#but fr the way a series changes so much with new information

[welsknightenjoyer]

Oh no. I didnt finish writing my post dl life series fic and s4 is starting soon. My view of the narrative will be irrevocably changed to include new events that will never happen in that world. Screaming

[littlemisslipbalm]

Demonology: Me & My Dog

Series Summary: A new demon has come to Nashville. Josh and Jake's ways of life have been thrown off by her arrival. The angel and demon have lived with an understanding of one another, but with Y/N stirring up trouble and asking questions, they're forced to work out a new normal. And why is she so powerful for a human turned demon anyway, that's unusual, right?

Jake Kiszka x f!reader and Josh Kiszka x f!reader

A/N: This will be at least three parts! This first part is more about Josh and the reader, the second will be more Jake and then we will see with part 3 what is to happen. Please let me know what you think with comments and reblogs and messages to my inbox!! I want to talk about this bc I have been so excited to share it!!

Word Count: 5.4k | Warnings: alcohol consumption, strong language, allusions to sex - minor descriptions of sex but not descriptive smut (still 18+!!), dubious comprehension of angel/demon mythology, like this is fiction fr so if it does not make sense i am sorry but idc (but am also open to suggestions thx)

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Part 1: My & My Dog

When being told to stir up some trouble on Earth, Y/N was more annoyed that she had to go back at all than excited that she was moving up in the ranks. Afterall, she’d only died 50 years ago. It was already time to go back? She thought she had eternity down here. 

From what she’d heard from other members of the underworld, it’d just gotten worse since she’d left. Prior to 1976 had been a riot for her (1976 was not her favorite, but dying usually wasn’t in people’s top ten greatest moments), but now it sounds worse than Hell itself.  

Still, like a good little demon soldier, she trudged through the dim back rooms to find the dull office that would provide her with the necessary documents to take a corporeal form and inhabit the physical sphere for an extended period of time. 

“Can I bring my dog?” She asks, kicking at a piece of garbage on the floor. It littered the entire ground around her feet. 

“Dog?” The servant of hell inquired. 

“Chupacabra,” She corrects.

“Sure,” Their eyes raise from filling out the paperwork to the little animal beside her. “Extra form you need to both sign. Says he’ll suck the blood of at least five animals per earthly week while he’s there. We don’t do ESAs here.”  

“Fab,” She sighed in relief and scratched behind the ears of her dog that she had re-encountered shortly after arriving in Hell. 

The chupacabra placed his paw in some mysterious blood that had formed in the pewter catch-all dish sitting beside the papers and then pushed it onto the form. Signed, sealed and soon to be delivered. They were getting out of Hell. 

-

When she materialized on Earth, she wasn’t sure where she was exactly. The home office didn’t give that information, you just had to figure it out yourself. She had been hoping for her hometown of Los Angeles or another major city center she’d never been to before. Maybe London or Tokyo would be a fun change of pace. 

After walking what felt like 20 miles, but was probably half of that given that she wasn’t used to physical legs anymore, she came upon a sign as to where she was. A mural to be exact. 

It had only been woods and fields for the first half, but then there were more buildings. Coffee shops, bagel shops and something that was called a ‘Vape’ shops. Everything advertised themselves as historic music sites. But it wasn’t until 1504 Demonbreun St. that she fully ascertained she was in the heart of Nashville, Tennessee. 

“Welcome to Nashville”

“Fuck yeah,” She smiled. A friend back in the day had been from here and told her about it a few times. It wasn’t a major capital city or home, but it was a city alright. And where there was nightlife, she was sure there could be trouble. 

She spent the rest of the day checking around her surroundings. Finding the place Hell had given her to lodge in. It wasn’t much but she remembered earthly delights and planned to spruce it up, give it a vibe. She wrote a note on the wall with a deep red pen she had brought with her a list of items she needed. Couch, rug, bed, posters, an electric guitar and lots of wine and clothes. The ink dripped down the wall and she smiled, swiping at it and placing it to her lips. 

She passed the rest of the daylight hours with great displeasure for the living people around her who barely seemed to notice her. Not that she looked any different than them, but it just bothered her that no one was as friendly as when she’d last been here. No one bothered to say ‘hello’, all they did was stare or talk into their rectangular devices she had realized were portable telephones half way through the day. 

Broadway St. seemed to be the place Y/N thought she’d find the most possible trouble. It was lit up like the Sunset and if it weren’t for all the horribly dressed people surrounding her, she would’ve felt right at home. 

At one of the bars, she got free shots from the bartender with a flash of her eyes. From the regular dark brown iris, they flashed an entire eternal glassy black. He smiled dreamily in the abyss and walked away after she winked at him. She swung back the shots and made her way to the dance floor. 

Raising her hands above her head, she began to dance. Her black lace dress hugged her curves and shifted with her. Her silver jewelry glinted dangerously as she moved. The lights in the bar shifted to stay red instead of the flashing multi-colors that had bothered her when she entered. She moved her hips to the music and slowly it transformed from a poppy song she didn’t know to Led Zeppelin. 

Robert Plant’s voice got everyone dancing the way they should and the vapes transformed into cigarettes and she smiled to herself feeling alive for the first time in a long time. Maybe being back wasn’t so bad. She drank more and danced more and saw people getting drunk and making out in corners and thought debauchery worked as trouble. Job done for the day. 

She relaxed into the sway of the music, writhing around like a snake as her skin grew dewey with perspiration. A tug at her arm brought her out of her euphoric state. All night she had made sure no one would bother her, but whoever this was didn’t seem to follow her rules. 

She opened her eyes, fully black once more as she stared at who was holding her wrist. She tugged back but his hold was secure. He pulled her to the side of the dancefloor, a space conveniently opening up. 

“Get your hands off me! What the fuck, man?”

“You can’t be here,” He spoke calmly. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. He had on a white plain t-shirt and light wash jeans, with opalescent beads hanging around his neck. His eyes were an oddly familiar light brown. His hair was shaved on the sides, creating a sort of mullet that she mildly appreciated if he hadn’t been so rude as to pull her away from her fun. That mullet exposed the golden earrings in his pointy ears. 

There was something different about him. None of it was in his physical form but she felt it, vibrating and extending around him. As if he had invisible light passing around and through him even in the dark dingy bar lighting. 

“Says who?” She finally tugged her arm free from his hold and crossed her arms across her chest, pressing her breasts up in the process. 

His eyes flicker to the movement before pressing his lips into a thin line “Says me.” 

She rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “And you are?” 

“Joshua. I protect this town," he says. He wrings his hands around the gold bracelets on his wrists. “You can’t come into these bars and just mess with everything about them. It’s wrong.” 

“Yes I can, Josh,” She smirks. “I’m a demon as you clearly already can tell. I can do whatever I want.” 

“Oh my God,” Josh sighs, exasperated already. “There’s already a demon here.” He knew the other one quite well and was at least able to keep him in check. A newcomer would mean more work. 

She shrugged. “Not my problem, angel. Hell sent me up here, guess they’re not happy with the other one’s performance.” 

She moved to go back to the bar for another drink when Josh looked like he was a million miles away. He’d really killed her buzz. Josh’s mentioning of another demon made her stop and ask as an afterthought: “What’s this other demon’s name?” 

“Jacob–er, uh, Jake,” Josh corrects himself. He hadn’t gone by Jacob since, well, since before, even if Josh wished he could just call him Jacob. 

“Groovy.” Her smile is wicked, her lips painted a red so deep it resembled dried blood. “Displeasure meeting you, angel. Come find me if you ever want to have a real good time.” She kissed his cheek before disappearing behind a group of people. 

-

Two weeks later, Y/N was seated on a bench in the park with her legs kicked up. She looked like she was a dead body–which more or less, she was, but the way she was sitting was unusual for someone who was supposedly alive. Her dog was perched unnaturally along the backrest, soaking in the sun he had missed. They looked out of place. 

She had come out in the midday to see if she could start any fights in the park. She’d quickly learned that malfunctions with their little handheld phones really upset the modern humans so she liked to mess with wifi and electrical connections every odd day or so just to keep up the no-good work. 

Her black RayBans covered her eyes as they surveyed the green grass for potential targets for a bit of a row. She sat as far away from the people as possible, so she had enhanced her vision as if using a zoom function. But soon something white blocked her vision. 

“Angel,” She practically growled. Her dog actually growled, sitting up. 

“Mind if I sit,” Josh asks pleasantly, eyeing the dog with caution. It looked like a normal dog, but a clip in his right ear and a strange red shimmer in his eyes made Josh think there might be something hellish about him. 

She took her feet off the bench and pushed her sunglasses up off of her face. “Finally want a taste of what you’re missing?” 

“No,” he states flatly. His eyes were still wandering between the creature and the demon. She was dressed in all black, typical. The dog was between cream and the lightest brown he’d ever seen, atypical. “Is this your dog?” 

“Yeah.” She smiles softly for the first time. Her hand goes to pet him between his ears and down his small snout. “He was waiting for me in Hell back’n the day. They made him a chupacabra for me as a ‘Welcome to Hell’ present.” 

Josh’s eyes widened in surprise. What had she done in life to receive a present in Hell? “They like you down there?” 

“Eh…I think I’m just a descendant of many a troublemaker. They knew I’d be an asset, especially when I arrived so early.” 

Her dog slipped into her lap. For a moment, he shifted as he stared at Josh. Big ruby eyes glowered at him, all his hair was gone, leaving something more resembling a pale soft dog-rat. Disturbing and wretched, nonetheless. He wrinkled his nose at Josh. 

Josh tried to smile, feeling awkward. Jake had insisted he find this demon Josh had encountered, needing more information about whether he was really in trouble or if it was procedural. Why Jake wouldn’t do it himself, Josh never got as many answers as questions he asked. 

“Do either of you have names?” 

She grinned. “Is this twenty questions? Why so interested in me?” 

“Just want to get to know my opposition,” Josh says lightly, praying for her to feel extra kind today. Afterall, she was a demon who was originally human and it was only a little while ago from what she seemed to like. He was pretty sure she’d only been down in Hell for 50-60 years, that was barely a human lifetime—and yet it was longer than hers. Far less than Jake. Maybe he could neutralize her, get her to see the bright side. 

“His name is Rune, now, but it used to be Rori.” She rubs over the dog’s hair, happy that he was softer on Earth. “He responds to both–for me. Not sure what he should be called now we’re back.” 

Josh waited patiently. The breeze was cooler than usual and looking at her, he had to assume it was her as well. She seemed far too powerful for a run-of-the-mill demon who used to be human. But she also seemed extremely unlikely to answer his questions if he got too personal. 

With her eyes uncovered, Josh watched them move around as she thought about something. It was almost like she was tracking something or doing some long form math equation in her head. Like she didn’t know what her name was and was looking for the answer. 

“Mine…well, now you can call me Sal.” She winks and Josh straightens in his seat, feeling strange. “Gonna write about me in your diary now, Joshua?” 

Josh pretends to laugh with a clipped “ha ha.” She smirked again, sliding closer to Josh on the bench. Rori grew annoyed and hopped off her lap, slinking off to climb a tree in hopes of finding a squirrel. Sal extended a delicate hand to Josh’s shoulder, beginning to play with the fabric of his shirt. He smiled tightly, not having anywhere to go if he wanted more answers. 

“You said you arrived early?” Josh’s voice is high as he feels her touch moving down his arm. Thankfully, being an angel kept him from feeling her entire influence, but her physical touch was enough to feel something…unholy. He didn’t want to imagine her abilities on mortals. “What did you mean?” 

“You’re fun,” She beamed. “If I show you some tricks I picked up in Hell, will you show me something?” 

“It depends what you want to see,” Josh tries to be diplomatic. 

Her head throws back in laughter. “Not that. No, I want you to want me to see that.” Her hand wanders to his wrist and toys with the bracelet before slinking to his thigh. Her voice was low and sultry, lips pressed to his ear. “Desperately.” 

Josh was starting to feel like he might have to leave. His breathing had turned shallow and he couldn’t stop staring at the carnelian stone hanging between her breasts. Her hand’s touch left him and she laughed again bringing him out of his reverie. 

“Hell, you’re pretty cute…I was a 27 club member.” She shrugged, turning away from Josh to stare out at the people again. “Had my heyday in the late 60s/early 70s and went out the same way I lived. Fast.” 

Josh thought about the 60s and the 70s. He’d admit those decades were a bit of a guilty pleasure for him. Nashville had been fun, not as crowded. He watched her again, seeing her eyes narrow looking at the couples and the groups of friends. 

“You weren’t from here?” 

“LA. Broadway’s kinda like the Sunset Strip, just a bit more loser-y…NashVegas, just like Liv said.” 

Josh was about to protest, but refrained, letting her reminisce. She did miss her friends from back then. They’d gotten up to so much trouble. Sometimes too much. 

“Best of times, worst of times kind of thing y’a dig?” She tapped the heel of her boot like she was trying to shake off something unpleasant. “Just glad I had my dog for most of the time. He followed me everywhere and everyone’d let ‘im in because he was such a doll. Died ‘bout three years ‘fore me.”

The more she spoke the more her accent of a bygone era of California popped up. Josh couldn’t deny how sweet she sounded when she spoke about that thing, demonic as the pair of them were. 

“How long’ve you’ve been up–er, down here?” She asked, barely realizing she had to correct for him. 

Josh cast his eyes to the sky, thinking. “Since the beginning. That’s like, 8000 human years, I believe.” 

“Get the fuck outta town!” She exclaimed, jumping in her seat to face him. Her eyes were alight with hellfire. “You’re a proper angel then?” 

Josh chuckled. “They don’t really take new hires upstairs, I’m afraid. Only very special occasions. It doesn’t happen much these days.” 

She regarded him for a moment, inventorizing him again now that she deemed him far more interesting than before. “Yeah, I was on a special list when I came down. Only a few others in my line, everyone else had to wait in this huge waiting room. It was…repulsive and I’ve been in the alley behind the Whisky.” 

Josh tilted his head, looking over her once more. He felt like he should know her, but he couldn’t understand from where. She looked so familiar. Her hair seemed to shift every so often and he couldn’t be sure if it was the light or mood dependent. He didn’t prod at her mentioning the special treatment in Hell, didn’t want to alert her to the fact, that from what he knew, that was extremely rare.

“Have you told your demon friend about me yet?” She asked.

“He’s not my friend,” Josh responds automatically. 

Her eyebrows raise as she turns her head back to him, scanning him for understanding. A killer upon its prey. 

“Secret lover?” She guesses. 

Josh can’t hide his face of disgust. “Jesus! No!”

“Homophobic?” She asks with a look of distaste. Not being for the gays was so not groovy. Half the musicians she hung out with back in the day were gay. And she wasn’t one for choosing when it came to sexuality. 

“No!” Josh cries. “I am more than an ally to that cause, not that angels really have sexualities…it’s just.” He sighs, rubbing at his neck confusion. “He was, is–I don’t know, my twin.” 

“Oh!” She beams, eyes once again lighting up in intrigue. She enjoyed learning things, it helped for using it against people at the end of the day. “So he’s also a proper demon. Fell and all that.” 

“Yeah, don’t remind me.” He sounded pained, as if he was reliving the entire thing. 

“Wow…” She blows out a breath. “That must be funky.” 

She continued when Josh said nothing. “Y’know ‘cause he’s your brother but also he’s–” She finished her statement by sticking her pointer fingers through her hair and wiggling them around. 

“Yes, I am aware.” Josh shakes his head. 

She stood up and stretched her arms over her head, revealing her stomach below the flowy lace top she was wearing. “Great catch up, I guess, angel. Wanna trade tricks later? I’ve already worked through most of the main bars here and I’m getting bored.” Nothing was keeping her interest, since every place she had to transform into her liking. 

“You want to hang out with me? You want to hang out with an angel?” 

She grinned, turning around herself once before dropping her arms and stalking back towards Josh, standing directly in front of him. She leaned over him, watching him straighten his neck and swallow thickly. His eyes flickered from her face to the carnelian again. 

“Everyone else is too easy around here. I need a challenge.” Her lips were right in front of his. “You seem like the perfect remedy for a wayward soul like me.” 

-

Josh wasn’t exactly sure why he agreed to meet the demon at some speakeasy she said she needed to try. He wasn’t fully sold on calling her ‘Sal’, something about it felt off to him. She didn’t even really seem to care for it either. Jake, he knew, was vehement that he wished to be called Jake. 

Jake was probably why he had come to the back door of a pizza joint that was actually the door to the underground speakeasy. He’d asked for more information on her. When Josh had inquired why Jake couldn’t just do it himself, his twin finally fessed up that he was actually not currently in Nashville at all. Leaving the heavy lifting to Josh, like always. 

Begrudgingly, Josh entered another bar with plans to meet a demon. Heaven forgive him. It was smokey inside the brick-walled cavern. Small candles lit the tabletops and narrow bar top. A small dance floor was packed as people danced slowly to a jazz band. In the corner of the room, he saw her hair almost glowing in the dark and he made his way over. 

She was dressed in a black pantsuit, with no undershirt, just a black lace bra and her same necklace. Rori wasn’t present, from what Josh could see, but based on their conversation earlier he had a feeling the demon dog was around, lurking. 

She groaned when she saw what Josh was wearing. 

“Angel, man, do you have any other clothes besides that?” She shook her head in disappointment. 

“Of course I do,” Josh huffed, looking down at his clothes not understanding what was wrong with them. 

“Change.”

“I can’t perform miracles just to change my outfit. That’s wrong.” 

“That’s wrong, it’s wrong,” She parrots what she thought was becoming Josh’s mantra. “God, Heaven sounds so stifling.” She rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers with impatience.

In an instant, Josh was dressed in a red velvet jumpsuit with sequins around the neckline. His arms were on full display, muscles bulging while the velvet hugged his torso and lengthened his height. He smooths at his hair and feels something come off his skin. On his hand, he sees glitter. He looks at her again and then down at his new clothes. She was eyeing the bulge veering to his right thigh. 

“Much better.” She grins. 

Josh rolls his hand in front of him quickly, almost like a benediction, and once again his outfit has changed. Now, he was in a cream and grey jumpsuit that was far less flashy of his own with his favorite sigil emblazoned on the chest. He left the glitter and sat down. 

Her unamused look makes Josh feel a little hot with shame. 

“A little miracle to make sure I don’t look like a demon can be forgiven.” 

“You looked foxy but whatever.” She rolls her eyes and flicks a hand at the table, producing a bottle of red wine for both of them. “You drink, surely. C’mon, don’t act like your demon brother hasn’t corrupted a few of those precious angel feathers.” 

Josh can’t help the smile that falls over his face. Not sure what was so endearing about her at this moment. The romantic jazz might have something to do with it. He loved jazz. He takes the drink gratefully and they sip in companionable silence. She was subdued. 

With one bottle down, they start a second and this is when she offers to show Josh a trick if he’ll show her something again. He shrugs in compliance, feeling well on his way to drunk. 

“But won’t the other people in here see?” He adds. 

“No, they all know to mind their own business. Plus, it’s dark in here.” She winks and suddenly Josh is staring at only her head. 

He can seriously only see her head and neck. She moves closer to him and now Josh is certain, she’s made her body disappear. She was a dishonest-to-god floating head. Her head glowed gold for a moment as she twirled in a complete 360 to really show herself off. Josh’s eyes were as wide as possible trying not to cry out in amazement. Then the rest of her body reappeared, straddling Josh’s lap. With her arms draped over his shoulder, her all black soulless eyes gazed into Josh’s, practically paralyzing him with her fiery warmth and intensity. 

“So what do you think, angel?” 

“I, uh,” Josh stuttered. He placed his hands firmly on her hips and moved her off of him. “That’s impressive. What’s it good for?” 

“S just fun,” She shrugged, undetered by Josh removing her from his lap. “Let’s dance and then you can show me your wings or something.” 

Josh didn’t have time to protest, as she grabbed his wrist with one hand and their second bottle of pinot noir in the other. 

She took a swig before letting it float in the air beside them. Her body swiveled around the dance floor, placing herself in Josh’s arms as he swayed respectfully. She sighed and sunk into the movement, drinking from the bottle every so often. When the song changed, she turned to face Josh, handing the wine to him. He drank obediently, which she felt was a triumph. 

Hands draped over his shoulders again, she pressed her body against his. He was strong, she could feel his toned stomach. Her regular eyes met his and she tipped her nose against his. He looked stoicly back at her, determined to be friendly but not fall into the trap she was so clearly laying for him. 

“You’ve got so many defenses up,” She whispers. “Why not do what you want for once? Loosen up. Indulge.” 

Josh smiles down at her and moves his lips to her ear. Polite as ever, he speaks soothingly. “I am having a lovely time with you, Sal.”

She groans, pressing his hands to her hips again, where the curve of her ass was. “I can gaurantee you’ve never had what I’m offering you…” 

Josh smiles knowingly, unconvinced. “I’m afraid I’m above your temptations. Is seduction your main area of expertise?” 

She glares at him, but there’s a glint in her eye. She loved the chase. The difficulty. 

“Debauchery in general, but with how many people wanted to have sex with me in my first life I have a specialization in seduction and desire.” 

He shrugs, moving his hands to a respectful place on her waist. His touch is light, but she feels the pressure of his thumbs pushing at the exposed skin. She smirks and snakes her lips up to his ear. 

The gold hoop glints and she flicks her tongue over it. “I could just show you what you’re missing. If you’d allow me to put it in your mind, we wouldn’t actually do it. You’d be in complete control. Halo intact. C’mon just a few images…it’ll be informative.” 

Josh sighs as the tug of her teeth on his earring. She was bad. Terribly good at her job. He understood why she was here. Jake wasn’t even in town. Damn him. If he did his job a little better, Josh wouldn’t be contemplating allowing a demon into even a small recess of his mind. But, Jesus, did he want to just see it. If it wasn’t real, it wasn’t really a sin to indulge. 

She stares at him, waiting for his response. Her hands run over his shoulders and chest. The music swells and Josh’s hands tighten on her waist as he looks up to the ceiling, praying for forgiveness. 

“For educational purposes,” He starts and she grins. “I will allow you to show me how you do your job. So that I may be able to thwart your wrongdoings better.” 

“It’s just a little sex,” She licks her lips. “Igniting passion in people makes more babies for you to teach heavenly values or whatever. God likes sex, Josh.” Her voice is sickening, it was like she was dripping in a delicious scent that Josh can’t get out of his head. Twisting his values and her intentions into something evil that somehow made wicked sense.

He’s been careful to only open up a small piece he knows he can close, but he almost loses his footing when he finally feels her stinging lips on his. She licks into his mouth and he’s about to protest before the images begin to flow through his mind. 

‘Good thing your brother doesn’t have to transfer information like this, huh?’ Sal says within Josh’s mind. 

Guiltily, he feels himself laughing. Though his physical body is still locking lips with her. 

The room she brings him to in his mind is dark, a red lamp in the corner where two bodies are rolling around. Sighs of ecstasy filling his ears. The smell of sex hanging in his nose.

‘You’re really missing out, angel. Could show you the best thing life, and death, has to offer.’ Her voice is softer in his mind. 

The scene changes. He’s staring up at her above him. Her hips are working over him steadily as her naked breasts bounce in front of him, her necklace is the glowing light now. Her voice is sinful as she moans praises for Josh. How good he feels, how big he is, how strong he is. The scene changes and he’s driving into her with her legs over his shoulders, she’s smiling sweetly up at him with her mouth open, repeating his name like a prayer. It shifts and she’s pressed face down in the grey silk pillows, her body spread out for him as he grunts and growls, thrusting ceremoniously into her as she screams for him to keep going. It’s melodic, every bodily sound and the scene of their physical bodies uniting is hypnotic. Like it was pre-ordained that he would fit so well inside her. He feels euphoric as it shifts once more. She is back on top, his hips press up into her as she grinds down. Their faces are pressed together as Josh holds her body close to him. Arms enveloping her fragile frame. The room is quiet as they are pressed skin to skin, her lips meeting his gently. Sharp gasps escape their trembling lips.

‘Okay, enough,’ Josh pushes away from the scene, feeling both aroused and confused. 

In the speakeasy, she pulls back from the kiss with a wipe of her lips. She runs her hands through her hair as she watches Josh. She had shown him every one of his fantasies, placing herself at the center of them. They weren’t particularly raunchy, it was all about connection to him and for once she didn’t tease. 

“I like you, Joshua,” She says, truthfully, allowing him to pull their bodies a little apart. 

He was flustered and confused and embarrassed, but he also didn’t want to run. She had kept her word, shown him a few things and left. He didn’t fully understand the words she had just spoken.

He shakes his head, an awkward smile on his lips there on accident, and she stares at him wistfully. 

“I haven’t had someone in my mind in a very long time.” 

“It’s okay,” She soothes. “You really are an angel. Maybe on this earthly plane for too long since you clearly have carnal desires, but they were sweet. Every man’s mind I’ve looked into had vile and cruel desires…” She paused, looking past Josh. “Even in my first life, all the men I knew wanted to hurt the women they supposedly loved.” 

Josh’s eyebrows shot up in shock. 

“The closest you got to dirty was having me in do–”

“Okay!” Josh cut her off. “I think it’s time to call it a night.” He turned and walked swiftly through the crowd, parting easily for him–definitely not a misuse of his miracles. 

“Fine,” She grinned wickedly and whistled for Rori, sauntering after Josh. 

Back on the street, it could’ve been daytime with all the lights compared to the speakeasy. She squinted her eyes in distaste, thriving in the dark and wishing she had brought her sunglasses.

Josh was turned away from her so she tapped on his shoulder, wanting his attention. Wanting to see him again. He turned slowly and the look on his cherubic face was troubled. She frowned, about to ask what got his wings in a twist. 

A shadow stepped into Josh’s light. His hair was long and messy, in need of a wash. His silver jewelry shined heavy on his tanned chest. His black button up was almost completely open exposing his torso and he held a wide-brimmed black hat loosely in one hand and a guitar case more carefully in the other. His eyes flashed yellow when he spotted Y/N.  

She straightened her posture under his gaze and gave him a defiant look. Rori growled, but stayed behind her legs. 

Jake ran his tongue over his bottom lip, taking in the woman shaped devil before him. “You must be the new demon in town.” 

She tilted her head at him and looked between Josh and Jake. “And you must be your brother’s keeper.” 

He took a menacing step closer, narrowing his eyes at his angel of a brother before returning his gaze to her. “Something like that. Now, farewell…or don’t, I don’t care.”

She opened her mouth to speak again but no sound came out. 

His eyes flashed again as he turned on his heel and said tersely, a command, “Josh.”

The pair disappeared into fog that had appeared as suddenly as the older demon along the nighttime sidewalk and then she watched it dissipate moments later, leaving no trace of the creatures. The men. The angel and the demon.

-

to be continued... join the taglist

[kurokoros]

Just got the notification to my ask, tumblr is so weird sometimes.

Anyway, your ideas sound so amazing. I can't wait to read it if you decide to post it. I'm so excited for the new Nancy plot in s2 because fr, the lab was so meticulous in s1 that they would have searched her before entering. No way in hell would she have been able to get that recording undetected. Those people killed another person just for knowing El, they wouldn't have been so easily fooled.

I'm also excited for your take on s3, I'm a bit sad we don't get scoops Steve and Robin, but I agree the Russian storyline was so terrible, plus I can live without Steve getting unnecessarily tortured for shits and giggles. I'm kinda doing my own story with an OC as well, and idk what to do with s3 myself. Idk if I'm smart enough to come up with my own storyline. The same goes for s4, I'm still pissed about the whole Vecna being the main villain plot.

Do you still include Kali? Because I feel like this could have been such a good plot if the Duffers wouldn't have butchered it the way they did. I wanted them to focus more on that in s3 than including the Russians.

I'm definitely planning on posting the series assuming I ever get around to writing it lmao

Yeah, the Nancy plot in S2 just doesn't work for me because it was so easy. I get that Doctor Owens was a much nicer person than Brenner, but he wouldn't risk someone leaking information about El or the Upside Down. Plus, I still can't wrap my head around why Nancy would even want to risk getting the lab shut down when it was the only thing keeping the gate from spreading even more. And this was all before Nancy and Jonathan learned El was still alive. Like... boy, it sure is convenient that didn't backfire horrifically.

S3 has been surprisingly easy to come up with new concepts for. Mostly because canon S3 gave us absolutely nothing. The mall plot was bad and gets worse the more I think about it. The entire plot hinges on Dustin finding a secret code that literally only existed for the scoops gang to crack it. Also super convenient that Steve just happens to work with one of the only person in Indiana during the 80s who knows the Cyrillic alphabet. There was also just so much relationship drama in S3 and I cared about none of it aside from Will feeling like he's being left behind, but that was barely addressed and then forgotten about sooooo

Steve will still be getting hurt in my version of S3, but it's not going to be "tortured by Russians in a scene with vaguely comical framing" so that's a plus! Robin will also (probably) be in AUS3, but not in the same role and she also won't be sticking around after that season, because sometimes it's okay to not bring back every single character as part of the main group.

Also I think you're definitely smart enough to come up with an original concept! The Duffers were just pulling ideas out of their asses, so you really can't do any worse lmao

I haven't decided if I'm going to include Kali or not. El's S2 plot is changing completely, so there's no room for Kali there, but she could play a role in Nancy's new plotline. I'm also planning to do one-shots and shorter stories outside of the main rewrite, so Kali could appear in a side-story at some point.

Regardless, this is going to be a massive project. Each "season" is going to be ~150K each, so I have plenty of time to make up my mind when it comes to the latter half of the show.

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee - 4

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell's Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~2800 words)

author's note: welcome to part 4, where you finally meet matt's friends! this was actually supposed to be MUCH longer but i had to cut it so it wouldn't be absolutely massive. this takes place post-season 3 of daredevil, so there will be spoilers for the entire show in this series!

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warning: some strong language

read part 3 here | start at the beginning | series masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

“So,” Eliza says, the moment she steps into the cafe the next morning. “How was your date with Matt?”

“I don’t like your tone,” you say, rolling your eyes, and she scoffs. 

“Oh, please.” She moves out of the way so you can get past her and head to the back room. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you two to get together. You can’t skimp out on the details now!”

You’re thankful that she’s not in the room with you right now because you’re pretty sure your cheeks are bright red. “Shut up, please.”

“Come on,” Eliza pleads as you leave the back room and head to the door to flip the sign. “What was he like?” 

“Not sure it’s a good thing to hound your boss for personal information,” you say, to which she sighs dramatically. The corner of your mouth turns up. “But, yeah, it was great. He’s so—he’s so fucking perfect, I swear.” You wave your hands. “He’s better than all the other people I’ve dated in the past—literally a gentleman. I’m shocked they still make men like that these days!”

Eliza starts laughing as you join her behind the counter, but she’s cut off when the bell rings. 

You turn around, watching as Matt comes in through the door. Your heart quickens at the sight of him. 

“Good morning,” you say, as casually as you can, even as Eliza scoffs behind you. 

“Good morning,” he returns, stopping in front of the register. He drums his fingers on the surface, almost like he’s thinking about what to order. 

“What can I get started for you?” you ask. 

He pauses. You hold your breath in anticipation. 

“A large black coffee,” he says, and you groan. “All right, listen—”

“No, no, I hear you,” you say, grinning as he laughs. “You refuse to deviate from your routine because it gives you comfort.”

“Well, that, and you do make a damn good black coffee,” he says. You glance back at him in time to catch a flash of his eyes from behind his glasses. Your heart stops. It’s the closest you’ve gotten to seeing them—he hasn’t taken off his glasses for you yet. 

In due time, you tell yourself firmly, finishing up his coffee for him. If we even get there at all. 

“Here you go,” you say, sliding the coffee across the counter. 

He doesn’t move to pick it up yet, just leaves his hand resting on the counter, inches away from yours. He seems…hesitant, almost, his body uncharacteristically still. He’s waiting, you think. For you. 

“I had a good time last night,” he says quietly. 

“I did too,” you say. “We should do it again sometime. Soon. If you’re available, of course.”

“Absolutely,” he says. You can’t resist the urge to brush your fingers over his. He flips his hand over so he can lace your fingers together. “Also, just wondering—you serve lunch here, right?”

“Er, yes. Yes we do.” You try not to blush as his hold on your hand tightens. “Can I ask why?”

Matt looks a little sheepish at that, his free hand going up to scratch the back of his neck. “I may have told my friends about you. And they want to meet you.”

Your brows shoot up. “Your friends?”

“Karen and Foggy,” he says. Right, his partners. Big, impressive legal people, coming to meet you, the cafe owner who went out on a date with their friend. “If you’re not comfortable, I’ll tell them no, but—”

“No, that’s wonderful!” you hurriedly fill in. A nervous smile splits his face. “I just—I just didn’t realize we were there yet.”

Matt’s cheeks go red. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you’re good.” You refrain from smacking yourself on the forehead. “Yeah, of course I want to meet them! They sound great.”

His smile shifts to one of relief. “I’ll text you before we head over.”

“I look forward to it,” you say. 

The bell rings, signifying the arrival of more customers, and Matt moves his hand to your jaw and kisses you lightly. You kiss him back without thinking, even with your audience, and you can’t help but grin as he pulls away. 

“I’ll see you,” you say. 

He chuckles and kisses you on the cheek before picking up his coffee. “Bye.”

You watch him leave, biting your lip in an attempt to control your excitement, and only once Eliza clears her throat loudly do you move. 

The morning rush of customers goes by quickly, somehow. You don’t make another black coffee the entire time. It’s funny—Matt could go anywhere else in the neighborhood and order the exact same thing he gets at your cafe, and yet he keeps going to you. It’s sweet. You hope he never stops. 

“So,” Eliza says when the rush dies down. She rests her hip against the counter, pins you with her gaze. You busy yourself with wiping the counter for the fifth time in the last hour. “I’m not going to ask again. How was your date with Mr. Murdock?”

“It was nice,” you say flatly, trying and failing not to think about the long dinner you’d had and the walk to Matt’s apartment. When you’d gotten home, you texted him to thank him for dinner and that you’d had a great time, and he’d responded in the same fashion. Then, this morning, he’d kissed you, held your hand, and told you about introducing you to his friends. 

All of this—it was more than nice. It was perfect. Is it official?

“You have to give me more than that,” Eliza says. “Where did you go? Did he walk you home? I’m assuming there was a kiss, because wow, that was definitely not your first kiss—”

“We went to sushi, I walked him home, and we texted each other goodnight,” you say quickly, cutting her off. “And yes, there was a kiss, and it was great. Because he’s great, and I’m excited to see him again.”

Eliza sighs. “Oh, you’re so cute together, it makes me sick. I mean, I asked out my girlfriend ten minutes after we met, and now we’ve been living together for three years, so by my standards, you two are moving a little slower than what I’m used to, but—”

“Right, yeah, I get it,” you say, rubbing your forehead. “Look, this is my first relationship in five years, okay? Matt knows. And…if we officially decide to start dating, I’ll tell him I want to take it slow.” To you, it’s pretty obvious that Matt has a lot more experience than you do when it comes to dating—hell, even down to his kissing technique. You shiver as you feel the ghost of his hand on your jaw. You wonder how he’ll take it if you tell him you want to go slow. 

You hope that he’ll take it well. You actually want to see where this goes. 

Does he even like me like that? He must, because he’d asked you out, and then initiated the kiss, so…probably?

You’re hopeless. 

You still have a few hours until Matt is set to come in with his friends. In that time, you’ll still have a steady flow of customers, and then when the lunchtime rush starts, Jacob’s shift begins and overlaps with Eliza’s so all three of you will be working. It’s strange that the busiest time of the day is your favorite, but you love Jacob and Eliza, so getting to spend time with them is worth the stress. 

Realistically, you should think about hiring more people, but you’ll worry about that when the time comes. 

Jacob comes in twenty minutes before the lunch rush is due to start, so the three of you are well prepared when it does. You’re just finished with taking another set of orders when you see Matt and two others come into the cafe and join the end of the line. Matt must know you’re there because he waves in your direction, and you spot his friends looking at you. You wave back and wait until it’s their turn to come to the counter. 

“Matt,” you say by way of greeting, inviting him to introduce his friends. Thankfully, he takes the cue. 

“This is Foggy,” Matt says, tilting his head in the direction of the man, who waves. “And this is Karen.”

“Hi,” Karen says. Her smile is bright, her blonde hair clipped out of her face. 

“Matt’s told us a lot about you,” Foggy adds. 

Even though you know Matt can’t see your face, you look at him and raise your eyebrows. “A lot? Good things, I hope.”

“Oh, nothing but,” Matt says. 

You laugh as you pass Matt a lunch menu. “What can I get you guys?”

“Is that a Braille menu?” Foggy asks. 

“I printed them when I realized he was becoming a regular,” you explain. Foggy nods approvingly. 

“Can I get a croissant sandwich?” Karen asks. “And an iced raspberry tea.”

“Sure,” you say, plugging it in. “foggy?”

“Tomato soup and grilled cheese,” he says. 

“And you, Matt?” you ask. “If you say a large black coffee, I will throw you out.”

He shakes his head, folding up the menu. “You’re hilarious. I’ll have what Karen is having. No mustard.”

“You got it,” you say. “It’s on the house.”

“Absolutely not,” Foggy says. 

“Go find a table and I’ll bring it out to you guys,” you say, ignoring him. You turn to get the order started only for Jacob to gently nudge you aside. 

“Go sit with them,” he mutters as Eliza goes to the register. 

“What?”

“Go,” he says. “I can take over for you.”

Eliza shoos you away insistently, giving you no choice but to listen to them and join Matt and his friends at their table. Foggy waves.

“Jacob made me come here,” you explain, “so blame him for me being here.”

“Thank you,” Karen calls to Jacob, who grins at her from behind the counter. 

“So,” Foggy says once you’re seated between Matt and Karen. “You own this place?”

You nod, sitting back in your chair. “Saved up money throughout college and used some of my inheritance from my grandparents to buy it and fix it up.”

“I love what you’ve done with it,” Karen says, looking around. You can’t help but agree—the walls are painted white, and they’re decorated with various paintings and shelves of things you’ve picked up at thrift stores and flea markets. Plants (fake, since you’d forget to water any real ones) hang from the ceiling. The floors are a grayish-brown wood that matches the paneling on the front of the counters, the surfaces of which are white marble. You went with warm overhead lighting to make it a more inviting atmosphere, iron lamps with Edison bulbs hanging over the mix of round and square tables and mismatched chairs. The whole place smells just enough like coffee for it to be noticeable but not overpowering. 

It’s your pride and joy, your baby. You’re so proud of it. 

“It was a mess before I got to it,” you say. “God, the roaches.”

“Absolutely not,” Foggy says, shaking his head. “We had roaches at our old office—nasty. Never again.”

“And it smelled awful,” Matt adds, pulling a face. He’s so cute. “I don’t think we closed the windows once for the entire first week we were there.”

“I barely even had a desk for a while,” Karen says. “I had to fish one out of a dumpster.”

Jacob brings out the food and slides a BLT in front of you with an iced tea. 

“Thanks,” you say, patting him on the arm. 

“Enjoy your lunch,” he says with a wink before heading back. 

After a few more minutes of them telling you about how they all started working together, Foggy leans closer to you, jabbing his thumb in Matt’s direction. 

“So,” he says conspiratorially. “What exactly made you want to go out with this guy?” 

You glance at Matt. “He ordered a plain black coffee.”

Karen snorts a laugh. “What?”

“We don’t get black coffee orders here,” you say. “It was weird. And, y’know, he’s a smooth talker when he wants to be, so…can you blame me?”

“Nah, he did that shit all the time in college,” Foggy says, leaving Matt sputtering into his water. “Worked like a charm! Left me feeling single as hell, though.”

“And now you’re married,” Karen says. 

“You’re right! I am! But I wasn’t during college!” Foggy turns to you. “So. Tell me a little more about yourself. I wanna know why you’ve got this guy all flustered.”

“Foggy,” Matt says. He sounds a little desperate. You won’t lie—it’s endearing. 

“Fine, fine,” Foggy says. “But you’ll have to tell me eventually.”

“Oh, I will,” you say. 

You let Foggy ask you whatever he wants—what you’d studied in college, what made you want to open the cafe, how long you’ve lived in Hell’s Kitchen. Before long, someone’s watch beeps, and Karen sighs. 

“Lunch break is over,” she reports, and you wonder if you’re imagining that she sounds a little sad. “We need to head back.”

“If we’re the only people working there, then do we really?” Foggy asks. 

“We have an appointment with a client in twenty minutes,” Karen says. “So, yeah, we do.”

“Well, then, we’ll go to Josie’s sometime,” Foggy says, turning to you. “You’re coming too, obviously. Matt can text you the details.”

“Yes, he can,” Karen says pointedly, all the while Matt’s flush grows more and more obvious. She steps in and hugs you quickly. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“You too,” you say, squeezing her back before letting her go to do the same to Foggy.

“I’ll take care of this guy until you see him next,” Foggy says, clapping Matt on the shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Matt says. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Karen and Foggy wave at you as they head out the door, leaving you and Matt standing together. 

“Thank you for doing this,” he says softly, taking your hand. 

“No problem.” You squeeze his fingers. “I’m glad you have them. And I’ll be happy to go out for drinks with all of you. If you’re okay with that.”

“Of course I’m okay with that,” Matt says, a little incredulously, like he can’t believe you’re suggesting that he wouldn’t be okay with that. “I don’t know if I’ve made it clear yet, but…I really like you. And I want to be official with you.” 

You smile and kiss him, the gesture so quick that Matt seems to barely process that it’s happening. “Yes, I want to make this official. Obviously.”

He laughs, the sound pushing your heart into somersaults. “Okay. Great. So I’ll text you.”

“You better,” you shoot back.

"I'll see you later," he promises. "Figuratively speaking."

"You're so funny," you say sarcastically, and he grins and squeezes your hand once more before following his friends out the door. 

You return to your spot behind the counter and lean against it, facing Jacob, who’s watching you with a smug expression on his face. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jacob says. He returns to the drink he’s making. “They seem nice.”

“They were,” you say. You’d expected as much—you were pretty sure Matt wouldn’t hang around them if they weren’t—but it still made you feel better about the whole thing. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you fish it out. 

Matt: Foggy wants to know if you can go to Josie’s on Friday night at six. He says hi.

You smile as you read the message and send back: That’s perfect! Thanks for the invite :) tell him I say hi!

“Oh, you’re in deep,” Eliza says as she passes you and Jacob. 

“Get home safe,” you tell her with a roll of your eyes.

“Sarah's picking me up, so I'll be fine.” Eliza jerks her head to the window, where a young woman in a leather jacket is waiting at the curb, leaning against a motorcycle, a spare helmet in her hands. You smile as Eliza steps out the door and takes the helmet from the woman before kissing her.

“Am I the only single one left?” Jacob asks as Eliza and Sarah pull away from the curb. He slides the drink across the counter and calls out the name on it. 

You weigh your phone in your hand, see a text from Matt come up on the screen, and smile. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

Jacob scoffs and swats your shoulder. “Get back to work.”

“Who’s the boss here?” you ask, shoving him. 

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Whatever, my ass.” You hear him laugh as you take your place at the register, the two of you falling back into your pattern, even as your heart is somewhere else.

part 5

taglist (let me know if you want to be added!):

@your-not-invisible-to-me

[mikkomacko]

Sweet As Honey 18

Hello everyone! Here she is! Thank you all so much for being so patient with me and this chapter. I hope it lives up to the hype and the wait lol. I'd also like to say that I will still be writing and finishing this series as well as my other in progress ones. However, I'm currently feeling like I'm not that interested in Harry right now and I feel like it's mostly all the drama and everything going on with him right now so updates will be slow. Also I've changed my theme to a Marvel x One Direction theme because I've decided to take one of my Bucky Barnes plot and actually publish it. I'll still post Harry because of course I love him but he won't be the main focus of this blog anymore.

Thanks for waiting and reading. Hope you enjoy the chapter! X

Harry's good under pressure. At least looking from the outside in, he is. It's a skills he's picked up from boxing. Always pretend you know what's going on. No surprises, no shocks. If he's in a fight and his opponent is stronger or faster than he originally thought, he doesn't show it. Acting like it was expected, like he planned it rattles others and helps him maintain his grace.

He keeps that same approach when it comes to interviews.

Liam meets him outside the gym, waving with a bright smile that Harry just smiles at, shocked to find his trainer in the parking garage rather than the ring.

"What's going on mate?" Harry greets, trying to step around him to get to the stairs but Liam halts him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Gotta reporter here who wants to chat with you about recovering from your concussion and reaching the finals."

His tone is laced with hesitance, lips pursed in suppressed grimace and Harry doesn't blame him. Liam knows how much Harry hates interviews. They're his least favorite part of the job. He's here to box and get paid, to provide for his family, not to tell the world every detail of his life.

"Oh," Harry mumbles, shrugging and stepping up to the door. "Alright. Only for a few minutes though, wanna get home a little early today."

If Liam is surprised by Harry's ease he doesn't show it. "Got something going on?"

Harry follows Liam inside, nodding to Mark at the front desk. "Y/n has just been exhausted lately and Arlo can't spend a second alone without screaming bloody murder. Just want to be there to make sure she's resting and Arlo's not being a pest."

"He's your son, of course he's being in a pest."

The comment leaves too much pride in Harry's chest for him to even care that Liam just insisted he himself is a pest. Besides, Harry knows he's clingy and a little too attached but that's just how his relationship with y/n is, and they love it.

In his private locker room,Harry finds the reporter, a young girl who can't be too far out of undergrad with dark hair and a bright red lips. She's sat on the bench, a notepad on her thigh and her phone resting next to it.

"Hello Mr. Styles." She greets, shaking his hand when he approaches her. "I'm Rebecca Weese."

Harry takes a seat next to her, nodding. "Nice to meet you. I don't have a lot of time today but I can answer a few of your questions if we can make it quick." He smiles guiltily, hoping to not come off as rude.

She nods, immediately glancing down at her notepad and crossing some things out. Harry assumes they're questions she's decided aren't important enough. "Is it ok if I record this? Just sound of course."

Again, he nods, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie as he waits for her to begin. Tapping at her phone, she places it between them to catch both voices and then scans her notes again.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but you've only been boxing for a few years, right?"

Harry shrugs. "I trained a lot when I was teenager, worked under Ted until he decided to bring me up to the pros. Was about 20 I think when that happened." He tries to stay vague, knowing he can't tell the public that his "training" was an illegal boxing ring.

"Five-Six years is a short amount of time to be included in a tournament like this one. Most contenders are well into their careers before being qualified to participate. What do you think has been the main factor in your success?"

Routine question, and he's got a routine answer. "I was fortunate enough to figure out early on that boxing is what I wanted to do and I think that helped out a lot. I also got a very good team behind me. My trainer, manager, my wife, they're all the main factors in my success. I'm very grateful to have them."

Rebecca smiles a bit, jotting down a few words. "Does your wife work in the industry?"

It's her casual tone, as if she were a friend just wanting to hear him brag about his lover that has him answering so honestly.

"No she works in design but I met her early in my career and she's always supported me. Takes care of me after bad matches and whatnot, always comes to my fights even if it means being on her feet for hours. Which isn't exactly her favorite thing at the moment with the baby-"

Harry stops, eyes widening a bit at what he's just revealed. Part of him wishes desperately that Rebecca didn't hear him but he knows that's impossible.

"I didn't know you're a father," she says kindly, sensing his panic. "Do you want to talk about it more or should I scratch that part?"

He doesn't know what makes him say it. A year ago he'd have fled the room if he were questioned about his family. Harry likes to keep them separate, to keep his kids away from his boxing. It's possibly a small part of him that's conditioned to keep his work a secret from his family even if he doesn't have to. But Rebecca's offer to drop the whole topic is what breaks him.

"S'ok," he says "I've got a son that's about a year old and another on the way."

Her eyes light up, beaming at him and he grins shyly but somehow proudly at the same time. "That's awesome. Congrats. I know your son's young but does he have any part in your career? Influence maybe?"

"He doesn't watch any of my fights or anything. Too young to be around violence like that but he does affect my fighting in a way. I used to go into boxing with just the mentality that I'm doing something I love, but now I've got the added success. A win means more support for my family and I want them to always have what they need so I've got sort of an edge there."

"Like having something to fight for?" She confirms, and Harry nods immediately.

"Yeah. I'd do anything for them and I think that makes me a bit dangerous in the ring."

No matter what, he'll always be fighting for them. Everything he does is for y/n and his boys.

~

The house smalls of tomato sauce and pasta when Harry walks in, mouth instantly watering and stomach rumbling. He had a light breakfast this morning before going to the gym and now that's he burnt off all that energy he reckons he could eat a horse. Dropping his keys on the table in the entryway, toeing off his sneakers, and dropping his gym bag to the floor, Harry makes a beeline for the kitchen. He's so caught up in wanting to eat he doesn't notice the TV playing a Disney movie or the two figures sprawled out on the couch until one of them is calling for him.

"Daddy!" Arlo's head pops up over the cushions, dimples sunk into his cheeks and eyes bright. Harry immediately changes course, coming up behind the couch and meeting Arlo's outstretched arms.

"'Ello bug," Harry greets, smacking a kiss to his cheek. Arlo coos happily, curling up against Harry's shoulder. Y/n is watching them with a small smile, a hand resting easily over the stretched fabric of his tee-shirt she's wearing. "And hello darling." He leans over the back of the couch to press a crooked kiss to her lips.

"Hi baby," she sits up, smiling dreamily at him. "How was the gym?"

Harry shrugs, adjusting Arlo on his hip. "Was good. I had an interview today about finals and....stuff." Her eyebrow quirks up at his hesitancy to continue.

"What stuff?"

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Harry drops his gaze to Arlo. "You, Arlo, the baby." She doesn't respond immediately and he knows it’s because she’s trying to analyze him. He's fairly private about his family, especially his children and the only reason he'd informed the world of Arlo was to get people off his back about leaving y/n, so he knows she's probably confused by his ease with talking about the new baby.

"How'd it go?" She asks, pushing herself up from the couch with a hand on her belly. Without hesitation Harry reaches out to place his free hand over hers, moving her with him towards the kitchen. "Where are we going?"

"M'starving darling," he says and his stomach grumbles in agreement, making Arlo gurgling back and nudge his foot into Harry's tummy. "But interview went well. Announced the pregnancy."

"You did?" She questions, perching herself on the counter stool with wide eyes. "Seems a bit early compared to Arlo's announcement."

Managing as best he can with one free hand, Harry retrieves a bowl from the cabinet and serves himself a heaping mountain of spaghetti. "Just came out if m'being honest," he shrugs, settling into the stool next to her with Arlo still glued to his lap. "'sides it's different this time. He was my first baby and I was scared."

He doesn't realize that she's fallen silent until he's slurping back noodles and she doesn't scold him. Curiously, Harry rotates just enough to look at her. Y/n is staring at him, eyes big and moony when he mumbles a suspicious "wha'?"

"You were scared?"

Swallowing down his food, he nods. Her intent gaze brings a blush to his cheeks and he has to drop his eyes to peer down at Arlo. "Y-yeah. Didn't know if he'd like me as his dad, ya know?"

Harry's never said those words out loud, now that he's come to think of it. Whenever something's pertained to Arlo, Harry was always the positive reinforcement, the one reassuring y/n about them stepping into parenthood. He never really told her how much it scared him because he didn't want to scare her.

"I-I didn't know that," she mumbles. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He shrugs, lifting his gaze from Arlo to y/n. "Because I wanted to be a good dad. Ya know, like the kind that can kill spiders and scare aware bad dreams.....Just wanted to be strong I guess."

He doesn't say it, but he knows she's picked up the fear he won't acknowledge. He doesn't want to be his dad. His father was great but the sad thing is, everything great about him was brought out by alcohol. Des needed that poison to combat his own fears and insecurities, and Harry doesn't want to be like that too. He doesn't want to leave his kids the same way he was left.

"Being scared doesn't make you weak Harry."

She leans over to press a tender kiss to his jaw, belly brushing against his side, and he thinks about those words for the remainder of the day.

~

Crouched down, Harry steers the shopping cart with one hand and guides Arlo along with the other one. By the way he's trudging along, Harry knows Arlo is getting tired of walking. It's good for him to practice though, so Harry leads him along for another few minutes before scooping him up in one arm.

"Did so well bug." Harry compliments, pecking Arlo's cheek. The toddler curls up into his chest, yawning. It's a bit difficult steering the cart with one hand but Harry manages, steadily making his way up and down each aisle. He gets baby cereal for Arlo, a couple bags of puffy hot Cheetos to stash in the cabinets, and he's stocking up on y/n's latest craving (spaghetti-o's and meatballs) when a familiar face rounds the corner.

Zayn is pushing a cart filled groceries, eyes scanning up and down the shelves and Harry curses under his breath. The last person he wants to see right now is Zayn. Last time they had a run in he said something that bothered y/n and Harry never wants anything to bother his girl.

In an attempt to hide, Harry pulls his hood up over his head, shrinking into his pullover and craning his neck to not make eye contact with his old friend. Grabbing a few cans of the fake pasta y/n is living off of, Harry sets them in the cart and quickly walks down the aisle. A man who looks a few years older than Harry moves towards him, stepping around Zayn and in front of Harry's cart.

"Excuse me," the man stops him, gaze dropping to the boy against his chest for half a second before regretfully meeting Harry's eyes. "m'so sorry to bother, didn't notice the little one-"

"It's fine." Harry cuts off, glancing at Zayn to make sure his back is still to them. It is and Harry relaxes a bit at that, but his curiosity grows. "How can I help you sir?"

The man smiles, grateful. "I just wanted to tell you that m'son and I are big fans and we're excited for your fight this weekend."

Harry knows he has fans, he's run into a few around the city but they're usually teens and kids that want an autograph. He's never had a grown man approach him about his career and it's odd. Flattering, but odd.

"Thanks man. I really appreciate your support." Harry says sincerely, smiling. The man nods in response, taking a step away from Harry. He moves to leave but stops last minute, turning back to Harry.

"Congrats on the baby news too." He says quickly, almost shy or embarrassed. Before Harry can even thank him, the man is rushing out a "have a good day" and then he's moving down the aisle.

Confused, Harry stands there for a moment trying to figure out what happened. He knew announcing the new baby would bring more attention to him in the media and he's not surprised that that man, who's clearly a fan, had already heard it. He is surprised that the man seemed almost scared to admit to Harry that he knows.

"Harry?"

Fuck.

He looks up, meeting the golden eyes that could only belong to Zayn. Harry doesn't even bother trying to smile at his old friend as he stands in front of Harry's cart. A lady maneuvers around them, murmuring a soft "excuse me sir." Harry scoots his cart over, smiling apologetically.

"How have you been man?"

Harry's gaze returns to it's impassive expression, glancing over Zayn's too-bright presence. "I've been good." Harry responds, moving Arlo to his other arm when he starts to lose feeling in his fingers. The movement draws Arlo out of his nap-like state, the toddler now noticing Zayn standing in front of them. Immediately his face scrunches into a look of annoyance.

If Zayn notices, he must not care because he smiles at Arlo, teeth dazzling. "That's good to hear. Congratulations on the baby, by the way! Saw the article up front. S'amazing!"

Article? Harry lips are just starting to form his question when his phone rings, the tune specific to y/n. "Sorry, gotta take this." Harry says in Zayn's direction, digging into his pocket and retrieving his phone. He hits answer before Zayn can even respond.

"Hi darling."

Harry wiggles Arlo into the basket. "Hi H. You still at the store?"

He pushes the cart down the aisle, not caring that he's left his old friend hanging. "Yeah I am. What's up"

The sound of a running faucet comes through the speaker. "Forgot to add yogurt bites to the list. Arlo ate the last of 'em last night and ya know how he is if he doesn't have any before bed."

Harry snorts, steering towards the baby food aisle. Arlo has fallen in love with yogurt bites and they've become his snack before bed. Harry thinks he shouldn't be having them every night and he'd tried to tell Arlo that two nights ago, but Arlo is a stubborn thing. He screamed his head off, ignored Harry's attempts at giving him fresh fruit instead, and then only calmed down after y/n nursed him.

"I'll grab 'em darling. No worries." He assures, tossing a couple bags of the bites into the cart. "Anything else?"

"Do we still have the old flower vases from our wedding in the garage?" She asks.

"Umm, I think so. You expecting flowers from a secret lover or something?" Harry jokes, eyes catching on a pack of bibs hanging in the aisle.

"Not unless you've got a trick up your sleeve Styles." She retorts.

He tosses a pack into the basket. "Buy you a whole flower shop if that's what ya want darling." Arlo grumbles from the baby seat of the cart, tiny fingers coming up to play with the rings on Harry's fingers that are locked around the steering bar.

"Don't worry about that, we've got enough flowers." Y/n laughs and he can hear her moving around the house. "Three bouquets just arrived with congratulations cards."

"What?"

"Guess the baby announcement was well accepted." She says. "We're getting lots of flowers for it."

Pushing towards the checkout, Harry frowns in confusion. "Got stopped by a fan today for the same thing. Can't believe it's such a big deal."

"Well you're more known now than when we were having Arlo." She reasons, and Harry hums his agreement. He passes the self checkouts, freezing when he spots numerous copies of his face on the ends of the aisle.

"Holy shit," he breathes, not even thinking about the innocent ears before him. Y/n gasps through the phone, scolding him for his language. "Sorry darling, s'just I'm bloody plastered all over the grocery store."

He reads over the cover of the sports magazine. It's got a big photo of him in the ring, gloves held up to his chin and jaw tight around his mouth guard. Next to it is a photo of him and y/n leaving a big fight awhile back. She's got her head down, hand snug in his as he leads her along. And written in bold yellows is "Harry Styles Expecting Baby #2 As He Prepares for Biggest Fight Yet!"

"They put me on the front page." He tells her, not bothering to flip open the article before he's quickly moving away from the display. "Why would they do that?"

When he did that interview, he thought it'd be a small, breezy section in the magazine. If he had known he'd be getting stopped in the grocery store and flowers sent to his house he wouldn't have said anything. As previously mentioned, he's a private guy, so having this detail projected in a way he wasn't warned about makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

"It's alright Harry," y/n says reassuringly, knowing that he's become anxious at the publicity. "No harm done. It's just flowers bub and as long as we've got those vases in the garage, everyone will survive."

He chuckle weakly at her joke, picking an aisle so he can quickly checkout and go home. "Don't go digging around for them by yourself, don't need ya falling and getting hurt. I'll help ya when I get home."

"Aw my hero." She coos, and he knows she's teasing but it still makes him blush. God he loves her.

~

"Those bloody things are making my nose itch." Harry grumbles, aggressively rubbing the palm of his hand into his burning nostrils. He glares at the bouquet of peonies on the dresser, a gift from y/n's co-workers, and moves towards the bed.

Y/n is propped up against the headboard, a pair of his pajama bottoms on her legs but her shirt has been abandoned on the carpet by the bed. Arlo is attached to her hip, mouth latched to her nipple and she's stroking through his soft hair while he breastfeeds. Harry's heart throbs in his chest, warmed by the sight of his wife coddling their baby, and he's so fucking in love with her he's anxious to get Arlo into bed so he can have his way with her.

"I can't just throw them out, H." She sighs, pulling her gaze from the television to his pouty face. He huffs, running the damp towel in his hand through his hair one last time before haphazardly tossing it towards the closet. Kneeing his way up the bed, he curls into y/n's side and smiles when she tucks her arm around him.

"Stroke my hair too?" He mumbles, peering up with puppy eyes and she giggles before threading her fingers through his hair too. Arlo gurgles around a mouthful, bright green eyes opening to look at Harry. He worries for a moment that Arlo is going to get fussy and kick him away, but the toddler just blinks at him sleepily.

"Tha's ma boy." He coos fondly, squirming a hand over to pat Arlo's full tummy. Y/n giggles and continues to stroke his hair, Harry watching Arlo slowly be soothed to sleep. "Lemme get him to bed darling."

Grunting, he pushes himself up from the mattress and too his feet. Y/n transfers Arlo to his awaiting arms, swiping at the milk that dribbled out of his snoring lips and onto her skin. Harry leans down, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"Wanna have a shag when I get back?"

A shocked laugh bursts out of her, Harry's face lighting up at the sound as his heart swells. He was trying to be a bit silly, not enough to have her eyes crinkling like that, but he's happy she finds him funny.

"Sure baby." She breathes, still grinning. His stomach flutters, excitement bubbling in his belly and he nods quickly before moving across the room.

Arlo stays cuddled into Harry's neck as he flicks on the nightlight in the nursery and adjusts the blankets in the crib. Theo watched Harry from his bed in the corner, sleepy puppy eyes following his every move. He lays Arlo down, gently shushing him when he store and tucks Bunny into his side. With a peck to his head and a quiet "good night bug," Harry partially shuts the bedroom door and rushes back into the bedroom.

Y/n has already kicked off her bottoms, leaving her naked on their sheets and Harry groans as he works to catch up with her. His shirt is playfully tossed at y/n's grinning face, Harry laughing as he wiggles out of his sweats. Naked as the day he was born, Harry jumps onto his knees at the bottom of the bed.

A laugh bubbles out of y/n when the whole bed shakes under his weight, clearly amused at how excited he is. She must be just as excited though because she quickly leans forward to cup his face, attaching their lips and bringing him back down to the pillows with her.

"Wanna be on top," he mutters into her mouth, ghosting his hand down her tummy and tickling his thumb over her clit. "f'that's ok?"

"Mmm," she hums, happily "too tired to top anyway."

Harry seals their lips together again, using his knees to spread her thighs a bit further apart for him. Her palms smooth down his sides and around to his back, a breathy moan interrupting their kiss courtesy of his fingers. Harry utilizes the chance to break away and snag a pillow from his side of the bed, urging her hips up by tapping the fluffy thing against her side. She lifts, and he settles it under her lower back and bum to prop her up. Luckily for him, he's had a lot of practice getting around a baby bump for a shag.

Settling between her thighs, Harry giggles when she wraps her legs around his hips and tugs him closer. His body hovers over hers, love-sick smiles a breath away from meeting each other, and he drags his fingers through her folds, groaning at how slick she's become.

"Don't even have to try anymore do I?" He teases with a wolfish smile, capturing her lips just as she rolls her eyes. Giggling, he leaves soft kisses across her cheek, heading towards the base of her jaw.

"S'the baby's fault honestly." She argues, her fingers disappearing into the damp locks sticking to the back of his neck.

He hums, smirking against her skin. "Is it?"

With a small tug she's pulling him back up to her mouth. "Yeah. Gets me revved up all the bloody time. I don't know what you're putting in there mister but it's exhausting."

Harry laughs quietly, nipping at her bottom lip. "Don't worry baby, I'm gonna take care of ya. S'my problem after all, isn't it?"

Y/n nods, biting back a grin as Harry grips his cock with the fingers that had previously been fondling her. Chest to chest, Harry smiles at the feeling of their stomachs pressed together as he guides the head of him into her slit.

The sigh that puffs out of her chest sends a zip of pleasure up his spine, as if she'd been partial without him and the pure relief of just having him in her is all she could ever want. Harry hums appreciatively, eyes fluttering shut as he basks in how warm and gooey she is for him. He'd almost forgotten how it felt to have her this desperate for him and his touch.

"Oh it's so good darling," he mumbles to her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. He pulls his hips back, breath stuttering when he easily slips forward again.

Y/n moans softly, dropping one hand to the small of his back as if guiding him. "So so good H." She confirms in a whisper, her voice tickling his ear and he squirms with a small laugh at the sensation.

Harry's soft with his movements, cautious of the baby between them and the one sleeping down the hall. Even the kisses he places on her jaw and lips are tender, small brushes between their confirmations that he "feels so good" inside her and she was "made for being wrapped me huh?" And Harry thinks nothing ever been truer. Her arms were made to hold him, her hands were made for pulling him closer and closer, and her heart was made to completely consume his.

Y/n reaches her high before him, rolling her hips up to try and quicken his but he maintains his sensual thrusts, stroking her temple as she trembles and gasps, clinging to him in every way possible. There's something about how quick she falls apart for him when she's pregnant and how utterly earth shattering it is for her, that it completely obliterates any sense of stamina Harry's ever had. He couldn't care less when he follows shortly after, grinding down into her heat as his cock twitches and buries deep in her walls. She's the one stroking his temple this time, and he knows she's watching his eyes scrunch shut and his gaping mouth curl into a breathy laugh as he comes.

Maybe it's the lingering anxiety that washed over him at the grocery store, but when y/n kisses him and gently nudges him off of her so she can go pee, Harry's desperate as he grips her hand and pouts, practically begging when he asks "can I get back in ya after? Just to fall asleep darling?"

Of course she nods, brushing sweaty curls from his forehead to soothe him and just like that he already feels lighter. He never has to sorry with her, because they were made for loving each other.

~

"Oh fuck!"

"Would you stop being so loud! It's 8 in the morning!"

"Can't help it, darling."

Harry tightens his hold around y/n's thighs, dipping his tongue back into her slit and groaning loudly despite the warning she's already given him this morning. She tugs on his hair scoldingly, drawing a pained hiss out of him. Harry brings his teeth up to her clit, nibbling in retaliation. A pained hiss of her own leaves her lips, cut off by a soft moan as he soothes his tongue over the spot.

Grinding her hips up into his mouth, Harry can't help but push his own into the mattress and a deep groan escapes him as he does so. Huffing, y/n scolds him again for being too loud when they've got a sleeping child one room over.

"Stop yelling at me so I can make you cum." He purrs, lips brushing over her clit. Their eyes meet over the curves and dips of her body, Harry smirking when she raises a prodding eyebrow at him. He kisses her thigh just once, lapping his tongue through her slit and he's just reaching her most sensitive spot when the beginning stirs of Arlo waking up break through the baby monitor.

Simultaneous groans leave both their mouths, this time of frustration. Harry pouts, knocking his forehead on y/n's hip bone and shaking his head.

"I told you Styles." Y/n teases, stroking through his hair for a second. He can't even think of a rebuttal before Arlo is calling out softly for her, and she's pushing up from the bed to get dressed.

"Take care of that while I take care of this." She calls as she disappears through the door, snickering softly and leaving him there desperate for her. But then again, when is he not desperate for her?

~

Hey man, hope I'm not being a bother. I was just wondering if you wanted to go out for a drink Friday or something?

-Z

Harry stares at the message, wondering why Zayn would sign it when the Instagram handle is clearly him. He also wonders why the hell Zayn is trying to hang out with him now.

It's a sunny day, the air outside relatively warm for March so Harry slipped a sweater on Arlo and brought him out to the backyard to play. They're sat in the grass, Arlo between his legs as they teach Theo to play fetch. Arlo's gotten good at tossing the chew toy himself, so Harry used the free time to start clearing out the congratulations messages he's received on Instagram.

"What's the matter H?"

Harry locks his phone, tilting his head up and squinting into the sun as y/n stands over them. She's got a bowl of puffy hot Cheetos in her hand, cradling them as if they were a precious gem as she settles into the grass with them.

"Nothing," he mumbles, pecking her temple when she leans into his side. "just got a weird text from Zayn. He wants to hang out."

Crunching through a chip, she hums. "Did you know he lives here?"

She lifts up a Cheeto, offering it to him. Harry gladly takes it between his teeth, pulling it from her fingertips and crunching down on the puffy chip. Swallowing, he shakes his head.

"Ran into him at the store once around Valentine's Day," she says, eyes watching Arlo dig his stubby fingers into the dry grass. "Was trying to talk to me about you I think but your son threw a fit and I was too busy to care honestly."

"Really?" Harry asks, perking up at the idea of Arlo throwing a tantrum to keep people away from y/n. That's the only time he'll agree with such actions. "Taught him well then haven't I?"

Rolling her eyes, she elbows him. "If you're son grows up to be rude I'm going to kick your ass Harry Styles."

Laughing, he steals a chip from her, locking his phone and dropping it to the grass. Arlo, interested in the device, crawls over to pick it up.

"Wouldn't expect anything less darling." He says, reaching over to swipe his phone to the camera so Arlo can snap random pictures.

"What are you going to do about Zayn then?"

"Suppose I should see what he wants, yeah?"

Y/n shrugs but Harry can read the look on her face easily. She's always silently encouraged him to face things that need mending or fixing, and his past with Zayn is one of those things.

"S'done then," he laughs, pinching her side affectionately. "I'll figure out why he's so obsessed with me."

She laughs, throwing her head back and scrunching her nose in the way makes him want to stare at her forever. "Think it's that one he's obsessed with. Look how cute he is."

Harry follows her line of sight, smile growing at the sight of Arlo making faces at himself in Harry's camera.

So bloody cute.

~

"Are we gonna be besties? I think we're gonna be besties." Niall states, swinging an arm around y/n's shoulders. He's on his third beer of the night already and Harry hasn't even made it to the ring yet. Y/n just laughs, continuing to maneuver tape around Harry's fingers but he's not as kind.

Casting a glare at the Irish man, Harry calls out to Gemma. "Get your leprechaun off of my girl before I use him to warm up."

Niall isn't really phased by the words, only pouting softly at Harry's steel gaze but Gemma is quick to rush over and pull Niall up from the couch by his hand.

"Come on babe, let's go find our seats." She coos to him, sending Harry an apologetic smile. He waits for her and Niall to turn their backs before chuckling softly. Y/n pinches at his wrist.

"Be nice to Niall. I really like him."

"Oh you really like him, huh?" Harry huffs, nudging his knee against hers. She rolls her eyes, giggling when he slips his free hand around her waist and pulls her into his lap. "Please tell me how much you really like Niall darling." He requests, shoving his face in her neck and playfully biting at her throat and shoulder. Just as he'd expected, she giggles and squirms, Harry having to wrap her up in a bear hug to keep her from sliding right off his thigh.

"Harry! Stop!"

He laughs with her, moving up to bite at the apples of her cheeks and her nose, growling as if he were a rabid beast. His freshly taped knuckles ache under the tightness of the wrap as he grips her flailing legs but he ignores it in favor of listening to her laugh.

"I like you more! I swear!" She shouts between laughs, wiggling a hand free and gripping the back of his neck. Pleased with her words, Harry pants out a laugh before sealing his mouth to hers.

"Tha's good because I like you more than Niall too." He mumbles into her lips.

"You like me more than you like everyone." She chuckles, stroking her thumb along his jawline. Harry's eyes shine with delight, proud that she knows her place in his heart, but he still teases.

"Mmm almost darling. Quite like my son, ya know that?"

She rolls her eyes but looks at him fondly, pinching the meat of his cheek. "Cute," she murmurs, "now go get ready for your fight baby. Want everyone to see my husband's gonna be the national champion."

Her words bring a rush of blood to his cheeks (and his cock if he's being honest), but he nudges her onto the couch next to him. "Just need two more wins." He whispers in her ear, pecking her temple.

Just two more wins.

~

There's good fights and there's bad fights. Everyone knows that. But not everyone knows that there's good wins and bad wins. Harry's experienced a few of those bad ones. Wins that he probably shouldn't have gotten because he certain his opponent had landed more punches and the judges miscounted. Or it was clear the other fighter wasn't into it and let him win.

Harry thinks tonight is his worst win ever.

The fight had been good. Trinsky, tonight's opponent from New Jersey, was short and stocky but strong. Harry was quicker than him though so they'd gone back and forth for a few rounds. Nothing two rough, just enough punches to have bright red welts on his torso and an ache in his jaw.

He fought through it though, fueled by the sounds of y/n and Niall cheering for him. Win this fight and he's onto the championship match. So he went at it with all he had left, charging Trinsky just as the man knocked his fist into Harry's temple.

It felt like a lightning bolt of pain zapped through his brain, shaking his core and causing his feet to stumble. Trinsky slid to the right as Harry crashed into the ropes, blinking furiously as the room around him spun. He was still in a daze as his body moved on its own, quick enough to uppercut his left fist into Trinsky's chin. The man crumbled to the mat, out cold, and Harry's dizzy head brought him down as well.

There's cheering and an announcement of his name, declaring Harry the winner but he can't seem to focus on it. Trinsky is being moved from the ring by his team, Harry falling to his bum on the mat as he rips at the velcro of his gloves with his teeth.

The room is coming back into focus, someone is calling him from the side of the ring but he doesn't recognize the voice so it goes ignored. He gets his hands free, rubbing his fingers into the tender spot on his head and wincing. He needs to take some Advil and ice it.

Harry climbs to his feet, a bit disoriented as he ducks under the ropes to leave. He knows he's got a team here somewhere but his mind can't seem to recognize what they look like or how to find them.

"Man, what are you doing?"

He turns, confused to find two men watching him like he's grown a second head. Harry feels like he knows the warm brown eyes of the taller man but he's not sure from where. Smiling uncomfortably, he motions behind him.

"I n-need ice or something." He says, excusing himself with a shrug and turning back to the locker room. He doesn't like the way his stomach twists or how his chest is telling him he knows those men when he couldn't even tell you there names right now. His heart thunders in his chest, panic seeping in and he's desperate to find something or someone that'll just help him out.

"Harry baby," she says calmly, a hand rubbing up his bare back comfortingly. "you okay?"

Y/n appears at his side, head tilted so she can meet his nervous gaze. Almost immediately he latches onto her hand, shaking his head. Her eyebrows crease, lips frowning as she reaches to cup his cheek.

"What's going on H? What's the matter?"

"M'head hurts," he answers immediately. "I-I think I forgot my team."

A trembling breath leaves his lips, tears stinging behind his eyes when he sees the concern on his wife's face. She brushes her thumb over his temple, the one she knows got hit the hardest, and then brushes a sweaty strand of hair off his forehead to place a tender kiss there.

"Let's get you to the locker room babe."

He follows like a lost puppy, trailing behind her through the back hallway and into his locker room. Y/n closes the door behind him before anyone else can enter, twisting the lock. Harry sits in the closest chair, fiddling with the tape on his fingers as he tries to calm down.

"Do you want to talk to me bub?" Y/n asks quietly, pulling up a seat directly in front of him. He nods, lifting his gaze from his hands to her face.

"I don't know what happened. It's like I got hit in the head and everything got shook up." He explains, frowning. He hates the way this feels. Hates that his body is screaming at him to just remember but his brain refuses to accept the message. "I know them, I know I do but s'like their names and stuff are just gone."

Y/n inhales sharply, biting nervously at her bottom lip. Harry's not even sure what to say and that makes him feel so much worse. He doesn't even feel like he has a concussion, not really. Everything else is still there, still in the forefront of his mind. His wife, his boys, Anne and Gemma. And he faintly remembers sitting at bars with one of the men from his team, remembers crashing on his couch late at night. But the soul of those memories are gone.

"I'm gonna get you some painkillers and water okay babe? Then we'll figure out what to do."

He nods, smiling wetly when she kisses his forehead. Watching her move around the room to gather water and whatnot, Harry wills himself to just think. He knows these men, he's just gotta focus on it. A memory stands out, one of the three of them in a car on a road trip. His trainer is driving, his manager in the passenger seat and he knows this is a trip for a match. A recent match too because he remembers saying goodbye to Arlo and y/n, kissing her swollen belly before he went.

Y/n returns to him with a bottle of water and a couple pills, watching him cautiously as he squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to just think. Recalling conversations from the car, remembering the screen in the front of the vehicle that reads Connected to Liam's iPhone. Liam. Almost instantly Nick's name floods his brain again and he feels his whole body tremble with relief.

Harry takes the medicine, gulping it down and slumping into his seat. "Nick and Liam," he finally murmurs, voice thick. "I couldn't remember darling. They were right in front of me and I couldn't remember their fucking names."

A silent tear trails down his cheek, Harry sniffling as y/n wipes it away with a tender touch he's only felt from her. "Its ok Harry. We'll figure out what happened. At least you remember now baby." She tried to comfort, but Harry's heart still aches.

"What if-" he peers up at her through wet eyelashes. "what if it had been you? Or Arlo? Or all three of you? What if I-"

He can't even finish the thought before he's shaking his head, more tears slipping down his cheeks and jaw. What would he have done if he'd looked at y/n and not remembered her name? Not remembered the beautiful son they created? Or the one she's growing now?

"It wasn't Harry," she stays sternly, cutting into his spiralling thoughts. "it wasn't and even if it did happen, it wouldn't change a thing. You're not getting rid of us."

Trying to smile, he nods and takes a deep breath. He trusts her, more than anyone, and he's never known someone that fights as much as she does. He knows, no matter what, that she'll always have his back.

[coffeeheartaddict2]

The Miami Redux

Book: Open Heart (post series)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Casey Ramsey

Category: fluffy smut

Classification: 18+

Warnings: mentions of miscarriage, sexual content, language

Summary: Ethan surprises Casey with a trip to Miami to celebrate their first year of marriage.

Disclaimer: characters belong to Pixelberry.

Authors note: submission for CFWC Please be prompt event. Prompt/s will appear in bold.

🏝🏝🏝🏝🏝🏝🏝🏝

In a way it felt surreal but also so right, being married. It was a year ago when he stood at an Altar with Casey, publicly declaring the love they share for each other and vowing to do so for as long as they both shall live. The year had not been peaches and cream though, a missed miscarriage 2 months after their honeymoon threw a spanner that neither was expecting but they worked through their individual and collective grief and were able to make it out the other side.

Ethan had decided that they would go to Miami for their first year wedding anniversary. Both would admit that when they came here intern year it was when both truly knew that it was not an infatuation or a series of neurochemical responses but indeed the feelings they both had were real. Ethan had changed the most since that night and despite the reasons making sense to him at the time, ending things that night was a regret that he still had so he decided that they would go to Miami and rectify a wrong.

He booked them into the Celestial and booked the same room. Since they were not there for a conference there was no gala he organised a dinner at local high end restaurant. He was looking forward to it and was looking forward to spoiling Casey, even buying her a new midnight blue dress for the occasion.

Two weeks before they were set to go is when Casey found out about the trip. She came home from a long day and found Ethan in the kitchen very much in his element.

“I’ve seen that smile before” said Casey as she entered the kitchen to give Ethan a hug. He informed her dinner was only a few minutes away. Casey gives him a quick kiss and makes her way to the table. He tells her during the meal that they will be going to Miami for their anniversary. Casey is excited.

The day of their flight arrives and Casey is still excited and so is Ethan. The new dress for Casey is in his luggage and she has no idea of Ethan’s plans.

They arrive at the Celestial and Casey is taken back to her intern year. The trip still held many mixed emotions for Casey but she was still excited.

“Will they screw up the reservation like last time?” Asked Casey with a chuckle.

Ethan hoped not but he could not help but chuckle also.

Thankfully the hotel had not botched the booking. They took the lift up and walked towards the room, as they got closer it dawned on Casey that they were on the same floor they were on intern year. Casey asked Ethan if he was having a sense of deja vu to which he replied,

“No I am not, mainly because this is by design, we have the same room.”

Casey gasps. They are at the door. “Happy anniversary sweetheart” he says as he swipes the keycard, picks up Casey and carries her bridal style into the room.

“So basically the rest of the day is yours to do what you will. We have dinner at a local seafood restaurant for dinner.”

Whilst saying this, Ethan is unpacking his suitcase and presents Casey with a box which she opens. Inside is a sparkly midnight blue dress with a high slit. Casey is speechless. The dress that she wore here as an intern she sent to Goodwill when Ethan was in the Amazon. Ethan comes over and puts his hand on her thigh.

“Stopping myself that night to this day has been one of the regrets in life I have. When I thought about how we could celebrate our first wedding anniversary I thought we would come here and recreate to an extent but also continue on with what nearly happened. Casey kisses Ethan and it gets heated. Casey pulls away first, “Well since we do not have a conference to attend, I am going to get some sun by the pool.”

Ethan is frustrated but understands. He tells Casey that he will join her soon. While Casey is at the pool, he organises some champagne to be delivered to the room whilst they are out at dinner. He joins Casey and they have a nice afternoon relaxing. Ethan assures her that they will go to the beach the next day if Casey wishes. Casey likes the idea of that. They finally make their way back to the room to get ready for their dinner date. Casey does her hair and make up while Ethan is in the shower then puts on her dress. It is stunning and fits her perfectly. Ethan comes out of the shower and walks up to her with a knowing smirk. He zips the dress and puts his arms around her waist and starts kissing the column of her neck.

“Do you like what you see?”

He pulls her closer and she can feel how hard he is becoming. “Does that answer your question, Rookie?”

Casey nods. Ethan goes and gets dressed into his suit and they head off to dinner. The go to a local seafood restaurant which they both enjoyed immensely. They went for a walk along the boardwalk and finally made their way back to their room. They arrived and went to the balcony. Casey went to stand at the railing while Ethan poured them both a bottle of champagne. He offered her a glass.

“Let me guess, you are willing to drink something “pitiful” in the name of accuracy?”

Ethan chuckles. “You could say that but we are also celebrating our first wedding anniversary too, so on that note, happy anniversary sweetheart”

“Happy anniversary to you too.”

Casey takes a sip and puts the glass down. She turns around and puts her arms around Ethan’s neck and kisses him. Ethan deepens the kiss and lifts her up so she can put her legs around his waist. He runs his hand up her left thigh. Casey slips off his suit jacket and starts to unbutton his shirt, she places her hand over his heart. It is pounding, much like it was intern year. Ethan then puts his hand over Casey’s and it is beating to a similar beat. Casey then hops down and walks Ethan backwards to the couch on the balcony. She then straddles him and kisses him again, whilst starting to move her hips against his. This elicits a moan from Casey as she can feel how hard Ethan is. Ethan’s hand once again moves it way up her thigh to her centre. She is drenched. Ethan moves her underwear to the side and tantalisingly circles her clit before plunging two fingers inside. Ethan swallows Casey’s moans. He kisses down her neck, tracing the neckline of her dress. Meanwhile Casey unbuckles his belt and undoes the button and zip.

As much as Ethan wants to continue right here he wants to go inside. He picks her up and they make their way inside. He places Casey down and moves behind her. He slowly unzips her dress and eases it down. Casey then turns around and Ethan walks her to the bed where Casey lies down. Ethan joins her and kisses her.

“This is what I wanted to do the last time We were here” and he kisses her with hunger. He makes his way down to her centre, does away with her underwear and uses his tongue in tandem with his fingers to bring Casey to the edge.

Ethan leaves her on the precipice.

“I did not want you to stop Ethan” moans Casey as he positions himself to enter her. He teases her entrance and slowly enters. A shuddering moan leaves Casey’s mouth. He starts off slow but they work into a faster rhythm. They go faster as they both get closer. Casey falls first, her orgasm triggering Ethan’s.

They lay there in comfortable silence.

“I love you, Rookie.”

“I love you too, Ethan.”

Casey moves to her side and faces Ethan.

“This has been a wonderful first anniversary Ethan. Thank you.”

“No, Casey thank you, your patience, forgiveness and love is what has made it possible for me, no for us to reach here.”

He kisses her again and they snuggle, enjoying each other’s company.

Authors note 2. A picture of Casey’s dress appears below. In case you were wondering, they went another couple of rounds that night and again the next morning. They did make it to the beach and they came back to Boston very relaxed.

Tagging: @jerzwriter @jamespotterthefirst @genevievemd @potionsprefect @ofmischiefandmedicine @liaromancewriter @a-crepusculo @bex-la-get @crazy-loca-blog @schnitzelbutterfingers @binny1985

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[karahalloway]

(Un)Common Attraction: Chapter 29 - A Ruinous Hunt

Series: TRR (following the events of Book 1, with some changes)

Pairing: Drake Walker x OC (Harper Gale)

Rights belong to Pixelberry, most characters and some dialogue belong to them.

Book Synopsis: Harper Gale is a small-town girl working as a waitress at a seedy New York dive bar. After a chance encounter with nobility sees her jetting halfway around the world to compete for the hand of the Prince of Cordonia, her dream of seeing the world starts to come true sooner than she expected. But as the completion heats up, Harper quickly learns that life at court is a lot more than just pretty dresses and fancy balls, and that the polished aristocratic smiles often hide deceit. Does she have what it takes to rise above the gossip and intrigue of the social season, and beat the nobles at their own games? And, more importantly, does she actually want to become the queen of a small European country? Or will her heart have other ideas?

Masterlist: (Un)Common Attraction

Chapter Summary: It’s the day of the Royal Hunt and Harper and the gang have a few misadventures…

Word Count: 5,300

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst)

Bonus Material: Extract from Harper’s Scrapbook

Please read: Author’s Note

Also available on Wattpad.

Chapter 28 - A Ruinous Hunt

"Are you sure you know where you're going, Chris?" asks Drake.

"The village foreman assured me that it's this way."

"All I see are trees..." Maxwell informs us. "And more trees."

"It might all be overgrown," I suggest. "Hana did say that the place was pretty ancient."

We had been trudging through some pretty dense undergrowth in the woods behind the village for what seemed like ages, battling stinging nettles and low hanging branches in our quest to find the mysterious ruins that were supposedly nearby. But at the rate we were going, I was on the verge of calling it quits and turning back the way we had come.

"Yes, they're fr– ARGH!"

"Hana!"

The sound of Hana's scream and my shocked cry sends the guys rushing up.

"What happened?" demands Christian, leaping over a fallen log.

Maxwell casts his eyes frantically around. "Where's Hana?"

"I... I don't know..." I gasp. "One minute she was next to me and then the next—"

"Over here!" calls Drake.

We run over to where he is crouching and spot a rather large hole in the ground. Thanks to the thick shrubbery, and the bracken and vines that had settled over the opening, Hana must've walked right onto it without realising that the unstable covering would not support her weight.

"Hana!" shouts Maxwell. "Are you okay?"

"I-I think so..." she responds shakily.

It's dark in the hole and I can just about make out the white of her jodhpurs in the gloom.

"Can you climb out?" asks Christian.

"I... I don't know," admits Hana. "I can't see that well..."

"Use the flashlight on your phone," Drake instructs, ever the practical one.

We wait nervously for a few moments for Hana to get a gauge of her surroundings.

"Oh, my gosh!"

"What?" I demand.

"Please don't tell me it's snakes..." gripes Maxwell nervously. "I hate snakes..."

"I... I think I found the ruins..." comes Hana's awed voice from below.

Christian's eyes widen in surprise. "They were beneath our feet this whole time... No wonder we couldn't find them."

"You need to see this!" gushes Hana. "This is incredible! I've never seen anything like it!"

"Sure," grumbles Drake. "Let's all jump down the dark hole and get ourselves stuck..."

"Can you see a way out?" I ask.

"Yes!" cries Hana. "There's a pile of rocks next to where I fell in that reaches almost to the top. I can use that to cli— Argh!"

"What's wrong?" demands Maxwell.

"I... I think I twisted my ankle when I fell down."

"I'm going down to help her," I declare.

"Gale, don't!"

But I've already dropped down the hole.

I land on the compacted dirt floor with an oof!, my knees buckling to stem the force of the impact. From above, the hole had seemed much deeper than it actually was, and looking up, I can clearly see the guys' faces looking down at me.

"For fuck's sake..." mutters Drake, glaring at me disapprovingly.

"Are you alright?" asks Christian, his face tinged with concern.

"I'm fine," I reassure them, as I dust myself off.

"Harper!" cries Hana. She's covered in dirt and is leaning against the wall, her left foot held tenderly off the ground. "What are you doing down here?"

"I came to help you get out of this hole," I reply. "Can you put any weight on your foot?"

Hana tests her injured ankle gingerly and a grimace of pain flashes across her face.

"That's a no, then," I surmise. "Here – lean on me."

Hana pushes herself away from the wall and I gasp.

Even though it had been weathered by time and the elements, the painstaking craftsmanship was still evident in the beautiful rock mural that was carved into the stone wall.

"Amazing, isn't it?" asks Hana with a grin as she loops her arm over my shoulders to use me as a human crutch.

"Now I know how Lara Croft feels..." I breathe.

"Who's that?"

I fix Hana with a dry look. "You and I seriously need to sit down and watch some movies. Your parents have grossly neglected your pop culture education..."

"You two alright down there?" calls Christian.

"Yes!" I reply, pulling my phone out of my pocket and snapping a quick picture of the mural. "Give us a sec!"

Hana and I make our way slowly back to the shaft of light streaming through the top of the hole. Glancing around, I spot the pile of rocks that Hana had mentioned earlier. While the heap was quite tall, reaching almost to the surface, it did not look very stable and was covered in vines and moss. There was no way Hana was going to make it up that in her state... we needed a different plan.

"Maxwell!" I shout up. "I need your help!"

"One knight in shining armour, coming right down!" proclaims Maxwell. Scooting to the edge of the hole, he drops gracefully down.

"What's wrong, Gale?" asks Drake, peering down at me.

"The pile of rocks is a no go for Hana with her injured ankle," I respond. "But the hole is actually not that deep. You and Christian should be able to pull her out if she gets up onto Maxwell's shoulders – he's the tallest out of the three of you."

The guys exchange a glance.

"It could work," Christian admits.

"It's not like we have an alternative..." agrees Drake.

"Alright," I say, turning to Hana and Maxwell. "You heard the plan. Let's get to it."

Maxwell drops down onto one knee. "Your ride awaits, my lady."

I manoeuvre Hana up to him. "Time to put those ballet lessons to good use."

With a nod, Hana balances on her right foot and holding onto Maxwell's arm for balance, swings her injured leg elegantly up and over his shoulders.

"Comfy?" asks Maxwell, shifting Hana's weight so she's more evenly balanced.

"Considering the circumstances, yes," she replies with a coy smile.

"Next stop, the surface!" he announces, pushing himself up.

"Bit to the left, Max," instructs Drake.

Maxwell shuffles sideways and Hana reaches up to try and grab Drake's and Christian's hand, but she's about a foot short.

"Shit..." I mutter. What now?!

"I have an idea," says Hana.

She bends down and whispers something to Maxwell, who nods curtly, raising his arms.

I watch in amazement as Hana grabs Maxwell's outstretched hands and with all the grace and agility of a cat, pulls herself up so she's crouching on his shoulders, being careful to keep the weight off her injured ankle. Glancing up, she lets go of Maxwell with one hand and eases herself cautiously up, reaching towards Drake and Christian again.

"Gotcha!" exclaims Drake as he grabs Hana's hand.

Letting go of Maxwell completely, Hana uses Drake as a balance point as she pushes herself up into a standing position on top of Maxwell's shoulders, as if she were a circus acrobat, while Maxwell steadies her legs with his hands.

Realising that I had been holding my breath, I let out a relieved exhale as Christian grabs Hana's other hand, and he and Drake pull her out of the hole.

"Wow..." I breathe. "I was not expecting the two of you to pull off something like that."

"Turns out dancing has many unexpected uses," winks Maxwell.

"Max, Gale," says Drake, appearing over the lip of the hole again. "Quit yapping and get a move on. The last thing we need is another cave-in..."

"Ladies first," bids Maxwell.

I move over to the mound of rocks and assess the route up to the surface. It looked rather treacherous, but I didn't really have a choice – I wasn't as lithe and nimble as Hana and there was no way I could pull off the same stunt with Maxwell.

Taking a deep breath, I begin climbing up the rock pile, testing each foothold before committing to it, praying that it doesn't give way under my weight.

"Almost there, girl..."

Glancing up, I can see Drake poised over the edge, reaching down towards me.

I push myself up towards his outstretched hand, but at that moment, my foot slips on the mossy surface and I feel my stomach drop like a stone.

But, instead of falling, I find myself hanging.

Opening my eyes, I see that Drake had thrown himself over the edge and had managed to grab my hand in his.

"I've got you," he grunts, his face strained in effort.

Sucking in a shaky breath, I scramble to find a foothold to take my weight. My toes find a small depression in between two rocks and grabbing onto an exposed root, I haul myself out of the hole with Drake's help, collapsing onto the ground next to him.

"You two alright?" gasps Christian from behind Drake.

"Yeah," I wheeze, my limbs shaky from the sudden rush of fear and adrenaline.

"Nice save, buddy," huffs Drake, resting his head on his arm.

"You too, mate," replies Christian, clapping Drake on the back.

"What did I miss?" asks Maxwell, popping his head over the lip of the hole and spotting the three of us strewn over the ground.

"Oh, not much," I respond dryly, sitting up. "We just thought it would be hilarious to re-enact that scene from Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol where Tom Cruise nearly falls off the Burj Khalifa."

Drake snorts. "Remember to hang upside down next time, Gale."

"Ha-ha," I retort sarcastically. "Why don't you try being Ethan Hunt, then?"

"No thanks," he responds with a smirk, offering me a hand to help me up. "Death-defying stunts are your speciality."

"What do you mean?" asks Christian, glancing at me in shock.

"This... is not the first time that Drake has saved me from serious injury," I confess.

"Gale has a nasty habit of ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I see..." muses Christian. "Well, I am glad Drake's still looking out for you then. I know you weren't particularly keen on the idea..."

"No," I admit, catching Drake's eye. "But I've since come 'round to it."

"Well, in that case, if you two are quite finished with your movie references," smiles Christian, "we should start heading back to the village. We'll need to take it slow for Hana's sake and we've been gone too long as it is."

"No need to worry on that front," declares Maxwell. "I can give Hana a piggyback."

"It's a long walk..." I remind him.

"I'll be fine," he assures me with a wink, bending down in front of Hana, who clambers onto his back. "Hana barely weighs a thing."

"Hunt," says Drake, extending his arm to indicate that I should walk in front of him.

"Brandt," I smile.

"You okay?" he asks softly as I step past him.

"Yeah," I nod, glancing up at him. "And thanks. For the save. I mean it."

"I told you. I've got your back, Gale," he murmurs. "Even though you insist on testing the limits of my sanity..."

"Someone has to keep you on your toes, cowboy," I reply with a wink.

Drake shakes his head in exasperation. "You really are going to be the death of me, girl..."

*            *            *

"What the hell happened to you lot?" Olivia demands as she assess our dust and mud covered-clothes with a critically arched eyebrow upon our arrival back at the feast. "Did you fall down a hole or something?"

"In a manner of speaking..." replies Christian with a bashful grin.

"Well, serves you right for sneaking off," she declares, eyes flashing. "Not only was it rude, but wholly idiotic as well."

"Is someone jealous that she missed out on all the fun?" I quip.

"No," she retorts with more force than was strictly necessary. "I have better things to do than gallivanting off with the likes of you to God-knows-where."

"Well, you missed quite the adventure," declares Maxwell, depositing Hana gently on one of the wooden benches. "We found some haunted ruins!"

"They weren't haunted..." scoffs Drake, flopping down on the bench as well.

"But, they were pretty spooky," I reply. "Cobwebs and mysterious carvings everywhere."

"What carvings?" asks Christians, eyes lighting up in interest.

"Take a look," I say, pulling my phone out of my pocket up bring up the picture I had snapped.

"Incredible!" breathes Christian, studying the photo. "It's so well preserved!"

"And detailed," adds Hana, stretching her injured leg out on the bench to keep the weight off it. "Think of how beautiful it must've been in its time!"

Olivia gasps as she peers over Christian's shoulder at the screen. "I don't believe it!"

"What?" I ask.

"That is the seal of Luther Nevrakis!" she breathes, grabbing the phone out of Christian's hand to zoom in on the carving. "My ancestor..."

"I thought he was just a legend..." says Christian, furrowing his brow.

"Oh, he was very real," replies Olivia. "And had your ancestors not killed him, House Nevrakis would be the ones ruling Cordonia today."

"That's one helluva big 'what if'," mutters Drake.

"How do you know all this?" I ask Olivia.

"The Nevrakis keep very detailed records on our family's history."

"Well, if what you say is true," muses Christian, "then this could open up a whole new field of research into Cordonia's past. And I'm sure the local university would be very interested in pursuing this line of inquiry further."

"Sounds like our quest was well-worth the effort then," surmises Maxwell. "Even if we didn't meet any ghosts."

"Why are you sad about that?" asks Hana.

"I don't know," shrugs Maxwell. "I'm kind of curious what a ghost would have to say. Would've made a good story."

"You could always make one up," I suggest.

"Ooh! There's an idea!" beams Maxwell. "I can see the book cover now... Maxwell Percival Beaumont and the Ghost of the Haunted Ruin. It will be an instant bestseller for sure!"

"Why do you encourage him...?" groans Drake.

"Hey," I reply, elbowing him in the ribs playfully. "There's nothing wrong with having a dream."

"There is when the dream's unattainable," he mutters.

A lump rises in my throat as I catch his eye.

"Anyway," Drake declares, slapping his hands on the bench as he quickly neutralises his expression and stands up, "I don't know about you, but I'm gonna grab some grub before it's all gone."

"Sounds like a plan!" I agree, my voice only catching a tiny bit as I force myself to shake off the latent feeling of dejection at Drake’s subtle reminder of our new forced reality. "I'm starving..."

"Oh, I hope they have venison..." says Maxwell, getting up as well.

"Could I ask you to bring me a plate?" asks Hana.

"I will personally ensure that you receive the best that this feast has to offer," Christian assures her.

"Thank you," replies Hana with a blush as Olivia glares daggers at her.

"It's all part of the royal service," he grins. "Afterall, the lady who made today's potentially monumental archaeological discovery deserves the full royal treatment!"

"Seems like sneaking off has its benefits, after all," I whisper to Olivia as I move past her.

"Yes, you would know all about that, wouldn't you?"she hisses back.

I roll my eyes at her as I make my way to where all the meats had been set out on large wooden platters, along with some roasted vegetables and chunks of crusty bread. Grabbing a chunky wooden plate, I load it up, my stomach growling.

Returning to the table, I join the others as we dig into the food with relish, all of us famished after the long ride and our almost misadventure at the ruins.

Just as I'm polishing off the last of the sauce with a crust of bread, I hear a trumpet sound.

"Everyone, it is now time for the ceremonial fox hunt! If this year's suitors could please join me with their mounts..."

My eyes widen in shocked surprise. "Fox hunt?"

"Pretend fox hunt," Drake assures me.

I feel my shoulders relax as I push myself up from the bench. "Wait. What about Hana? She injured her ankle."

"I'll let Father know that she won't be able to participate," declares Christian, getting up as well.

"Please give my sincerest apologies to the King," murmurs Hana contritely.

"Looks like sneaking off comes with downsides as well," declares Olivia imperiously as she sashays off to collect her mount.

"Give it a break, Olivia," I mutter as I follow her to where the horses were hobbled.

She scoffs like I've said something inane. "I am here for one thing, and one thing only, and that is Christian. So, I'm not going to apologise for feeling more than just a bit gleeful that one of the suitors that he's been spending time with has managed to injure herself just before an important event in the competition."

"You think Hana—?" I snort in amusement. "You really need to get your eyes checked! Hana's interested in Maxwell, not Christian."

"Maxwell?" gasps Olivia in disbelief as we reach the horses. "That bumbling dolt of a Beaumont? What on earth does she see in him?"

"Not all of us are interested in becoming queen," I remind her.

Olivia snorts in derision as she locates her steed and unties it from the hitching post. "Then the two of you are even lower grade suitors than I gave you credit for initially."

I let out an exasperated breath as I come up on Hektor. He had gobbled up all the grass in the radius of his tether and was now snoozing contentedly, his rear left hoof cocked off the ground.

"Sorry, buddy," I murmur as I rouse him gently by running a hand down his shoulder. "It's go time again."

Hektor heaves a beleaguered sigh before shaking his head.

"I know..." I say, untying him and flipping the reins over his head. "But I think you'll enjoy this next part a lot more than that dreary slog from before."

He blows a raspberry in reply.

Leading the sleepy Andalusian away from the other horses, I search for a convenient boulder or tree stump which I could use as a mounting block, given that I didn't have anyone around to help me into the saddle.

Unfortunately, the only form of potential assistance I see is Olivia, who is already astride her Frisian, in the process of pulling on her riding gloves.

"Erm... Could I ask a favour from you?"

She glances down the bridge of her nose at me. "You could. But don't think for a second that I'm actually going to do you a favour."

"I just need help getting onto Hektor. He's a tall horse, but there's no mounting block anywhere, and you're the only other person here who knows their way 'round a horse."

I flick my head meaningfully at Penelope and Kiara, who had arrived as well and were in the process of getting their reins tangled into an awful mess, much to the disapproval of their mounts.

Olivia follows my gaze. "Alright. Fine. But you owe me one."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," I reply with a sigh, tossing Hektor's reins up to her. She catches them deftly. "Let me just help Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb first, before they cause a stampede..."

Hurrying over to Penelope and Kiara, I quickly sort out their reins and check their girth's before helping each of them to mount.

Returning to Olivia, I see that she has dismounted and was waiting for me at Hektor's side.

"Aww, isn't this sweet..." croons Madeleine, appearing astride a graceful grey as Olivia boosts me into the saddle. "The Prince's two favourite runner-ups helping each other. Will you also help console each other when I'm the one holding the fox's tail and collecting Prince Christian's favour?"

"Don't bet your life on it," hisses Olivia, marching back to her horse and vaulting gracefully into the saddle. "That bag of bones you're sat on is no match for my Xerxes."

I raise a brow as I gather my reins. Olivia didn't do anything by halves... Even her horse's name was fearsome!

"Oh, please," trills Madeleine, with a wave of her hand. "This horse comes from a pedigree bloodline of that has produced more champion hunters and show-jumpers than you can count. Not only is it worth more than ten of your sad little geldings, but it helped me win the fox hunt last year by a country mile. And it will win it for me again this year. With ease."

Flicking her riding crop at the grey's flanks, she trots off with a silvery laugh.

"I hope her horse throws a shoe," grumbles Olivia as she turns her steed to follow after Madeleine.

"You know that's not much fun for the horse either," I reply as I nudge Hektor alongside Olivia. "That hunter can't help that he was saddled with Miss Prissy-Pants."

Olivia sniffs in disdain. "Maybe it's a good thing you don't want to become queen. A soft-hearted lamb like you wouldn't last a week."

I sigh wearily as Olivia canters off.

Apparently it was impossible to have any kind of conversation with these aristos without the proverbial knives being drawn…

Urging Hektor into a fast trot, I bring up the rear as the suitors arrive in field next to the forest that we had traipsed through earlier in search of the ruins.

"Ladies!" greets Constantine from atop his horse as we all form a line in front of the King and Queen. "As you know, each time that the social season involves the choosing of a bride or a groom, the suitors are called upon to demonstrate their skills in various areas. This tradition of friendly competition has roots reaching back to ancient times and the fox hunt was originally intended to showcase the suitor's prowess in the saddle, as well as their ability to put food on the table. And even though times have moved on, we still honour this custom, albeit in a modified form."

At that moment, Christian emerges from between the trees on his horse, a red fox tail dangling from the back of his saddle.

"Now, I understand that unfortunately Lady Hana is not able to join us, so she has nominated a proxy to compete in her stead. Is he or she accounted for...?"

"Right here, Your Majesty!"

I whirl around in surprise at the sound of approaching hoofbeats carrying a familiar figure.

"Drake?" I breathe, trying to keep my voice low while the King continues talking. “What are you doing here?"

He pulls Lone Star up next to Hektor. "Competing on behalf of Hana. Like Constantine said."

"She nominated you instead of Maxwell?"

"Maxwell's helping her back to the Manor so she can get her ankle looked at."

I nod in understanding, before focusing my attention back on Constantine, who seems to have arrived at the important part of his announcement.

"The rules are simple," he declares. "Prince Christian here is the wily fox and you ladies are the hunters. For the sake of fairness, the fox will be given a small head start. Whoever captures the fox's tail, and brings it back to me, is the winner."

Madeleine and Olivia grip their reins in readiness, while Penelope and Kiara glance nervously at each other.

"Ready to get beat again, Gale?" murmurs Drake with a cocky smirk as Christian kicks his horse into a canter. Lone Star flicks his ears in anticipation.

"Don't count on it, Walker," I reply with a sidelong look. "You gave yourself a head-start last time, remember?"

"Hey. It ain't my fault you weren't ready."

The hunting horn sounds again and Lone Star's off like a shot, barreling after Christian's horse, closely followed by Madeleine and Olivia. Lifting myself up in the saddle, I ease up on the reins as Hektor springs forward as well.

"Whoa, horsey! Whoa!" I hear Penelope cry from behind me.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see that she is trying desperately to hang on to her horse, the sudden start having caught her off guard. But despite her efforts, she ends up on the ground with a thud. Luckily, her foot didn't get caught in the stirrup this time, but she still fell pretty hard.

Looking ahead, I see that Madeline and Olivia are desperately trying to spur their horses to catch up with Drake, but their steeds were no match for the nimble Quarter Horse. Kiara is trying to keep pace as well, but her horse didn't seem very interested in riding hell for leather after the others, and keeps falling back into a speed-trot instead.

Deciding that Hana could definitely do with a win in this competition to appease her parents, I swing Hektor around and canter back to check on Penelope to make sure she didn't bang her head... or worse.

"Are you okay?" I ask as I draw Hektor up next to her.

The stately Andalusian tosses his head in disapproval at having been turned away from the race, but the firm grip I have on the reins keeps him check.

"I... I think so..." stammers Penelope shakily.

Her blazer was sitting a bit askew and there was a big grass stain on her white jodhpurs, but other than that, I could not see any major cause for concern.

"Do you want a ride back?" I ask.

"Oh! No, thank you!" she replies emphatically, pushing herself to her feet. "This is the last time I'm getting on a horse this social season!"

"You do realise you need to ride back to the Manor, right?"

Her face falls. "I... suppose I should catch my horse..." Her bay had found a patch of grass a few dozen yards away and was happily stuffing its face.

"Probably a good idea."

Penelope looks in the direction of her horse hopefully. "If I whistled, do you think it will come to heel?"

"I wouldn't bet on it," I confess. "I don't think the royal horses have been trained to respond to a whistle."

She adjusts her blazer dejectedly. "Yet another reason why poodles are so much better pets than horses..."

I watch her trudge resignedly after her wayward mount for a few seconds before turning Hektor around and urging him into a gallop to catch up with the others. The stallion flicks his tail exuberantly as he flies across the field, just as happy as I was to be able to go at a speed that was faster than dead slow.

But as I crest the brow of the hill, I see a sight that makes me pull on Hektor's reins in confusion.

Christian and Drake are sat on their horses slightly off to one side, a look of amused bewilderment on their faces, watching Madeleine and Olivia rolling around in the grass like a pair of mud-wrestlers, trying to tear the fox's tail out from the other's grip, while Kiara circles her horse uncertainly around them, trying to decide whether she should break up the fight, or join in.

Easing up on the reins slightly, I let Hektor plod down the hill to join the guys.

"Should I even ask?" I say by way of greeting as I draw alongside Lone Star.

"I think the situation is pretty self-explanatory," replies Christian dryly.

"True," I concede. "Though what I'm interested to know is how you lost the prize, Walker. You were hot on Christian's tail, last time I looked."

Drake's mouth curls into a grimace. "Livy didn't exactly play fair."

I quirk a brow. "What did she do? Threaten to throw a hissy fit if you didn't give up the tail?"

"Worse. She started beating me with her riding crop." He shudders visibly.

My mouth drops. “She what?"

"Olivia can be... very competitive," agrees Christian as he watches Madeleine jump triumphantly up from the ground, only to be tackled back down by Olivia.

I shake my head in disbelief. I knew Olivia wanted to win, but that was definitely ten steps too far! "You should've shoved her from her horse."

"Didn't need to. As soon as I tossed Livy the tail, Maddy was on it like white on rice."

"And they both ended up in the dirt," I say with a grin.

Serves them right!

"I suppose I should go and intervene," sighs Christian, pulling his horse's head up from the grass. "Before they end up injuring each other."

"Good luck!" I call as he urges his horse into a trot. Turning back to Drake, I ask, "You okay?"

"Yeah..." he mutters ruefully, rubbing his side. "She got me good, but I'll live."

"Do you want to head back to the Manor as well? You could join Hana and have an ice pack party. Maybe invite Penelope too. She's managed to join the casualty list as well."

He scoffs. "Not exactly my idea of a party."

"What would make it your kind of party?"

He flashes me a sidelong glance. "Better company, for one."

"Really? I thought you were going to say unlimited whiskey."

I see a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "There's more to me than just whiskey, y'know."

"Oh, you mean like snarky comebacks and wry eye rolls?"

"Damn straight," he drawls. "I'm a multifaceted kinda guy."

I can't help but burst out laughing.

But when I catch his eye and feel my heart give a familiar flutter at the full-blown grin playing at his lips, the amusement dies inside me.

Because in that moment I realise with painful clarity that I won't ever be able to look at Drake without recalling the steamy moments we've shared, the way his body felt pressed up against mine, or the way even just one look from him set my heart racing... That despite everything he's said, we could never again be just friends. The chemistry between us, it was too potent, too undeniable. I mean, we couldn't even get through one conversation without immediately falling back into our usual banter, or being able to resist eyeing each other up like forbidden candy.

And sooner or later, that was going to drive us both insane... or worse, land us on the cover of the Cordonian Sun.

And that wasn't fair...

On anyone.

So, as Christian returns, holding the fox's tail and tossing it to Drake — telling him that it was rightfully his — I realise with a sinking heart what I must do.

The story continues in Chapter 30 - Country Pursuits

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[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 35

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You're off to see the wizards.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: No specifics given because they would be spoilers, but expect major angst and psychological horror.

AO3

The arrival back to your apartment was surprisingly anticlimactic. You put down Monster’s carrier and let him loose as Bucky carefully set down your bags in the bedroom. He asked if you needed help, but you insisted you were fine. You were too nervous now that you were back and needed something to distract you from thoughts of what you were going to say to Strange.

“Why don’t we worry about that in a day or two?” he said while standing awkwardly in your living room. His smile was faint, but you figured it was from the tiring drive. “I need to come up a plan anyway of what exactly we should tell him.”

“Right.” That sounded perfectly reasonable. “You heading home, then?”

“I… probably should.” Now his smile seemed strained. “But I’ll check in how you’re doing later.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be fine, really.” It might have been silly, but you really didn’t want him to think you were the clingy type. Even if that’s what you kind of were due to magical circumstance. “Probably going to read or veg out in front of the computer. Let me know when you want to go see Strange and I’ll be ready.”

“Yeah. Will do.”

Bucky stood there, hands tucked into his pockets, stiff. You’d noticed the change as soon as you’d entered the city, like he was reverting back to his old self.

You opened your mouth to ask if he was okay and took a step forward, but Bucky was already retreating toward the front door. And before you knew it, he was gone.

Stinging pricked inside your ribcage. You hadn’t thought anything would change once you came back. You’d really thought the way Bucky had been with you at your house was going to be the new normal. Had you been naïve to think that?

No, you told yourself. Bucky was stressed about facing the wizards, and considering his history, he had every right to be. You were nervous too, and you were going to push it out of your mind and focus on something productive.

You did do some reading and tried to catch up on some shows, but your mind wandered, your nerves on edge. You nearly jerked off the couch when your phone buzzed and you slapped for it on the coffee table. It was a text from Bucky.

Hey sweetheart. How you feeling?

Your heart fluttered at the pet name, but then sank into your stomach. Was this what Bucky had meant by checking up on you? You thought he’d stop by in person. Maybe stay for dinner. Couple’s stuff.

You shoved the selfish thought away.

I’m okay, how are you? you texted back, because you were going to be the bigger person and not leave him on read, and then you tossed the phone back onto the coffee table.

When next it buzzed, you glanced at it to see Bucky had answered back that he was fine, and he was going to see Strange tomorrow, and that he wanted to do it first without you.

Your heart sank further and you didn’t respond. Realizing you were being childish, your anxiety making up problems that weren’t there, you got up to take a shower and go to bed. The multiple feedings of the day before were still affecting you, but you found it difficult to fall asleep, missing the warmth next to you so much that it physically hurt.

Could Bucky feel your pain? Or were you too far away for him to feel it? Either way, he didn’t appear on your doorstep.

The next morning you checked your phone and only found a semi-accusatory text from your mom for not letting her know you had arrived safely. Feeling like the shit daughter you were, you called her back and assured her you were alive and not dead on the side of the road somewhere.

After that, you whittled away the time with cleaning your apartment. It’d been a while and you needed it. And then you managed to capture your hobgoblin and attack him with a brush, getting all the loose fur out of his undercoat. Monster acted like a brat and tried to squirm out of your arms the whole time, but you both escaped the procedure unharmed.

You did dishes, laundry, made your bed, and even scrubbed the toilet. You were actually getting into the whole cleaning thing when your phone vibrated in your pocket. Another text from Bucky. You’d lost track of time and it was already five in the afternoon.

Strange can see us tomorrow 3pm, was all it said. You frowned.

Sounds good, you texted back, unable to think of anything better to say. When there was no follow-up text, you allowed yourself a moment of disappointment. Bucky was definitely internally freaking out at having to go see the sorcerers and be at risk for your secret to be exposed. You understood it, but you wished he would be open with you.

You’d known this relationship with Bucky would take work, but… it always came down to the bond. It forced so many constraints on you, made you both live a secret life, and was a constant reminder to Bucky of what he’d accidentally done.

For the first time, you truly resented for the mark on your arm. No, you decided, it wasn’t resentment. It was loathing.

Once you got to know Strange better, which was a strong possibility if what the Ancient One had said was true, maybe you could ask him for help. If the sorcerers could create a concoction for Bucky to drink that allowed him to no longer feed, why couldn’t they figure out a way to break the bond? There had to be something hidden in those creepy vaults of theirs besides old demonic trophies and talking skin-books.

You tried not to think about the Sanctum, or the sorcerers, or the Ancient One since that night. It filled you with a sort of anxiety that bordered on existential. You should have known those tests in Strange’s office wouldn’t be the end of it. The portal that had appeared when you were a child… the ominous things the book had told you… owning a hobgoblin… the Alp and the heigore… Bucky and the bond. It was too much to be strange, paranormal coincidences.

Something was wrong with you. You only hoped Strange could help you not open any more portals or fall into any more time-loops, and then maybe, you could break the bond too.

Your day passed uneventful and alone. You tried to be a damn adult about it and not sulk, but you only had a couple days left until New Years, and then, back to work.

Back to work. After everything that had happened, how could you manage that? And then there was Davin. You hadn’t bothered to text or call him, and here you were, pouting because Bucky was no longer at your side 24/7 when you couldn’t even bother to make sure your friend was doing okay.

You called Davin that night—he sounded surprised but pleased to hear from you—and after talking to him for a good half hour in which you both made sure the other was done fine, you went to bed feeling marginally better. Things were going to be fine with Bucky. Most likely, he was being distant because he had to focus on what he was going to tell Strange. That’s all it was, and you wouldn’t allow your anxious thoughts to conjure up any other paranoid scenario.

***

The next day brought a fresh wave of anxiety and nerves. You were going to have to look the head honcho wizard in the face and very carefully tell him information he needed to know, while hiding life-ruining information he didn’t.

No matter what you tried to do, cleaning, reading, napping, your mind continued to return to Bucky’s memories. The cold bunker and the frowning soldier speaking Russian. The visceral agony of Bucky’s starvation as he scoured New York’s dark streets to feed.

And of course, the red dunes. You wouldn’t forget that nightmare as long as you lived, but as you’d told Bucky, those memories were fading like a dream. Perhaps that was for the best. Being trapped in memories without a body for forty years would drive anyone insane.

At 2 PM, your phone buzzed and your heart leapt in your throat. You expected a text from Bucky saying he was at your apartment, but instead...

177A Bleecker Street.

That was it. An address. You put it into Google Maps and the app informed you that there was a 177 Bleecker Street, but it was a normal looking apartment building above a shop in Greenwich Village.

Are you sure this is the right place? you texted back.

Yes. Take a cab. They don’t really do parking.

You stared at your phone, not really sure how to feel, before sending back a text that said, Okay. See you there.

From your place it would have been much cheaper to take the subway and walk from the stop, but the crowded platforms and packed train compartments sent you into an anxiety attack more often than not. So you pulled up the taxi app, pinged for a driver, and went out to wait by the curb, trying not to stew in your feelings and focus on what you were going to tell Strange.

All you could think about after the cab picked you up was how fucked you were if you said the wrong thing. How fucked you and Bucky were. How were you supposed to be around the wizards and ensure they never discovered the demon sigil or the bond? It was an impossible task, and you wished you could have talked to Bucky about it beforehand.

Why hadn’t he come to you before going to see Strange? Weren’t you supposed to brainstorm and come up with a plan together? You were flying blind over unfamiliar territory, and you were afraid it was only a matter of time before you crashed spectacularly.

A half hour later, you were stepping out of the cab and onto the sidewalk, peering up at the red brick building in front of you. It was as unassuming as the rest of the apartments on the block.

You frowned and took a step forward, and that’s when everything changed. The building shimmered in front of you, and not just that one—each apartment building to the side as well. Not unlike Bucky’s guise, the illusion collapsed in a mirage, and a handsome, ancient building stood in front of you, looking very much like the home of a bunch of wizards.

You cast a conspicuous glance around, but no one else seemed to notice the change, the crowd of people flowing around you without interruption.

Taking a deep breath, you clutched your bag tighter and walked up the steps to the massive front door and knocked.

You expected to wait but the door opened almost immediately, revealing a grand interior. Not seeing anyone, you stepped forward, jumping as the tall door swung shut behind you.

“Uh… hello?” you called out. Your words slightly echoed back, and you clutched your bag tighter in your hands.

“You’re early. Your appointment with Doctor Strange isn’t until 3:14.”

You jumped for the second time. The wizard who addressed you was unfamiliar but dressed in the same elegant yet simple robes Wong wore.

“Oh, um.” You didn’t know what else to say. What kind of appointment time was 3:14?

“You may wait in here.” He gestured towards a sitting room off to the side. It had the same dark paneled walls and wood parquet and green marble flooring. The furniture was cherry wood and red velvet upholstery, and the lighting was warm and comforting. If Strange took too long, they would come back to find you sleeping, without a doubt.

“Thanks,” you said, attempting to smile at the man but he was already gone. Like, not just walking out the door gone, he’d literally popped out of existence. You sighed and sat down on one of the couches, pulling out your phone so you’d have something to do and not fall asleep.

No signal. How does someone not have a cell signal in the middle of New York?

“Ugh.” Nap it was, then.

You lifted one leg up onto the couch, letting your shoe dangle off the edge because you weren’t raised in a barn, and you leaned your head against the couch back. You wondered where Bucky was, not difficult when he was never far from your thoughts, but you couldn’t text him and just had to wait.

Inevitably, surrounded by plush furniture, golden lighting, and a room temperature that was a little too warm for December, your eyelids drifted shut and your bunched muscles loosened.

Bright, fierce agony cut across your chest. You sat up, clutching at your shirt as you struggled to breathe.

The pain slammed into you again and you gave a breathless cry, hunched over and heart beating wildly.

It hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. Were you having a heart attack? Were you dying?

A third round of torture constricted your chest, and along with the utter certainty that it wasn’t your pain you were experiencing.

They’re hurting Bucky!

You sprang from the couch, bag falling off your shoulder and left forgotten as you ran into the foyer. The pain still bloomed in your chest, but you sensed something in your mind. A golden string on fire, connecting you to the source of your distress.

You would find Bucky at the end of it. He was close. He was close and they were killing him!

No other thoughts passed through your mind except to get to Bucky. You didn’t hesitate to race up the ancient staircase, turning and twisting down hallways you didn’t know. You continued to climb, to the top of the building, and you knew where you were heading.

You didn’t see anyone, the mansion strangely empty until you burst into the anteroom before Strange’s office. Wong and another wizard stepped forward to block your way.

“You cannot go in there.” Wong put a hand on your shoulder. “Strange is currently in a meeting—“

Rage erupted inside you like a well of poison, and you turned and bit the hand touching you.

The wizards shouted, tried to restrain you, but you were screaming, fighting, clawing to be free.

Get to Bucky! you silently screamed, over and over. He’s dying!

Wong managed to get his hand free and was nursing it, the other man conjuring fiery orange ropes, but you were too quick. You head-butted the second wizard and slammed him aside with your shoulder, bolting forward to shove open the doors.

Your mind created a gruesome scenario: you would find Bucky strapped to a table, or maybe a chair, being tortured mercilessly.

Instead, you found Strange and Bucky standing, facing each other. Strange had a hand hovering over Bucky’s shoulder, glowing symbols inches away from the scarred pentagram.

Hands grabbed you from behind, but you had already stopped moving. You blinked rapidly, confusion replacing the rage that had consumed you.

Strange watched you with an unreadable look. Bucky’s expression had fallen.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant,” Strange said, his voice oddly quiet. “But it is as I feared.”

“She bit me,” Wong grumbled from over your shoulder.

“We’re lucky she didn’t do worse,” Strange told him. “One who gets between a demon master and their human slave often suffers severe injuries, or even death.”

You were panting, arms and legs shaking with fatigue now that the startling anger had receded.

What… what was going on?

Your eyes finally found Bucky, standing there unharmed and unrestrained. For all intents and purposes, perfectly fine. The realization hit you hard.

“You told them?” Your words came out hurt. Betrayed. Bucky’s wince confirmed it. “Why? Why would you do that?”

Bucky said nothing, and the air was heavy with an uncomfortable silence until Strange spoke.

“I’ll give you two a moment. Come, Wong. Let me see that hand of yours.”

As Strange walked around you, you followed his gaze and gave Wong an apologetic wince. You would have to properly apologize to him later. You’d never bitten anyone in your life, and yet, you’d acted like a rabid dog.

As if sensing your thoughts, once Strange had closed the doors to his office, Bucky softly said, “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t control it.”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, so instead you angrily wiped at your stinging eyes and turned away.

“I knew it.” You sniffled. “I knew you were hiding something. Ever since we got back, you’ve been distant—What the fuck, Bucky?”

Now you did look up, the anger making a quick return. God, it felt like your emotions were on a yo-yo.

Bucky didn’t rise to your challenge. If anything, he looked more defeated.

“You were right. About what you said before.” He took a step forward and you took an automatic step back. Hurt flashed across his face, but before you could apologize, he turned away. “You said there must be something more going on with you, and after…after what happened when I showed you my memories, I decided to finally stop being a coward and tell Strange about the bond.”

Bucky paused for a moment, collecting himself as he approached Strange’s desk and pressed his palms against it, leaning against it with his head bowed. He didn’t look at you as you moved closer to him.

“I should have gone to him a long time ago, but I was selfish. Even when I admitted the truth, I was still selfish. I assured him we were being careful. That you and I were staying in close contact so there weren’t any more close calls with the bond’s demands to feed. He told me I was a goddamn idiot and that I was putting you in far more danger than I realized.”

Bucky blew out a heavy breath, voice dropping until it was little more than a rasp.

“He was right. I didn’t realize the power the bond held until he activated the mark. Tricked it into thinking I was dying. He said a slave would always come to their master when in danger. The slave would come to protect their master at all costs.”

“Bucky…” you said softly. “I don’t…”

“What did you feel?” Bucky suddenly asked, looking over his shoulder to meet your eye. There was a haunted look in them, like he hadn’t slept the entire time you’d been back. “When you were out there, trying to get past Wong and Sabin?”

“I…”

“Like you would do anything to get to me, right? That you would do anything to save me?”

You said nothing, folding your arms across your chest and hugging yourself.

“You were willing to do anything for me. Weren’t you.”

You didn’t know what to say. How could you explain to him that you’d been willing to rip your heart out of your own chest if it meant he was safe and alive? That you would die on the spot if it meant protecting him?

But it was much worse than that. You’d also been willing to kill Wong and the other wizard if it meant getting to Bucky. You would have killed Strange, too. You would have dragged a knife into the chest of anyone who got in the way.

You would have gladly killed your own mother. Your sister. Her entire family, even her baby—

You covered your face with your hands in an attempt to block out the intrusive thoughts, and to hide your bone-deep horror.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” you choked out. You were two seconds away from having a full-blown panic attack, but Bucky wrapped you in his arms and pulled you to his chest. The comfort of his embrace, the warm roughness of his hand stroking your hair, the way you missed him the last two days…

It was tainted. All of it. Never before had you doubted your own feelings, but now, it was all you could think about. How much of it was you? How much was the bond?

“I feel sick,” you groaned against his shoulder. “Like I’m going to throw up. I don’t think I will, but I want to.”

“I know.” Bucky sounded so tired, so devastatingly sad. Now it hurt in a different way, and you wanted to cry along with getting sick.

“What happens now?” You moved away from his shoulder to look up at him. His eyes were red-rimmed, but at least they met yours. “What do we do?”

Instead of answering immediately, Bucky raised his hand and stroked his thumb across your cheekbone. You leaned into his palm, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. This was wrong. Terribly wrong. He was looking at you as if he was trying to… to remember you, memorize you.

Panic gripped your throat tight.

“Bucky?”

“I don’t know.” He ran his tongue over his dry lips. He was nervous. “But… I can take a guess.”

“Bucky.” You gripped his jacket with sudden, terrified strength. His expression saddened.

“I made a deal with the Ancient One when I first came here. The deal was, I would be able to live as a free man, so long as I never hurt an innocent person again.”

“Bucky—“

“I broke that promise.”

You shook your head, refusing to believe what he said.

“I broke that oath.”

“You didn’t mean to!”

“It doesn’t matter. The result is the same.” He swallowed and cupped your cheek in his hand. “I didn’t just feed, I bonded you to me. I took away your choices. There’s no possible way I keep my freedom after that. And frankly, I don’t deserve to.”

“No!” You tried to shove him away, but Bucky didn’t let you go, and you didn’t budge an inch. “No, fuck that! You don’t get to just give up after—after all of that! Everything we’ve been through!”

Bucky met your anger with sorrowful calm. You wanted to lash out even worse.

“So, what, you’re just going to let them kill you?” you growled. “Banish you back to that fucking nightmare?”

“I don’t know what Strange is going to do,” Bucky said softly. “But he will do whatever is necessary to break the bond so you can be free.”

Your angry grip on his jacket immediately weakened, the strength slowly drained out of you.

“And what about you?” You fought to control the trembling of your hands. “You’re a victim too. Why are you being punished? Why won’t they help you?”

“I’m sure Strange will try, but you are the priority.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re in more danger than I am,” he insisted. “Your life force is more compromised, which, I don’t know what that means but it didn’t sound good when Strange said it.”

“I don’t care.” You glared up at him. “I don’t care.”

“And that’s the problem.” He returned your hostile look with one of careful calm.

You hated it. Why wouldn’t he get mad? Why didn’t he get angry at the injustice that had been done to him? When would he stop being so fucking selfless and think of himself for once?

But that wasn’t who Bucky was. Your shoulders slumped forward at the realization that you’d already lost.

“How much does he know?” You stepped out of Bucky’s arms, feeling brittle, as if you should shatter if you stayed there any longer. He let you go, and the lack of contact was immediately awful.

“Everything,” he said softly. “Or at least, everything that matters.”

You nodded, hugging yourself again as you stared at the rug. It was faded and looked old. It had probably been here when this had been the Ancient One’s office. Bucky still didn’t know about that conversation, which meant Strange didn’t either.

It was an impossible hope, but it was something.

“I want to talk to him.” You looked up at him. “I want to talk to Strange.”

Bucky said your name with a defeated sigh, but you shook your head.

“Maybe I can convince him not to break the bond. He doesn’t know the whole story.”

“What do you mean?”

You hesitated, digging your nails into your arm.

“I… in the memories, I might have… spoken to the Ancient One.”

You weren’t sure what reaction you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for Bucky to stride forward and grab your shoulders almost hard enough to hurt.

“What? What did she say?”

“That I should talk to Strange.” You blinked up at him, startled. “And that I was stuck in some kind of-of time loop? And that there would be a decision to be made, but it would be wrong, and—“

“A time-loop?” His mouth opened, and for the first time, he seemed genuinely angry. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d talked to her?”

“I-I didn’t know if I was supposed to!” You squirmed in Bucky’s grasp, but he didn’t let you go. “We didn’t speak for long—“

“When? What memory was it?”

You stuttered, heart hammering as you said, “It-it was on the rooftop, in the garden. You were trying to guise your feet, but you were frustrated. She knew I was there and she-she spoke to me.”

Bucky’s eyes drifted over your shoulder and grew distant.

“She… she was distracted that day. She’d never been distracted before.”

You opened your mouth, and the door to the office opened abruptly. Bucky dropped his hands from your shoulders, but the troubled frown lingered as he turned toward Strange. The wizard looked at you both with the reluctance of someone carrying bad news.

“I think I have a solution, or at least, one that will work for the time being. Temporary, but effective.”

“All right,” Bucky said. “I’m listening.”

Strange glanced briefly in your direction.

“The cryostasis chamber.”

Bucky sucked in a breath, but you only frowned, not understanding.

“It’s still in storage,” Strange continued. “We kept everything from the Siberian laboratory, including a means to keep you contained should it become necessary. I would say this warrants it. I calculate with the sealing glyphs in place, it should cut off the bond as well.”

Glyphs. A laboratory. Siberia.

All at once, you remembered it. Positioned behind Bucky as he writhed, screaming in the chair. A large stone cylinder with glyphs carved into it, open and spilling out steam as if it had just held something cold.

It was where HYDRA had stored the Winter Soldier.

This time when you lunged at Strange, the rage was entirely your own.

Bucky grabbed you around the waist and hauled you back just before your outstretched fingers could tear into Strange.

“You bastard!” you screamed, fighting to break free of Bucky’s steel grip. “You’re no better than they are!”

Strange hadn’t moved an inch, but his cape faintly rustled.

“It seems you two have more to talk about,” he said in a low voice. “Sergeant, you may take her to one of the guest rooms until she calms down.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said through gritted teeth, hoisting you off your feet as you squirmed.

“I don’t need to calm down!” You twisted so you could meet Strange’s eye, teeth bared as you snarled, “You’re making the wrong choice!”

Your accusations were met with silence and you eventually gave up the struggle as Bucky half-carried, half-dragged you away from Strange’s office.

“He’s making a mistake,” you cried, holding onto Bucky weakly as your world slowly fell apart. “They can’t do this… they can’t…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Those soft words were the most devastating thing you’d ever heard. You remained silent, unable to speak, as Bucky led you through the halls that would soon become his tomb.

Next Chapter

[sockablock]

When in sudden need of a place to stay, Caleb Widogast finds a room for rent at a price so low he can’t believe his luck. Ignoring the concerns of his friends, he moves in and quickly finds himself tangled up in the life of one Essek Thelyss, a reclusive scholar who may be even stranger than Caleb himself...

(start) - (previous) - (next)

Chapter 2: A Name to the Face

The sun lanced arcs across Caleb’s face as he set his phone down on the nightstand, and yawned.

He’d gotten used to sleeping in strange places during the last few years of his life, and there was a part of him that missed the coziness of his room back in his and Nott’s apartment. But the other part of him, namely the part comprised of bruises from too-narrow walls—relished in this chance to stretch out a little.

Eventually, he managed to sit up. The mattress did not dip sullenly with his weight, indicative of its newness and quality.

He glanced around. The door was closed, though Frumpkin was nowhere to be seen. Then again, mundane cats were already hard enough to confine; as a feline of the fey persuasion, Frumpkin went where Frumpkin pleased.

Caleb took his sweet time making the bed, adjusting the blinds, peering out the window over quiet streets, before eventually rifling through his cardboard boxes for something proper to wear. He also made a mental note to, at some point, ask Mr. Thelyss how the laundry worked.

Then he straightened his collar, took a deep breath, and wandered out into the kitchen.

—

Jester was nose-deep in a box of cinnamon rolls when Beauregard emerged from the shower. Peals of steam curled past the doorframe and dissipated out into the hallway.

“I thought those were supposed to last us the week,” Beau said when she noticed her roommate. “Didn’t we decide we wouldn’t go back to the bakery until Thursday?”

“Oh, but Beau,” icing shimmered in the corner of Jester’s mouth. “Beau, they’re just so tasty. I can’t resist.”

Beauregard pulled the towel off her head and gave her hair one last muss-up. Then she slung herself backwards into a chair and stole some frosting.

“Fair enough,” she licked a finger. “Just be sure to save something for Yasha when she gets back.”

“Back?” Jester’s cheerful demeanor vanished. “Oh, no, did she leave again? I thought she was done doing that!”

“Oh, no she didn’t run off, I think she just went to some errands, or something?” Beau scratched the side of her head. “She mentioned something about seeing a butcher.”

“Oh.” Jester relaxed. “Well that’s alright, then. Though we don’t really cook much.”

“Maybe she’s trying something new. It’s better than eating rats all the time, right?”

Jester gave this due consideration. “I think she only did that once. And then Fjord threw up, so she decided to stop.”

“Hm,” Beau shrugged. “I guess that’s nice of her. Oh, hey, speaking of stopping, what the hell is up with Caleb? Has he responded? With pictures and actual information?”

Jester groaned. “He’s being a real butt about it. He’s obviously there, but he isn’t sending us anything good.”

Beau raised a cinnamon roll. “The bastard.”  

— 

In the light of day, Mr. Thelyss’s kitchen gleamed with tidiness and disuse. In fact, it seemed like only the coffeemaker and microwave ever got any attention from their owner.

Caleb added another step to his mental moving day to-do-list: find the nearest grocery store and get some cereal. And coffee. And maybe a loaf of bread, if he was feeling extravagant.

He settled instead for pouring himself a glass of water and vowing that he would at least pick up lunch once he actually ventured outside. He slid into the kitchen, found a neutral-looking glass cup, and filled it up in the sink.

When he turned, he realized that something was different about the counter.

The little box of cheesecake was gone.

There was a note left, however. It read: Thank you very much, Mr. Widogast.

So, Caleb thought to himself. This meant that his mystery landlord had come home at some point in the night. And…as his gaze drifted past the kitchen and over to the front door of the apartment…yes, there in the foyer was a pair of shoes and a fine, but thin, black cloak.

Caleb had never seen anything like it before. It seemed as if the pattern had been designed to almost be worn like some kind of long poncho. Its hem brushed just over the floor.

What kind of person would wear something like this? The amused thought of vampire briefly flickered through his mind, but he shook it off and chalked it up to spending too much time with Jester.

He glanced back at the note. Something in him also registered: charmingly polite.

He shook his head. Speaking of Jester, he still had a promise to fulfill…

— 

“Fjord, those are ugly.”

“What? I think they look nice—”

“Nice won’t cut it! I need something amazing! It’s been months since I’ve last seen Yeza. I have to really blow him away.”

“Look, what you see is what we’ve got. And anyway, what’s wrong with Delphiniums—”

Nott was standing on a small turquoise stool that some of the more vertically-challenged customers of the Blooming Grove required to reach the counter. Her finger was swaying dangerously underneath the nose of a long-time friend and even longer-time frenemy, Fjord, currently on register duty.

All around them, the sweet and mellow scent of dozens upon dozens of coastal flowers twirled and trilled and danced through the air. Large windows set into the pale green walls let in sunlight and a view of the gardens out back.

“They’re blue!” Nott screeched. “I don’t want blue, Yeza’s going to think I’m not happy to see him!”

“Everyone likes blue,” Fjord said defensively. “Just look at Jester. She’s practically got a fan club. Fine, fine,” he added, when her expression didn’t change, “I can do you some roses—”

“Roses are cliché.”

“They’re a goddamn symbol of love, Nott.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but I don’t just want a symbol of love, I want a symbol of…of passion. Of devotion. Of l—”

“Look, just wait a bit, and Caduceus will be back. He’s the one who actually knows the names of all these things,” Fjord sighed. “He’ll be able to tell you if those even are Delphiniums.”

There was a moment’s pause.

“How have you managed to keep this job, Fjord?”

“I don’t have to help you, you know.”

“Technically, I think you d—"

And then, their phones buzzed.

—

— 

Nott glanced back at Fjord.

“Do you think he doesn’t know?”

Fjord shrugged. “Let’s just see what he says.”

Nott groaned. “It’ll probably be hours until we find out.”

—

—

“He’s going to die tonight, then,” said Beau, kicking off her sneakers. The front door shut behind her with a click. “That’s, like, the first rule to committing a crime. Don’t let them see your face.”

“I think it’s kind of romantic,” Jester said. Now she was in the living room, sprawled across the couch. “It’s like…a forbidden meeting. Maybe he’ll never find out what Essie looks like. Isn’t that sad?”

“Essek,” Beau corrected, and set her keys aside. “And I don’t see what’s so sad about that.”

“Oh, but it is,” Jester lavished in her sigh. “The saddest and loneliest kind of thing. To never see who you’re living with? If you can’t even put a face to the name, you might as well be sharing your house with a ghost.”

Beau raised an eyebrow. “That’s…a little dramatic, but I see what you mean. Anyway, this is a point against the guy. In my books, that is. And I’m keeping track.”

“Oh? How many points does he have?”

Beau joined her on the couch and crossed her arms. “Not many. He’s mysterious, and weird. Those are negatives. Standoffish, if he didn’t even greet Caleb on the first day. And if he isn’t a criminal, and is actually renting out a place that cheap, he must be a total idiot. Or desperate.”

“For what?” Jester asked.

She shrugged. “Who knows? The company?”

— 

Essek was, as a matter of fact, quite desperate. Desperate for another five minutes of sleep.

It was now long after the Mighty Nein had given up on their interrogation, though he was not aware of this. Instead, what was most on his mind was the strange…the odd vibrating right next to his head.

Blindly, he reached out to slap his alarm. His hand connected, but the noise did not stop.

Then he realized that it was coming from the other side of the bed.

He shuffled around to take a peek.

An eye was staring back at him. Large and blue.

“What in the name of the L—”

The cat yawned, and its mouth stretched open to reveal rows of teeth.

Essek hesitated. He rubbed his face.

“How did…what is…”

And then the puzzle pieces slid into place.  

He racked his brain for the name.

“F…Fr…Frumpkin?” he guessed.

The cat yawned again. This time, it followed the gesture up with a mrpf, and unfurled its body. And stretched.

“Hm,” said Essek. “He did…warn me, but…I am not sure if I approve of you coming in here like this. Without announcement, especially.”

Frumpkin stared back up at him. He tilted his head and put on his most endearing expression.

“Well,” Essek relented in the onslaught of this, “at least you don’t seem to be the kind that sheds. Actually…”

He leaned in as close as he dared, a pair of icy eyes tracking his every movement.

“…actually, I’m not at all sure what kind of kitty you are. Your ears are…very long. And your markings are…”

And then Essek realized.

“A familiar?”

Frumpkin blinked at him.

— 

Caleb had found the grocery store on his second try, and had also made note of a bookstore and bus stop on the way there. Now, after a long day of scouting out the neighborhood, he was back in his bedroom again, sorting clothes. No use in holding off, after all, not even if it made him feel slightly strange to be putting all his things away in someone else’s bedroom.

He picked up a t-shirt and examined the back. STAFF, it read. He had no idea for what. The Broad Barn’s secondhand clothing pile was vague at best and hazardous at worst.

Another part of Caleb, the part not fully consumed by the current task at hand, registered the faintest sound outside. It was ruled out as being not important.

Caleb produced another shirt. This one had a picture of a cat on it, red beams of light shooting out from its eyes. This had been a New Dawn present from—surprising to everyone—Yasha.

It had thus far found a long and happy life as the top half of Caleb’s pajamas. He’d tried to wear it in public once, and been bullied mercilessly by Beauregard.

On the other side of the room, past the drawers and the bed, was a small folding table that had been set up by Essek, likely as a desk. It was the sort of low contraption that eliminated any possibility of chairs, but it made a lot of sense for apartment living and was sized well enough for sitting on the floor. It was miles above Caleb’s old arrangement, a piece of plywood on a milk crate.

Right now, this new desk was covered in reams upon reams of notebook paper. Contrary to expectation, however, this paper was not lined with the standard narrow rule of most academic stationary. Instead, a pattern of lines and circles extended out from the center of the page, covering every inch in an odd spiral. Dozens upon dozens of these sheets were strewn about now, with hasty pencil-markings splattered across the page.

A particularly keen-eyed individual might have noticed that some of the markings were crossed-out. Redoubled, re-arranged, re-placed, or removed.

A particularly keen-eyed individual with the right kind of background would have noticed immediately that many of these runes were transmutative.

Back on his side of the bed, Caleb was humming.

— 

When the cat—the familiar, likely a fey one, at that—did not decide to claw Essek’s eyes out, he gingerly picked it up under its forearms and carried it out of his bedroom.

He entered the living room, and saw that it was empty. The curtains were drawn open, however, and at this point the late-summer sun was just beginning to crest low over the horizon.

Essek raised an eyebrow at Frumpkin. “So. Where is your master, hm?”

Frumpkin meowed. It meant absolutely nothing to Essek, but he nodded anyway on principle.

“I understand that you are…well, from what I think I know about ordinary cats, you might like to wander around. But the same rules that apply to your wizard apply to you as well, okay?”

He walked Frumpkin into the living room and put him down on the couch.

“I would appreciate it if you did not enter my bedroom without invitation. The study as well, yes? Meow if you understand.”

Frumpkin stared at him. Frumpkin opened his mouth. Frumpkin closed it again.

It was a vague enough gesture that Essek could not tell if this was a response. He sighed.

“This is why I never bothered with getting one of you, you know. And I’m not even talking about the food bills. Er…do you eat?”

Frumpkin repeated the gesture. Essek repeated it back at the cat in a burst of childish impulse, then caught himself.

Gods, talking to Verin yesterday must have put him in an odd mood. And his brother had kept going on and on about life back in Rosohna, about how wonderful it is, Essek, how much Mother misses you, Essek, how I wish you’d visit, Essek—all that nostalgia couldn’t be good for the mind. Especially when unsolicited.

Still, this did not stop him from checking his messages in the kitchen while he waited for his morning—afternoon—evening—coffee to brew. In the background, Frumpkin rolled over on the sofa. Verin had mentioned something that he’d wanted to talk about, that he’d send over later…

Essek opened up their conversation. Then he scowled.

— 

A solitary figure stalked through the dimming streets of Nicodranas. She stretched, working out the knots in her back, upper arms, feeling the scabs on her knuckles and their sting.

She grinned, wide and toothy, in the sunset.

Unconventional, but it worked.

— 

Caleb had a perfect memory, and never forget anything. As such, the three core tenets of his tenancy in this apartment were virtually scored into his mind.

Be quiet. Be organized. And do the recycling.

Now he stood outside the apartment complex. The winding streets formed a gentle little plaza where the neighboring buildings all shared an open space, which included the public recycling cans.

There hadn’t actually been that much to take out, aside from an empty carton of ramen, a few cat food tins, and some assorted items that Mr. Thelyss must have left behind last night. Still, Caleb had wanted to prove how serious he was about following the Code of Conduct, and so had made the journey downstairs to be a responsible citizen.

The breeze wound around his ankles. Nearby, a few kids were running around with their mother, and a jogger moseyed past their street. It was a peaceful sight, underscored by the distant call of gulls and a setting sun.

Caleb had just nudged open the lid of the recycling bin when the shouting began.

Actually, it was less of a shouting and more of a heated argument, augmented by the harsh syllables of a language that Caleb did not recognize.

If he had, it would have sounded something like this:

“—impossible! I refuse. I did not give my permission—”

“Permission? Why would she need your permission—”

“Because it is my house! And this is my city—”

“Your city? Brother, you’ve only been there a few months—”

“It’s been a year and a half, Verin. A peaceful year and a half, mind.”

“Really? Well, I am certain it will remain that. And anyway, she’s not even going there for you.”

“Hah! I have a feeling that she is visiting Nicodranas expressly to do so. The gala is just an excuse for her to come here and poke into everything I’m doing—”

“Look, look, don’t shout at me. I am just the messenger. If you’re so upset, go and call Mother—”

Caleb swung the bag into the can. As he closed the lid, his curiosity got the better of him and he found himself surreptitiously scanning the perimeter with the universal creep of eavesdroppers everywhere.

Quickly, he found the source of the sound. There was a figure standing in front of his building, pacing back and forth underneath the awning, waving one hand around in frustration. The shadows prevented him from getting a better look, but the figure seemed lithe, and very annoyed.

Caleb would have to slip past him to get back inside.

Tactically, he pulled out his phone and pretended to be incredibly engrossed with its contents. Luckily, it seemed to work—and out of the corner of his eye he even noticed the figure hastily stepping aside.

Then, unluckily, the figure followed him.

Caleb didn’t dare look up. But he could feel the stranger’s presence trail him all the way into the elevator, then settle down next to him as the doors slid shut.

Caleb went to hit the number four. So did the stranger. Their fingers collided.

“Ah—"

“Scheisse, I am sor—”

And then he stopped.

Caleb Widogast was decidedly not a man of the world. He’d never left the continent of Wildemount, for instance, nor could he claim to have seen everything it had to offer. But he had fancied himself rather well-read, and believed that he perhaps had experienced more than the average person.

This was the first time in his life that he’d seen a dark elf.

He knew that they existed, of course, but in the way that he knew the names of far-off places, as distant trivia irrelevant to his life. He knew, for example, that they were native to Xhorhas, and that many of their societies lived underground. He knew that their closest civilization was ruled by a powerful queen. He also knew that in less-polite circles, some Empire elites still believed them to be backwater savages and monsters.

This one was wearing a green t-shirt. His hair was a messy sweep to one side.

“—ry.” He finished, as quickly as he could.

The dark elf shrugged. His eyes—a pale slate gray—took in Caleb’s appearance, then the number they’d both pressed.

“I do not recall ever seeing you,” the elf said. His voice was still a little strained, as if something from before—that argument, perhaps—was bothering him immensely.

“I, ah, I’m new,” Caleb said.

The elf raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

Then he turned back around to stare at the door. Caleb was more than happy not to engage. He just hoped he hadn’t stared long enough to offend a potential neighbor.

The elevator rose three floors. On the fourth one, it stopped.

He quickly ducked out, sandals pattering on the ground, and it was only once he’d gotten to the door of his apartment and started to punch in the code that he realized the elf was still behind him, still standing there, still annoyed, and so he turned—

— 

“Excuse me,” said Essek tetchily. “Why are you entering my home?”

The human blinked.

“Er…this is…where I live.”

“What? But—”

For the second time that day, Essek realized.

“Um,” said Caleb Widogast. “Would your last name...happen to be ‘Thelyss’?”

— — —

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[rainsoak-ed]

i’m dumbfounded

i’ve been looking at opinions regarding ranking the isak and even skam storylines and some actually rank lucas and eliott very low and some even shit on them. okay, let me get a few things out of the way

AGE ISSUES

there have been a lot of people that didn’t like the fact that teenagers’ lucas and eliott were played by two 20+ actors. but to be very honest, it’s actually what made me more comfortable with the French version compared to other remakes (and even og) there are bed scenes and multiple sexual implications and it made me uncomfortable thinking these are being done by 17 year old first time actors (og even had 17 year old tarjei doing love scenes with 20 year old henrik) i’m sure this is all consensual but an additional comfort of older actors was just there for me. the thought of axel being 20/21 and maxence being 24/25 when season 3 was filmed made me less apprehensive about their more intimate scenes

DARKER THEMES

it is apparent that SK FR is a darker adaptation compared to the other remakes and og. and you know what, i think that’s very cool. they’re remakes, and i think what’s weak with other storylines is that they’ve followed the formula of og too closely that they’ve become more like fanfiction re-imaginations instead of holding their own WHICH FRANCE SUCCESSFULLY PULLS OFF. they’re essentially the same storyline but skam france managed to be a story of its own to the point that you can watch og and france (especially season 3) back to back without feeling redundant even though the story is basically the same! i think this can mostly be credited to the fact that france took on a darker, angstier theme (which as i’ve read in many youtube comments is a very... french thing which localizes the story even more). lucas and eliott are the darkest, most intense versions of isak and even and it’s a refreshing point of view.

THEMES ARE FACED (trigger warning: mentions of homophobia, sexual assault, and mental illnesses)

as i’ve mentioned above, skam france shows the struggle. manon is shown to be visibly distraught about william shrugging off her own abuse and how she tried to power through it, it showed lucas internal battle of coming out (don’t get me started about that scene on the couch with manon and mika because i will never stop talking about how axel’s acting knocked that entire scene out of the park and how that scene reminded a lot of lgbtqia+ people of their own struggles about coming out. the way it was delivered??? the visibly overflowing but still restrained struggle while verbalizing the actual fact that he’s gay??? absolute perfection) skam france also showed the actual way that lucas is dealing with eliott’s episodes and how he treats him and how he developed from his initial negative perceptions about mental illnesses (also, that scene about the possibility of lucas fucking up and stressing eliott out therefore balancing the shit that they’d have to deal with for each other is also very lovely)

and oh. my. god. the remember scene. the way that was shot. the realization. the urgency. the fact that eliott didn’t have to tell him where he was for lucas to know. the addition of ANYMORE. YOU ARE NOT ALONE ANYMORE, made is so much more powerful. the addition of one word made lucas sound a lot more informed about eliott’s struggles. the acceptance of how it is, the recognition and the validation of the fact that eliott has felt like he was alone but he doesn’t need to anymore-

STABILITY

here’s one possibly controversial opinion:

lucas and eliott is the only isak and even that i could foresee lasting. for a long time. maybe forever. even over isak and even.

maybe it’s because we got 3 more seasons of seeing them and their relationship together and how they’ve learned to stay together and fight to stay together, but they’re the most developed isak and even. other isak and evens... sure david and matteo have intense chemistry, and of course, isak and even and visibly very much in love with each other. 

i think it has something to do with the intensity of the writing in skam france, and throughout the series, they’ve repeatedly established that lucas is a highly flawed but easily teachable character. he may have uninformed opinions and have shitty brain to mouth filter but if you sit him down and explain his ability to listen, change and adjust basing on new information is phenomenal. we got “he’s my boyfriend and i love him” when asked about how he’s dealing with another difficult episode from eliott, THE WAY HE DEALT WITH IMANE’S STRUGGLE IN SEASON FOUR,  and how he’s obviously letting eliott be himself despite his worries which he knew what stressed eliott out when he was with lucille. the fact that he’s the most teachable version of isak while eliott is the most in love version of even is what makes me think these two are gonna last for a very. long. time.

for some reason, skam og is still my favorite, i don’t know why. maybe it’s the way it’s shot, how real it felt like, and the fact that i liked all four seasons of it is an added advantage, meanwhile in skam france, i only tolerated all other seasons other than 3. 

counter-arguments are accepted but please be nice i cry easily

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Film is a Work of art in the form of a series of live images that are rotated to produce an illusion of moving images that are presented as a form of entertainment. The illusion of a series of images produces continuous motion in the form of video. The film is often referred to as a movie or moving picture. Film is a modern and popular art form created for business and entertainment purposes. Film making has now become a popular industry throughout the world, where feature films are always awaited by cinemas. Films are made in two main ways. The first is through shooting and recording techniques through film cameras. This method is done by photographing images or objects. The second uses traditional animation techniques. This method is done through computer graphic animation or CGI techniques. Both can also be combined with other techniques and visual effects. Filming usually takes a relatively long time. It also requires a job desk each, starting from the director, producer, editor, wardrobe, visual effects and others.

Definition and Definition of Film / Movie

While the players who play a role in the film are referred to as actors (men) or actresses (women). There is also the term extras that are used as supporting characters with few roles in the film. This is different from the main actors who have bigger and more roles. Being an actor and an actress must be demanded to have good acting talent, which is in accordance with the theme of the film he is starring in. In certain scenes, the actor’s role can be replaced by a stuntman or a stuntman. The existence of a stuntman is important to replace the actors doing scenes that are difficult and extreme, which are usually found in action action films. Films can also be used to convey certain messages from the filmmaker. Some industries also use film to convey and represent their symbols and culture. Filmmaking is also a form of expression, thoughts, ideas, concepts, feelings and moods of a human being visualized in film. The film itself is mostly a fiction, although some are based on fact true stories or based on a true story. There are also documentaries with original and real pictures, or biographical films that tell the story of a character. There are many other popular genre films, ranging from action films, horror films, comedy films, romantic films, fantasy films, thriller films, drama films, science fiction films, crime films, documentaries and others.

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See also: List of genres § Film and television formats and genres Television shows are more varied than most other forms of media due to the wide variety of formats and genres that can be presented. A show may be fictional (as in comedies and dramas), or non-fictional (as in documentary, news, and reality television). It may be topical (as in the case of a local newscast and some made-for-television films), or historical (as in the case of many documentaries and fictional MOVIE). They could be primarily instructional or educational, or entertaining as is the case in situation comedy and game shows.[citation needed] A drama program usually features a set of actors playing characters in a historical or contemporary setting. The program follows their lives and adventures. Before the 1980s, shows (except for soap opera-type serials) typically remained static without story arcs, and the main characters and premise changed little.[citation needed] If some change happened to the characters’ lives during the episode, it was usually undone by the end. Because of this, the episodes could be broadcast in any order.[citation needed] Since the 1980s, many MOVIE feature progressive change in the plot, the characters, or both. For instance, Hill Street Blues and St. Elsewhere were two of the first American prime time drama television MOVIE to have this kind of dramatic structure,[4][better source needed] while the later MOVIE Babylon 5 further exemplifies such structure in that it had a predetermined story running over its intended five-season run.[citation needed] In “DC1&”, it was reported that television was growing into a larger component of major media companies’ revenues than film.[5] Some also noted the increase in quality of some television programs. In “DC1&”, Academy-Award-winning film director Steven Soderbergh, commenting on ambiguity and complexity of character and narrative, stated: “I think those qualities are now being seen on television and that people who want to see stories that have those kinds of qualities are watching television.

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Au début des années 1980, la guerre entre les parrains de la mafia sicilienne est à son comble. Tommaso Buscetta, membre de Cosa Nostra, fuit son pays pour se cacher au Brésil. Pendant ce temps, en Italie, les règlements de comptes s'enchaînent, et les proches de Buscetta sont assassinés les uns après les autres. Arrêté par la police brésilienne puis extradé, Buscetta, prend une décision qui va changer l'histoire de la mafia : rencontrer le juge Falcone et trahir le serment fait à Cosa Nostra.

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Film is a Work of art in the form of a series of live images that are rotated to produce an illusion of moving images that are presented as a form of entertainment. The illusion of a series of images produces continuous motion in the form of video. The film is often referred to as a movie or moving picture. Film is a modern and popular art form created for business and entertainment purposes. Film making has now become a popular industry throughout the world, where feature films are always awaited by cinemas. Films are made in two main ways. The first is through shooting and recording techniques through film cameras. This method is done by photographing images or objects. The second uses traditional animation techniques. This method is done through computer graphic animation or CGI techniques. Both can also be combined with other techniques and visual effects. Filming usually takes a relatively long time. It also requires a job desk each, starting from the director, producer, editor, wardrobe, visual effects and others.

Definition and Definition of Film / Movie

While the players who play a role in the film are referred to as actors (men) or actresses (women). There is also the term extras that are used as supporting characters with few roles in the film. This is different from the main actors who have bigger and more roles. Being an actor and an actress must be demanded to have good acting talent, which is in accordance with the theme of the film he is starring in. In certain scenes, the actor’s role can be replaced by a stuntman or a stuntman. The existence of a stuntman is important to replace the actors doing scenes that are difficult and extreme, which are usually found in action action films. Films can also be used to convey certain messages from the filmmaker. Some industries also use film to convey and represent their symbols and culture. Filmmaking is also a form of expression, thoughts, ideas, concepts, feelings and moods of a human being visualized in film. The film itself is mostly a fiction, although some are based on fact true stories or based on a true story. There are also documentaries with original and real pictures, or biographical films that tell the story of a character. There are many other popular genre films, ranging from action films, horror films, comedy films, romantic films, fantasy films, thriller films, drama films, science fiction films, crime films, documentaries and others.

That’s a little information about the definition of film or movie. The information was quoted from various sources and references. Hope it can be useful.

❍❍❍ Formats and Genres ❍❍❍

See also: List of genres § Film and television formats and genres Television shows are more varied than most other forms of media due to the wide variety of formats and genres that can be presented. A show may be fictional (as in comedies and dramas), or non-fictional (as in documentary, news, and reality television). It may be topical (as in the case of a local newscast and some made-for-television films), or historical (as in the case of many documentaries and fictional MOVIE). They could be primarily instructional or educational, or entertaining as is the case in situation comedy and game shows.[citation needed] A drama program usually features a set of actors playing characters in a historical or contemporary setting. The program follows their lives and adventures. Before the 1980s, shows (except for soap opera-type serials) typically remained static without story arcs, and the main characters and premise changed little.[citation needed] If some change happened to the characters’ lives during the episode, it was usually undone by the end. Because of this, the episodes could be broadcast in any order.[citation needed] Since the 1980s, many MOVIE feature progressive change in the plot, the characters, or both. For instance, Hill Street Blues and St. Elsewhere were two of the first American prime time drama television MOVIE to have this kind of dramatic structure,[4][better source needed] while the later MOVIE Babylon 5 further exemplifies such structure in that it had a predetermined story running over its intended five-season run.[citation needed] In “DC1&”, it was reported that television was growing into a larger component of major media companies’ revenues than film.[5] Some also noted the increase in quality of some television programs. In “DC1&”, Academy-Award-winning film director Steven Soderbergh, commenting on ambiguity and complexity of character and narrative, stated: “I think those qualities are now being seen on television and that people who want to see stories that have those kinds of qualities are watching television.

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[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

“Their feelings appear to them as being evil or the cause of their fallen condition... resulting in a repression of emotions.”

▲ Father Kent Burtner, right, discusses Rev. Sun Myung Moon and his teaching with former Moon followers. Burtner, a Catholic priest in Eugene, Oregon, has helped “deprogram” many Moonies over several decades.

_____________________________________

The minds of Moonies are changed

By Dave Horsman – South Idaho Press writer

There’s no universal formula for “deprogramming” a Moonie, according to Fr. Kent Burtner, a Catholic priest who first tangled with the Unification Church in 1969.

“The thing that’s crucial is that you consider who you’re talking to. You have to meet him where he’s at,” he said. In young Milton Esquibel’s case, “the process (of withdrawing from his Moonie experience) had already begun because he had so much time to spend with his family. Our time spent with him was to help reinforce the rehabilitation of his emotional faculties.”

Esquibel attended an all-day deprogramming session December 17 in Portland. It had been nearly a month since his parents abducted him from a Moonie group in Los Angeles and brought him home.

“Once they are out of the cult, their emotional life is restored to them rather dramatically,” Burtner said. “In cases where we begin deprogramming soon after the person is brought home, that restoration happens very, very suddenly.”

Burtner currently works at the Newman Center on the University of Oregon campus at Eugene. He previously was in the campus ministry at St. Mary’s College in Moraga, California, where his reputation as an expert on the Unification Church was earned.

His introduction to the sect was in 1969 during his seminary training. “A daughter of our secretary got involved and I was asked to meet with her. She invited me to come to a lecture series in Berkeley. I could see then that the process by which the people got involved was much more significant than the doctrine.”

The American movement was in its infancy then. “It wasn’t until 1972 that they began the series of weekend seminars and 21-day workshops” that Esquibel attended.

Burtner has since helped dozens of young people shed the “emotional amnesia” produced by Unification indoctrination. He prefers “not to work in any extra-legal way —I don’t believe in kidnapping people.”

Gus and Gladys Esquibel, however, were “acting under the law” when they retrieved their 15-year-old son.

The “marvelous thing’ about deprogramming is that Moonies are led to believe it includes a variety of tortures, he said, “when in fact we just sit down and talk. We offer a supportive environment, usually with the family and close friends present.”

Deprogramming “can be done a lot of different ways,” he added. But it usually “gives an individual a chance to look at the aspects of his life in the cult that he wasn’t able to examine when he was in it. We give the person an opportunity to see new information that the cult itself would not have divulged. And it undoes two things that have been done to the individual. The first thing is that their critical faculties (their ability to observe and assess) have been put into a state of ‘suspended animation.’ The second thing is that they are made to feel guilty for having emotions.”

Burtner explained the latter condition: “Their feelings are things that appear to them as being evil or in some way the cause of their fallen condition. That gives the cult the power to control the person. It results in a repression of the emotional life and an inappropriate sense of responsibility for the state of the world. Once they have gotten into that mind set, everything outside the group appears to be evil and Satanic and everything on the inside is where God is. So their parents and their old friends are perceived to be agents of Satan.”

“We’re talking about a systematic program that denies a person his individual freedom without his being aware of it,” Burtner said. “I don’t believe there’s anything in the (Unification Church) that essentially relates to religious commitment. It uses very, very high pressure techniques of coercion and basically places the person in a conditioned neurotic state. When you get the person out of that environment and help them see what was going on, their attachment vanishes.”

Even the diet of Moonies is part of their conditioning, according to Burtner. They get very little protein and “without at least 70 grams of protein per day the cerebral cortex is unable to function adequately. They can’t reason normally.”

People who have been Moonies only a short time often are harder to deprogram according to Burtner. “They have a real idealism, They haven’t realized they are going to spend all of their time either fundraising or recruiting new members.”

Esquibel, although he was with the Moonies only about a month, responded well in the December 17 session.

“A young woman and myself chatted with him over coffee and tea to start with. We got him to talk about his experience and we shared some of our own experiences and helped him to understand some of what he had encountered. Later on he started asking the questions. He had to have time to kind of reestablish his emotional contacts and start living his real existence again.”

Each person is different, Burtner said. “Sometimes he is quite belligerent and you have to state your case quite boldly in the beginning.”

He offers the following advice to young people who may be drawn to the Moonies: “First, learn to accept and deal with your emotional life. Second, remember you have the right to ask a lot of questions when someone wants you to get involved.”

He suggests that parents “maintain open, honest lines of communication. If there are difficulties in the family, deal with them in a straightforward way.”

While Burtner despises the Unification movement, he respects its power. He encourages people to examine the church first hand, but asks them to leave a written statement with the police allowing them “to come and get you after a week” Granting another person power of attorney to assure your return is another possibility, he added.

“I had a case like that in Eugene, involving a young woman who wanted to visit a Moonie camp. She was against the (church) after seeing what one of her friends who had been involved had gone through” and wanted to expose its practices

“She gave me power of attorney and I had to use it after she had been there one weekend. I called (the church) and threatened to turn the story over to the Associated Press if she didn’t come home to talk to me. She returned and went through a day of deprogramming.”

LINK

___________________________________

Karin Hegstrom is helped to find her way out of the FFWPU / UC

Ford Greene – the former Moonie became an attorney

Cult Indoctrination – and the Road to Recovery

[sologxlaxies]

Not About Angels - Part 6

Antisocial Animals

Bucky x Reader series

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Main Masterlist

Summary: Loving him feels like the most exquisite way of self-destruction. Too close, and you’re radioactive. Too far, and your heart shatters, and the city cracks in two while debris scatters in the space between your ribs. Pining over a brooding, unstable Bucky Barnes isn’t exactly your brightest idea, especially when you’re just as damaged as he is, and he doesn’t seem to love you half as much as you love him.

Warnings: Swearing (tons of it), drinking and smoking, mentions of death.

Word count: 2720

A.N: This one’s pretty exciting! In other news, I’m finally back!! My writing inspiration isn’t back in full swing just yet, but I’m trying my best to post again. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

Bucky isn’t there by the time you wake up.

The first moment after you open your eyes seems to stretch for hours as the events of early morning flood into your mind, fuzzy and fleeting to the point where you wonder if it might have been a dream. It is only when you stretch along the bed that your fingers brush the other side, feeling the faintest hint of body warmth still lingering on the sheets, and your entire body tingles with the ghost of his touch fresh on your memory.

He had been in your room, after all, you think to yourself. But after that, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Bucky doesn’t show up for breakfast that morning, nor does he appear after that. He’s not at the table when Wanda calls everybody for lunch, and he doesn’t show up afterwards either. Even without him, lunch is a tense affair, with everybody quietly eating their food and dancing around the elephant in the room that is your presence in the compound.

It’s been exactly three years since the night of the accident at the tower. Three years since you killed a SHIELD agent during Clint’s birthday party.

You don’t blame Bucky for staying away, opting yourself to stay away from the common area as the final preparations for Clint’s birthday party are set up in place, just like three years ago. 

An all-too-familiar sense of dread starts building in your stomach the moment you see the giant birthday cake being brought into the living room. That, along with the presence of the crew Tony hired to decorate the place is enough to trigger bad memories of the night of the accident.

You try and do your best to keep the panic down; breathing in and out for what could easily be a thousand times, but the feeling doesn’t go away and you remain antsy all over, without being able to shake off your uneasiness.

This isn’t the kind of night for you to appear in public, and you know that much. You’ve learned to notice those subtle changes around you; how the air thickens up into a toxic cocktail, and the bracelet on your wrist has to work double to counteract the effects, dosing you up on Bruce’s drug cocktail. 

As soon as FRIDAY announces the first guest, you all but dart to the roof, a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of bourbon in hand. You’d rather freeze to death on that roof than set foot in that party ever again.

“You got a smoke?”

The voice behind you makes you tense up for a second, catching you off guard. You were so immersed in your thoughts that you almost missed the sound of the metal door opening and closing, revealing the presence of someone else on the rooftop. Almost.

“You know that shit’s bad for you, right?” You retort, adjusting your position on the cool concrete.

“Says the woman chain smoking on the edge of a roof.”

“Touché.” you huff, watching the cloud of smoke float away at your harsh exhale. “Why are you here Barnes?” You’re hyper-aware of his presence, slightly uncomfortable to see him in his party attire, with the top buttons of his shirt popped open and suit jacket hanging from his shoulders. Neither of you has spoken about last night, and you don’t want to be the first to bring it up.

“I was bored.” He’s skating around the subject too, you notice. Good. But then- “I saw you leaving-”

“I swear to god Barnes, that if you just came here to lecture me you might as well go back to the party.” You practically growl. “Steve’s already tried—and failed—and heaven knows I only have the patience to deal with one supersoldier’s broken ego.”

He laughs heartily when he watches you take a long gulp of bourbon, his amused smile turning into one of disbelief when you keep chugging it down without signs of stopping.

A part of you almost expects him to stop you; to make a comment or try to pull the bottle away from your fingers, but you’re surprised when he doesn’t. Instead, Bucky just watches as you take gulp after gulp, whistling after you’ve put the half empty bottle down.

“That bad, huh?” He asks.

You wait a couple of seconds, taking a drag from your cigarette before answering. “Yeah” It leaves your lips as a soft sigh, accompanied with smoke as both get lost in the night.

“Want to talk about it?”

He catches you off guard, again, with his question. Even more so when you hear him rustling behind you and all of a sudden, he's plopping right next to you, making himself comfortable with his feet dangling off the rooftop just like yours are and his jacket bundled up at his side. 

It's new and unexpected; the feeling of another human acting so normally around you after all this time. You can’t help but look at him unabashedly, your eyes probably growing triple in size at his question because it’s been so, so long. 

You’ve spent the last few years letting others determine who you are and what you do, and now that somebody’s asking for your story, wanting to hear your experience and giving you the reigns, you suddenly feel so clumsy. It’s like waiting an entire lifetime for something but not quite knowing what to do once it’s within your grasp.

 Instead of answering him, you reach for the box of cigarettes inside your pocket. It’s almost empty and crumpled, but the cigarettes are still good and so you take another out before you pass him the box.

“Don’t touch the upside-down one” you warn him without even looking in his direction. “That one is mine.”

 He doesn’t say anything about it other than humming appreciatively when he fishes out his own smoke out of the little carton box, waiting for you to provide a lighter. After he watches you scrambling for one—patting all your pockets and turning them upside down but coming up empty—he finally speaks again.

 “You know we don’t need a lighter, right?” He asks, motioning towards your lit cigarette. “I trust you.”

His comment makes you scoff. Mostly because of how naive it sounds, knowing awfully well that your powers aren’t something you control, but also because trust isn’t something you’ve seen much these days. “Well, you shouldn’t,” you grunt, and yet you find yourself stretching your hand towards him with your lit cigarette held between your fingers.

Bucky takes it, maneuvering it carefully as he removes the filter from his own and puts it between his lips. He places them together, end to end, with the utmost care, and then he inhales, making the embers of your cigarette flare up as they light up his, and he breathes in through his mouth, sucking in the smoke.

It feels like an oddly intimate gesture, watching as his eyes flutter closed and he relishes the burn of the smoke on his throat before he slowly breathes it out. It becomes even more enthralling when he licks the tip of his ring finger, the one he used to remove the filter, and you can’t seem to avert your eyes from the sight until he hands you your cigarette back.

Both of you stay in silence for a while, acutely aware of each other’s presence as you smoke, until you finally speak.

“They hate me because I killed their partner,” you whisper, so softly that even Bucky with his enhanced hearing has a hard time to catch it. Then you continue. “After the Triskelion leak, the team started to get suspicious of me. My file… it, uh, had some inconsistencies.”

Why you're telling Bucky about this is beyond your understanding. Maybe it's because he asked, maybe it's because of the slightly intimate moment the two of you are sharing, or maybe just because you're slightly tipsy in both alcohol and the cigarette smoke. Either way, it feels good to talk, so you keep going.

“You know where I come from now, but the team… nobody knew anything back then. Nobody knew I’d worked for HYDRA.”

There’s no missing Bucky’s sharp intake of breath, no mistaking the way he almost chokes on the smoke even as he tries to hide it. You don’t blame it on him; HYDRA is a touchy subject and even if he’d heard it from the team before, you confessing it to him only makes it more real.

“What happened then?” He asks, careful not to push you too much for the information.

“Tony was throwing a birthday party for Clint and his S.H.I.E.L.D. friends. One of them didn’t trust me at all, and so he confronted me and I freaked out-  I didn’t mean- he just dropped-” One of your hands reaches for the bottle at your side, but it’s dark and you’re shaking. Instead, you knock it to the side, effectively spilling its contents on the floor. “Fuck!-”

There’s barely enough time for the words to leave your lips when Bucky’s already at your side, carefully placing a hand on your shoulder. It’s only when his words—not his touch—jerk you out of your thoughts that you notice the fresh tears on your cheeks.

“Whoa doll, it’s okay” He’s prying the cigarette from your fingers as he discards his own, throwing them to the floor before he squishes it with his boot. “It’s over now, it’s okay. There’s no need to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

The next second he’s grabbing his jacket from the floor and placing it over your frame, careful as he lightly envelops you in his arms. You rattle against him, shaken by both the bad memories and the cold but he makes up for it as he pulls you closer, allowing some of his body warmth to seep into you.

“I need to-” you sniffle, “Can we go back inside?” Your throat feels tight from holding back a sob and your fingers are slowly getting numb from the cold. Still, the request in plural takes the both of you by surprise, although Bucky seems to understand better than you think because he only gives you a short nod before he’s ushering the both of you inside and closing the door softly behind you, all while he keeps a hand hovering right behind your back.

He's quick to guide you both to the living quarters, his steps as silent as he can make them when you pass the living room and try to walk by unnoticed as Clint’s birthday celebration goes on.

You duck your head down at the sound of voices, but Bucky knows better than to ask after his conversation with you. Instead, he takes you up the stairs and down the hall that leads to your bedrooms, but just when you think he’ll walk until the end of the hallway where your bedroom is, he stops at the room that’s right before yours. His room. 

“Are you going to come in or not?” he asks as he holds the door open, noticing how you haven’t followed him inside.

“I- I don’t” you stammer, clearing your throat. You shake your head briefly, trying to dissipate the thoughts that have begun to crawl into your mind, edging into it like growing vines. “It’s a bad idea, Barnes. You don’t want me in your room.”

This time it’s him who’s frowning.” And what exactly makes you say that?”

“Because the last time I was in a bedroom with a man, he ended up dead.” You deadpan. Memories of that night flashing before your eyes.

The silence that stretches between you and Bucky suddenly becomes anything but pleasant as the air noticeably thickens around you, the more upset you become.

As you begin to recognize the feeling in your gut, the panic inside you sparks up after the realization, and for a full two seconds you try and get as far away from Bucky as you can. Yet, instead of moving further, you stumble and crash against the opposite side of the hallway, practically clawing your way up the wall in your haste to move. 

You know what comes with the burning sensation on your skin; you fear it, but before your brain can fully process what’s happening, the bracelet on your wrist beeps, delivering yet another injection, and the air around you dissipates as the drugs force you to calm down.

“Hey, hey-“ -he catches you just as your knees buckle, and no sooner does one of his hands splay flat across your back than it takes for your skin to break into goosebumps. “What just happened?” 

“I- shit!” You try to pry yourself from his grasp “I almost killed you.”

“What?” He freezes for a second, and that’s more than enough time for you to put some distance between the two of you.

“What I’m saying is,” You huff, “You just witnessed my powers, Barnes. My lethal powers.”

“And I’m not dead yet,” he shrugs, and it just makes you want to strangle him, because how can he be so fucking stubborn- “So I don’t see why I should let you go away and lock yourself up.”

“I can’t stay Barnes. You already have enough shit to deal with as it is, there’s no reason you have to put up with mine as well.”

“Don’t you think that’s my own call to make?” That takes you by surprise, “Why are you always trying to run away-”

“It’s all I know!” You’re panting now, careful not to scream in case the others can hear it,  “Running away is all I do now. I tried settling down with Steve, I really did, and all it just backfired-”

“I didn’t know you had a thing with Steve” He mumbles, so low that you almost fail to hear it, but it’s enough to distract you from your tantrum.

“We… yeah,” You shrug, “We were together for over a year, but I’m not surprised he didn’t tell you.”

Bucky frowns, but you keep on talking. “He’s probably ashamed of it by now… Who wouldn’t be, if their girlfriend turned out to be a freak?” You can’t help the bit of venom in your tone, and it suddenly hits you that you actually resented Steve way more than you’re willing to admit.

He doesn’t miss your sigh or the way that your head hangs slightly lower once the words leave your mouth, and it makes something in his gut clench. Something about the way you hold yourself that reminds him of how he felt before. 

“Tell me about it; about you and Steve.” Bucky says then, once again catching you by surprise, “Come to my room and talk. You don’t have to do anything else, just… talk, spend some time with me.”

You blink up at him, arms crossed protectively in front of you, and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

It sounds half pathetic, and it only makes you want to slam your head against the nearest wall, but it’s the only word you can come up with.

“Humans social animals. You’re human”

“That doesn’t mean anything-”

“Oh, but it does.” He smirks. You suddenly feel the urge to wipe it off his face. “We need social interaction because it’s part of us, and you, my friend, are in desperate need of some.”

“I didn’t know we were friends.” You counter, but you can’t help the small smile that makes its way to your lips.

There’s a breath of silence, as he watches you intently, and notices your smile. His smirk softens at the sight, morphing into a small grin. You decide then, that you like it when he smiles.

Bucky takes a step back, motioning towards his open bedroom with a subtle nod of his head.

“Come on in, sweetheart.” He says. It’s almost a whisper, but you like the sound of it; it makes you feel safe. 

“Okay…” You exhale “Alright, let’s talk.” 

Almost without thinking, you nod your head. It’s more of a gesture that you make for yourself instead of him, but a second later you’re following him across the hall and inside the bedroom, shutting the door behind you with a soft click.

Next part 

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It is not good

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