#but then ! the sweet relief on his face when he told his story to nick

[toneelspeelster]

i don't want to feel like that anymore.

[ladykailitha]

Oh For a Muse of Fire! Part 13

Steve’s turn to come to the rescue? Hell yeah!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9 Part 10  Part 11 Part 12

Steve’s painting was coming along really well. He was trying to get the expression on Eros’s face right. It was becoming a problem. There was just something about the eyes being closed that didn’t work.

But he was supposed to be asleep when Psyche came in, but when Steve tried to paint the eyes closed, he looked dead and not asleep.

Steve sighed and decided to talk to Joyce about it after class. He told Eddie go ahead to the parking lot and he’d meet him there.

“Hey, Mrs Byers,” Steve greeted. “I wanted to talk to you about my final.”

Joyce looked up at him and smiled. “Sure, Steve. What’s up?”

“I’m having a hard time getting the face right, can you help me?” he said and handed over the canvas.

She took it gingerly to avoid smearing the wet paint. “It looks as though the face is giving trouble.”

Steve nodded. “Especially the eyes. I want them closed for the Eros theme but with the pose he comes off looking like a corpse.”

“Which,” she said with a huff of laughter, “not the look you’re going for?”

“Absolutely not,” he agreed.

“Steve...” Joyce said gently. “You do know that the myths and stories idea is just a guideline? You don’t have to stick to a theme if you don’t want to.”

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Um...really?”

Joyce laughed. “Yes, Steve. Try it with his eyes open and I think you’ll find it will be fine.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Mrs Byers.” He gathered up his painting and walked to the door.

“Hey Steve?” Joyce called out. “Why do you call me Mrs Byers? Almost everyone else calls me Joyce, except the really young students.”

Steve flashed her a bright smile. “It’s what I called you when I was babysitting Will. It’s a hard habit to break.”

She tilted her head to the side and then nodded. “Fair enough. Bye, Steve.”

“Bye, Mrs Byers.” He winked at her and walked off.

*

Eddie was waiting by his van having a cigarette when he spotted someone coming his direction.

“Shit!” he looked to see if he could just hop in the van and get away, but the other guy was too quick.

“Eddie? Is that you?” the far too cheerful voice cried.

Eddie closed his eyes and flicked his cigarette to the ground, grinding it beneath his boot. He opened his eyes and sneered. “Well, well if it isn’t Nick Mantrell. Did you get arrested?”

Nick was a tall man with light brown hair and deep blue eyes. His smile was as crooked as his personality.

“Daddy got me off,” Nick said with a smile that was supposed to be winning but Eddie had long since found to be smarmy.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Of course he did. But then, Martin Mantrell always did have more money than sense.”

Nick’s mask dropped and his face became a dark and sinister thing. “You keep my daddy’s name out of your dirty mouth.”

Eddie huffed out a chuckle. “Man, I thought you liked my dirty mouth.”

And suddenly the mask was back up. “You know I do, baby.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Nick?”

Nike grinned. “I just wanted to catch up. See what you were up to these days. It been so long since I saw you, baby.” He got close to Eddie and ran his hand down his arm.

“I’m doing fine,” Eddie said through gritted teeth. “The band’s got an agent now and we just finished recording a demo that they’re going to shop around.”

Nick looked pityingly at him. “Oh that so sweet. And you’re sure he’s a real agent?”

Eddie frowned. He knew that’s how Nick would get under his skin. He hated how it almost worked again. “Pretty damn sure. His other clients include The Kestrels and Lonnie Hunter.”

Nick’s eyes went wide. “Those are some pretty big names, baby. I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

Eddie shoulders slumped. “Why are you here man? At the school I mean.”

Nick smiled smugly. “I’m here getting my degree in business. Daddy’s going make me VP once I graduate.” He batted his eyelashes at him. “What are you doing here? I thought higher education was against the Munson doctrine.”

Eddie shifted uncomfortably under Nick’s gaze. “I’m doing a favor for a family friend. I’m the live model for her art class this year.”

Nick licked his lips suggestively. “Too bad it’s too late to take the class. Maybe I can convince Daddy to let me audit it for the last few weeks. You always did look your best right before I fucked you.”

Eddie began to squirm. “I don’t think you can do that.”

Nick leaned further into Eddie’s space. “I think you’ll find I can do a lot of things with a little bit of persuasion and a lot of money.”

Eddie’s face burned with humiliation and shame. He just wanted to go home.

A warm arm slid around his waist and soft chuckle breathed in his ear.

“Hey, Sunshine!” Steve greeted cheerfully. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I hope you weren’t waiting to long.”

Nick reared back as if he’d been stung. “Who’s this then, baby?”

Eddie leaned into Steve’s side.

Steve cocked his head to the side and gave Nick his best mean girl smile. “Your worst nightmare unless you toddle off like a good boy.”

Nick sneered. “You always were a slut, Eddie. You would spread your legs for anyone with a good body and a playful smile.”

Steve eyed Nick up. “Honey, you aren’t my type and what Sunshine and I do is none of your business. Now shoo, before I get mad. And honey, the hulk’s a pussy cat in comparison.”

Nick turned on his heel and stormed off.

Steve sighed in relief. “Thank god that worked. I’m really bad at fighting and I would so fucking lose if we got in a fist fight.”

Eddie started giggling. And Steve flashed him a smile.

“You okay, now?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, thanks for that. That slimy piece of worm-ridden filth is my ex-boyfriend. Met him when I was still young and stupid. It wasn’t until after the third time he cheated on me that I walked away.”

Steve bumped their shoulders together. “I’m sorry he was harassing you. Guys like that are what give gay men a bad name.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “How did you manage to insinuate that we were together without out right lying?”

Steve frowned for a second. “Oh, the double talk?” Eddie nodded. “I learned it at the bar. It’s a customer service thing. Make them think that I promised them something when I really didn’t.”

Eddie laughed. “That’s amazing.”

“You still up for that coffee or do you want to go home?” Steve asked.

He leaned into Steve’s embrace further. “I just want to go home.”

“I’ll follow you to make sure you get home okay,” Steve said, gently removing his arm from Eddie’s waist. “Do you want me to keep up company until I have to go to work or would you rather be alone?”

Eddie immediately mourned the lost of Steve’s warmth. “Would you stay?”

Steve nodded. “Of course. I’ll meet you there okay?”

Eddie nodded back. Steve gave his arm a squeeze and then walked away.

Eddie watched him go, the warmth from Steve’s body making itself home in his chest.

Yup, he was so fucked.

*

Eddie led Steve up to his apartment feeling a tad nervous. It had been awhile since he brought anyone back to his place. And yes he knew it wasn’t like that, but his heart and his libido were screaming at him to change that in their favor.

He unlocked the door and let Steve go in first, fearing his reaction.

“Oh, wow,” Steve murmured. “This place is amazing. I have the same fucking floor plan you do and yet yours looks more homey and lived in then mine.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “Yeah, how’s that?”

He closed the door behind them.

“Robin and I both had parents that decorated our rooms for us,” Steve explained, “so when we went off on our own we didn’t have any real idea of how to make it ours. So it looks like a catelogue.”

Eddie pursed his lips and looked up. “Yeah, no. I can totally see that.”

Steve laughed.

“You want something to drink?” Eddie called from the kitchen.

“Just water is fine,” he replied. “But aren’t I here to take care of you?”

Eddie’s cheeks were red when he came out with a glass of water for Steve and a beer for him. “If you wanted to take care of me, big boy, we should have gone to your place.”

Steve grinned. “It’s not to late. I live two seconds away.”

Eddie grinned back. “Nah, it’s cool. I’m more comfortable here.”

Steve raised his glass, “Here’s to shitty exes coming back in our lives when we least expect it!”

Eddie chuckled. “Here’s that!” He raised his can and took a long drink.

“So how are things going on the finding fame and fortune front?” Steve asked after a moment or two of silence.

Eddie just shook his head. “I mean we finished the demo and our agent is going around to all the major labels starting with the ones closest to home and branching out. But it still feels like a pipe dream, you know?”

Steve cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “Is that what the slimy ex said? That it was just a pipe dream?”

Eddie huffed out a bitter laugh. “Yes, but he just pegged an old insecurity that I’ve had for awhile.”

“Nothing quite like having someone opening old wounds for fun,” Steve said.

Eddie nodded. “Yeah. I had just heard of bands getting record deals right out of the gate by preforming at the Queen’s Crown...and I–”

Steve set his water down and scooted closer to him, to place his hand on his knee. “You guys should have gotten the deal. I don’t know why the agent was the only one that saw your potential...but seriously, Eds, you killed it that night.”

Eddie looked up at him through his eyelashes. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “And not just because the new song was about me.” He winked at him.

Eddie burst out laughing. “So is the Jester and the King, you egomaniac.”

Steve winced. “Ouch! I’m assuming you wrote that one after I hit you?”

“Sure did, baby doll,” Eddie said with a grin. “And then after we talked I couldn’t leave it like that, so I wrote Thorns and Thistles.”

“It was beautiful,” Steve said, his expression soft and fond.

“I’ve been writing other songs for if they decided to give us the record deal,” Eddie said. “You want to hear some of them?”

Steve lit up. He looked at his watch and crumpled. “Shit. It’s almost time for me to go to work.”

Eddie deflated too. “Oh. That’s okay. Some other time.”

Steve got a wicked gleam in his eye. “You know...the new bartender hasn’t had an opportunity to tend with Opal yet...”

Eddie’s head shot up in shock. “Just what are you saying there, Stevie?”

“Well...” Steve continued. “Diamond has been saying I’ve been working too hard lately and that I should take more time to myself...”

Eddie’s eyes got the same wicked gleam, “Is Steve Harrington suggesting playing hooky for little ol’ me?”

Steve just grinned and pulled out his phone. He shot off two quick text messages. The replies came just as fast as he sent them. Both Robin and Diamond applauding his decision.

“Now, I’m all yours,” he said setting his phone aside and giving Eddie his undivided attention.

“How? Why?” Eddie stammered.

Steve’s face softened. “Look, I’ve earned some good will with Diamond after the incident with Nancy and I don’t mind using it to spend more time with you.” He put his hand back on Eddie’s knee. “Plus Crystal, the new bartender has to get use to running the whole night, he’s been there two weeks with me he needs to get used to working with Opal, because that’s who he’s going to be working with.”

“Chrissy,” Eddie corrected. “Call her Chrissy.”

Steve’s face brightened. “Chrissy then.”

Eddie hurried up to grab his electric guitar and sat back down. “This is one is called Flying Higher.”

Steve settled back into the cushions of Eddie’s sofa to listen.

Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17 Epilogue

Tag List: @artiststarme @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @itsall-taken @m-owo-n @zerokrox-blog @runyousillydetective @grimmfitzz @wonderland-girl143-blog @sapphirecobalt-1 @scheodingers-muppet @victor-thee-corvid @apricottree @bookbinderbitch @sleepyboosstuff @biatcgh @pixiefallingupthestairs @grtwdsmwhr @thepainisspicy @carlyv @eboyawstenn @bisexualdisastersworld @bidisastersworld @abstractnaturaldisaster @evix-syne666 @nerdsconquerall @lololol-1234 @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @a-little-unsteddie @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @elluminis @tailsfromthecrypt @danili666 @plyerice27 @alittlegreyfish  @n0-1-important @no-upper-limit-to-stupidity @maya-custodios-dionach @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @heaven428 @thedragonsaunt @ceaselessly-watching @imfinereallyy

[sunnyrealist]

🌶️ Chapter 28: Stress Relief 🌶️

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Chapter Background and Summary: Sebastian's partner on assignment for the Kelpies gang attempted to drown a child to entice his mother to give up a Time Turner (a new invention) hidden in their home. Sebastian took the Time Turner from her and was able to save the boy just in the nick of time. Sebastian was reprimanded by Mr. Rees Cuddy, the leader of the Kelpies, for doing so, but he was also rewarded for delivering the Time Turner. Sebastian is now going to be put in charge of safeguarding the Time Turner until the Kelpies have figured out how it works and how exactly they will use it. His mind is reeling with this information, along with processing the events that led to acquiring the magical item. This chapter takes place the following day after work when Kate and Sebastian get to see each other again.

Pairing: Aged-up, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x Kate Mayflower (my OC)

Content warnings: In general, this story is rated 18+, so MNDI! This chapter features rough doggy-style sex, including very light choking.

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Any feedback is appreciated. A comment, like, or Kudos would make my day!

Chapter 28: Stress Relief

When Kate arrives home from work on Wednesday, she shuts the door, walks into her bedroom, picks up one of her pillows, and screams into it.

It had quite possibly been one of the worst days she had ever had in the Hogwarts library.

Pretty much everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong.

She flops onto her bed, clutches a pillow, assumes the fetal position, and begins to cry.

She is sniffling into a handkerchief when she hears a knock on the door and then the most welcome voice in the entire world.

“Kate?” Sebastian calls. “Are you home?”

“Yes,” she responds loudly. “I’m in the bedroom.”

He enters the room with a huge bouquet of sunflowers, a huge smile on his face, but it drops almost immediately when he sees her tear-stained face. 

“Merlin’s beard,” he gasps. “What’s wrong?”

He leaves the bouquet on her dresser, then sits next to her on the bed and takes her hands, his face filled with concern.

“Everything at work,” she replied somberly. “Terrible day.”

Sebastian rubs her hands soothingly. “I’m so sorry, my love. What happened? Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Agnes announced that she is definitely not retiring this year. I caught two Gryffindors literally having sex against a bookshelf. 14-year-olds. 14-year-olds!” She paused. “I’ve never dealt with more messes in my entire career at Hogwarts. It’s like a storm came upon the library and scattered books everywhere. The students aren’t cleaning up after themselves since they know the school year is over. Plus, I found at least twenty books incorrectly shelved in the wrong sections.” 

Sebastian is about to say something until she continues.

“Peeves was shouting in the library, causing a ruckus. I caught a Slytherin trying to sneak into the Restricted Section without permission - and then he acted like I am the most strict librarian in the world! I made a jam sandwich for lunch and spilled it all over my white shirt. That was an easy fix but still just another thing that went wrong. None of my student assistants helped with anything today - apparently they were too keen to gossip instead of work. They’re just done. And Matilda Weasley informed me we were getting an influx of cursed magical artifacts to store in the Restricted Section, which of course are dangerous as hell to work with. I told her I was too nervous to catalog them, and she seemed quite disappointed in me.” She sighs dramatically.

Sebastian begins to run his hand through her hair soothingly. “My poor, sweet sun. Well… I brought you sunflowers. I thought they might make you think of how close you are to your summer holiday. Now it’s clear you need them more than ever to cheer up. What else can I do for my darling?”

“Please help me relieve stress. I don’t want to cook. I don’t want to do anything or think about anything,” Kate begs. “I’m so glad you are here, Sebastian. I need you.”

He pulls her to him, holding her close. “I’m here. Let it out. I’ll take care of you tonight.”

Sebastian spends some time thinking about what he might do to help her calm down.

After a few minutes, he claps his hands together and says, “Alright. Here’s the plan. I am going to cook dinner for us both. We’re going to drink some good wine and enjoy some dessert. I’m going to draw a nice, warm bubble bath for you, and then we’ll read in bed until… Wait, am I staying over tonight? I forgot to ask, but I brought a bag along just in case.” He waves his hands around. “No pressure - I don’t want you to stress over it at all.”

“Gods, that sounds perfect, and yes, you’re staying over. I demand it,” she replies quite seriously.

“Of course - your wish is my command, princess.” He chuckles.

This wasn’t how Sebastian envisioned the evening going, but he’s happy to help her. Any time spent with her is better than the alternative.

“Seb… one more thing that might help,” she says hesitantly, putting her hand on his arm. “I need you to fuck me. Hard. Really hard. No holding back.”

Sebastian’s eyes grow wide, and he grins wickedly. “Oh, yeah? I can manage that.”

Kate screams as he pushes into her in one fell swoop, his hands gripping her hips tight as he takes her from behind. “Seb!!!”

His eyes practically roll back into his head at how tight and wet she is for him. “Oh, Merlin, Kate… feels… so good.”

Sebastian begins to stroke, not starting off slow. Soon, he’s practically leaving her body and thrusting completely in, taking her roughly. His fingernails dig into her skin as she cries out over and over again. The sounds of their bodies slapping together provide a rhythm to their moans.

After a while, he presses his chest to her back and reaches around her to squeeze her breasts tight. Continuing to rut into her, he pinches her nipples harshly, and she wails. 

“Don’t stop - don’t stop!” she begs. “Sebastian, don’t stop - please!”

“I won’t. You’re just going to have to take it,” he growls. “I need this, too.”

Sebastian’s hand slowly makes its way to her collarbone, his fingers spreading wide and closing around her neck. He squeezes - not too hard, just testing the waters, as she gasps in surprise. Deciding not to push his luck, he straightens back up, grabbing handfuls of her hair and pulling it back.

“Fuck!” he shouts out. “I’m close.”

Kate is so pleased she is actually drooling. “Mmmm…. Nnnnghhh……”

Sebastian slams into her harder, his tip kissing her cervix repeatedly. She begins to scream, and then he feels her inner walls closing around him. She’s coming. 

Finally letting go, he groans, pushing as deep inside her as possible. He knows he is going to release a huge load of cum into her. His movements become erratic, and then, he explodes.

“Kate… Kate…” he moans, staying deep inside her and moving his hips back and forth slowly until he is positive he has spilled all of his seed.

Sebastian collapses onto Kate’s back, kissing her hair and her shoulders repeatedly as he catches his breath.

“Was… was that how you wanted it, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Fuck… yes. Exactly what I needed, my moon.”

He rolls over, not wanting to crush her completely under his weight. He cups her cheek and kisses her lips deeply, then directs her to lay on his chest.

“Me, too, my sun. Me, too. Gods, I needed that. You’re not the only one who has had a bad time at work lately.”

That night, after relaxing, they both fall asleep soundly, wrapped in each other’s arms. Neither of them stirs at all until morning, when they inevitably realize how much of a challenge it is to get up together to an alarm and say goodbye quickly.

Fortunately for Sebastian, Kate never notices him chugging Wiggenweld potion that morning and walking with a slight limp from the horse bite. He wouldn’t have a clue of how to explain his bad day after hearing about hers. She’s not ready.

[that-blue-vault-dweller]

Can you do a one shot story of the companions coming together to organize a surprise birthday party for Nora. I find it really funny to think of them having to interact and corporate with one another to make Nora happy. 😂😂😂

Awww!!! This is an incredible idea, and I absolutely love this so much!!! 😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰 I had an amazing time writing this one (as you can probably tell by the length of the thing 😂), and I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for the request! 💙💛

Word Count: 3505

  “Hancock, if you put Day Tripper in those brownies, I will personally make sure that Blue has your head—”

  “Calm down some! I didn’t put any chill pills in the brownies, okay?!” Hancock replied, raising his hand up defensively before placing the pan on a nearby table. Piper just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

  Since Nora had left that morning with MacCready and Dogmeat, everyone had been moving as quickly as they could possibly manage with Piper at the helm of the preparation crew. It was February twelfth and the birthday of the vault-dweller. And they had to do everything they could to make Nora’s birthday as perfect as her.

  And if Hancock brought chems in, then it was definitely not going to be perfect by Piper’s or Nora’s standards.

  “Okay, then, prove it. Cait!!!” Piper called. She knew that Hancock would cave if Cait came over to try the brownies. After all, he respected Cait quitting the chems too much to let her risk a relapse.

  She could feel Cait’s glare on her back, and Piper resisted the urge to say something sarcastic as the redhead approached the two.

  “What do ye want?” Cait questioned, not much kindness mustered in her words as she glared at Piper. After all, they were not really the best of friends, and for Piper to ask anything of her was a bit of a stretch. The only reason Cait was helping with the party was because she loved and cared about Nora so much.

  “Go try those brownies.”

  “Why? This feels like a trick,” Cait spoke, crossing her arms over her chest as she narrowed her eyes skeptically. Piper barely withheld the groan as she put her hands on her hips and glared at the other woman.

  “We’re testing them to make sure they’re clean.”

  “And ye chose me?! Look, I’ve moved past my days of addiction, ye hear?!” Cait informed her aggressively before spinning on her heel and leaving Piper with Hancock. Piper rolled her eyes, moving her mouth a little as she mimicked the other woman.

  “Alright, then. Curie! Come taste these brownies!” Piper called, and Curie looked up immediately, her eyes sparkling with the promise of sweets.

  “Ooh! Okay!” Curie cried, hurrying over. Piper smirked widely, knowing that Hancock would not just let Curie get high. Especially since Nora would be positively livid if anything happened to the innocent synth.

  “No, no, no, on second thought, I think I might’ve burned them, and I probably should just throw them out. Nora deserves the best, right?” Hancock grinned winningly before heading out the door with the brownies. Curie stuck her lip out a little in a small, disappointed pout before returning to her previous task of cleaning up the house alongside Codsworth.

  “That’s what I thought,” Piper muttered, and she turned to look and see what Cait and Danse were doing together. Currently, the both of them were attempting to hang decorations, and Danse was looking slightly flustered as Cait grinned widely. Piper immediately knew what was going on as soon as she saw it.

  “No fraternizing in the workplace, got it?” Piper announced just behind them and Danse was almost pitiful in how he straightened immediately and cleared his throat in an attempt to look more proper. It was obviously a reaction left over from his time in the Brotherhood, and he quickly caught up on his mistake before releasing his shoulders a little and loosening.

  “Who died and made you queen, anyways?” Cait questioned, and Piper scoffed as if it were obvious.

  “Look, since I know Blue so well, I have been self-appointed as birthday party coordinator, alright?” Piper informed her. Piper mentally added in the fact that she believed that she herself was Nora’s best and closest friend out of the bunch, but she did not voice this opinion aloud since she would likely offend the rest of the people around the house.

  “The rest of us know her pretty well, too, y’know. I think you just want an excuse to boss me around!” Cait challenged, pushing the thumbtack into the wall firmly, and Piper just shrugged, everything in her fighting the urge to say something that would provoke the former cage-fighter.

  “Does this look balanced to you?” Danse questioned, and Piper squinted a little, tilting her head.

  “Yeah. Except Cait’s end looks too high and mighty,” Piper commented, and she mentally scolded herself for not having more self-control than to aggravate the other woman. But it was just too fun to resist, and Cait got so irritated which made it so funny.

  Sure enough, Cait looked like she might kill someone as she lowered her end ever so slightly.

  “Good enough, your highness?” Cait questioned, clenching her fists tightly and her face turning a little red as she quite obviously tried to resist the urge to deck Piper. Piper just offered a smug smile and a thumbs-up.

  She then headed over to check on Nick, Preston, and Deacon where they were working on wrapping the presents for Nora.

  “How’s it going, guys?” Piper questioned, looking over the gifts for Nora on the table. They had labeled all of them with the people who were gifting them on the bottom and Nora’s name on the side.

  “It’s going alright over here,” Deacon trailed off with a chuckle, looking over at Preston and the Minutemen shrugged a little with a grin.

  “Piper, are you playing nice with Cait?” Nick questioned, raising an eyebrow knowingly, and Piper just grinned winningly, squeezing Nick’s shoulder affectionately.

  “Oh, Nicky… When have I ever not played nice with the red-headed woodpecker?” Piper questioned much too innocently, and Nick rolled his eyes fondly, the barest of smiles pulling at the corners of his lips.

  “Behave yourself now,” Nick chastised half-heartedly, too much warmth in his voice to be taken too seriously about it. Piper just laughed a little.

  “I always do, Gramps,” Piper assured him with a wink and finger-guns.

  At that moment, X6 entered the house with the cake. Piper turned around just as he placed the cake on the counter and faced her.

  “I have completed the cake,” X6 announced, his voice completely calm as he wore an absolutely ridiculous apron. Piper had to search deep inside of herself to try to keep from laughing.

  She had seen Nora wear this apron on many occasions when she was cooking around Sanctuary, and Piper always poked fun at her when she saw her wearing it. Apparently, Nate had bought it for Nora back before the bombs fell and it had been such an ugly apron that no one had stolen it from Nora’s house during the entire time that she had been frozen.

  Of course, no one would want to steal a bright blue apron that had “Hot Mom Summer” written across the front of it.

  “Did the apron work out for you, X6?” Piper questioned, unable to help a bit of mirth leaking into her voice.

  “It performed its function properly, if that is what you mean. However, the aesthetic quality left a bit to be desired,” he very dryly replied. Piper just shrugged, chuckling a little.

  “Nice! So, did you put a sweet little message on top of the cake like I said?” Piper questioned, and she could hear Cait muttering something to herself somewhere behind Piper. Piper simply chose to ignore her for now, focusing on the courser before her.

  “Yes,” he replied simply, and she grinned widely, finding herself to be quite relieved since everything was going extremely well so far.

  “Did you cover it in frosting all over?” Piper asked, raising an eyebrow, and X6 hummed in agreement. She let out a breath of relief, very happy to see that things were going so well as of now.

  “Great! Let me see,” Piper spoke, moving over to look at the cake. To her pure, unadulterated horror, the cake was completely and barrenly white with a simple message in pretty lettering on top of the cake in blue letters.

  “‘Pleasant regards?!!!’ You’ve got to be kidding me!” Piper cried, her eyes wide as she looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted two extra heads. She could feel the coolness of his gaze even behind the sunglasses he was wearing.

  “You did not make a specific request. Therefore, I put a kind message on the top as you said,” he replied, and it was so dry that she could not help but think he was being sarcastic.

  “If this is your idea of being funny, it is absolutely the worst time to start pulling that��”

  “Tiny human, Mack-Ree-Dee, and little dog are back!!!” Strong announced very loudly, sticking his head through the doorway as he bent over a little to fit. He had been outside waiting for Nora, MacCready, and Dogmeat’s return, and Piper had told him to let them all know when the group came back. Piper brought her hands up to the sides of her head, breathing deeply as she tried to hold it together.

  “Aww, well, that’s just wonderful!” Piper sarcastically declared in pure aggravation.

  “Okay, quick!!! You guys fix this cake! I’m going to try to get MacCready’s attention and see if he can distract her for a little longer,” Piper swiftly told them, and it was then that she noticed Hancock had re-entered the room after throwing his brownies outside behind the house.

  “And do not line the edge of the cake with mentats or something, Hancock!” Piper demanded, pointing an accusing finger at him before hurrying out the door and barely dodging Strong standing there. She quickly spotted the three heading up the road through Sanctuary slowly. They had just gotten off of the bridge. Nora was laughing at something that MacCready had said to her, and Dogmeat was happily trotting along ahead of them.

  Piper raised her arms up, waving to MacCready since Nora had just stopped to pat Dogmeat when he brought her a stick from nearby. He unfortunately was not looking. When he finally did happen to gaze in her direction, he just stared at her for a long moment, completely and utterly confused as she motioned to him.

  Very unfortunately, he still did not seem to get the message whatsoever. Piper just groaned loudly before looking around quickly, trying to find something that could throw Nora off and that would take up some time.

  It was then that she spotted strong standing nearby, just staring at her as if she were insane. Piper held back the grin that threatened to come onto her face and instead replaced it with a surprised look.

  “Strong! I think you better go see Nora! I’m not sure, but I think she found milk of human kindness!” Piper announced to him, and he looked at her strangely, moving his gaze between her and where Nora was standing in the distance.

  “Tiny human have milk of human kindness?!” Strong cried, growing quite excited, and Piper nodded swiftly.

  “Yes! Tiny human have milk of human kindness! You better go check!” Piper told him, gesturing in Nora’s direction, and Strong took off running in Nora’s direction to pester her about the nonexistent beverage.

  Piper sighed deeply with relief before hurrying inside to see how things were going with the cake.

  “How’s it looking?” Piper questioned quickly. X6 was just standing nearby, looking slightly irked as Hancock and Danse tried to shove each other out of the way to fix the cake. Deacon was trying to get around them to throw in his additions, and Cait had her arms crossed, her brow furrowed in some combo of frustration and nervousness. Codsworth and Curie were offering suggestions to the people fighting over the cake, and Preston just looked a little uncertain about the entire thing. Nick was propped up against the wall and watching the entire thing unfold.

  “It looks like the beginning of a disaster,” Nick commented dryly, and Piper made her way over, trying to shove Danse, Hancock, and Deacon away from the cake. For a long few moments, they did not even notice her.

  “Hey, hey, hey!!! Stop it!!! Let me see!!!” Piper yelled to get their attention. After much pushing, the three moved out of the way finally. Piper looked down at the cake, and she tilted her head to the side a bit as she looked down at the really strange cake before her.

  There was a pair of sunglasses on the front of the cake, lug nuts lining the edge of the cake on the plate it was sitting on, and a flower on the top positioned in such a way that it bordered the top of the word “Pleasant.”

  “Y’know… I’m not sure whether this is the weirdest cake I’ve ever seen or if it is literally the actual embodiment of Nora’s personality,” Piper finally spoke, and they all shrugged, honestly not too sure themselves.

  “Well, I hope it’s good enough, because I think we’re about out of time,” Nick informed them, as he looked out the window carefully.

  “Hide!” Piper quickly called in a whisper-yell, and they all tried to find a place to hide. Piper quickly turned off the lights that Nora had going in the house, turning the switch that connected the generator and the network of lights inside the house. She then took cover on the far edge of Nora’s couch where it was hidden from people coming in from the front doorway.

  Curie, Nick, and Codsworth hurried into the hallway, Curie peeking out just barely and one of Codsworth’s eyes poking out to watch the door. X6 left out the back door and Danse hurried out the back door with him, standing just around the side of the doorway. Hancock, Deacon, and Preston hid behind the island countertop nearby and Cait kneeled down nearby them.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I probably left it on the nightstand by my bed— Wow, it’s dark… I don’t remember turning the lights off before I left,” Nora trailed off, and Piper could hear the blue-clad woman feeling around in the dark for the switch that Piper had just turned off a few moments ago.

  As soon as the lights came on, everyone hiding jumped up and yelled surprise. Nora jumped out of her skin at first, falling back into MacCready as she instinctively placed her hand on the holster of her pistol. However, as her fight or flight instinct disappeared, a look of pure awe and joy overtook her, and she just looked around slowly.

  “Happy Birthday, Blue,” Piper told her, a giant smile on her face as she slowly approached the other woman. Nora was suddenly snapped out of her stupor, a giant grin coming onto her face as she wasted no time in closing the distance between her and Piper and wrapping her arms around the reporter tightly, burying her face in Piper’s shoulder as she squeezed her firmly against her.

  After a moment, Nora pulled away, just gazing at all of it as she marveled. Curie hurried over, latching onto her waist quickly, and Nora reciprocated the hug with a half-choked laugh before kissing the girl softly on top of her head. It was then that Piper realized her Blue was near tears.

  “What… When… How did you guys even come up with this?” Nora breathlessly questioned as she moved to the next person so she could hug them to. It just happened to be Nick. Piper shrugged, chuckling a bit as she hooked her fingers in the belt loops of her trench coat.

  “Well, we told MacCready to get you out of the house and keep you out there for a while, and we all busted our rears to get everything together for you,” Piper expressed, and just as Nora latched onto Cait, she pointed in MacCready’s direction with a watery smile.

  “You, sir, are a huge liar. Your scope was definitely not off all those times, and you do not exclusively pee in hubflower bushes, do you?!” Nora cried with a loud laugh that was somewhere closer to a sob as Cait crushed her in her arms, those bony limbs wrapping around Nora tightly as Nora rocked with her a bit and waved a scolding finger at MacCready. He just grinned sheepishly, shrugging. Piper scoffed as she raised an eyebrow at the man.

  “Seriously? Peeing in hubflower bushes?” Piper questioned as Nora continued to make her rounds and hug absolutely everyone there. She next went for Codsworth and quickly after that latched onto Preston.

  “Hey, you told me to distract her by any means necessary, and you wouldn’t believe how long it takes to find a hubflower bush out in the middle of the wastes,” MacCready admitted with a small laugh. Nora had embraced Danse, Deacon, and Hancock during his statement.

  Nora shook her head, finally hugging X6 against his will.

  “I just… Wow, I don’t even know what to say, you guys… Thank you so much,” Nora laughed, sniffing hard as she wiped at her eyes carefully, her hand squeezing X6’s shoulder.

  Piper just grinned widely, looking down at the floor self-consciously before looking back up at the woman. Piper could tell that Nora knew Piper had been the one at the helm of the entire thing, and Piper treasured the soft, adoring gaze that was thrown in her direction especially.

  “Well, then don’t say anything at all! We’ve got gifts and lots of them!” Deacon told her with a laugh, gesturing to the giant pile all over the kitchen table. Nora’s eyes went wide and she somehow looked even more deeply touched than she was before.

  “Monsieur Deacon, let us show Madame the cake first, oui?” Curie suggested excitedly, and Nora turned around, looking for the cake as she looked as if she might cry all over again.

  “You guys actually made a cake?”

  “X6 baked it,” Piper informed her, coming closer to her best friend as Hancock reached over for the cake on the counter behind Danse. “And Danse, Hancock, and Deacon put some really weird spin on the whole thing as far as decorating it goes.”

  As soon as Nora saw it, she looked somewhere between laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it and crying from the tenderness of the whole thing. She placed a hand over her mouth, just staring as her shoulders shook. She finally released a sharp bark of laughter, and everyone could not help but chuckle quite a bit over the silly cake.

  “‘Pleasant Regards’ was the moron’s idea,” Cait pointed at X6 as she explained in her usual gruff manner, and Nora just laughed and smiled widely as she looked at him. He did not provide an outward response.

  “When I was instructed to put a kind message on the cake in distinguished lettering, I was not given specific requirements,” he explained calmly, and Nora just laughed even harder.

  “I absolutely love it. You could’ve written literally anything on it, and I would’ve been happy,” Nora expressed wholeheartedly, and the sad thing was that Piper knew that was the absolute truth. Nora was always so happy with even the slightest shows of kindness and that was one of the many things that Piper loved about her best friend.

  “So, sister, do you want to eat some cake or do you want to open some presents first?” Hancock questioned with a smile, and Nora looked a little guilty as she eyed the cake.

  “I hate to mess up this beautiful cake… But I’m honestly kind of hungry,” Nora chuckled a little, sheepishly smiling at the group.

  “Don’t worry. Cakes are made to be eaten,” Danse assured her in that deep, stoic voice. However, his tone was filled with warmth as he looked at the woman. She flashed him an affectionate glance.

  “Well, why can’t she have both? She can eat cake and open presents at the same time, right?” MacCready suggested, and everyone quickly agreed, the entire bunch excited for her to see their gifts to her.

  “Alright! Let’s do it!” Nora agreed with a shrug, but the thrilled look in her eye betrayed her true feelings.

  “Let’s do sing ‘Happy Birthday!’” Codsworth called out, and everyone paused in their migration to surround the kitchen table. There was a collective sigh, but everyone cleared their throats before starting the song.

   Piper almost could not sing for the huge grin threatening to overtake her face as she lovingly looked at her best friend who was just basking in the love that her new found family held for her. As Piper and the group sang the last bit, Nora’s eyes met Piper’s and Nora just smiled softly at her, mouthing a thank you to Piper as her gaze practically glowed with tenderness and lovingness. Piper stopped singing for a moment to mirror her best friend’s expression.

  Piper had succeeded. Although it was not completely perfect, her Blue was getting all of the love she deserved.

  And that was all Piper needed and wanted for her.

[bopbopstyles]

Residue

RATING: R/smut (cw: emotional and mild physical abuse mentioned) 

WORD COUNT: 8.5k eek

CATEGORIES: friends to lovers, camping!harry (?), sleeping in the same bed

NOTE: this is for the Sex Bucket List Fic Challenge from @berrynarrybanana​ - prompt was in a tent while camping with friends....and then I just kind of created this mess. check out the other fics and the amazing creators!!!!

I ENDED UP WRITING A PT.2! Read Endlessly here.

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕

“When are you going to tell Y/N?”

Harry looked down at his feet. His boots were scuffed from walking through the rocky terrain to the lake earlier when they’d gone swimming. The image of you in her bikini flashed through his mind, and he restrained from groaning--he’d known you for years, swam with you for years, and yet seeing you in that bikini still did things to him, no matter how much he tried to tell himself you didn’t feel the same way about him. “She doesn’t feel the same way.”

Mitch let out a heavy sigh and stood up. “You can be so fucking daft sometimes, you know.”

“Y/N tells me all the time.”

“Well, she’s right,” he replied. “Tell her how you feel, Harry. She feels the same way.”

Harry looked up and met his friend’s eyes. “How do you know?”

“I can see it in how she looks at you. You’re blind if you don’t see it too.”

Harry paused. “How…”

“It’s the same way you look at her.”

or 

Harry and Y/N go camping with their friends and the fact that they’ve been in love with each other comes out

The drive out to the country was peaceful. Harry put on a podcast about music on the way and you listened as they analyzed Beyoncé’s Lemonade, pausing it occasionally to ask Harry questions about the technical parts. With the sunshine and Harry’s commentary once the podcast episode ended, the drive to the campgrounds in West Sussex passed quickly. 

Harry had booked your camp site last weekend, their trip a last-minute decision. You, Mitch, Sarah, and Nick had all been at Harry’s for a cookout and he’d mentioned wanting to get out in nature before the tour started, and Mitch threw out going camping. Nick took some convincing, but eventually he agreed. You and Nick had managed to get the time off from work, although Nick had to head back a day earlier, and it was settled. You had all left the particulars to Harry and when he texted a link to the campground in their group chat, you had fallen in love. Wooded, no power, cooking over an open fire--it reminded you of camping with your family when you were young. 

“Excited?” You asked Harry when you pulled into the parking lot at the front office. You threw the car in park and turned off the ignition, looking over at your best friend. 

He grinned back at you, eyes gleaming. You knew he’d been looking forward to this ever since you had first talked about it--he’d been calling you every day to go over the plans and picking out their meals for the weekend. “Psyched.”

You both climbed out of your car, stretching from the drive, and you inhaled the sweet smell of English oak trees, the sound of birds chirping making you smile as widely as Harry. Nick, Sarah, and Mitch were waiting by their cars, and Nick seemed to be animatedly telling a story about who knows what. 

“Is Nick being annoying?” You asked, throwing your arm around Nick’s shoulders and ruffling his hair. 

“He’s telling the story about the Brits. Again,” Sarah said, reaching out to hug you. “Save us, please.”

“Oi, you’re being mean.” Nick said and Sarah just laughed and shook her head. 

Mitch gave you a quick hug and you smiled at him--they’d all been working a lot lately in preparation for the tour. You had barely seen him, Sarah, and Harry, and you missed their presences more than you had realized. “Let’s go see what Harry got us,” you said.

“Spoiled you lot rotten,” Harry said, sliding a pair of sunglasses onto his nose. 

“I’d hoped so,” you replied, and Harry chuckled softly before leading the group inside the office. 

“Reservation for Y/N,” Harry said to the receptionist and you looked at him in confusion. “Didn’t want anyone finding us,” he explained and you nodded immediately in understanding. After years of friendship, you were used to it, though it always tugged on your heart. You wanted, more than anything, for him to be able to be normal at some point. You knew he craved it too--anonymity. 

The receptionist clicked some buttons on her computer before pulling some folders out of a drawer and turning back to you all. “I’ve got three yurts reserved for you all--is that correct?”

Harry’s eyebrows crinkled in confusion. “I had requested four over the phone.”

The receptionist--Martha, according to her badge, frowned. “Oh, I’m so sorry about that. Unfortunately, though, we’re all booked up this weekend. Is there any way three could be made to work?”

That meant someone was going to have to share. Harry looked at you, and then at Nick. “Nick, you good to bunk, mate?”

Nick groaned and you rolled your eyes at him. “Fine, but if you kick me in your sleep I’ll lock you out.”

“I don’t think they have doors, Nick,” you told him.

He looked at you and grimaced. “Zip him out then.”

“How threatening,” Harry said, before looking back to the receptionist. “That’ll be fine.” She nodded and explained the rest of the check-in and check-out policies and the amenities on the site. It seemed perfect--a pub not too far from the grounds, camp fires you was most definitely going to take advantage of, and actual showers. He truly was spoiling you all. 

You walked back to the car with Harry to drive to their yurts, swinging your keys around your finger in thought. “H,” you said when you sat down in the driver’s seat.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for bunking with Nick. I know you like your own space, so I appreciate it.”

He gave you a wide smile and you couldn’t help it--it warmed every part of you. It was moments like these you struggled to remember that Harry was just your friend. Nothing more. You’d dated people, he’d dated people, and you two were just friends. But then he’d look at you like this and you wanted more. “‘Course, love.” He reached across the console and gave your hand a quick squeeze, and your heart flopped in your chest. 

You were starved for touch--it’d been months since you broke up with your asshole of an ex and you were desperate to be touched, even if it was someone holding your hand. Usually you could count on Harry for some cuddles and tight hugs, but he’d been so busy practicing for tour that you hadn’t seen him much. Just FaceTime and the occasional meet-up at the café by your office on your lunch break and it seemed to be showing. 

You started the engine and prayed to the Gods that they would help you get through this weekend in one piece. 

The yurts were in a quiet part of the campground, secluded and in a thicket of trees. All you could hear was the sound of wind whistling through the leaves and the chirping of birds. After living in London for the past two years and barely leaving, it was a relief to be able to hear nothing but nature. 

Nick let out a whoop when he opened the door to his car. “God, this is gorgeous, isn’t it?” Sarah and Mitch pulled up a second later and you all wandered around the campground, deciding where you would put your chairs (around the campfire, obviously) and what you wanted to eat for dinner. Then, you started to unpack. You claimed the tent closer to the woods, wanting not to be awoken in the middle of the night if cars drove by and to get away from the group if you went to bed early, something that you had a tendency towards when Nick and Harry were together. 

The sound of the yurt being zipped open caused you to look up from where you were checking to see if there were bed bugs. After getting them when you were 13 on a family trip, you always checked. “This going to be okay for you?” Harry stood hunched over, his head poking into your yurt. His shirt was unbuttoned, the beige linen flowing in the soft breeze, and his hair flopped into his face. His green eyes were gleaming, a look he only got on break or on holiday, and it was your favorite look on him. He looked just unperturbed and blissfully happy. 

“Come in, silly,” you said, turning around and flopping down onto the bed. “It’s perfect, H.”

Harry grinned and dropped down next to you. “Comfy, eh?”

“Very.”

“I should plan every holiday at this rate.”

You whacked him with the pillow. The last holiday you had planned and the hotel had ended up being bad and their reservation for their yacht trip fully did not exist when they showed up. It was a disaster and Harry had yet to let you live it down. “Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

“What? I like planning!”

“And you like being complimented.”

Harry huffed and you just smiled at him. After knowing one another for years, not only did you know everything important about Harry, you also knew how to push his buttons. Calling him out for what you had longed believed to be some kind of praise kink (you’d asked him about if while drunk and he’d looked so confused and embarrassed you dropped it) was the number one way to get him riled up. 

“How’s your tent with Grimmy?”

“He’s already asleep.”

“It’s noon.”

“Apparently he didn’t sleep last night.”

You laughed because it was classic Nick. It happened on almost every holiday you went on together, of which there had been a few. He’d get to wherever you were staying and immediately fall asleep for usually the rest of the day. You all usually just left him where he was and went about your business, but he also usually had his own room. “Were you able to put your stuff down at least?”

Harry shrugged. “Just dropped my suitcase on the ground and left him. I’ll wake him up eventually.” He turned his head and looked at you, his head so close that if you turned your head up ever so slightly, you could probably kiss him. 

“Fancy a swim?” You asked him, sitting up suddenly and trying to push the thought away. 

“Fuck yes,” he replied. “Let me change into my suit.”

The sun was out in full force when you jumped into the lake, your towels and clothes abandoned on the edge of the water. You were lying on your back, eyes closed, basking in the feeling of sun on your skin. Mitch and Sarah were swimming around--you could hear them chattering about how Sarah wanted a dog and Mitch wasn’t into the idea--but you didn’t know where Harry was. You couldn’t hear him. Maybe he’d swam a little further away?

You pushed the thoughts from your mind and focused on not thinking about anything, which somehow took a significant amount of effort. Work kept trying to drift into your head--had the office finished the pitch that you had left for them on Thursday? It was a big account and you had put your all into it, but you hadn’t finished the final touches on Thursday before you had to leave the office, so you left it for your coworkers to wrap up on your behalf. Hopefully they didn’t half-ass it. 

Suddenly, fingers wrapped around your waist and you were being flipped onto your stomach, water immediately filling your nose and mouth. You snapped up, water flicking from the ends of your hair, and blinked the droplets away so you could see who had done it. 

Harry. 

“You bastard!” You screeched, shoving him. His skin was slick from the sunscreen and water, and you tried not to focus on the feeling of his arm muscles under your palms. “I could’ve drowned!”

“You were a competitive swimmer, Y/N,” he reminded you, chuckling. “You weren’t going to drown.”

You sputtered, slicking your hair back, and then gave him a death stare. “Still. You’re an ass.”

“That’s not news,” Sarah piped up from where she and Mitch were treading water and laughing at what had just happened. 

“This is true.” You gave Harry another look before shoving a wave of water in his direction, splashing water into his face. 

Harry gasped, wiping water from his face, his hair, which had grown longer in the past few weeks while he’d been on break, sticking to his forehead. He looked like a little kid, despite how muscular he’d become in the past year or so. You tried to not linger on it, but when he was in front of you without a shirt on, sun-kissed skin just begging to be looked it, it was quite difficult. “This is war.”

He shoved water at you, and suddenly you were splashing one another like children, both of you screeching as water got into your eyes. Your feet collided underwater, arms hitting each other as you twirled around each other in the water, trying to surprise one another. 

It was all fun and games until Harry’s hand reached out and accidentally hit you right in the boob.

“Harry!” You called out, swatting him. “You just hit me in the boob.”

“Fuck, sorry,” he said. “You okay?”

“Just sore,” you said, swimming a bit farther away from him. “Meanie.”

Harry gave you his puppy dog eyes, lashes blinking at you, plump lips sticking out ever so slightly. You hated when he did this because you always fell for it. Years of friendship and you still couldn’t hold anything against him when he did this because he just looked so goddamn gorgeous. You hated it. “Sorry?”

“Fine,” you said, “but you’re carrying me the whole way back to the campsite.”

You all ended up grilling burgers over the fire, Harry surprising you with some hidden skills over the open fire, and together the four of you drank beers as the fire glowed between them. Nick had never surfaced and Harry didn’t have it in him to wake him, so he let him be. Harry, Sarah, and Mitch had started playing music after dinner and you kept yourself entertained by requesting old One Direction songs, which made Harry stare daggers at you but amused you, Sarah, and Mitch to no end.

It was a chilly summer night and you were cuddled up in a sweatshirt of Harry’s, having forgotten yours at home, and a pair of leggings. You could feel your eyes drooping, your entire concept of time gone without the ability to check your phone. It could’ve been 9pm for all you knew. After a rendition of Landslide, you yawned and stretched your arms above your head, and decided to call it a night. 

“I’m going to turn in,” you said, standing up from the chair you’d been in for the past few hours. “Which way’s the bathrooms?” 

Sarah pointed to the right, and you nodded. You had to brush your teeth and pee before you could go to sleep, and you had no desire to traipse through the woods at night to pee in the brush, so you started off in the direction of the bathrooms, your toiletries bag tucked under your arm.

“Wait!” You turned to see Harry walking after you, his own bag tucked under his arm. “Didn’t want you to walk alone.”

You gave him a sweet smile and waited for him to catch up with you. “You ready for sleep too?”

He shrugged. “Probably be up for a little while longer, if that’s not too disruptive? Mitch and I thought we’d work on a song I’ve been thinking about. Thought I’d go ahead and brush my teeth, though.”

“I like listening to you play as I go to bed,” you said, the words leaving your mouth before you thought about them. 

Harry’s eyebrows knit together and he studied you. “Never told me that before.”

Probably because it’s embarrassing, you thought to yourself. You loved listening to his music before you went to bed, especially the voice memos he’d sent you over the years of bits of songs he was working on before they were fully mastered. They were more raw, less produced, the stripped down Harry that you loved. “You never asked.”

He filed that information away for later and you climbed the steps to the bathrooms, both heading into the same free stall. You’d stopped caring about peeing in front of one another a long time ago. You went first, listening to Harry prattle on about a book he was reading that he thought you’d like as he washed his face. When you finished up, you switched places and you started brushing your teeth, stealing his toothpaste because it tasted nicer. 

“You should just buy some for yourself,” he commented.

“But I can use yours for free.”

He didn’t reply, just let you be, and you brushed your teeth next to one another, Harry knocking his hip against yours to make you smile. 

“Glad you came,” he told you when you exited the bathrooms. 

“Me too. Needed this, I think.”

“Same. Missed you, too.” 

You studied his face, barely visible in the moonlight. His stubble was growing in, but he had a peaceful expression you rarely saw in him. You saw it in moments on tour, sometimes--when you were cuddled up on his sofa watching a film after a show, or after a morning run on a day off. But here, this was the purest form and one you wished you saw more often. You didn’t tell him, though. You’d had that conversation before--how you were worried he was overworking himself, believing that he was able to work so much after years in 1D, working with barely any breaks. You wanted his solo career to be different, but Harry had a tendency to find work even when he wasn’t touring or recording. He loved it so much that it was all he wanted to do. “Missed you too,” you replied simply, and leaned into him when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

Mitch set down his guitar and looked at Harry across the fire from him.

“What?”

“When are you going to tell Y/N?”

Harry looked down at his feet. His boots were scuffed from walking through the rocky terrain to the lake earlier when they’d gone swimming. The image of you in her bikini flashed through his mind, and he restrained from groaning--he’d known you for years, swam with you for years, and yet seeing you in that bikini still did things to him, no matter how much he tried to tell himself you didn’t feel the same way about him. “She doesn’t feel the same way.”

Mitch let out a heavy sigh and stood up. “You can be so fucking daft sometimes, you know.”

“Y/N tells me all the time.”

“Well, she’s right,” he replied. “Tell her how you feel, Harry. She feels the same way.”

Harry looked up and met his friend’s eyes. “How do you know?”

“I can see it in how she looks at you. You’re blind if you don’t see it too.”

Harry paused. “How…”

“It’s the same way you look at her.”

With that, Mitch turned and went to where Sarah waited for him in their yurt, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. It was quiet, aside from the crinkle of the fire. Harry couldn’t remember when he fell in love with Y/N--there wasn’t some specific moment like they say in the books. It just...happened. The more time he spent with you, the closer you got, the more Harry hated leaving you. And when you dated other guys, it made his stomach turn to be around them. He tried to pretend like it didn’t, he tried to be nice and polite as you were to the girls he tried to date, but he knew he never was. He hated the way you would look at him when he’d make some snide remark, and he could feel the disappointment radiating from your stare. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to let you go.

He’d tried to bury himself in work, in touring, in women. He’d lived in LA for months to try and get over you, he’d even dated Kendall fucking Jenner to try and get over you. Nothing helped. Camille had been the closest he’d gotten, but there had always been something holding him back. When he’d found out she cheated on him, it was a relief more than heartbreak--he didn’t have to be the one to break up with her this time. And he always went back to you, pretending to be more broken hearted than he was just to get you to spend days on end by his side, eating ice cream and watching films that you thought helped him. In actuality, it was you who helped him. It was being by your side, it was laughing with you, going on walks, even fucking gardening with you at his house in Hampstead. Anything with you healed him. 

And he knew it wasn’t fair, using you like he did. But he couldn’t help himself--it was the time when he could almost pretend you were his. It was when you ignored everything else and focused on only him and that attention is what he craved. You, together, no distractions. It’s what he wanted this weekend to be, but then you suggested inviting friends, and how could he say no to you? How could he tell you he just wanted to be with you for the whole weekend, the rest of the world forgotten?

Mitch’s words, though, were a stab in his heart. He’d always convinced himself that there was no way you could feel the same. You had fallen in love, you’d told him. With Tom. Bloody Tom. You’d met at some networking dinner and he’d asked you out, and from then on it was Tom, Tom, Tom. You had dated for a little over a year and Harry despised every second of it. Tom treated you like dirt--belittling you in front of your friends, in front of Harry, even, controlled your time and your friends. Boxed you in like you were some animal just there to please him, no life to speak of. It had happened while Harry was on tour and then in LA, so he hadn’t been there in person for most of it, and when he had been around you two together--whe he came home for the holidays and saw you, you had played it off. Said it was nothing, just a joke. 

But then her college roommate Jordan had called Harry, worried out of her mind about you. Told him how Tom treated you, all the things he’d done, how he’d manipulated you--hit you one time. Jordan was in New York City and work wouldn’t let her leave, but she knew Harry could go. She told him it was getting bad and he had to get you out. And so he did. He took the next flight out, barely packed a suitcase, and went. He went to your apartment and told you that Jordan had told him what happened, and you two had a massive fight over it, you defending Tom, Harry trying to convince you he had manipulated your thoughts, your emotions, your feelings, and you both ended up in tears before you finally let him take you to his house to stay for a few weeks. And together, you’d pieced his fierce Y/N back together. 

And all that time, he had never thought...He never thought you’d loved him. Not as he did, at least. You’d told him so many times that you loved him, but it was just as a friend. You’d made that clear in the ways you touched him and introduced him to people. He was your Harry, but just your friend. Your best friend, but friend all the same. It broke him, as much as he tried not to let it show. But for you to feel the same way? All this time?

And what did Mitch expect him to do? Bust into your tent and admit his undying love for you, you to admit you felt the same way, and for you to ride off into the night together? This wasn’t some romance novel (which Harrry knew Mitch read, even though he tried to hide them). This was reality, and in reality, it was just Harry, writing songs about you that you’d never understand the true meaning of, and a yurt shared with Grimmy. 

He stood up, his guitar held tightly in his hand, and put out the fire before heading into the yurt. Nick was spread eagle on the bed, still somehow asleep--Harry had never understood his ability to sleep literally all day--and snoring. Loudly. Harry sighed and went over to his suitcase, tugging off his jeans and sweatshirt and folding them neatly into the case. He pulled a henley and pajama pants on, knowing if Nick woke up to a half naked Harry in his bed he’d most definitely not let him hear the end of it, and walked over to the bed. He tried to shove Nick over and make space for himself, but the man was most definitely stronger than Harry had realized. 

Had he been working out lately?

Harry gave his arm another shove, but Nick didn’t even flinch. “Fuck you, Nick,” Harry said. “Do you have to seriously sleep like the dead?”

He looked around the room, trying to see if there was anything he could fashion a makeshift bed with. But there wasn’t even a spare fucking blanket. 

Maybe Sarah and Mitch would have one? Then he pictured walking into the couple’s yurt and immediately decided against that idea. That left you. You’d slept in the same bed before, albeit usually while drunk--maybe you’d let him sleep with you? Just for the night? 

Harry slipped on his flip flops, grabbed his flashlight and made his way over to your yurt. It was quiet except for the sound of your soft breathing and he immediately felt at peace, despite what his mind told him. He unzipped the front of your yurt and stuck his head in. It was dark and he could barely make out your figure, curled up tightly under the covers, hair strewn across the pillow. 

“Y/N?”

After a beat, he saw your body shift and your head stick up from the pillow. “Harry?”

“Can I sleep with you? Nick’s taking up the whole bed and snoring like a train.”

You giggled--and Harry’s heart started racing--and then said, “Of course. C’mere.” You lifted the edge of the blanket and Harry toed off his flip flops before walking over to the bed. “What time is it?”

He laid down next to you carefully, not wanting to brush up against you and make you uncomfortable. “Dunno. Late.”

You reached out for him, fingers brushing against his henley right over his stomach, and Harry’s heart seized. Did you know what you were doing to him right now? “Why are you lying there straight as a rod? I don’t bite, you know.” Probably not, he realized. You had no idea what the mere touch of your skin did to his heart. 

“Don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said, his voice quiet in the silence of the yurt. 

“You don’t, silly. Now c’mere.” 

He moved closer to you and you turned onto your side so that your back rested against his chest, and he wound his arm around your stomach loosely, holding you to him. You’d laid like this before, after your birthday earlier in the year when you’d gotten quite drunk and he’d brought you home so you didn’t choke in your own vomit. You’d snuggled into him then, just like you did now, and he tried to think of anything to get his dick to stop from plumping up under his pants. 

“H?”

“Yeah?”

“What was your song about?”

His breath caught in his throat. Had you heard it? It was so obviously about you, so unabashedly telling you how he felt. God, every song was about you. Even when he tried to make them less specific, when he tried to remove the details that would make it about you, you still left a residue. 

“Harry?” Your voice broke his thoughts, so sweet in his ears. He opened his eyes, which had closed while he thought, and looked into your hair. He could smell the remnants of your perfume mixed with the fresh smell of oak from the woods and the essence of smoke from the fire. He wanted to bury himself in your smell, in you. 

He should tell you. He knew he should. It was the perfect time--you were giving him the prompting. But he didn’t have the courage. “Did we wake you up?”

You rolled over and suddenly your face was mere inches from his. He could see your eyes in the dark, bright blue in the night. The ones that were painted in his dreams, echoes of you that never let him go. “Thought I heard something in the woods. Heard you instead.”

How much had you heard, he wondered. Had you heard his conversation with Mitch? You had been asleep when he had come into the yurt, so you had to have fallen back asleep. “What’d you think of it?”

You stared at him, your gaze searing through the protections he tried and struggled to keep up. “It was sad,” you said simply. 

“Hmm?” He mumbled, not really knowing what else to say to that. Of course it was sad, he was in love with his best friend and he didn’t have the balls to tell her. 

“The opening lines,” you whispered. “Put a price on emotion/I'm looking for something to buy/You've got my devotion/But man, I can hate you sometimes,” you sang it, perfectly in tune, hitting every note as he had around the campfire with Mitch. Your voice singing his words broke him in two, for some reason. They were the most honest ones of the whole song, he thought to himself, and the ones he was least likely to change. “Who is it about?”

Her question had changed. When you asked the first time, it was what. Now it was who. He studied you in the dark, searching himself. Could he muster the courage?

“Camille?”

“No,” he said, his words immediate. “No, not Camille.”

There was a rustle of the trees, but your eyes didn’t leave his. “Are you seeing someone new?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

He took a deep breath, and then, he pulled the words from the depths of his heart. “It’s about you.”

It was silent in the yurt. He couldn’t even tell if you were breathing. But your eyes didn’t leave his. He watched as your brain processed his words, pieced them together, matched them up with the song. 

“Test of my patience/There's things that we'll never know/You sunshine, you temptress/My hand's at risk, I fold.” You said the words, no song to them, just words, flowing from your lips as poetry, not lyrics. “You...Me. Things we’ll never know--that’s us?” 

He nodded, resisting the urge to reach out and brush a strand of hair behind your ear that had come loose. 

“You've got my devotion,” you whispered, the opening lines coming back around. “That’s about me?”

“Yes,” he said, the word simple, soft, quiet in the dark. But it took every ounce of his courage. It was worse than when he’d decided to go solo, it was worse than going out on stage alone for the first time, worse than stepping on the X-Factor stage. The hardest words he’d had to say. “Y/N,” he whispered, summoning the last of his courage, “the songs are all about you.”

That made you go quiet for longer. You stared at him, taking inventory of every part of his face. He could feel your eyes and he didn’t even squirm--it felt different than it did when you usually looked at him. It felt like you were seeing him for the first time. Like a veil had been lifted between them. 

And yet, you said nothing.

“Do you want me to go?” He asked, the words breaking him. “I--I can go.”

But you pressed your fingers to his chin, instead. “Don’t go,” you whispered and this time it was him who stared at you. “I--I’m scared.”

“I know.” Your eyes blinked at him, eye level, so close he could see nothing but the rim of the blue, your long eyelashes he’d always admired. “I just...I can’t pretend anymore, love.” The nickname, long used between them, suddenly took on a new meaning in this moment. He could feel the shift in the air, the way the word landed between them. It slipped from his lips without him thinking about it, but he meant it in every which way. 

You ran your forefinger along the edge of his jaw and Harry’s breath caught in his chest. “Me either.”

And then, you pulled his lips down to meet yours and it was like Harry’s world bottomed out. Your lips were soft, just like he’d imagined them, and you tasted like sugar and the watermelons they’d had for a snack after dinner. The hint of toothpaste lingered and it made him smile, remembering how you’d spoken in the bathroom. His fingers wound their way into your hair and you let out a soft moan that set Harry’s skin on fire. 

Your teeth tugged on his bottom lip and Harry rolled you onto you back with a groan, begging for more, for anything you would give him. The kiss was deep, passionate, without end. You barely pulled away to breathe, wanting to never stop touching him. Your fingers crawled up his arms, across his collarbones, fire left in their wake. 

Harry balanced above you on his forearms, head dipping to meet your lips over and over again, his fingers curled into your hair that was spread out on the pillow. Your legs tugged apart, letting him slot himself between them, leaning into you. It was like a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. 

“Y/N,” he said, pulling back from your lips just an inch so he could speak. “I--I don’t want to do anything if you don’t--”

“I want you,” you said, your hands drifting from his shoulders to cup his face between them. He leaned into your touch and you smoothed your fingers across his cheekbones. “I’ve always wanted you. H, you’re everything to me.”

His lips found yours again without a second beat, and you pulled every ounce of his heart from his chest with your lips. The sheets rustled under their bodies as they moved, begging to get more and more of each other. Your hands wound under his shirt, tugging as he leaned back, pulling it off, the chilly night air nipping at his skin. You sat up, Harry balanced precariously on your lap, and pressed kisses to his skin, licking over his swallows. 

Harry let out a moan, not being able to hold it in, but didn’t stop her as you made your way across his skin, claiming it as your own. He couldn’t hear anything but you--it was consuming, the feeling of being this close to you. Your teeth bit into the skin on his collarbones, sucking a bruise he knew would be there tomorrow, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He wanted the world to know he was yours, that he loved you with every fiber of his being, unashamedly. 

“I’m yours,” he said, his voice edging on a moan as you licked across his nipples. “Yours, Y/N, I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours,” you replied, and leaned back, tugging off his sweatshirt, which you’d worn to bed. You were bare underneath, and you could feel Harry’s eyes on your skin, learning you. Usually, you felt studied under the gaze of a man, but now, with Harry, you felt admired, adored, loved. His hands kneaded circles into your breasts and you arched into him, moans leaving your mouth in breaths. 

You felt his tongue on your nipples, just as you had done to him, and your fingers gripped into the curls of his hair. “Fuck, H.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, pressing kisses to your sternum. “So, utterly beautiful.”

You leaned back onto your hands, chest rising and falling as he made his way down your body, inching farther and farther back on the bed until he was on his stomach, lips hovering above the waistband of your sleep shorts. His eyes met yours in question, and you nodded, words failing you.

“Need to hear your words, love,” he said, kissing your bare skin just centimeters above the bow on her shorts. “Want to make sure that you’re sure.”

“Take them off,” you said, struggling to speak as he licked your skin. “Touch me, H, please.”

And he did. He tugged your shorts down your legs, underwear coming with them, and pressed kisses to the inside of your thighs, nipping love bites into the skin there. “You know, I dreamed of you last week,” he said against your skin. 

“What?” You squealed as he sucked on the sensitive skin at the crease of your thighs. 

“Of you, like this.” Then, he licked a stripe up her clit and you buried your hands in his hair, holding him there. “But in the dream, I couldn’t smell you.” He sucked on your clit, and you struggled not to scream his name. Your friends would hear and the last thing you wanted was to deal with that in the morning. “I couldn’t hear you,” he said, licking you again, and your head flailed to the side. “And I woke up before I could do this.”

And then, he dove his tongue inside of you, and you pressed a hand to your mouth, holding in the moans that begged to fly free. It was heaven, his tongue. Delving into her like it was made for you, curling inside of you and rubbing the front of your walls delicately. 

“Harry,” you said, trying to keep your voice quiet, “more, please.”

He wasted no time pressing his finger to your clit and rubbing you in circles, causing your chest to arch from the pleasure. You could feel a knot building in your belly, begging and begging for more. 

“Please, H,” you let out in a moan, and that’s when you felt his own moan against your skin, the vibration of the stubble on your skin causing you to shake against him. But his free hand anchored your hips to his lips, and he continued his work, licking in and out of you, then up and down your folds, drawing soft moans from your mouth over and over again. 

“Wanna hear you,” he said softly against your skin, “please, love, wanna hear you.”

“Don’t want to wake them,” you replied, struggling to look down at him. But when you did, the sight of his head between your thighs, hair a mess, eyes gleaming up at you in the dark, it ripped a moan from your chest that you couldn’t contain. 

“That’s it,” he said. “Don’t give a fuck about them. S’just us, yeah?” He kneaded circles into her skin with his hands and sucked harshly on her clit, your hips bucking in response, but he didn’t let go. “What d’ya want, love?”

His words were rough, broken from pleasure. You loved the way he sounded, having never had the opportunity to have him this way. “Fingers,” you said. “I’m close.”

“Yeah?” His one hand left her hips and circled your entrance, drawing your wetness around his fingers. “Fuck, love, you’re so wet.”

“H,” you breathed out, “please.”

That’s all he needed. He dipped his forefinger inside of you, your tight walls gripping him like a vice. But to him, you were virtue--you were everything to him, everything good in the world wrapped up in a single person. He curled his finger, brushing against a spot that made you squeak and he smiled before adding a second finger. “Come for me, love,” he said, sucking on your clit. “Wanna taste you.”

And that’s all it took. Your orgasm washed over you like a wave, your hands gripped in his hair, keeping his face there as he licked your clit softly, drawing shock waves from your body over and over again. You struggled to keep your eyes open, wanting to watch him as you came, and he held your eye contact as you did. When he pulled his fingers from you and sucked on them, you just stared at him, wondering if this was real. If he was real. 

“Taste sweet,” he said, crawling up your body, pushing you down onto the bed with the weight of him. You loved it, the feeling of his skin on yours, of his body on yours. “With an edge of sourness.” He pressed his lips to yours, and you licked into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. You hadn’t been this turned on...ever, you realized. “Tastes good,” he said against your lips. 

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “Felt good too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re good at that, you know.” 

He chuckled at you and pressed a kiss to your cheeks. “Can’t wait to do it again.”

You captured his lips again, arms winding around his chest, pulling him into you, closer and closer until you couldn’t find the space between you. And then, you rolled, taking him with her, leaving him on his back and you flush to his chest. “Some other time,” you said softly, drawing back. “I want you.”

“Fuck,” he let out, gaze travelling up your body as you sat back on his hips, bare center brushing over his pajama pants. “Want you too, baby.”

You smirked at him. “Baby?”

He blushed. “Sorry, it just--”

“Shh.” You pressed a finger to his lips. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” You rolled your hips over his erection and he bucked up into you, not being able to stop himself, drawing groans from both of them. “Wanna hear you, H,” you whispered, tossing his words back at him. “Hmm?”

“Take ‘em off.” He bucked his hips again, and you smiled down at him. Your fingers curled around his pants and his underwear, and crawled back, pulling them off together in one motion, just as he had done to you. 

You held him in your hand, brushing your thumb over his tip, the pre-cum slick against your skin. Your tongue licked a stripe up the underside of him, drawing a moan from his chest as you laved circles around the tip of his length. 

“Y/N,” he breathed, “Not gonna last if you keep doing that,” he said. “Need--”

“I know,” you replied. You pressed another kiss to him and clamored back up his body. “Wouldn’t have happened to bring condoms, would you?”

“Fuck,” he said, “no, wasn’t exactly planning this.”

You pressed a kiss to his chest, trying to calm the panicked look in his eyes. His hands ran up and down your thighs, his touch consuming you. “I’ve got the implant,” you said, “if that’s ok with you.”

“I’ll pull out,” he said, leaning up on his elbows. “Promise.” Then your lips found each other’s and you rocked your hips against him, the slick of you dripping down onto his length. He swallowed your moans and you did the same, the dark of the night wrapping around you, encasing you in a world that was just the two of you. 

You reached down and ran your fingertips along his length, brushing his tip against your slit, the feeling sending tingles down her spine.

“Please,” he begged beneath you, fingers digging into your hips to where there would probably be marks tomorrow, “please, Y/N.”

When you slid down his length, your eyes shut from the sensation of him stretching you. You didn’t stop until he had bottomed out, you hips flush against one another. You could feel his eyes watching as you adjusted to his size, to the burn of him inside of you. It was surreal to have him like this, to have him so close to that you couldn’t find where you ended and he began. To have his lips find yours as you began to rock back and forth on him, open mouths meeting like old friends, begging for more and more and more. It was heaven, you decided, this was heaven on earth, this feeling. Your head snapped back when he bucked up into you, hitting a deep spot that made your arms shake. And then he ran his tongue down your exposed neck, nipping and biting into your skin, whispers of your name like an echo around them. 

You wanted all of him. Every single part of him, you wanted to have his laughter and his smile and his words and his thoughts and his love. You wanted his body in the morning and the night and across the distance. You wanted him to hold you in his arms always, to care always. To you, he was hope, he was a bright spot in a sea of darkness. He was the antithesis of your exes, of Tom, of the men who had used you up and left you in a bed of nails. Harry built you up, stoking your fire with actions that showed you how much he cared, never wavering from your side, always running back when you called. No matter how far he went, the residue of him never left your mind, body, or soul. 

Harry’s arms caged you in and suddenly you were on your back and he was above you and inside of you and everywhere. His fingers danced across you skin as his hips snapped into you, moans drying in your throat because you could barely think from the pleasure zipping through your body. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he said, words darting through the fog, “I love you.” He was holding you so tightly in his arms that you wondered if he thought you would run. As if you wanted to be anywhere else but here, beneath him, close to him, breathing him in and out. 

“I love you too.” The words left you without hesitation and you pressed your lips back to his as you chased your highs together, his hips never stopping. He pulled one of your legs high on his hip, reaching a new depth inside of you, and you scrabbled at his back with your fingers, leaving marks in your wake. “Right there,” you whispered against his shoulder, biting softly into the skin there. 

He pistoned his hips in and out, hitting the spot over and over again. “Yeah? Right there, baby?” 

You had always joked he had a praise kink, but now that you had him, you knew you were right and good lord did you feed right into it. “So good,” you mumbled, “so good Harry, please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, tongue darting to the spot under your ear when you turned hyourer head, choking on a moan when he thumbed your clit. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. Gonna tell you every day. Never going to stop now that I have you. Finally.”

You dug into his ass with your heels, keeping him deep inside of you. Hands grabbed skin, and you basked in the heat that surrounded you, the sweat that stuck their skin together. It was perfect--he was perfect, he felt perfect, it was as if you were made for one another. Somehow, every movement he made was better, he navigated your body like he had the only compass and it was carved into his heart. 

Every part of you ached, ached for him and for release. You could feel it rising inside of you, taught like a string, begging. “Oh my god,” you whined, spasming around him. Your hand gripped the back of his neck and dragged his head back to you, fingers digging into his warm skin. Your lips met as he pumped into you over and over, drawing moans from them both that never stopped. You loved that he made noise in bed, that he told you how good you felt, that he made sure you knew how incredible it was. Every kiss pressed to your clammy skin was a reminder of how much he loved you.

“Fuck.” A guttural moan escaped him when you clamped down on his length, your orgasm threatening to rip through you. “Not going to last, baby.” His forehead rested against yours as he dug into the sheets with his fingers and toes, using every ounce of his energy to bring you both to the brink. Your fingers scratched against his shoulder blades, gripping him close as you arched into him. 

“I’m close,” you said, words ragged, “so close.”

“Come,” he breathed out, “please, Y/N.”

You pressed a kiss to his brow, the salt of his sweat against your lips. “Come inside me,” you whispered to his skin. “Want to feel you.”

His head turned, eyes meeting yours. “Sure?”

You dug your heels into his ass in response, gripping him like a vice to you. A moan ripped through him as he dug deep inside of you, pulling every piece of your love from her chest, just as you did to him. Then, he kissed you again, your name a mantra against your lips, and with that, your orgasm ripped through your body. 

He chased it with every brush of his hips, running after you as you soared and fell. You held him close as you came down, struggling to find your breath. But you didn’t want him to move. You wanted to feel him, to see him, to hear him finish. And when he did, it was the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen. His eyes bore into yours, teeth dug into his bottom lip so deep it probably drew blood, fingers curling tightly into the sheets on either side of your shoulders. Slowly, his hips came to a halt and you could feel his cum inside of you. The air was silent except for your breathing as he rested his body against you, not pulling out. 

You two laid there together, your arms wound around his waist, running your fingers up and down his back, his fingers threading through your hair. It was as if you were waiting for the words, because neither of you had them. What do you say after that? 

Harry moved to pull out of you, but you held him fast. “Please,” you whispered, “just…”

He shushed you, knowing what you meant. You wanted him close. After denying your feelings for so long it was like they were consuming every inch of you, overwhelming your brain and your heart. Having him close helped tether you to the ground and you couldn’t let go. Not yet. 

“Love you,” he said softly into your hair. “Love you so much, Y/N.”

You pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Love you too.”

“Think they heard?”

You giggled against his skin and you could feel his smile. “Probably. Don’t care that much, though.”

“Me either.”

You were quiet for a second before mustering the courage to ask the question swirling through your brain. “You’re not going to leave in the morning, right?”

He lifted his head and looked at you. “Never.” Then, he pressed a soft kiss against your lips and tucked his head into the space between your shoulder and your neck, his breath even against your skin. 

And you both laid there, adjusting to what it felt like to finally have the one person you’d always wanted, praying that when the sun rose nothing would change.

talk to me about camping!harry here | masterlist here

[justreadingfics]

It’s a Deal (Chapter 3)

Chapter Summary: You have a reason to celebrate and need a partner to do that.  

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 6.2k

Warnings:+18 only, smut, sex in a public place, boytoy!Bucky, casual sex, opened relationship, drinking, sorority.

A/N: Here’s one more filthy chapter for you guys. It won’t always be that way since the plot moves forward, but it will still be focused on smut for the next couple of chapters. Our reader deserves some fun before things get a bit more complicated, right? The link to my masterlist, where you can find the other chapters, is on my description. Feedback is highly appreciated. Tag list for this story is closed.  

Screen after screen pops in the air in front of you as you furiously type codes and formulas on them. You’re there, you’re almost there. You’ve been working on this project for months and now it finally seems like you’re getting somewhere.

“Coffee?”

You just nod as an answer to Camilla, your partner on that project. She gets up and walks out to go get the coffee. She already told you if it was up to her, you’ve already given up. But you know you’re getting there. You haven’t stopped working ever since early hours and you’re feeling inspired and focused as ever.

When you’re satisfied with the input you add to the system which is working on the calculations, you sit back. Eyes on the screen displayed in the air. Camilla comes back with your coffees and hands one to you, fixing her eyes on the screen, too as she stands beside you.

“Come on, come on,” you whisper.

Bringing the coffee to your lips you almost choke on it when the answer you were so desperately looking for gleams on the screen.

“Holy shitballs,” you shout and swiftly gets up, letting your cup drop to the floor, splashing the liquid around.

“Oh, fuck,” Camilla gasps and you two look at each other with paired up widened eyes before letting out a cheerful scream and holding each other, jumping around as you gain the attention of the other workers from the several small offices of the Avengers/Stark Technology Department.

A clear of throat takes you and your friend out of your reverie, catching your attention. When you see Sharon Carter on your door, with a smirk on her lips, you two cease the celebration, but keep the smiles on your faces.

“Hey, Sh- Director,” you quickly correct yourself, being friends with Natasha brought you close to Sharon, too. But now she’s Director of Shield, after Nick Fury became coordinator of the Avengers, therefore you should show some respect at least at workplaces, “Remember that Shield and Avengers’ joined project? The one where we were trying to build a device that would crack alien secret services codes?”

“Yeah, sure, our tech departments have been working for months to find an algorithm.” Sharon nods.

“Well, looks like we made it.” You point at the screen right in front of you.

“What the hell?” She shoots an eyebrow high and steps into the office, eyes analyzing the screen between you two.

“We doesn’t quite cut it, Director,” Camilla says, rolling her eyes, “She worked her ass off and got to it by herself. She’s been killing it these last few days.”

You huff, shaking your head. You’ve been really inspired, indeed. And you might relate it to a certain physical activity you’ve been engaging on recently and the outrageous amount of energizing orgasms you’ve been gifted with almost daily… not a topic to be brought out now, though.  

“Ooo, someone seems extra inspired…” Sharon narrows her eyes, but you try to not indulge any possible insinuation by just ignoring the comment with a smile, “Well, that’s amazing news,” she resumes, clapping her hands once, “and it kind of leads to the subject that brought me here, would you mind excuses for a second, Camilla?” She kindly asks.

“Of course, not. I’ll be in my office.” Camilla says, not holding back from hugging you and squirming in excitement one more time before walking out the room.

“This is huge, huh?” Sharon comments, pulling up the chair you pointed for her as you sit on yours.  

“It is, can you imagine what Natasha will be able to do with it?” You grin, brushing your hands together.

“Thanks to your badass brain,” she compliments before narrowing her eyes at you again, “You have a weird happy face.”

“Well, something amazing just happened…”

“Yeah, yeah…” Sharon brushes you off, “You’re killing it at your job and that’s amazing… but to be honest, I expected to still see you moping around about your break up.”

“I’m still sad about it, but work has been great, and-”

“Oh, cut the crap,” Sharon interrupts with a playful snap and you frown while she crosses her arms in front of her, holding back a laugh, “I’ve been texting with Natasha, I know about you and your boytoy.”

“What the hell?” Your eyes widen as you throw your arms to the air, already feeling your cheeks warming, “She’s on a mission and you two have been talking about my… sex life?” You lean over across the table and whisper the last part.

“We can multitask,” Sharon shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“Oh, wow…” you scoff, “That’s two of the greatest spies on earth right.”

“Alright,” She chuckles, unfolding her arms and leaning over the table, “As much as I want to know all about it, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Ok,” you quickly accept the change of subject for your own relief, “Why are you here for, then?”

“To tell you that Stark is a jerk,” she deadpans.

“Ok… cool,” you drag the words, side eyeing her, “And?”

“Long story short, I lost you in a chess match and now you’re the new leader of Avengers/Stark Tech Department.”

You don’t quite assimilate what she just said as you keep your questioning stare on her, not finding the link between her words and, most of all, did she just say you’ve been promoted?

“I’m sorry, what?” You shake your head shutting your eyes for a second, finally asking for clarification after what seemed like the longest staring contest ever.

“Well,” Sharon sighs, “You know how competitive Stark and I can be and when I decided to act by ethics and told him I was considering offering you the leadership position at Shield’s tech department he decided he would do the same and dared me to a chess match, where you would be the prize.” She shrugs, “I’m sure he had some help, right Friday,” she raises her voice staring up to the air but gains plain silence as a response from the A.I, “He won and got to keep you and I got  stuck with my second option which is your ex, as you might already know.”

“Wow,” you whisper, not really sure what to say or feel, trying to process all of what you just heard.

“You’re not offended by the chess match, are you?” Sharon checks, tilting her head.

“No… I’m kinda… flattered, I guess.” You frown and Sharon gives you a satisfied smile. “But… I’m confused… That’s Stark’s job.”

“It’s your job now if you should accept it.” She grins wider, “I guess he’s been thinking about it for a while now and saw my offering as an opportunity. I know Pepper has been on his ass for him to loosen up from some responsibilities, and who better than you to take over?” She points up at the screen with your recent achievement.

You let out a breathy laugh, reality finally dawning. Not in a million years you thought that would happen but now that it is, you’re not gonna be modest, you kick ass in your job and you fucking deserve it.

“He’s on a mission with Nat and Steve now, so he asked me to come talk to you, hang on…” Sharon holdsup a finger, before grabbing a small device from her pocket, which you recognize as one of your projects. “Stark,” she says.

In a second the image of a very battered Tony surfaces on the air as the camera captures his face from under the suit.  

“Hey, Carter,” he greets with a smirk as you hear the sounds of blasts, shots and explosions. The man is in the middle of a damn battle while casually answering a call.  

“Stark,” Sharon answers just as casually, “I have her here with me, just delivered the news,” she says, turning his image to you.

“Hey, boss,” you give him a shy wave.

“Hey, kid.” He scrunches up his face, shooting a series of blasts before you listen to something exploding. “I think you’re sort of my boss now.” He focuses on you again, smirking.

“No, I’m not,” you laugh.

“No, you’re not. But, tell me, what’s your answer?”

“I take it, of course.” You decide, why in the world, wouldn’t you.

“Great. Party to celebrate when we come back. Gotta go, these damn Kree are the worst. Will not invite them.” He turns off and his image disappears from before you.

“Well, congratulations.” Sharon places the device back on her pocket, “Our departments work a lot together, so I think I win either way.”

A mix of emotions fill up your chest. You’re excited and happy and scared. Mostly excited, though…  “Holy shit,” you curse, digging your hands into your hair as a grin seems to twist your lips permanently.

“You need to celebrate…” Sharon adds, offering you a cheeky grin.

Fuck yeah, you need to celebrate. And you know exactly what, or better, who you wanna do.

~~~

“How the hell are you wet already?”

The words are spoken against your neck through licks and sucks, after Bucky’s fingers glided under your underwear and sank between your slick folds. As soon as he walked into your living room, he jumped on you with kisses and grabs, discovering you in such a state without his previous help.

Well, sort of without his help, actually. The thing is, after you got out of work that afternoon, you didn’t even need to call him or text him to propose your little celebration as you found a series of texts from “Bucky Sweet Tongue Barnes”  waiting for you. In the first, he was asking if you had any plans that night, and the others… oh, the others… the fucker described all sorts of filthy things he wanted to do with you.

After a quick answer for him to come over and a long bath, all the dirty details he used on his texts refused to leave your mind and you couldn’t help but spending the rest of the time you had alone before he arrived teasing yourself with your fingers, having all those images and flashes from your last encounters in your memory to keep you going.

“I-“ you gasp as he sucks that sensitive spot in your neck and his fingers meet your clit, “Those texts you sent me…” You tilt your head to give his lips more room, your hands roaming around the hard pattern of muscles on his back, “I-I’ve been touching myself.” You confess with the lack of pudency you’re becoming familiar with when you’re around him.

In your arms, you feel when his body freezes for a second, before he sucks harder on your neck, “Fuck… did you come today already?” He gropes your ass under your dress with the hand that isn’t in your pussy. 

Your eyelids flutter and you reach down to the front of his pants to feel the growing bulge, “Yes…”

“Goddammit, that’s hot,” he grunts, and then it all happens in a blur as he lifts you by hooking his hands under your thighs and places you seated over the dinner table.

He positions himself between your opened legs as lifting up your short dress out of his way and, while you swiftly work on the buttons and zipper of his jeans, he takes a condom out of his pockets and, after ripping the plastic off with his teeth he hands it to you.

His eyes cast down to see your fingers rolling off the latex around his rock hard cock and, as soon as you’re done and wrap your hand around him to feel his thickness, he wastes no time and pushes you backwards until your back meets the cold wood of your table. 

Acting by the frenzy that is all over his eyes, he swiftly pulls the small fabric of your underwear to the side, exposing your cunt just enough before he holds his cock and pushes himself inside you, making you cry out and your body jerk backwards. You always knew spending an exorbitant amount of money on a good table would pay off someday and you hold yourself fisting each side of the table.

He pulls your thighs up wrapping his hands on your knees, giving you no time to adjust before starting to pound into you.

You love that he fucks you like that. Hard and raw, the sting of the stretching mixed with the pleasure brought by his expert thrusts fogging your mind and his thickness and expert moves hitting sweet spots of yours, kicking the air out of your lungs. You love that in the few times you’ve been doing it in the last week, he already seems to know what you can take and always somehow goes a little further, a little different… like he knows something about yourself that you don’t, yet. That it’s the first time that you two can’t be bothered to wait and take off clothes or get to the bedroom. You love it.

It is all new to you, yes. For you sex has always been attached to some kind of affection or romantic feelings and, while that is all good and wonderful, you’re enjoying so much finding out this other side, where the only goals are to share pleasure and have fun. 

“So fucking sexy,” he groans through clenched teeth.

Your core twists in response and your cunt clenches around his cock, causing him to let out a grunt and quicken his pace even more, making it extra difficult to breathe properly. Oh, he’s found out that praise kink of yours and now he’s been using it wisely, so wisely…

He reaches over to pull down the stripe of your dress and exposes one breast. A loud moan slips out of you when he roughly kneads the soft flesh. He keeps the metal hand around one of your knees while the leg he let go in favor to give your breast some attention curls around his hips, jerking along with the punishing pace of his thrusts.

“Yeah, sweetheart, so sexy… I’ve wanted to have you like this ever since I first saw that sweet ass of yours,” he confesses right before leaning over to wrap his mouth around your nipple.

You’ve been horny the whole day waiting for the moment you would have his cock inside you just like that and the praise, as tacky as it may be, joined with the warmth of his wet tongue around your breast and the stimulation against your clit that the new position brings prompt the blast of ecstasy inside your core.

With a trembling moan, you let go the edges of the table to hold his body pressed to yours as his mouth moves from your breast to attack your neck. You roll your hips, trying to prolong the pleasure unleashed as his pace falters.

The fingers of both his hands dig into your hair, making a mess of it as he pulls out his cock almost completely before shoving it deeply and harshly one more time, grunting out his own release.  

“Fuck,” it slips from under his heavy breath before he clasps his lips on yours. The kiss is wet and sloppy and lazy as you have your legs and arms curled around his body, keeping him inside you.

Still feeling a little numb from the orgasm he just gave you – a thousand times better than the one you had given yourself- you gasp and chuckle through the kiss as he straightens up and pulls you with him. You tighten the hold of your arms and legs, as he conveniently holds you by your ass until he finds the couch and sits down with you straddling his hips. He breaks the kiss and lets his head fall on the backrest, his chest moving up and down as he tries to catch his breath.

You move up to let his cock slide off but he tightens the hold on your ass, keeping you in place, “Just… let me stay in a bit more, it feels so good,” he says, eyes shut, still resting his head back on the sofa.

“Alright,” you chuckle, straddling his face with your arms as you place your hands on the backrest. You find the request a bit odd but also sexy as hell. There he is, always a step ahead on what you don’t even know you think it’s hot…   

After a few more seconds, when his breath – and yours- seems to come back to normal, he straightens his head and looks down at where you still have just one breast exposed. He ticks his tongue, “Let’s not make the other one feel left out.” He pulls your other strap, letting now both of your breasts bare to him before he dips in, grabbing the up till now covered one with his lips.

You shake your head, laughing at his antics, “You seem pretty fond of them, huh?”

He lets go of the mound with a pop, looking up at you with an almost shocked expression on his face, “How could I not?” he gasps, like you’ve just offended him, “I don’t know how you see them in the mirror everyday and don’t touch yourself…” he squints at you before continuing, “You do, don’t you?”

You laugh harder, letting your head fall back and he smiles at you before going back to give your tits some attention, kissing and sucking one, then the other. Noticing that his cock never really softens completely inside you, you let him enjoy himself a bit more before speaking again, “Did you mean that?”

“What?” He leans back, looking up at you.

“You said you wanted to fuck me ever since you met me… is that serious? I didn’t even know you remembered me before we… started this.”

“First of all, I’m always serious, I never lie,” he says, adding some gravity to his tone, “Second of all, remember that night a while ago, when I chatted with you and your boyfriend at a Stark’s party and then your sexy ass talked about your work with technology with such passion… you knew exactly what you were talking about and, fuck…” he licks his lips, ”I rubbed one out for you later that night,” he smirks, clasping his hands behind his head.

Your jaw drops at the reveal before your face scrunches up, “That’s…gross?” you say the first word that comes to mind.

“But it’s true,” he shrugs, looking pretty comfortable with the confession, “and ever since I’ve been thinking about tapping that smart ass of yours.” He emphasizes his point by slapping your ass once.

Despite that and his choice of words - which makes your cheeks heat up - and your previous statement of being grossed out by the revelation, you decide you take that as kind of a compliment, which leads you to give him the news.

“You know?” you say, “I was promoted today. You just fucked the new leader of the Avengers/Stark tech department,” you grin when his practically hard cock twitches inside you.

“Wow, congratulations.” His eyes widen and he grins back at you. 

“Never thought I would meet someone with a technology kink,” you comment, laughing at his first reaction to the news.

“More of a smart as fuck brain kink, sweetheart,” he reaches behind you to slap your ass for the second time that night, making you shriek and laugh a bit harder, “Ok, we need to celebrate,” he states.

“I am celebrating,” you aim a mischievous smile at him, rolling your hips for good measure.

“Damn,” he breathes, but holds your hips still, “No, I mean, you’ve been in a relationship for ten years, tell me…” he squints at you, “When was the last time you partied your ass off?”

“Ahm…” you think hard trying to remember when it was, “College, I guess?”

“Shit…” he lowers his head before swiftly getting up, making you lunge your arms on his shoulders so you wouldn’t fall back as he walks to your bedroom, “Come on, let’s freshen up. This is huge news… I’ll take you to a real party now and then we can continue our private one later,” he promises.

~~~

As soon as you walk in the rooftop bar Bucky has chosen, you already decide you did good in accepting his offer. The place is gorgeous, sporting a modern, yet cozy decoration with small tables, sofas and puffs for those who want to sit. Dazzling lights flash on the dance floor right by a huge bar and the view of the city is mesmerizing while the beat of the music reverberates through your body.

Bucky pulls you by the hand through the sea of bodies. Thank god you chose one of the fanciest dresses of your wardrobe or else you wouldn’t fit in among the beautiful people crowding the place. Every once in a while, Bucky waves and nods at someone or a group of people. You can tell he’s a regular.  

He waves more excitedly to a group of women hanging on a mezzanine, before pulling you to that direction, “Come on,” he tilts his head back towards you with a smile, “You’ll love them.”

As soon as you approach the group, he puts his arm around your shoulders and introduces you to everyone, telling you the names of each stunning woman before you, Amanda, Emma, Jada, Alice and Brianna. They all friendly greet him and you with smiles, excited hellos and hugs, welcoming you two to join them, which you do.

“You know, Y/N was promoted today,” Bucky gushes and you smile at him.

“Oh, wow,” Amanda says through the cheerful congratulating words from everyone else, “This calls for champagne.” She then whistles and makes a sign for a bartender, who in a matter of seconds sends two bottles of fancy champagne to the group. 

A few minutes after the toast, you’re drinking and chatting with those women like you’ve been best friends your whole life, especially with Amanda, who goes out of her way to make you feel included. You can see how close they all are to Bucky, like he’s one of the gang, talking about any kind of subject in front of him and vice versa. Bucky stays by your side, and only when you’re completely mingled with the group he excuses himself to go grab what he called “a real drink” at the bar.

“He’s incredible, isn’t he?” Amanda nudges you when Bucky is at a distance he can’t hear.

“Oh yeah,” you nod, “Bucky’s a great guy.”

“She means in bed, dear,” Brianna clarifies with a giggle.

You take a look around the group to see them all giving you mischievous and knowing stares. Oh…

“Oh, did all of you…?” you point your finger at them, but you don’t have to complete the question

“More like all of this rooftop,” Brianna laughs, followed shortly by the others.  

“So, he’s amazing isn’t he?” Amanda insists, wiggling her eyebrows.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the fact that they all seem so friendly and open minded, but something makes you blurt out, “Amazing? He’s fucking fantastic.”

They all nod and verbalize their agreement, “I tell you all something,” Jada catches your attention, “That man drinks respect women juice daily and we owe him a toast. Here’s to Bucky,” she raises her glass.

“To Bucky.” You all mimic her through laughing and make a toast to the unsuspicious man at the bar.

As the conversation moves on and they all engage in different topics your gaze wanders to where he stands, holding a glass with some liquor that looks like whiskey in hands. But he’s not alone anymore. A statuesque blond is right beside him, laughing and touching his arm. You glimpse that flirting smile of him forming on his lips.

“You don’t mind do you?” Amanda’s voice makes you turn to her, spotting a questioning look on her face, “Because if you do… Girl, run away now, Bucky isn’t right for you.” There’s no malice on her voice, just a sincere warning tone.

You seize the moment to make an honest survey through your feelings. You’ve been warned by different people, Bucky included, and if there’s anything to worry about, Amanda is right, you should run now. As you keep your eyes on the two of them by the bar, you look and look and look inside, but find nothing that could be remotely taken as jealousy or something like that. If anything, it’s kind of liberating to know that you have so much fun with him and there’s no ugly, selfish feelings pulling you back. You feel like you could encourage the blonde on the flirting, because you know how damn incredible it can be…

Who would wonder that a class A womanizer like Bucky would be the source of such sheer sorority you’ve been experiencing that night…

“No,” you turn back to Amanda, shaking your head with a satisfied smile, “I don’t mind at all.”

The night goes on and Bucky comes and goes, chatting and drinking and laughing with you and your new little group of friends, taking you to dance, but also dancing with Amanda, Emma, Alice, Jada, Brianna and some others… A number of guys also approach you, take you to dance, buy you drinks and you end up with a few new phone numbers in your contact list. You party like you haven’t in a while and like you didn’t think women your age still did, which is stupid… You’ve been so caught up in the routine of your relationship with Eddie that you’ve forgotten there’s a whole world spinning out there.

An exciting and fun world.

“Hey,” the familiar voice reaches your ear and makes you smile as you’re on the dance floor with the girls. The metal hand curls around your belly and pulls you before your back brushes against his chest, “Having fun?” Bucky asks, lips on your ears.

“Yes, so much.” You tilt your head and place your hands over his while his hips sway with yours.

“Hummm,” he pulls you closer and runs the tip of his nose over the length of your neck, “I’m glad.”

“However…” you sigh, loving how his hips move in rhythm with yours, “I think I’m ready to continue our other party at home.”

“Funny,” he chuckles and his tongue darts out before he swiftly brushes it against your neck. It’s quick and very discreet, but enough to set your core into flames, “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

With that, you promptly let go of him and proceed to say goodbye to the girls. They all tell their farewells and wishes to see you again soon with knowing and excited looks.

~~~

“You were right, I had so much fun.” You wrap an arm around his elbow as you walk side by side through the streets of New York. The bar isn’t that far from your condo and when he suggested a walk back home you thought it was a good idea to check on the lively corners of the city, even with the heels. Also, he offered his leather jacket against the cold, which you promptly accepted.

“Oh, yeah, nightlife in New York nowadays is something we shouldn’t take for granted,” he smiles down at you, “And yeah, you had fun alright, I know there are a few extra numbers in your phone,” he winks.

You analyze his face and when you understand there’s nothing but playful teasing behind it, you answer, “Oh, yeah, oh my God,” you shake your head, “That was unexpected but fun. I might delete them all, though, things might get complicated and I’m not looking for any kind of complications right now.”

He smiles, seemingly satisfied for you taking him out of the complicated category. “You and the girls seemed to get along real fine, too,” he comments.   

“They’re really great,” you nod, getting cozier in his arm as a gust of wind hits you, “They all think very highly of you, by the way,” you let the smirk in your lips tell him what you mean.

“I work hard for that, sweetheart.” He chuckles and wiggles his eyebrows at you.

You let out a laugh, “That you do.” You look up at him from under your lashes, before whispering, “I can’t wait to see you working hard.”

He halts his pace, making you abruptly stop with him. You shoot him a questioning look, as he gazes down at you, his face lightening up like the best of ideas has just crossed his mind. Without further notice he unwraps his arm from yours and takes your hand instead, pulling you with him at a faster pace as he turns on the corner, changing the course that would lead to your home.

“Hey,” you call out, as you try not to trip on your heels as he pulls you, deflecting from the other patrons and leading the way, “What the hell are you doing?”

He looks back at you with that sinful smile of his, “Don’t wanna leave you waiting.”

Something flips inside your stomach in anticipation at his statement and, as he turns around a few corners, the streets seem to get less busy. When you reach a particular spot, he checks each side, like surveying the area before pulling you to a dark alleyway you haven’t even seen before.

As soon as you out of the street he pins you against the wall and crashes his lips on yours, shoving his leg between yours to keep you in place with the help of the firm grip of his metal hand on your hips.

Like a puppet on his strings you wrap your arms around his neck and respond to the inebriant kiss immediately even if you’re still astonished by it all and when he squeezes one of your tits through the fabric of your dress and his mouth leaves your mouth to drag kisses over your neck, you tilt your head to see the light peeking from the streets, so close to where you’re both standing. 

“Bucky…” a gasp swallows your words for a second as he presses his thigh harder against your pussy, “What the hell, someone can see us,” you remind him, knowing exactly where this will lead if you don’t stop him now. You can already feel the pool of heat in your lower body as he playfully nibbles on your lower lip before going back to your neck.

“Isn’t it exciting, to think someone can spot us while I have my dick inside you.” He licks a long stripe from your neck to behind your ear.

The mention of his dick makes you let out a wanton moan, but you’re not won over yet, “It’s a fucking dark alley in the middle of the night in New York City, Bucky. We will be murdered here.”

At this, all of his enticing movements pause, and he dips his head back with an offended glare at you, “Do I have to remind you who you’re literally fucking with?” he asks, outrage all over his voice, “The Winter Fucking Soldier, White Wolf and shit… the strongest Avenger,” he chant the names and you can’t help but chuckle a bit, “Don’t worry,” leans over to resume from where he stopped, “I can fuck you and protect you at the same time.”

You need no more convincing since that’s actually damn hot and you’re more than sold to the exciting game when he flips you over and kneels down behind you. Listening to your own erratic heartbeats prompted by the electrifying danger of it all, you sprawl your hands on the wall as he sinks his hands under your dress and pulls your underwear down your legs, placing it in his pocket once you step out of it.

He bunches your dress up high enough to give him room and you shudder and sucks in a breath as he props one kiss, then another on the back of each of your thighs, “Try to be quiet…” he says, but swiftly adds, “Not too quiet, though, I love to hear you.”

With that he spreads your legs a little farther and sinks his tongue into the apex of your thighs from behind.  Your jaw drops and your knees buckle as he holds your hips still against his face. While his tongue curls around your sensitive pussy your mind blanks and you whimper, trying to suppress a moan, not forgetting you’re right in the open air of New York. Your hips roll against his face, seeking for more friction to untie the knot forming inside you.

But too soon he ceases contact and stands up. You express your disappointment with a whine, face snapping to glare at him behind you.

He’s wearing a smirk on his face as he grabs another condom from his pocket. You wonder how many he has in stash, “You wanted to come on my mouth, didn’t you?” he teases, holding the package between his teeth as he unbuckles his pants.

“Of course,” you shamelessly admit under your breath.

“I know sweetheart… But my dick is aching for you, too,” letting his pants and boxes fall along his legs, he unleashes his hard cock and proceeds on putting on the condom, throwing the plastic package aside, “I was prepping you for it,” he continues, eyes fastened on yours as he speaks, “You want it, don’t you? You want my dick? Come all over it?”

You lick your lips and your gaze falls to look at his rock hard cock, feeling your wetness dripping down your inner thighs. Now that’s an offer you can’t refuse, “Yes, I wanna soak that fucking dick,” you groan, not caring how tacky all the dirty talk may be, since it all sounds sexy as fuck now, clouding all of your senses.

“Shit… take it then, sweetheart.” Guiding his cock with his hand, he pulls your hips and in one single shove he’s inside you.

You let out a silent cry and rest your cheek on your hand against the wall, as the other reaches down to your clit, to help ease down the sumptuous twists inside your core as he pounds into you.  

The sounds and lights of the cars passing by on the street right next to you reminds you how exposed you are and fuck if you’re not gonna come quicker than you ever did as Bucky holds your hips with both of his hands, moving them as fast as he pleases, thrusting them back against his cock. You can feel the fire reaching its peak inside you.

“So fucking wet,” he whispers, breathing hard as he fucks any remaining signs of better judgement out of you and you know it won’t be long for him, either.

You let out a loud moan and it prompts him to pull you pressed against his chest and cover your mouth with his hand, “Shhh.” His hot breath coats your ear and your head falls back on his shoulder as he keeps the delicious pounding of his cock inside you with no hint of mercy.

The damn alley spins around you and you wish you weren’t wearing his leather jacket now as the beads of sweat run down your forehead.

He must’ve heard something in advance because right at that moment a group of people walk by the sidewalk, chatting and laughing. All they have to do is to glance to the side and spot you two in that interesting situation. The danger, the fact that you’re so exposed while Bucky dicks you down against the wall out in the open triggers your orgasm and you let out a strangled sound, muffed by his hand, as the shocks of pleasure washes over your body and weakens your limbs.  

“Shit,” Bucky whispers against your cheeks and his cock pulses inside you, reacting to your cunt squeezing and soaking his cock as you reach your climax.

You wanna feel that again and acting under the influence of a rush of boldness, you reach behind between the two of you and gently massages his bouncing balls. You feel the pulsating of his cock between your walls again and that cheeky move of yours makes him come undone. You only wish that the group is far enough to not hear the reckless and loud moan that slips out of his lips against your ear, his whole body tensing against yours.

As you fight to catch your breath and his hand leaves your mouth to descend to one of your breasts, a long line of courses is recited in your ear before you can feel his body finally relaxing.

Your eyes flutter shut when you sense the brush of his lips on your neck. The next words he breathes against your heated skin makes you beam, loving that he says that while his cock is still buried deep into you, like a damn reward.  

“Congratulations on your promotion, sweetheart.”

~~~

Tag List for this story: CLOSED

Permanent Tag List: OPENED.

[missmitchieg]

Carrie Has A Heart

Carrie smiled appreciatively at a man in a black and white suit who held the hotel (club?) door open for her to leave and walked outside with Nick hauled over her shoulder, the smile fading as she realized her situation.

Currently, her ex boyfriend was passed out, she was hours away from home, she was not making that walk back again, and she didn't know if she should get Nick to a hospital. What would she even say? 'My ex boyfriend got possessed by a ghost and I don't know if the ghost was lying when he said Nick would be fine when he woke up'? No, that wasn't happening. She shook her head at the thought and weighed her options, setting Nick onto the ground.

She could try to hail a cab home. She could hail a cab to a hospital. She could call her father to send Arthur to come pick her up in the limo, or the helicopter. And potentially risk hearing about a million questions about what happened, most of which she would not have an answer to. Or be stuck home alone with her ex boyfriend for however long until he can leave.

Carrie squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists before pulling her phone out and dialing her father's number. She waited for about two rings before she heard a soft "Hello?" in her father's voice. "Dad, I need you to send Arthur to come get me." She told him.

"Hey, baby. I'm about to go in for a meeting so I'm sending him now."

"Thanks. Love you." Carrie hung up and waited for the limo, hauling Nick into the seat next to hers and buckling him in. "Hi, Arthur." She hummed, sighing in relief when she saw a pair of sneakers on the floor of the car. It wasn't her favorite pair, but they were sneakers without high heels and they were comfortable. She pulled off her loafers and pulled on her sneakers, discarding the dreaded things on the floor of the limo.

"Hello, Carrie." Arthur said cheerily. "I suppose you don't want me to ask about the unconscious boy next to you?"

"No, thank you."

"Right. Shall I put on your playlist?"

"Ooh, yes, please!" Carrie nodded and smiled as Dirty Candy played over the car speakers. She sat quietly as she was driven home and carried Nick inside, placing him on the couch. She groaned and reached a hand up to rub her neck, walking toward the kitchen. She grabbed a bowl, stopping to glance at Nick and wonder if she should fill it with cold or warm water. If he was cold, cold water would make him worse. But if he had a temperature, warm water could hurt him.

Carrie sighed and walked toward him, placing a hand on his forehead. Warm. Cool water it is, then. She shook her head and filled the bowl up, grabbing a clean dish rag. She wet the rag and placed it on his forehead, rubbing her temple. "You better wake up soon, Nick." She muttered, looking down at him. How was she going to explain anything she just saw to him?

Half an hour and a few water refills later, Nick started to wake up with a groan. "W-where am I?" He asked drowsily, trying to sit up.

"Don't move too much." Carrie told him, pushing him down gently.

"Carrie?" Nick frowned, blinking curiously. "What happened?"

"It's a long story, and one I don't know how to fully tell." Carrie said honestly, patting the rag against his forehead. "What's the last thing you remember?" She asked, wondering if she could help him.

"Um, going to Julie's house the morning after The Orpheum." Nick answered after a full minute of thinking. "I was gonna give her flowers."

Carrie blinked and nodded slowly, sitting on the edge of the sofa. "Flowers for Julie. Alright."

"Platonic flowers, Carrie." Nick huffed. "She just wants to be friends."

Oh. Carrie wasn't expecting that. Last she heard, Julie was majorly crushing on Nick. She guessed either the crush faded (and maybe because of a certain guitarist) or someone at school had a very wrong idea. "Alright." She nodded, testing the water and then checking Nick's forehead. "Your temp feels better. Thank God." She said and got up to dump the water in the sink and think a little.

"Thanks for that, but what's going on?"

How was she going to answer Nick's questions? She pinched the bridge of her nose, walking back to the couch. "Ok, so... You got possessed by a demonic ghost last week." She said bluntly. "He had some weird vendetta against Julie, and he tried to take her band away and then made you bully her and told me some very elaborate plan to humiliate Julie and get rid of her."

Nick blinked, shaking his head. "No way." There was no way he was believing that mess of a story.

"Way." Carrie nodded. "Would I lie? Plus, I did not follow that ghost for hours, get blisters on both my feet, and tell off that ghost for you not to believe me."

"Why would a ghost have a vendetta against Julie? She's a sweetheart."

"A sweetheart with a secret ghost band." Carrie huffed.

"They're holograms, Carrie." Nick rolled his eyes.

"Did you hear what I just said." Carrie rolled her eyes back at him. "Nick, think. What's the last thing you remember before you blacked out?"

Nick frowned and furrowed his eyebrows, trying to think back to that. "I remember getting the pink flowers. I remember walking to her house. I- Wait! I think I remember some guy in a black suit and cape!"

Carrie perked up at that, pushing her hair back. "Ok. Black suit and cape. Anything else? Do you remember him saying something to you?"

"Um, he was tall." Nick supplied. "Weird goggle things. Dark hair. He said something weird about a 'broken-hearted teenager fighting for his girl'." He shrugged. "Guess he thought I was trying to win her over? And then he grabbed me and that's the last I remember."

Carrie nodded, crossing her arms. "So, you've been walking around all week antagonizing Julie, and I know you're not the type to treat her like that, so today, I followed the ghost guy in your body and yelled at him."

"You yelled at a ghost? For bad-mouthing Julie?" Nick squinted his eyes at her disbelievingly.

"He did more than that. He tried to take her band away!" Carrie pointed out. "He was going to poof them out of existence so that Julie would stop singing again. Julie doesn't deserve to lose them, too." She shrugged.

Nick blinked, a smile forming on his face. "The ice queen has a heart."

"Shockingly, yes." Carrie replied sarcastically. "I get on her about music, but it's only because she's magically still better than me even when she hasn't done it for a year, and being nice and likeable is so easy for her and everyone likes her more." She pointed out before going quiet. "Including you."

Nick winced at that and rubbed the back of his neck. "I... Guess I was never a great boyfriend to you, huh?"

"Yeah, well... I wasn't a great girlfriend, either." Carrie shrugged. "So we're even."

"You were ok, when you weren't angry." Nick smiled.

Carrie scoffed and smiled. "And you were great when you weren't gaga over Julie."

"I was not gaga over Julie." Nick blushed.

"You were a little gaga." Carrie smirked, holding two fingers together. "But that, uh, that guitarist of hers..."

"Yeah, he's... I hope they're happy."

"You're sweet, Nick." Carrie chuckled, stroking his hair. "Hey, can I tell you something?" She asked softly.

"Sure."

"So, I... Might like girls?" Carrie admitted and blushed.

Nick felt his jaw drop slightly and smiled. "Aw, no way!"

"Way." Carrie nodded.

"That explains so much!" Nick nodded, thinking back to their relationship. "But hey, your secret's safe with me."

"Thanks, Nick." Carrie whispered with a soft smile.

"So, think it's safe for me to move now, or do I have to ask you to get up and get me a snack?"

Carrie laughed and got up, walking to the kitchen. "What do you want, Nick?"

"Pretzels!"

[elizabeth-mitchells]

Journeys end in lovers meeting - Sam/Deena - Bly Manor AU

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson, Sarah Fier/Hannah Miller (Fear Street), Christine "Ziggy" Berman/Nick Goode, Samantha "Sam" Fraser & Deena Johnson Characters: Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street), Deena Johnson, Kate Schmidt (Fear Street), Simon Kalivoda, Josh Johnson (Fear Street), Constance (Fear Street Part 3: 1666), Christine "Ziggy" Berman, Nick Goode (Fear Street), Alice (Fear Street Part 2: 1978), Sarah Fier (Fear Street), Hannah Miller (Fear Street), Solomon Goode (Fear Street) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, The Haunting of Bly Manor AU, Not Canon Compliant, Haunted Houses, Ghosts, Character Death, Minor Character Death, Canon Lesbian Relationship, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Au Pair Sam, Gardener Deena, Housekeeper Kate, Cook Simon, Josh and Constance as troubled kids, Ziggy and Nick in an unhealthy relationship, minor Cindy/Alice, Martin cameos, special appearances of all the Shadyside killers as ghosts, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, The Rest Is Confetti Summary: The year is 1994. Samantha Fraser recently moved to Shadyside, and she desperately needs a job that will help her leave her troubled past behind. She starts working as au pair at Shadyside Manor, where she is not the only one tortured by ghosts. Grief, regrets, guilt, innocent victims, and an ancient curse. At the center of all of it... love.

Chapter 5: 

When Peter Brody died, all of Sunnyvale mourned. As a teenager, he had been the star of the football team and in a town like that, it meant he was a celebrity. He was loved, known, seen by everyone. Sam, on the other hand, had always lived under his shadow, where she had been cold and lonely but also stuck beyond salvation, she thought. Nobody knew her, nobody saw her. They all saw a small blonde-haired woman that men made fun of and women judged and Peter never really loved, did he? Had any of it been love?  

During Peter’s funeral, luckily, all eyes were still on him, on the closed coffin that is. The truck that hit him hadn’t exactly been forgiving. Sam didn’t mind. She preferred to go unnoticed most of the time but especially on the day she was dealing with the most conflicting emotions of her life. Peter was dead. Did she kill him? He could have killed her. Was this her fault? Her biggest source of pain was gone forever. Should it be her in that coffin? She could be free now. Why wasn’t she feeling sadness, pain, and grief? Why wasn’t the relief hitting either? She was just numb.

She was numb until the moment they were lowering his coffin to the ground. Everyone around her was crying and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from that awful hole on the ground. That is why she noticed, clear as day, the moment a hand, gray and dirty and stained with blood, reached out from the ground and out toward her. She stifled a small gasp and jumped in place, but nobody paid her any mind. Sam closed her eyes tightly and tried to convince herself it was just her mind playing tricks on her. She’d lived in fear of Peter’s hand for so long, it was reasonable that she couldn’t put it down in a matter of days.

So, Sam excused herself from the crowd, knowing nobody would care about her absence. Her mother was crying more than she cried at her ex-husband’s funeral, and more than she’d be crying if it was Sam in the coffin. At least, that’s what Sam thought. She walked away briskly until she could lean against a big tree in the middle of the Sunnyvale cemetery. She took breaths and tried to control her racing heart. This full-body panic wasn’t rare. She was just used to locking herself in the bathroom of the house she used to share with the deceased man.

This time, however, she was in public. She had to get a hold of herself quickly. That was what she had spent a lifetime learning to do. So she pulled out a small mirror from her clutch, knowing she better check her make-up before returning to her mother’s side. She was expected to cry but keep perfect make-up somehow. But, as soon as she saw her reflection in the mirror, Sam realized she had bigger problems. This time she really screamed. She screamed in terror and dropped the mirror and quickly turned around, but he was gone. The image of Peter, just an impossibly black shadow, lifeless and furious and with a bloodstained hand wrapped around Sam’s throat… he was gone. Quickly, Sam picked up the mirror again and didn’t see him. But she skipped the rest of the funeral, she ran all the way home, and in the living room’s mirror, he was right there, waiting for her. In the Sunnyvale school bathroom mirror, he was there. In the cars’ windows, in the stores’ fronts, everywhere she went, he was right there, haunting her all the way to Shadyside Manor.

Away from the house though, surrounded by nothing but damp grass and green trees and nothing showing her reflection back to her, Sam let her guard down. She was sitting around an impressive bonfire in the company of Deena, Kate, and Simon, along with a few bottles of wine they got from the Berman’s old reserve. “It’s not like they’ll be drinking it,” Simon had said.

The last addition to their small gathering was Tommy Slater. Uninvited. Unnoticed. At least, surrounded by those trees he looked a little more at home, with his red plaid shirt and the axe on his hand. He shifted from one foot to the other, as if considering taking a stroll around the gardens he used to love so much. But that wasn’t the case. He’d been there too long. He didn’t move purposefully anymore, he didn’t make any choices, he didn’t even have many thoughts anymore. He simply stood there in the background, in the shadows, in that property he couldn’t escape from.

Around the bonfire, with lively eyes, blushing cheeks and playful smiles, the employees of the Manor looked much more alive. Kate exchanged a knowing look with Simon and then turned her head toward the other two women sitting close by.

“Deena. Don’t you have some story you'd like to share with us?” Kate asked.

She had startled the gardener, who had been a little lost in thought looking at Sam. “Huh? What?” Deena shook her head, but a second later and aided by an exasperated look from Kate, she understood. “Oh, right. Um, actually, yeah,” Deena cleared her throat and then looked at Sam, regaining her usual confidence. “Hey, Sunnyvale, do you want to hear a ghost story?”

“Sure,” Sam shrugged. She was really cold, and still a little put off by the unpleasant memories that had been roaming her mind the entire day. But she smiled nonetheless. “But I think I told you I’m not scared of ghost stories,” she said. How could she be? Although he was a sincerely upsetting company to carry with her everywhere she went, Peter hadn’t hurt her after he died nearly as much as he had while being alive.

“Ah, but what if you found yourself inside of one of those stories?” Deena asked.

“Okay, humor me.”

“Look up,” Deena nodded her head and the four of them looked up at the big tree next to them with branches that reached above their heads. “This is the hanging tree,” Deena said. “Back in the day, before there was Shadyside and Sunnyvale, and junk food and pretty au pairs, there was the settlement of Union. A pretty crappy place run by religious hysteria. They had the bad habit of accusing women of witchcraft. This is the place where they used to hang their witches. Right here, on this same tree.”

A cold breeze passed by, making the sudden silence even more noticeable. Sam shivered and her teeth clattered. “That’s not supernatural though,” she said. “That’s just cruelty, and ignorance.”

“And that’s without mentioning the ones they burned alive,” Simon added, taking a big swing of his wine bottle.

“Simon!” Kate chastised him, slapping his arm.

“What?! It’s true!” he laughed.

At least it proved they could come and go seamlessly from serious and lighthearted moods.

“Hey, they had their reasons,” Deena said, taking the others by surprise. “They used to say that burning a witch was the only way to guarantee she wouldn’t come back to haunt you afterward.”

A bitter chuckle came from Kate. “I know I got a few names I’d like to burn down,” she said.

“Care to share?” Deen tilted her head, intrigued.

Kate’s face had grown serious very suddenly, and she stood up from her seat.

“For Christine Berman,” She said, and everyone listened intently. “Not that I want to burn her memory, not that I don't wish she’d come back… This is in her honor. A brilliant, courageous, simply incomparable woman… with just one stupid fucking weakness. She deserved better than that man. I won’t even say his name. That disgusting man that consumed her away… Now that’s someone I wish I could burn alive.”

“Cheers!” Simon raised his bottle, and everyone followed suit.

Deena stood up next. “For the Bermans. Those good, stupidly kind people,” she said. “For Cindy, especially. And everything she could have been… For as long as she could she was a really, really great mother. More than that, too. She was the heart of this entire place, and she was there for everyone, not just her family or, well, she made all of us family, really. And… Anyway, I think she would be happy to have Sam Fraser join us. This sweet, Sunnyvale weirdo. Cindy would be happy she’s looking after her daughter.”

After she finished, Deena let herself fall back heavily on her chair. While everyone drank for the dearly missed couple, she managed to regain her composure. When she looked at Sam again, her usual easy smile was back in place.

“What about you, Sunnyvale? Anything you want to burn?”

“Me?” Sam said. Through her mind flashed the small group of people that had affected her most throughout her life. What could she talk about? The dead father she barely remembers and still misses? The living mother angry at her that she’s still avoiding? Or the dead ex-fiance she feels responsible for and she’s still scared of? “No, thank you. I’m okay,” Sam shook her head.

Maybe they didn’t need more of an excuse to drink. Maybe her silence was more than enough. Still, when Deena, Kate, and Simon, despite her silence, raised their wine bottles to their lips to drink. Sam felt the comfort of genuine solidarity and understanding like she had never experienced before.

Before the silence could stretch for too long, Simon stood up. “Are you sure?” Kate whispered, reaching out to hold his hand. He squeezed her hand once, then let go and took a step forward.

“So… my mom. She’s, uh, not someone I’d wish to burn alive, obviously,” Simon said, and added a feeble chuckle, but he went on. “But fuck, she deserved to rest already. She lived a long life, and not an easy one. But she was stronger than this entire town, and sweeter than any drug, funnier than me, if you can believe it, and beautiful as an angel until the very last day.” He stopped briefly, and his smile wavered. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging a little harder than necessary, and after a deep breath, he managed to continue. “Her mind, well, it was stopped working as it should a while ago, you know? I was her son, her brother, her father, and sometimes I was a complete stranger… but she was still my mom, always. So… here’s to everything she was, and everyone I had to be for her.”

--

After Peter died, Sam considered moving back in with her mother. It sounded like a nightmare, but a reasonable choice to make, she thought. However, her mother never did or said anything to suggest Sam would be even remotely welcome in her home. So, Sam stayed in that picture-perfect Sunnyvale house. A faultless home except for the fact that Peter was dead and Sam would soon follow suit if he didn’t stop showing up behind her reflection in every mirror she glanced at.

Sam felt hopeless, not free as she had wished to be for so long. She felt terrified, not much more than when Peter was alive, but certainly not any less. She had been starting to worry about what the rest of her life was going to look like. She had been hoping for a miracle, an act of kindness from anybody. And that was when Peter’s mother had knocked on her door. For a moment, Sam had let herself dream of a scenario where that woman showed up with worry in her gentle eyes, a dinner invitation, and a much-needed hug. But that wasn’t Peter’s mother.

Mrs. Brody was, if anything, Sam’s biggest nightmare. A particularly cruel mixture of Peter and Sam’s own mother. Her eyes were cold, she probably would have tried to poison Sam, and they had never hugged for longer than a second. That woman had spent roughly twenty years accusing Sam of taking her son away from her. When Peter’s mother showed up at Sam’s door, it wasn’t to offer any kindness, it was to request Sam start packing her stuff and looking for a place to live, because Peter was dead, they never got married, and that house was no longer hers.

A week later, Sam was living in a Shadyside hostel.

A few months later, Sam was in the middle of the dark and beautiful gardens of Shadyside Manor, walking away from a bonfire and two of her coworkers, her friends .

Most importantly, Sam was walking away with Deena by her side. “Are they going to be okay?” Sam asked the gardener.

“Oh yeah,” Deena nodded confidently. “Getting wasted and reminiscing about the past is part of their daily routine actually.”

Sam smiled, but then Deena met her eyes and matched her smile and Sam had to remind herself to breathe. So she turned away briskly and continued to walk. Deena was kind enough not to laugh at her.

A couple of minutes later the two women had arrived at the greenhouse. It was clearly the place Deena felt most at home in. There were plants on every surface, plants of all kinds and in many different states of health. There wasn’t a lack of personal touches though. There was more than one stray jacket left behind, occasional snack wrappers, books, cups, and more. It looked like Deena spent more time there than at the house in her own room. Then there was the bench where she invited Sam to sit. The closest thing to a couch that could stand the conditions of the greenhouse. It had comfortable cushions on top, a blanket, and Sam caught sight of a sweater that Deena quickly tried to tuck away. The image of Deena taking naps in there to avoid life at the manor was enough to make Sam smile.

“This is nice,” Sam said. “It feels like you have a little bit of everything here.”

Deena shrugged. “I’d add … a drum kit, if I could,” she confessed.

“Really?” Sam wondered, getting a little more comfortable in her seat. “You play drums?”

“For a while, when I was a teen,” Deena replied. She was thoughtful for a moment but, looking at Sam’s face, she seemed to make an important decision. “One of the foster homes where I lived in had a drumkit. It was a good outlet for when life was shit but… I haven’t played since then. I was never able to afford one myself and, anyway, it doesn’t bring up the best memories.”

“Oh,” Sam mumbled, staring at her lap. Suddenly she missed the bottle of wine she had been carrying with her. She couldn’t even remember where she left it. She only wanted to find something good to say, but Deena beat her to it.

“Now’s your turn.”

“What?” Sam finally looked at her.

“Tell me something real, if you want,” Deena smiled at her. “I’d recommend starting with what’s bothering you so much that you finished a wine bottle but you’re still pale as if you’d just come back from the dead.”

Sam laughed, closed her eyes, and leaned against the back of the seat. Of course she had finished that bottle. Of course those memories did nothing but hurt her. Of course Deena would notice, and of course Deena could find a way to ask an impossible question and still make Sam want to speak up her impossible answer.

“The windows,” Sam finally replied and opened her eyes.

“What?” Deena frowned. She was as drunk as Sam, but that answer didn’t explain anything at all.

“All kinds of mirrors really,” Sam continued. “I, uh, sometimes I… I see things… that aren’t there. But they feel, um, they are real, to me. I think. I mean, I know they are. Even if it sounds crazy.”

“What kind of things do you see?” Deena asked her.

Sam blinked. She wasn’t expecting Deena to go along with it, and she wasn’t prepared or sober enough to come up with a lie. “My dead ex-boyfriend,” she said, and didn’t give Deena much time to process that information. “He wasn’t a good guy, he… He wasn’t good… at all. But we, I mean, I tried or, I guess I did, I… I broke up… with him. It was, um, right before he… died.”

“Jesus, Sam, the same day?” Deena wondered.

“Yeah,” the blonde nodded sadly. “But I guess he hasn’t let me go yet.”

Deena bit her lip and tried her hardest to find the right thing to say. There was a lot she wanted to ask, but there were more important things at the moment. “That sounds typical,” Deena said.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, sounding genuinely tired, but more and more relieved with each passing second.

“I mean… only a Sunnyvale jerk wouldn’t get what a breakup is,” Deena said. She had been holding her breath, but when she saw Sam smile a little, she relaxed. “Like, get over it dude! She’s Shadyside property now,” Deena added, looking around the greenhouse with her best menacing tone.

Sam couldn’t contain her chuckle, but she was back to looking down at her lap. “You’re not making fun of me, are you?” She inquired.

“Sam,” Deena called her name, and waited until Sam was staring into her eyes to continue. “I’ve lived with that hanging tree over my head for years. Ghosts are… complicated, I guess, but nothing to joke about, are they?” She was worried she wasn’t making much sense, but she was genuinely trying her best. Sam shook her head softly, agreeing with her, but her eyes weren’t all that focused on ghosts, and loss, and the past anymore. “I think it’s a matter of understanding-”

All at once, Sam was kissing Deena. She had just leaned in, connected their lips, interrupted Deena with a kiss they had been dying for. At first, Deena’s shock didn’t allow her to do much, but when she caught up, when she made sense of the sweet taste of Sam, the warm press of her lips, the reality of a dream coming true right before her, she reacted. Her hands moved carefully to Sam’s face, as if afraid to break her, but she slowly pushed back. She saw the moment Sam’s blue eyes fluttered open again, and that sight alone was more than enough to steal Deena’s heart.

“Are you sure?” Deena asked her.

Sam couldn’t fight the need to glance around them, just to make sure there weren’t unwanted shadows staring at her from a corner, but there was nothing. They were alone. This moment was completely hers. “Yes,” she replied with a smile, and whatever Deena had tried to say aftward, Sam interrupted her with a kiss, but Deena didn’t seem to mind at all.

They kissed with perfect excitement, their lips were eager, and they tasted of wine, and the first touch of Deena’s tongue on her bottom lip stole a whimper from Sam. They moved closer together, and their restless hands gained confidence. Everything was happening at once, they were in a hurry, they were taking their time, they had only a second, they had all the time in the world. Sam's hand was on Deena’s shoulder, grabbing a fistful of her green jacket, pulling her closer. Deena’s hand was getting lost in Sam’s blonde ponytail, holding her in place, driving her crazy. Every second their kisses renewed and grew in passion, with Deena’s tongue pulling shivers out of Sam, and Sam’s teeth biting down on Deena’s bottom lip, overjoyed to take the other woman by surprise.

It was an accident, though. Sam didn’t really mean to open her eyes when she did. But by the time she realized what had happened, it was too late and the damage was done. She opened her eyes and right there behind Deena, with his monstrous head almost on her shoulder, was Peter. Peter the shadow, the ghost, the darkness, the demon, the ruin of Sam’s entire life.

She gasped and jumped back and away from Deena as if she’d received some kind of lethal shock.

“Fuck,” the two of them said. They were breathless, confused, and hurt. There was a sudden and unbreachable distance between. They were completely alone in the greenhouse.

--

Less than an hour later, and wearing her pajamas, Sam was storming out of her bedroom, down the stairs, and out of the manor. Her thoughts were messier than ever, and only half of it was because of the wine. There was a lot going on in her mind, a lot she couldn’t erase, understand, or even acknowledge. There was a lifetime of expectations and lies that she had endured for too long. There was a kiss from a captivating gardener that wasn’t supposed to be so sweet. There was Deena standing up, apologizing, apologizing as if anything would have possibly been her fault, and walking away from Sam without once looking back. There was a pair of teenagers that jumped out of their beds at that ungodly hour just to make her waste five minutes in the hallway, listening to them explain some genuinely unsettling dreams until they agreed to let her go. Underneath it all, there was one thought standing out from the rest though. Unfair. That’s what Sam thought of it all. It wasn’t fair that she had to deal with that much, since she was a little girl. It wasn’t fair that even after dying Peter still controlled her. It wasn’t fair that she’d found the most incredible person and potentially ruined it all because of her fear.

But, at last, Sam had made it back to the hanging tree, back to the dying embers of the bonfire, which she hoped were strong enough to burn one last memory. She wasn’t alone, of course. Behind her, Ryan Torrest had observed her walk past him. He could barely change his expression anymore, but he looked as concerned as he was capable of. He raised his right hand in front of him to study the knife he still carried. He almost wished he could pass it to the clearly distressed woman, but there was no use. He couldn’t do anything, his knife wasn’t really capable of causing harm to ghosts, no matter how many times he had tested it before on himself. Besides, that woman had to face her ghosts by herself, and this one was a different kind of ghost than the manor's habitants.

A few feet in front of Sam, Peter’s ghost stood. He was just his shadow, just pure darkness resembling his shape, with just enough details for Sam to be able to see the hatred in his eyes. “ I can’t marry you, Peter, ” she had said. “ I don’t love you, I can’t, not you, not any man ,” she had added in an impulsive attempt to appease his already explosive anger. “ I’m sorry! I didn’t ask for this, Peter! Don’t hurt me, please, ” was the last she said to him. Before he raised his arm, before he took a step backward, before the truck hit him.

“What the hell, Peter?” Sam said, facing the silent ghost under the hanging tree.

There was no answer.

“What the fuck do you want from me, huh?” Sam insisted.

The ghost didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t react.

“You don’t scare me anymore, Peter,” Sam said, not yelling anymore.

The dark, human-shaped mass only stood there, ominous but immobile.

“You can’t take anything else from me, you know?” Sam sighed.

The woman was just so tired, and the ghost couldn’t do anything, could he?

“If you think you can still hurt me then go for it. Do it, Peter, I don’t care anymore. Kill me, if that’s what you want, but get it over with. Because I’m done! Did you hear me? I’m done… I’m done… I’m not scared anymore. I’m not scared of you anymore.”

The embers left from the bonfire suddenly sparked back to life, burning away what had been left behind.

[allegra-writes]

"Lights Up" part I

Peter Parker x SHIELD Agent!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: And there was only one bed!!

Peter must deal with the aftermath of what Mysterio did, but he's not alone: Nick Fury and Pepper Stark have a plan, one that includes you, Peter and the tropical desert island of Eroda.

Series Masterlist

His lungs were on fire, his legs burning with the strain, he didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to go on. The sharp pain piercing his side was disconcerting, he used to be familiar with it, he remembered as much, but he hadn't felt it in years, not since the spider bite. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had gotten so much as winded just from running, but he had been at it for hours now, ever since he had ditched MJ and his suit in that dingy alley in hopes of Peter Parker being a little more inconspicuous than Spider-Man. 

But by then, everyone in the city knew his face, and in the age of the internet and smartphones all it took was one single snap, one tweet, one livestream, to find himself surrounded by an angry mob, screaming for his blood, like something out of an old horror movie. All they were missing were the pitchforks and torches. There was nowhere to hide. 

So he ran. 

And he kept on running, but even he couldn't run forever. At least not without eating anything, the calorie deficiency starting to take a toll on his super-metabolism, causing him to become dizzy, his reflexes slower. 

That was probably why he didn't realize his mistake until it was too late, until he reached the intersection and found himself surrounded: He had been ambushed, led like a lamb to the slaughter. He came to a halt, turning around, looking in vain for a way out, but the circle they had arranged around him was a tight formation, he was either going to have to fight his way out or shoot a web and swing away and he could kiss goodbye any chance left at keeping his identity secret after that…

"Looks like we caught ourselves a spider, guys!"

"Not so brave now, eh boy?"

Peter cursed internally. There was no other way, falling into stance, he braced himself for the fight. But before he could make a move, he saw it. A car, a rather distinctive one, heading straight their way, and it wasn't slowing down. If anything, it seemed to speed up the closer it got to the crowd, forcing people -including Peter- to jump out of the way to avoid being run over. 

"Get in!" 

He didn't need to be told twice, jumping into the passenger seat, the car speeding away before he even got to close the door completely. You stole a glance at him. He looked tired, maybe a little pale, but uninjured. You sighed in relief. He was there, you had gotten to him on time. He was safe.

Safe and openly gawking at you.

"Y- y/n?" 

You flinched,

"Yeah, not my real name" You took your eyes off the road to give him an apologetic look, "Sorry 'bout that"

"Then who are you?" His voice was steel. So much for being grateful for saving his ass, then…

"I'm agent 16 of S.H.I.E.L.D's Special Service. I was assigned to protect you" You threw him a side-glance, "and a little 'thank you' would be nice"

Well, that explained the uniform and you driving Item 20-25. God, he was so stupid! Of course you were a spy, why else would a girl like you even give him the time of day? The pretty girls at his school weren't nice, not to him at least. But now it all made sense, down to the very first time he saw you, beaming at him as Mr. Warren pointed at the empty seat beside him. All the times your hands brushed in class, fingers lingering on test tubes and books a couple of seconds longer than necessary. All those little touches, all the secret looks when you thought he wasn't watching, it was probably all part of your mission. Probably just to get close to him, to gain his trust. After all, you had demonstrated you weren't truly interested in him when you turned down his invitation to prom. 

He had cried afterwards. Not much, not like at Ben's funeral, or when Mister Stark… No, definitely not like that, but he had shed a couple of tears that night. 

He had lost sleep and appetite over you. Lost hours daydreaming about you, about the fruity smell of your hair, wondering what your strawberry lipstick would taste like. But the truth was, after all this time, after all that staring, all that pinning he didn't know anything about you, did he? Not even...

"Can you tell me your real name?"

"You don't have the clearance for that"

You replied, turning to face him. And maybe he ought to fasten that seat belt after all, or shut up and stop distracting you from the road, cause you were still going too damn fast and breaking all traffic laws known to mankind. Mr Dell's shocked, appalled face after your driving test flashed through his mind.

"Spider-Man has a level 6 clearance" he protested.

"You need a level 9. At least." 

"I thought 9 was the highest level" Gods, his frown was adorable.

You just smirked and made another turn, driving through an entrance and a ramp that hadn't been there a second ago. 

"We're here" You announced, killing the engine. Peter didn't move.

"Where exactly is 'here'?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D's Manhattan headquarters"

You got out of the car, rounding to his side and pulling his door open, then closing it once he had gotten out. The gentleman in him protested it should be the other way around, he should be the one opening doors for you and helping you out of cars. It was absurd, of course. There, with you in that black catsuit, thigh holsters on both your legs, walking like you owned the place there was no mistaking it: You weren't y/n, his school crush; you were a highly trained special agent, escorting him through the premises.

… Pretty familiar premises, actually. 

"Avengers Tower? S.H.I.E.L.D bought Avengers Tower?"

"It was a donation, actually" you explained as the elevator's doors opened to the Stark Memorial Garden, an open garden as majestic as it was massive, located right in the heart of the building.

"A donation? But wh-"

"Peter! Oh thank god!" A relieved voice and the clicking of hills on the stone path interrupted him.

"Mrs. Stark?" Peter let himself be crushed into Pepper's chest, closing his eyes, the tears he hadn't known he was holding back starting to fall as soon as he felt safe in her embrace.  

If Tony Stark had been like a father to him, Pepper Potts-Stark was a mother trough and trough. She had tried to step into her husband's role of a mentor for Peter, knowing fully well she couldn't ever replace him or occupy his place; but she would be damned if she allowed that giant Tony shaped hole on that boy's life to go unattended, to bleed out or fester. The kid had already lost so much, almost every parent figure he had ever had. And she knew what that kind of loss could do to precocious boys with too big hearts, had seen it first hand with Tony. 

"Mrs. Stark I'm so- I'm so sorry"

"Shhh" She said soothingly, "It's not your fault. You're going to be ok, I promise. We'll figure it out" Pepper sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. 

"Pete! Six!" 

Peter broke the hug just in time to see a little dark haired meteor jump into your arms. He watched, stunned, as Morgan clung to you. He knew once upon a time she had been an outgoing, confident child but ever since her father's death she had grown timid. She didn't open up easily to strangers, Peter being a rare exception, and even that had been solely because of the stories Tony used to tell her about her 'super big brother' adventures. She had developed a sort of hero worship for Peter that only rivaled the one she felt for her father. For her to be so friendly towards you had to mean you had spent a considerable amount of time together, and Peter remembered the tales you used to tell in class about the adorable little girl you babysat sometimes. 

"You did it! You found him!"

You smiled at her.

"Told you I would, Morgs. And I always keep my word" He watched you squeeze her again in your arms, he could tell you cared about the kid, probably even missed her while you and him were in Europe. But the sweet reunion was short lived, as soon another voice, more stern, resonated through the garden.

"In our line of work, I'm not sure that can be considered a good thing"

You gasped in mock trepidation, making Morgan giggle and Peter smile despite himself.

"Uh-oh! We've been caught!" You passed the still laughing kid to Peter and stood straighter, trying to sober up. Peter could see the corners of your mouth twitch as you greeted, "Director" 

He gave you a nod,

"Agent. Parker, Mrs. Stark. Good, now that everybody's here, we can get a move on"

Without waiting for a reply, Nicholas Fury started walking again, leaving everyone to scramble to follow.

"I know this seems like the end of the world, Mr. Parker, and I'll admit the situation isn't ideal," the intimidating man punched a code into a hidden panel and another elevator opened. "but our main priority right now is your safety. We'll treat this like any other blown cover, following the same protocols we follow when any of our agent's identity is compromised: Immediate extraction and relocation of the agent into a safe house, with an armed escort for protection, of course" He explained as everybody climbed in.

"You're sending me away with a bodyguard?" Peter sounded less than pleased and you couldn't help the pang of sympathy. You didn't like to be pulled off the field either.

"I understand how that could be uncomfortable for you," it didn't sound like he particularly cared, though, "so perhaps it would be less unpleasant with an element you're already familiar with. Agent 16 here is going to be your companion"

"What does that means, Six?" Morgan turned to you, still perched onto Peter's torso, like a baby koala.

"It means I'm going to babysit your brother instead of you, for a while…" You threw the brunet boy a wink and his protests about not needing babysitting died on his lips. It didn't sound so bad, actually. Being cooped up with you in some secret location for an indeterminate amount of time.

"How long would we be gone?" 

"As long as it takes for the director and me to fix this" Pepper spoke with the authority only her seemed to possess, the one that could reing in crazy geniuses dash heroes and master spies alike. Fury could only nod in compliance.  

"What about May?"

"She's with Happy, already on her way to the lake house" 

Peter still looked unsure, but Pepper smiled, eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint surprisingly similar to the one her husband used to have.

"Don't worry, Peter. You'll love the safe house. I know Tony and I did…"

…

Leaving Morgan at the launch bay had been the hardest part. Her tears soaking Peter's t-shirt as Pepper tried to pry the fabric out of her little hands, were enough to break his heart. She didn't want to let her big brother go, probably terrified he wouldn't come back, just like her father. Far too perceptive for a six year old kid, she understood Peter was in trouble, in danger, and she was scared.

Peter was scared too. 

How could he not? He might be naive but he wasn't stupid, he knew that no matter the outcome of whatever plan Mrs. Stark and Fury came out with, his life as he knew it was over. 

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry" Your earnest voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts, "For lying to you, for what Beck did, for everything."

Peter stared at your profile, something he seemed to be doing a lot that day. Who was he trying to kid, he did a lot of that everyday. It actually seemed to be the only normal thing that remained, the one thing that seemed to stay constant as the world shifted and changed around him. He should be mad at you, he knew that. He should feel betrayed, hurt, and he did, a little but it was hard to stay angry at you. Even when you were partnered at school and you failed to do your part in the projects, he used to have trouble not forgiving you the second you flashed those doe eyes at him. 

He sighed,

"It's not your fault, any of it. About the lying, you were only doing your job" It wasn't your fault that he had been dumb enough to fall in love with a girl that didn't even exist. "And as for Quentin… that definitely wasn't your fault"

"My job was to protect you. If I had done it right, none of this would have happened" there was a slight catch in your voice "I should have realized he was a fraud, I should have told Nick as soon as I started having doubts about the guy, I should have stopped him before he stole E.D.I.T.H; I should have-" You turned away, pretending to get engrossed in the navigation controls of the Quinjet.

"I should have found that video and stopped it from reaching the news" You finished, voice finally under control, but still not meeting Peter's eyes.

"I was the one that literally handed E.D.I.T.H to him" You felt his hand cover yours over a lever, and looked at him in surprise. He found your eyes, a soft look in his that made your insides fill with butterflies, "He tricked me too. Do you blame me for that?"

"What? No, of course not!" 

Your indignation on his behalf warmed his chest.

"Then why blame yourself for the same thing?" 

He had a point. Luckily, you were saved from having to answer him by a blip in your instruments.

"Looks like we're here" You commented instead, initiating landing maneuvers. 

"Where is here, exactly?" He peered out of the windscreen, into the darkness of the night, trying to get a look. And who knew, with his super senses maybe he could. 

"Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific. An island, apparently, a very isolated one..."

"So you've never been here before either?"

"No, this isn't one of S.H.I.E.L.D's safe houses. This one is Mrs. Stark's" 

"Oh" Peter smiled for the first time since leaving NYC, "It must be really cool then"

"Yeah, I imagine it is" You smiled back

The house was not how you imagined Tony Stark's safe house would be like. For starters, the wooden construction wasn't even a house, a bungalow would have been a more appropriate title. The one-room little shack stood semi hidden by palm trees on the beach, and you knew the island was probably beautiful, but you couldn't see much in the moonless night.

Inside there wasn't much to see either, just a queen sized bed, a cupboard with a chest of drawers and a recliner by one of the windows. Ever the gentleman, Peter had offered to take the recliner, but you had rolled your eyes and pointed out the bed was big enough for the both of you. 

"I don't know why we're so surprised" Peter's voice reached you through the bathroom door, where he was changing into his pjs, "I mean, we've seen the Lake House and, sure, it's very luxurious for a cabin but that's what it is: a cabin"

"Maybe" You replied, flopping on the bed. At least it was comfy "but they have FRIDAY over there. Here we barely even have electricity"

Peter stopped in his tracks as soon as he walked into the room, and you pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on your exposed legs, your tiny cotton sleeping shorts not covering much at all.

"It's just, I can't possibly believe Tony Stark didn't installed any defense system on his safe house. I mean, you knew the man better than I did, but doesn't it strike you as a little… odd?"

"Huh? Ye-yeah, I mean, I…" You could see his cheeks turn red. God, he was adorable.

"Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you coming to bed?"

He choked on his own spit, and you had to suppress a giggle. Maybe, just maybe, he truly did forgive you for lying to him. Maybe you still had a chance.

…

Peter couldn't sleep. He could feel the heat coming off your skin through the small distance separating your bodies, your perfume invading his nostrils with every breath. Being so close to you in the dark was torture and yet he couldn't bring himself to get up and go to the chair on the other side of the room. He was pinned to the bed, mesmerized by your sleeping profile, enthralled by the way your chest rose and fell with every deep, steady breath. Irrevocably and inescapably drawn to you like a moth to a flame, too scared to move, too afraid to disturb your dream.

Because it appeared to be a very good dream. He could see the blush spreading from your face to your neck, all the way down to where the neckline of your tank top obscured his view. He could hear your breathing starting to quicken, feel the temperature of your skin rise. He could smell you, sweet and enticing. Beckoning. 

Your lips parted, letting out the most captivating little sigh in the history of mankind, and his eyes zeroed in the movement, his tongue darting out to wet his own. 

Peter felt his blood rushing south and was disgusted by himself, he felt like a creep. What kind of psycho got off of watching a girl sleep? Yet he couldn't bring his eyes to avert their gaze. 

He needed to get out of there, give you some semblance of privacy, as your hips started to twitch minutely, seeking a friction they wouldn't find. You let out a soft whine and he screwed his eyes shut. 'Come on Parker, get a grip on yourself' he thought, trying to gather enough strength to pry himself from the bed, to pry himself from your side. He was about to, he truly was, when it happened. 

You rolled over, half trapping him under your body. And it wouldn't have been hard for him to escape if he wanted to. But he really really didn't want to. The voice inside his head telling him it was wrong was growing weaker and weaker with every pretty noise leaving your mouth. Your hot breath was searing against the skin of his chest and he both cursed and blessed the instant he decided to forego wearing a t-shirt to bed in the sultry island heat. 

"Peter" You murmured in your sleep and his heart stopped. You were dreaming about him. You were panting and burning up for him, and he knew it didn't necessarily mean anything and dreams were not real life, but your legs fell open, one knee on either side of one of his, and he could actually feel your warm wetness through the thin fabric of your sleeping shorts and his threadbare plaid pajama pants and fuck!

Whatever last trace of logic might remained in his brain flew out the window as you started rubbing yourself on his thigh, finally finding the friction you so desperately needed. His hand went to your waist to stop you, but it ended up aiding you instead, sliding to your lower back, pressing down and releasing rhythmically, rocking you against his leg harder. 

He glared at the traitorous appendage, but how could he reproach it it's betrayal, when you were moaning so sweetly? He wanted to commit those sounds to his memory, to tattoo them on his brain to play over every night when he'd found himself alone on his cold bed, one hand around his length and the other over his mouth to stop himself from yelling your name at the ceiling, as he had so many times before. 

You breathed out his name again, and his free hand went to his pelvis, of its own volition. He palmed himself over his pants, but that's as far as he would let himself go. He refused to be the guy who jerked himself off next to an unconscious girl. 

A new wave of moisture left your core, soaking his skin through the fabrics. 

"Fuck!" He cursed softly, head hitting the tall headboard as he threw it back.

"Peter?" 

He froze. No. Oh god, please no...

To be continued...

[goodlucktkachuk]

Frantic -- Matthew Tkachuk (Pt.4)

a/n: finally here with part 4!! it’s been a busy few days but I hope you guys enjoy! i think ths story has two or three parts left in it.

Part One   Part Two   Part Three

“Y/N hurry up! We’re gonna be late!” Emily screamed across the apartment as you were frantically throwing whatever clean clothes you could find into your open suitcase. It was creeping up to 8am and you guys were supposed to leave at 7:45 for your 10am flight. You weren’t completely unprepared, you had packed a few jerseys and a less than innocent red set to live underneath them but the past few days had been so busy you forgot to pack the rest.

The team was back on the road but this time to the west coast. Fortunately, you and Emily had just started your reading weeks so it only made sense you finally got to join the boys on at least part of their trip. Emily had never gotten to see Alberta before so it was the perfect opportunity to do some exploring. You were meeting the boys in Calgary for their day off and the Flames game then when they were off to Edmonton the two of you were off to explore. Mitch offered all the time to fly you guys wherever they were but you never wanted to impose. He was pleasantly surprised when you finally asked him for two plane tickets.

Barging into your room extremely pissed off, a look of horror crossed your roommate's face as she watched you scramble. She sighed loudly as she grabbed your hips and placed you in a chair in the corner of your room. She made quick work of your messy packing skills and threw in an extra hoodie and jeans in addition to socks which you had forgotten about entirely. You went to thank her but she pressed her finger to your lips, shushing you.

“The Ubers waiting lets, go.” If looks could kill you would’ve been a goner twenty minutes ago.

The drive to the airport was quiet. Emily had her head in her phone texting Nick while you stared at the city flashing past you. The past few weeks had been crazy. School was in full swing and was taking most of your energy. Spending ten hours a day in the studio left you little time to see anyone let alone keep up with what was going on outside of your bubble. You felt bad because you hadn’t been giving Matt as much attention lately. The two of you called and facetimed when you could but it didn’t feel like enough. He knew you were busy and was more than supportive but the guilt still pang in your chest and the thought of him losing interest ran wild through your mind. This trip couldn't have came at a better time, you figured surprising him was the best way to make up for the distance between you two lately.

Emily, still mad at your last minute lifestyle, kept to herself for the wait in the airport and most of the flight but she started to gush the closer you two got to your destination. You were so used to traveling growing up that it was sweet getting to see someone get so excited.

After collecting your bags it was a short drive back to the hotel. As you guys approached the entrance you noticed a group of girls probably about 15 or 16 in Leafs jerseys. When you walked past they got quiet and you could hear the whispers.

“Oh my god is that Mitch’s sister?” “That's definitely Nick's girlfriend!” “Ugh! This isn’t fair! She’s not even pretty enough for him!”

You reached and squeezed Emily’s hand as you kept walking. Just like the guys, you knew better then to respond to people because in the long run it hurts their career and relationships. It was nothing she hadn’t heard from others or hadn’t seen on social media but you knew it still hurt her just a little.

Dropping your bags with a thud, you hurled yourself at the nearest bed and let out a massive sigh of relief as you let the softness envelop your body. Emily’s laughter filled the room as she placed her bags down next to your and sat on the edge of your bed. You let out a small grunt as she shook your leg, trying to get you to sit up.

“Mini!” her voice was more stern then usually. “Come on, we didn’t come all this way for you to lay in bed. Let's do something!”

“But bed.” You pouted into the sheets.

She aggressively grabbed your arm, pulled you up and headed for the door. You wanted to protest but you knew it wasn’t worth it. It was a cold day so you both agreed that shopping was the best way to fill your time before you had to go meet the boys for dinner.

Matthew checked his phone a lot more these days. He was never really one to care if people had answered him or to be obsessed with social media but since you entered his life he was constantly looking. At first Johnny and Noah were really digging into him but they soon realized how important this girl was to Matt. She was known as the Rat Queen through the locker room because Tkachuk refused to reveal her identity but wanted to gush about how talented she was. Noah was the only one who knew who you were.

He supported Matt but he reminded his friend on multiple occasions that he has to be careful. Between tight inner circles and the looming presence of fans and press. You could never be too careful.

It was killing Matt just a little bit that he hadn’t seen you in so long but he knew you needed to be in Toronto. He dragged Noah with him CrossIron Mills to help pick out things to send to you in a care package. He had gotten the idea from his brothers girlfriend because she had sent Brady one while they were home for the summer in St. Louis. Back in his apartment he had a box with a few snacks and some of his old T-shirts and sweaters. All sprayed with his cologne.

He was on the hunt today for something special but he wasn’t quite sure what that was. The two boys had wandered into a record store and were just mindlessly looking to see if anything would catch their eye.

You were still empty handed after a few hours of walking around and you were ready to call it quits but Emily pulled you into Sunshine Records for one last stop. You parted ways and you made your way to the back of the store. Once again not paying attention to where you were going you smacked into someones back.

“I am so sor-” You looked up and were met with the same piercing blue eyes from a few weeks ago but this time he looked a lot happier to be crashed into. Picking you up, he spun you around and placed a soft kiss on your lips. Fireworks exploded in your stomach but before you could react it was over.

“What are you doing here?!” He exclaimed as he set you down, keeping his arms wrapped around your neck.

“I’m looking for the new Niall Horan vinyl babe.” You giggled.

“Not in the store Y/N! Why are you HERE?” He lets go of you and starts waving in hand in every direction, “In Calgary!”

“Ohh right. I was going to surprise you at your game tomorrow.”

“Well as much as that’s sweet I’m glad you ruined the surprise.” He pulled you in for another sweet kiss, making you melt even further. You both heard a cough and turned to see Emily and Noah standing a few feet away. The two of you pulled away and returned to your respective best friend. Noah extended his hand to you and the grip of his handshake is firm but welcoming.

“So you’re the famous Y/N that Chucky never stops talking about.” That comment earned Noah a swift smack to the back of the head from Matt.

You laughed slightly as you responded, “That's me. I hope it's all good things Chucky.” You sent him a teasing glance while you spoke.

“Oh trust me he is, you really got him wrapped around your finger. There was this one time-” Noah was forcefully cut off by Matt.

“Ah Ah Ah, that’s enough! I am so sorry to cut this story short but we have a team dinner to get ready for.” He started pushing Noah towards the exit as you and Emily followed.

“Calm down buddy.” His phone went off in his hand and said “It was lovely to meet you guys.” before rushing away to answer. Emily stepped away at the same time for the same reason leaving you and Matt alone.

He pulled you into another hug and he smiled as he felt you relax completely into his arms. He looked down at you and marveled at your face before he spoke.

“So if you’re coming to my game does that mean your finally gonna finally wear my jersey babe?”

“Awh sorry love, accidentally brought my Talbot jersey. Maybe next time.” A smirk covering your face. He frowned at you.

“You’re a monster.” Joking tone in his voice.

You pushed up on your toes and planted another kiss on his lips.

“Yeah but I’m your monster.”

“Yes, yes you are.”  you both stared aimlessly into eachothers eyes. Your moment was cut short by Emily’s return.

“Hey Y/n… That was my mom, I have to head home after the game tomorrow. There’s some family stuff I have to be there for. I’m really sorry.”

You pulled away from Matt and gave her a hug, tracing small circles on her spine to calm her down.

“It’s okay. Do you want me to come back with you?”

“No, no it’s okay, Nicks gonna come with me.” Her eyes were full of disappointment.

“Okay hun. Tonight we’ll reschedule all our hotels and come back out in May. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good but what are you going to do the rest of the week then?”

Piping up from behind them, Matt enthusiastically said “Come stay with me.”

“That’s very sweet of you Matts but I don’t wanna impose and how would I explain that to Mitch?” You knew Mitch would understand if you told him about you and Matt but you weren’t ready to take that step yet. Especially becuase you guys weren’t anything offical yet.

“We play Ottawa later this week so the family’s coming down to see it. Just tell him you're staying in town to see Taryn.” You thought about it for a minute because he had a good point. You hadn’t seen Taryn in about two years plus it technically wouldn’t be lying to Mitch.

“Fine.”

“Yay!”  Matthew mauled you with a quick hug and kissed your forehead. He gave you a quick goodbye and headed off to find his teammate. You and Emily finished shopping and headed back to the hotel to get ready for your night. 

Even though the mall was pretty empty there's always someone around to see things. You guess someone saw you and Matt together today and tweeted about seeing the two of you. Adding insult to injury, Matt liked the tweet sending twitter into a tailspin of rumours. He really was a pest on and off the ice.

[platypanthewriter]

Vines

Harringrove April day 19, Vines!  Maid Stephanie Harrington encounters the Outlaws of Sherwood Forest.  I wrote this all in one swell foop today, so it's unbeta'd, and I'm very sorry.  XD

The Fair Maid Stephanie Harrington, ward of the king, was riding.  She liked riding, in general, when the horse wasn’t too slow, except at some point the riding always stopped, and she arrived, and she had to give her regards to whoever her presence was supposed to convey the depth of the royal regard to.

It was like being a medal, she thought, sometimes—the prince gave a few weeks of her time to someone, as a prize, and they showed her around at feasts in her honor, and kept her locked up in a box.

Whoever pleased him enough, she’d marry, she was pretty sure, hoping it wasn’t Guy of Gisborne, the current recipient of the prince's favor.  He always smiled just a little when she was angry, and the thought of being near him forever was not to be borne.  She blew through her cheeks, trying to enjoy the ride through Sherwood Forest, and urging her horse just the tiniest bit faster.  

One of the sheriff’s guards grabbed her horse’s bridle, slowing it back to a walk.  “I can lead you, my lady,” he said, smirking.  “If you can’t control such a large animal.”

Stephie stared at him, biting her lips together before she called him every name she could think of.  “I am fine, sir,” she said, thinking, I hope the girth breaks on your saddle, and you slide right off.  

“There have been thefts in the area,” said the sheriff.  “A band of bandits.”

“I’ll protect you, Milady,” her guard told her, pulling her horse closer.

She was about to dig her heels into her horse’s sides—just run, jumping over the tree limps fallen in the path—when she remembered she had nowhere to go, and she closed her eyes, wishing she’d been born a man.  She could have gone with the king, were she a man.  Coul have fought bravely and well, and won honors—a castle of her own, perhaps.  A wife, she thought, feeling a twist in her stomach as her cheeks flushed.  She imagined taking her helmet off after winning a tournament, and accepting a victory kiss from someone with dark curls and a sweet smile.

Or, she thought bitterly, she could have died.  Chosen to leap in front of the king, saving his life at the cost of her own.

Chosen.

The guard refused to return her reins, smiling as though she was a petulant child, and she rode along gritting her teeth and imagining him snapped off his horse by a dragon, his spine gleaming in the sun.  The dragon would steal her away, she hoped, imagining flying, when an arrow shot by her face, and all around her.  The guards yelled, their horses stamping and rearing, and in the confusion, she snatched her reins back.

“Guests in our merry wood!” came a voice, and Stevie jerked aorund, staring at the massive oak above them to see two women, one laughing, one with an arrow drawn, smirking faintly.

Of course they’re in trousers, Stevie thought vaguely, staring.  They could hardly have scampered up a tree in gowns with long daggered sleeves.  They were in command of the whole clearing, Guy of Gisborne, the sheriff, and his guards all staring in shock, and that was probably why Stevie’s heart was pounding, she thought guiltily.

“Welcome all!” yelled the one standing, holding the vines, as the one with the bow narrowed her eyes at Guy of Gisborne, Stevie’s current host.  Everyone aorund was muttering “Outlaws!  It’s her, it’s Robin Hood!”

“You won’t take the king’s ward from us!” yelled Stevie’s idiot guard, trying to grab her reins again, and she groaned inwardly, along with the guards around her, who groaned aloud.  She nudged her horse into sidling out of his reach.

“The king’s very own ward?!” the loud one called down.  “Welcome, my lady!  What fine neighbors these, to bring us not only the taxes, but the loveliest guest in all of England!”

“You’ll have to kill us all first!” yelled the daft guard, yanking his sword out, swinging it as though he could reach the women in the tree, and nearly beheading Stevie.  He nicked her horse’s neck, and it reared, whinnying in righteous indignation as arrows started flying again at the guard’s arm.  The other guards rushed at the people in the trees, who started swinging in on vines, and it turned into a melee.

Stevie clung to her horse like a burr as it kicked and reared and the guard swung wildly at the arrows, and then she heard a yell, and saw a flash of green behind and beside her as the louder of the two women swung down on her vine and kicked him off his horse.  She started to fall under their hooves, struggling to sheath her sword in the mess of horses, and Stevie grabbed her, grappling her close.  

“Hang on to me,” she hissed, and her rescuer did, locking strong arms around Stevie’s waist and panting in her ear as Stevie directed her horse out of the mess with her thighs and heels, and charged up the path, her whole body buzzing with the energy of the air before a thunderstorm.  Her horse galloped, finally, leaping the fallen logs with ease, and Stevie whooped with excitement and relief, laughing.  They galloped until her horse slowed, blowing and prancing, and sidling around as she glared out at the forest.  

“Good girl,” Stevie told her, patting her neck and panting, as her passenger slid her arms from around Stevie’s waist.  

“They’ll call us kidnappers, now,” she breathed in Stevie’s ear, her hands patting at the saddle as she tried to find purchase not on Stevie.  

Stevie reached around behind and pulled her closer.  “I’ll tell them you rescued me,” she laughed, turning to grin over her shoulder.  “He’d have beheaded me, in a moment.”

Her kidnapper had wide, blue-grey eyes, long eyelashes, and flushed cheeks, from close up, and Stevie laughed again at the gold in her curls, remembering the curls she’d fantasized sinking her fingers into moments ago, as the winner of the tournament, getting a kiss.  She was giddy, she thought, unable to stop smiling.  

“...I’m Billie,” said Billie, licking her lips, and grinning back, a little.  She was warm and solid against Stevie’s back.  “My lady.”

“Stevie,” Stevie panted.  “I kidnapped you, I think, more than the other way around,” she told Billie, gripping her hand, and tugging it back around her waist.  Her horse jerked her head up at a stream, and trotted towards it.  When it stopped to drink, Billie swung down, then, as Stevie dismounted, caught her around the waist.  

“Hello, princess,” Billie said, smiling.

“I’m not actually a princess,” Stevie confessed, reaching up to see how the curls felt against her fingers.  “I’m sorry.”  Billie’s lips were soft, she thought, against her thumb.

“Everyone knows who you are,” Billie told her, smirking a little, and leaning into her hand.  “Stevie,” she whispered, tasting it.

Stevie couldn’t stop thinking about all the things she’d known, until today, she couldn’t do, and she watched Billie’s half-lidded eyes, and her smile that looked like she knew something Stevie didn’t, and then just...threw her arms around Billie’s neck and kissed her.  Billie made an undignified snorting noise, then kissed her back, warm and breathless, and Stevie started laughing again, when she pulled back enough to breathe.  

 Billie offered to walk home, but Stevie didn’t want to leave her, just yet, not when she told such entertaining stories, and the blush over her freckles was so warm.  When they got to the camp, everyone was feasting.  Guy of Gisborne tried to apologize to Stevie at least six times, gripping her arm hard, but she shook him off, and kept walking away, following Billie to see the little school in a tent, and the still, and the treehouses.  

A weight drew them up on another vine—creaking as it swung them up through the air—Stevie’s arms around Billie’s neck to hold the rope, Billie’s arm around her waist.  They stepped off onto a swaying bridge of woven rope, and Stevie staggered.  Billie grabbed her, bouncing on the ropes so it shuddered, and Stevie yelped, but Billie laughed, pulling her close, and kissed her again.  

“You think I’d let you fall, Princess?”

“I think you might,” Stevie panted, her stomach somewhere on the ground below, but she followed Billie across the bridge to a little house chipped right out of the living wood of the tree, with a walkway all around it, and a shingled roof.  There was a cot, and a lute, and Stevie leaned to look down over the camp, hanging on to a tree branch dizzily.  “...I would never come down,” she whispered, and Billie laughed, her eyes widening again.  

“You feel right at home in tall towers?” she asked, and Stevie elbowed her, sighing.  

“When I saw someone coming to take me somewhere,” Stevie said, softly, so Billie had to lean in, “—I could cut the rope.”

 When they left, Robin Hood herself saw them off—Stevie at the head of the party, allowed to keep her small knife, and everyone else’s arms and armor loaded into a wagon, while they rode out of the forest in their smallclothes, escorted by the merry souls of Nottingham forest.  Billie grinned up at her, walking alongside them, and Stevie beamed back, then jerked her head forward so Guy of Gisborne wouldn’t write to the prince that Maid Stephanie had come unhinged.

 Two nights later, Stevie heard her name by the window, and ran to see Billie clinging to the vines.  “I see you do live in a tower, princess,” she panted, once Stevie had hauled her inside.  

“Why are you here,” Stevie whispered, delighted, and Billie grinned back, her eyes flicking towards the door.  

“I thought this was how it was done,” Billie whispered back, leaning in for a laughing kiss.  Her curls swung down from her shoulder, and Stevie tucked them back up over Billie’s ear.  She’d kissed winners of tournaments, on the cheek—dodging their attempts to capture her lips—but kissing Billie was nothing like that, all soft lips and quick smiles.  “I brought my lute,” she said, swinging it down over her shoulder.  “I’m no dab hand at poetry—”

“Ssssh!” Stevie hissed, laughing, and then she ran and barred the door.  “No poetry.  No music, you’ll be caught—”

“I meant to sing under your window,” Billie said, frowning over her shoulder, “—but I would fall in the moat.”

“Do not fall in the moat,” Stevie told her, giggling again, because she couldn’t stop, the glee of kissing Billie hitting the wave of fear of Billie found, Billie slashed in half for climbing her tower.  She grabbed her outlaw and hugged her, squeezing her like they were swinging through the air again, and breathing the smell of the woods, and the river she must have washed in, and a little perfume that smelled expensive, that she’d definitely stolen.  Billie arms were muscular, and Stevie’s hands fit comfortably at her waist, and around her hips.  

Billie leaned in to kiss up her neck, soft and a little wet, and Stevie leaned her head away, her hands everywhere, feeling Billie’s strong shoulders from climbing, and—daringly—cupping the softness of her chest.  Billie felt no hesitance there, sliding a hand down inside Stevie’s kirtle, and finally Stevie set her jaw, pulled away, and yanked her whole kirtle and cote off until she stood there in her chemise, so thin she shivered.  Billie stared back, and then laughed, her whole face reddening as Stevie drew her over to the bed.  

 “...I meant to bring you a rose,” Billie whispered, as they both panted, after.  “It fell.”

“I am glad to see you,” Stevie laughed, watching Billie’s fingers on her hip, where her chemise was rucked up to her waist.  “Rose or no rose.  Bring me a weed next time, and I’ll be just as glad—but you mustn’t come here again.”

“Why not?” Billie asked, her freckles shining with sweat, and Stevie leaned close to taste her skin.  

“You will die,” she whispered against it.  “Someone will see you, and you’ll die, and if I never see you again, at least I’ll know you’re in the trees, safe and well.  Better than than full of arrows, and drowned in the moat.”

“No one will see me,” Billie whispered, and Stevie pinned her.  

“Promise me,” she hissed.  “Promise me you won’t come again.  Billie, please.”

“There are promises I can’t possibly make,” Billie whispered back, smiling unsteadily up, and Stevie groaned, and let herself fall on top of her, and kiss her until she laughed again.  

 Billie came many times more, and they fell into bed easily, Stevie daring to undo her trousers—and try them on, afterwards, turning the shiny brass of her dinner tray to see herself from all angles.  Billy lay naked, smiling, the candlelight making her skin glisten, but her eyes were red. 

“...when are you leaving,” she asked, softly, and Stevie stopped, and walked over to press kisses down Billie’s side, until she giggled and kicked, and pulled Stevie down on top of her.  Stevie leaned on one elbow to kiss the slight softness of Billie’s stomach, and the curve of her breasts, and sighed.

“I am not sure,” she said, watching the muscle flex in Billie’s jaw, and kissing it in apology.  “You know I would stay, for you.”

“Stay for what,” Billie whispered, curling away, and swallowing hard, and Stevie curled around her, pressing kisses to her freckled shoulders, and then her neck.  “A house in a tree,” Billie said hoarsely, and Stevie stopped, remembering the way they’d soared up in the air, on the vines.  

“I would stay,” she repeated.  “...and they’d burn the forest to find me.”

Billie cried harder, and Stevie’s eyes burned.

 The next time she went into town—restless without Billie in her bed, and furious at herself for the longing in her kisses goodbye—she heard Billie’s name in the mouth of the Sheriff, and rode over, her veins running stiff and cold.  The hammering on the gallows sounded louder, suddenly, echoing like a gong.

She’d been caught holding up a tax payment, and everyone in the crowd was very quiet, whiteknuckled as the Sheriff took down the posters of Billie’s face.  Stevie walked forward and snatched one, clutching it close as she stalked back to the castle, her attendants running behind her as she ran up five flights of stairs to her room, to the seal of the king, and wrote a pardon.  She signed it, and sealed it, and hid the seal again, running back downstairs to give it to the sheriff—but he told her to see Sir Guy of Gisborne, and he laughed in her face.

“I am ward of the king,” Stevie told him, trying not to yell, or shriek, to stay calm and lovely, to get a man to listen to her, but he shook his head, smiling, and tossed the letter on the fire.  

“I know you looked on these outlaws fondly,” he told her, knowing the tax rates, knowing the prince was months from a rebellion by every barony in England, “—but we are harsh on lawbreakers, as we must be.”  He patted her cheek.

Stevie walked out, ordered her horse saddled, and then yelled “YAH!”, and took off at a gallop, ignoring the shouts behind her.  

It wasn’t hard to find outlaws, in the wood.  

She’d ridden barely a mile in when a voice ordered her to halt, and she drew her horse to a stop, even as it huffed, stomping in a circle, catching her nerves.  “I’m here for Billie,” she said, as loud and clearly as she could.  “Billie Hargrove.”

“Haven’t you heard,” the someone said.  “She’s hangin’ tomorrow.”

“No, she’s not,” Stevie fired back, gripping her reins.

 Robin Hood herself recieved her, sharpening the heads of her arrows.  

“How can I help?” Stevie asked, crouching next to her, and watching the others fletch arrows in silence.

“Haven’t you helped enough already?” Robin scoffed.  “She’s nearly been caught a dozen times, climbing your tower.”

“I told her not to,” Stevie whispered, her throat closing.  “What—what is the plan, how can I…”

“There is no plan,” Robin said, snorting softly.  Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen in the light from the fire.  “Do you have a battering ram for us?  A trebuchet?  Thirty or so archers can hardly take the Keep.”

“You can’t give up,” Stevie shouted back, aghast.  “You have to—”

“I can not get inside,” Robin hissed, whipping around to lift Stevie’s chin with the arrow.  “I am known.  I can blend with the spectators, and what then?  Watch her drop?”

“Blend with the spectators, then,” Stevie told her, grabbing her sleeve.  “Fill the crowds with—”

“And do what?” Robin asked, her eyes shiny in the firelight.  “What then?  Should we throw dung, Milady?”

“Your bows and arrows,” Stevie breathed, realizing.  “You can’t bring them inside.”

“We will attend, and keep vigil for an old friend,” Robin said, flatly, as her eyes spilled over.

“I will bring the weapons in,” Stevie told her, shaking her arm.  “I can help, I can—I will bring them.  Get me a wagon.  Bring me the king’s deer.”

“...what?” Robin asked, glaring at her.  

“I am the ward of His Majesty King Richard,” Stevie breathed.  “I am allowed to hunt the deer.  There will be a feast, for the hanging of an outlaw of Sherwood.  Put your weapons in a wagon.  Cover them with the deer.  I will get your weapons to you, inside the Keep.”

Robin stared at her, and then grabbed her arm, bruisingly tight.  “Bring me a wagon!” she yelled, her voice raw.  

 The three outlaws that joined her blended in well—Alanna Dale, the minstrel, whose flip responses to the guards made them laugh, a friar who brought them ale, well dosed with liquor from his still, that made a grown man stagger after only a few sips, and Much, who introduced himself as “the miller’s son”.  Stevie busied herself calling orders to everyone that contradicted the last orders she’d given, until half the courtyard was bringing her a litter, half bringing the kitchen to her to view the deer, and Much, Alanna, and the friar made off with the well-wrapped weaponry in the confusion.  

Sir Guy came to see her on her return, and raised his eyebrows at the deer, and Stevie nearly lost her head, gripping her sleeves from inside as he laughed.  

“So quickly does the female mind turn,” he said.  “Just this morning you were eager to save this outlaw, and now you celebrate her demise?”

“I offer proof I am King Richard’s ward,” Stevie shot back.  “Will you remember, now, and grant my pardon?  We can as well celebrate her release.”

He smiled at her, and patted her horse, and Stevie had half a mind to order her horse to turn and kick, but she gritted her teeth instead.  Guy of Gisborne watched her face, and then beckoned to the guards.  “Escort my lady to her room,” he said, smiling, "—and see she does not leave.  Her emotions are running high.”

Stevie gasped with fury, finally screaming all the thoughts she’d had at him, that he was a coward, and he’d die on the rope himself when King Richard returned and she could tell him all about the taxation, until he stepped forward and covered her mouth so hard her head smacked back against the wall, and she saw colors behind her eyes.  They threw her in her room none too gently, and then, they searched for the royal seal.

They didn’t find it.

Once they were gone, Stevie reached out her window, and tested the vines.  She left her hair down in a braid, unadorned, and her gilt overdress behind, and tied only her knife, the royal seal, and some money to her belt before tucking her long skirt into her belt, and swinging a leg out the window.

The first foothold she found yanked loose from the wall, and she bit back a scream, clutching the vines to her as her heart pounded, but the ivy was old and thick as her arm, and it held.  She was shaking with exhaustion by the time she could step onto the wall, and fall the dozen or so feet into the Keep.

 She could hear the crowd around the gallows, some jeering, some screaming—it was hard to tell through the noise.  She saddled her horse quickly, charging into the courtyard to see Billie with the noose around her neck, her eyes wide as they took in Stevie on her horse.  She smiled as the executioner pulled the lever, tears spilling out of her eyes, just as Robin’s arrow whooshed through the air with many others, and cut the rope.  The executioner fell, and so did Billie, stumbling forward to where Stevie could shout her horse forward and grab her arm, dragging her up alongside.  

Billie’s arms were tied, so Stevie hauled her into her lap, slapping her horse’s reins against her neck and kicking her sides for a burst of speed, and no one expected King Richard’s ward to commit a jailbreak, so Stevie and her prize galloped by the dazed, drunken guards with little more than a startled “Oho!”

They ran until the Keep was far distant, slowing only to a canter, as Billie laughed and cried, shaking in Stevie’s arms.  “You came for me,” she kept whispering, and then laughing, as though it was hard to believe.

“I always will,” Stevie told her, wiping her own eyes, overflowing from sheer relief.  She squeezed Billie’s shoulders to her, kissing her hair, and her forehead, and occasionally bruising her mouth with Billy’s skull, because of the long strides of her horse.  “You came for me,” she pointed out, and Billie laughed, finally untied after much struggling, and slid her arms around Stevie’s waist and back.

Billie guided her to the camp—deserted, with the attack on the Keep, so they sat and talked nervously at the fire, exchanging kisses and wiping each other’s tears, until Robin strode back in.  “You have to leave,” she told Stevie, and Billie’s arms tightened.  “They’ll summon armies.  With you here, they’ll ride to war.”

Stevie pulled Billie to her for one last kiss, and it was salty.  Stevie cleared her throat,  cleared it again, and then gave up and nodded, biting her lips together, before taking one last look at the little house in the tree, and the vine that led there, and Billie’s furious, teary face.

The road back seemed long.  Guy of Gisborne locked her in again, and she sat at her table wishing she’d heard Billie play the lute, or sometimes she embroidered, wishing to set the world on fire.  

She wrote to Anne—Nancy, her friends called her—the girl she’d once fantasized about rescuing from monsters, but Guy was opening her letters, she knew, so she barely explained.  Still, when they finally rode on from Nottingham—finally, she thought, both longing to ride on forever, and never see it again, and longing to turn ‘round and never leave—Nancy was waiting for her in her quarters, and Nancy had a plan.

“You must disappear elsewhere,” she said, and Stevie clutched at her hands, her breath catching in her throat.  “You must disappear in a way they’ll never trace to your outlaw,” she said, and Stevie let her go, because Nancy sometimes needed to pace as she planned.  This was one of those times.  “What if you were thrown from your horse?” Nancy asked, turning to face her.  “Riding alone?  My wetnurse is nearly family, and close enough to a doctor.  If she told Guy of Gisborne you’d died…”

Stevie grimaced, a little, imagining the king returning to such news, but the problem was his absence, after all.  “Do you think it would work?” she whispered.

“Say you’ll ride a wilder horse,” Nancy suggested.  “Then when you fall, you can leave on your own.”

“They may kill the horse,” Stevie pointed out, with a pang of guilt.

“Leave that to me,” Nancy said, and Stevie did, striding into the stables the next morning to snatch the stallion from the wide-eyed stablehand, and riding out into the sunrise.  

 When she rode back into the forest, her fine clothes traded for trousers, her face hooded, the voices didn’t recognize her, but they hailed her horse.  “There’s Billie’s girl!” one called, and another, “No, didn’t you hear, she’s gone and died,” and a third, “Is the horse a gift, then?”

“Take me to her,” Stevie yelled, too tired for politeness, and they realized who it was.  

Billie was by the fire, her eyes red and swollen, and Stevie swung off her horse and knelt beside her, gathering an entire weeping outlaw into her arms.  “You came for me,” she sobbed, her arms so tight Stevie gasped.

“I always will,” she laughed, pulling Billie over to the vine that led up and away.

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

[myblueeyedbuggers]

My Boys

Chapter 5

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Pairings: Reader x Steve Rogers (best friend) Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 1402

Warnings: Slow Start, Language.

Summary: After being abandoned by her parents in Brooklyn in 1929, y/n makes a living for herself by working for the Црни лабуд gang until she meets two boys in a back alley and her life slowing begins to change

Hi all, so this one is more of a filler chapter, I couldn’t leave it out and skip straight to my next idea cause to be honest the story wouldn’t of made sense and we would of been confused XD. But luckily for you all, because this ones so short I’m gonna upload chapter 6 tonight as well :) Enjoy Everyone!

-Third person POV

Pure terror filled with atmosphere the minute the little girls body hit the floor, blood seeped out of the wound and stained the floor as the two boys fell next to her, calling her name in a panicked frenzy. The police pried the two boys away from the younger girl, carrying her over to the nearby paramedic as the pair watched helplessly, guilt crushing the both from the inside. Different people flocked to her side, one placing a mask on her face while another lifted her shirt and applied pressure to the wound.

Everyone’s gazes followed her, watching with sad eyes as the ambulance crew frantically packed her into the van, suddenly the young girl started convulsing and thrashing around as a crew member rushed to the door and slammed it shut as the ambulance pulled away, the sirens echoing off the buildings as the van disappeared from view. The two boys left behind were inconsolable as they turned away from the scene and followed the path of the ambulance, ignoring the calls of the police officers attempting to console them.

-Time Skip

The doors of the hospital flew open, Mrs Barnes flew across the floor, her two sons in tow as her daughter and husband followed them, her eyes were red from all the crying she had done, her heart heavy with dread and worry for the sweet girl brought to her a few days ago. The news of her boys being involved in something so horrifically violent nearly gave her a heart attack, knowing that if it wasn’t for the young girl, then both of her sons would have died for no reason.

The amount of gratitude she felt her the younger girl’s actions was indescribable, her disbelief that this girl was so willing to sacrifice herself for a pair of boys she hardly knew was baffling Mrs Barnes brain in more than one way. She had to know that the girl was okay, not only for her sake but for the two boys behind her, neither had said a word since they told her what happened, both too consumed by their own guilt.

The rapid pace of her approaching footsteps grabbed the attention of the nearby doctors and nurses, all watched with wide eyes as she neared the reception desk, the look on her face implied that she meant business. “Excuse me, but could you tell me which room y/n is in? the little girl brought in with the gunshot wound? Please she a very good friend of my sons and I’m worried sick about her” desperation laced her voice as the receptionist glanced at the woman wearily, “That all depends if you’re inquiry as a family member or a family friend Ma’am”.  A shaky laugh passed through the lips of the older woman as she stared at the receptionist disbelief, “ I’m not related to her, but she hasn’t got any family coming to see her, we’re the closest thing she has to that, please she saved my sons life today, I just need to know if she’s okay” the older woman’s voice faded into a whisper as she fought back the tears, Mr Barnes stood next to her and wrapped a arm around his wife in an attempt to comfort her.

Seconds passed before the receptionist replied, “Y/n’s in surgery, the bullet shattered, the doctors are trying to find all the pieces, she’s suffered a lot of blood loss due to internal bleeding, but all our best doctors are in there with her. She’ll be okay Ma’am. Room 296 has been prepped for her, I’ll put you all through as family for tonight, but only tonight.” The older woman grasped the hand of the receptionist, whispering her thanks before following her family down the corridor to the little girl’s room.

-Bucky’s POV

It’s all my fault… if I hadn’t of been so stupid y/n wouldn’t be in this situation. Her eyes were haunting my mind, the way they glossed over as she fell, the amount of pain that showed in them was enough to slowly send me insane. What the hell was I thinkin’?! she was fine before I decided to play hero! she was safe, alive and well.

She could die because of me, that’s the worst part. Because of me and my stupid ego she could die, I’d promised to protect and all I’ve done is hurt her, she’s better off without me near her, why didn’t I listen to her? She told me time and time again to leave her alone, that it was too dangerous for us. If only I’d listened…“Stop it Buck” Steve’s voice broke me outta my pity party, my head turned towards him as he began to talk, “Stop blaming yourself, it’s not your fault how were you to know that this would happen? Hell, how were we both supposed to see this happenin’? I knew she said she was in some kinda’ trouble but I never thought it’d be this bad. This is on me Buck, I was the one who followed her into that fight, not you, me. It was my idea to go and save her, my idea that got her shot, not yours.” Steve’s eyes shone with tears, his head was facing the floor in shame, “No Steve, this is on both of us, I was the one who brought her back home, the one who wouldn’t leave her on her own, and if you’re gonna try play that card, I didn’t stop you when you walked into the middle of that fight, I followed you in. So, if anything it’s on both of us”.

We both shared a look, each of our faces mirrored each other as we came close for a hug, my hold on him tight and firm as shared my strength with his.

I hope to god Y/n has it in her heart to forgive us both

-Time Skip

Third person POV

3 hours later, the sound of approaching footsteps woke Mr and Mrs Barnes from their sleep, the 3 kids still sound asleep on the sofa, quietly both parents stood up and made their way outside. A team of a doctor and nurses were rolling the bed currently occupied by y/n towards them, the young girl was a pale as a sheet, the dark bags under her eyes practically glowed in the low light, bandages covered most of her midriff and dark bruising covered her nose. Mrs Barnes clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her cry, her head turned into her husband’s chest as he fought to hold back the tears at the sight of the young girl, the doctor approached them with a sympathetic smile as he held his hand out to Mr Barnes.

“Good Evening Mr Barnes, my names Doctor Miller, now y/n has lost a lot of blood, the bullet nicked the aorta artery, but we managed to stop the bleeding. We had to put her under some sedatives for the time being, she’ll be very weak for a few days and unfortunately, she’ll have to remain in the hospital for the next few days while we monitor her progress, y/n will need lots of rest while she’s recovering so anything you can do to help her would be apricated. Besides from a broken now and a few bruised ribs, she’ll be okay, just give her a few days to come around.”

“Thank you for this doctor, there’s no words to say how grateful we are” Mr Barnes then offered his hand to the doctor and shook it, his eyes reflecting the gratitude for the doctor’s actions and his relief for the little girl being okay. With one final nod, Doctor turned and joined the nurses leaving y/n’s room, both parents glanced at each other as they prepared to walk back into the room, neither wanting to see the young girl in such a horrible state.

Both parents opened the door and made their way to the young girl’s side, sparing a glance to the other children on the sofa and checking to see if they were still asleep, luckily all three were still out for the count. More tears slid down the face of Mrs Barnes, her hand gently grasping the little girls as her husband pulled her back into his chest, him too struggling to fight off his own tears.

So that’s chapter 5 outta the way, kept it short and not to sweet (Pardon the poor play on words there). Hopefully you all enjoyed :)Thanks for Reading!

Rose xxx

[statticscribbles]

Settle

Summary: Marvel; Daemon Au! The Black Widow doesn’t have a daemon

Natasha isn’t entirely sure why she’s letting the team play such an involved guessing game about her daemon. Clint and Angelica had already clued the team in that not even they know the gender; let alone a name; or rarer still what form the daemon takes. Everyone concludes that it is something small and hidden they joke about it being a spider as does everyone. It’s when Tony gets shot twice; when Natasha leads them down a hidden path to a barely standing house, when she fixes him on a table and the team rest waiting to be picked up; this is when she gives in slightly.

“Widow’s daemons don’t keep a form. A Widow must always change; they stretched our tethers until they almost snapped; kept us un able to settle. Or they force settlings to what they want.” Nobody says anything to ask her continue; it’s not until they make it back to the base; until they’re all safe, Toni resting on the massive couch everyone not admitting they’re not willing to leave him. She starts when the news dies down; no one comments about how scared she sounds, about how scared she must have been.

“It’ was a game at first; change into as many forms as you can; never settle longer than five minutes. Then it was training, you must be able to shift between seconds, between heartbeats; it is what will keep you safe. It was torture after that; do not settle into something obvious, keep your soul hidden keep your soul safe. Early settling was discouraged unless it was a hide able creature. Also hurt the daemon; never the person. You hurt the daemon, you hurt the soul you control them.” She hums and Tony grimaces Lila moving closer to curl over his chest. Natasha knows during his torture that even the threat of her being touched, being manipulated was enough to make him bow. “I can remember the other girls trying to get their daemons to settle smaller or to not settle in a form at all.” She shivers.

“We killed them for practice; we had to get used to touching other daemons.” “And yours?” Its Bruce who asks this Samantha curled around his neck as she always is. “I hope you never meet her.” Natasha grins the relief the team display at being given a hint of her daemon; same gendered daemons weren’t uncommon or as strange as many believed; the thought of never knowing Natasha’ of it being better to never see her soul was almost sicking.

Steve arranges the meeting; he calls Phil and Maria in, even Nick is there in hopes that Natasha will give in; will be more comfortable. Phil doesn’t comment and Judy sits looking pleadingly at Natasha. “I’m not; it is best if you never meet.” She speaks to both Judy and Phil. “We have to; it’s a security issue.” Phil starts looking strained as Natasha’s already shutting down.

Its two weeks after the failed meeting when Clint brings them to the farm; when they’re relaxing enjoying a full breakfast spread Steve devouring the seemingly never ending blueberry pancakes. “Clint.” Laura calls out and Clint sighs, bow in hand as the figure comes in holding Laura by the throat. “Let my sister go.” The man’s raven demon flutters over their heads. “You heard him.” The voice is soft and unknown; the mans daemon flutters towards the sound both the daemon and man screaming as a woman steps out, hand curled around the raven’s throat.

“Does not feel good does it? Pain is so easy to give.” The woman’s blonde hair falls in her face and she brushes it back squeezing her other hand tighter. “You will leave yes?” “Yes! Yes please don’t hurt Vanya anymore. Please.” “Will you stay away? Tell everyone to not come here.” “Yes! Yes I swear!” The woman smiles, before her fist tightens one last time the Raven crumbling into dust. “Good.” Nobody says anything and Laura moves to hug her in relief but Natasha pulls her into her arms before she can move to the blonde woman.

“Come we’re having breakfast.” The woman nods following Natasha and Laura, the rest of the team tense and ready to fight. Bruce offers the woman toast and she shakes her head. “I ate already.” “Take the toast Lena.” “You take it.” “I already ate.” “Maybe your daemon should have been a parrot.” Natasha smiles at the snark and the team watch as Lena leans over pulling pancakes towards the plate that had been given to her. “Since you won’t.” She laughs at Natasha who pulls the fruit bowl over. “This is Yelena; she’s another Widow. She came after me.” Natasha’s voice is soft and Yelena smiles at her like they’re sharing some sort of memory. “Your daemon? Do you know Natasha’s?” Tony asks eagerly. And Yelena grins at him watching Natasha as she speaks.

“I know of her daemon, she is very sweet. Just as deadly though.” “What is she?” “Has she not told you?” Yelena turns confused and Natasha scowls. “So you haven’t; you must care greatly for them Natkya to not burden them with the truth.” “It is to protect them Russkaya, nothing you need to involve them in.” “They care for you; otherwise they would not leave your soul alone. They would have found where she is hiding.” She hums and Natasha arches an eyebrow. “The pancakes are wonderful, try them.” She smiles and they watch as she moves half of it around on the plate before Natasha sighs pulling it onto hers. “You can eat you know. It’s awareness.” “I do not like to feel as you do.” “Lena.” Natasha’s voice is soft but Yelena accompanies them to the jet sitting at the edge of her seat barely touching Natasha and barely looking at the rest of the team.

“So do we have another black widow on the team now? Do we need to call Phil? What about nick? Or Maria? Does SHIELD need to know?” “No. SHIELD does not need to know.” Yelena snaps at him and Natasha freezes. “Lena.” “They do not need to know.” She repeats and Natasha tenses as Tony moves forward. “Tony; don’t, just;” Yelena grins at Natasha’s faint stutter.

“Wow you must care for your new family so much. Do they know of your nightmares Natkya?” Natasha shrinks slightly and everyone watches as Yelena’s grin darkens. “Oh you have not told them what became of your пыль?” Natasha shakes her head and everyone watches as she sighs.

“Sit. There’s more to the story. Our graduation ceremony; part of it involved cutting the tether; so it forced settling. I remember the girls screaming when they went into the room with the big knives, the blades they used to cut us apart from out souls.” Steve shifts uncomfortably as does Clint. “My Daemon, she had not settled; we were so good together; the best. The best the Red Room had seen. We would do great things they had said; at graduation they allowed me a treat; to choose how my daemon settled; anything I wished they would let me pick.” Everyone swallows at once. Natasha shakes her head.

“All I wanted was for them never to touch me again; never to hurt my soul.” She snarls and everyone stills. “I screamed when she settled, when she changed and warped her form over and over listening to what I had said, the only instruction I had given her; like all the other girls had screamed ‘change so they don’t hurt you.’ I was different; I was so much better than the other girls. I knew what I had to make my soul do; how I had to be better than the others. The Black Widow doesn’t have a soul. I had to make that true. “Change so they can’t hurt you.” I told her; I told her over and over even as they cut our bond as I felt it splitting and out connection growing weaker. Change so they can never hurt you.” Natasha breathes out her body shaking slightly Clint moves to touch her but Yelena beats him to it her fingers smoothing the shaking from Natasha’s shoulders.

“They never hurt the girls; only the souls. Change so they cannot hurt you.” Yelena echoes and the team can tell it is something she’s spoke to herself countless times.

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[freddiesaysalright]

Just Like a Woman - Part 8

A Roger Taylor x Reader Story

Summary: You and Roger were once in love when you were young. Only, he went on to be a rock star, and you went on to be a lawyer. Now, quite against your will, you’re representing him in his divorce.

Word Count: 3.3K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @moon-stars-soul, @im-an-adult-ish, @ixchel-9275, @jennyggggrrr, @zyanmaik, @mypassionfortrash, @a19103, @madeinheavxn, @beepbeephardy, @rrogerchxrm, @qweenly, @blisshemmings, @seasidecrowbar, @internationalkpoplova, @ellystone, @takemetoneverland420, @coffeexcigarette, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @thatpunkmaximoff, @angelkissys, @rocknroll-stolemyass, @simonedk, @anotheronebitesrogertaylor, @peterquillzblog, @mrfahrenhcit, @joseph-mozzerella, @theprettyandthereckless, @flick-ofthe-wrist, @johndeaconshands, @rogerandhiscar, @queenmaracasandlove, @sunflower-ben, @cubetriangle, @amy-brooklyn99, @scorpiogemini, @kiainspace, @itsabenthing, @bookandband, @makemeyourwife-loveofmylife, @grazessa​, @borhapqueen92​, @theonsasheart​, @vektorivittu​, @chanti-frn, @brianssixpence​, @dancingcoolcat​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Alright, I finally finished the next part! Again, sorry it took so long, it’s just been a busy time for me! Lots of fluff in this chapter before we get into some more drama coming up :)

Warning(s): None :)

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7

Part 8 here we go!!!

The first question out of Dominique’s mouth was where the children were. Roger assured her they were safe at home. Then he asked what everyone wanted to know. What had happened to her?

She explained once the doctor and nurses were in the room. The man she was on a date with was named Nick Sully. They met at a bar, had a few drinks, and flirted. He offered to drive her home. Once they were in the car, he made a sexual advance. When she refused him, he hit her. She hit him back. Then there was an intense struggle. Dominique said that he finally slammed her head into the car door and that was the last thing she remembered.

The whole time she spoke, you watched Roger. His frown deepened as his free hand clenched into a tight fist. His knuckles were white with the pressure. You could tell he was struggling to maintain his composure. You tore your eyes from his face and looked at Dom.

“Do you want to press charges?” you asked.

“I dunno…” she began. “I don’t want to see him ever again, and going through all that will be so...I dunno…”

“Dom -” Roger began, but you cut him off.

“Think about it,” you said gently to her. “It’s entirely your decision. Just do what’s best for you right now.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” she said. “I’m so tired. Is it alright if I go back to sleep?”

“Of course,” said the doctor. “Sleep as much as you want, and call the nurse if you need anything at all.”

He and the nurse smiled, nodded, and left. Dominique looked at Roger, who was fuming.

“I’m sorry, Roger,” she said. “I should have given you some idea of who I was with or I where I’d be.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he returned shakily. “This isn’t your fault.”

The corners of her mouth turned up in an almost laugh. “Alright then. Thanks for being here.”

“Of course,” he replied.

“We’ll let you rest now,” you said.

“Perfect,” she sighed. “And, Rog? Will you do something for me?”

“Anything,” he said.

“Will you go home?” she asked. “Be with the kids? Make sure they’re alright?”

“Are you sure?” he questioned. “I can stay, Verity’s got them.”

“I know, but they need their father,” she insisted. “I’m in good hands, Rog. Please.”

“Alright,” he said begrudgingly. “But I’m coming back tonight.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

You said your goodbyes. Roger cleaned up the mess from the salad before you left, and then, he walked with you to your office. You stopped outside the door and looked at him. He was still distracted.

“Roger,” you said, and he looked at you. “She’s going to be okay. The fact that she’s awake means everything.”

“I know,” he returned, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Then what’s the matter?” you asked.

“Her hesitation to press charges,” he said. “It’s like I said before, she can’t let him get away with this.”

“You can’t force her if it’s not what she wants,” you reminded him. “Although, the longer she waits the harder it will be to make the case.”

“I just don’t want this animal out on the streets,” he sighed. “Guys like that will do it again, I know it...”

You studied his face some more as he continued to speak. It seemed he had aged five years in the last two days. There were heavy bags beneath his red and puffy eyes. He had less color in his cheeks. New lines had appeared over his brows. 

“Y/N?” he said, bringing you out of your trance.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?” you asked. “I mean, really slept?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I dunno...I’ve dozed here and there at the hospital, but I haven’t gotten much rest with the staff in and out of the room.”

“Roger, go home and get proper sleep,” you said. “If you’re going to support Dominique through this, you’ll need all your strength. And your children need you too.”

He forced a smile. “You’re right. Thanks, Y/N.”

“Of course,” you returned.

He toed the ground with his shoe for a moment before meeting your gaze again.

“I know things between us are…”

“We don’t need to talk about this now,” you stopped him. “You and I are just fine, okay? There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Well, even so,” he said. “I won’t make the mistake of growing apart from you again. Come have dinner tonight at the house, yeah?”

You smiled. “Of course.”

He hugged you tightly. You watched as he hailed a cab, and waved to him as the driver pulled away. With a sigh, you went back in to work.

Roger felt heavy. His eyelids, his limbs, his heart. It was all weighing down as if he had sandbags tied to every atom. He was eager to get home and sleep. It was hitting him all at once how exhausted his body was from all the worry.

When he walked through the door, the house was quiet. He walked into the kitchen. The sound of his shoes padding against the tile sounded so loud.

“Hello?” he called out.

Verity appeared from the living room.

“Welcome back, Roger,” she said. “How’s Dom?”

“She woke up,” he told her. “So everything’s fine. Where are the kids?”

“They’re upstairs napping,” she said. “Sleeping like little kittens.”

He smiled to himself. “Right. Well, I’ll just go have a look at them.”

He headed upstairs to the nursery. The door opened with a light creak as he poked his head in. Rory was in her crib, looking peaceful, her little chest rising and falling with each breath. Roger took a moment to admire her face. Then he turned to see Felix in his bed, also sound asleep. He knelt in front of his son and looked at him as well. Felix resembled Dominique in his face. He had her forehead and nose. He had Roger’s mouth, but Dominique’s dark hair. These two babies were the most precious thing Roger had in his life, and now the woman who had given them to him was broken in a hospital bed.

He was hit with an overwhelming wave of gratitude. Yes, Dominique was hurt, but she was alive. She would see her children again. It made a lump form in his throat and his eye sting with hot tears.

Felix stirred and his eyes fluttered open. He saw his father in front of him, looking down at the floor.

“Daddy?”

Roger took a deep breath and blinked back the tears.

“Sorry, bud,” he said gently. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Daddy, awe you huwting somwhewe?”

Roger shook his head. “Not at all. These are happy tears. Mum’s getting better.”

Felix smiled. “Thank goodness.”

Roger’s own smile widened. “Yes, lovie.”

“Daddy, tiwed?”

Roger nodded. “Very tired.”

Felix scooted over and patted the little spot next to him. Roger chuckled and lifted his son out of the bed, crawled in and reclined on his back. He rested Felix against his chest. Felix snuggled down and let out a soft sigh as he drifted back to sleep. Roger followed behind. He could close his eyes at last.

When you arrived at Roger’s that night, he was already halfway through dinner. Rory was in her high chair, smashing Cheerios with her little fist. Felix was in a booster seat, drinking milk out of a sippy cup. He slammed it down excitedly when he saw you.

“Miss Y/N!” he cried. 

“Hi, Felix,” you said sweetly. “How nice to see you again!”

“Gabah!” Rory interjected, squirming in her chair.

“And hello to you too, Rory,” you said to her.

Roger walked over and set a plate of macaroni down in front of Felix. Then he looked at you.

“Hello, love,” he said.

He walked around his son’s chair and gave you a quick peck on the lips. You smiled into him.

“You’ve cheered up,” you observed as he returned to the stove.

“The doctor called about an hour ago and assured me that Dominique’s going to recover,” he said. “They ran a few more tests, and there won’t be any permanent damage.”

“That’s great news!” you cried. “Oh, Roger, I’m so happy!”

“Me too,” he sighed with relief. “I’m going to go back and be with her tonight, but I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am.”

“I bet,” you said. “So is Verity coming back to stay the night?”

He nodded. “Yeah, she’s been amazing. I will definitely be giving her a raise after all this.”

“She’s earned it,” you agreed. “Now, what’s for dinner?”

He beamed and proudly told you what he had made. It was delicious, of course. You ate together with the kids, and Roger let you feed Rory. She was very sweet and laughed a lot. You noticed how like Roger she looked - little tufts of blonde hair, big blue eyes, a button nose, and a wide smile. 

“Let’s clean you up, darling,” you cooed, dabbing at her face with a napkin.

She allowed it, drooling a little. 

“You’re so good with them,” Roger observed. “So natural.”

“I love children,” you replied. “And I’ve found that if you don’t look at caring for them as something scary, you’ll have an easier time of it. They’re not a challenge, they’re an opportunity to show some love.”

“Wise words,” he said. 

“There!” you told Rory, finishing up. “There’s a gorgeous girl!”

She beamed at you, her whole face scrunching up as she giggled. You wrinkled your nose back at her and chuckled lightly. Roger watched, feeling an ache in his heart. He found himself wishing desperately that you were the mother of his children. Life was so easy with you. How could he have ever thought he needed something else?

He was struck with this feeling throughout the evening. During bath time when you gave Felix a shampoo mohawk. Again when it was time to read them a story, and you made both the children howl with laughter at all the voices you did. And then, after he had tucked Felix in, he turned around and saw you rocking Rory in your arms and humming to her before kissing her head and laying her in her crib.

“Okay,” you sighed as you closed the nursery door. “Are you off to hospital again?” 

“Yeah, there’s just one more thing I need to take care of,” he said.

“What’s that?” you wondered.

“I need to kiss the bloody life out of you.”

He took your face in his hands and kissed you deeply. Your eyes fell closed in his embrace as he backed you up against the wall. His lips pressed into yours just as his body pressed against yours. Your head felt fuzzy and light. Your body grew hot from the friction. You whimpered into his mouth.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he breathed into your neck. “God, I….”

He pulled away and looked into your eyes. A fire surged behind his that you had not seen in a long time. 

“Yes?” you pressed, bringing a hand to his chest. You felt his rapid heartbeat beneath your hand.

“I love you,” he said. “I always have. And I think now I always will.”

A delighted smile spread across your lips.

“I love you too, Roger,” you said. “So much.”

He kissed you again, smiling against your mouth. You were just the same. Your heart swelled like a crescendo in a love song. This was how it was meant to be. You and Roger. Forever and ever.

But.

There was still a lot to consider.

“Rog,” you laughed as he nipped at your ear lobe. “Rog, slow down.”

He pulled back again to look at you.

“What is it, love?”

“We can’t do this tonight,” you told him. “You’ve got to go be with Dom, who you are still married to, by the way.”

He lowered his eyes, disappointed. You took his chin in your thumb and forefinger and made him face you again.

“This isn’t a rejection,” you assured him. “I want to. Believe me, I want to. But until your divorce is finalized, and things with Dominique are settled, we need to wait.”

He held your gaze.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his fingers brushing your thigh.

You shivered, doubting yourself for a split second. You shook your head and cleared your throat.

“Yes, Roger, I’m sure,” you said firmly.

“Well, it was worth a shot,” he teased, backing away from you.

You giggled. “I’ll stop by the hospital some time this week, alright?”

“Sounds good,” he agreed. “I know Dom would love to see you.”

“I’d love to see her as well,” you replied. “And we need to tell her about us.”

“Yeah, I agree,” he said. “We’ll tell her when you come.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What should we say?”

“We’ll tell her the truth,” he said. “That we’ve kissed twice and have decided to be together, but we’ll take things slow.” 

“Good,” you said. “And none of this in front of her, I don’t want to rub it in her face or anything.”

“Well, you weren’t so particular about kissing her in front of me,” he teased.

You snorted. “That was different and you know it!” 

You laughed together for a long moment. When you settled down, you held each other’s gaze.

“I really have missed you, Y/N,” he said, tracing your jawbone with his finger. “To have you back now of all times...it feels like fate.”

“You’ve never believed in that,” you reminded him.

“Nah,” he conceded. “You’re the one thing I really believe in.”

You smiled. “That’s very sweet, Roger. Thank you.”

As badly as you wanted to stay and give in to your desire for him, you knew you had to go. He ordered a car for you and walked you to the door. There, he kissed your forehead and said goodnight. It made you feel warm all the way down to your toes.

“Goodnight,” you returned softly.

He eased into a smile that was so reminiscent of his days as a teenager, it took your breath away.

Then, with one last embrace, you parted. You waved to him as the car pulled away, questioning yourself once again. You shook your head. This was the right decision.

A few days passed. Roger called you almost every night though, and he would update you on Dominique’s condition. Her bruises were healing, and most of her swelling had gone down. She had suffered a concussion though, so she would be monitored for a little longer.

You decided to go and visit on Thursday. You found yourself oddly nervous to tell Dominique about you and Roger. You knew that she understood, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d be hurt, at least a little. How could she not be? Now, when she needed her husband more than ever, he was in love with someone else. It made you feel guilty and a bit dirty.

“Knock, knock,” you said cheerfully as you entered her room.

“Hey, Y/N,” she said with a smile. 

“You’re looking much better!” you praised.

“Thanks,” she chuckled. “I’m feeling a lot better too.”

“That’s sensational!” you cried.

“Y/N, why are you shouting?” Roger questioned.

“Sorry,” you said, clearing your throat. “Just excited.”

“You’re nervous,” he observed, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“I am not!” you insisted. 

Dominique laughed. “Relax, Y/N. Roger’s already told me everything.”

“H-he has?” 

“Mhm,” she said. “And really, I’m happy for you both.”

You looked at her, brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

She giggled. “Yes, I’m sure. I may not be in love with Roger anymore, but I do care for him and I want him to be happy.”

You sighed. “That’s a relief.”

“I appreciate your concern for me,” she told you. “But you don’t need to worry. I want you to be happy too.”

You beamed at her. “Thank you, Dom.”

You took a seat beside Roger and you all chatted for a while. Dominique was desperate to know about the kids, but she didn’t want them to see her like this. She thanked you for helping Roger with them, and you assured her it was no problem. You were getting ready to leave and head back to work when Officers Colmes and Dotson appeared.

“Mrs. Beyrand?” said Colmes. “We’ve come to speak to you about your case.”

“Oh,” Dominique said. “What about it?”

“Well from the evidence on your dress and your testimony, we were able to arrest Nick Sully,” he told her. “But, we can only go forward if you’re prepared to press charges.”

You and Roger exchanged a nervous look. Up until now, Dominique had expressed a desire to let it go and move on, which infuriated Roger. You both turned eyes on her. Her mouth turned down with determination and her eyes were fierce.

“I want to press charges,” she said. “I want to get him.”

Roger released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. As Colmes began explaining to Dominique the next steps, Roger looked at you.

“You’ll represent her, won’t you?” he asked.

“Roger, I’ve already told you, I’m not a prosecutor,” you reminded him. “Bill was before he started the firm, so he might be able to help.”

“We’ll speak to him,” he said. “But, Y/N, you’re our friend.”

“I know, but that might make things even worse,” you said. “But I promise you will do everything I can to get you the best representation possible, okay?”

He frowned, but nodded.

You said quick goodbyes to them and rushed back to your office to speak to Bill. He would know the best person to take Dominique’s case, and then you could call Roger right away. You hurried through the lobby of your building and into the lift. You tapped your foot anxiously as it slowly moved up to the firm’s floor. As soon as the doors opened, you burst through them and ran up to Bill’s office.

“Bill,” you panted. “Who’s the best prosecutor you know?”

“Me, why?” he returned, looking up from the paper he was signing.

You decided not to address the narcissism of that reply.

“Then you need to take this case,” you said.

You walked up to his desk and sat in the chair across from him. You explained what had happened to Dominique and the basics of her case. He listened carefully.

“Well, it sounds like a solid case,” he said. 

“You can really take it?” you wondered. 

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “They’ve got money, they can handle this however they want.”

“But isn’t there a conflict of interest with our firm representing her husband in her divorce?”

“Again, they have money, and plenty of it, so they can literally do whatever they want,” he repeated. “What aren’t you understanding?”

“Just ethics,” you said, brow furrowing.

“Y/N, don’t be daft, ethics don’t exist in the courtroom, it’s about money and power,” he said with a wave. “Thankfully, we’ve got both.”

“Okay, I’m going to ignore that terrifying logic and tell Roger you’re taking it,” you said.

“I’ll need a second chair,” he said. “You want in?”

“I don’t think I’m qualified to -”

“Y/N, I’m gonna stop you right there,” he cut across you. “I hire excellent lawyers, do I not?”

“Yes.”

“I hire lawyers with a wide range of abilities, right?”

“Right.”

“I hire lawyers that are adaptable and capable, yes?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And I also hired you?”

You nodded.

“Then don’t ever fucking say to me that you’re not qualified again.”

“Bill, I -”

He held a hand up to stop you again. “Don’t ever fucking say it again. Now, are you second chairing this or not?”

You squared your shoulders. It hit you that you wanted to be a part of this. You wanted to defend Dominique and help put away the man who had done this horrific thing to her. Bill’s faith in you - as well as Roger’s - lit a fire inside you.

“I am.”

[barnesandco]

The Greater Good

Carrying the shield isn’t an easy job; it often requires a great deal of sacrifice, and that can be difficult for Bucky to come to terms with. 

Based on the “Where’s my supersuit?” scene from The Incredibles.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​​ 2020. Word count: 2044. Square filled: “Free Space”

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Mentions of injury, wounds, blood. Mentions of drinking alcohol. Mild angst, slight separation anxiety.

A/N: Idk what to say, y’all. I wish I had the decency to apologize for writing a fic I’ll probably regret posting instead of working on my WIPs, one of which is on hiatus bc I’m a lazy jerk, but such is life. Blame The Incredibles (which I’ve never seen -- I’m not sorry) and @samingtonwilson 's anon. Also, while you're there, go check out Taal's masterlist because she's an incredibly (pun intended) talented, amazing, fantastic writer and every. single. one. of her stories is a must-read.

Honeysuckle and mango, the scented candles on each bedside table flicker in the light breeze drifting through the open window, a sea of dark ink dotted with stars visible beyond. Late summer is cooling into autumn, and the leaves of the tree that shades their bedroom on hot days is slowly turning into an early shade of yellow-orange, that glints in the glow of streetlights to remind Bucky of the specks of gold that set Sam’s eyes alight like a September sunset. It’s been two weeks since Bucky’s seen those eyes, two weeks he's been awake before dawn with more worry than he knows how to run off.

He’s due back today, his husband, after a fortnight of radio silence thanks to a stake-out in the Canadian wilderness, in wait for a lucrative arms deal to occur, and for the team of Avengers to prevent. The mission had been called a day after Bucky broke -- no, shattered -- his arm during a drug bust in California, thereby disqualifying him from participation, and sentencing him to this torturous wait. A wait that has now, finally, come to an end. Almost. 

Bucky lets out a quiet sigh on his way back to the kitchen. Placing a second plate of homemade ravioli and the necessary utensils on a tray table, he returns to the bedroom, putting his food next to where Sam’s waits patiently. Wrings both hands, one made of metal, and the other with a cast on it. Any minute now, he thinks, pulling out the first aid kit from under the bed and putting it on the dresser, ready to use under the bright glow of the lamp next to it. The room is filled with soft light, the smell of pasta, and the ache of Bucky’s heart as he tries to quell the unreasonable nerves that tug at his diaphragm.

Nearly a year of falling asleep with the feel of Sam’s wedding band under the stroking of his thumb, nearly two of being intimately familiar with the texture of his lips, and nearly three of being perfect partners in combat and good friends out of it, yet Sam still makes him nervous. A good nervous, the flutter of nerves in his belly, Bucky determines as he paces the hallway, stopping in front of the mirror to push his hair back. Maybe he’ll ask Sam to cut it tomorrow, once he’s recovered. From his wounds and Bucky’s... affections.

The thought has only just crossed Bucky’s mind when the tap of boots alerts him to someone’s presence at the door. Keys jingle, but he’s too quick, already unlocking the door and throwing it open as Sam lifts his hand to the lock, where it, and the rest of him, freezes at the sight of Bucky, cheeks dusted with a rosy pink already. 

Words stay unspoken, and the sentiment of longing, of unimaginable relief is transferred directly from Bucky’s mouth to Sam’s. His metal arm rises to grip Sam’s suit-clad waist, and Sam’s gloved hands cradle Bucky’s head gently, so at odds with the pressure with which he seeks to draw forth pleasure. Soon, the kiss turns to open mouths, just resting over each other, elevated breaths colliding in the margin of air between them. Bucky breaks away with a sigh, arms around Sam, and forehead against his, eyes closed.

“I missed you, too, Bucky.” Sam smiles, split lip rasping over over Bucky’s, and he pulls back to look at him. Keeps ahold of his hand as he leads him to their room -- taking note of his limp -- and silently begins to peel the suit off his husband’s tired, burdened shoulders. Sam’s sees the trays on the bed and raises an eyebrow at him in question, but Bucky’s spotted the gauze covering the lower left side of his ribs.

“You were shot,” Bucky says lowly, kneeling, and bringing the first aid kit with him to the floor, unfortunately too used to this sort of thing to really be fazed by it. Besides, he doesn’t want to waste any time chewing Sam out for getting hurt, not when he can be sitting next to him with good food and even better laughter, something sorely needed after ages of quiet. He’ll allow the delay in those plans for their evening just enough to redress the wound that has started to bleed through the bandages.

Sam shrugs with the confident nonchalance of someone who knows he isn’t getting told off. “It happens,” he says with a grin. “What’s with dinner in bed?”

“Thought you’d be more comfortable,” Bucky answers. “And we can get down to business quicker,” he quips, ignoring the scoff elicited, as they’re both well aware that Sam’s in no condition for such at the moment.

While Bucky starts cleaning the blood that has seeped out through his staples, Sam takes off the light chain that carries his wedding band, and puts the ring back in its rightful place, on his fourth finger. By the time he’s reached for a shirt in the dresser next to him, Bucky’s done, and he stands so Sam can lean on him while he puts on his favorite pair of sweatpants.

“Hurry up, old man, the food’s goin’ cold and I worked real hard on it,” Bucky says, getting Sam settled in so he’s leaning on the pillows against the headboard, and pours him wine. 

Sam’s eyes widen, shocked. “Old? You’re one to talk.”

“At least I can walk straight,” Bucky retorts, and Sam gestures towards his stomach.

“I was shot.”

“And whose fault is that?” Bucky jokes, and Sam’s mouth snaps shut, his shoulders shudder to contain the building amusement, until they both burst into laughter. Bucky watches Sam’s eyes scrunch tightly shut as he laughs, and he lets the sound spill into his soul like an essence of life. It’s been a while since he heard it, and it sounds just as sweet, as effulgent, as he recalls. 

Recovering from the outburst, Sam breathes slowly, trying not to laugh again. “Okay, alright, I’m sorry. You’re not old, you’re just--” he bites his lip, and Bucky tries not to wince in anticipation of the wound on his lip reopening. “-- mature.” He smirks at him, and Bucky rolls his eyes, putting another piece of ravioli in his mouth. The room goes quiet, and they relish the food and each other’s company. Bucky drinks in the content, relaxed features of Sam’s face. He’s radiating goodness, and that energy that can only be described as unapologetically Sam. 

The golden, shining bubble of a moment is burst by Sam’s phone ringing outside, from the chest of drawers in the entrance, and Sam gives him a look, before going to retrieve it. Bucky recognizes the Captain-voice Sam’s using on the phone, making the gears start to turn in his head, a process that results in him going to pick up the shield lying next to the bed, and hiding it behind their tuxedos, the ones they wore to their wedding, in the closet. Luckily for him, Sam’s call ends just as he’s gotten back to bed, half-eaten plate of pasta in front of him like he never moved.

Bucky’s gut instinct was right. Nobody could have any reason for calling Sam at this hour with the exception of Nick Fury. “Robbery on 9th ave. They’re using Chitauri energy cores,” he says, pulling off the loungewear and putting the suit back on. Zip, boots, gloves, and then--

“Where’s my shield?” He asks, turning to look around the room. “I put it right here.” Sam looks at Bucky and he averts his gaze.

“I don’t know,” he says, entirely unconvincingly, and Sam clenches his jaw in understanding, putting his hands on his hips in wait.

“Bucky.”

Bucky traces the gold veins running along his metal arm. “What?”

“I need my shield,” Sam says softly, stepping forward.

“Why?” It’s Bucky’s turn to put his hands on his hips, and Sam throws his in the air in frustration. Bucky tries to avoid thinking about the veins that protrude along his neck at the movement. This is not the time, Barnes, focus. 

“Why? What do you mean, why?”

“Ask them to send someone else! I've been waiting to see you for two weeks. You can't just leave again.” But Sam’s already on his way to the closet, rummaging, searching first through an unhealthy amount of running shoes -- Bucky’s new vice -- and then his outrageous collection of compression t-shirts. 

“The public is in danger, Bucky,” he says, voice muffled from the closet. 

"My evening is in danger," he replies, crosses his arms and leans in the doorway. 

“Come on, man. I have to go. For the greater good and all.” He looks up from the underwear drawer to send a pleading expression Bucky’s way, and Bucky fixes his glare on a spot on the wall above Sam’s head. Aims his next words at that spot, too.

"”I'm your husband. I'm the greatest good you're ever going to get,” Bucky responds sharply, but Sam continues searching, and soon, Bucky drops the act. “You're injured, Sammy. You're not well enough to go,” he says, pushing off where he’s leaning and stepping forward. Somehow, he lets his arms uncross and clench slowly at his sides, fists that he works to reopen, feeling the stretch of tendons accompany the strain in his voice. Sam helps, taking a hand in each of his, thumb sliding over the base of each of his fingers. The knuckles of his broken arm are covered in plaster, and the metal one whirrs, almost purring. 

“Bucky, look,” Sam says, voice so quiet it’s like he’s relaying a secret in a crowded room, rather than an explanation in an empty one. “I know it's hard, and I'm sorry, but you know that this is what the job takes.” Bucky watches Sam press his mouth thinly together, tries to ignore the logic he knows is present in his partner’s words, but Bucky was never one for ignorant bliss. He’s making an ineffectual effort to suppress the natural conscious that’s telling him to send Sam off, and it isn’t sustainable. “I'll be back before you know it.” Sam’s smooth, low timbre pierces the conflict Bucky is striving to resolve, and the turmoil, the unreasonable bid to restrain Sam from leaving settles like dust after a sandstorm.

Sam’s hands tighten around Bucky’s and he can feel the pulse in them, in the safe, warm skin the touch of which is his home, the surface that brings him back to Earth no matter where his head is going. However, now, Bucky lets go, and retrieves Sam shield. Gives it to him without another word, and accepts the grateful nod of thanks.

He’s almost to the door, Bucky trailing a few steps behind -- resolutely brushing aside the analogy of lost puppies -- when he stops and turns. Gives Bucky a look that would be abstruse if not for years of conversation, of moments that enable Bucky to tell that Sam’s frown, the shine of his eyes, that anxious hand running along the edge of his shield, means only that he’s reluctant. Bucky’s hunch is proven right when Sam comes forward to stand toe-to-toe with him, eyes locked on his.

“Thank you. I’ll be home soon,” he says, leaning to place a kiss on his forehead. Just a touch, a whisper of reassuring force, before he’s moving away again, eye contact only broken when he leaves the threshold of their house, stepping outside.

Bucky holds the back door and watches him deploy his wings. Sam traces a flight path on his arm panel as Bucky looks on, watching the lights shine on his skin like shimmering topaz, beautiful, glowing, alive, and prays that he’ll return to him that way. Again. 

Once he’s done reading mission details and ready to go, Sam looks up again, eyes dancing with mirth and adoration, the former of which he voices in a joke that is meant to disguise his concern for Bucky, even though he’s the one leaving for battle. “Don’t wait up for me. You need your rest, grandpa,” Sam calls, laughter trembling in his throat, taking off in a flash of red, white, and blue. 

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine Advent Drabble 2020 - “Sweet De-feet” (Rated PG13)

Summary:

Twas the night before Christmas, And all through the house, Not a creature was stirring 'cept two grown men And about a thousand ants ... Or, the story about why the thought of his daughter growing up made Blaine pour icing sugar all over the floor. (1131 words)

Notes: Written for the @klaineadvent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'careless'. Sort of follows the one-shot I wrote for @klainetober "Scorched Earth". You don't have to read that one to understand this one. It just happens to go into the start of the 'ant war'.

Read on AO3.

“Blaine …!”

Fssst!

“I know, I know!”

Fssst!

“If you know, why did you do this?”

Fssst!

“I saw it on Pinterest. It looked like a fun idea.”

“There’s your first mistake,” Kurt grumbles, swatting at his arms when he feels tiny feet race along his skin. "Pinterest is evil."

“It’s Christmas Eve! I got excited!” Blaine turns abruptly, burying his head into the crook of his arm when the cloud of Raid Kurt sprays sends him into a coughing fit. “I may not have been thinking very clearly.”

“You think!? We still have an entire FAO Schwartz worth of presents to wrap! Instead, we’re in the kitchen battling ants because you invited their buggy asses in!”

Fssst!

“It’s not like I scooped them up by the handfuls and carried them inside!”

“No, you did the next best thing! You poured icing sugar all over the damned floor! Sugar, Blaine! That’s pretty much all ants eat!”

Fssst!

“It’s not all over the floor! They’re footprints. They’re supposed to be … Santa’s … footprints …” Blaine explains, backing down in the face of his husband’s rage.

His completely reasonable rage.

“We have been fighting ants all summer! There are a dozen things in this house you could have used instead of sugar! What possessed you to do something so … so careless?”

Blaine sighs. He sets his can of Raid on the kitchen counter, then leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest like an embarrassed kindergartner. “Tracy.”

“What about Tracy?”

“She’s six.”

Kurt puts his own can down, waiting silently for the rest of it. He’s already reached the end of his rope. He’s hanging on by his fingernails. It’s too late at night … correction - early in the morning! … for this conversation. “Yes, and …?”

“And she’s not going to believe in Santa for too much longer. In fact, I’m not entirely convinced she does now. She probably writes her letter every year and puts out cookies to humor us.”

Kurt nods, joining his husband against the counter. He’s gotten that feeling as well. Not for any big reason. It’s not like she’s sat him down to have “the talk”. Her eyes still light up at the mention of Christmas, she’s still as excited as ever to partake in all of their holiday rituals. But it doesn’t feel the same as it used to. It doesn’t have the same energy. He doesn’t know if someone at school clued her in or if she figured it out on her own. 

But something has changed. 

“That’s a possibility,” Kurt agrees.

“Cooper’s the one who ruined Santa Claus for me,” Blaine says with the subtlest of sniffles, the slightest brush of a fingertip underneath his eye. Whatever he’s feeling - fear, nostalgia, melancholy - he’s hiding it from Kurt. Badly. “Told me about him when I was four.”

“I thought Cooper might have something to do with this,” Kurt teases, even while, deep inside, he seethes. They won’t be seeing Cooper or any of their family this year because of the pandemic. It’s going to be a Very Merry Facetime Christmas for the Ander-Hummel household and their extendeds. But next time they get the chance to see one another face to face, Kurt plans on spiking Cooper’s whiskey sour with something that will give him the shits for a week.

“Did you?” Blaine says dryly. “And why’s that?”

“Because Cooper’s an ass, that’s why! You’re a saint for putting up with a third of his crap!” 

Blaine snorts humorlessly. “Weren’t you the one with the huge crush on him in high school?”

“Yeah, well, that was before I met him, talked to him for longer than a minute. The shine of the whole Free-Credit-Rating-Today-dot-com-slash-savings thing wears thin after a while. I’d say I ended up with the better of the Anderson brothers. Definitely the one with the nicer rump.” Kurt bumps Blaine with his shoulder, trying to coax a laugh out of him. He doesn’t get one, but he gets an arm around his middle, accompanied by one of Blaine’s lingering squeezes. And despite the fact Kurt imagines the two of them are being scaled like a monolith by microscopic intruders, he’s willing to stay as long as possible in the warmth of Blaine’s embrace.

“I just want her to be a kid for as long as possible,” Blaine says. “That’s all.”

“She’s six. She’s not going to get a job tomorrow and move into a high rise. We have time.”

“But it will happen. Everything is going by so fast. I feel like I blink and she’s another year older, another foot taller. I don’t want childhood to be one of those things that disappear in the blink of an eye while I’m racing to catch up, wondering where it all went.”

“I know.” Kurt curls into his husband’s side and kisses him on the top of his head. “I understand. I feel that way, too. Tracy and I … we’ll sit down to play together ... we’ll talk and laugh, and before I know it, an hour has gone by. And I start thinking - is every moment with her going to be like that? Just fly by? Then I take a deep breath, close my eyes, count to ten. I try to slow down and take it all in.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just like that.”

“You and I are in the privileged position to take a break from life during these hectic times and focus on our little girl. So let’s remember to do that a little more often. Okay?”

“Okay,” Blaine says with another sniffle.

“Okay,” Kurt repeats. And as much as he would love to stay snuggled in this moment with his husband all night, he feels something scurry up his inner thigh, in danger of becoming too intimately acquainted without the courtesy of buying him dinner first. “Come on, Saint Nick,” Kurt says, smacking his leg. “You sweep up the sugar and the ant corpses. I’ll get some Plaster of Paris from the closet, and we can re-do these footprints.”

“Really?” Blaine says with relief, as if his husband offering his help in this matter might push back the clocks, halt the outcome he feared, for one more year.

“Really. Let’s save the icing sugar for decorating dessert.”

“That’s right,” Blaine says, wiping a few traitorous tears on the shoulder of his shirt, hoping his husband doesn't notice the dark marks. “I can't stop thinking about all the cookies you made, and that three-tiered cake …”

"You know what I can't wait to put icing all over and devour?"

"What's that?"

Kurt grabs his husband by the waist and pulls him close. He kisses him on the cheek. Then he pinches his butt. "You.”