this time Ellie stays back to keep an eye on Joel so reader gets kidnapped and is the one Joel basically comes back from the dead to save? hahshxdjfbf I just imagine them reuniting and UGH 🥹❤️ Feel free to ignore this if inspiration doesn’t strike!

tags: @sweetbabygirlsworld

You’re terrified of losing Joel. So terrified that instead of watching him shiver and sweat on an old, bloodied mattress as his infection spreads, you opt to go out and hunt. It isn’t solely selfish. You need food, and Ellie needs to rest. At least this way you’re doing something productive rather than waiting for a miracle. 

Still, it’s difficult to concentrate on anything but the knot in your stomach, the one that keeps asking “what if?” What if Joel doesn’t make it? How will you survive past that grief for long enough to keep Ellie safe? How will you go back to Jackson and tell Tommy that his brother is gone?

You’re lost in those thoughts when you hear the crunching of snow, and you try to shake them away, readying Joel’s shotgun as you search for the source. 

A deer. It’s so beautiful that for a second, you forget that it’s supposed to be your next meal. You’d forgotten beauty still existed in a world so broken, forgotten that nature can still be kind. 

But humans can’t. Not if you want to survive; not if you want Joel to survive. 

You take a deep breath. Adjust your posture. Shoot. 

The bullet doesn’t hit where you want it to; where you know you should have been aiming if only you weren’t so distracted. The deer darts away. Whispering a curse, you follow the trail of blood —

And find more than you bargained for. Two men wait with the dying deer at their feet. They look… clean. Comfortable. Not people struggling to find food or clothing. You raise your gun again immediately, and theirs point back at you. 

“Put your guns down,” you order, trying to sound braver than you feel. You did alright before Joel came into your life, but it’s been a while since you’ve been alone and it’s hard to summon the strength that used to come so easy. 

“You first,” the darker-haired man says, narrowing his gaze. 

The fairer man glances warily before slowly lowering his. Good. At least one of them is smart. 

“Not going to happen. On the ground. Kick it away.” You shift on your feet, gripping your gun tightly and readying your finger on the trigger. You don’t enjoy killing people, but you will if you have to. If it means getting back to Joel and Ellie. 

“James,” the unarmed man says, calm authority firm in his voice. The one in charge, then. “Do as she says.” He holds up his hands in surrender as his friend, James, finally puts his gun away. “We mean no trouble. We’d just like to talk.”

“So talk,” you bite out, making no move to lower your own gun. 

“Alright.” His breath is visible in the cool air, nose pink and runny. “My name is David. This is James. We’re from a town just south of here.”

“Good for you. Maybe you should go back now.”

An amused smirk twitches at his mouth. “Thing is, we have a lot of mouths to feed down there, and this deer… it would keep us going for a week. Maybe two.”

“Shame it isn’t yours,” you say.

A short sigh escapes him. “Right. It is a shame. But if I could offer you warm shelter and good food, a welcoming community, why couldn’t we share?” 

You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not interested in negotiating.”

“With all due respect, ma’am… as far as I can tell, you’re all alone in these woods. There’s no reason why you have to be.”

It’s clear the other man, James, isn’t in on David’s kind offer. His mouth is pursed in a thin line, jaw grinding as though he’s holding back from saying something. Welcoming community, my ass. 

Still, an idea strikes. You need something else more than you need the deer, and if this town has supplies… “You have medicine in this town of yours?”

David hesitates before dipping his head. “We do.”

“Antibiotics?”

“Yes…”

Hope swells in you for the first time since Joel was injured. 

“If you put the gun down, we’d be much more open to discussing what it is you need,” he continues. “Please?”

Gulping, you slowly lower your gun — but you keep it in your hand just in case, stomach still filled with unease. Not every settlement will be like Jackson, and there’s something… off about these two. 

“If you get me that medicine, you can have the deer.”

“We can do you one better. We have a nurse down in the village who can help you with your injury. If you just come with us…”

“No,” you say. “You’ll bring the medicine here, to me.”

Another strange smile. “You’ll be much more likely to survive the winter if you let us help you.”

Impatient, you raise your gun again. “Bring it or stop wasting my damn time.”

David lifts his hands again. “Okay. Alright. James, go and fetch what the lady needs.” 

“David—” James begins to protest, but is quickly cut off. 

“Go on now.” 

Reluctantly, he does, and then it’s just the two of you. 

“I know a place you can get warm,” he offers. “It’s just through the trees. An old greenhouse. No need to wait out here in the cold.”

It makes your gut twist, how he seems to be determined to get you moving, to take you out of these woods. And there’s a glint in his eye, something untrustworthy there — even his right-hand man seemed to see it. Nobody follows orders like that with pure reasons. He’s… scared, or at least threatened. 

“I’m fine just here.”

“Okay. What’s your name?”

“I’m the one holding a gun, which means I’ll be the one asking questions. How many people are there in this town of yours?”

“Forty. Like I said, there’s room for one more. Perhaps it was God’s will, us meeting today.”

Oh, good, you think. He’s a God botherer. You didn’t particularly subscribe to religion before the world turned to shit, and you sure as hell have better things to do than pray now. 

“Unless you’re not alone.” His voice seems to lower as though he knows something, and you stiffen instinctively. “Is the injury yours?”

“It’s none of your business.”

He no longer seems to be staring down the barrel of your gun, but right into you. “Because a few of our men had some trouble a few days ago. A man, a woman, and a young girl. Man was thought to be badly injured, you see. If he lived… well, I’d imagine that kinda wound would be susceptible to a nasty infection.”

He knows. He always knew. The raiders you crossed paths with, the ones who hurt Joel… 

You no longer feel like the one holding the gun. You feel like the deer bleeding on the snow between you. Prey. Still, you set your chin. “I don’t know what you mean. I travel alone.”

“See, I believe you, but the thing is… my friend, James… he’s not so certain. I’d imagine that once he comes back with that medicine, he’ll be rounding up a few men to go hunting for these people. If what you’re saying is true, I wouldn’t want you to be caught in the middle of that. That’s why it’s much safer you just come with me now, see?” 

Your upper lip curls into a warning snarl, finger twitching on the gun’s trigger. But if you kill him, you won’t get Joel’s medicine. You’ll lose him. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” 

“Hmm.” He debates this. “There’s a third option.”

“Not interested.”

“I think you are,” he pushes. “I think you’re one of them, and I think you’re trying to help your man. Very noble, but strange. You don’t seem a good match. You’re so… young, so calm, and from what I hear, he’s dangerous. Ruthless, even. A cold-blooded killer. Maybe if you come into town with me now, we can arrange for that medicine to be delivered without my brigade charging in and doing some damage. There’s a place for you. Your daughter, too. You don’t need to be tied to him anymore.”

You want to scoff, or else laugh in his face. Does he believe you’re that simple, that stupid? Does he believe you’re a fucking damsel in need of saving?

Anger simmers in you at the thought. “I think it’s about time you shut up.” You point the barrel at his head now, right between his brows.

He doesn’t balk, doesn’t tremble, doesn’t so much as blink, and you’re beginning to understand. He’s the type of man who uses religion to veil whatever monster lies beneath. He isn’t some small-town do-gooder, though he might believe it. 

You dread to think what he might be capable of. 

“I think it’s about time you drop your weapon.” The voice doesn’t belong to David. It comes from behind along with the feeling of cold metal against the back of your skull. You risk a glance over your shoulder to see the man from before, James. You should have heard him creep up, should have seen, but you were so focused on the one in front of you.

Your heart thunders as you realise you might not get out of it this time. 

“We only want you to come with us,” David says, eyes round with feigned innocence. “That’s all. We don’t want to hurt you.”

“The gun to my head says otherwise. What would God say about this?” you retort, dripping venom because it’s all you have left. 

A strange sadness crosses David’s face. “It didn’t have to be this way.”

Before you can pull the trigger, something heavy slams into your skull, and then darkness swallows you whole. 

***

You wake in a cage, the taste of blood on your tongue and your wrists bound by rope. David is on the other side of the bars in what looks to be a kitchen, utensils hanging on the wall. Great butchers’ knives and cleavers wink at you in the watery daylight. You go cold with fear, crawling to the furthest corner of the cage. 

“Let me go,” you say. “Let me go!” 

“I’m sorry. It’s for your own good,” he says. “You were corrupted, but I can help you see the light again.”

“Why are you doing this?” You’re choking on a sob, thoughts of Joel and Ellie running through your mind. What if they found them? Joel is in and out of consciousness and Ellie can’t fight on her own. 

David curls his fingers around the bars. “It’s God’s will. I was meant to meet you today. This is where you’re supposed to be.”

“In a fucking cage?” you spit, voice echoing around the kitchen. You pull at the rope until your skin splits, crying out when you realise this is it. There’s no way out. You’re trapped, and you have no idea what this man truly wants with you. 

“This is merely a precaution,” he says. “I was wrong about you before. You are dangerous too. You have a dark heart, just like me. If you would just surrender, you could be part of this community.”

You squeeze your eyes closed, clamping down on a plea. You doubt it will do any good. Still, tears roll down your cheeks. “Fuck you,” you whisper. 

“You don’t understand yet. You will.” David takes a step back, and somehow the prospect of him leaving you here causes your stomach to turn to water. 

“Don’t do this,” you say. But he walks away with a glint in his eye that promises he will be back, and you’re left alone. 

Dizziness rattles through you as you pull yourself onto your feet, testing the sturdiness of the bars in hopes you’ll find a weak spot. But it’s padlocked closed and the screws are in tightly —

Something catches your eye, pale and fleshy on the kitchen tiles. 

An ear. 

In the kitchen. 

You vomit without warning as it all comes together. You wonder if the community even knows that their leader feeds them people. Wonder who was last in this cage and how long it took for them to become a meal. 

You scramble against the ropes again and pray — not to whatever fucked up God David worships, but someone — that you find a way out. 

***

“Joel!” Ellie shakes him frantically and finally he comes to. Sweat glistens on his forehead, his face drawn and pale, but he finally ate something earlier and she’s been keeping him hydrated as he drifts in and out of sleep.

Now, he frowns and hums in question.

“Y/N isn’t back. She didn’t come back, and now people are here.”

The sound of shuffling outside is only growing louder, and she keeps her voice to a whisper as fear grips her. It’s not like you to go more than two hours without checking in, even if you haven’t caught anything for dinner yet. That four hours have passed means something is wrong, and Ellie doesn’t know what to do, how to find you. She needs Joel. She needs you. 

“What?” Joel struggles to sit up, the mattress groaning under his weight as he clutches his injured stomach. But he’s alert, awake, and that’s better than he’s been in days. 

“She isn’t back,” Ellie says again, voice trembling now. “Someone’s here, Joel. They know about us.” 

Understanding clears through the fog in his eyes slowly, and he looks up as he hears the floorboards creak above. “Shit,” he curses, dragging himself slowly to his knees. Ellie watches, pulling out her own gun. “Hide somewhere. Let me deal with it.”

He’s in no fit state to deal with anything, but when Ellie protests, he shushes her and orders her to do as he says, so she does. And as he readies himself for a fight he can’t win, panic rushes through him. You’re not back. Somebody is here. 

He’s failed again, or at least is about to, and this time it’s you he’s afraid to lose. 

He summons that anger when the silhouette slowly stalks down the stairs. Summons it a lot more when he’s throwing an arm around the idiot’s neck to squeeze the life out of him. 

***

Joel has forgotten his injury. He’s forgotten anything but you; the thought of you alone, in danger, afraid. His fingers curl into fists at his side, and when the attacker finally rouses, he orders Ellie to leave the room. He doesn’t want her to see what comes next; who he becomes when he’s trying to protect the people he loves. 

Nausea twists through him, but it mingles with anticipation. Some sick excitement. He’s good at being violent. Better at being vengeful. 

“Where is she?” he asks, voice just steady enough to be assertive. 

The attacker mumbles something, and Joel’s patience quickly dwindles. 

“Who are you?” he asks, louder now. 

The attacker shakes his head. Doesn’t want to play. 

Joel brandishes his knife. 

The attacker’s eyes widen in fear as he presses the point into his finger, ignoring the throbbing in his stomach. “You want to do this the hard way?”

“I'm not telling you anything.”

Joel tilts his head and clenches his jaw. Then in one swift motion, he’s gripping the arms of the chair the attacker is tied to, quivering with anger as he towers over him. “Last chance.”

The attacker purses his lips, and Joel steps back, watching him sink in relief — relishing in that false sense of security. Then he throws the first punch, the impact of fist to jaw singing through his bones. He shakes out his hand, punches again. Blood splatters, but he goes again twice more just for good measure, growing weaker with every blow. He stops when he realises that, knowing he needs to conserve his energy to get to you. 

“Where the fuck is she?” he bellows.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” 

He plunges the knife into the attackers knee, the sound of bone crunching and flesh squelching as blood dribbles down his jeans and the attacker cries out. That’s when he begins to beg. That’s when Joel knows he’ll tell him anything. 

“Alright!” he’s whimpering. “Alright, please!” 

“Tell me where she is or I swear to god, I’ll pop you’re fucking kneecap off.” Joel drives the blade deeper, thirsty now. Desperate. He can’t do this without you. He needs you safe. If he finds out you’re hurt…

“With David!” he blubbers. “She’s with David in town!” 

“What tooooown?” (oh, you thought I wouldn’t?)

“Silver Lake!” 

“Who the fuck is David and what does he want with her?” 

“He…” the man chokes on his own sobs again, and Joel tugs on the knife, earning a piercing scream. “I don’t know what he wants, okay? He’s the leader! He… he took to her, I don’t know!” 

A chill crawls down Joel’s spine and his vision blurs as he pauses. His blood-drenched fingers tremble, and he doesn’t know how to make them stop. “What do you mean, he took to her?” 

The man spits out blood. “He likes her. Wants her to join him. I don’t know, man. I don’t know. I told you everything.” 

Joel wants to tear him apart then and there, but he pulls out his map, yanking the knife from the man’s knee to put the hilt in his mouth. The attacker howls, tears streaking down his cheeks. Joel wants to tell him he’ll do a lot fucking worse if he finds you harmed. He wants to say a lot of things, but cotton fills his mouth and he needs to find you. He needs to stop wasting time. “Point it out to me.”

“It’s not a real town. It’s just a fucking community. I don’t know.”

Joel grips the man’s collar, and his voice falls deathly low. “Point it out to me or I’ll make sure your other knee matches.”

It’s enough motivation for the attacker to pinpoint a spot. His blood stains the map, highlighting a small valley between the forest and mountains. 

Joel puts the map in his back pocket and slits the man’s throat before he can beg for his life. He’s not feeling merciful today. 

***

David comes back for you an hour later. “Have you reconsidered?” 

You only glare at him, your wrists bloody and your eyes gritty from so many shed tears. To your surprise, he unlocks the cage. Despite your better instinct, you stay seated, stay calm. You won’t get out of this if you try to run now. He has the upper hand, and you’ll let him have it, hoping his arrogance, his underestimation of you, will be his downfall. 

“You must be hungry,” he says. “Come. Let me show you what I can offer.”

Shakily, you rise from the ground. “Will you at least untie me?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He leads you out of your kitchen. When he’s not looking, you lean your back to the table and snatch an abandoned knife, slipping it up your sleeve. 

The front of the building is laid out like an old, cheap restaurant and bar, candles burning and booths lining the windows. 

“I’m glad you’ve calmed down,” he says. “Now we’ll get a chance to know each other properly.”

Slowly, you begin to saw at the rope with the knife as he leads you to a booth. Two plates are set at the table, a candle lit in the middle, and you think about the ear on the floor. Wonder if the meat in the stew is not animal, not your deer. You want to throw up again, but you swallow down the bile in favour of relief: the rope has snapped. You keep your hands behind your back as you shuffle in your seat, trying to avoid looking at the meal. The smell of it makes your stomach turn. 

“What do you want from me?” you ask finally. 

David places a napkin on his lap. “I’m showing you hospitality. Hospitality you haven’t earned, might I add. Where is your gratitude?”

“Where the fuck is my medicine?”

Without warning, he stands and slaps you, and you can’t control your anger as the sting prickles along your cheekbone. You throw your plate at him, the food splattering his face and staining his shirt, and then you run. 

A mistake. He hauls you back quickly, and the two of you topple to the floor as he slams your wrist down, forcing the knife away. He pins your hands and then straddles you, and you know what comes next. You know, and you shouldn’t, and this isn’t happening. 

“You need to be taught some manners,” he croons, taking your chin in his hands. “A girl like you… you need to learn how to submit. Especially when we’re married. But don’t worry.” He leans down as you squirm, whispering into your ear, “We have time for that.”

“No!” You shout, slapping him away and doing your best to wriggle away. But he’s heavy on top of you, and he’s reaching for his belt, and there’s no way out. No hope. Nothing. “Get the fuck off me, you sick bastard!” 

He slaps you again, lash twice as hard this time, and you taste blood. 

You refuse to let it end like this. You refuse to let him destroy you. You let your body go slack as he unbuckles his belt, reaching out a hand and scrambling for the knife again. It’s under a chair not far from you — you just have to wriggle a little further. 

“It’s sad that you can’t accept that this is how it’s supposed to be. This is God’s will. You and me… we’re the same, underneath. We have the same violent heart,” David is muttering, and there, your fingertips brush the hilt. Determination renewed, you extend yourself again and this time the knife falls into your hand. 

You don’t have time to think; he’s unbuttoning his jeans, and like hell are you going to spend another moment beneath him. You drive the knife straight into his neck, and his eyes bulge as he gurgles on his own blood. As he goes limp, you push him off you — and stab again, again, again, spitting every bit of revenge into your movements as his blood covers his skin and your clothes. 

“You twisted fucker!” you’re yelling, tears rolling down your face as the shock draws in, the disgust. He’d been so close to taking you. So close to making you a victim after so long spent fighting to be a survivor. “Go to fucking hell!” 

You only stop when the fear numbs and you realise he’s no longer moving. Blood soaks both his shirt and yours, and you push yourself off him. His dead, milky eyes stare at you. When you catch a candle guttering in your periphery, you grab it. Crouch with it in your hand. Light him on fire. The flames spread along his clothes, and that’s how you leave him. 

Ashes. Bloodied, dead ashes. 

***

Joel and Ellie have fought their way through a blizzard. He’s surprised he’s still upright, but he saw bodies hanging in the stable and he can’t collapse now. Not for Ellie, and not for you. This community is built on something worse than infected or fascism, and when he found your jacket, your backpack, in that same room as the corpses… 

He can’t see anything but red and white. 

Ellie stops behind him suddenly. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” He catches his breath, looking around. There’s a long building close by, but he hasn’t seen any movement yet. 

A scream rents through the air, and he knows it’s you. His heart picks up, stomach plummeting as he runs around to find the entrance. And there you are, collapsing out of the doorway. 

He says your name as he catches your wrist, and you instantly cower away, screaming. “Please, no! Please, don’t!” 

He’s never heard you beg for anything before, and his world tilts on its axis. What the fuck have they done to you?

“Baby, it’s me!” He draws you close, cupping your jaw with his palms. Your eyes are haunted, face pale, and there’s blood. So much blood. You’re still fighting him, pushing on his chest, and he stumbles back. “It’s me. Look at me. It’s me, darlin’. It’s Joel!”

Your breaths are ragged as realisation finally dawns across your features. “Joel,” you whisper. 

“It’s me,” he says again, eyes filling with tears.

Your gaze moves to Ellie, and only then do you crumple. He catches you just before you fall to your knees, straining against his injury. “Oh, baby. Oh, baby girl,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m here now. I’m here now. You’re okay.”

Sobs wrack through you and he wraps his arms around you, holding on so tight he worries he might hurt you. But you clutch his shoulders just as hard, fingernails digging through his coat. You shake beneath him, and his own tears drip onto his cheeks. He pulls away quickly to look you up and down. Blood streaks through your hair.

“Where are you hurt, baby? Tell me where it hurts.”

You shake your head. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know, Joel. I don’t…”

It’s like you’re not even here with him, and he wants to break. But he has to stay upright for you. He has to be strong for you. He shrugs his coat off quickly and puts it around you, catching sight of your reddened wrists as you adjust the collar. Those bastards tied you up. Hatred drowns him, and he looks at the building you emerged from only to find orange flames flickering in the window. It must have been you, he knows, and he can at least feel proud of you for that, but still, the thought of what they might have done...

“Alright. Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He pulls you to his chest, offering his other hand out for Elllie. She takes it, looking shaky as she carries both her bag and yours. 

“They were… They were eating people, Joel,” you say, voice thick and unrecognisable. “I just wanted to get medicine, and they took me. They took me. They were eating people and he was going to… He wanted…” 

“I know,” he murmurs, holding you tighter. “I know.”

You stop without warning. “They said they had medicine. You… We have to go back.”

“No, no, hey.” He laces his fingers through yours. “We ain’t going back there for anything.”

“The infection—” you protest.

“Look at me. I’m here. I’m okay. I just needed to rest is all. We don’t need any medicine now. We just need to get you somewhere safe.” His heart pangs. The fact you’ve been through hell and are still willing to go back to help him… sometimes he wishes you weren’t so damn selfless. He should have been the one protecting you today. It’s his fault you’re here. His fault you’re hurt. 

You scrape your hair back and then, looking at your shaky fingers, seem to finally see all the blood. “His blood is in my hair.”

He can at least be relieved it isn’t your own, but the look on your face… he’s never seen so many scars written in one expression. 

“I need to get it out. I need…”

“We’re gonna. We’re gonna help you clean up soon, okay?” He tucks your hair away, lost, because he doesn’t know how to do anything else. Doesn’t know how to make it all go away. “I’m so sorry, baby.” His voice cracks.

Your chest heaves with a stifled sob as you rub your hands and look out towards the lake. “Oh, god.”

Joel closes his eyes, wrought with regret. At his side, Ellie turns her gaze to the floor. It’s his worst fear come true. The reason he’d tried to get Tommy on board with taking Ellie the rest of the way. 

He’d failed again. Was always failing. 

All he can do is hold you close as you fall apart.

[vasiktomis]

Overqualified (Choso x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: A series of vignettes over the course of which you decide you're actually pretty cool with the idea of giving Choso head.

Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~7300. Tags/Warnings: Female Pronouns and Anatomy for Reader, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Time Blow Jobs, Social Anxiety, Vomiting (not part of the sex stuff I swear but icks are icks), Angst, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Mentions of Non-Con but No Descriptions. Canon-variant, nobody’s dead, everyone’s fine etc etc. Read it on Ao3 Here!

“You’re kidding, right?”

You’re all too familiar with how curses wear their expressions when they become powerful enough to learn to make them. 

In your line of work — at the level you’ve risen to — you’re often stuck with the ones that take human form. The ones that learn to mimic sounds and words and mannerisms. You’ve watched time and time again, the intelligence that forms in First and Special-grades that allows them to appear so convincingly human in such a short period of time. You learned the hard way early in your career, what it’s like to fall for the act and take pity on a curse. You’ve lost kind people to the trap of sentiment. 

You became wise to it; despite all that intelligence that came with such a degree of power, curses bore an unquenchable drive to harm humans.

You learned to see through the pleading. The crying. High-level curses learning to comprehend terror changes nothing. When you despatch them, it changes nothing. No matter how they beg for mercy, the instinct to kill you never ceases. 

It’s in their eyes, you learn.

It’s in his eyes, when the remaining students and teachers at Shibuya bring him home to Jujutsu High. A Death Painting Womb. A half-curse. You don’t need to hear the human half of it. Your mind’s made up the moment they put you in the same room as him, ordered in spite of all your protests not to kill him where he stands. He won’t harm the Itadori kid, you’re assured. The kid is safe with him. 

Choso.

You can’t even believe he’s got a name.

He sticks to the boy’s side, insisting their blood-relation while he glances about his environment with baby-fresh eyes. He’s a curse in the way he takes in information. Everything is new. Every emotion he feels borders on fresh.

Brow knitted. Jaw set. The dozens of little muscles around his mouth tighten. His eyes don’t blink for their minutes of fixation. Not until his attention is called away and Itadori leaves the room, beckoning him to follow. 

It’s in his eyes. You won’t be fooled.

He watches you like he wants to kill you.

_________________________________

Your orders keep you from destroying Choso. They force you to co-exist with your guard consistently up, and as the weeks draw on, your exhaustion builds. You manage to steer clear of him for a good month before Tsukumo weighs in with a surprisingly high opinion of him. Drinking buddies? Fuck off. That’s your job. You’re not going to be muscled out of your place at her side.

You’re confident in her opinion, of course. But it doesn’t change yours. Weakened resolve be damned — there’s no way you’re letting yourself be in the same room as him again.

…

Still, you suppose it couldn’t hurt humouring her suggestions for you to tolerate him. It’s not like you need to do much more than that. If somehow you turn out to be wrong and she starts buying free rounds for a curse instead of you, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. 

It’s a rainy day lunchtime when you force yourself to approach the man, holding your lunch tray over your torso in the event he makes a jab for your internal organs as you join the line. 

He glances at you once. Twice. Aborting a too-late attempt to reach for a rice bowl when you snatch one from the warmer and take a step forward to force him along.

Fear. Good. He’s learned fear. 

Your tongue readies in your mouth. Your throat runs dry. 

“Shitty weather.” You manage.

His head whips around. Eyes bug out of his skull as he turns to regard you. There’s that clench in his jaw again. 

Choso does not respond. His posture changes, dipping down. Momentarily, you ready yourself for an attack, flinching to keep yourself from countering when he makes a sudden lurch for as many items he can reach. Shoving them onto his tray. Half a cup of steaming miso soup spills into his sleeve as he reels back and around you, storming out of the line without a word. 

You eat your lunch at the window. Watching as he eats his on a step in the pouring rain, glaring into the middle-distance. 

He must know you’re onto him.

_________________________________

The weeks drag on. Somehow, it feels simultaneously like your every move on campus grounds is watched by the half-curse while your every attempt to observe him close up is met with a hurried getaway. 

By social means, Choso develops quickly. He still spends most of his time by Itadori’s side, but he begins to branch out. Much to your chagrin, the staff warm to him, too.

It isn’t long until they have the kid hooked up to you, much like Nanami’s old role before his run-in with the disaster curses knocked enough sense into him to go part-time. It pissed you off the first you hear about it; it had to be Choso’s doing. He must have known that you’d had it out for him and he was going to try his luck separating you from your peers after gaining Itadori’s trust.

You knew it. He was plotting to kill you.

Then, you find out that it was Itadori who’d requested you as a mentor, and the wind gets knocked out of your sails pretty fast. 

It starts with a “Teacher!” Bellowed across the walkway. You’re hunched over, sipping from a faulty water fountain that the students seem to find great entertainment shoving twigs into to mess with the pressure. You know the kid’s voice well enough that embarrassment creeps up the back of your neck. 

You straighten out, wiping your mouth on your sleeve, angling to look a little less lame after being caught at the mercy of a shitty fountain. “Itadori.” You greet the approaching boy. The only acknowledgement you offer his company is in your periphery. Were it not so rude, you’d close one eye so that you only have to look at the kid while you regard them. “Looks like you’re my new protege.”

There’s a pause.

Itadori looks between you and Choso, waiting for the two of you to exchange your own greetings. 

It doesn’t happen.

More and more, Choso watches you with those unblinking eyes. Your focus is drawn. Minutely, you realise, he’s trembling. 

“You — you know! It occurred to me that you haven’t properly met my half-brother.” Itadori ventures to break the ice. “Figured it would be nice for you two to know one another if we’re going to be learning from you.”

We’re.

You’re not a two-for-one deal. You never agreed to help train a curse. 

“You don’t say.” You mutter, finally meeting Choso’s eye. Alright, then. Just because you like the kid, you’ll humour him. “Hey.”

There’s no answer. Not right away. Not until there’s an elbow nudging at Choso’s ribs. His adam’s apple bobs in a visible gulp. 

“H-“

That’s all he manages before a mouthful of bile sprays out of his mouth. He has good reaction time, you’ll give him that. But it doesn’t help his cause. It just spills between his fingers as he tries to cover his face. You’d liken it to placing one’s thumb over a garden hose.

Itadori, meanwhile, springs into a panicked attempt to get between the two of you, shielding Choso from view with his body. “Haha! Okay! Great, so we’ll be seeing you!” He exclaims, alternating between leading his doubled-over brother back the way they came and waving at you. 

Once again, you watch. Once again, perplexed. 

“That was good, but it could have gone better. Next time, don’t throw up, okay?”

Anxiety vomiting.

Huh.

You’ll admit — this is a first. 

_________________________________

Okay, maybe he’s not so bad.

Sure, he can hardly formulate a sentence around you, but at least the lack of interjection makes it easier to focus on Itadori’s development. Is Choso’s presence a constant irritation? Absolutely, but not unlike his little brother, you grow accustomed to his presence. That’s not to say that you’d ever grow to care for him to the same extent you do Itadori. In fact, the only reason you keep your trap shut about having him along for the ride is for the kid’s sake. 

One thing that does start to irk you, however — even moreso than being stuck with a half-fucking-curse in your downtime, is how quickly Choso develops an opinion on your teaching style.

Rather, how critical he becomes of it. 

First, there’s a huff. A sharp exhale out his nose marking disdain when you call Itadori back to rest. It builds from there. Pointed looks. Scoffs. A subtle rolling of his eyes when you snap at the kid to watch his blind spots over the passing weeks.

You’re sure you might end up killing him unprompted at this rate. 

“You ought to praise him more.” Is the first full sentence he manages to get through when you’re alone with him. Itadori has left the two of you alone in a booth at CoCo Curry to excuse himself to the bathroom, and Choso jumps at the opportunity to level his criticism at you.

It’s a miracle he’s even speaking to you at all, you think at first.

Then, once you’ve registered what he’s said, you think it’s a miracle you managed to refrain from bringing your spoon down through his hand.

“Excuse me?” You seethe. “For your information, he does this every time. He always picks extra hot. He always empties the shaker when it gets brought out. He’s always shocked when he has to run off and shit himself before he’s halfway done.”

“I know that. His courage is unmatched.” Choso bites back, twisting in his seat to face you. “That’s not what I’m talking about. You’re too harsh on him in training.”

Where is all this bravery coming from all of a sudden? Is this really how protective he gets around the kid?

How misplaced. How sentimental. If you weren’t a sorcerer you might be moved by what comes off as brotherly affection.

You won’t  fall for it. 

A snarl curls at your lip. “Where do you get off, talking to me? You wanna give me life advice next? Wanna apply for my job? How many months have you been living outside a test tube, huh?”

“I’m only talking to you because I’m looking out for him.” He glares.

“Yeah, you and me both.” You dismiss him. “Look. I’ve got big shoes to fill. Itadori’s last mentor was hard on him. He’s closer to that guy than I could ever hope to be, but at least I know he listens to me when I boss him around. I’d rather the kid be covering his bases and coming home to me alive, than letting too much praise to go his head and getting him killed."

Choso doesn’t reply for a moment. His gaze remains hard, bottom jaw jutting out like a petulant kid. After a moment, he breaks away, redirecting his glare down at his emptied bowl. 

“He respects you a lot. He looks up to you.” The man mumbles, crossing his arms and sinking down in the booth. “Please praise him.”

The two of you sit in stubborn silence for the better part of half an hour, until your student returns from the bathroom with an exhilarated huff. You can practically see the stink lines radiating off him.

“Whew!” The kid exclaims, throwing himself down beside Choso. “Aw man, my food’s probably cold.”

Yeah, whose fault is that. 

“Hey. Itadori.” You grumble, earning the kid’s attention.

“Hm?” He perks up, mouth full. 

“You did well today.”

You’ve turned your attention to the menu, scouring a drinks menu you’re far too full to even consider ordering.

In your periphery, Choso sits up a little.

_________________________________

You don’t make a secret of where you live. In the Jujutsu world, generally speaking (with Tsukumo being an enigmatic exception), the more secretive one tries to be about their lifestyle, the more curious it makes everyone else. You watched Nanami learn this the hard way after his return to the job and the sheer effort he put in for a while there to ensure no one knew how to contact him outside of work hours.

Of course, everyone wound up with his landline number and personal address whether any of you visit him of not. 

It helps, having everyone generally know where they stand with you, anyway. ‘Emergencies only’ tends to be your rule. Approachable on campus and on the street, but home time is home time. Only show up if you’re in need of help. Or if you’re bringing free stuff.

So imagine your surprise when you open your front door and find Choso of all people, not at eye-level, but on his knees at your feet, forehead stamped to the doormat.

“What the fu-“

“Forgive me.” The man’s voice wobbles. He doesn’t move from the bow. You take the opportunity to look right. Left. Right again. Scanning for Itadori to come bounding over to escort him away from you once more.

Today, Choso is alone, but the thought of being attacked by him has dimmed to embers by now. You’ll chide yourself for it later, you think. 

Right now, you’re more concerned with not drawing too much attention from the neighbours. 

“Woah. Hey.” You crouch down. Choso flinches at your fingertips brushing his shoulder blade, but he doesn’t withdraw. Once again, he just starts trembling. 

Man, he really is the sensitive sort.

He better not throw up again. Not while you’re close enough to be in the firing line. 

“Forgive me.” Choso repeats. “I’ve been rude to you. I’ll try harder from now on. Let me redeem myself.”

“Okay! Okay, you’re forgiven, you’re redeemed. Now would you get up? I wipe my feet on that mat.” You hiss, tugging at his sleeve. This time, he gets the hint, getting to his feet and regarding you with an expression resembling hopeful and a patch of grit on his forehead. 

In spite of all the confusion, you’ll admit, he’s cute. In a — born sexy yesterday  kind of way.

In spite of yourself, you tug at his sleeve, taking the opportunity to rub the crap off his head. “Come inside before people get the wrong idea. You want a drink?”

“No, I’d throw up again.”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your candor…—“ You trail, gesturing for him to take a seat on your couch. He does as instructed, scanning your apartment from left to right, committing it to memory. “Do I freak you out that much?”

Choso doesn’t mince his words. He isn’t learned enough quite yet to beat around the bush. Maybe he might not be the type, regardless. “Yes.” He nods, avoiding your gaze in favour of staring at your reflection on the TV screen. “You have every right to feel uncomfortable around me, but I want your permission to be honest.”

Frowning, you incline your head in acknowledgement. 

It’s almost like it’s the answer he didn’t want. All of a sudden, he’s not even capable of looking at your reflection. He seats himself on your couch and rubs his thumb into his palm. Holding his own hand. “I have awful feelings toward you.”

Something pricks at the base of your skull. Your eyebrows shoot up. Is this finally it? Is this your moment of vindication? Is he finally going to admit he wants to kill you?

“How awful are we talking?” You prod.

”Terrible.”

Your gaze flits around the living room for something to imbue, just in the event that he does pounce. “Uhhh, go on. I’m listening.”

“Looking at you makes me queasy.”

You abort an attempt to reach for your shark-grabber, reconsidering its promotion from TV remote reaching. “Harsh.”

“Were it not for the possibility of disappointing Yuji, I don’t know how else I’d be capable of controlling it. If I hurt you, he’d never speak to me again.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re trying to put a lid on it—“

“You’ve been putting in a lot of effort to tolerate me just so you can help make sure Yuji is okay, and I haven’t given you the same kindness. You’re good to him. It intimidates me.”

Okay, this is taking a weird turn-

“—I just can’t stop thinking about you.”

…

Heat creeps up your neck and into your ears.

“Oh.” You breathe, chest tightening as the realisation dawns on you. 

Ohh, you get it now. Despite the deviation, Choso looks guilty enough that he may as well have admitted to wanting to kill you after all. 

You swallow your pride, sitting down beside him on the couch. “You have a crush on me.”

His brow furrows. There’s that stare again. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure how to handle it. I don’t know what I should do.”

This whole time, it wasn’t aggression he’s been dealing with.

It was attraction.

“It’s okay.” You assure him for once, orbiting a fine line between emotional whiplash, awkwardness, and flattered sort of accomplishment. “You don’t need to do anything. People get crushes, it’s normal.”

People. It’s a person thing. There’s nothing cursed to it. Guilt pools in your gut. Just how nasty have you been toward the guy? Of course you’ve been freaking him out; he’s been catching up with the world this whole time and all you’ve done is make things harder on him.

And he still holds you in high enough regard to seek guidance from you, despite how embarrassing this must be?

“So what do I do?”

It’s not like there’s much of a choice. It’s not like you’ve really analysed your own feelings toward this man beyond bare tolerance at best — but you owe it to him to be sensible. You owe it to him to be a little more merciful than you would, even to a full-blooded human. Were he another sorcerer, you’d probably tell him to fuck off. Stop wasting your time. But he’s trusting you with a first that’s been torturing him.

He’s handsome, sure — but you don’t even know if you’re capable of trusting him not to end your life despite all he’s said. A single conversation can’t undo everything you’ve learned to feel.

“Well, if you wanna spare us both the discomfort, you could try asking another dude about how to handle it.” You suggest, casually as you can muster. “Not your teenage brother. Find an adult.”

Choso nods. You sense his tongue shifting behind his teeth. Considering asking why not you? But he seems to realise the implications by sheer instinct. The kind of conversation he needs to have can’t be with you. Not without altering your relationship before it can even find its feet. 

“Yeah.” He agrees, not quite able to hold eye contact with you for more than a few seconds at a time. “I’ll do my best.”

You’re getting sick of this. You’ve never heard such sincerity in your life. 

Oh, fine. 

You offer him a smile. Another first.

You’d fuck him.

_________________________________

You could never get sick of this.

“Saved you a spot.” Choso’s platforms lift off the seat beside him before you have a chance to notice the half-dozen empty alternatives. You do, however, become painfully aware that you’d been on your way to sit beside him anyway. There are plenty of alternatives. Years-long professional and personal relationships scattered all around the room, but your recent months with this one in particular have made him a begrudging favourite.

“Yeah, yeah.” You grumble, slumping down with a huff.

He’s been ten times easier to handle since your little deep-and-meaningful. As much as you hate to admit it, he’s actually been kind of a cool guy to hang around. 

As much as you hate to admit it, you can’t help but indulge in the idea that it’s probably all the jerking off he’s likely been doing. Nevertheless, as far as your increasing curiosity imagines, he hasn’t broached the topic with you since. 

“Bring my Kagome?” Choso asks, prompting you to hand him your bag to search through.

“Didn’t miss anything, did I?” You ask.

“Competition’s started, but no one’s made contact yet.” Utahime answers from up front, not bothering to break away from the screens showcasing the exchange event’s progress.

Beside her, Gojo sinks further into his seat. His head lolls against the arm rest. “It’s so boring in here with you lot. Hey, Utahime, why don’t you embarrass yourself for everyone’s entertainment?“

The ensuing squabbling is quickly dulled to you as Choso hands your bag back, stabbing a straw into the juicebox he’s withdrawn. Both of you watch the screens, looking for your protege in particular. 

“Yuji’s trying to group up with the other Tokyo kids.” Choso mentions, fingers brushing yours without flinching when you hand the box back after he offers.

“He knows he doesn’t have to do that, right?”

”Depends on how bored he gets on his own.”

Your comment causes Gojo’s head to dip back, angling his attention at you. His mouth opens, but no sound escapes him. 

His attention shifts to the side of you. 

“Hey, why does he get a juice?”

“Pipe down and watch the competition!” Utahime barks at him. Curiosity draws her attention up and back to you, however, gaze dropping to the drink in Choso’s hand. “Hey — is that berry salad?”

“Berry salad!” Gojo whines. “C’mon, share.”

You watch in your periphery as Choso leans forward, and the two up front stretch out an arm each. Gojo’s spindly limbs have poor Utahime beat, but Choso carries the prize just barely out of the man’s reach.

He holds it out to you instead.

You don't even mind that half the sip is backwash. It's nice being the favourite of your favourite.

One of these days you really ought to blow him.

_________________________________

The doorbell rings.

Habit has conditioned you to expect Choso at your door. When you open it, however, you’re made aware of two surprises: a plummeting excitement that had no right building in the first place that the person bowing at your front step isn’t the man in question, and secondly, that it’s his brother, your protege that stands in his place.

“Oh, for the love of-“

“Teacher!” Itadori exclaims, bent from the hip at a perfect right-angle. “Please date my brother!”

…

What the hell is wrong  with this family?

Your throat closes on itself as you claw for a response that doesn’t involve punching this poor child in the back of his head. “Wha—! Who told you I — get off my property!” You bark, heat flushing your ears.

“I thought you rented.” Itadori straightens, confusion tugging an eyebrow up.

“That’s beside the point.”

Then he’s dropping right back down again. “Please date Choso!”

Choso. What’s he been telling the kid? Did he go back on his word and seek relationship advice from a teenager? Is he trying to kill you after all?

“What gives?!” You snarl down at him. “I’m your mentor! Would you pull this kinda shit with Nanami?”

“To be fair, Nanami is the one person I wouldn’t pull this with.” Itadori protests, holding his hands up in defense. “Date my brother!” 

“Agh!” With that, you slam the door on the kid. “Learn some damn respect! Jeez, I’m starting to get where Utahime’s coming from.”

There’s a grumble behind the wood. A defeat well-picked.

“Fine. See you tomorrow.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, yeah. Think about what you want for lunch.”

_________________________________

The moment you wrap the training day and send the kid on his way, you snatch at Choso’s sleeve before he can shuffle off after his brother. “What the hell did you tell him!”

The man flinches at your touch. He frowns hard. “I didn’t tell him anything.” He grunts back, shrugging uncomfortably away from you. “You told me not to. Why are you mad?”

“Don’t jump to calling women angry. It’s anti-feminist.”

It doesn’t immediately occur to you that with just yourself and Tsukumo being the only adult women Choso knows, he probably hasn’t had much interaction with the women’s rights movement. Nevertheless, he runs with it.

“Okay. You’re not mad.”

“I am  mad! Why’s your little brother knocking on my door telling me to go out with you, huh?”

“What?!” Choso whips around, regarding you with terror. “Yuji?! I only talked to Ino-“

Your fist collides with your palm. “Ino!”  You seethe, content to settle on such a target, at least until Choso taps his index fingers together. Almost…like he’s counting. 

“— and he gave me some advice, but he couldn’t help me with one question I had. So I asked Ijichi, but he didn’t have an answer for me, either. So then I asked Tsukumo, and she couldn’t —“

Great, just great, you think, zoning out while the man continues to list off the names of almost every adult you interact with on a regular basis — the entire faculty staff and beyond know. Serves you right for trusting any one of those jackasses to keep a secret from a child.

You relent, if not at his sincerity, then at least just to escape the roll-call. “Okay. It’s fine. It’s all right. We’ll figure it out.” You sigh. “In any case, did you get an answer for your question?”

Choso pauses. Averts his gaze. “No. Well, Nanami gave me an answer he said works, but it’s not something I want to do.”

“…Can I help?” You offer.

“You said-“

“I know, but you’ve exhausted your other options.”

The look on his face is nothing short of defeated. You are not  the person he wanted to have to ask. 

“Can I take a raincheck?” Choso asks.

You touch a hand to his arm, an assurance of support. After how many months of progress, he shifts away from contact for a second time today.

Months ago, you would have felt relieved by such a rejection; now, it pools hollow and worrisome in your gut.

Something’s changed. 

“Yeah. It’s fine.” You lie. 

_________________________________

Weeks pass. It feels like an eternity.

You’re beginning to adjust to walking just yourself home again.

Choso seems to make himself scarce in your life what ever way he can, and where he can’t, he puts as much distance between himself and you as possible. He doesn’t look at you anymore. He doesn’t speak to you. You’re not the sort to reach out; you’re plenty used to people disappearing from your life without a trace — but this feels different. 

There’s no one to remind to take their big stupid giant shoes off at the step when you enter your flat.

It’s quiet. Lonesome, a needier person might call it.

Had you not convinced yourself this was something you’d wanted from the start, you’d confront him about it. Ask him why he’s avoiding you — but what would that fix?

What would you hope to get out of closure? 

You should be relieved that he’s lost interest in you. You should be over the moon that he ejects from conversations entirely upon your arrival. That he stands up and moves to the opposite side of the room should you put yourself in an empty seat beside him. 

Your life is no longer haunted by his gawking presence. Itadori shows up alone to his training sessions, and were you not hell-bent on putting on a show of relief at Choso’s absence to the rest of the world, you’d stoop to asking the kid what the hell was going on. 

As little as you can convince yourself any longer, you’ve got to convince the rest of the world. 

You don’t give a shit.

Pulling the fridge door open, you pull a juice box out of your bag and place it back on the shelf you’d plucked it from this morning.

Yeah. You’re fine. You’re great, actually. 

You don’t even fucking like berry salad. 

_________________________________

“How do I stop?”

You stare at the man in your doorway, halfway caught between dumbfounded and furious.

He stares back, refusing to elaborate for you.

“Are you kidding me? You haven’t spoken to me in months-“

“You promised me I could take a raincheck.” Choso says. “I’ve tried everything. Tell me how to make it stop.”

You should turn him away. You should say something awful and hurt him. Make him think twice before daring to get under someone’s skin the way he did yours.

A muscle in Choso’s jaw tenses. That would’ve been all it took, and you hate yourself for that much — but then he hits you with a staggered, weak little: “Please.”

“Make what—…ugh.” You relent, stepping aside to let him pass. “Shoes.”

He’s already stepping out of them, padding through your hallway on his way to the kitchen out of sheer habit.

“Don’t even think  about taking a Kagome.”

There’s a grunt. The fridge door closes. 

Choso’s stepping back into the living room when you’ve caught up with him. “I’m…really sorry.” He fiddles with his hands, shrinking into himself under the heat of your scrutiny. “I’ve—…missed talking to you.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t.” You snap. His gaze hits the floor, and guilt threatens to well in your throat. “I’m angry you ghosted me, okay?”

“I was trying to take Nanami’s advice.” He mumbles.

”Nanami.”

“But it hasn’t worked.“ The man continues, ignoring your targeted rage. “I asked him how I can stop feeling how I feel about you, and he told me to stay away, but I can’t, and I don’t know how to stop, and I know how sad it’s making you, but I can’t—“

You snap out of your haze at the wobble in the man’s voice, finding him clutching at his own sleeves, a futile endeavour at self-soothing. For just a moment, his gaze locks to yours.

Fuck, you’ve missed him looking at you. How sad is that.

“Why do you want to stop?” You ask, and all of a sudden he can’t look you in the eye again. “Did I do something to make you upset?”

“Because you don’t want it.” He explains, frustration mounting. “Everything I’ve read, everything I’ve watched, it’s not one-sided. In real life, with you — it’s only me. It makes-…it makes me feel terrible.” A pit forms in your stomach as he goes on. “Do you know how me and my siblings exist? Through my mother’s suffering.”

...

Oh, fuck.

You’ve been so stupid.

How could you have not thought this through? Choso’s a sensitive guy even without the nature of his existence coming into play, and your most rational thought when he came to you with this problem was to save your own embarrassment and throw him at porn?

The only prior understanding he’s had of sexuality is forced procreation.

All this time you’ve been torturing him, throwing him under the bus. Putting the entire responsibility for his interest in you onto him, without him even understanding any of it. You’ve been leading him along under the impression that you’re not interested, that you detest him, and while that might have been true at the start— 

“I don’t want to feel the way my father might have felt about my mother.” Choso admits. “I don’t want to want someone who doesn’t want me back.”

“You’ve got it wrong.” You manage. “You’re not bad for wanting me. There’s nothing I don’t like about that.” 

Your words fall on deaf ears. He’s already far too swept up in his own thoughts to hear you. 

“Choso.”  You speak firmly, and you’re not sure if it’s the tone you take or his own catastrophising, but you’ve never seen him look more afraid of you than he does right now. “It’s not the same, I promise you. That’s not how it works. I know you won’t hurt me.”

“But it does hurt you.” Choso insists, snatching at your shoulders like he's trying to snap you out of a stupor. “I see how much it bothers you. I don’t want to make you suffer.”

Your brow knits. Maybe if you weren’t such a pussy about all this you’d admit to him that the hurt of his absence has by far beaten any negative feelings brought about by having him around. 

“You treat my brother so well.” He offers, solemnly. “You tolerate me for his sake. It makes me feel so selfish — I want Yuji to be happy and continue to learn from you — but if you choose not to train him anymore because of me, then I  won’t be able to be near you anymore either. I can’t stay away from you, but I can’t bear to make you carry the burden of knowing how I feel about you. So please, tell me how I can stop.”

"I don't want you to stop." You blurt. This time, you're the one incapable of meeting his eye. Instead, you scowl at the wrap over his chest, doing your best not to get swept up in reuniting with the scent of him. "I'm sorry for making you go through this by yourself. I hate that I drove you away and made you feel like this. You can do what you want, but you need to know that what you're going through isn't bad. It's human."

Choso tentatively runs the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. Not quite touching you. Closing your proximity all the while. You feel his breath. You feel his warmth.

“It’s nothing like that,” You promise, “because I think the same of you.”

Then, you feel the fucker smirk down at you. "Yeah, yeah, I get the picture."

"Shut up. I'm trying."

His gaze flits between your eyes and your mouth, no doubt running through the natural course of events he’s been studying in whatever material the others have had him watch. His head dips, catching your attention, and then ever lower, nose almost brushing yours.

“You’re sure.” He breathes. 

You answer by covering the distance, ghosting your lips against his. Choso’s body stiffens, leaning into you in what he must assume is how he should reciprocate. You quell the insecurity, sliding your fingers down his arm before you find your balance with a palm pressed to his chest. He’s too inexperienced to take the cue, but he’s smart enough to break away with a questioning look. The blood mark across his nose has altered its shape. Not quite as straight as it once was.

“You can touch me. I want you to.” You murmur, tugging the bands out of his hair one at a time. “I’ll like it.”

The blood mark stretches over Choso’s cheeks. A hollow breathe escapes him just as he pulls you against him in another kiss, long arms wrapping firmly around your waist. He’s clearly inexperienced, but he's a quick learner. He follows your lead, mimicking your motions. Large hands drift over your ribcage. Pawing at your waist. Then, the moment your tongue slips over Choso’s bottom lip, he’s holding your hips just shy of his own. 

“You’re sure.”

His pupils are dilated beyond belief as he holds you at bay, lacking the willpower to keep from allowing you to push back into his grasp just a little, just enough to feel a burgeoning erection jutting against your stomach.

His hairties roll onto your wrist. Your fingers toy with his locks, gathering on his shoulders. “I think,” You smile up at him, “You should show me what you’ve been learning.”

Something in him snaps. His mouth is back on yours in a heartbeat, florid, hands yanking you in against his body. A ragged hum spills from his throat as you respond in kind, snatching at his cowl, breaking away from him just to untie the thing and pulling it off over his head.

Choso isn’t much of a talker. Not yet, at least. Not while so much of his concentration is on making up for lost time exploring you. For the moment, you have to find satisfaction in pulling wordless sounds from him, learning where he’s most sensitive. His ribcage. His throat. His hipbones. It’s not until your fingertips graze his cock through his pants that he musters a breathy little ”fuck—“

His weight braces against you naturally, chasing more, confidence growing. He spends a particularly long moment squeezing your ass before he hurriedly shifts his attention — just pointed enough to have you noting that he might already be figuring out his favourites.

When Choso’s fingers paw at your tits, though — a favourite of your own — you can’t help the little noise that escapes you.

He draws back. Pupils constricted. Blood mark tightening across his face. Sensing competition.

Not today, you affirm silently, walking the man backward until his legs hit the couch and he falls into a sit. You follow, sinking to your knees between his, palms resting on his thighs.

“Won’t you?” You ask sweetly, angling for a look akin to innocent, watching Choso gulp at the sight.

“Won’t I wh-what…” He stammers. So much for competition.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his pants. You don’t take your eyes off him. “Show me.”

Choso takes a moment, considering your words in total silence. Then, with a shuddering breath, he’s fumbling with his underclothes, juban tugging up out of the way. Flashing his lower stomach as he busies himself with pulling his cock out of his pants. You find yourself vaguely scandalised at the sight. You’ve scarcely seen more of Choso than his arms. The flat of his stomach feels oddly intimate.

His cock is just as pale as his fingers. He slowly, steadily pulls his foreskin up, though his grip conceals him for the most part, much to your disappointment. When he draws back, you lean in insistently, ignoring a little shiver on his part at how close your face gets. Colour gathers on the delicate tip, much like the hue of his eyelids. Choso draws up again, and you find your mouth running dry at the glimmer of a tiny drop of pre-cum, at least before it gets swept away by his fingers.

“If you wanted to watch so bad, you should’ve asked.” He mutters, tone chastising — yet undermined by the flush blotting his neck, and again, you make a note. He’s going to be bratty once he gets the hang of this.

“Maybe if you’d been nice about it-“

“Are you gonna let me blow you, or what?” You interject.

Choso goes silent. Eyes wide. You’d think you’d gone too far if he hadn’t immediately relinquished his grip.

You waste no time replacing his hand with your own, balancing his cock between your fingers, tipping it toward you as you shimmy closer, nudging his knees further apart.

The flat of your tongue presses to the tip, and you grin at the way his whole body seems to flinch. A hum vibrates in his chest. Flagging permission to keep going. He can handle it. You don’t have to be content with just a taste.

Your mouth envelops his cock, and Choso grips hard  at the cushion beneath him. He stops making noise altogether as your lips venture mid-way, holding his breath while you pause to run your tongue against the underside. Then, when you hollow your cheeks and pull back up, a ragged sound escapes his throat. Pre-cum spurts over your tastebuds. So much so that you’re worried he might already be done for. Waiting another moment brings nothing else, but he probably needs a moment regardless.

Sitting back on your heels, you check in, poising your wettened lips just shy of the head. Choso looks like he’s on the verge of tears. It isn’t helped by the rorschach blotting of the blood mark dripping down his cheeks like drenched mascara.

“You okay?” You check in. “You need to stop?”

“No!” He yips, sitting up, bordering outraged. It takes a moment for him to register the smile on your face as a taunt. That you’re not serious about backing out.

All the same, if you didn’t have him pinned to the couch right now, you’re sure he’d be bowing at your feet again.

“Keep going. I can take it.”

Your hand works him slowly from base to tip, squeezing out another clear, oozing droplet. You smear it back and forth over your lips, and Choso’s head dips back against the couch, scrunching his eyes shut. Poor thing. As fun as it is teasing him, you owe it to him to at least get him off.

“Just relax.” You murmur, licking your lips, brushing your tongue around the head of his cock and waiting for a minute nod on his part before continuing on. Sinking down, you take him deeper with each bob of your head, building into a steady, consistent rhythm so as not to catch him off-guard. You want to draw this out as long as possible for him. You want him at your door again, at your feet, begging you for more.

You want to be the only one he wants doing this to him.

There’s no helping a swallow on your part when he nudges the back of your throat one too many times, though, and Choso gasps like he’s dying. His posture curls, instinctively trying to find purchase on something that isn’t just the couch. His cock twitches in your mouth, and you go still.

He’s on the brink, but you’re convinced you can work just a bit more out of him with a little patience.

Choso’s hands come to hover over your head. You don’t have the ability right now to tell him you’d be fine with having his grip guide you, and without that go-ahead, he’s not taking his chances. He’s far too considerate to do that.

So he just sits there, letting himself suffer, not quite sure what to do with himself beyond entrusting that part to you.

Once his muscles have relaxed enough, signalling his body’s retreat from the orgasm that had been building, you deem it safe to resume. Starting slow and shallow once again, you earn yourself a frustrated groan.

That’s more like it. The nerves are settling. He wants  to cum, now.

You can’t help but go back on your word, just a little. You can’t help but taunt him, pulling back to suck on just the head until his fingernails are digging into his palms. Choso’s hips judder, threatening to buck up into your mouth and taking a conscious effort to be stilled. His breaths push and pull through gritted teeth, and fine, it might be time to give the poor guy a break.

Choso all but cries out when you take him all the way in again, stifling an instinctual gag when another spurt of pre-cum hits your overworked throat. You don’t let up, for his sake. His breaths come short and sharp. His cock swells on your tongue, leaking pitifully in sync with an equally pitiful sound in his chest.

“I—“ He whimpers, voice wobbling, “I’m gonna—“

There’s no curse words he’s been exposed to enough to pick out, and when Choso peaks, he does so wordlessly in a mess of gasps and groans. The first pulse of cum jets across your tongue, and you draw back to hold your mouth open, working him through it with your hand. Ribbon after ribbon coats your face as Choso keens his way through the aftershocks, only filling your mouth when the force dwindles and his body slackens.

You’d mistake him for a corpse, were he not twitching every few seconds. His eyes are fixed on your face, glassy and unmoving, mouth agape as if he might burst into tears at any moment, unaided by the running of his blood mark down his cheeks.

Sitting back and admiring your handiwork, you swipe a thumb across a stripe of cum that starts to streak down your face, watching the man with a smile. You pop your thumb into your mouth, and Choso jolts to life at the sight, sitting up, suddenly breathing again.

His hand brushes your face. His own thumb tentatively brushing across the bridge of your nose.

“Please date me.”

You’re pretty certain he’ll cry for real if you say no.

[hypnoneghoul]

Sundown: Chapter 7

WC: 3,1K

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain,Transfeminine Mountain, Angst, Crying, Alcohol, Makeup, Backstory, Grief

He can blame his father for that, but not for his choices later on. That’s all on him, hurting Mounty is all on him.

Notes: I’m not very happy with how this chapter turned out, but the idea was good lmao hope you enjoy :3 Divider by the lovely @ghuleh-recs <3 Also happy Pride Month everyone!!!

Playlist here. / Chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 7 under the cut or on AO3.

Swiss slept in the stables with Monty. Curled up and shaking through the cold night on a falling-apart cube of hay.

As fragile as he is, if not less.

He thinks about the irony, looks back at his life and wonders where the fuck he went wrong. He’s well aware, of course, but when he looks far back, ultimately he didn’t put himself on that road on his own. Albeit, he can blame his father for that, but not for his choices later on.

That’s all on him, hurting Mounty is all on him.

It doesn’t matter now, anyway, he already fucked up the best thing that has ever happened to him.

The man gets up, only imagining how pitifully he looks—though there’s no pity he deserves—and turns for Monty’s tack. He’s getting the hell out of there as soon as his chick is ready. Mere minutes later she is and Swiss walks her out of the stable.

“Once again it’s gonna be just the two of us, girlie,” he sighs, rubbing Monty’s nose as she nudges it into his chest. She understands.

Swiss’ jaw is clenched tight and his eyes still sting and he’s about to hop on and walk away from the best few months of his life like it was nothing when he hears footsteps on the soft ground behind him, followed by a familiar voice.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Swiss flinches, not turning to the other.

“Dew, you don’t unders–”

“I do,” Dewdrop interrupts him. “I know everything, Mounty spent the night at our place.”

Swiss looks over his shoulder despite his voice wavering and hot tears threatening to fall already. “You should be chasing me out of here with a pitchfork,” he jokes, but there’s no real humor in it.

“And yet I asked what the fuck do you think you’re doing,” the other man repeats, coming closer. He puts a hand on Monty’s neck to pet her; she leans into it and it’s as if both Dewdrop and the mare want to show the cowboy he should stay.

“What else can I do?” He shrugs, still not looking Dewdrop in the eye. “I messed up.”

“Yeah, you did. Big time,” he points out, “but the Shadow never sounded like a coward.”

Silence falls for a moment. Swiss takes a shaky breath and when he speaks again it’s barely audible, “I ain’t him, Dew. A coward is all I am.”

The other shakes his head. “You can’t leave her. She loves you.”

“And I love her, more than life itself,” Swiss claims and both of them know he’s not exaggerating. He’s never loved anything or anyone as much as he loves Mounty. She’s everything he’s not, she’s the best thing that ever happened to humanity, she erases all of it’s faults. She’s perfect and he’s…far from that. “I’m doing all of you a favor, I can’t–I don’t deserve her.”

“It’s not your decision.” Dewdrop argues. Swiss is surprised by his persistence, even though he knows the man is stubborn and more sharp-witted and wiser than he lets on. “She’ll forgive you, it’s how she is, you just have to be patient. Don’t run away, it’ll hurt her even more.”

“She’s scared of me.”

“Yeah, because you murdered more people than this town even has!” he bites back, nearly laughing, and Swiss hurts. Although he deserves it, he supposes. “I’m scared of you, too.”

Swiss’ breath hitches and he lets it back out with a dry sob, “Then why the hell are you trying to stop me?”

Dewdrop throws his arms up, nearly spooking Monty. “Because none of that matters! You said that the Shadow is not the true you and you’ve been here for long enough for me to believe that. Get rid of him once and for all and everything will be alright. Mounty will forgive you and forget about the fear.”

There’s nothing else Swiss can say. He wants to believe Dewdrop’s right, he needs him to be right if he is to stay, but he knows he’ll fuck it up all over again if he does. That’s just what he does.

Heartbreak and grief follow him wherever he goes, why would Sundown be any different?

“Come on, let’s get you a drink,” Dewdrop sighs, taking Swiss’ arm. His eyes widen, he’s not ready to see Mounty just yet, it’s too– “Relax, she ain't there now.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he lets the other walk him to the saloon, leaving tacked-up Monty behind. She looks rather pleased with the outcome, going back to her hay right away.

Dewdrop lets Swiss and himself in from the back and goes to make him a drink, leaving the cowboy in the storage. His head is throbbing and he really does need a drink, but he doubts whatever Dewdrop is pouring is going to be enough.

Before he realizes what he's doing he grabs an unopened bottle of whiskey off a shelf and shoves it under his shirt.

Just then Dewdrop comes back and hands him a glass that Swiss downs in two gulps. It burns his throat and belly but it's not enough.

Still, he thanks the other, “I'm gonna go now, I'll…I'll try to bring myself to talk to Mounty tomorrow.”

“You better.” With that Dewdrop leaves and Swiss heads back to the stable. Maybe he'll be warmer later, when the night comes, thanks to the alcohol. He takes the tack off Monty and settles himself on that same cube of hay that he slept on.

He sighs at how pathetic he is as he opens the bottle and glues his lips to it, reveling in the bitter taste and the acidic burn going down his throat.

A few hours later he notices he's moved. Or was moved.

Where? He doesn't really know but it's harder under his ass than the hay. He hums an off-key tune under his breath, rolling his head from one side to the other against a piece of wood. Is it a wall?

He zones out with an empty mind and he giggles at the foggy void taking over his brain. He has no idea how long he's been there and even where he is or what he's doing. It's dark but it might just be that his eyes are closed.

“Swiss? What the hell are you doing?” someone asks. The man tries to blink but his eyes are closed so he just squeezes them tighter for a moment before he manages to actually open them. His face feels numb as he tries to smile.

Swiss wonders how that beautiful girl knows his name.

“I’m–nevermind, but I do know your name.” Did he say that out loud? “Do you know my name?”

“Hmpf…” he huffs, trying to open his mouth and actually say what he wants to, ”you're ver’pretty bu–but I can't.”

“Can't what?” the girl asks, standing over him with her hands on her hips.

Mounty doubts Swiss can register the emotions on her face if he can't even recognize her, but she tries to mask them anyway. She's worried, she didn't expect to see Swiss tonight, much less in such a state. She hasn't made peace with all of what happened yet, but she still loves him and cares about him.

“There’s a girl, I–” Swiss hiccups, “I don't think she likes me anymore but–but I'm in love with her, y’know? So I…I can't do anything w’you.”

“That's fine.” Mounty crouches down, smiling, despite everything, at Swiss' ramble. He's drunk out of his mind and doesn’t realize it's her before him, but he is still loyal. “I just wanted to make sure you're okay over here, kind sir.”

“I ain’t a sir,” he giggles. “‘m a mess.”

“Respectfully, you have a point,” the barmaid agrees. She comes closer and reaches out to grab Swiss’ hand, trying to not shudder at the feeling of his skin on hers again, even though it's been barely twenty four hours since everything went down. “Which is why you can't stay here, come on, let's get you up.”

“No, I can't go w’you, my–my girl’s gonna be angry,” Swiss slurs in protest, shaking his head clumsily.

“Yeah?” Mounty can't help but giggle now, too. “I think your girl is gonna be more angry if you freeze to death out here.”

“Hmmm…but–but you can't touch me, ‘cause ‘m hers, o–okay?”

“Okay, I promise to not touch you anywhere weird,” Mounty grabs his other hand and tries to haul him up. It works as well as it can with Swiss in such a state, with him stumbling into her arms once he's up, “but I think I have to help you walk up the stairs, don't I?”

“Uh…p–pos–billy,” he hiccups again, but nods, grinning up at the girl. His breath stinks, but Mounty doesn't really mind. She is a barmaid after all, it's not the first drunk man she's dealing with. It is her man, though, this time.

She all but hangs him over her shoulder and walks into the saloon. The stairs are a challenge, but neither of them falls down, so Mounty considers it a success when she drops Swiss onto a bed in one of the guest rooms. She’s not ready to put him back in hers, not before they have a proper talk about everything. She knows she is going to forgive him, especially after what Dewdrop told her earlier, but they have to talk first.

Still, there’s a little voice in the back of Mounty’s head telling her to milk more out of Swiss. “Tell me about your girl, won't ya?”

“Oh, oh, she's…she's s’pretty, y’know? No offense t’you, but she’s the prettiest girl ever,” the man rambles, gesturing wildly. His eyes are wide and glassy—not only because of alcohol—and his grin is as wide and bright as ever. “She's an angel! She’s kind and–and lovely…and a–also she has nice…very nice boobies.”

“Huh.” Mounty puts a hand over her mouth so as not to snort. Of course he had to mention her tits. “She sounds amazing.”

“She is…” Swiss sighs dreamily, freezing with a goofy smile as he—most likely—gets lost in memories from not so long ago.

“Anyway, it’s way past bedtime for you, kind sir,” she snaps him out of it when she notices his eyes start to close on their own. “I think your girl would agree.”

“Mhmmm,” he hums in acknowledgement. “She’s always tellin’ me to go to bed when I don't wanna.”

“Sounds like she’s smart, too.” Mounty pushes him on the shoulder and he falls back like a ragdoll, flat on the bed.

“Mmm, the smartest,” Swiss mumbles, wiggling on the bed in something that looks like a rather poor attempt at getting comfortable. The barmaid shakes her head and throws a blanket over him.

And resists the urge to bend down and kiss him.

Swiss blinks and suddenly it’s morning.

His head is pounding and someone knocks on the door again and it doesn’t help it—even though it’s rather quiet. He realizes that the knocking is what woke him up. He tries to roll over and maybe get up to get the door but a wave of dizziness washes over him so he resolves to calling out, “Come in.”

His heart skips a beat when he sees Mounty in the door. Only now he realizes that he’s in one of the saloon rooms, but how he ended up there is a mystery. Though he supposes it might have something to with that bottle of whiskey he snatched yesterday.

Fuck.

“Good morning,” Mounty says, leaning against the doorframe. Swiss’ stomach turns and it’s not his hangover’ fault. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve had way too much,” he mumbles. “Who brought me in here?”

“I did.” The barmaid shrugs and the corner of her mouth twitches upwards at Swiss’ grimace. “Found you half-conscious on my doorstep last night. Don’t remember much, do you?”

“Not really,” the cowboy admits. He sits up to lean against the wall and watches as Mounty walks inside and shuts the door behind her. She has a little basket hanging off of her arm and Swiss notices there’s faint steam coming from it.

“I can imagine. Here,” she hands him the basket, “from Rain.”

The man groans as the smell finally reaches him; freshly fried sausage with a slice of buttered bread and a glass of water.

“Thank you. Not only for this, for…everything.” Swiss takes a sip of water first, and even though he is not a fan of such a simple drink, his dehydration makes it taste heavenly. “Can we talk?”

Mounty doesn’t reply, but she nods before sitting on the edge of an empty bed across the bed. The man takes a bite out of his breakfast and it is delicious—as anything made by Rain—but there’s a certain bitterness to it at the distance that the other has put between them. He couldn’t expect anything less, but it aches nonetheless.

“Let’s start with apologies. I shouldn’t have hid who I was. We wouldn’t have gotten where we did if I had been honest, but I should’ve been, you didn’t deserve getting lied to. All I wanted was to get out of that life once and for all. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I regret everything.”

Mounty remains silent, but her eyes are on Swiss. Her presence alone is more than he could’ve wished for after everything. He swallows a few more bites of the food she brought and washes it down with more water before he dares to continue.

“Can I…will you let me explain everything?” he asks once the breakfast is gone. Swiss pulls his knees up and curls up as much as he can under a scratchy blanket; he tries not to think about how Mounty must’ve pulled it over him yesterday. “Can I tell you my story? I don’t want it to be an excuse, nothing can excuse what I did, but I just…I need you to know. Will you let me tell you?”

The barmaid still doesn’t speak, but her gaze is soft and somewhat curious, as if she’s trying to be angry with him—mad, even—but can’t bring herself to hate him and is looking for a reason to forgive him, whether it’s there or not.

Swiss doesn’t deserve her in the slightest.

The problem, though, is that his lie—or rather avoiding the truth—is, after all, the least serious of his crimes. He's a murderer and even if Mounty can forgive his dishonesty, he can't imagine she'd be willing to look past all of his sins.

“I have…had a sister. Our dad was famous for getting into all kinds of trouble and one day he got himself killed and my sister—Sunny—kidnapped,” he pauses to take a deep, shuddering breath. He hasn’t uttered her name since the day he buried her. He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, threatening to fall, before he continues. “I had nothing, there was nothing I could’ve done to get her back, but I went there and begged, offered my life in exchange for hers. They…those men decided that they’ll let her go when I pay off our father’s debt by doing all their dirty work for a while. That’s how the Shadow came to be.”

“How did…what happened to her?” Swiss flinches at Mounty’s voice. She sounds like Sunshine did, a bit; something he has noticed that first night down by the bar and tried so hard to ignore all these months.

“I did all they wanted, all their bidding, everything. I became a monster, a soulless–” he says, barely above a whisper. “I should’ve known it seemed too easy, that they weren’t men of their word.” 

He drops his head against his knees, still not fully able to say…it out loud. Saying something, letting it sound, makes things real and Swiss is far away from accepting the reality in which she’s not with him.

It’s barely audible when he does say it, “They killed her the moment they didn’t need me anymore.”

“Swiss, baby, I’m–” Mounty gasps. “I’m so, so sorry. Nobody should have to go through anything like that.”

“I killed all of them that night,” the man chuckles pitifully, sniffling wetly as he rubs his eyes against the blanket. “That’s why nobody heard of me after that, because there was no Shadow anymore, he died with his masters. I should’ve done that earlier, I should’ve fought and saved her, I–I failed her, Momo.”

The barmaid is speechless. She…Swiss shouldn’t have lied to her, but she understands—though not really, she’s never gone through something as awful as the man before her, but she can understand how all he wanted was…out. 

“I don’t–I don’t want you to forgive me and take me back with open arms,” the cowboy cries quietly, “it's just that…what I need is for you to–to understand. Please, sweetheart, just tell me you understand why I did what I did.”

“I do, darling,” Mounty states, loud and clear, and Swiss sobs with relief, choking on air. “But I will–I am taking you back with open arms. You're mine and I'm yours, Swiss.”

She gets up and walks over to the other bed—with her arms open, indeed. She’s not much bigger than the cowboy, but in that moment he’s tiny, as fragile as a man can be. Mounty wraps her arms around him and pulls him close, lets him sob into her chest.

“Seeing her body…seeing her, my baby sister, and having to bury her, I–I don’t… Believe me, sweetheart, I have paid for all I’ve done t–tenfold.”

“C’mere, lay down,” Mounty whispers as she strokes Swiss’ arm with all the gentleness in the world, not knowing any words that could fill the gaping hole in his heart. He keeps quiet, but obeys, resting his head on the barmaid’s shoulder. She brings them both down and tightens her arms around him, trying to comfort that broken, broken man as much as she can. She doesn’t feel like it’s enough and Swiss doesn’t have words to tell her that it’s more than enough and way more than he deserves.

What he can tell her, though, is words that he’s never going to be too overwhelmed, exhausted or hungover to say.

“I love you, girl.”

Swiss is afraid that he’s not going to hear it back ever again, but Mounty smiles and mutters, “I love you, too, cowboy.”

Somehow, hope fills him. Hope that they’re going to be okay.

He’s surprised to find himself believing it.

[vodika-vibes]

Hi again, hope you’ve been well! I just wanted to see if I could please ask for a hurt/comfort fic with either an alpha arc or a null, your choice of who specifically. One where reader is an informant of some kind, but they end up getting caught and interrogated before trooper of choose comes to the rescue. When they do maybe reading is having a panic attack after being severely injured. Thanks and happy writing!

Abandon Ship

Summary: You’re a member of the Republic Strategic Information Service (SIS) though you’re not a high ranking member, in fact, you’re not supposed to be doing field operations at all. However, when your supervisor orders you into Separatist space, your options are follow orders or lose your job. You manage to get off one coded message to Ordo before you’re captured. And all you can do is hope that he’ll come.

Pairing: Ordo Skirata x F!Reader

Word Count: 1802

Warnings: Torture

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Sorry that this took so long! I think I have several other requests from you as well. I feel so bad that it took me so long to get to this one. Anyway, I chose Ordo because I love him, though it was a toss-up between Ordo and Mereel, but given the subject matter, I thought Ordo would be a better fit than Mereel. I hope you like it!

You huff out a near silent groan of pain as you slowly, and painfully, uncurl from the protective ball that you curled yourself into when the interrogator came into the room.

Eventually, they’ll figure that you genuinely don’t know anything.

You’re smart enough to know that when they do figure that out, it’s game over for you.

For a moment, you lay on your back on the frigid, dirty, and wet floor. Trying to work up the will to get to your feet, or at least to crawl over to the “bed” that you were supplied when you were thrown in here.

Calling it a proper bed would be an insult to beds everywhere.

It’s little more than a thin mat with some ratty blankets thrown on top. But it’s slightly more comfortable than the concrete you’re actively laying on.

Slowly you press your arm over your eyes and try to ignore the burning in your eyes (tears will not help this situation) and the stabbing pain around your ribs.

You shouldn’t be in this position at all. You’re an analyst, not a field agent. There’s no reason for you to be anywhere but on Coruscant, or maybe a warship. You definitely should not be on Raxus.

You shouldn’t be in Separatist space at all.

You cringe at the sound of someone screaming further down the hall, at least you’re not alone in here.

It doesn’t make you feel any better.

Finally the throbbing in your chest and abdomen fades enough that you’re willing to slowly push yourself to your feet, and drag yourself to the bed on the other side of your cell.

All you can do now, you’re only option, is hope that someone will come for you. Either another member of the SIS, or maybe Ordo will answer your panicked, and heavily encrypted, message.

And if he doesn’t...well, you’ll die here. And no one will ever know what happened to you.

This time, as you roll onto your side so you’re not facing the door, you don’t bother to stop your tears.

It’s been...you aren’t sure how long. Longer than a week, definitely. But you don’t have an exact number of days that you’ve been on Raxus. It’s intentional, you’re sure.

Or, maybe not. The people holding you don’t seem to be all that proficient at the more psychological aspect of torture. Though they’re more than proficient in the more physical aspects.

Your shoulders twinge painfully as your arms are twisted behind your back, and heavy binders are snapped around your wrists, and magnetized to the chair you’re sitting on.

It’s uncomfortable, boarding on painful. And mixed with the staggering number of bruises you’re nursing, not to mention the open lacerations that have been prevents from healing due to your captors rubbing actual salt into your wounds, and the fact that your captor decided that using a whip on you was the best way to get you to work with them-

Yeah. You’re not having a good time.

Honestly, if you weren’t in so much pain, it’d almost be laughable. It’s like they read a storybook on how to be the most cliche villain ever, and are following it like a checklist.

“So,” You slowly lift your gaze to the man standing in front of you. He’s a massive human, and honestly looks like he should be modeling for GQ rather than being an interrogator. “You have been here for almost a month. And you haven’t even told us your name.”

You just blink at him and a flash of irritation crosses his face.

He walks over to you and grabs a fistful of your hair, before roughly jerking your head back, “All of this can stop, if you just work with us rather than against us.”

Once again, you just blink at him.

He growls and releases your hair, “Fine.” He walks away from you and turns to the men standing near the door, your personal torturers. Although, you’re pretty sure that one of them is new.

It’s kind of hard to tell, since they’re both completely covered in armor.

“Start removing appendages, start with her fingers.” He looks at you, “Remember, girl, you brought this on yourself.” And then he’s gone, and you’re alone with your old friends.

One of the men walks over to you and presses a button, releasing the heavy binders, and then his boot slams hard into your chest, knocking you and the chair over, and knocking the air out of your lungs.

“This one,” He drawls, “is stubborn. Hasn’t said a damned word since we found her. Though we do know that she’s SIS. I doubt this is gonna work like the boss thinks, but I’m happy to try.”

He walks over to you and slams his boot down on your chest again, pulling a pained gasp from you, as you struggle to catch your breath and from the pain. He lifts his boot long enough that you’re able to catch your breath, and kicks you in the side to roll you over.

“You like your job then.” The new guy says, and you’re at least aware enough to note that you recognize the voice. It’s familiar though you can’t quite pinpoint why it’s familiar.

“Course I do.” The man who kicked you kneels next to you, “These holier than thou pubbie assholes deserve everything that they get. You’ll learn.” He draws a, almost comically, large knife and lazily presses the tip against your cheek.

The knife is sharp, sharp enough that it doesn’t hurt as much as it could as it cuts into the skin of your cheek. You bite your tongue hard enough that you can taste metal.

He pulls the knife away from your face and jerks your arm out to examine your fingers, “I think...I’ll start with the thumb.” There’s something gleefully cruel in his voice, and your eyes snap shut as he presses the blade against the base of your thumb—

—And then there’s the sound of a blaster being fired, and the sound of something heavy falling to the floor.

Your eyes open when you feel large hands on your shoulders, encouraging you to sit up. And you peer up at the new guy who’s kneeling over you. You want to lean away from him, to press yourself against the wall, but you just don’t have the strength to do anything anymore.

He’s silent for a moment, and then reaches up and pulls off the helmet.

You blink at him. Once, twice, three times. Sure that your eyes are playing tricks on you.

“...Ordo?” Your voice is raspy from disuse.

His dark eyes scan your face for a moment, before he brings his gloved hand up to press soothingly against your cheek, “Sorry I’m late, mesh’la.”

“I...I didn’t think anyone was coming.” You admit as your hands, bruised and bloodied, come up to wrap around his wrists.

“Well, I wasn’t supposed to. The orders we were given were very clear.” Ordo says with narrowed eyes, “You were to be written off as a lost asset.”

It feels like a giant hand wraps around your lungs and squeezes tightly. Oh, you think absently, there’s the panic attack.

“Hey, hey,” Ordo’s other hand presses against your cheek, trying to draw your focus, “You’re safe now. I was never going to leave you behind. We’re going to get you safe and home. And you’re never going back to the SIS.”

Ordo sounds like he’s miles away.

“Kriff, cyar’ika, keep your eyes open-”

He looks worried.

The world around you starts going gray at the edges, and you try to open your mouth to reassure him that you’re fine, but the world goes dark. And, for the first time in ages, you don’t feel any pain.

You wake to the sound of a heart monitor beeping in your ear, and the scent of bacta in your nose.

The lights are dimmed, which you notice as you slowly blink your eyes open. And as you turn your head, you see that Ordo is asleep in a chair next to the bed you’re laying in, his feet propped up on the edge of the bed.

He looks tired.

Slowly you try to sit up, but a sharp pain makes you hiss, and his eyes snap open and land on you immediately, “What are you doing?” He drops his feet and leans in to encourage you to lay back, “You shouldn’t move.”

“Was going to look for a blanket for you,” You admit sheepishly.

Ordo sighs softly, his large hand coming up to brush some of your hair out of your face, “Well, don’t. You haven’t been in a bacta tank yet.”

“I haven’t?”

“No, you have an infection and it needs to be cleared before we can stick you in a tank.” He still looks worried, “You weren’t supposed to wake up yet.” Ordo adds.

“Sorry-”

“Don’t be.” His hand moves to your cheek, to trace the bandage that you can feel there, “I’m glad that you’re awake. You scared me, cyare. I thought you were going to die in my arms.”

You feel a surge of guilt, “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He scans your face for a moment, and there’s a glimmer of sadness. Ordo’s fingers ghost over bruises, and against your lips, “My vod’e thought I was going to have a heart attack when we managed to decrypt your message.” He admits, “Cyar’ika, what were you doing in Separatist space?”

You blink at him, “I was following orders.” You say against his fingers.

Ordo’s fingers stop moving, and something cold slides across his face, “Come again?”

“My supervisor ordered me to Raxus for a field mission,” You clarify, “He said if I didn’t do it I’d lose my job.” You stare at him, “Why did you think I went to Raxus?”

“...your supervisor said that you defected from the Republic.”

Panic washes through you and you can hear the heart monitor start racing, “I didn’t! I wouldn’t! I had orders! I-”

“Hey. Hey, hey.” Ordo’s hands are so gentle against your face and the ice in his gaze thaws into something warmer, and for you alone, “I believe you. None of us believed what we were told. You need to calm down.” He doesn’t pull his hands away even after your panic subsides, “I’ll tell the others to do some digging, but we’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“...Thank you for coming after me.” You whisper.

He leans in and presses a light kiss against your forehead, “You can thank me by getting some rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“On my life.”

You release a quiet sigh. “I love you, Ordo.”

Finally, a small smile crosses his face, “I love you too, cyare.”

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  Pricklywhicket/@messessentialist ! Prickleywhicket has four fics published to AO3 -- All in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by pricklywhicket:

so let's sneak in from the cheap seats, honey

it's supposed to be fun (turning twenty-one)

start by pulling him out of the fire

"Sadie is so super talented in the way she describes literally everything. She is so good at writing and it's a shame that she's flown under the radar because she's not the quickest at putting things out there." -- Anonymous

Below the cut, Pricklywhicket answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Why do any of us write anything? Because we want the story to exist in the world, and it doesn’t yet, so we gotta hike up our pants and do it ourselves!

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Hurt/Comfort. I’m always a sucker for the blorbos taking care of one another, in whatever form that takes. This has always been true, across a truly astronomical number of fandoms I’ve found myself dabbling in over the years.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

…actually, probably hurt/comfort! I just need to get those little dudes some validation and unconditional positive regard, okay?

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I’m sure I won’t be the first one to say this, but: I HAVE TO PICK ONE????? Okay, alright. I can do this. I’m gonna say…Sanctuary by SpicedSage.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I’ve only written canon or canon-adjacent fic so far, so I’m eager to work on something that’s completely AU. I think there’s a unique challenge to keeping characters recognizable as themselves in a world that might not have all the same contexts that made them into that person.

What is your writing process like?

I would love to say it’s super organized and well-planned, but the truth is it’s mostly about routine and responsibility. I set aside time to do it every day, even if I can only tap out a few sentences. I’m not very strict about writing in a straight line - I can stop a scene if it’s giving me trouble, write a note about what I think happens in some [brackets], and move on to something that I have more fully fleshed-out ideas for. Sometimes writing the next scene helps you know more about what needs to happen in the current one. 

Do you have any writing quirks?

I'm sure my betas would say yes 🙃 I tend to write a lot of dialogue - a lot of my revision process is going back through and realizing I have two pages of a conversation with no indication of what’s physically happening in the world around the speakers.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Definitely when I’m finished. Prior to my ‘23 bang fic, I had never written anything chaptered. I knew going in that I could NOT start posting if it wasn’t finished, because I’ve been burned too many times by abandoned works. I didn’t want to do that to people reading my fic, and the best way to avoid it is to finish before you post.

Which fic are you most proud of?

Easily start by pulling him out of the fire. The biggest, most ambitious thing I’ve ever attempted - I still kind of can’t believe I wrote 85k.

How did you get the idea for start by pulling him out of the fire?

Like most terrible ideas, it was spawned in a fandom discord chat. We were discussing the tendency of Steddie fics to centralize the party at Steve’s house, because his parents are never there anyway. And then someone mentioned what if the parents came home and found their house occupied, and someone else mentioned Wayne being there, and it just sort of…spiraled out from there.

When writing start by pulling him out of the fire, what was something you didn’t expect?

I had no idea, going in, that I was going to write a comprehensive history of the Wayne and Eddie Munson relationship. I started writing it where I did to give some background on Wayne’s existing distaste for the elder Harrington, and then I just…kept writing. Over the course of a month or two I wrote 20k of WayneAndEddie that I had no idea was in me - it just kept coming.

What inspired it's supposed to be fun (turning twenty-one)?

@wynnyfryd. It was a gift for her birthday. We were talking about our mutual love of Letterkenny, and she mentioned that the episode was her favorite and wouldn’t it be funny if someone wrote… and the rest is history.

What was your favorite part to write from it's supposed to be fun (turning twenty-one)?

I had an unreasonable amount of fun with that one in general. But I think my favorite part was Eddie polling the party about what Steve means to them all. It was fun to sort of put myself in each character’s shoes and think about how they would answer. Plus y’know, any excuse to unironically love on Steve Harrington.

How do/did you feel writing so let's sneak in from the cheap seats, honey?

I believe my exact words upon deciding to write it were “jingles miserably to a blank google doc.” This was a classic case of saying “god I wish there was a fic where—” and having friends tell me that it was now my responsibility to write it. I’m glad I did, though. I love that story, and it proved to me that I could write sex and publish it and not burst into flames. I also just really, really love summer storms. And Wayne’s use of the singular ‘herpe.’

What was the most difficult part of writing so let's sneak in from the cheap seats honey?

Getting over the fear of publishing something E-rated. It was just something I hadn’t done, and I had a lot of anxiety that people were not going to respond well to it. I made three people individually review the sex scenes before I even asked anyone to beta the full fic. Of course I was worried for nothing, the reception for that fic was super lovely and gave me the confidence boost I needed to attempt start by pulling him out of the fire!

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

This is like asking me to pick a favorite child. I’ll say this: most of my favorite lines in start by pulling him out of the fire were taken directly from conversations @wormdebut and I had about the fic. She’s my number one cheerleader and sounding board, and sometimes she’s so goddamn funny that I just have to include it. You have her to thank, for instance, for Steve quite literally dropping his croissant when he first sees Eddie in glasses.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I have a couple of irons in the fire, but nothing I’m ready to share just yet! I’ve been taking a breather from writing (blame baldur’s gate 3, okay) but my WIPs are still very much IP. Stay tuned!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Not that I can think of!

Thank you to our author, Pricklywhicket, and our anonymous nominator! See more of pricklywhicket's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[sarahowritesostucky]

Art: @hopelessartgeek

📖 "Medically Necessitated" Ch 2

Rated: Explicit Pairing: Bucky x Steve Tags: a/b/o, age gap, past rape, rape recovery, trauma recovery, pregnancy, medical trauma, hurt/comfort, mentions of CSA, religious fundamentalism, first time, gender dysphoria, male omegas are intersex (peen & vagine) Summary: After a medical emergency brings him into the ER, Bucky escapes the religious cult he's been raised in. It's up to Steve, nurse practitioner and omega sex & repro specialist, to see him through a medically supervised heat.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter! Story masterlist 2. Jerrica

Steve's newest patient takes an unexpected turn for the worse when he hits heat

Omegas are people just like anyone else, but they have to fight so much harder just to have basic things, just to build lives for themselves that they can be happy with.

Steve’s seen how hard the world and their own biology come down on them time and again, no more so than in his own family. His mother had been a single omega parent and Steve spent his entire childhood watching her struggle to scrape together a good life for herself and her young son. The system wasn’t fair to people like his mother, and Steve is a firm believer that if you can help, you should.

That’s why he carries groceries up three flights for the single father who lives in 4b. It’s why he volunteers at the local shelter for battered and abused omegas, and helps at an organization for disabled omega mothers. It’s why he always makes an extra effort to be kind to his omega coworkers when he sees them struggling in an already demanding field. And it’s why, when Steve was seventeen and watched his mother die from a very preventable gynecological cancer, he made the decision to become an omega sexual and reproductive health practitioner.

There’s a poster Steve has in his living room; vintage, framed, cheerful advertising from a 1940’s housing company. “Give her the home she deserves to make,” it reads, showing a tall, strong alpha in his World War 2 dress uniform. He’s holding the hand of a smaller omega woman, the two of them smiling and walking towards a sparkling new house in the suburbs.

Steve’s mother always taught him that as an Alpha, he had a duty to take care of those weaker and more vulnerable than himself. He promised her that he’d always look out for the little guy. Then she’d died. He’d registered for college the following spring, beginning what would turn into almost a decade of education and training on how to help omegas who were experiencing trauma.

He’s never regretted any of it, because it allows him to help people. People like Bucky, and his neighbor in 4b, and the woman in 416 who doesn’t want the hysterectomy that she desperately needs. People like Amy Lewis.

Steve trails slowly through the store, carrying the shopping basket for the woman in front of him as she finds things off her list that she needs for her upcoming birth. They’re at Twig & Tuft, a store that caters to nesting, expectant and new mothers. Steve is helping Amy to do her shopping. Amy is omega, single, eight months pregnant, and she has an intellectual disability.

Steve feels guilty because even though it’s his second day off and all he’s supposed to be focused on is his weekend volunteer gig, he can’t help how his thoughts keep drifting back to the new patient in his ward: Bucky.

Steve can’t be at the hospital every day. Logically he knows this. He’d go insane or die from exhaustion if he did. But this is the first time in a while that he’s had two days off in a row and it’s the first time in even longer where he received a critical care patient on his last shift of the week. Steve had left detailed instructions with the ward staff, and he knows his team of nurses, therapists, techs and PAs (and hey, even sometimes the doctors, too) are very capable people. They can take care of Bucky. It’ll be fine.

He’s still found himself thinking about it almost all weekend though.

Amy stops halfway down the aisle, looking up at the shelves that are full of different baby formulas and feeding accessories. “Baby bottle,” she mumbles to herself, frowning as she sees the choices. There are all sorts of bottles in various materials, shapes and colors, all with different packaging proclaiming them: easy! clean! ergonomic! Preemie! or Silicone! Natural! or BPA-free!

“Oh man,” Amy says, flustering. “There’s too many.” She holds her list closer to her face, tongue working around in her mouth as she puzzles it out. “I dunno which one.”

Steve waits patiently as she figures it out. He’s only supposed to step in to help when she asks him, since it’s important that Amy be allowed to practice her decision making skills and build her self esteem. Steve’s biggest job being here is to intimidate anybody who might try to take advantage of her; financially, sexually, or otherwise.

He just wishes he’d been there to beat the ever loving crap out of the man responsible for getting her pregnant in the first place. All the caretakers at Amy’s group home know that it was someone employed at her old vocational school. Apparently the issue’s been “handled.” They won’t tell Steve the guy’s name. Probably smart.

Amy is a twenty-four year old woman who has Down syndrome. Steve first met her when her mother dragged her into the hospital’s free clinic, demanding an abortion. Amy hadn’t wanted it, and even when Steve explained the difficulties that would lie ahead for her, she’d been adamant: she wanted to keep her baby.

It’d caused quite the uproar amongst the clinic staff and OmCare social workers. Everybody had an opinion on it. The police couldn’t do anything without a statement from Amy, and all Amy did when asked who the father was, was cry. Amy’s mother hated Steve’s guts for giving her daughter’s wishes priority over her own.

ASHDOM, or alpha supports helping disabled omega mothers, is the charity that Steve got involved with after meeting Amy. They provide her with housing and anything else she needs to achieve her dream of being a parent.

Another visibly pregnant shopper approaches from the other end of the aisle, though it’s a male and he’s not as far along as Amy is. The man pauses and stares for a second when he spots them. Steve catches his eye and the man flushes and looks away, continuing down the aisle in their direction. He scans the shelves and quickly spots the items he needs—right in front of where Amy is looking.

Amy misses social cues that would have other shoppers smiling apologetically and stepping out of the way, so the man is forced to reach around her awkwardly to grab the items he wants. “Excuse me,” he says, sighing rudely when it becomes an effort. He puts the items in his basket and tries to move on past her, but Amy is distracted by her list and when she doesn’t move out of his way fast enough, he huffs and pointedly squeezes by, so close that their clothes brush together. “I said excuse me,” he grunts, clearly annoyed.

“Sorry!” Amy says, smiling because she’s friendly and hasn’t picked up on the man’s attitude.

“Hey.” Steve glares at the guy as he passes. He turns and speaks quietly so that Amy can’t hear. “You don’t have to be so impatient. Not everybody is as fortunate as you.”

The man tenses at being called out on his rudeness. He keeps walking but looks back over his shoulder at them. His eyes flick from Steve to Amy and back to Steve, disapproving. Steve grinds his teeth together at the assumptions he can see the guy making. The man rounds the end of the aisle and walks out of sight, and Steve sighs.

“Steve?”

“Mm?” Steve makes sure to get the scowl off his face by the time he turns back around.

Amy is holding out a three pack of basic baby bottles and looking expectantly at him. “This one is good for my baby, right?”

Steve smiles and praises, “Yeah Ames. That’s a good pick.” He holds the basket out so she can drop them in. “What’s next on the list?”

She looks carefully at her paper. “Um, dipe … diapers!”

They move on to the diapers section.

Some days, Steve thinks he must take more showers than any other human being alive.

He works out, so that usually accounts for one of them per day, but then there’s his before shift shower, after shift shower, and usually one or two others between certain patients. Because he’s not just a nurse practitioner. Before he completed the schooling necessary for that, he’d gotten his certification as a registered therapeutic heat support, and then as a registered medical heat technician. It’d helped him pay for college, and most hospitals wanted at least one of the two additional certifications if they were going to pay for an alpha’s salary on the OOBGYN ward.

Steve still takes on the occasional heat partner. But it’s less common now that Mercy General upped their staffing budget and hired more dedicated heat specialists. Hell, with Odinson on staff, the patients who need partnered usually request him, once they get a look at his picture in the profile binder (there’s a running joke on the ward that Thor used to work as a romance novel cover model).

So yeah, Steve doesn’t get intimate with as many patients as he used to. But when you spend your days around (and sometimes inside of) sick, pregnant, birthing and/or heat-ripe omegas, you tend to develop a funk. And if there’s one thing you don’t want to do to upset a vulnerable omega patient, it’s to come into their room reeking of a different omega’s pheromones.

So Steve showers a lot.

He’s just finished drying his hair when he leaves the staff locker room and hears a commotion from down the hall. He’s come up to the OOBGYN ward to shower, but he’s actually scheduled for clinic duty downstairs. He just wanted to check on Bucky before the start of his shift.

He doesn’t get too alarmed at the yelling until he gets down the hall a bit and realizes where it’s coming from. He sees a male orderly rushing into Bucky’s room. He hurries after him and sees the orderly moving for the bed, Bucky cowering away, and a female nurse standing back with a sedative prepared. The room reeks of Bucky’s fear.

The orderly grabs for Bucky and Bucky yelps and scrambles out of the bed, crying out loudly in pain when his IV stand gets dragged along and scurrying backwards into the corner of the room with it. The orderly moves after him.

“Stop!” Steve yells, rushing forward. “Stop, stop it. Now just hold on!”

Bucky is crying, cowering in the corner, and when he sees Steve he practically throws himself at him. “Steve!”

“Whoa, hang on Honey.” Steve catches him. “Sh sh. Calm down, it’s okay.” He can’t do anything but hold him and pet his back to try and calm him down enough to make sense of the situation. “What the hell is going on?!” he demands angrily from the nurse.

Like most staff on ward, she’s beta, and she looks fed up with Bucky. “He won’t calm down.” She holds up the sedative meaningfully, and Steve smells another wave of acrid fear coming off the omega who’s clinging to him. “Omcare was just here, explaining his custody arrangement. He freaked out when we tried to go over his care plan.”

“You need to back off,” Steve growls at the nurse. He tells her and the orderly to clear the room while he gets Bucky back into his bed. The poor kid is clearly in pain as he climbs onto the bed and lies down. “What hurts?” Steve asks, and Bucky puts his hand on his lower belly. Steve instructs him to lie still for the moment. “Bucky,” he says, careful to keep his voice quiet and soothing. “Talk to me. What happened? What got you so scared?”

The omega won’t look Steve in the eye when he says, “The social worker guy came. He told me about … about what I’m gonna have to do.” He peeks up at Steve but quickly averts his eyes again, face pinched. “They said I don’t have a choice, cause the hospital has custody of me now. Is that true?”

“Yeah, Honey. It’s for your safety. So that you don’t have to go back to … to where you were living before.”

“They said I have to have a heat.” He says it like it’s the worst possible thing ever. “I don’t want to!”

Steve inhales and lets it out slowly. “I was hoping to get in here before they told you. So I could explain it to you.”

Bucky scoffs. “Oh they explained it. Every shitty detail.”

Steve gently takes Bucky’s arm and examines the IV port for any damage. It looks fine, but the tape is all warped so he fetches another Tegaderm and tells the kid to hold still while he sterilizes the site and replaces the bandage. “I’m sorry they treated you like that,” he says quietly as he works. “I’ll talk to them, and I’ll make sure you’re assigned different nurses who won’t behave that way.” Bucky seems reassured by his promise, and his scent, while still upset, has at least calmed down from the panicked tone it'd had when Steve came in. “Tell me about your pain,” he says as he finishes up the IV. “Where is it and what number is it one through ten, one being none at all and ten being the worst pain you’ve ever felt?”

Bucky shrugs, tears in his eyes. He looks miserable. He points to his belly and pelvis, quickly removing his hand. “There and there. And I dunno. A five I guess. Sometimes a seven or eight when it gets really bad—Ah!” he gasps and grabs Steve’s wrist, grimacing for a second. “That,” he sighs, the pain obviously passing. “Like that.”

Steve pats his hand. “You said it’s a sharp pain?”

Bucky nods. “That time it was. It’ll be achy, usually, and then get real sharp for a second or two.”

Steve nods. “You’re cramping. We gave you a temporary heat suppressant to prevent you from withdrawing too quickly when you got here.” He hesitates, then says, “And an emergency contraceptive. Your body might be reacting to that.” He watches as Bucky pales and looks at him with wide eyes.

“Oh god,” he whispers. “I hadn’t … I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You shouldn't worry though. Your IUD was placed correctly so there's little chance anything would've implanted anyway.”

Bucky sniffles, looking sour. "This really sucks."

Steve knows what the nurses and social workers told Bucky to get him so upset. Before Steve’s shower in the locker room, he’d stopped by the nurses’ station and read over the treatment plan that’d been handed down by the OmCare custody team over the weekend. Steve recommended half of it, but he’s still nervous about Bucky having to endure it all when he knows the boy was just raped.

He holds Bucky’s hand and says, “You’ve been through something really awful, Honey. And it honestly sucks, but I promise that they wouldn’t write your treatment plan this way if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Your body is really—”

“Screwed up,” Bucky says despondently.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it. We really need to make sure that you don’t slip back into a dangerous place like you were when they brought you into the ER.”

Bucky looks up at him fearfully. “The nurse said that I could’ve died. Is that true?”

Steve grits his teeth and thinks about how he’s going to have to seriously lay out the new hire who obviously hasn’t finished her sensitivity training. “Yeah honey,” he tells Bucky gently. “We got you stabilized, but you were in pretty bad shape.” He feels Bucky’s hand shudder in his, and presses it back down on the bed. “I promise we’re not gonna let it get that bad again, okay? We’ll get you healthy. I’ve already seen your weekend test results and it looks like the antibiotics we’ve got you on are helping the infection to clear up fast. So that’s good news.”

Bucky makes a quiet whining sound in his chest. “But the things they said I have to do … Dr. Steve—”

“Just Steve,” Steve reminds gently. “I’m not a doctor.”

“Steve. Please. I don’t want to do it. I’m scared and … and embarrassed.” The tears that’ve been swimming in his eyes for so long finally break, rolling down each of his cheeks. He sniffles and hurriedly wipes them away. “I’m so fucking embarrassed, I can’t stand it.”

Steve’s heart is breaking all over again for this kid. It’s not often that he's presented with an omega who isn’t comfortable with their designation. Bucky really is an unfortunate combination of circumstances. “I know, Honey,” he tells him. “I understand. Some of the treatments you’re going to have to go through involve a lot of intimate touching and I know you’re embarrassed. But I just want you to remember that everybody who works here is very used to it all. It’s routine for us, and nobody is gonna judge you or think bad things about you. We just want to help you get healthy, okay?”

Bucky nods, but Steve can still smell his distress, can see the tension pulled throughout his body. “I have to have a heat,” he says—very quietly, like he doesn’t even want to say the words out loud.

“Yes,” Steve nods. “We’ll bring you into it slowly though, I promise. We’ll keep you very comfortable.” Bucky snorts derisively, like he doesn’t think the words ‘heat’ and ‘comfortable’ should go in a sentence together. “Hey,” Steve says softly. “Hey, so when we know that a patient’s been … hurt, like you have, we have special procedures in place. To try and make it easier on you.”

“... What are they?”

“We can assign you a support alpha,” he says. “Someone who’s trained for these situations. You’ll get a private room where you can nest and have all the things you want that make you feel safe, and nobody but you and your support will be allowed in there. The support will conduct all the procedures you need, so that they’ll be the only person who touches you.” Steve watches as Bucky takes that information in. He looks mortified, and Steve’s chest aches in sympathy for the kid. “It’ll make it all a lot more private for you,” he says softly, giving Bucky’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Does that sound good?”

“No,” Bucky says glumly, avoiding Steve’s eyes.

Steve chews his lip, knowing that he can’t do any better for him. It’s a shit situation, but when you specialize in trauma OOBGYN, you wind up dealing with shit situations more often than not. It’s kind of in the job description. Steve just hates this case more than most. “We can also give you a counselor,” he offers gently. “Somebody who you can talk to.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Mm mn. No.”

“I really, really think you should have somebody to confide in,” Steve says. “We have all sorts of counselors. All designations, male and female, young and old. You can choose who you want.”

Bucky appears to be thinking about it at least, his face still pinked up in discomfort. “... Omega,” he decides quietly. “A guy, please. Somebody … I dunno. Not an old person.”

Steve nods, relieved that the kid is taking his advice. “Okay, good. I’ll make sure that’s what you get. They can come and talk to you today, and everything you talk about is completely private between the two of you.”

“Everything?” Bucky checks, peeking up warily at Steve.

“Unless you say you’re going to hurt yourself or someone else, then yes.” Steve watches as Bucky takes that in, and is pleased when he doesn’t see any reaction that would indicate the omega had been thinking of self harm. “Okay,” he says, patting Bucky’s hand and standing. He’s probably going to be late for clinic duty now. “I’m gonna go yell at the nurse and orderly for you.” He sees Bucky’s lips quirk the barest bit, and feels about a hundred feet tall for it. “That won’t happen again. I’ll personally assign your new nurses and I’ll put in for a counselor to come in and see you this afternoon.”

“You’re still gonna be my doctor though, right?” Bucky asks, looking hopeful.

Steve nods kindly. “Yeah, Honey. Not a doctor though, just an NP. I’m your attending.”

“Attending. Right.”

He heads for the hallway but looks back when he's at the door. “Watch some tv and try to relax, okay? I’ll make sure nobody tries to implement anything until I’m back on shift up here.”

Bucky looks so vulnerable and sad sitting in the bed by himself, but Steve can see how he tries to put on a brave face. He nods. “Okay. Thanks Steve.”

“You’re welcome. Bucky.”

He finds the orderly and nurse at the nurses’ station. “You two,” he says sternly, pointing at the two betas who already look wary of him. “Grab his chart and walk with me down to clinic. We need to chat.”

Even though he just showered, Steve has to grab a bunch of scent wipes from the dispenser and wipe himself down after being in Bucky’s room when the kid was so upset, and he spends the whole time plus the trip downstairs chewing the two betas out. Thoroughly. He has the nurse scribble down the changes he wants made to Bucky’s chart, and warns her that she’s got sensitivity training in her near future. He makes it very clear that neither of them are to deal with Bucky again, and makes sure that a younger, male omega counselor familiar with rape cases and gender dysphoria will be in that afternoon to talk to him. “Go back to work,” he tells them once they reach the hallway outside the clinic. “I’ll be up later for my second shift.”

They both hightail it away from him and back toward the elevators. Steve sighs, then pushes in through the double glass doors to the hospital’s community clinic.

Steve has just managed to get two seconds to himself to take a piss and then try to shovel some food down. He’s crouched in front of the minifridge behind the clinic desk, half a burrito stuffed in his mouth, when a pair of electric blue Danskos step into view.

“Wow Rogers. You know some people’d consider that a marketable skill.”

Steve glares up at her. He rises to his full height. But she’s never intimidated by him. “Nebula,” he grumbles once he’s swallowed. She’s not one of his nurses, thank God. He only ever sees her in clinic. “What do you want?”

She shoves the chart she’s holding into his chest and he’s forced to grapple for it, his burrito smearing on the back of the clipboard. “Exam four,” she says, then goes to sit in front of one of the receptionists' computers.

Steve makes a face at her back, taking one more huge bite of his burrito before sticking the sad remainder back in the fridge. He glances at the clock: 4:10, Less than an hour to go with clinic duty, then he’s got a break for dinner, then he’s on the ward for first night shift. He glances down at the clipboard Neb had handed him. Intake apt. : Termination of pregnancy. He winces and goes to wash the smell of chorizo off his hands.

“Hi.” He’s still facing the door as he starts speaking in his overly friendly doctor’s voice. He can already smell pregnant omega, which means it’s not a first trimester abortion. Great. “I’m Steve, I’m an NP here at Mercy General. What’s brought you into the clinic today?” He turns around and sees who he’s dealing with, and forces himself not to visibly react.

A girl who can’t be older than fourteen years old is sitting on the exam table, in an examination gown and socks. A woman whom Steve assumes is her mother stands beside her, looking impatient. “We’ve been waiting for almost an hour,” she complains.

“I’m sorry.” Steve goes and sits on the rolling stool, already knowing that this is going to be the low point of his shift. “It’s an open clinic, ma’am. Waits can be long, but we do our best.” He turns his attention to the girl. She’s got brown hair and a ruddy complexion and looks anything but happy to be there. “Hi,” he says gently, holding out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Steve. What’s your name?”

“Jerrica,” she says.

“Hi Jerrica. It’s nice to meet you. Do you want to tell me why you’re here today?”

“I’m sure that’s obvious,” her mother snaps, impatient and nodding at the clipboard Steve’s holding. “She’s hid it till now. I found the test in her bathroom trash.”

“Uh huh.” Steve can see how uncomfortable the daughter is as her mother angrily tells Steve about her personal business.

“She won’t tell us who did it. We think it was one of the construction workers.” When Steve raises an eyebrow, the mother explains, “We’ve been having the basement renovated. Her stupid father hired a bunch of college kids to do the work.”

Steve inhales deeply. ‘College kids’ means over eighteen, which means he has to notify OmCare. “Have the police gotten involved?” he asks.

“Of course. But there’s nothing they can do if she doesn’t tell them who it was.” She glares at her daughter, making it obvious they’ve already gone over this multiple times.

“Mom,” Jerrica complains. “Nobody raped me. I told you.”

“You are too young to be having sex, Jer! It’s called statutory rape.”

Steve gives the girl his attention. “Jerrica?” he says. “Would you like your mother to be here for this appointment?”

“Excuse me,” the mom says, angry. “I am her mother.”

“And this is a very sensitive situation where I want to make sure Jerrica feels heard,” Steve says pointedly. Normally he’d make more of an effort to be in everybody’s good graces, but he’s not very pleased with how the woman seems to be walking all over her daughter from the get-go. He looks to Jerrica for an answer, and she straightens up stubbornly.

“She can wait outside,” she says.

“Well I don’t care what you want. You’re not even in high school yet and look what you’ve gotten yourself into!”

It’s obvious the woman isn’t planning on respecting her daughter’s wishes, so Steve stands up and guides her to the door, using his size to intimidate her. “Ma’am. I’ll send the nurse out for you to re-join the discussion in a little bit.”

The mother turns when she’s just outside the door and whispers harshly at him, “She needs an abortion! You know that.”

Steve smiles tightly and sees Nebula walking by. “Nurse, please show this lady back to the waiting room while I talk with her daughter.” Nebula purses her lips at him, and Steve doesn’t wait to watch her deal with that. He closes the door and turns back to Jerrica with an apologetic wince. “Your mom seems very concerned,” he says, and Jerrica rolls her eyes.

“She’s a bitch.”

Steve sits back down on the rolling stool and nods at the girl’s stomach, sobering. “So, you’re pregnant.”

Jerrica nods, hands going to her stomach. “I don’t want an abortion,” she says. “I already thought about it. My friend Stacy was gonna take me to planned parenthood. But I changed my mind.”

“Okay.” Steve is already having an unpleasant flashback to the time Amy's mother dragged her into the clinic, demanding the same exact thing. To focus himself, he glances down at his clipboard. It looks like the mother filled out the intake form. “Do you know who the father of the baby is?”

Jerrica huffs. “Yes. I’m not telling her though. She’ll just get him arrested.”

“Were you forced to have sex against your will?” Steve asks. He knows the law on statutory rape backwards and forwards, and this girl is practically a baby, but he’ll be much more concerned if anything was forced. “Jerrica? Were you raped?”

“No!” She scowls at him. “I wanted to have sex. It was my idea.”

Steve inwardly cringes. “Okay. Let’s talk about this baby then. Do you know how far along you are?”

Surprisingly, she nods. “We only did it one time. It was right after Thanksgiving. Like two days after or something. So that’s like three months ago.”

“About fourteen weeks, actually,” Steve says, marking it down on the chart. “I’ll do an exam to confirm. Abortion is only legal in New York up until twelve weeks.”

Jerrica starts to look gleeful.

“Unless there’s a medical need for termination. A concern for the mother’s health.”

“But I’m healthy. And I want to keep it.”

“I know, I know,” Steve tells her. “But I just want to give you all the facts, all of your options. If you did want an abortion at this time or later, I would consider you a medical risk due to your age. I’d approve the procedure for you.” When she just gapes at him, he explains, “Your body isn’t developed enough yet for childbearing. I can tell by looking at you. A woman’s pelvis has to widen and shift before a baby can safely pass through the birth canal.” She squirms and blushes at Steve discussing her anatomy, which is just another indicator of how horribly young she is. “How old are you, Honey?” he asks her.

“Thirteen.” She juts her chin out. “Almost fourteen.”

“Have you ever had a pap smear?” he asks her, rolling his stool over to the counter so that he can grab some gloves.

“A what?”

He sighs to himself. Fuck. “A pap smear,” he repeats, making sure to give her a friendly, neutral expression. “It’s when the doctor checks your vagina for irregularities.”

Her face goes bright red. “No,” she mumbles, tangling her hands in her lap. “Do I have to do that?”

“You don’t ‘have’ to do anything,” Steve tells her. “But it’s normal to do a prenatal exam when a patient is pregnant. And at this stage that would involve a pap smear and a transvaginal ultrasound.”

Jerrica won’t meet his eyes. “I don’t want to do that,” she says quietly. She shakes her head and crosses her socked feet over each other. “I don’t want to.”

“It’s for the baby’s and your health. It’s important, but I’m not going to make you.”

“You can’t make me get an abortion either,” she asserts. “I Googled it.”

“That’s correct,” Steve says. “But Jerrica, can I level with you?” She nods cautiously at him and Steve says, “I can tell that your mom is bossy and that you two probably don’t always get along. Me? I’m just a nurse practitioner. I don’t know you and I don’t have any stake in what you decide to do or not do with your body, okay?” He waits for her to nod, then adds, “You are very young to have had sex with someone, especially someone who’s over the age of eighteen. Your mother’s right when she says that’s illegal.”

“But I wanted to!”

Steve shakes his head. “Even if you wanted to, it’s still legally considered rape on his part. Now, I’m not going to force you to tell me the father’s name, but I’m required to report this to our social services department.” When he sees Jerrica’s face fall in panic, he hurriedly adds, “You don’t have to tell them who the father is, either. You're not in trouble. But you will have to speak with a counselor and a social worker. My advice for you would be to take advantage of that. Talk it out with the counselor and really think hard about if you’re actually ready to have a baby. If you decide at any time that you do want to terminate, I’ll approve the procedure. And if you keep the pregnancy, then you’ll need to see a doctor at some point to be examined.”

Jerrica looks tense, but she doesn’t shake her head again or insist that she wants to keep the baby. She shrinks into herself, looking even smaller and younger than before. “... Do you think I should do it?” she asks, voice wavering.

Steve decides to be honest. “Personally? I think you should consider termination. You’re very young and the birth could be dangerous for you. You’d still have your whole life ahead of you to have a baby one day if you want, when you’re ready for one.”

Jerrica nods tearfully and scoots off the table. She hurriedly pulls on her jeans and then turns her back to Steve as she drops the hospital gown and yanks her shirt back on. She doesn’t look at him again as she turns for the door. “I’m gonna go find my mom,” she mumbles, and leaves the room.

Steve sighs, feeling wrong for having given her his opinion on what she should do. He’s really not supposed to do that, but this girl is so young. He wanted to at least give her some perspective. Figuring that his shift is pretty much over and he’ll soon be on break for dinner, he chucks the exam gloves in the trash and grabs the clipboard with Jerrica’s paperwork on it, heading out to go file the OmCare report.

He spends his break eating dinner in the cafeteria and then napping on an empty bed. His phone alarm wakes him up and he heads to the ward for his second shift. Clint’s walking down the hall in his civvies, backpack slung over his shoulder, and he greets Steve with a small wave. “I put my case notes in,” he says. “Sorry, Phil’s waiting in the car. We’ve got reservations for seven, otherwise I’d stay to go over—”

“I’ve got it,” Steve says, tossing his head in the direction of the elevators. “Go on. Have dinner with your husband, for once.”

Clint smiles tiredly, grateful as he continues on down the hall. “Thanks man.”

Sharon and Hope are on for the night. Steve has a quick meeting with them where they review ongoing cases and he gives them the run down on their newest patients. Hope agrees to spend some extra time with the woman in 416 who’s still refusing to have the hysterectomy that she definitely needs, Sharon makes the rounds with meds, and Steve grabs Bucky’s chart and heads to his room.

“Knock knock,” he says from the doorway, seeing the omega awake and sitting up in his bed. When Bucky sees him, he grabs the remote and mutes the room’s tv. Steve smiles and walks in. “How’re you doing?”

Bucky shrugs. “The counselor came. He was nice.”

“Who’d you get?” Steve knows just about everybody in OmCare, but turnover is high. “Clint?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s really good.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “He listens.”

Steve walks over and stands next to the bed. He sees the tray of food sitting on the bedside table: meatloaf and veggies that are barely touched, a half full glass of water, and an empty jello cup. “You didn’t eat much of your dinner,” he comments lightly.

Bucky glances over at the tray. “I haven’t been very hungry.”

Steve checks the kid’s chart, sees the notes that the day nurse wrote down in a messy scrawl:

Intravenous suppressants titrated down to 40mg/4 hrs at 12:00pm OmCare counseled patient 1:45pm–2:30pm 3:00pm–antibiotics dose administered Titrated intravenous suppressants down to 20mg/4 hrs at 4:00pm

Preheat symptoms observed. Agitation, low appetite, bellyache, cramps, elevated temperature. Patient reports mild vaginal bleeding but no pain, breast tenderness. Refuses exam. Patient has pain upon bearing down on pelvic floor. Ultrasound shows slick glands impacted with no improvement. Request form for on-ward heat suite submitted. Patient is resistant, refusing to select a support.

Steve finishes reviewing the notes and sets the clipboard aside so that he can take Bucky’s hand when he sits down on the side of the bed. “Bucky,” he says, keeping his voice coaxing and soft. “You’re getting close to your heat. Remember how we talked about getting you a support alpha?” Bucky shakes his head and tries to pull his hand back, but Steve holds fast. “It’s important, Honey. Come on now. Do you think you’d prefer a male or a female support?”

“Male,” Bucky says automatically, but he’s still shaking his head in denial. “But I don’t want one. I don’t.”

“It’ll be much better for you if you go through this with a support,” Steve says. He’s got no intention of forcing Bucky to utilize the service, but he knows that in a case like this, it’ll be borderline dangerous not to bring an alpha in. “We’ve got a binder full of choices. Here, let me go grab it for you.” He hurries out to the nurses’ station and gets the binder. When he sits back on the bed, he opens it to the first profile and hands it to Bucky. “You can look through and pick someone you’re comfortable with,” he says kindly, though he can see the dubious look on Bucky’s face as the kid flips through a few of the pages.

“I’m not gonna be comfortable with anybody.”

“I know it’s hard, Buck. I promise we’ll do our best to get you whoever you want to—” Steve pauses when Bucky gives a little gasp and freezes in place. “What?”

“You,” Bucky says, staring at the page.

“Me?”

“It’s you.” He points at the page, and Steve looks over to see his own profile picture. Shit.

“Um, I can’t—”

“I want you,” Bucky says firmly, looking up with large, hopeful eyes. His mind is made up. “You. It has to be you.”

“I wish I could, Sweetheart, but that’s not how it works. I’m your attending, so I’ll still be watching over you, but your alpha support has to be someone else.” He sees how devastated Bucky is at this and he absolutely hates being the cause of it, so he quickly takes the binder and flips through the pages to try and find a profile that might tempt Bucky. “Um, let’s see here. We’ve got a guy named Thor who’s really nice, and—”

“No!” Bucky throws himself forward, hugging onto Steve and shaking his head in refusal. “No I don’t want anybody else. I don’t want to. Please don’t make me!” He begins keening, distressed and grasping onto Steve desperately, rubbing his face against his wrist. Steve stares, dismayed by this turn of events. He tries to calm him down, but each time he goes to pull away the boy cries out and tries to bite him.

“Bucky, stop! Stop it. You need to calm down.”

He doesn’t stop and he doesn’t calm down. He just gets less verbal and more frantic, shoving himself into Steve and scenting stronger and stronger, until it fills Steve’s nostrils and consumes his senses. He grabs Bucky’s shoulders to try and push him off, but the omega fights back with an unnatural strength and gets his face in Steve’s neck, and that puts Steve’s face in his neck, and—oh no.

Steve is instantly hard underneath his scrubs. He’d neglected to wear any blockers before starting his shift. He’s getting the full force of Bucky’s scent, the scent of a young omega on the cusp of heat, and now Bucky is surely smelling him, a fully–aroused alpha. It all comes to a head when Steve loses his composure for the barest of seconds, and a low growl starts up in his chest.

Bucky hears it and stiffens, and then he bursts out in tears, frantic, crying and moaning and scraping his teeth over Steve’s neck. He’s humping Steve’s leg and Steve gasps when he feels a gush of slick leak onto his scrub pants. “Nnnn!"

"Bucky,"

"Nuh! need it, you. Please, Alpha, it hurts. Steve, Steve, Alpha please!”

Steve realizes that he’s been backed into a corner. Refusing the kid now will only cause more harm than good. So, holding onto Bucky with one arm, he reaches for the call button with the other and presses it. “Nurse, I need a heat suite prepped now.” He gasps and jerks in pain as he feels Bucky bite into his neck, hard. “Fuck!” He grabs the back of Bucky’s neck and squeezes into his glands, forcing him into submission long enough to reach the call button again and bark out, “And bring a sedative!”

Art: @hopelessartgeek

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

🍵Consider tipping your friendly neighborhood starving artist smut author!

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here

💖Join one of my tag lists by filling out this form

🎨Art in banner by the incredibly talented @hopelessartgeek, who makes a ton of amazing Stucky art. Check her out! (The piece in the banner, used with permission, was not made for this fic.)

Tags: @scottishrosefury, @not-that-syndrigast, @lolitsbuckybarnes, @kathy-2005, @stuckysgal, @thenewmissescullen, @sapphirebarnes, @Yoruse, @autumnrose40, @alexakeyloveloki, @gretasimp, @kandismom, @ivoryangel1290, @mrs-rogers-barnes1, @iloveshawnieboi, @m0k0k0, @sousydive, @sapphirebarnes, @kandis-mom, @juicyfruit-22, @bloodrosefuryao3

[happy-hermit]

LAST LIFE SCAR ANGST PART TWO BABY :D

Thank you everyone for your enthusiasm with this fic akdkjdh it really kept me going. ( @stiffyck this is still for you)( @hopepetal here’s the tag u asked for I love your writing by the way I’m so happy you like this fic alskjdjd)

Part One

———

A few days pass where nothing and everything happens in equal measurements. The returned hermits work on settling back into normal — well, relatively normal — life, and they tend to only see each other in passing. They get caught up in old and new projects, filled with an urgency that came from being away for so long.

Scar himself spends most of his time gathering items. It’s mindless, repetitive work. Time consuming. Calming, almost. It’s boring enough that he doesn’t think anyone will bother to bother him. (He ignores the way his chest pangs at the thought. It doesn’t matter. It can’t.)

Jellie follows him around most of the time, even if he can’t always see her. She’s a comforting presence, and he knows that she’s only there because she wants to be. He doesn’t have to write up a contract to convince her to stay. She’s there for him. It’s just… nice, is all. To know that.

Scar wanders around with shulker boxes full of wood and leaves and sand and he pretends that he’s not avoiding everyone. It’s not like he doesn’t see them at all, and in fact he always grins and waves when he happens to run into someone. He just — doesn’t stay long. Doesn’t want to overstay a welcome he isn’t sure he has.

Daytime is easier. He can be busy during the day. He can forget. At night, though, he lays in bed and he hurts. His chest aches, and he’s cold, and he’s alone, always. Jellie is there, sure, and she counts, of course, but—

Well. Jellie can’t hug him. She can’t talk to him. She doesn’t know why he’s sad.

More than once, he finds himself outside of a Boatem member’s base in the dead of night, hand poised to knock and heart tugging him forward. He can’t do it, though. He doesn’t really know why — doesn’t want to think about it for too long. He’s pretty sure his mind would lead him back to an isolated mountain with a single bed set haphazardly in a corner. Thinks he would only be reminded of the way people had only ever visited if they’d wanted something from him.

He never knocks, those nights. He instead demolishes frankly absurd amounts of land for resources he doesn’t yet have plans for. He doesn’t sleep at night. It’s fine.

He manages to believe that for two weeks before it all falls apart.

———

The nights have been getting colder, since they all got back. Maybe it’s the season changing, or maybe it’s whatever has started happening with the moon; either way, Scar is thankful that he’s wearing a jacket. The fact that he’s soaked through to the bone is a little less ideal.

It’s a well known side effect of glow squid hunting, though, so he can’t really blame it on anyone but himself. It certainly ensured that he wouldn’t be falling asleep on his feet anytime soon. Of which there was a very real danger, if the cotton stuffed into his head and the lead weighing down his eyelids is any indication. The glow ink splattered on his hands and sleeves is starting to look a little blurry, and he instead focuses on just making it back to the Swaggon without keeling over.

The universe has it out for him, though, so when the first phantom crashes talons-first into his back, all he can do is fall.

He hits the ground with a strangled yelp, his sack of hard-earned glow squid ink flying out of his hand and splattering across the grass. It’s pretty. And heartbreaking. He supposes he hadn’t really needed it for anything…

The phantoms screech angrily overhead, and his back throbs and he scrambles to roll over onto it anyway, because he can’t stand up just yet and he at least wants to be able to see what’s coming—

He lurches to the right as another phantom dives towards him, and the talons only connect with his upper arm as opposed to his chest. He’ll call that one a win.

“Oh geez— Ow, come on, you can’t kick a man when he’s down!” Scar scrambles backwards across the grass, voice high and eyes wide as he resorts to attempting to reason with things that don’t understand him.

There are three of them circling him, and he scrambles to his feet just in time to catch a set of razor-sharp teeth in his shoulder. He yells and swats at it blindly, somehow managing to hit its eyes and smear glow ink across its wildly flapping wing. The phantom detaches itself from him, and he doesn’t even have time to be relieved before another is diving towards him.

He runs.

His shoulder hurts and his arm hurts and his back hurts and he’s cold and wet and no one has touched him gently in months, and he runs.

He doesn’t mean to go to Grian’s house. He had wanted to go home. (Maybe it’s telling, that he’d ended up here instead.)

A phantom bites at his leg as he reaches the alleyway, fake stars shining above him and horrifying undead creatures punishing him for his insomnia close behind him. Pain ricochets up his calf and down his ankle and he frantically tries to shake it loose, crashing to the ground again and crying out when the impact aggravates his other wounds. He knows without looking that his health is getting low. Dangerously low. And he hates respawning, he doesn’t want to, and maybe it won’t even work, maybe he’s used up his last life and he’s going to die alone just like he lived alone, and all he’ll be is a ghost haunting a world that barely notices his absence.

(That’s maybe too dramatic, but he’s dying and he’s tired and every night he holds his own hand and pretends he’s not alone. He feels entitled to a breakdown.)

He curls up against the ground with his eyes shut tight, resigned to the fact that he’ll have to get up and pick up his scattered items in a few minutes, resigned to the body aches that will follow him around for the next few days, resigned to the jokes that will pop up in chat after his death message goes out.

All he can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears, phantoms screeching and injuries stinging in a way that feels distant. Any second now. Any moment.

A hand lands on his shoulder, distinctly and painfully human, and he gasps, eyes flying open as he scrambles into a sitting position. His leg throbs angrily and his arm sends shocks of pain throughout his entire body and Scar tries his best to stay quiet — no one can know he’s hurt, they’ll kill him, they’ll make him give up a life — but a high-pitched sound of pain escapes his throat anyway. The blurry shape of a person kneeling in front of him freezes.

“—an you hear me? Scar?” The voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater, but it’s familiar. It feels like safe and danger at the same time. It sounds worried. “You’re hurt, please—“

“‘m fine,” Scar manages to get out, strained and quiet and mostly on autopilot.

“Wha— Scar, you are not fine, you absolute…”

The voice trails off into grumbling and Scar blinks slowly, looking down at himself. He’s covered in glow ink and his own blood and torn clothes. The clothes don’t look like the right color. He’s pretty sure they’re supposed to be purple.

“Wrong…” Scar mumbles, poking at his clothes. It seems important.

“Maybe because you’re bleeding all over it, Scar, just—“ The figure huffs, just a blob of red and tan, and something is moving behind him. Scar squints. The person seems angry. His weak heart rate picks up.

“D’ you… want a life?” Scar asks, confused and hurt. He can’t think. “I won’t… not for free. Let’s… A deal?”

The blurry person makes some sort of noise that makes Scar think he said something wrong. It sounds like it was punched out of them. Something’s wrong, he said something wrong. Scar’s eyelids are starting to droop, but he forces them open with a whine. The person lurches forward a bit, like they’re trying to catch him, but he’s not falling. Is he?

“D… Don’t go,” Scar pleads, mind scrambling to put together a sales pitch on why they should stay. “I can… I have— if you…”

His vision goes darker around the edges, as his own voice starts to echo in his head. The figure is saying something again, sounding frantic, scared. He wonders why. He hadn’t meant to be scary. He doesn’t think he’s in a condition to even try to be.

The last thing he sees before the darkness takes hold is a hand reaching out.

———

The first thing he’s aware of, when he wakes up, is not pain. It’s the gentle touch of a hand on his arm, lifting it and wrapping something around it. It still stings, but less so; most likely he’d been given a health potion. He feels warm. Sleepy. He opens his eyes.

The last thing he remembers is phantoms chasing him into Grian’s alley, and then someone finding him. Now with a slightly clearer head, he can only assume it had been Grian himself.

Slowly, he turns his head against the pillow he’s resting on, and he blinks sluggishly at the person currently bandaging his arm. It is Grian, with lines of worry in his face and his wings folded right against his back in that way that meant he was scared. Scar’s brow furrowed.

“…G?” His voice is hoarse, quiet, but Grian’s head still snaps up as if he’d shouted. “What’s wrong?”

Grian’s wings fluff up a little, something like angry disbelief swirling in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Grian repeats, half-hysterical. He drops the roll of bandages onto the bed and gestures wildly at Scar’s body. “You keel over in my alley dying of blood loss and you’re asking me what’s wrong?”

“Well, you do seem to be taking it harder than I am,” Scar jokes half-heartedly, attempting to sit up. Grian immediately pushes him back down, and Scar is too shocked to protest.

“Nope, you don’t get to deflect,” Grian says, and somehow it’s as gentle as it is stern. “I know what phantoms mean, Scar, and — and you didn’t even know who I was when I found you. So— so get talking. I know you know how.”

Nerves flare in his stomach, and he breaks eye contact to stare at the wall, inspecting all the random knick knacks on the shelves. He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to explain what he’s been feeling since the games, especially since everyone else seems to have moved on already. It feels silly, suddenly, for his biggest problem to be that he’s lonely. That he doesn’t think anyone wants him around.

“Scar,” Grian says, and it’s softer now. “I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

There’s a lump in his throat and a burning in his eyes, and for just a moment Scar pretends that his heartbreak is anger. He sits up, ignoring Grian’s protesting, and he points an accusing finger at the avian.

“Now you want to stay?” Scar says, powering through even when his voice cracks. “Because last I checked, all— all you wanted to do was leave.”

“Scar, what—“

“No, you wanted me to talk! I’m talking!” Scar’s chest hurts, and his hands are cold, and something in him has been breaking for a very long time. “You— you couldn’t wait to tell me that any alliance from the last games were over. And then when I— When I thought I had Mumbo you came and took him away, too.” Scar cradles his shaking hands close to his stomach and looks away, anger slowly draining. “And then Joel— and then I had no one. And no one wanted to— I tried, Grian, but no one wanted to—“

He closes his eyes tightly, trying to stop the inevitable. “No one wanted to stay,” he finishes quietly. “I… I don’t know what I did. I don’t know why no one…”

Scar trails off, laughing a little and rubbing at his eyes, trying to stop the tears before they fall on Grian’s blanket. “I’m sorry. I don’t— I’m just tired.”

“Scar,” Grian says softly, and something about his voice is strange. “Please look at me.”

Scar looks. Grian has asked him, and he looks.

Grian is looking back at him — a small, sad smile on his face — and he’s crying. Scar blinks in surprise, staring, and Grian laughs quietly, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. Scar doesn’t know what’s happening anymore.

“Grian?” Scar says uncertainly.

“Scar,” Grian says, and he sounds both intensely fond and profoundly guilty. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

Scar’s heart skips a beat in his chest, and he swallows hard. Grian keeps going.

“And I’m so sorry,” Grian says, voice cracking. He reaches out a hand and grabs Scar’s, squeezing it tightly. Scar’s breath hitches, his fingers twitching. The touch feels foreign. It almost hurts. He never wants to let go. Grian tugs on his hand, gently, and Scar looks back up at him. Grian looks heartbroken, but focused. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone,” he says.

“Then why did you?” Scar blurts, unable to help it. He feels a little bit pathetic. He can’t care anymore. “Why did everyone—“

“I don’t know,” Grian says, sad and frustrated and desperate. “I know why I did, I— We didn’t end well the first time. Scar, I couldn’t— I couldn’t kill you again. I looked at you and all I could see was…”

(Bloody knuckles. Sandy clothes. Only one gets to win.)

“I know,” Scar says, quietly, both an apology and forgiveness. And then, softer, “I was alone.” His shoulders curl forwards a little. “Everyone had someone and I was…”

Grian puts his other hand on Scar’s uninjured shoulder, and Scar meets his gaze. The avian’s eyes are full of fire, intense determination mingling with stubborn care.

“Never again,” Grian says, like he’s stating a fact of the universe. Like he’s challenging some malevolent god. Then he softens. “You’re not alone, Scar. Not anymore. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Scar opens his mouth to say something eloquent and thankful and graceful. Instead, he bursts into tears.

Grian pulls him into a hug by the hand he’s still holding, wings coming up to surround them, and for the first time in a long time Scar feels warm. The ache in his chest is fading. His hands aren’t cold. Grian is breathing shakily next to his ear, and he’s being so very careful as to avoid Scar’s injuries, and he’s hugging him.

Scar tucks his face into Grian’s shoulder and cries.

———

In the morning, Pearl busts down the door with soup and a vendetta against apparently unwelcomed emotions.

(“I heard someone was sad. I’m here to beat it up.” She’s grinning, and Scar can’t help but laugh.)

Impulse arrives a few minutes later and drops Jellie into his lap, smiling softly.

(“I think this one missed you somehow more than we did!” Jellie curls up by his injured leg, and if Scar tears up, no one mentions it.)

Mumbo bursts in last, the salvaged remains of the glow squid ink he’d collected gathered into a little bottle.

(“I tried to get you the fresh stuff, but there wasn’t really a way for them to— to ethically sacrifice themselves. Sorry, mate.” Mumbo is covered in glowing ink, looking genuinely apologetic, and Scar laughs until his ribs hurt.)

And he is not alone.

[little-pondhead]

Rejected Threads Pt. 1

[This is a series where I post the bits and pieces I decided to cut out of their final fics due to various reasons. I welcome anyone who wants to pick this up and make it their own. You do not need to ask for permission to use it, but I would like to be tagged in whatever you make. Just so I can see it :) ]

[Everything here is unedited and may ramble at times. Enjoy!]

---

Okay, so maybe Danny still had a thing or two to learn about being a ghost. It’s not his fault, really! Being dead doesn’t exactly come with a pamphlet introducing you to the afterlife! Although if his friends were here, they’d just berate him, saying this whole issue could have been avoided if he used his common sense, not his ghost sense. Which is fair. He’d give them points for that. 

But come on. How was Danny supposed to know about the GIW’s latest invention? Honestly, it felt so cliche that Danny wanted to smash his head against a wall. He’d been hit by a shrink ray. Except it didn’t work right on ghosts, because it was made by normal people who’d never even seen a drop of ectoplasm in their life, so instead of shrinking him it de-aged him. He looked like a four-year-old! Ancients, he was never going to hear the end of this from Jazz. 

Well, that was if he ever managed to make it back home. 

Right now, he was leading the rogue government agents through the streets of some damp city jungle, swinging through gargoyles and avoiding blasts with a few nudges from the city spirit here and there. A few pedestrians screeched from the ground level and had to dive out of the way of the GIW’s armored van, but Danny was confident they wouldn’t be seriously hurt. A constant stream of energy was flowing between him and the city spirit, giving the spirit the strength needed to pull civilians away from the fight with a few shadowy fingers. In exchange, Danny was suddenly living life in the third person. He could see for miles around him, feel the heartbeat of the city underneath his fingertips, and hear the quiet whispers of children and shades settling down for the night. The city spirit was everywhere and had no problem lending their senses to Danny so he could get away. He knew he’d have a headache later from overstimulation, but right now it was a godsend. 

From his enhanced view, Danny saw one of the agents lean out of their van, raising a gun toward his shadowy figure. They fired. He dodged. Is this how flies felt? Everything felt way too slow, and he could run circles around them with ease. Maybe once Amity’s spirit developed more, they could lend a hand like this one was. It was incredibly useful, if not draining. He probably wouldn’t have been hit by that stupid shrink ray in the first place if he could see behind him. Ope, Danny refocused his thoughts, almost missing the next swing. He should be paying attention more. 

Where should I lead them? Danny asked the city spirit.

The spirit took a moment to reply, struggling to form human words. North. To the park. 

Gotcha. After a moment, a thought crossed his mind. What’s your name? 

…I am Gotham. 

Nice to meet you, Gotham. I’m Danny Phantom. 

Danny. The little king of the stars.

“What? No!” Danny was so startled by Gotham’s words that he really did miss the ledge of a building this time, falling like a dead weight for about twenty feet until he caught himself. He still stumbled as his feet hit the pavement, but it was a lot better than becoming a smear. Danny glanced around frantically, but there was no one on the street and he was still invisible. He could hear the screech of tires a few blocks away, almost missing the turn as the agents tried to follow him. 

Now that there was some semblance of a plan in place, Danny needed to keep these guys on his tail rather than lose them. The shrink ray put off some very nasty vibes, which is how the GIW was tracking him, but maybe they could use a little guidance. Danny rose into the air once more, and at Gotham’s prompting, shot an ectoblast high into the sky, letting it explode like a firework far away from any buildings. 

The Bats will notice, but this is the only way. Gotham remarked. It was getting easier to understand them the more they talked. I will hide you if it is your will. 

Green eyes tracked the process of that damned white van for another two blocks, just until Danny knew their scanners would pick him up once more. Then he was off like a rocket, starting their little game of tag all over again as he led them closer and closer to the menacing grove of trees in the distance. Who are the bats? He silently asked. 

The Bats. My knights. 

You have knights?? That’s so cool. Danny panted, swerving to the left. His form flickered for just a moment, putting him onto the visible spectrum for a mere second before he was gone again. Don’t worry about me, I’ll hide myself for now. Once they’re gone from your borders. You should rest after this, I can feel the strain this has on you. 

Little king is tired as well. Keep your strength. 

Nah, I’ll be fine, Gotham. You were kind enough to offer me refuge until I figured things out. The least I can do is take care of my host. 

Hm….

Gotham’s mind retreated from his own for a moment, pulling back so he could focus on the fight. Danny appreciated it. He finally reached the trees, shadows extending to greedily pull him into the depths of the park. Danny obliged, letting the shades and wayward spirits guide him toward the center of the property. The GIW was still hot on his heels, plowing down vegetation like it wasn’t even there. A ripple ran through Gotham like they were waiting for something, and Danny almost stopped to see what the issue was, but Gotham just kept nudging him along. Danny trusted the other spirit and floated silently next to a gnarled and crooked tree that stank of chemicals and twitched whenever he turned his back. Beyond the tree was a vast patch of land filled with mutated plants and dense fog that Danny definitely did not want to breathe in. There was a broken down and shabby glass greenhouse in the distance, the source of the plants and fog. Well, this was as far as Gotham wanted him to go, so this was where he’d make his last stand. 

The GIW agents tore into the clearing, skidding to a stop a few meters away. Out climbed three men, guns charged and already pointed at him. 

“Reveal yourself, Phantom! We know you’re there!” One of them, Danny remembered him as Agent R, barked. His gun was the biggest, and Danny was sure he’d be the hardest to dodge. Gotham shushed his thoughts, calming his nervous core, and told him to wait. To stall. 

Stall for time? He could do that. “You’re so mean!” Danny flipped upside down, fading into existence. He gave the men a sharp grin, one too shark-like to be human. “We were having such a fun game of tag! Why can’t we keep going?”

Agent B, a short guy with a bright red mustache, stepped forward and jabbed his weapon toward Danny. “This is not a game, ghost!” He squeaked. “You are in violation of section two, paragraph three of the First Anti-Ecto Act. By order of Agent Alpha, you are hereby under arrest for unlawful-”

Danny snorted. “Sorry, Agent Alpha? What, is his first name Chad? Is his boyfriend’s name Omega?”

“His name is Mike Foxtrot! You insensitive bastard!” Agent B spat. 

“Agent B!” The third man, who was probably their leader, slapped a hand down hard on his subordinate’s shoulder. Danny didn’t blame him. This was the most information he’d ever managed to worm out of them in less than two minutes. He mentally pats himself on the back for the new record. 

“Listen, guys.” Danny raised his hands in faux surrender. “You may have turned me into a preschooler, buth-” He blushed violently. He bit his tongue, ruining the intimidating effect he was going for. “But I can still kick your ass seven ways to Sunday. Whaddya say we leave it at this for now?”

“Absolutely not, Phantom.” Agent R ordered. “You are to come with us quietly or we’ll be forced to use extreme force.”

“Extreme force?!” Danny shrieked, losing his smile. “You already use extreme force! I’m a fucking kid, you psycho!” Rage built in his chest, and green made his vision swim. 

Let it build. Gotham urged. Let yourself cry.

Danny sniffed, still ranting. “And now that I’m an even smaller kid, you want to arrest me?! What did I even do wrong?”

“You are a class 7 ecto-entity, Phantom. Your very existence is illegal and dangerous.” 

Danny let a few tears drip from his eyes, falling onto the weird plants below. A few flowers twitched out of the corner of his eye, turning to face him like a human would. The trees surrounding the cleaning seemed to lean in, looming ominously as their roots thrashed under the dirt. They were trying to reach for something, but Danny didn’t mind it. Gotham whispered that the plants were no danger to him right now, so he just kept working himself into an emotional frenzy. “I DIED!” He cried. “IS BEING DEAD A CRIME NOW?!”

Gotham shivered. Wail. They instructed. Danny did. 

“WHY DO YOU KEEP HURTING ME?!” His scream echoed throughout the city, carrying all the pain and anguish he could muster on such short notice. The connection he had to Gotham strengthened for those few precious moments, supplying him with enough energy so he wouldn’t pass out and transform. He did, however, collapse into the crooked tree, barely noticing how the branches seemed to cradle his limp body. The agents were blown back from the force, tumbling head over heels as their weapons were lost in the wind and their van tipped over. The nearest trees suddenly burst forth with staggered movements, surprising even Danny. Dirt was thrown everywhere as roots reached up to grab the men, restricting their movements to an almost painful degree. 

This whole thing was so unexpected that Danny just kind of sat there, being cradled like a baby by the creepiest tree in existence, listening to Gotham’s victorious hums as the GIW agents struggled against their new bonds. More roots took on a life of their own, twisting and bending their way through the van, smashing all the equipment, and tearing apart weapons without hesitation. It was just so bizarre. Small footsteps from behind made Danny’s ear twitch. He glanced over his shoulder. 

Approaching him from the fog was a beautiful woman who looked like she’d been made of plants herself. Her hair was a startling red, similar to Jazz’s, and her skin was such a rich and vibrant green it couldn’t have been body paint. Strands of ivy and flowers of all sorts were woven into her hair and clothes. Danny almost pegged her for the reincarnation of Gaea but thought better when he felt none of the Realm’s influence in her soul. No, this was a mortal woman who felt more like a daughter of Undergrowth than Sam ever did. He didn’t feel afraid, however, and instead allowed the tree to lift him to eye level with the woman. 

Pamela Lillian Isley. Gotham whispered excitedly. My precious gardener. 

“I am Poison Ivy,” The woman declared. “What are you doing near my lands, kid?”

Danny rubbed the tears out of his eyes furiously. “Sorry,” he sniffed. “I just-they were-” He broke out in hiccups, and couldn’t complete his sentence. 

Poison Ivy, for her part, was curious about this obviously meta kid who’d stumbled across her beloved greenhouse. It wasn’t hard to feel the disturbance from all the way across the city, and her pace doubled when she felt a child’s tears fall onto one of her ferns. She didn’t despise children, and so had no plans to hurt whomever she found. But she knew that the fog surrounding her precious greenhouse was toxic. Then she’d arrived just in time for the kid to let out the most inhuman cry she’d ever heard. It was full of anguish and pain, shaking her to the core. It sounded like the kid was dying. She wasted no time capturing the three men who were hunting the kid, using the roots of nearby oak trees to give them a little squeeze. As an afterthought, she also destroyed their equipment and van. Everything looked a little too high-tech for her liking. The kid looked worn out, dazed, and exhausted. She made sure the tree he was in held the boy gently while he stammered, struggling to answer her question. 

“They don’t like me. They -hic- keep trying to hurt me.” Danny finally managed to settle on a response. Poison Ivy gave the three men a deadly stare. How could they hurt such a tiny kid?! 

“Well, I don’t know how to help you kid, but I can direct you toward one of the Bats. They’ll probably take you home.” She said, still staring straight into the eyes of one of the men. He seemed especially uncomfortable with the vines wrapped around his torso. 

The kid shook his head adamantly. He floated gently upwards, an apology dripping from his lips. “Sorry, but I’ll find my own way back tonight. Feel free to do whatever you want to those men, they’re mean to me so I don’t care. And thank you for your help, Miss Isley.”

Startled by the use of her real name, Poison Ivy turned back to where the kid had been floating, but he had disappeared without a trace. Because of course he did. 

She sighed, turning back to her prisoners. “Now what should I do with you?” She asked to the empty air. The only response she got was a rustle in the wind and a grunt of frustration from a man with a red mustache.

---

Final ficlet can be found here: Kicking Names and Taking Ass, All Before Naptime

[ocean-blue-whump]

Safehouse, Night One

Follows this

Sunny + Star Masterlist

Tagging - @ashintheairlikesnow @painful-pooch @whumpinggrounds @justplainwhump @whumpfessional

CW: BBU/WRU, mention of character death, mention of malnutrition

***

Comet stares down at Star, watching the small, timid Domestic pet finish taping down her IV and scurry out of the room without another word. She looks so…small and frail in the twin sized bed, an IV connected to a clear bag with antibiotics in her arm and her hair still damp from the rain. He sees her, sees how skinny she is, and he hates Hunter even more from taking the girl and breaking her apart. 

Dane clears his throat, setting down a microwave meal on the other twin bed in the room. “That was Lila…she was trained by WRU to assist her owner’s medical needs. I don’t like to use her for that, but she’s been out of the system long enough that she sees it as paying her rent here.” He chuckles a little, sitting in the chair next to Star. His hand reaches out, and Comet doesn’t know he’s snarling until Dane puts his hands up. “Easy, big guy. I was just going to fix the blanket. She’ll get cold otherwise.”

“No men. No touching.” Comet doesn’t feel the need to say much more than that. He kneels beside the bed, reverently folding the sheets up to her shoulders. Already, she’s getting a little color back in her cheeks, and her pulse seems a little stronger. 

“Okay. We can work out dressing her and bandage changes tomorrow.” Dane gestures to the tray. “You should eat something. You can’t do much for her if you’re starving yourself. Eat and we can talk. You didn’t say much in the car.” 

Comet glances over at the food, frowning at it, but his stomach rumbles. Shit. He probably should eat something…he doesn’t get off the floor, but he does grab the tray and starts eating as quickly as he can so no one can take the food from him. 

Dane keeps his hands visible, watching Comet carefully. “Do you two have names?”

Comet swallows his last bite of food and sets the tray down. “156338, Comet, Guard Dog. 728501, Star, Romantic.” He points at both of them respectively as he talks. 

“You don’t…need to use numbers or designations here. And you can call yourself whatever name you’d like. You’re not limited to the choices of your owner here.” Dane’s eyes linger on the scars on Star’s face. “Supposedly, there are laws that stop these awful people from hurting you all too much. It’s illegal to brand or starve or horrifically beat WRU…products over a long period of time, but if you have enough money, you can get away with anything. You two have been through a lot, haven’t you?”

“She’s part of a bonded pair. Our owner killed her bonded. He slammed his head into a wall.” It slips out before Comet can stop it, and he regrets it immediately. This man is a stranger, they can’t trust him. 

Dane sucks in a breath. “Oh. I’m…so sorry. That must have been awful.” 

“I failed. It was my job to control them and prevent them from irritating him, and I failed. Now he’s dead.” Comet still wants to cry, but he can’t. He just sees Sunny lying on the floor, and that kills him. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

Comet’s head jerks up, and he stares right at Dane with a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“You were all victims of WRU. You didn’t do anything wrong. Your owner was a cruel and vindictive man. And before you argue with me…you’re a runaway. You broke training and ran away for some reason, so I know he didn’t treat you right.”

“I ran because he was killing her too!” Comet shouts, standing up and feeling so defensive all of a sudden. “He was supposed to be doing the right thing for us all, but he killed Sunny and he started torturing Star even worse than he used to! I couldn’t watch her die!”

“Hey. It’s okay. I believe you and you did the right thing.” Dane stands up too, and Comet notices how he favors his left leg. “You ran to save her, which was good, and you didn’t go to a hospital because they would have taken you both back to WRU or to your owner. This is the safest place for you both right now. We can keep a close eye on her, and while she heals, you can think about what you both want to do next. Of course…you don’t have to stay if you’re so insistent on not trusting anyone. I can’t keep you here.”

Comet rests his hand atop Star’s head. “I go where she goes. We are not bondeds, but…”

“You have to take care of her. I get it. That’s why there’s two beds in here, and a change of clothes in the wardrobe. I don’t know what size you are…and you probably don’t either, so when we figure it out, I’ll go to Goodwill and grab you and her some more things to wear.”

“Thank you,” Comet murmurs. “I appreciate it.” 

Dane nods once and heads to the door, lingering in the doorframe. “Tomorrow will be a little crazy. It seems like you don’t enjoy talking much, but you might have to answer some questions. It ain’t just me here running one house of rescued folks like yourself. There’s a whole network of us…and we can give you as much help as you want. I’ll explain it tomorrow. You’re not alone, Comet. Good night.” 

Comet watches the man go before he turns his attention back to Star. He sees her through Dane’s eyes for a moment, sees this awfully injured, scarred up thing, and he doesn’t like it very much. She’s still asleep, but he wants to see her shine again. “And you’re not alone, Star,” he whispers, kissing her head. “Stay alive. I still need you.”

He climbs into the bed next to her, shutting the light and lying there in the dark. What did he get himself into…and he wonders if Hunter is lying in bed too, missing them, or if he’s already moved on and found new pets that are better than they ever were. 

[unsettlingconclusions]

Winds of Change

Pairing: Hana Lee x MC (Riley) Summary:  Hana sings a lullaby as the whispering wind sighs. Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort. Rating: G Word Count: 830 Notes: In celebration of Hana Lee Appreciation Week 2024. This is an appreciation of Hana's loving nature. It was supposed to be a drabble, but I may have got carried away. It was also supposed to be pure fluff, but I can only do so much without letting the angst seep through. Written while listening to Chinese Traditional: East Chinese Lullaby(Erhu & String Quartet). I recognize it's been a long while since folks have asked me to tag them, so if you're not interested, please just ignore me. Tags: @hanaleeappreciationweek @lizzybeth1986 @sazanes @twinkleallnight @tessa-liam @choicesficwriterscreations

Shì shàng zhí yǒu mā ma hǎo

A tender breeze blows through the room, moving the curtains like gentle waves drawing its shadows in the room, seemingly following the soft melody cutting through the silence of the night. A string of direct moonlight makes its way in, bathing in silver gleam two dancing figures completely enthralled by each other.

Méi mā de hái zi xiàng gēn cǎo

The whispering wind lures Riley in, who finds herself bewitched by scene. She doesn’t know the words being sang, but the warmth of Hana’s smooth melodic voice makes her feel like she was being offered a hot chocolate on a cold night.  Hana is cradling Aurora while rocking them back and forth as the baby coos and grabs randomly at Hana’s face with her chubby hands, fascinated by the sound of Hana’s voice.

Lí kāi mā ma de huái bào

Resting herself against the doorframe, Riley barely utters, “You are so beautiful.”

“She is beautiful”, Hana smiles like a beam of light, never taking her eyes off Aurora. She shifts a little, securing Aurora’s sleepy head on her left shoulder and gesturing towards Riley with her other arm. “Come here.”

Xìng fú nǎ lǐ zhǎo

Riley tiptoes towards them as quietly as she can, not missing any chance to wrap her arms around her two favorite people. As she presses her chest against Hana’s back, she places a quick kiss to her wife’s temple and caresses Aurora’s baby head, tightening her grip instinctively when she’s hit by the sweet mixture of Hana’s floral perfume and that adorable baby scent.

The three of them sway together to the sound of Hana’s humming for a while, until Aurora’s breathing becomes heavy and rhythmic. “I think she fell asleep”, Hana hushes, as she turns around in Riley’s embrace.

“What were you singing right now?” Riley moves a strand of hair away from Hana’s face. “It sounded comforting.”

“It’s a song my grandma used to sing to me when I was little”, Hana shifts Aurora again, now resting the baby’s head on the nook of her elbow as she moves towards the crib. “It talks about how a child will find happiness with their mother”.

The change was almost imperceptible to anyone else, but to Riley the slight change to a more flat tone in Hana’s voice wasn’t missed. She heard the other woman inhale just a little bit deeper as she fondly settled Aurora on the crib.

“Can you translate it to me?”

“Of course. Sit here with me.” Hana motions for the couch at the corner of the room and waits for Riley to join her before she starts reciting.

“Mommy is the best in the world. With a mom you have the most valuable treasure. Jump into your mom's heart. And you will find happiness! Mommy is the best in the world. Without your mom, you are like a blade of grass. Away from your mom's heart, where will you find happiness?”

“You miss your grandma a lot, don’t you?”

Hana just nods, “Nǎi nai meant a lot to me.”

 “I am sure she’s proud of the mom you’re becoming.”

The breeze picks up in strength, invading the room a bit more fiercely for no more than a couple of seconds, its swishing working well for muffling the sound of Hana’s sharp intake of breath. But Hana’s shivering can’t be disguised, and Riley pulls her wife down to her lap, covering the woman with a blanket that rested at the corner of the couch.

“Aurora is so lucky to have you as a mom”, Riley adds, running her fingers through the length of Hana’s hair, only to come back to her scalp and do it all over again. “You’re smart and compassionate, and you’re so warm and loving. I can see you holding her up when she’s learning to walk, and celebrating every new word she spouts. And when she gets older and awed by everything, just like you are, you’ll teach whatever she wants to learn, when she wants to learn. You’ll be there for her when she needs you and won’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to.”

A few seconds tick by after Riley’s proclamation, the curtains swayed like a pole flag the only indication of the passage of time until a gentle sniff cuts through the monotony, “Whatever she wants to learn?”

“Whatever!”, Riley replies animatedly waving her hands through the air before finding Hana’s and intertwining their fingers together.

“She will find a lot of happiness in your heart”.

Hana inhales sharply again, but this time, instead of the quiet tears welling up in her eyes, the corners of them crinkle, soon followed by the corners of her mouth turning up in a relaxed smile.

Outside the wind kept stirring, rustling the leaves leisurely. Inside, the love for Aurora stirred so many emotions inside Hana, and she couldn’t wait for all the transformation she was bound to bring in. ____________________

Additional notes: a. The lullaby and its pinyin were taken from this place. If you're Chinese and I got it wrong, please let me know.

b. This was inspired by 2 haikus about the wind:

1. A Gentle Breeze Whispering wind sighs Leaves rustle in sweet embrace Nature's lullaby 2. Winds of Change Wind whispers softly Stirring dreams of transformation Hope for new chapters

Thanks for reading!