#but then I caught a cold and have been bed ridden but I’m ready to take on the world just lemme at em

[styleandcheek]

Went to LIB this weekend! I think it got me out of my funk and into funky townnnn

[camryn-haitani]

Hey I was wondering if you'd do a virgin reader with Sam or Colby

YESSSS

First time, honey?

colby brock x reader

TW: SMUT, virgin reader, p in v sex, dom colby, cursing, random names for your friends, fingering, pet names (sugar, darling, princess, doll), praising, gentle dom colby, reader has no idea who colby is (but he’s not an asshole about it), flirty colby, alcohol intake and mentions, often consent checks, lube use, condom using (wrap it before you tap it), after care king 👑

lowercase intended

i hope you don’t mind i did colby🫶🏻

“girl, just come with us. you’ll have fun, we’ll make sure of it.” jessie said. “you know how i feel about parties and stuff like this.” i said unsure. me and parties don’t really mix well together, like water and oil.

“pleeeeeeeeeeaase.” adrianna pleaded with those sad puppy dog eyes. “ughh fine fine. lemme get dressed.” i said while getting up. “oh hell no,” jessie pushed me back down on my bed, “we are picking out your dress.” she wagged her finger at me. “you haven’t been to a party like this in years and you think we’re gonna let you pick out your dress? that’s funny.”

after they dolled me up and did my makeup, we were ready to go. adrianna ordered an uber and we went off to the address that the party was at.

we all arrive and step out of the car. adrianna tipped the driver 20 bucks and drove off. i almost tripped over my heels but luckily jessie caught me. we walk in and immediately jessie goes to get us drinks to loosen up.

we dance, we drink, we have a good time. until this guy bumps into me, spilling my drink on my dress.

“shit, i’m so sorry,” he turns around, “here lemme help you and then i’ll buy you another drink.” he takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. i honestly don’t care if it’s the men’s bathroom, i’m sticky, i’m cold, and i’m wet. “i’m so sorry.” he starts to wipe my legs from the alcohol. “it’s fine, really. parties are not my thing, i knew i never should’ve went with them.”

he stands up to face me and his blue eyes pierce right into mine. my heartbeat quickens as my palms get sweaty. his tattoo ridden hand gives me a paper towel. “i figured you’d wanna get your chest and stomach yourself.” he lightly laughed. “thank you, i appreciate your help. by the way,” i start to wipe the front of my chest, “what’s your name?”

he looks at you, dumbfounded. “a-are you for real?” i look back up at him, “yeah?” i continue to wipe the front of my dress as he just stares at me with confusion. i finally had enough of it and asked, “dude, what’s your problem? are you a famous youtuber or something?” “yes! yes i am!” he nods his head.”

“you still didn’t answer my question.” i throw away the towel. “colby. colby brock,” he answered, “you?” “y/n. y/n l/n.” “ahh pretty name for a pretty girl.” colby takes my hand and kisses the back of it. normally i’d be disgusted by a random guy kissing the back of my hand but i find it charming.

we walk out of the bathroom and we stop to talk in the hallway the bathrooms were at. we talk and talk and talk about random shit that’s happened. i don’t know but i feel like i can easily tell him anything and everything.

“so then after that, i-,” my phone starts to ring, “sorry gimme a second.” “take your time, sugar. i don’t mind” he says.

i answer the call and i put it up to my ear- “GIRL WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!” the yells of jessie blare through my speaker. “up. your. ass.” i joke. “girl this ain’t the time to be joking! we’ve been looking for you.” adrianna says worryingly. “ok ok im sorry. this guy named colby accidentally spilled my drink on my dress and he offered to help clean me up and after that, we’ve just been talking.” they pause. a loooong pause. “adrianna.” jessie sternly says. “yes ma’am?” i can almost hear adrianna saluting. “check colby brocks insta story.” “yes ma’am.” adrianna obeys.

“OH MY GOD.” adrianna exclaims. “HE’S HERE.” i look over at colby and he playfully shrugs while looking at the ceiling. ‘so he’s famous famous. gotcha.’ i think to myself.

“WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW?!!” jessie screams.

colby then snatches my phone. “we’re by the bathrooms.” he said and hung up. “why’d you do tha-?” i was about to ask. “let’s sneak out the back way.” he grabs my hand and leads me out the back exit.

he brings me to his car and opens the passenger door for me. “thank you.” he politely nods and gets in the drivers seat. i assume he’s taking me to his house but who knows? this handsome ass, and apparently famous, guy is taking me somewhere. why complain.

we pull up to this amazing looking house. colby turns off the car and opens the door for me once more. “thank you, sir.” he smiles and closes the door. i can feel my phone aggressively buzz from texts and missed calls from my friends but i ignore it. ‘i’ll tell them later.’

colby jogs in front of me and opens the front door and almost bowing as i go inside. i giggle at his actions and wait for him to come in with me.

colby plops down on the couch and lets out an over exaggerated groan. i laugh as i sit on the edge of the couch. i moved over to let me fully sit. he crosses his ankle over his other knee and looks at me. “you can sit closer, doll. i don’t bite.” colby winks. i playfully roll my eyes as i push my back against the leather couch and move over next to him.

he puts on a random show and we watch it together. i’m fully invested in the show when i feel a hand on my upper thigh. i glance at his move and think nothing of it. until, he starts moving up and down, getting closer and closer to my lower hip.

at this point, my legs were over his and my shoes were long gone. colby grabs my ankles and pulls me to the end of the couch.

“i keep making lil moves at you and you act like im not even here.” he fake pouts.

‘how do i tell him i’ve never done this before?’ i gulp the knot in my throat.

“uh-uhm… i uh..” i can never get the words out. his face contorts as it looks like he just realized something. he leans back on his feet. “have you ever done anything like this before?” he asks softly.

i swallow another knot in my throat and shake my head as a quiet ‘no’ passes my lips. he sweetly smiles and picks me up bridal style and walks to what it seems like his bedroom. colby gently lays me down as his hands graze my hips as he stands himself up.

“now princess, i’m gonna ask you this and if you say yes, i’m still going to ask you throughout it all, ok?” he reassures. i nod my head. “no, i need your verbal consent, princess. do you want this?” “yes i want this.” i say. “lift your hips.” he asks and i do just that. he hikes up my dress to my mid stomach so he has access to me.

colby slides down my panties and the cold air makes me hiss. he opens his drawer and gets a good bit of lube on his fingers. he breathes on the cold substance to warm it up for me. “are you ok?” he checks. “i’m ok.” i answer.

he slowly glides his fingers up and down my now cold clit and puts one finger in. i jolt from the unknown sensation of his finger in my pussy. colby steadily pushed his fingers in and out until i was getting used to it. his other hand made it to my clit and his two first fingers lazily touched my clit. “you’re too tight, darling. you’ve got to relax.” he calms me.

with more and more touches of his fingers on my clit and the slow pace of his other finger pushing in and out of me, i feel like i can enjoy the pleasure he’s giving me.

i whine as he slowly pulls out. “relax, sugar. we’ll get to your reward.” he unbuckles his jeans and drops them down on the ground. colby takes out a condom and rolls it to the base of his cock. he takes my hand and lifts me up to sit up right. colby carefully slips my dress over my head and carefully discards it somewhere safe so it doesn’t ruin.

“again, do you want this?” he asks. i appreciate his care and thoughtfulness to me considering it was my first time. it makes my heart warm and tingly. “i want this.” i answer. “i’ll go slow until you’re ready, princess.” colby lines up his tip with my pussy and slowly just puts it in. i gasp and hiss from the pain of being stretched out. “are you ok?” he asks concerned. “i’m ok, i’m ok.” i reassured him.

i finally adjust to his size and let out little whimpers and whines. “move…please.” i said. colby slowly puts more in and i’m almost ready for all of him.

i adjust more and more of him until he’s fully in. he looks at me like he’s almost asking for permission to move more. “please go slow.” i plead. “i will, darling.” he kisses my forehead and pulls out to where his tip is only in and slowly pushes it back in me. he does it a couple more times until im ready for him to move faster.

colby gets a good faster pace going and it gets me moaning and wanting more. i’m already on the verge of orgasming and i can’t control it. i try to warn him but the words don’t come out. he hears my struggle with my words and speaks for me. “you gonna cum, princess?” i only nod.

within a few more thrusts, we both toppled over the edge cumming together. colby slowly pulls out, carefully takes the condom off, and throws it away. he goes to the bathroom and runs a warm washcloth over my face, chest, and anywhere else that has sweat or lube on it. he then runs out of his room to get my phone and some water, which i chug down. colby gives me some of his comfy clothes to sleep in and an extra phone charger.

i open my phone to almost 100 messages from my besties group chat.

The Girlies‼️🫡

adri: GIRL WHERED YIU GO

jess: they fucking

adri: nuh uh

jess: wanna bet?

adri: 30 bucks???

jess: yes

1 hour later

you: hey guys

adri: so

jess: whatdya do??

you: oh…. yk😉

jess: CASH APP ME RN

adri: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

- - - - - - -

i’m very sorry for the delay but here it is

[p0orbaby]

Snowman

a/n: winter is finally here in the uk so this seems apt

warnings: language, illusions to sexy stuff

word count: 598

-

For anyone that may be watching you from the windows of the Red Keep, they would most certainly have a furrowed brow and whispered insults on their tongue. Yet you paid no heed to the opinions of servants, or even those of the members of court held about you. A day like this comes only once in ten times as many winters in the capital, you weren’t going to squander it for fear of judgment.

Your laboured breath fogged up the air around you as you pushed with all your might. Hairs that were once tucked neatly within your braid, now loose and sticking to the sides of your clammy forehead. You’d forgotten how much work something like this actually took.

It wasn’t until a small hand placed itself upon your shoulder that you realised how focused you were on your task. Not even the crunch of snow underfoot behind you piqued your senses.

“Y/N, my love, what are you doing out in the cold?”

Stretching from your crouched position you turned to find Rhaenyra bundled in long furs and a concerned look maring her sleep-ridden features.

“Making the most of the weather, dear. Do you not see what we are surrounded by? How often do we get snow in King’s Landing? Never! I’m not going to waste the opportunity”

“And what opportunity would that be? To get sweaty and catch a chill? Grand Maestor Mellos has already caught wind and gotten his tinctures on standby”

“All the best things get you sweaty” you stated as you pressed your front against hers, rubbing your hands up and down her arms slowly. “Sparring, winning wars, love making”

“And making men from snow?”

“Looks like someone is a fast learner”, you leant in and gave her a quick peck on the lips before you stepped back and continued rolling the body for the most recent addition to your snowy host.

“You’ve been out here since daybreak. Why don’t you come back to bed? You can carry on later”

“And risk the sun erasing my hard work? Maybe Mellos should get some tinctures ready for you instead, sweet girl”

Rhaenyra let out a quiet huff at your stubbornness and lack of proximity as she watched you push a sphere of ice and twigs around the training yard. It was admirable really, your determination to never lose touch with your childhood. But if she was being honest, her mind had wandered slightly in the few minutes she’d been out here. And seeing you like this had definitely changed her motivations to get you back inside.

“I was thinking. Maybe the boys could fit in an extra lesson today. Their High Valyrian needs some work and I know Jace is pushing to get better”

“Haven’t they already had enough lessons over the last few days? They should know the full history of Westeros without so much a stutter by now” you shouted over to her with a grunt.

“Mayhaps, but it means you and I would get some time alone. If you understand my meaning”

With one final push and a triumphant lift, the head was finally atop the body of what looks to be your third creation.

“If you want me to fuck you Rhaenyra, speak it plainly” you stated offhandedly whilst you stalked around the mounds of snow, inspecting it to the ends of the known world and back. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring”

Luckily her skin was already pink from the cold, otherwise she’d be embarrassed at how fast her face heated up at being found out.

[willwriteforhugs]

just a sniffle!- hwang hyunjin

boyfriend! hyunjin x reader- one shot !

word count: 1.6k

genre: fluff, domestic scenario

synopsis: after your boyfriend comes home from a long day, you swear you can detect a scratch in his throat... but he insists he’s fine. fast forward 12 hours, and hyunjin is practically bed-ridden with fever. and now what...

warnings: sickness/a high fever (obviously), minor cursing

a/n: this prompt was requested by an anon!! i hope i didn’t take too long to put this out- it takes me forever to edit when the fic in question is a request, because i just want it to be perfect :’) anyways, to my lovely anon: thank you for the request, and i hope you enjoy!

- - -

earlier, when hyunjin had told you he’d be able to get off early, you’d been over the moon- it was a rare occurrence, after all. your boyfriend has- as many idols do- an extremely hectic schedule, with practices often going late into the night. so when he’d said the two of you would be able to spend the evening together, it had taken all your self-control not to start cheering right then and there. but you had managed to stay calm- and still devise a thorough, detailed plan of how the night would go.

you would make dinner, and it would be ready by the time hyunjin got to your place- because who doesn’t love being welcomed by a warm meal? then, after you eat, hyunjin can run and get cleaned up while you do dishes. when that’s all done, the two of you can get down to business by binge watching all the drama episodes you’d missed. (you never watched them without him, even though you usually fall way behind in the show, due to his lack of free time. he insists that you shouldn’t wait- but you love to watch them with him, so you always let them pile up...)

now, in the moment, you scurry aimlessly about your apartment. dinner is ready, waiting to be served in the kitchen, so you walk around your front room. you know that everything is clean- this is the fourth time you’ve checked. but still, this isn’t an everyday thing, and you want the place to be tidy for your boyfriend. (you also know he doesn’t really care all that much- but it’s the thought that counts, right?)

your train of thoughts ends abruptly when a knock sounds from the front door. already smiling, you rush to answer it- and sure enough, there he is.

hyunjin stands in your front entryway, tilting his head as he looks at you. a smile toys at his lips, and he extends an arm. fighting your own glee, you lean into his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent.

“hey,” you say into his chest. he hums in reply, and you stand there for a moment, simply appreciating each other. after a beat has passed, you speak up again. “let’s go inside.”

the two of you enter, hyunjin closing the door behind him. he’s wearing a casual outfit, made up of just black sweats and a hat. you assume he’s already showered, too, because, well- you won’t lie- he usually doesn’t smell that great after a long practice. but he seems clean, and all for the better- that just means the schedule gets sped up, and more time for the two of you! 

as he usually does, your boyfriend wanders into your bedroom to set down his things, not lingering. he meets you back in the kitchen as you begin to serve the food. you see him smile at the spread, and finally he speaks: “wow, babe. that’s a lot of food.”

at the sound of his voice, you start a bit. it’s much lower than usual, and you detect a bit of scratchiness in it. without looking up, you make your inquiry: “are you feeling well? you sound a bit froggy.”

hyunjin snorts at your description. “froggy? you really are something...”

you smile, bringing two servings of food to the table. as you begin to eat, the two of you settle into comfortable silence. 

as the meal continues, though, you feel yourself begin to frown. despite his obvious attempts to hide it, hyunjin seems to be having trouble swallowing his food. with every bite, you see your boyfriend flinch just a bit. 

not being able to take it any longer, you set your chopsticks down. “really, hyunjin-ah. you don’t seem well, are you getting a cold?”

your boyfriend makes a mocking pouty face at you. clearing his throat, he responds: “i’m fine, y/n. i really am, so don’t baby me.”

you give a half hearted glare. “fine. but if you wake up tomorrow feeling like shit, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

- - -

you had been right, of course.

and, for the record, you had warned him.

it’s 6:48 in the morning, and both of you were awake. you lean over in bed, switching on the light. laying in a pathetic lump on your other side, hyunjin groans loudly. you turn back around to face him. “hyunjin-ah, seriously. let me feel your head, you’ve been coughing all night!”

the lump that happens to be your boyfriend shifts to face you in bed. you frown once you can seem him clearly- his face is red, and his eyes are watery from the coughing. you place your own cool palm on his forehead, and almost jerk back in surprise. “babe, you’re burning up!”

flinging your blankets away, you spring out of bed. “hyunjin!” you groan. “i knew you sounded off, why wouldn’t you say anything?”

he coughs again, finally managing to clear his throat. in his raspy voice, he manages: “i didn’t want to ruin your night. i knew you were excited.”

you sigh, knowing the feeling, and hating the understanding. hyunjin was overworked, truly. he shouldn’t have felt the need to lie just to spend time with you, no matter how excited you were...

“c’mon.” you say nudging him in the hips. “sit up, i’ll get you some painkillers and water. are you hungry?”

he grunts in response. when you don’t move, he finally mutters into his pillow: “i don’t know.”

a smile tugs at your lips at this. “that’s alright. i’ll get you a bit anyways.”

you know that hyunjin’s dramatics are probably a conductor to this situation, but a tiny part of you is excited at this opportunity to spoil him, even if it’s at his expense. 

in the kitchen, you dig around for the promised medicine and some snacks, then pour a glass of water.

when you re enter your bedroom, you see hyunjin has managed to sit up. his tall figure is slumped as he leans against the headboard of your bed. nonetheless, he smiles as you enter the room. “you’re so pretty in the mornings,” he mumbles.

you gently smack his head as you set down the water glass. “oh, shut up. at least take the meds first so you’ll be able to defend yourself later on.”

at this, he chuckles- but the joy quickly dissipates as the laugh turns into a pained cough. you use your palm to rub circles over his back as he regains his breath. the fit passes, but the tension in the air doesn’t. 

in perfect unison, the two of you sigh.

hyunjin breaks the silence. “i’m so sorry, y/n. i should have just told you i wasn’t feeling well last night... maybe we could have caught it before it got this bad.”

you give him a bittersweet smile. “your pride can be a weakness, my love.”

at this, hyunin puts his hand to his chest in fake shock. “i can’t believe you’d say such things to me. and while i’m ill!”

“it’s just a cold, your highness. take the tylenol and see how that helps.” you pause, knowing that he is probably in more pain than he’s letting on- you can tell because he was covering it with humor, something he rarely does. “do you- do you want a washcloth or something? an ice pack?”

your boyfriend’s expression is warm. his voice is still uneven, and he responds in an almost whisper: “is that alright?”

your heart stutters at his demeanor. “yes, that’s alright.”

when you return with the cold washcloth, hyunjin has slid down a bit- now only half sitting up. his eyes are closed, though you suspect he isn’t asleep, at least not fully. but you can tell he’s exhausted from being up all night with his sneezing and coughing... maybe he really is asleep...

you make your way to him, and pause to admire his peaceful face. he truly is beautiful... you reach over and gently sweep his long hair away from his forehead, allowing your fingers to linger. he’s still very warm to the touch, and you can’t help but worry for him. after a moment, you swap your hand for the washcloth, draping it gently across his already damp forehead. 

you aren’t really sure how to properly care for a sick person, but a cold compress seems to be what all the dramas suggest. so you sit back down and hope for the best. 

a few minutes pass- hyunjin breathing peacefully in the bed, and you in a nearby chair watching him. suddenly, your counterpart’s eyes flicker open, deep brown eyes meeting your own. “y/n-ah?” he rasps.

you almost launch out of your chair. “yes? are you alright?”

hyunjin gives a half-hearted snort as his eyes drift shut again. he continues to speak without seeing you. “i’m fine. but- will- do you mind sitting with me? over here?”

you stare at him for a moment, processing. then you smile. “yeah, i can do that. as long as you don’t get me sick.”

“no promises.”

and with that, you crawl back into bed with hyunjin, his back to you. you scoot up a bit, positioning yourself so you can hug him from behind. you’ve never been the big spoon before- but honestly? you love it, and you bury your face in between his shoulder blades, filled with an overwhelming rush of affection.

“y/n?” comes hyunjin’s voice again, very quietly.

you don’t move, answering into his back. “yes?”

“i love you.” 

and with that, hyunjin slips back into sleep, this time nestled in your arms.

[stevesbestgirl]

A Moment of Your Time - Part 4

Mob!Bucky x reader -  1662 words

Series Masterlist -  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You hurried down the steps as if trying to outrun the blush in your cheeks; why was he suddenly able to get to you? Clint was waiting at the door to the building, opening the door to the backseat of a (thankfully) different car than the one you’d ridden here in.

You thought you were in for another silent ride, but once you were almost to your apartment, Clint spoke up, “Thanks. For doing that.”

“No problem. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

He was silent for another minute, “Most people wouldn’t be able to do what you did.”

“What did I do exactly?”

“He knows I’m good at my job. If anyone else had told him you slipped me, he would’ve said they were full of shit-” he paused, shaking his head, “Sorry- but he believed you. No questions asked.”

You didn’t really want to consider the implications of that and luckily, Clint wasn’t much of a talker, so he didn’t push it. Once you got home, you hastily changed into a fresh set of pajamas, trying to shake the scent of him from your skin before you climbed into bed.

But it kept you up; how had you ended up agreeing to dinner? You could still feel his eyes on you in his clothes. God dammit, you were doing exactly what he’d said and you hated yourself for it.

When you woke up the next morning, the whole thing seemed like it could have been a bad dream, but the pile of men’s clothes in your laundry said otherwise. You’d get those cleaned today; you didn’t care what he said, you weren’t keeping them.

It felt odd to go out into the city and chat with people like you hadn’t witnessed cold-blooded murder twelve hours ago. You couldn’t bring yourself to walk by the park again, so you took the long way to the laundromat, toting your basket on your hip.

Washing your clothes was a nice distraction for a little while, but once they’d been wrung out and hung up to dry, you took a walk to pass the time, veering off toward Betty’s apartment. You knew you couldn’t tell her about last night, but her babble usually provided a good distraction.

Her mom opened the door, greeting you with a warm smile, “Y/N, good to see you! Come on in, I’ll get Beth for you.”

You went in and took a seat on the couch as she bustled off to fetch Betty. When she caught sight of you, she lit up, “Y/N, what are you doing here?”

You explained that you were just around doing some laundry and as you expected, a waterfall of words came out, filling the empty space like a bathtub. After several minutes of uninterrupted chatter, she finally got to the thing she was clearly waiting to ask.

“So, have you heard anything from Mr. Barnes since the dance?”

“Um, no,” you stammered out, adding hastily, “Thank God.” You wanted to tell her that you were getting dinner tonight, but it was hard to explain without getting into last night, which definitely wasn’t an option.

She looked disappointed, “You haven’t called him?”

“You told me to stay away from him,” you pointed out.

“Well, that was before I knew he was your soulmate! Excuse me for believing in true love,” she laughed, chagrined. “And besides, he is handsome,” she giggled.

You rolled your eyes, “He’s okay, I guess.” Although the beat of your heart seemed to say otherwise.

Betty smirked at you, “I know that face. You're interested in him!”

Your cheeks burned, “I am not!” Her smirk was unbearable, so you stood, “I should get going Bets, my laundry is probably dry.”

“Fine. But please, please, please, let me know if you end up calling him!”

You sigh, “Fine. I’ll see you soon, Betty. Goodbye Mrs. Graham!”

You went back to the laundromat, taking the time to iron everything before going home. After eating lunch, you realized you hadn’t even gotten a time for dinner tonight, so you started getting ready just in case. Once your hair was done, you applied a small amount of makeup- you didn’t want him to think you were trying very hard.

You pulled a nicer dress from your closet and then you were dressed and ready to go. The borrowed clothes were neatly folded on the writing desk by the door that served as a console table. You weren’t sure who would be picking you up either, so you used the extra time to make sure your apartment at least appeared clean.

You hated how your heart skipped when there was a knock at the door. But on the other side was Clint, not Barnes.

“You ready to go?”

The ride was another silent one, no surprise there, but it was somehow an easier silence than before. You and Clint seemed to have come to an understanding, which would have been reassuring if you’d been planning on sticking around.

The ride seemed to pass by much faster than it had the night before and before you knew it, Clint had pulled up in front of the posh apartment building again. He got out and bustled around the car, but you’d already opened the door and stepped out.

His brow furrowed, “I’m supposed to-”

“I can open my own door, Clint. Thank you though.”

He looked tempted to argue, but instead, he gave you a stiff nod, “Mr. Barnes said you could go right up.”

You walked up the steps and Clint climbed back in the car and pulled away from the curb, presumably going to park the car. This made you realize that you weren’t just fetching Barnes to go to dinner; it looked like dinner was here.

With a sigh, you rode the gleaming brass elevator again, this time not hesitating before knocking on the penthouse door. One, two, three seconds ticked by and you wondered if he was purposefully waiting to answer the door so he didn’t seem too eager. Though that theory went out the window when he finally opened the door and he looked you up and down without even trying to hide it.

“Good to see you again. Come in.” He spoke smoothly and guided you through the doorway with his hand on the small of your back. You bit back the comment and allowed him to direct you inside. All you had to do was get through this one dinner and you were free, assuming he kept his word.

You held out the bundle of clothes, “Here. I cleaned them.”

He accepted, setting them aside without commenting on their return. “How was the drive over?” he asked conversationally.

You smiled politely, “Nothing to report. Clint is a fine driver.”

“Glad to hear it.” He chuckled, “I’m sure he prefers your company to mine. Not that I blame him.” He bent slightly to speak closer to your ear, “You look lovely.”

Something about the timbre of his voice and the close proximity gave you goosebumps, which you desperately prayed he didn’t notice, “You look nice too. Although it does seem like a little much for dinner at your apartment. I assumed you’d rather go out somewhere.” That was true; you’d figured he’d try to show off his wealth considering he only had one date to convince you to stick around.

His smile told you he knew exactly what you’d been thinking, “I thought something a little more,” he paused, “Intimate would suit you better. I’d be willing to be you have questions and I’d like to be able to give you answers.”

His candor caught you off guard. You had definitely assumed he’d keep his work behind closed doors in an attempt to convince you he wasn’t what you thought. Instead, he seemed to be throwing the door wide open. You weren’t sure which was more intimidating.

He steered you toward the dining room, hand still on your back, “Plus, it’s not often I get to cook for a guest.”

Laid out on the table was a meal that looked like it belonged in a restaurant. Prime cuts of steak were plated with creamy mashed potatoes that gave off a garlicky aroma, finished off with side portions of green beans and a glass of wine for each of you. There were tall candles lit in the center of the table, which seemed to grow brighter as Barnes lowered the light from the chandelier that sat overhead.

You turned your curious gaze on him, “You made this?”

He laughed aloud at the expression on your face, “Surprising though it may be, there’s more to me than rumors will tell you.” At that, you blushed. He pulled your chair out for you, “We can talk more about that after we eat. I don’t want the food to get cold.”

You murmured your thanks as you sat down, feeling a little dumbstruck. Was this really the same man everyone talked about- the man everyone feared? You didn’t want to be taken in by an act, but the food, the atmosphere, the blue eyes that were now gazing at you across the table; it was difficult to put the pieces together.

He tipped his head at you, eyes twinkling in the candlelight, “Don’t tell me you’re scared to try it.”

You gave yourself a mental shake and chuckled nervously, “Sorry, I was just-” You paused, considering your answer, finally opting for honesty. After all, what did you have to lose? “I’m trying to figure you out.”

“There will be plenty of time for that, doll. But those potatoes are going to get cold,” he grinned and cut into his steak.

You ate a forkful of potatoes and suppressed a sigh; they were delicious. Better than you could make, that was for sure- you’d never been much of a cook.

He watched you with what seemed like genuine interest, “So, what’s the verdict?”

“You really are a man of surprises,” you admitted, digging into your plate in earnest now.

“Doll, you’ve got no idea.”

[imaginemcyt]

village fever

sbi x gn!reader

content/trigger warnings: mentions of sickness including vomiting, medication, cursing. reader is called “big man” and “mate”, intended in a completely gender neutral way. i think that’s it!

you woke up feeling… off. something felt strange and you knew it, but you couldn’t quite place what it was so you carried on with your day. you went downstairs into the kitchen, where your father was making breakfast. your brothers were already up, tommy and wilbur sitting at the table bickering while techno sat on the couch with his face buried in some mythology book.

upon hearing you enter, phil looked up from the pan full of eggs. he smiled upon first seeing you, but his smile soon turned to a frown. “you alright, kiddo? you look awfully pale.” you smiled at him. “yeah, i’m fine. just tired i think.” but even as you said it, you knew it wasn’t true. phil’s voice sounded far away and you felt extremely out of it.

phil looked at you skeptically but didn’t push it. “alright, well breakfast should be done soon, would you mind setting the table?” you mumbled a ‘sure’ and grabbed the plates. you set them on the table one at a time, yet you paused with the last one. you hadn’t realized before how dizzy you felt. the next thing you knew, there was a crash and four pairs of eyes looked up at you. when had you dropped that plate? and why was the world spinning? you looked up at phil once more. “i don’t feel so good…” you heard yourself say. then everything went black as you fell to the floor.

you woke up again after the sun had set. had you slept all day? you weren’t sure, but you had a headache and you were cold, so terribly cold. you stood up and took in your surroundings for a moment before you felt a wave of nausea hit you and you were rushing to the bathroom. the contents of your stomach (which was pretty much nothing) had betrayed you and was now in the toilet. you groaned before feeling someone lift your hair up and tie it back. you looked up to see techno with his usual blank stare. he waited until you were sure you were done throwing up before helping you stand. you flushed the toilet and brushed your teeth.

“you should get back into bed. i’ll get you some water.” you mumbled a thank you before he nodded and headed downstairs to the kitchen. you then headed into your room and collapsed into your warm bed. techno returned a few minutes later with water, toast, and painkillers. “how did you know about my headache?” you asked, your voice weak and raspy. “i didn’t, you’re burning up. it’s to bring down the fever, but it’ll help with your headache, too.”

you took the medication and drank the water, feeling parched. you nibbled at the toast, not feeling hungry but also knowing you hadn’t eaten anything all day and then thrown up, and should probably eat. as you worked on that, techno sat at the end of your bed and pulled out his book. the cover read ‘heroic fantasy short stories’. he began to read silently to himself.

as you finished the last bites of your toast, you yawned and felt sleep trying to take you again. “tech?” he looked up. “will you read to me?” he regarded you for a moment before looking back down at the text. you thought he would ignore you and keep reading in his head, but after a few seconds you heard his deep monotone voice. “here we entered, but so dark was the night that some god must have brought us in, for there was nothing whatever to be seen. A thick mist hung all round our ships; the moon was hidden behind a mass of clouds so that no one could have seen the island if he had looked for it…”

the next time you woke, you smelled oatmeal and heard birds chirping outside. light streamed through your curtains, casting a bright and yellowish glow anywhere it hit. the world seemed to be in full swing, which contrasted heavily to your groggy and feverish self. you contemplated getting up, but didn’t feel it was worth the effort.

a few moments went by of you lying there coughing before you heard gentle knocking on your door. it opened to reveal a worried looking phil, holding a tray. “hey there, mate. techno told me you got sick last night, are you feeling better?” you pushed yourself to where you were sitting up. “a little bit. i still feel horrible, but i’m not nauseous, and maybe even a little hungry.” phil made his way to you and chuckled. “good thing i brought you some food, then.” he placed the tray on your lap, which contained a bowl of oatmeal and a warm mug of tea. you smiled at him. “thanks dad.” he caught his breath before smiling at you and stroking your hair gently. you could tell he still wasn’t used to being called ‘dad’. he made his way out of the room, telling you to eat and then take it easy.

you didn’t have much to do after that, seeing as you were bed-ridden, but it was just as well, seeing as you were too tired and your body too weak to do much anyway. after a couple hours of boredom went by, you heard a soft knock on your door again. you thought it might be phil checking on you, until wilbur poked his head in. “hey there, i haven’t seen you since yesterday morning. how are you feeling?” you looked at him and saw he was wearing his yellow jumper and had his guitar with him. “not great.” he frowned. “bored out of your mind, yeah?” you nodded and he gave a small laugh. “can i play you a song? i just finished writing it and wanted to show you.” you smiled and nodded enthusiastically, or as enthusiastically as you could while feeling so awful.

he smiled and made his way over to you. he took a seat on your bed and got his guitar ready to play. clearing his throat, he began to strum and sing. “the cute bomber jacket you’ve had since sixth form, adorned with patches of places you’ve been, is nothing on my khaki coat i got from a roadside when i was sixteen…” you smiled. your brother was extremely talented, and you loved hearing him play. “my boots are from airports, my backpack’s from friends, I’m not a man of substance and so I’ll pretend, to be a wanderer wandering, leaving ascetic belongings in hostels and restaurant bins…” you closed your eyes, taking in the melody and the beautiful strumming. when he was finished, he looked up at you. you gave him a genuine smile. “it’s beautiful, wilbur. what’s is called?” “i’m not sure yet, i’m thinking of calling it ‘since i saw vienna’,” he smiled back. “well i love it.”

with a few words of thanks, he made his way to the door. “you should get some rest. phil thinks you’ve caught village fever from your visit to that village the other day, so you’ll be down for a while.” you groaned. “don’t worry, y/n. tommy has to do all your chores while you’re sick.” you both laughed at tommy’s expense, leading to another coughing fit. wilbur frowned at you and ducked out of the room, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts once more.

around dinner time, tommy brought you food. on the plate was meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes. he also brought a glass of water with him. “how you feelin’, big man? dadza didn’t want me to bring you food because he said i’m ‘tOo LoUd”! can you believe this fuckin’ guy?” you chuckled and coughed a bit. “thanks for the food, tommy. i’m doing a bit better now, so hopefully i’ll be back to my usual self in no time,” you said. he gave you a smile. “that’s what i like to hear.”

you felt miserable, but you knew that with time, you’d be just fine. besides, you had a great family to take care of you, and you could get used to seeing tommy do your chores.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Turns of Phrase

Prompt: I'd like you to consider: all the sides in the mindscape have the "way too literal" problem, like for example, Virgil actually grows taller when his anxiety is heightened, Patton actually grows wings when Thomas has a 'heart aflutter', e.c.t. But Roman just has a huge stack of negative ones. Creative block, bruised ego, shackled creativity, e.c.t. And then there's h/c when somebody (Logan) sees 👀👀

Thanks for the prompt babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, Roman whump

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count:  5722

 This is Roman’s fault. Really. It is. He’s the one who works the closest with the Imagination, which means he’s got control over how Thomas interacts with his own imagination, which means that he’s got control over how Thomas sees the Sides.

 So yeah. This is his fault.

‘Heart all aflutter.’ ‘Heightened anxiety.’ ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’ All the little innocuous phrases that are just turns of phrase, not supposed to be literal, well…they got into Thomas’s head when he was younger, and since, the Imagination has never quite gotten rid of them. Shouldn’t be too bad, right, this should be something they can deal with.

 And for the most part, they do.

Patton wears the hoodie tied around his shoulders to block the chill from the slits sewn in the back of all of his shirts in case the wings decide to pop out again. When they do, everyone crowds around to make sure he doesn’t fly off into the sky or accidentally twist one. The feathers are the softest things you can imagine and work great for stuffing pillows or plushies.

 Virgil’s clothes are made of stretchy, baggy material and the doorways are much, much higher than they need to be. There’s a special cupboard tucked high up in the pantry that just has Virgil’s comfort foods in them so he can reach comfortably when he’s tall.

 And, well…there’s a reason Janus wears such a long cloak.

 For the most part, these are just minor inconveniences. Listen, when you live in a completely imaginary world where you can summon anything you need and change anything you don’t like with a snap of your fingers, things like new clothes or snacks are easy.

 Then there’s Roman.

 Roman, who is tied most closely to the Imagination.

 Roman, who represents not just Creativity, but romance, motivation, desire.

 Roman. The Ego.

 The problem with throwing around these types of phrases is how easy it becomes to dismiss them. And for Thomas, who has a creative profession, that’s good. For Thomas.

 Not so good for Roman.

 “Hey, you’ve been having some trouble getting ideas out lately, you doing okay?”

 “Yeah, I’m just going through a bit of a creative block at the moment.”

 Roman’s fists ache as he pounds on the door, heaving sobs trailing off into hitched gasps as he slumps against the unyielding wood. As a desperate last resort, he throws himself at the door, barely making it shudder in its frame. It’s as if he weighs nothing, not an ounce, unable to make so much as a goddamn dent in the world around him.

 “Let me—let me out, please, let me out, I gotta—I want out,” he sobs, over and over, as his room grows smaller and smaller, the walls pressing in around him, blank, sterile, cold, “I wanna—out, let me out, let me out, let me out please—“

 He’s not even in his room anymore. He’s in a pure white cage, on the wrong side of a door that will not open.

 “Dude, like…reign it in a little bit.”

 “You sure?”

 “Yeah. That’s…like, way too much.”

 “I dunno, I think it feels weird if we weren’t doing this.”

 “C’mon, it won’t kill you to shackle your creativity a little.”

 Roman wakes up to the quiet clinking of metal against metal. He goes to wipe his face and a bolt of pain shoots through his arm. The shackles spread him so far his chest aches, wincing as he tries to turn just a little to avoid the rush of agony that would come from having his arm trapped in the wrong position. At least he was lying down this time, and he’s on his bed. He isn’t being forced to stand the whole time, strung up on the ceiling.

 They’re so cold.

 The shackles sap the warmth from his body bit by bit, draining it until the weight of the cold pressing down onto his chest is enough to make him gasp. On instinct, he pulls, trying to get a little more of himself wrapped up, warm, safe, but the chains barely make a groan as they wrench him back apart. He grits his teeth and holds still.

 He learned not to try and break these. He used to rage and slam against them like a brute, trying to pull their fastenings out of some mystical holder, embodied in his wall, only to come away with bleeding and scraped wrists from his pains, rubbed raw and chafed horribly by the cruel shackles.

 For the most part, he’s able to keep the others from noticing. They can’t hear a thing when he’s trapped in the creative block. He’s careful to always wear long sleeves to hide the scrapes and burns from the shackles. They don’t know the true extent of what happens to him when Thomas decides he doesn’t want his creativity.

 But he can’t hide all of them.

 ‘Bruised ego.’

 Patton knows. Patton somehow always figures things out and doesn’t tell anyone, least of all Roman. But sure enough, after the audition, Patton showed up outside of Roman’s door and knocked, quietly asking to be let in.

 Roman had let him, splattered as he was with blues and purples and greens and yellows, all the colors that didn’t belong to him, and yet here they were, painted on him. He’d kept his undershirt on, letting Patton feed him the soup that was sure to end with Roman lying on his back in the bathroom, panting, until the bowl had run dry and Roman’s smile had come back.

 After Patton had gone, the smile had slid off, the paint cracked and chipped. Roman had stood, leaning against the bed for stability, and made his way slowly, oh, so, slowly, to the bathroom.

 Getting his shirt off had been agony. Every time he moved skin had stretched, bruises had protested, even his muscles cried out. The undershirt was soaked in sweat and a light sheen had clung to Roman’s body as he stood there, panting, wincing in the mirror. He couldn’t look.

 That had been the last time it had gotten very bad. Very bad.

 They only ever seemed to notice when it was very bad.

 His prince costume hides the shackle marks. His undershirt hid the bruises. No one cared to look for him when he was trapped in the creative block. No one could see. No one wanted to see.

 No one knew.

 Roman’s been lucky lately.

 They’ve all been happening one at a time. The block never has shackles strapped to the wall. The shackles are never clasped around bruises spilling beneath his skin. The bruises are never from both beating on a door and from the outside world. He can deal with them if they’re like this. One at a time.

 He’s had a few close calls, though. He almost missed a meeting with Logan because the block had him trapped. It squeezed him so tight it felt as if he hadn’t any room to breathe, not until the door and opened a crack and he’d hurled himself out, panting harshly, rushing to Logan’s. He was caught at his desk recently too. The shackles had formed and dragged him over to the corner where he’d bitten his lip to try and stay quiet as he desperately tried to draw himself away. He’d accidentally made too grand a gesture and his sleeve had ridden up, exposing the edge of a mark or bruise and he’d have to pull it back down quick enough so that no one would notice. And so far, it’s worked.

 No one has noticed.

 And what would he say? That this is just some dumb stupid thing he has to deal with? The others know about this whole ‘taking things too literally problem,’ look at Patton, look at Virgil, look at Janus. They all understand and they receive the same amount of attention Roman does. Honestly, they’ve been receiving what they’re entitled to. Their stuff actually runs the risk of harming Thomas. Fire, wings, banging your head, sure, that’s fine, but they—look.

 Having your heart flutter signifies great emotions, the potential for love, you should pay attention to your emotions!

 Heightened anxiety? It’s not great! It means we should be listening to Virgil and what’s going on, what’s upsetting Thomas, how to help.

 And everyone should always be worried about spontaneously combusting pants.

And even if they did find out, what is Roman supposed to say? That it’s his fault they all have these issues? That Thomas’s psyche takes certain liberties with the hard-and-fast rules of what happens to metaphysical people? It’s his fault, after all, he’s the conduit. It’s fine. He can handle this stuff. It’s all fine.

 He should’ve known his luck would run out.

 Roman blinks awake to feel the walls pressing in on him, tighter, tighter, tighter. His breath catches in his throat.

 No.

 No, no, no, he’d been doing so well, so well, they’d just had a conversation about how he’d been so good, the ideas had been good, he’d had—he’d had so many he was ready to work on, he just needed to—

 Roman squeezes his eyes shut, racking his brain. He knows he has ideas. He had them a little while ago. It wasn’t that long. They can’t have vanished so quickly. Wait, what time is it? How did they—how long has he been here? What is—how long has it been? Have the others realized he’s here yet?

 What if they look for him and they think he won’t come out? What if they start to hate him because they can’t find him? What if he can never get out again? What if they realized they never needed him in the first place?

 He—he’s not wrong, he can’t be wrong, he has to be right, he has to—he has to find a way out of here.

 Quickly, Roman squeezes his eyes even tighter, mouth making random shapes as he tries to think. If he can just think of a really good idea, he’ll get out. If he just thinks, if he just does his job, if he’s really good he’ll get out. He can do this, he can do this, he can do this. He can—

  Clink, clink, clink.

 No.

 No!

 Roman snarls as the shackles encase his wrists, forcing to his knees, still crouched in this room that is too small, too pale, too awful. He lunges for the door as he hears the chains slowly start to tighten, their long lengths slipping over and over each other in coils.

 The chains pull taut and he’s suspended there, in the dank air, snarling like a mad dog at a door that is just out of his reach.

 For the first time in a long time, he slams against the chains, raging and bloody as he thrashes back and forth trying to just get to the door—

  Roman, you’re on thin fucking ice.

  Look I don’t wanna just hate a side but roman you royally fucked up bud

  Yeah I’m definitely mad at Roman

 Roman barely suppresses a whine when he realizes where the comments are coming from.

 His nose breaks open and blood pours down his face. His eyes swell and darken until he can only squint through it. One of his fingers breaks and the shackle pinches.

  Roman I have revoked your rights.

  Roman shut the FUCK UP challenge please

  After one line making fun of janus is enough to be cancelled, Roman

 Even without looking down, he knows red and purple are blooming across his ribs. Roman winces pain as he howls again, trying frantically to get to the door, he’ll wrench his arms out of their sockets if he needs to—

  I just hate roman!!! i don’t need a deep reason to hate roman, or anyone else

  oh boi did Princey drop to least favorite side REAL FUCKING QUICK

  It’s not that I don’t despise Roman he’s just never been my favourite. He’s too prideful, rude and while he does have his insecurities the way he hides them makes me uncomfortable since it’s at the expense of other characters. His treatment of the other sides is so awful.

 …is he really that awful? Is…does he…is this…

 Is this how it’s supposed to be?

  I'm gonna spread my anti-roman doctrine. Fuck Roman. Hate that man

  I genuinely hate Roman so. Fucking. Much. Like, can't stand him. Fuck him, I hate him

  It’s always roman-hating hours.

 A dry sob chokes its way out of Roman’s throat as he curls in on himself, another bruise leaving him gasping on the floor like a gutted fish. The chains let him fall to his knees, chest bared to the merciless door. He coughs. Blood flies out of his mouth and spittle drips down his chin. He coughs again. And again. And again. It hurts. Everything hurts.

 He coughs.

 The room presses in on him.

 The shackles trap him.

 Bruises bloom over his body.

 He coughs.

 This is all his fault, isn’t it? He’s the one in charge of the Imagination. He’s the one who makes sure the sides exist and can interact with Thomas. He’s the one who controls how they respond to turns of phrase.

 He’s the one who’s awful to the others. He’s the one who didn’t tell them the truth. He’s the one stuck in this room, in these chains, taking a beating from words and thoughts that he can’t see.

 This is his fault.

 And he doesn’t know if he can fix it.

 Roman gives up.

———————————————————

“Has anyone seen Roman?”

 Patton looks up from the floor as Virgil rolls over. “No, I haven’t. Virgil?”

 Virgil sniffs and shakes his head. “You asked Remus?”

 Logan frowns. “I can’t find them anywhere. Do you know if—“

 “Where the fuck is my brother?”

 “Nevermind, I found him,” Logan mumbles as he turns just fast enough to avoid Remus barreling into him. “I was just coming to ask you.”

 “He was supposed to meet me by the Imagination,” Remus says, bouncing up and down, “we were gonna go exploring. He hasn’t been by all day. Where are you hiding him?”

 “I’m not hiding him,” Virgil yawns, “and neither’s Pat.”

 “Nope! No princes here!”

 “Pocket Protector?”

 “No, I need to ask him about tomorrow.”

 “Ugh.” Remus throws himself down on the couch. “Where’s Snakey? Maybe he knows.”

 “What do I know?”

 “Ah.” Logan turns to see Janus striding out from the shadows near the staircase. “We seem to be unable to locate Roman.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow and flicks a speck of dust from his gloves. “What an unfortunate situation. My deepest apologies.”

 “So you don’t know where he is.”

 “Of course I don’t, why would I?” Janus rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you’ve checked everywhere for him.”

 Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Janus…please.”

 “Have any of you even tried his room?”

 “Of course we have, that’s where I looked first.”

 Janus shrugs. “Then I guess our little prince has wandered away. What a shame.”

 Virgil rolls his eyes. “Maybe he just stepped out for a minute. Why don’t you go look again, L, we’ll check down here.”

 “Oh, will we?”

 “J, I swear—“

 Logan quickly heads back up the stairs as Virgil and Janus start bickering. He turns the corner and is soon faced with Roman’s big red door. He reaches out to knock.

 “Roman? Are you in here?”

 Silence. Logan sighs and goes to turn away when he hears it.

 He stops.

 Goes back.

 “Roman?”

 He puts his ear to the door.

 A soft gasp.

“Roman, can you open the door please?”

 “L-L—Lo—“

 Logan swallows heavily. “Roman, I’m coming inside.”

 “L-Logan…”

 Logan pushes open the door.

 He can feel his face go sickly pale.

 Roman is lying on the ground, collapsed in a pool of what looks like blood. His face is swollen, his nose broken, his mouth barely forming the shapes to say Logan’s name. His prince costume is mangled. His wrists are rubbed raw. Even from this far away Logan can see the bruises forming all over his body.

 “Roman!”

 There are shouts from downstairs. The others are worried. Good. Logan’s going to need all the help he can get. He just has to move first.

 Oh, Roman…

 “L? L, what’s going on up there?”

 “First aid,” Logan gasps, then clears his throat, “we need the first aid kit! Roman’s hurt!”

 “What? How’d he—he hasn’t even been in the Imagination yet today!”

 “We can figure that out when we’re up there, Remus, go go go!”

 By the time the others are already rushing up the stairs, Logan has already crouched down next to Roman’s head, trying to figure out the best way to get him up, off the floor, or at the very least figure out what happened.

 “Stay with me, Roman,” he murmurs, petting Roman’s head as his other hand starts to carefully test where it might be hurting, “stay with me, come on…”

 “Lo? Lo, are you in here?”

 “No, wait, don’t—“

 Patton’s cry of dismay quickly followed by Virgil’s curse means he’s too late to warn them. Logan looks up to see their faces drop in absolute shock.

 “Where are the others?”

 “Uh…” Virgil tears his gaze away from Roman’s crumpled figure. “Remus said he…he has some stuff that would help.”

 “And I am of course more than eager to see what our favorite little prince has gotten himself into this time,” Janus drawls, still out of sight, “I’m positively brimming with anticipation.”

 Patton still hasn’t recovered. Virgil carefully takes the first aid kit from his hands and rushes it to Logan. An instant later, Janus appears in the doorway.

 “My, my, Patton, you look so startled, what could possibly…”

 Janus trails off as he finally spots Roman. His eyes widen as he takes in the bruises, the blood, the marks of what look like prison cuffs?

 “Oh, god…” Logan blinks and Janus is crouched beside them, his hands hovering over Roman’s broken form as he starts crooning to the prince.

 “Oh, honey, what happened to you,” he murmurs, his hands starting to pull away the fabric cutting into Roman’s throat, “you poor, poor thing…”

 “Got it.”

 Remus appears in a flash, crouching down as well as Janus and Logan start to help Roman unwind from the bloody mess he’s in. Logan glances over; it’s a kit that has more medical supplies than the first aid kit. Bandages, he can see antiseptic, surgical towels…

 He catches Remus’s eye and they exchange a nod.

 “Where does he need to go,” Janus asks as they start to get Roman upright, “you want him downstairs?”

 “Let’s get him to our bathroom, J,” Virgil suggests, carefully getting his arms around the prince’s shoulders.

 “Do you think it’s safe to sink with him?”

 “Presumably he had to sink out to get back to his room, but I’m not sure it would be wise.”

 “So we’ll carry him,” Virgil says firmly, “all of us.”

 As it turns out, Remus and Janus can help Virgil just fine. Logan snatches up Remus’s kit as Patton grabs the first aid kit, hustling down the corridor to keep up with the others.

 “Lo, what happened?”

 “I don’t know,” Logan mutters back, “but I…I don’t think it was…the Imagination’s been closed all day, hasn’t it?”

 “That’s what I thought too. You don’t think—“

 “I don’t know, Patton, I…”

 Patton’s firm grip on his arm speaks volumes as they finally get to the bathroom.

 The tile is already warm as the others carefully lay Roman down in the big place near the edge of the shower. Logan takes a moment to check what they might need.

 The bathroom is one big open space with a tub in one corner, a large walk-in shower area at the other, and two sinks with a wide counter. Patton and Remus have already started setting up the first aid kit as Janus pulls on a different pair of gloves. Virgil still has Roman’s head in his hands, murmuring softly to him.

 “Is he awake?”

 Virgil shakes his head as Logan sits down. “I can’t tell. He’s looking around but I—he’s not saying anything.”

 “That is not completely unexpected,” Logan murmurs, “we have to get him out of his clothes. They’re making it harder for him to breathe.”

 “Someone needs to stay by his head,” Remus calls, “in case he wakes up and starts freaking out.”

 “I’ve got him.” Sure enough, Janus slips two of his hands gently under Roman’s head as he unclips the back of his collar. “Shh, shh, easy, sweetie, you’re safe now.”

 Virgil scoots back and starts tugging on his hoodie strings. Patton, still hovering by the medical supplies, catches it.

 “Hey, Virge,” he says, shooting a quick nod at Logan, “why don’t we go make something to eat? Something small, and something to drink.”

 “Yeah…yeah that’s a good idea.”

 As the two of them leave, Remus kneels by Roman’s feet and curses. “We’re gonna have to cut them off.”

 “You mean cut the rest of them off,” Janus mutters, “what happened?”

 “You think I’m not beating myself up asking that same thing?”

 “We have to get Roman stable,” Logan says quickly, “and that means we have to see what—“

 “The damage is,” Remus growls.

 “Quite.”

 “Alright. Be careful by his wrists.”

 “We will.”

 “Jan if you drop his head I swear to—“

 “I won’t, I promise.”

 “…I know.”

 “You’re worried about your brother,” Logan whispers as they start peeling the clothes away, “we understand.”

 Janus keeps his promise, cradling Roman’s head as the work to get the rest of his prince costume off. Under any other circumstance, Logan admits this might actually be read as amusing. Peeling Roman out of his clothes, however, has never been less devastating.

 Every inch they pull back reveals more bruises. Roman’s torso is warm, throbbing, carpeted with horrible wounds. Every so often a piece will stick and Roman winces, prompting Janus to stroke his face carefully, murmuring reassurances that they’re here, everything’s okay, Roman’s safe now.

 Remus chucks bruise cream at Logan and they start, methodically applying the cream and bandages. Janus gives them an extra hand where they need it, while keeping up the constant litany of reassurances. Logan comes away confident that nothing is broken, just very badly bruised.

 “So what now?”

 “He has to rest.” Logan pulls off the gloves, running his hand over the ground to make sure they haven’t spilled anything. “I…I don’t know how long that will be.”

 “I don’t want to leave him.”

 They look around, eyes wide at the strangled whisper coming out of Remus. Remus stares down at Roman’s bruised form, thankfully clear of blood now, his hands trembling as they rest on his knees. Remus looks up at them, his eyes glistening.

 “The last time I left him like this it was bad.” He swallows and looks back down. “I’m not leaving my brother.”

 Logan looks at Roman. Brave, strong, sweet, kind Roman. Bruised, scared, exhausted, broken Roman. His hand tightens and without thinking he tucks a stray hair behind Roman’s ear.

 “He hates it when his hair is out of place,” he murmurs as Janus raises an eyebrow at him.

 “We’re not leaving our prince,” Janus says firmly, glancing back at Remus. “Would you like to come sit up here with us?”

 Remus shakes his head. “If something comes through that door trying to get him,” he says in a low voice that Logan has never heard before, “it’s going to have to get through me first.”

 Logan nods. They take up their watch. Remus’s hands twitch every so often, and Logan sees him lay his hand on an unbruised part of Roman’s ankle when they do with a tenderness that takes him a little aback. Janus can’t seem to stop running his hands through Roman’s hair, making comforting noises every time Roman winces as he breathes.

 Logan, well…Logan is trying desperately to figure out what happened.

  Roman hasn’t been in the Imagination today. Remus was waiting and he hadn’t seen him.

Roman hasn’t been seen by anyone else all day.

The last place Roman was seen was in his room.

No one else has been in Roman’s room today.

 “Logan,” Janus calls softly, “Logan, you’re shaking.”

 Logan looks down. Oh. So he is. He takes a deep breath and takes Janus’s offered hand. “I’m…thinking.”

 “About…?” Janus indicates Roman.

 He nods sharply. “I’m having trouble coming to anything but a most troubling conclusion.”

 “What?”

 Logan explains. Janus goes pale.

 “You don’t think…”

 “I don’t want to think that, no.”

 “R-ro-Bro,” Remus whispers, “oh, Ro-Bro, you gotta tell us something when you wake up.”

 He sniffles.

 “Please wake up, Ro-Bro. I gotta…I gotta kick your ass for blowing me off and getting into a fight without me, I gotta—you gotta tell me what kicked your ass so I can go put it in the fucking ground…” He sniffs again, his whole body tense, even as his hand remains gently on Roman. “You just gotta wake up, Ro.”

 After a little while longer, Virgil and Patton return carrying snacks and drinks. Remus doesn’t even look as Virgil sets his octopus water bottle at his elbow. Janus murmurs a thanks and eats a little. Logan eats and drains about half of his bottle. Virgil sits at Remus’s side, Patton at his other.

 “Has he woken up yet?”

 Remus shakes his head.

 “He’s probably just sleeping, Remus, he needs to rest.”

 “I know.”

 “Do we know what happened,” Virgil asks quietly, “at all?”

 Logan winces. “Well…”

 “…don’t like the way you said that.” Judging by Virgil’s expression, he likes it even less after Logan’s finished explaining.

 “Oh, shit.”

 Everyone’s gaze instantly snaps to Patton. Listen. Patton doesn’t curse. It’s a thing. When Patton curses it’s bad.

 “Patton?”

 “Roman…Roman has a thing,” Patton explains, “you know like…like my wings? Or how Virgil gets taller?”

 Virgil nods. “Yeah, okay, but those don’t…hurt us, why would Roman’s…”

 Janus is the next one to curse. “Of course…the bruised ego.”

 Patton nods sadly. “Roman takes, well, it’s not really his choice, Roman is forced to take the brunt of the negative reactions Thomas has. That’s part of his thing.”

 Logan’s eyes widen. “Wait, but if this has been happening since…well, since Thomas has had an ego, and we didn’t know about this, then…”

  How many times has this happened?

 Remus growls. “New rule: no one is allowed to fuck with Roman.”

 No one dares disagree. Logan scans over the injuries again. He frowns.

 “Hold on…some of these seem…consistent with that judgment, but then why…”

 A faint groaning sound snaps him out of his musings. A tense silence falls in the bathroom as Roman starts to stir in Janus’s hands.

 “Roman,” Logan calls softly, “Roman, can you hear me?”

 “L’gan?”

 “Yes, Roman, I’m right here. Don’t try and move too much right now, you’re very hurt.”

 Roman blinks up at them, his eyes focusing glassily on Janus, who smiles. He tucks another piece of hair away from Roman’s face.

 “Shh, shh, my prince, hold still,” he coos, “you’re awfully banged up, sweetie, just hold still…shh…”

 “J’nus? What’s…where is…” Roman’s face swivels back to Logan. “Where am I?”

 “You’re on the bathroom floor, Roman, we had to see to your injuries.”

 Roman’s eyes go wide and immediately all of them reach out to hold him still as he tries to move.

 “Shh, shh,” Janus shushes, “none of that now, sweetie, you’re hurt, calm down…”

 “I’m—I have to—“

 “You’re not going anywhere,” comes Remus’s voice from behind them.

 “Remus!”

 “What? He’s not!”

 “Yeah, but there’s no reason to scare the shit out of him.”

 “I can’t see,” Logan hears Roman’s frantic whisper as he turns to glance at the others, “I can’t—let me—“

 “Logan, is it safe for him to sit up?”

 Logan nods. “Just take it slow, nothing too fast. It will probably be the best if he can lean against someone.”

 “Jan—“

 “I’ve got you, sweetie, I’m not going anywhere.”

 When Roman is upright, his back against Janus’s chest, only then do Virgil and Patton relax the slightest bit. Remus doesn’t. Logan’s gaze switches anxiously between the two.

 “Remus—“ Roman swallows— “Re, are you—are you mad at me?”

 “A little.”

 Roman shrinks under Remus’s glare. “I’m sorry.”

 “Jeez, Ro, it’s not—I’m not mad at you like that,” Remus mumbles, “it’s mainly just—well, our thing is…you know, cat pile.”

 “You’re—you’re mad because you can’t lie on top of me right now?”

 “Yeah! It always makes you feel better! And now I can’t help you feel better!”

 “R-Re—“

 Remus lets out a wounded noise and surges forward, careful to avoid barreling into any of the others as he wraps his brother in a protective hug. Janus huffs lightly but stays upright. Roman’s eyes close and his head drops to rest against Remus’s.

 “I’m the only one allowed to fuck with you,” comes Remus’s muffled voice, “no one else.”

 “I know,” Roman whispers, “I know.”

 Logan swallows heavily. “Roman,” he prompts softly, “we aren’t mad at you. We won’t get angry with you.”

 “...promise?”

 “I promise.”

 “I promise.”

 “I promise.”

 “Promise.

Janus just squeezes Roman’s shoulder gently. “I promise too, sweetie. Now, will you tell us what happened?”

 “I, um…” Roman’s gaze flickers over to Patton. “Have you—um…”

 “I’ve told them a little, sweetheart,” Patton says when Roman can’t finish his sentence, “we’ve figured out the ‘bruised ego,’ is there anything else you’d like to tell us?”

 Roman nods. He turns his head back towards Remus, his face contorted. Logan carefully reaches out to ruffle his hair.

 “Take your time,” he whispers, “we’re not going anywhere.”

 “I have three,” Roman blurts out after a moment.

 “…three, honey?”

 “Patton has…the wings, Virgil has the height, Janus…Janus…”

 “Has the pants.”

 Janus lightly flicks Remus’s head, shaking his head fondly.

 “Are you saying you’ve got three turns of phrase, Princey?” Roman nods. “Okay. Is one of them ‘bruised ego?’”

 “Mhmm.”

 “Okay. Are you comfortable telling us the other two?”

 Goosebumps rise on Roman’s arms and Janus carefully positions them so Logan can help rub them away. Remus growls protectively and huddles closer.

 “…creative block,” Roman murmurs, only for Remus to tense. Remus raises his head slowly.

 “Ro-Bro?”

 “I, um, my room—my room shrinks and I—I can’t get out the door, I can’t move anything, I can’t breathe, I—“

 “Shh-shh-shh,” Janus soothes instantly, “you’re safe, my prince, you’re in the bathroom with us, you’re not there, you’re not there.”

 There are a few tense seconds of deep breaths.

 “…what’s the third one, Roman?”

 Roman looks at his wrists, turning them over as if he doesn’t recognize them. “…shackled creativity.”

 Patton clenches his fists as Virgil muffles another curse. Remus follows Roman’s gaze, the line of his shoulders growing tenser by the second. Janus carefully laces his fingers through one of Roman’s hands, Logan lacing his through the other.

 “Thank you for telling us, Roman,” he murmurs, “and…I do not know how much this is worth to you, but…we are so sorry this happens and that we could not do anything about it.”

 “It’s okay,” Roman murmurs, “it’s my own fault.”

 The bathroom falls silent.

 “…Roman, it’s not your fault.” Virgil scoots closer. “How—this isn’t your fault.”

 “Isn’t it? I’m the one that’s the closest to the Imagination,” Roman says softly, completely convinced of what he’s saying, “I’m the one that makes it possible for Thomas to see us…the Sides, the Imagination…isn’t that my job?”

 “Not like that,” Logan says firmly, “never like this.”

 “Logan’s right,” Virgil says when it looks like Roman’s about to argue, “you’re the conduit for the Imagination, but you’re not responsible for everything that this place does, let alone how Thomas interprets and internalizes stuff.”

 “None of this is you, Roman.” Janus rests his cheek against the top of Roman’s head. “None of it. It’s not Patton’s fault he grows wings, it’s not Virgil’s fault he grows taller, and it’s not your fault that this happens to you.”

 “You’re missing someone off the list there, Jan-Jan.”

 “Remus, I swear to god—“

 Remus cackles, throwing his head back as Janus swats at him. Of course, the problem is that they all try and look mildly annoyed at Remus, and yet the instant it makes Roman giggle, even a little, they all have to break character because Roman’s smiling again.

 “Seriously, Ro-Bro,” Remus says after a moment, “this isn’t on you. You don’t deserve this or some other fucked-up shit. This is fucked up all on its own. You’re not responsible for this.”

 “We’ll talk to Thomas,” Logan says, “about…negative feedback and internalizing things, alright? This isn’t healthy, Roman, it’s not—it’s not supposed to be like this, and it’s definitely not your fault.”

 “…okay.”

 “Can you say that for me, sweetie,” Janus coaxes, reaching around to cup Roman’s face, “that it’s not your fault?”

 “I-it’s not—“

 Roman stops. Swallows heavily.

 “Go on, my prince, you can do it.”

 “…I-it’s not my fault.”

 “Good.”

 “It isn’t my fault.” Roman’s eyes go wide and something hitches in his throat. “It is—isn’t—I—oh, god—“

 They catch Roman as he starts to cry.

 “You did so well, sweetheart, so well, I’m so proud of you.”

 “It’s okay, Princey, it’s gonna be okay.”

 “I’ve got you, my prince, I have you.”

 “You’re gonna be fine, Ro-Bro, I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

 “You don’t have to do this alone, Roman.”

 Roman rests there, in the arms of his family, bruised and exhausted, but not broken.

 Not anymore.

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[writethelifeyouwant]

Runaway | Chapter 18

Summary: Instead of attending her spot at a top college in the fall, Y/N runs away from her home on the East Coast and ends up on a city bench in L.A. – lost, cold, and utterly alone. When one of her favourite actors, Jared Padalecki, passes her on his way home from a club with his best friend Jensen, while Y/N is getting ready to sleep in the street on that bench, he finds he can't just walk by.

Pairing: Jared Padalecki x Reader Rating: 18+ Tags: AU, slow burn, angsty angst, denial, jealousy, Jensen don’t pull punches y’all WC: 2k

Series masterlist | Read ahead on my website

“Knock knock,” Jensen tapped against the door after he had already pushed it open, having found it unlocked when he tried the handle.

“Oh!” Y/N/N sat up in bed abruptly, dropping her phone in surprise. “Mr. Jensen, what are you doing here?”

“Haven’t we moved past that by now?” Jensen smiled and stepped into her room, shutting the door behind him. “I gave you a trip to the hospital for your birthday, I think you’ve earned the right to drop the title,” he grimaced and stopped by the edge of her bed hesitantly, hands in his pockets to stop himself fidgeting.

“You know I don’t blame you for that, I told you,” Y/N/N sighed, rearranging herself so she could look at Jensen properly. She patted the empty space beside her tentatively, unsure if it was weird to invite him to sit on the bed, but he took up the invitation gratefully, seemingly more relaxed when he’d settled beside her.

“Are you feeling better?” Jensen looked up and down the bed, as if her current location gave him all the information he needed, but Y/N/N reached out and touched his arm gently to bring his attention back to her.

“I’m fine, really,” Y/N/N smiled reassuringly.

It had been annoying, Jensen and Jared constantly checking on her and asking her how she felt after she’d been discharged from the Emergency Room, but it was like it was hitting her for the first time right now that their nagging wasn’t coming from a place of worry about themselves, or about what she might tell people about what happened that night. It was coming from a place of care: care for her. She hadn’t truly felt cared for since her father died, and now she was faced with it again, it was like she couldn’t even recognise it for what it was. But Jensen was sitting here, on her bed, asking her how she was with a heavy, guilt ridden heart because he cared for her.

“I am so–” he began to speak but Y/N/N interrupted.

“Jensen,” she spoke softly, but with conviction, and the use of his name without the preceding mister shocked him into silence. “I’m fine,” Y/N/N repeated, squeezing his arm gently. “Thank you for checking up on me, though. It’s really sweet of you.”

“Anytime, kid,” Jensen smiled, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. His worry about Y/N/N now alleviated, he looked far less tired and careworn than he had just a moment ago. “In fact, you might have to get used to me dropping by more often. Turns out I’m sticking around for a little while.”

“Why?” Y/N/N frowned curiously, unable to think of a reason he wouldn’t be going back to L.A. – come to think of it, she couldn’t think of a reason why he wasn’t already back there now.

“Don’t sound so excited, jeez,” Jensen scoffed good humouredly, and Y/N/N rolled her eyes, prompting him to continue. “I caught wind of a story nearby. You know all that stuff going around about parents bribing their kids a place in college?”

Y/N/N nodded slowly.

“Well, there’s been some accusations made against the parents of a couple members of the Stanford football team,” Jensen explained, and from his expression Y/N/N could tell that that was apparently a really big deal. “They’ve managed to keep a lid on it for the minute but it won’t be long before the media gets hold of it, and I talked the Head Coach into giving me an exclusive and letting me publish the story.” He sat up a little straighter on the bed, clearly pleased with himself.

“How did you manage that?” That didn’t sound like an easy thing to achieve from what Y/N/N knew about the media and college sports – though admittedly she knew next to nothing about the latter.

“I may have played a little college ball back in my day,” Jensen grinned sheepishly. “They agreed to let me run the story because they think a Stanford alum reporting on it will treat them more fairly.”

“Will you?” she asked curiously.

“I plan on being as fair and unbiased as I can be,” Jensen assured her with a chuckle, and she laughed along too.

“So, you’ll be around for a while then? How long?”

“I’m not totally sure yet,” Jensen shrugged. “I’m hoping I can get an interview with each of the players involved, work up some profiles, and then I’ll stick around for however long it takes for them to do an investigation. And if the accusations look like they have some grounds there could be a tribunal at the school, and an actual trial for the parents. It could turn out to be huge.”

“Wow,” Y/N/N swallowed, “that sounds like it could get really big.”

“They even said I could claim time for a research assistant at the magazine if I need to,” Jensen revealed excitedly. “If anyone does go to court this could blow up for me.”

“That sounds awesome,” Y/N/N gave Jensen a forced smile and he laughed loudly.

“Okay kid, I get it, sports are boring. I’ll shut up now,” Jensen rolled his eyes and pulled himself up off the bed with a heavy sigh.

“Hey, that’s not what I meant,” Y/N/N snorted, trying to pull him back down by the arm, and Jensen toppled – unbalanced – back onto the bed with a shout of laughter.

“What’s going on in here?”

Y/N/N and Jensen both looked up to find Jared standing in the doorway.

“You really should lock your door, Y/N/N,” Jensen laughed. “Who knows what riffraff could just walk in?”

“What, you mean you?” Y/N/N shot back, joking, punching Jensen lightly on the arm.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting, Y/N/N,” Jared asked soberly, arms crossed in front of him as he stood at the end of her bed.

“I was resting,” Y/N/N protested, “Jensen just distracted me is all.” Jared’s brows raised in surprise, noting her use of Jensen’s name without a title.

“Well, how about you get back to resting, and I get Jensen out of your hair?”

Y/N/N’s laughter died a little. Something about Jared’s tone brooked no arguments.

“Thanks, Mr. Padalecki,” she smiled softly, and Jensen let Jared pull him off the bed.

“Anytime, Miss Y/N,” Jared inclined his head in acknowledgement of her thanks and led Jensen out of the room. “Get some more rest, I’ll save you a seat at dinner, darlin’,” he stopped at the door, wanting to see her smile at him before he left, still needing the reassurance that she didn’t hate him after this weekend.

“As you wish,” Y/N/N grinned brightly at the mention of dinner, nestling herself back under her covers just as he’d instructed, and he smiled back in approval, nodding at her once more before closing the door behind him and ensuring it locked on his way out.

“What was all that about?” Jared rounded on Jensen accusingly as they moved back along the hallway, his jaw set hard in annoyance, which had Jensen baffled.

“What was what about?”

“You two, in there,” Jared jerked his thumb behind him.

“It wasn’t about anything,” Jensen shrugged, brushing Jared off. “I told you, I just wanted to check on her.”

“She should be resting,” Jared reprimanded his friend harshly but Jensen only rolled his eyes.

“She’s fine, man. She told me she’s fine, I’m sure she’s told you she’s fine, we should listen to her.”

“What we did isn’t fine,” Jared hissed, rounding on Jensen angrily in the hall, chest heaving. Jensen bumped his back up against the wall in surprise.

“I know,” he agreed, leveling Jared with a serious expression. “I’m not saying it was.”

“We almost killed her,” Jared whispered harshly, boxing him in.

“And she’s fine,” Jensen reiterated with heavy emphasis. “I’m not sayin’ we take her out partying again next weekend, but I am saying she’s gonna be perfectly okay, and she’s forgiven us for making the mistakes we made.”

“I–”

“I know they were awful,” Jensen cut across Jared’s protest, already knowing what he would say, “but they’re in the past. And we’re all older and wiser now. She’s ready to move on, and so am I, why can’t you?”

Jared fell back as if Jensen had slapped him, his face stunned.

“You know why,” Jared whispered. Jensen’s face fell. He had a feeling he knew why even better than Jared did, himself.

“Y/N/N isn’t Meredith, Jare,” Jensen answered softly.

“But I’m making the same fucking mistakes I did before, and if she winds up hurt because I–”

“Because you what?” Jensen interrupted. “Because you care about her? Because you let her get close to you?”

“Everyone I care about winds up getting hurt,” Jared said bitterly, the taste of the truth weighing heavily on his tongue.

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Jensen sighed heavily. “Y/N/N isn’t Meredith, she’s her own person, and you need to stop being scared of her, because honestly, I think she could be really good for you, if you let her in.”

“What are you talking about?” Jared looked at his best friend in confusion.

“I know you like her.”

“Of course I like her,” Jared scoffed. “I wouldn’t have let her stay with me if I didn’t; I wouldn’t have brought her to Napa.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Jensen said pointedly, meeting Jared’s eye with a knowing gaze before his friend cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away.

“She’s thirteen years younger than me,” Jared pointed out and Jensen rolled his eyes.

“Yeah,” he snorted derisively, “and she’s already more mature than you are.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“That she likes you too, but she’s not in blatant denial about how she feels and is actually trying to do something about it. Have you honestly not noticed how she flirts with you?” Jensen asked upon seeing the astonished look on Jared’s face.

“She’s like that with everyone, she’s just friendly,” Jared argued but Jensen wasn’t going to let him out of this that easily.

“That’s bullshit, you two were flirting so much at her birthday dinner, a waitress asked me if my date had stood me up. I was the third wheel that whole night man.”

“Then what the hell were you doing on her bed when I walked in on you two just now? And she’s callin’ you Jensen, now, that’s a bit familiar by her standards, isn’t it?” Jared accused hotly and Jensen couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A laugh burst from his chest, unbidden.

“We’re friends, sue me,” Jensen rolled his eyes. “But she’s not into me like that, and I’m not fallin’ for her, either. That’s always been you.”

“I’m not falling for her,” Jared denied, shaking his head incredulously, and Jensen laughed again.

“Dude, you’ve been free falling since that first time she cooked us dinner at your place. It’s so fucking obvious, do you seriously not see it?”

“I think I know how I feel, thanks,” Jared snapped.

“Whatever, man,” Jensen shook his head, not wanting to fight about this. “But she does like you, so don’t do something stupid to upset her while you try to remember where you put your balls.”

Jensen dodged around Jared and walked off down the hall, leaving Jared standing by his bedroom door, utterly flabbergasted.

“Oh, by the way,” he turned around as he reached the stairs and called back to Jared. “I was gonna tell you, I’m staying in Napa. I’ve got a story picking up at Stanford and it’s easier to be close by. So anytime you want to get your head out of your ass, I’ll be around.”

And with that, Jensen wheeled away and made his way back down the stairs, and out of sight.

Chapter 19 coming January 25th or subscribe to my website to read up to Chapter 23!

Runaway: @maliburenee @samsgirl93 @67waywarddaughter @supernatural3002

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[inomios]

Beauty behind the madness || levi ackerman x reader || PART I

Summary: “You knew that under all of his layers of grief and rage there was something worth loving; he knew that under your easy smiles and sweet words there was something dark lurking. He wanted all of you and you wanted all of him.”

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Words: 7,4K

TG: Brief allusion to soldiers’ suicides; little description of a panic attack on the seventh part (I can’t feel my face); brief talk about death and addiction; and even though I wrote it all using gender neutral terms, at some point I used the term girlfriend because partner sounded too cold for the situation.

-        If you are triggered by some content that I haven’t mentioned, please tell me so I can add it to the list and prevent it from happening again.

Author’s note: Mushing my favorite album with my comfort character is being so much fun. I’m enjoying so much this process you wouldn’t believe it. The second part will be up next Tuesday, and it’ll be the ending. Please, share, comment and like if you enjoyed, it would mean the world to see your reactions and impressions. As always, English is not my mother language, so sorry for the mistakes.

                                                          . . .

1. REAL LIFE

He had carved on his soul, heart and mind the words that Kenny had once told him, back when he was a scared and weak kid under his wing in the Underground, back when Kenny had caught him crying in the dead of night over his mother.

‘Boy, you won’t survive a day with that attitude. Your mother was a whore and now she’s a dead whore, get over it. You don’t have time to mop over her, crying is for people who have nothing more important to worry about.’

Kenny, for better or for worse, had taught him many lessons that became the key to his survival, advices he would never forget, and this was one of them: ‘Grieving is a waste of time.’

Every second he cried over his mother was time he could have spent granting his sorrowful existence. He couldn’t let his grief control him, because missing his mother wouldn’t make him last another day, she couldn’t protect him now that she was gone. So, for better or for worse, he let his sadness and rage aside and started focusing on what was important: survival.

Grieve is a tricky feeling, it makes you think you can control it, while it just keeps bottling up until it explodes, and you better be ready for when that happens, because you may not be able to fix the mess it’s going to leave behind.

Levi thought he had masqueraded his feelings pretty well, he tried to shrug everything off, as if nothing mattered to him, but it did, and Kenny knew it and he loved to tease him about it, he loved to press his buttons, Levi had learned that pretty soon in the relationship, but he was trying to handle his feelings, he wanted to prove Kenny he was worthy of his time, that he was strong, that  he wasn’t weak, not anymore. So, whenever Kenny tried to get a reaction out of him, he kept his mouth shut, but he couldn’t water down the fire in his grey eyes and Kenny could see it, he always could.

‘You are as worthless as your mother, maybe I should leave you in a brothel too, then you would be useful for something.’

A loud howling laughter.

Levi’s brow twitched.

‘Did your mom have time to teach you how to read or was she too busy fucking half the Underground?’

He thought he had said something hilarious. He bent over his back.

Levi had a little knife clutched in his hand.  He was starting to see red.

‘You’re as worthless as your mother.’

He was pushing him to his limits.

Levi had already passed them.

He liked to think that there was a dark abyss inside of him, a bottomless place where he could hide all his emotions and thoughts, they were useless, so he ignored them, he kept them away, far from the surface. Levi thought that he could detach from his pain, but it was a part of him, and if you stare into the abyss for too long, the abyss stares back at you. The Levi who grieved was still there, looking at him, the Levi who felt too much but said nothing wanted to get out, so he did, he escaped from the abyss and took control.

He run towards Kenny, eyes gleaming with unshed tears, knife in his hand, aiming for his heart, but Kenny was faster, quicker on his feet, he moved just in time. However, Levi still managed to scratch his shoulder, he teared his shirt and he could see the blood slipping, tainting the white fabric.

Kenny got mad. Levi had never seen him that furious. He grabbed his scrawny body and gave him the beating of his life. When he ended, Levi couldn’t even move, he was lying on the floor on a puddle of his own blood.

‘Listen kid, I don’t give a fuck about your shitty problems. You think you’re special? Guess what, you are a piece of shit, just like everyone else. Everyone here has issues, solve them or do whatever you want to do with them, but don’t you ever dare to pull a stunt like that again, because I’ll will leave you here to die, boy.’

That was the second lesson Kenny had told him: ‘Control is vital.’

He thought that by ignoring his feelings he was controlling them, but he was wrong, he realized that when those bottled emotions caused him to be bed ridden a few days.

Instead, he decided to let his feelings out in really calculated moments, he started to canalize all his rage into more productive stuff, like cleaning. He liked to think that by cleaning he had control over something, there was something cathartic to him in scrubbing floors, doing the laundry, and mopping floors. It was the Underground, it was filthy no matter how much effort he put into it, but it gave him something he could focus on, something he could use to let his frustrations out.

So, he cleaned, for his mother who deserved a better live.

For the innocent child that he once was, who had been stripped from everything he loved.

For Kenny, who he despised and was cruel and ruthless.

For all the things he had to do to survive.

He cleaned and cleaned, and he never had an outburst again. He was in control.

Looking back, he is sure that part of Kenny’s fury that day was that a kid made him bleed. You see, Kenny liked to think of himself as some kind of god, a ruler, someone who could control everybody, someone who was holding your fate between his calloused hands. And when he hurt Kenny, both of them realized two things, especially Levi, who discovered this: ‘Gods bleed to.’

Levi learnt his third lesson that day. No one could control him, the same way he couldn’t control anyone. You are the one who makes the decisions, just be sure to choose one you won’t regret. Kenny had no power over him, he wasn’t a god and if he was, Levi wouldn’t bow down to him.

Kenny learnt that Levi, that child, had a fire within he couldn’t tame, Levi wasn’t going to be a submissive, brainless follower. He had potential, he had willpower, he didn’t really need him, but the boy didn’t know it yet. So, when the moment came, he left. He had grown to care about his nephew, at least a little, but Levi was a survivor and Kenny knew he would fight with teeth and claws until the very end. Therefore, Kenny left him with the only person who could protect him: Levi himself.

When Kenny left him at his own, alone again in the Underground, he learnt his fourth lesson: ‘Love is a risk he wasn’t going to take again.’

  2. LOSERS

Stupid is next to ‘I love you.’ He was pretty fucking sure of that.

He made a bow to himself: he wasn’t going to love anyone ever again, people are bound to leave, and whenever they left, they took away a part of him, and he was already too broken for that. However, life happens, and it turns everything upside down, it doesn’t ask for consent, so his plan of never loving again was ruined sooner than he would’ve liked.

Furlan came first. He wasn’t looking for a companion, at all. A companion meant more people to care about, a distraction, and he didn’t need any of that. However, Furlan managed to convince him that he could be useful to him. Whenever he looks back, he thinks that both of them knew that Levi didn’t need anyone, he could survive on his own, he was tougher than anyone else in the Underground, but he was alone, so alone, and a part of him yearned so much for someone that he let Furlan come with him.  

Their relationship was weird at first, not sure where the boundaries of the other laid, what they could do or don’t. Furlan didn’t want to overstep and piss off Levi and Levi didn’t want to overshare with him, he didn’t want to show him his weaknesses, but at the same time he wanted to spend time with him.

He remembers that there were moments when Levi desired to say something, talk about pointless stuff, but he never did, after Kenny he was deprived of human contact that he even thought that he had lost his voice. However, as time passed them by, they fell into some type of routine, boundaries became clearer. Furlan started to get Levi, how he would never start a conversation no matter how bad he wanted; how his mind was always plotting something; how he always had an ace upon his sleeve… Furlan grew fond on him, he knew that there was a lot Levi wasn’t telling him, but from time to time he got to see a glimpse of all the man he was under his façade and layers of secrets, and he wanted to learn about him, he wanted to be his friend, he wanted to have someone to help and he wanted someone to take care of him, he wanted to stay.

On the other hand, Levi liked how Furlan seemed to know when he could talk and joke around and when he had to stay silent, it was like he understood him, Furlan was prudent and chill, thinking before acting, and he knew when to fight and when to give up. Levi started to care about him, a lot, against his better judgement, he just hoped he wouldn’t regret his choice.

Then, Isabel appeared on scene. Levi was happy enough with Furlan, he didn’t need someone else to worry about, that was more trouble, more chances to get hurt. However, he soon found he had a soft spot for the girl. She was so energetic, so bubbly, eyes always gleaming with hope, she was a ray of light in the darkest place. She was messy, reckless and wild, she balanced them out. When she asked to join them, Levi wanted to let out one of his characteristic ‘Tch’ and turn his back on her, there was no room for compassion in the Underground, but he couldn’t, he was weaker than he thought. He couldn’t leave her at her own knowing she could get herself killed, he didn’t want to be like Kenny, he wasn’t going to be like him.

The three of them became a gang, well, not just a gang, a family too. They looked after each other, they looked after Levi, just like his mother did. They were the best criminals in the Underground, and sometimes Levi felt like a god with the world at his feet. He shouldn’t have forgotten his third lesson: ‘Gods bleed too.’ He thought they were invincible, they weren’t, they were no gods, life wouldn’t bend at their will.

When Isabel and Furlan died, he didn’t even have proper bodies to bury, he just did two little makeshift graves and carved their name on the gray stone. He was the only person who would remember them, so he visited them at least once a week (he still does), mainly during his sleepless nights, when no one would ever question or notice his absence. Talking with them was the only reason why he hadn’t given up long time ago, he was their leader, he told them to always keep going, to never back down.

So, he kept going, for his mother, for Isabel and for Furlan. For the only people who ever loved him.

Maybe he didn’t really keep going, maybe he just let life pass by, what mattered was that he was alive and fighting for a purpose, he owed them that, their deaths wouldn’t be in vain.

Why did he always have to lose everything?

Why there was nothing good in store for him?

He was bound to lose to lose everything.

Stupid is next to I love you.

He was so fucking foolish.

3. TELL YOUR FRIENDS

The mission had been a carnage, a lot of fallen soldiers. He could still hear their screams and see the fear in their eyes, more images to haunt him while he was sleeping, as if they weren’t already enough. He couldn’t save anyone, he never could, he was human after all, even if some people thought about him like a god.

He had had a problem with his ODM gear during the mission, the gas cylinders were failing and wasting too much gas, so he ran out of it pretty quickly, which costed him a seven meters fall, breaking his right leg, his left arm, a few ribs and a concussion in the process. He could have died and a part of him wished he had, then, the pain would have ended. Luckily, Hange arrived just in time to help him, he still thinks that maybe they knew what was going on in his head, that he had thought about giving up right there, and that’s why as soon as they arrived back home, they sent him to the infirmary, not wanting to leave him alone. Hange still says it was because he couldn’t take proper care of his injuries by himself. They both knew he had had it way worse than that.

The infirmary was clean, and that meant a lot according to his standards, but your desk wasn’t, not at all and it was driving him crazy, if he could, he would get up and clean it himself. However, you seemed unphased by it, every day you would drop more documents on your table (but no document ever left, they just kept piling up); he had seen you drop coffee on some paper and not giving a fuck a single fuck about it; you had seven books on your table, none of them related with medicine, you just had them there because you wanted; and if you asked him what irked him the most, he would say the brush, you had a brush in your desk and it was full of hair. He couldn’t get his eyes of your desk, and if you ever noticed, you never did anything about it; or maybe you did notice and since you are a little shit, you just wanted to see how far you could go before he went feral. We will never know.

If you had been any other person, like one of the members of his squad, he would have said something way earlier, but you weren’t his subordinate, you were a medic and as far as he knew, he didn’t have the right to scold you at your own workplace.

You were competent, you just talked when necessary and you would always ask him if he wanted something, no matter how many times he had said ‘no’ and whenever Hange came to visit, you would always talk with them and ask them about their experiments and research. Hence, Hange thought you were the sweetest person ever, they had even told him that he better not be giving you any trouble.

You both had an easy routine. You would come in first hour in the morning, trying to be silent with no success at all, you were so noisy, luckily for him, he never sleeps more than four hours. You would sit on your desk and write a letter, every day, who the fuck had so many people to talk to or how many things worth telling did happen in your life? Then, you would go out to get him breakfast and you brought more documents with yourself, his breakfast always came with a cup of tea, a shitty cup of tea, but at least it wasn’t coffee or juice, he didn’t know if you were the one behind the tea, but if you were, he was glad you didn’t work on the kitchen. After breakfast, Hange would pay him a visit and talk with him, his squad would often visit him after training and Erwin once or twice a week, whenever his work let him a little free. At midday you would water the plants on the window, you had once called them ‘Asphodels’ and after watering them you disappeared, at the beginning he thought you just went to eat, later on, he would find why you did that. The rest of the day was the same, you wrote and read documents and he would either look annoyed at your desk or he would vert his gaze at the window to distract himself.

This routine changed the second week, because you asked him two questions that made him be more comfortable around you.

‘Why do you look at my desk as if it were making you sick?’

‘Tch, because is making me sick, it’s dirty as fuck.’

Okay, not the best words, but you asked, and he answered. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel better after telling you. You blushed a little and scratched your neck bashfully.

‘Sorry, I can be a little messy sometimes.’

‘I can see.’

That day you spent the evening emptying your desk, any other person would have asked you not to bother, but Levi couldn’t care, after all, his last thread of sanity depended on that desk. When you finished cleaning, you asked the second question.

‘You hate my tea, but you drink it anyways, why?’

He felt his ears getting a little red, and he just shrugged and looked away.

‘You are taking care of me, didn’t wanna be a bitch about it.’

You smiled, a smile brighter than the morning star, and for a fraction of second he forgot how the breath, but he obviously didn’t say a thing about it.

‘I promise you that tomorrow you’ll have the best tea ever.’

‘Tch, if you say so.’

He appreciated your gesture, kindness wasn’t something he was used to, it felt weird and strange to have someone to do good things just for the sake of doing them, it made him wary, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought that maybe you wanted to get something from him and that’s why you acted so nicely around him.

The next day, after writing your daily letter, at your then clean desk, you brought him breakfast with a steaming cup of tea. He drank the beverage under your expecting gaze and to his surprise it was nice, not the best tea ever made, but definitely not the worst.

‘It tastes better.’

‘Thanks, this time I followed the recipe.’ You admitted proudly.

‘How the fuck were you even making tea before?’

‘Instinct?’

He looked at you astonished, how come you were a doctor, but you couldn’t follow a three-step recipe? At that moment he thought his health was in the hands of dumbest medic in the area, however, he didn’t really care, well, at least not as much as he would have expected. You had something, an aura around your persona, that was soothing and endearing, rather than infuriating.

At the crack of dusk on that same day, he was the one who asked a question.

‘Who are you always writing?’

For a moment he swears he saw your happy demeanor quivering, as if he had opened a cage that should have remained closed, but you quickly fixed, the funny glint coming back at your eyes as fast as it had left. It was in that moment when he knew that you weren’t as shallow as he may have deemed you to be.

‘I’m just telling my friends about this annoying patient I have. Do you know he made me clean my office desk?’

Your voice was laced with amusement, you were trying to divert his attention to another topic, and he knew, but he was no one to press you about it.

‘Well, as soon as I’m free, I’m telling my friends about how my medic is a fucking shitshow.’ Too blunt, but you brushed it off.

‘They sound like a nightmare.’

‘They are.’

You smiled, yet again as blinding as the sun.

He didn’t smile, he didn’t even grimace, his face was as stoic as always, but for a split of second, a smile nearly slipped in.

To his surprise, he actually talked about you to his friends. When he had the medical lease, the first thing he did was visit Isabel and Furlan’s impromptu graves and talk about you. It wasn’t a lot, he just mentioned you a few times. It didn’t mean a thing, and at the same time, it meant everything.

 4. OFTEN

It didn’t mean a thing.

Not a single thing.

It was unimportant.

He was like that with everyone.

Except he wasn’t and he knew it.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He would always find himself at your door, not because he was sick or harmed, he just felt the need to see you. He didn’t even talk with you that much, he wasn’t good at opening up or even small talk. He was foul-mouthed, snarky and his words could cut deeper than a knife. You were soft, kind, funny and there weren’t uncomfortable silences with you, your presence was comforting. Levi didn’t get why he felt that way about you, he barely knew you, but you had something that drew him in, maybe it was the normalcy you brought him. You were a doctor, you healed people, you tended their injuries; you hadn’t seen the titans, you hadn’t seen comrades die at their merciless hands, you didn’t know what was outside the walls and he liked that. You were an escape. It was as if his life was only centered around Titans and his existence had no other point but to kill or think about to kill Titans: Hange were always babbling about Titans; his paperwork was always a painful reminder of fallen mates; Erwin was always tracing missions and plans; and the whole point of his squad was training to defeat those beasts. He never had a break, but visiting you felt like it.

He knocked at your door and it opened, you were at your desk, which was an unorganized mess then again, humming some song he didn’t know while you were reading some medical reports. And the asphodels in the window looked beautiful as always.

‘Hi, Levi.’ You looked up and gave him a smile.

Your smiles.

Oh man, he took them in like a dehydrated man would savor the first droplets of rain.

He just nodded as a salute and walked towards the window to see the asphodels.

‘Why asphodels?’ he asked, you loved those flowers, and they weren’t necessary the most beautiful.

To him you were more like yellow lilies, he had read somewhere that yellow lilies meant joy and happiness. They always brought a simile to one’s face because they are the true depiction of the sun, just like you were.

‘I don’t know, they are special’ you said with a small voice, the same haunted look in your eyes, the same that appeared when he asked about your letters.

‘I guess they are.’

A comfortable silence fell in the room. He was getting used to these havens of peace.

That night at dinner, he was sitting next to Erwin, Hange in front of him, looking at him quizzically.

‘What’s going between you and y/n? You’re always at their place.’ They ask.

‘Tch, nothing, I just visit them often.’

Lies

‘So, there is no ulterior motive, like, I don’t know, our Short king having a crush?’ Levi sometimes forgot how punchable Hange’s face was.

‘No.’

More lies.

Something was going on, they both knew, but he was too scared to think about what it was.

 5. THE HILLS

Another fight. More deaths. What was the point of it? He felt like he was fighting for a pointless cause, the more deaths, the less they knew. He would have to send more letters to the families, telling them that their sons and daughters fought bravely until their last breath and sacrificed their lives for the sake of humanity. However, broken families would come to him and ask him if it was worth it, if the death of their children, cousins, brothers and parents brought them answers, if their deaths meant that humanity was closer to taste the freedom they longed for. He had always said that no death was in vain, but he was starting to question that.

He had barely seen you after the mission, he retreated to his quarters, drowning himself in reports and regrets, if he had been better, he could have saved more lives, but he wasn’t enough, he was no hero, he was a human. He had been fighting his whole life and he just wanted it to stop, he wanted peace and tranquility, not more deaths at his shoulders, no more ghosts to haunt him at the end of the day.

He never slept, at least not for more than a few hours. However, after a mission he didn’t sleep at all, the images of his comrades’ deaths still fresh on his mind, their screams still piercing his ears, his sanity vanished a little bit more every time he tried to close his eyes, so he just laid awake looking at the roof, thinking about all the things he could have done to save them, repeating their names as if he was asking for their forgiveness.

Sometimes it all got too much, and he needed to walk to clear his mind, there were nights when he walked for hours with no direction at all, but that night he did have a direction: your office. He didn’t really know why he was doing it, but he was too tired to turn back and ask himself why you. He thought that you would probably be asleep, but to his surprise there was a dim light coming from your office, so he knocked, just like all of those times before, and your soft voice told him to come in.

He had never seen you so disheveled and tired, dark bags under your eyes, traces of tears on your face and bloodshot eyes. He also noticed four new asphodels on your desk. He looked at them and then he looked at you. He wanted to ask, but he couldn’t, so you spoke.

‘My regrets follow you to the grave.’ He barely heard you.

‘What?’

‘That’s what asphodels mean, you asked me about them once, you remember?’

He nodded, that’s all he could do.

‘I couldn’t save them, I tried, but I wasn’t good enough.’ You broke down to tears.

He wasn’t good at processing his own emotions, let alone other people’s. What was he supposed to do? He knew that people hugged to show support, but as he would say, he was ‘emotionally constipated’, so he just stayed there, looking at you.

Do something.

Do something.

Do something.

But he remained stiff, it was like watching the scene happen in third person.

‘I’m sorry, I know this is making you uncomfortable, it’s just that it’s been a long day.’

‘It’s been a long day for me to.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘You told me that asphodels mean ‘my regrets follow you to the grave’, that’s why you have them? Because you feel guilty?’

‘I plant one for every soldier that dies on my watch.’ That was the first time you opened up with him.

‘I keep the badges of their uniforms.’ That was the first time he opened up with you.

Right then everything shifted.

‘It wasn’t your fault.’ He knew those feelings, the remorse and the guilt, he was so painfully familiar with them that they had become a part of his being.

‘It wasn’t your fault either, Levi.’

It wasn’t your fault either.

It wasn’t your fault either.

It wasn’t your fault either.

Your words echoed in his mind like a drum and for a moment he believed them.

You came closer and you wrapped your arms around him, he tried to respond, embracing you in strangely, you laughed at his antics and in that moment, he wanted to disappear. You smiled and you readjusted his arms around your waist. He brought you closer, slowly, not wanting to scare you away and break the moment. You laid your head in his chest, right above his heart, and he hoped you couldn’t hear his heart beating wildly. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin and your smell intoxicating him. For a moment he felt like home, even though he didn’t understand what ‘being home’ meant, but it had to be very similar to that: comforting, reassuring, peaceful, safe.

That night, he spent what felt like hours holding you, until you had to part separate ways, the only witnesses were the asphodels and the hills at the distance.

  6. ACQUAINTED

What are we?

Levi couldn’t stop asking himself that question.

Friends didn’t have what you two had. Maybe he wasn’t the most amicable person, but he had had some friends in his life: he once had Isabel and Furlan when he was younger, and now he had Hange and Erwin, and maybe he could even consider his squad friends. And none of what he felt for them was like what he felt for you.

He tried to make sense of his thoughts by writing them, but words weren’t his forte and he just ended more and more confused.

You were nice.

You were beautiful.

You made him laugh, well, not laugh, but close enough.

You were kind.

He appreciated you, he cared for you and he wanted to protect you, but he also felt the same towards Erwin, Hange and his squad. Then, if it was the same, why it was completely different.

He kept visiting you, everything looked like it was the same, but everything had changed. It felt like the calm before the storm, as if something was about to happen, the tides were shifting, he could feel it. There were words unsaid lingering in the atmosphere and sooner or later, someone would have to utter them. But who? And if you spoke them, what would he say?

He also spent a lot of his time thinking about that too, if you happened to confess your feelings for him, if you had them, would he be able to respond them? Normal people would try, give it a shot and see what would happen, what the relationship had in store, let things flow; but he wasn’t normal, he was far from normal, he knew he wasn’t the easiest to love. He was rude, mean, a control freak, he wasn’t the one for big displays of affection, he was the last person someone would want as a partner. People yearned for epic love stories, something that could take your breath away and he wouldn’t be able to do that, he wouldn’t be able to give you the bare minimum.

Also, after all the people he had lost, he didn’t want your name to be added to that list. He preferred the uncertainty of your relationship than the possibility of losing you. If he left more people in, more people he could lose. He wasn’t stupid, he knew you were already in, but there were still boundaries between both of you.

He had also fantasized about laying himself bare in front of someone, share all of his trauma and memories, share the burden with someone, but who would love all of him? If he couldn’t even stand himself most of the days, how could he expect that someone would   do it?

‘If you were a flower, I think you would be a gladiolus.’ You would always blurt nonsense out of the blue, but for some reason, he found it endearing instead of annoying.

‘Tch, what’s even that supposed to mean?’

‘I don’t know, it’s just, gladius symbolize strength, generosity, faithfulness and I guess those are things I associate with you.’ Your cheeks were tainted with the softest tones of red and you weren’t looking at him, your gaze was fixed on your paperwork.

Those words had a way deeper meaning, he knew it and you knew it, it was as if you were testing the water by putting the tips of your feet in it. As per usual he didn’t know what to say, what was he supposed to say to that? Thanks? I think I may be falling for you?

‘Sorry, I made things weird, I should just-’ you couldn’t finish because he had started talking.

‘I think you would be a yarrow flower.’ Amazing, now he was the one talking nonsense.

Not so long ago he pictured you as yellow lilies, joy and happiness, but after getting to know you better, he realized that that description was too shallow for what you meant to him. He didn’t know a lot about flowers, he wasn’t really into botany, but he had heard about yarrow before, he had heard merchants inside Sina call them ‘plant doctor’, since they would be often placed near other plants to keep the pests away, he had also heard that it was considered invasive too, because how easily it spread. Therefore, the association came quickly to him, you were healing, a solace from the cruelty of his world; and you were invasive, because he couldn’t be away from you, you consumed him.

‘That means a lot.’ Your blush was now more pronounced now and he wondered what you had made out of his words.

He felt a wave of panic travel through his body, maybe that statement was too deep, maybe he screwed it all, so he decided to excuse himself and ran away from the situation he had created. He had told you he was going to his room, he lied, he was going to the library, he needed to see what his words had meant. He wasted all his evening looking for books about the meaning of flowers, he sure looked like a madman, he hadn’t even gone to the Mess Hall to have dinner, he needed to found answers, and he found them at two a.m.

“The secret language of flowers” said the title, he opened the book and he started looking for the yarrow’s meaning.

Healing and Good Health

Courage and War

Everlasting Love

When he read the last symbolism of the flower, his heart stopped for a whole minute, did he just declare his feelings, that he wasn’t ever sure of, to you? He wanted to disappear in the spot, just vanish into the air.

He went to his room, holding the book close to his chest. He spent the rest of the night reading the book, he wouldn’t mess up again, if he ever wanted to talk about flowers with you, he would be informed. When the sun rose, his head was buzzing with flower meanings, and he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about you while reading some of them.

At breakfast he did go to the Mess Hall and took his usual place.

‘Where were you yesterday at dinner?’ asked Erwin.

‘With his girlfriend.’ Replied Hange with a big smile.

‘She’s not my girlfriend.’ He said with a grunt.

‘What are they then?’ Hange was using the tone, the one which meant “I know you’re hiding something, and I won’t stop pestering you until I discover it.”

‘We are just acquainted.’

‘Liar.’

 7. CAN’T FEEL MY FACE

He remembered how there were days when Kenny would drink himself to oblivion, Levi didn’t understand why he did it. He didn’t see the point of passing out in the floor, and when he asked, Kenny answered that ‘his vices kept him sane’. It still made no sense to him, how a man could be so cunning and sharp, while he wasted his nights and days with alcohol, women and many other things that Levi wasn’t interested on trying. He had seen Kenny drunk and it was far from having control. The first lesson Kenny had told him was that control is vital, then, how come he was powerless in his own life, letting alcohol take control of him.

‘You’re old enough to try it, boy. Take some if you want.’

The first time Kenny offered him alcohol, he had declined, he had said no, and Kenny had shrugged it off, as if saying: ‘more for me.’ He wouldn’t get it, it didn’t make sense, Kenny, who prided himself on his cold-blood and his steel nerves, would renounce to that control so easily, he didn’t want to be like that, never in a million years, he would never give up his self-control.

Until he did.

He had lost control. And he now understood Kenny.

He knew he should distance himself from you, he didn’t want more Furlan’s and Isabel’s, he was getting dangerously close to you and he didn’t want that. He should run away, disappear. You were kind and sweet, you would find someone else to feel the void he would inevitably leave. He had always been the one being left behind, and he survived, you would too. Also, it’s not as if he contributed a lot to your life. He was sure you both would be better with the other far away, I mean, the facts were there. Actually, they had been spiraling in his head for a while.

Then, if he knew all of that, why was he helping you cut clean bandages, especially so close to you that he could smell your shampoo? Oh yeah, because you asked him to, as easy as that, all his conviction melted away from every fiber of his body.

Why did he do that? Why was he so helpless around you? Oh yeah, because you made him feel so damn good. You had him wrapped around your finger and you didn’t seem to notice, you acted as if it was nothing, you had power over him, you had Humanity’s Strongest at his knees.

‘My family died a long time ago, I couldn’t save them, I moved in with my aunt and I decided that I’d study medicine for them.’ You said out of the blue.

You cut one bandage.

‘The letters I write are for them. It’s stupid, but it makes me feel closer to them.’

You cut another bandage.

He didn’t say a thing.

He hated himself, any other person would have hugged you or said something, he just stayed there, frozen and acting as cold as always. Why did you confide in him something so personal? He wasn’t the one to go when you are sad, he didn’t even know how to process his own trauma and baggage most of the time. What was he supposed to do?

On the other hand, you trusted Levi more than anyone in your life. He brought you peace and solace, something you thought you would never have.

You lost your family when you were really young, always feeling guilty for being the one who survived, and you promised to yourself you would vow your life to help the others, never putting your needs first. When you joined the military, you watched many soldiers die on your hands, you could still hear their last words, how scare they were, how they didn’t want to die like that, alone and far away from their family; you could also recall their mutilated bodies; and you could also remember how many of them would survive the Titans but lose the fights against their own mind and end up being another fallen soldier that died for nothing. You loved your job, but it also killed a part of you every day, there were no victories on a war, and you knew it. That’s why you picked up gardening, you planted a flower for every soldier who died, something to remember them.

When you met Levi, you admired him, you had heard the stories about him, his courage, mood changes, sharp tongue, skills, intelligence… You would be lying if you said he didn’t make you curious, you were used to soldiers haunted by the horrors they had faced, but something about him was different, maybe because you saw yourself in those grey eyes. You two were similar, you both had so much pent up that you could not talk about, you had an image to keep, and it was exhausting. He had a name to uphold, people looked up to him, if he failed, if he crumbled, everyone else would; you were a doctor, and no matter how hard things were, you had to be strong for your patients, never showing how much their pain took a toll on you. You could let your mask down, because even though he didn’t talk too much or overall understand why you were sharing that, it felt good, liberating.

Sometimes, he would also talk about him, not a lot, but enough to make you feel understood, and those moments, when he showed the man underneath the façade, glimpses of his true persona, those few minutes, sometimes even seconds, were responsible for your growing feelings for the captain.

‘It’s not stupid, I talk to my dead friends’ graves.’ He said nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t baring a piece of him in front of you.

Those kind of flashes of the man he was underneath took your breath away every single time.

You came close to him, slowly, testing the waters, not wanting to scare him away. Maybe it was too forward, too reckless, too much at a time, but he didn’t move. You brought your hand to his cheek. He didn’t jump away. You looked into his eyes, pools of mercury. He held your gaze, expecting your next move. You could feel the tension. He could too.

‘They would be really proud of you.’ You said, voice thin and trembling.

He was silent. Your words caught him of guard.

He was feeling too much. His heartbeat was erratic, beating wildly, he could hear it. He felt the blood boiling under his skin, he was so hot, he was sweating. He couldn’t move, but he felt his body trembling. He could feel the room closing on him, trapping him. He wasn’t in control.

It was a too familiar feeling, one he had experienced a thousand times before.

‘Levi, are you okay? I’m sorry I’ve made you uncomfortable.’ You said worriedly.

He didn’t know what to do, he just wanted the pain in his chest to end.

You were too close. You were trapping him too. So, he pushed you away from you and run from the infirmary. You couldn’t see him like that, no one could.

Why did he share that with you? Why did you get too close? Were you going to kiss him?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why was he like that?

Why did he ruin things?

Why did he lose control of himself? He couldn’t even feel his face when you touched it.

He felt pathetic. He felt like the little kid he once was.

Control is vital.

Control is vital.

Control is vital.

If he was with you, he wasn’t in control. And if he lost his control, then he would have nothing.

He had to get away from you, because you were stripping him from the only thing he had: his control.

[c-is-writing]

extinguished

pairing: kara danvers x gn!reader

genre: 100% angst

word count: 1577

warnings: none

a/n: aahhh writing a full angst was a bit hard for me bc i still need to practice writing angst but i hope that this at least makes your heart ache >:DD

original request

12 unread messages, 4 voicemails, 2 cold dinners, and 1 missed date. The dimly lit kitchen feels suffocating as the last candle finally burns out. You watch as the wisps of smoke float through the air before fading away. You know, candles are such interesting and versatile objects. They can be used to express a variety of emotions like calm or somberness. These hard wax pillars can soften overtime once a flame is ignited within them, creating a warm glow that surrounds them. However, like all good things, the flame slowly burns out until there’s nothing left to burn, leaving a thin trail of smoke in its wake. 

Distracted by your thoughts as you watch the grey swirls fill the air, you don’t notice the arrival of a certain blonde. Before you can lose yourself once again in your thoughts, a voice calls out for you. Turning around, you see your girlfriend standing in front of the balcony door in her Supergirl regalia. You let out a sigh as you turn away from her, choosing to focus on the plate in front of you. The clicking of boots on the hardwood floor grow louder and louder before coming to a stop. A soft hand is gently placed on yours, resting on the dining table. Kara kneels beside you as she pulls your hand towards her, bringing your attention lower to face her. Running a hand through her wind-blown hair, she lets out a heavy sigh. You already know what’s about to happen as you hear the three words you’re beginning to really despise.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Kara says, voice filled with guilt.

Shaking your head, you give her a small smile. “Please, stop saying that Kara.”

Taken aback by your response, she’s left at a complete loss for words. You brush a strand of hair out of her face as you continue.

“I know that you’re sorry, Kara, but I’m beginning to think that you’re sorry for a lot more than missing another dinner date.”

“What? What do you mean?”

There’s no way she could be that clueless, right? The painful smile quickly drops from your face as you lock eyes with the crouching woman. 

Annoyance seeps into your voice as you speak. “You’re kidding me, right? Do not play oblivious with me, Kara.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N. What do you mean by, ‘I’m sorry for a lot more than missing dinner’?”

“No, I don’t believe you” --you scoff-- “There’s no absolute way in hell you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Kara drops your hand and instantly stands up, getting into a defensive stance. 

“We can’t talk about this properly if you won’t tell me what the problem is. So, spit it out, Y/N. What is the problem with me? What do you know about me that I don’t know?”

You quickly stand up, pushing the chair back, and point an accusing finger at her. Frustrated with the whole ordeal, you begin to rant.

“What’s the problem? What’s the problem?! Kara, I can see it in your eyes. Those bright blue eyes that used to look at me in adoration no longer do that. That shine in your eyes whenever I cooked your favorite meals dulled. What happened to us, Kara? Am I not enough for you anymore? You barely text me that you’re okay whenever you finish Supergirl duties. You’ve missed countless dates, always brushing me off in favor of doing other things and going to other places. Hell, you don’t even cuddle with me in bed anymore! There’s no lingering touches, sleepy kisses, nothing.”

At this point, you want to continue your speech but angry sobs rack your body, interrupting your train of thought. The dark apartment goes silent as Kara watches as you wipe at your burning tears. In a soft voice, Kara tries to reason with you.

“Y/N. I-” -- she sighs -- “I don’t know where to begin except for the fact that I’m sorry about hurting you like this. I guess I’ve just been really tired lately. With everything going on with the DEO and CatCo, I don’t really have the energy to do these things anymore and a lot of the time, these just slip my mind. I-”

Regaining your breath and partial composure, you explode at her.

“KARA DANVERS, DO NOT START THAT WITH ME.” Clenching your fists, you take a breath and continue. “I think I understand it now. You’ve fallen out of love with me, right? That flame we had was finally extinguished because you grew tired of me. Tell me, who did you fall in love with this time?”

You watch as Kara’s eyes are flooded with guilt and she gulps. In a quiet and nearly broken voice, Kara gives you the answer you were looking for.

“Lena.”

Drawing your lips into a thin smile, you nod as tears begin to fill your vision once more. You chew on your lip as everything finally begins to fall into place.

---

You were at Alex’s apartment, having a game night with the Superfriends. The group decided to play Charades and wanted to split up the couples so you were paired up with Alex as Kara was paired with Lena. While everyone was laughing at Winn trying to act out his word, you sat off to the side of the couch, sipping your drink. Across the room, you could see how Kara was practically glowing as she talked with Lena. Those ocean blue eyes you fell in love with were falling in love with someone else and you watched as your relationship with Kara began to slowly unravel. With every touch, laugh, and smile the pair shared, you could feel your heart sinking and crack bit by bit.

A hand gently shook your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see Alex’s eyes filled with concern as she asks if you’re okay. Brushing her off, you nod your head and get ready for your turn, missing the way Kara ignored you, not sparing a second thought as she continued her conversation with Lena.

The next time you realized that your girlfriend was falling out of love with you and instead with someone in your friend group was when you were reading a couple of random blog posts about Supergirl. Something that caught your eye was a comment under an article about L-Corp.

> Isn’t that the place that Supergirl keeps going to?

> OMG yeah! i’ve heard about a lot of supergirl sightings in that area

> A friend of mine goes to a park nearby there and says that he sees a streak of blue and red fly by at the same time nearly every day.

> I wonder why she keeps going there. Don’t Supers and Luthors have a bad history with each other?

> yeah, i think they do but it seems like supergirl and lena luthor like each other.

You scoffed at that last comment. Yeah, more like they love each other. Pausing, you realized that Kara is falling in love with Lena. The two of them have been spending a lot more time together, arguably Kara has spent more time with her than you within the past few weeks. Your heart clenched at the thought and you shook your head, wanting to dispel the idea out of your head. There’s no way. Kara would at least tell me. Right? Tears began to well up in your eyes as you let out a few pitiful sobs. Fuck.

---

“Leave. I don’t want to see you in this apartment ever again.”

“Y/N, I-”

“Don’t say it,” you practically beg her, “please.

She whispers in a guilt-ridden voice, “Okay.”

Continuing, you stare at the ground as you say, “I want all of your things out of here by morning. I’m going to Nia’s apartment tonight.”

At this point, the two of you are standing in the kitchen at an arm's length, trying to hide your tears from each other. You’re the first to turn away as you head to your bedroom to pack an overnight bag. Quickly sending a text to Nia, you pack what you need to stay the night and you check your phone, seeing a text message giving you the okay to stay over. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you pocket the phone and brush away stray tears. 

When you leave the bedroom, Kara hasn’t moved an inch, just staring aimlessly into the ground. At the sound of your door closing, she looks up to see you walking past her with a bag hung on your shoulder. Placing your hand on the door handle, you’re about to open the door when you pause and look over your shoulder. The blonde looks so defeated in her place; head hung low, shoulders slumped over, eyes red and lined with tears. The two of you make eye contact as you give her a small smile and step out of the apartment, leaving the superhero alone with her thoughts and guilt.

Just like a candle, your relationship that once burned bright dwindled down until it was on its last legs. The argument snuffed the flame, once and for all, leaving the both of you to fade into the smoke that was the irreparable relationship that could no longer be rekindled. Relationships that were broken had the chance at being repaired but those that burned out could no longer be reignited.

taglist (all): @teenwonder @procrastinatingsapphictrash  @owloftheshadows

taglist (kara danvers): @karazorxel

[rodeo-boots]

omg u opened ur requests!!! may i please get some flaco x reader smut? any gender for the reader :^) thank you <3

it's been an absolute pleasure to write for Flaco, and I hope you'll enjoy it!! I picked a gender-neutral reader for this one :')

Rating: Explicit

Words: 1844

AO3

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Snowflakes whirled behind you as the heavy door to the cabin fell closed, your eyes needing a couple blinks until they had fully adjusted to the darkness within. You released a deep breath, one you hadn't noticed you've held in the first place, dropping the bag with the take to the floor.

"Back already?" The voice permeated through the shadows, a deep tenor that had your little hairs stand on edge. Flaco hadn't moved from his spot, huddled in the corner of his cabin, tucked away where the worst of the wind wouldn't reach him. His hat hid his eyes well, the glass upon the table indicating what he'd been doing during your absence.

You pulled the gloves off your hands, stuffing them into the deep pockets of your coat. "Wasn't hard," you answered, remembering the fright in the traveler's eyes, their readiness to give you all they had at the point of your gun. It left you feeling on clouds, the rush of adrenaline still buzzing beneath your skin.

And maybe you had ridden a little harder than needed. Maybe the prospect of seeing Flaco as soon as possible had driven you more than you cared to admit.

The man stood, floorboards creaking under his heavy boots as he moved closer, picking the bag off the ground to inspect the valuables within. He whistled, weighing his head in a satisfied fashion. "You've done well." His praise got to you as it always did, made the exhaustion and strain dissipate right off your shoulders. After a job done well, there was nothing else you needed than some validation, and Flaco had always been one to supply.

"What're you thinkin' about?" He had caught onto your silence, reaching for your chin to tilt it upwards, dark eyes meeting your own. The bag in his hands seemed forgotten, carelessly dropped again while the contents within clanked and jingled.

Your lips quirked up into a sly smile, the apples of your cheeks cold like your nose. "I'm thinking 'bout my reward," you answered, your hands easily finding their way to his upper arms, fingers digging into the thickness of his coat. He knew how to dress accordingly, seemingly never running into trouble to stay warm – though this man was a furnace all by himself.

His warm breath hit your face, your eyes fluttering shut in expectancy of a kiss. The next gust of hot air left him as a chuckle, however, Flaco reaching up to take the hat off your head and place it aside. "All in due time," he muttered, removing his own next to join yours.

You would never complain about sharing a drink and a talk, about basking in the company of the older gunslinger. He was more to you than a source of income, than a partner in crime. His tips were helpful, sure, but even if he didn't have a job for you, you'd still seek him out at the end of the day. Because no matter what you gave him, the attention and companionship you were more than happy to offer, he would always return it tenfold.

Up here, you were his alone, and you would always know to cherish that.

Teasing never lasted long between you, Flaco being as unwilling to waste his time as you were, straight-forward in more ways than one. Where you had made the first step initially, he preferred taking the lead from there-on out, but who were you to complain?

"That's it." He hadn't waited long after denying your first kiss, had crowded you back against the wall to work on your coat, your own hands mirroring the actions of his. His lips were on your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive and cool skin, your breath hitching when he sucked down over your pulse.

The whiskey on his breath was undeniable, but it was just another part of him, another addition to the intoxication man you couldn't get enough of.

You wanted to touch him, pushing at the heavy coat around his shoulders, fingertips raking up the nape of his neck to slip into his hair. There were too many possible places for your hands to be, a small frustrated noise slipping past your lips when you couldn't feel everything all at once.

Flaco tossed his coat to the floor eventually, not minding the dust and the dirt you had dragged inside, the snow now molten and leaving muddy puddles behind. It all didn't matter to him, nor did it to you, both your minds entirely encaptured with the press of one pair of lips against another, Flaco finally giving you what you'd yearned for ever since stepping into the cabin.

"Let's move this to the bed," you muttered, hands lowering to work on the man's belt, impatiently pulling the leather from it's loops. You palmed him through his trousers, got a good grip on him just to squeeze, sighing at the familiar weight of his heavy cock behind the fabric.

He bit back a curse, muffled his voice in the crook of your neck. By the time you had freed his cock, he was getting ready to speak again. "Why should we?" He asked low and deep, kissing the magical spot behind your ear before briefly nibbling on your earlobe. "If I can take you right here?"

That sent a shiver down your spine, the excitement within you welling up and doubling in intensity, your nod too quick and needy to be brushed off. "Please–" But you didn't get farther than that, Flaco's lips returning to your neck as his fingers slipped under your shirt, warm palms roaming cool skin, eliciting goosebumps and a soft moan from your throat.

He caressed you like you were some treasure, leaving not an inch of skin untouched as he gave your body all the attention it could ever need. While you had loosely stroked his cock all this time, he only gradually began to open your pants now, encouraging you to step out of the fabric before pressing you back against the wall.

You whimpered when your tender skin met the cold air, your arousal bared for Flaco to see. There was no shame in it, however, not when the man in front of you looked like he was ready to consume you entirely.

"Wrap your legs 'round me," he directed, still clad with only his flushed cock on display, standing proud and erected while droplets of pre-cum already rolled off the tip. He held onto you, lifting you in time with your legs finding their designated spot. "Good?" Flaco searched your face for signs of discomfort, humming at the nod of your head.

His fingers dipped low, finding their target right away as he focused on your sex, giving you a taste of the pleasure he would soon allow you to feel. You gasped at the first touch, hips inching closer to his hand, no matter how much you were locked in place by the position.

"C'mon," the tone of your voice was more of a plea than a demand, every part of you aching for more – for everything Flaco would give you. "N-Need you inside," you muttered, your head lolling back at his continuous but slow caress, of the stimulation that barely fell short of being enough.

He hummed again, leaning in to soothe you with a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth to distract you from the finger entering you. "F-Fuck-" your walls clenched around the intrusion, slowly relaxing when Flaco started to work you open. He added one more finger and another, preparing you thoroughly for what was to come, the sensation of his hard cock against your skin reminding you just how dearly you needed to be stretched beforehand.

You whined when his fingers grazed the tender spot inside of you, instantaneously canting your hips to chase that delightful pressure. But Flaco didn't want you to come without him, pulling his fingers out to replace them with his cock, pushing in steadily to let you adjust to his size.

"Doin' so well," he grunted, resting his forehead against your own when he bottomed out, holding onto the back of your thighs with his balls pressing against your sensitive skin.

He breathed deeply, getting used to the heat and tightness of your walls, gyrating his hips experimentally to watch your response. When all you showed him was unbridled pleasure and need, however, he knew that he had no more reason to hold back.

Your back dug into the wall behind yourself, hands clutching Flaco's shoulders for dear life, holding on as he started to move his hips. He didn't start out slow, didn't build up any more than he already had, his cock dragging out only to be pushed back inside, balls smacking against your skin the more he repeated the action.

The breath was knocked from your lungs just like that, the man's cock hitting all the right spots inside of you, filling you in the exact way you needed. You couldn't hold back the noises from your throat, couldn't withhold anything as you tossed your head back again, eyes fluttering from the sudden rush of pleasure.

Flaco wasn't one to be overly vocal, none to scream his lust into the world for all to hear. But right now, he seemed as lost in his ardor as you were, grunting and groaning, staring at your face to miss none of the expressions that passed over it. "Eyes on me," he demanded, momentarily slowing to reach up and tilt your chin to him, locking your gazes as he continued to fuck you.

You didn't feel cold any longer, didn't feel much else than his cock moving inside of you, the rocking motions that pressed you closer to the wall with each passing moment. The pleasure had built within you all this time, first at the anticipation and now the pay-off, your head spinning while you inched closer and closer to the edge.

Flaco caught on to your impending fulfillment, dutifully reaching down between your legs to stroke you to completion, his fingers dancing over you with practiced ease. "Go on, I'll follow" he buried his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his own sounds of enjoyment, the vibrations of his voice driving you off the wall and into your orgasm.

You came with a sharp moan of Flaco's name, the taste of it still upon your tongue as your pulsing walls made him lose himself inside of you. His hips gave a couple more jerks, breathless curses filtering through to your clouded brain. He still held you in his arms, only slowly letting go of your legs to let you place them on the ground again.

His spent dripped down your thighs after his softening cock had left you, your muscles trembling but pleasantly warm.

"Now, we can move to the bed," he spoke up, his voice a little hoarse and rough, but you loved it either way. After all, you couldn't get enough of everything this infamous gunslinger was.

[speechlessxx]

Bring Him Light - xiii (King!Steve Rogers x Reader)

Chapter Summary: Brooken faces a potential invasion.

Warnings: nothing much... plot twist lol

Word Count: 2.3k

<- Last Part -=+=- Next Part ->

The thunderous roar of hundreds of horses shook the kingdom of Brooken. The knights upon their steeds hoisted up banners, but with the new moon in the dark sky, the crest stitched on the fabric went unseen. Horns sounded the alarm, startling you and the king awake, unraveling from each other’s arms.

“What’s going on?” You asked Steven as he stood at the side of your bed. He marched over to the balcony doors, swinging them open. You wrapped the bedsheet around your body, your thin night slip wasn’t enough to keep you warm in the cold summer night. You slowly made your way to him as he stared off into the distance, squinting his eyes to look through the darkness.

Steven’s eyes went wide. He couldn’t see the banners either, but he knew an invasion when he saw one. “Drop the gates!” He shouted, his voice echoing in the silent night. You heard several guards hollering indistinct words as you heard the castle gates slowly close.

“What’s going on?” You asked him as he walked past you, pulling you back inside your bedchamber.

Your husband shot you a worried look. “There’s an army outside our walls.”

You gasped as he hurriedly dressed himself. “What do you mean?” You pushed as he unsheathed his sword, inspecting the blade. Steven ignored you as you heard the cool metal slide back into its scabbard. He was rushing around the room, opening up cabinets and drawers, pulling out various pieces of clothing and weapons. He tossed you a dress – it was a similar style to what you’ve been wearing. Loose, long, and easy to move in. “Steven.” You snapped, throwing the dress onto the bed. You grabbed his arm with both hands, the bedsheet fell to the floor. “What’s happening?”

“In the event that the king falls, the queen must be protected,” he muttered, vaguely. You frowned, unpleased with his answer.

“If the king falls? What is happening?” You repeated, desperation riddled in your voice. “Steven, you’re scaring me.”

Your husband sighed. “Get dressed. You need to leave Brooken.”

“No!” You argued. “If you die, I’ll die with you.” You meant every word but he didn’t like that.

“No.” He shook his head. He grabbed the dress and pushed it into your hands. “Go to docks,” your heart dropped. Steven knew the incident still haunted you and that the thought of being on a boat made you uneasy. He knew asking you to go to on a boat was still too much, but he needed you to be safe. “Find Sam.”

“Steven – “

“This is nonnegotiable.” Steven told you. He pulled you to him. His hand cradled your jaw, tilting your head up so that his lips met yours. The kiss was bittersweet. He thought it might be your last shared kiss. “I love you.”

Before you could answer or argue, the king rushed out of the room – leaving you cold, dark, and alone.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The kingsguard rode in a formation around Steven. Their horses’ pace was steady. No one was in a rush to ride off into battle. Steven’s hand gripped the reigns of his horse, his muscles tense.

He had ridden off into battle on multiple occasions throughout his lifetime, but this instance was different. He had a queen, whom he loved deeply. He had a future now – with someone he genuinely cared for. Someone who wasn’t actively betraying him or manipulating him. He had promised you that you had a lifetime to start a family, to bring Brooken an heir – god willing, several heirs. He intended to keep that promise, but what if fate was cruel? What if fate intended that his promises were to be broken? That his queen would become a widow on this night? He hated the thought of leaving you alone – especially now when you needed him the most, when you were just beginning to heal.

“Steve…” James called out. The guards opened up their formation to allow the lord’s horse to gallop next to his king.

“Do you know who this invader is?” Steven asked, his voice cold and low. He wondered if it was Pierce, ready to overthrow him to free his cousin and put the traitor on the throne.

Lord Barnes sighed. “I saw the banner.”

Steven raised his eyebrows at his friend. “Well?”

“It was hard to make out. It’s quite dark, but… Well, it’s…” He didn’t get to finish. They arrived at the closed gates.

A man sat upon a black horse, leading the hundreds of armed men. He wore a helmet and adorned a magnificent suit of armor. Steve’s guards made way for the king to ride at the gate, to get a better glimpse at the identity of this possible usurper. But he saw the banner first.

“Stark.” He greeted.

The man removed his helm and revealed himself as the other king of the north. The York King had his brows furrowed. He had tucked the helmet beneath one hand while the other gripped his horse’s reign and a rope.

“I believe this is yours.” Anthony Stark said, cutting the tension between the kings. He pulled on the rope and a man hobbled into Steven’s view.

“You’ve caught him.” Steven said, plainly. His rage redirected to the other man who fooled and betrayed his wife. He nodded his head to his former councilman. “Pierce.”

The old man stayed silent and Steven’s frown deepened. “He isn’t doing much talking now,” Tony remarked. “He admitted to me what happened… His words so vile. His intention with my daughter was disgusting… I thought that he should never speak again.”

He motioned for one of his guards. The man to his left threw something towards the Brooken king. Steven peered around his horse’s mane to find a tongue in the dirt. He scoffed, finding Pierce’s punishment amusing and fitting.

“For his lies and his deceit, I would’ve done the same.” Steven chuckled. He returned his eyes to the Stark, who didn’t find the other king amusing nor entertaining. His glare remained cold as he stared down his old friend. “Well, I see you’ve brought back my prisoner. Shall I have the gate lifted?

“Please, lift the gate.” Anthony said through clenched teeth. Steven made no motion and gave no order for it rise. He simply stared at his friend – his father-in-law, as fate would have it. He studied him. Anthony brought an army to Brooken… for what? To bring back one old man who could barely lift a sword? No… This wasn’t about Pierce. “I’ll give you your prisoner in exchange for my daughter.”

There it was.

“What?” Steven scoffed. “She is not just your daughter, now, Stark.” He spat. “(Y/N) is my wife – the queen. She no longer belongs in York. She belongs here, in Brooken, with me.”

“You should’ve thought about that before you struck her.” Steven’s eyes widened slightly just before narrowing them at Tony. “Before her life was endangered by your instability. Your enemies became her enemies. They aimed to strike her down to hurt you.”

“Tony…”

“When you asked my daughter’s hand in marriage, you told me it’s because your past wives betrayed you. You did not tell me of conspirators among your high ranks – among your council.” Tony seethed. Each word spat out like poison. The tone was condescending. To have another king undermine Steven’s power in his own kingdom was a stab in itself. Anthony Stark all but snatched the crown off of Steven’s head.

The stare down was a battle between the two kings. No swords clashed against one another and no blood painted Brooken’s land. It was just two kings staring at one another with fiery rage that would’ve burned the whole world to ash.

“Brooken and York are to stand together,” Steven finally said. “It’s a treaty written in my marriage contract. I signed it as did she. (Y/N) and I stand together.”

Anthony was unimpressed by Steven’s words. To him, they were just empty promises that the coward that struck his daughter spurt out. If Anthony had his way, an archer would’ve already shot an arrow through Brooken’s king’s skull.

As if manifested by destiny, an arrow suddenly shot through the thick tension between the two armies. It shot over the heads of the king and his guards and found itself at the top of the archway of the gate. Steven’s eyes widened as a familiar voice was heard.

“Father!” A voice rung out through the dead night. A horse’s hooves thundered through the silence as a white horse emerged. The kingsguard allowed the rider through. There were two people on the steed’s back – Lord Samuel Wilson and the Queen.

Stubborn. Steven thought as he stared at you. You wore the dress he had shoved into your hands, bow in one hand and your quiver of arrows strapped onto your back. He shot his friend a glare as if to say, “you were ordered to take her away from Brooken.”

Samuel shrugged beneath his king’s glare, unphased by the anger in his eyes. “I am to follow my queen’s orders as well.” He told Steven before he dismounted his horse and helped you down.

You stomped over to the gates, hiking up your dress slightly. You glared daggers at your father as he hopped off his own horse.

“I saw the banners… What is the meaning of this?” You asked him.

“I’ve come to take you back to York and away from the traitors in Brooken’s court.” Your father explained, his tone suddenly becoming soft. It was true. He planned to invade Brooken – not to overthrow his rival king but to pluck you from the castle and take you back to what you once thought of as your home. He planned to rescue the soon-to-be rightful heir of York.

You scoffed at his concern, finding it fake. “Weren’t you the one who told me if King Steven were to kill me, you’d simply have another war?” Your father evaded your eyes as your words hung in the cool summer air. “Is this the war?” You taunted. “Is this the war you promised? Hmm? Because if so, you are not just fighting Steven, you are fighting me as well.”

“I’m taking you back to York.” He said, every word punctuated. It was an order. You knew it. His tone was the same when he demanded you go marry Brooken’s king, but you were just a princess – just a little girl who had to follow her father’s orders. But now… You were a queen and no one orders the queen.

“Watch your tone.” You snapped back. Your voice was so vicious – everyone didn’t recognize it. Even the men who witnessed you snap at Rumlow in cellars didn’t recognize you. “You are not talking to just your daughter, now. You are talking to Brooken’s queen. And you are in my kingdom.”

“(Y/N) – “

Your eyes finally looked away, following the rope in your father’s hands. “You.” You said, narrowing your glare at the beaten, old man. You noticed the dry blood around his mouth. You felt your rage ten-fold as you stared into Alexander Pierce’s eyes. Your blood boiled.

“You put me on that boat… What was your intention?” He remained silent. His tongue in the dirt went unnoticed by you. “I see… You are like your comrade, Rumlow. That’s fine… I enjoy torturing him. Perhaps when the sun rises, I’ll have you both flayed. I’ll display your bodies on the castle walls and let all traitors and invaders,” you shot a glare at your father, “know that Brooken will be untouched.”

“He will not answer,” Steven informed you. You glanced back at your husband, brows raised with confusion. He gestured to the floor.

Your eyes followed his hand, finally seeing the bloody tongue. “He hasn’t confessed.” You said. “We cannot order executions. We will have to rely on Rumlow’s confession.”

“He confessed to me.” Your father piped up. You snapped your head towards him. “Everything. He told me he chose Steven’s wives because House Carter favored the Mad King. He told me of his plan to turn you against his king, feeding you lies that supported the horrible rumors about Steven.”

“And the boat?” You asked. “Did he tell you what he intended to do?”

“He said he hired the mercenary to kill you and your lady. The man was meant to strangle each of you and dump your bodies into the sea where Steven and his men would’ve eventually found you. He relied on your death to motivate me to strike Steven down.”

“And you’re still playing out his plan by invading Brooken!” You said. “This cycle… his manipulation has to end! Brooken and York is to band to together against threats like him.” You said, gesturing to the forever muted man. “But instead, we come at each other’s throats, threatening wars and battles.”

You turned to your father, reaching out to him through the gates. He held your hand in his. “Father, I am Brooken’s queen. I am Steven’s wife. I don’t need to be rescued. Not from Steven.”

Your father sighed, regretting taking hundreds of men on a three-day ride to his neighbor kingdom. He shouldn’t have let his anger cloud his judgement. Perhaps, he was still angry with Steven for the war they fought three years ago – when his life was in Steven’s hands, Steven had ended the war. Maybe it hurt his ego just a little bit.

“Very well.” He said, finally conceding to his daughter.

“But Pierce,” you added, turning towards the man. “Alexander Pierce is to remain in Brooken and by King Anthony Stark of York’s advocacy, will be executed in the morning alongside Brock Rumlow.”

You looked over to your husband who nodded, equally eager to put the two men into their graves. You glanced at your father and gave a wicked little smile. “You and your men are more than welcome to enjoy the show, father.”

[buckybarnesdollface]

Mountainside: Chapter 2

Summary: Will sharing a bed change things?

Warnings: Female reader, SMUT, lots of smut, fluff, mentions of cancer and infertility 

          I awoke the next morning feeling as if I was wrapped in a warm cocoon. Bucky’s body was curled almost protectively around me, arm still secure around my waist. I could feel his warm, slow breaths on the back of my neck, and his Henley had ridden up my body so that his large, warm hand was pressed directly to the exposed flesh of my belly. My cheeks flushed and I tried to move, but his grasp tightened and pulled me even closer to him. He let out a soft groan, that had my entire body heated.

           “Where are you going?” he mumbled, voice hoarse and low with sleep, and I bit my lip.

           “I was gonna get up.”

           “Listen.”

           I wrinkled my nose. “What?”

           “Listen,” he repeated, and I did. Outside the cabin the wind was howling, whipping through the trees and rattling the windowpanes. Once he was satisfied I’d heard what he wanted me to hear, he continued. “The storm started three hours ago; the snow’s likely to be heavy by now, and the power went out over an hour ago. Why rush to get out of bed? It’s not like there’s anything for us to do but sit and wait for the snow to stop so the team can come get us.”

           “The power went out?” Sure enough, a glance at the black screen of the digital clock on the nightstand told me as much. I frowned, rolling onto my back. Bucky made no move to lift his arm, his hand still pleasantly warm on my stomach. When I turned my head to the side to look at him, he was also frowning, but his eyes were soft.

           “Did you sleep well?” he asked, and I nodded.

           “Very well,” I admitted, and a small smile touched his lips.

           “Me too.”

           My heart fluttered in spite of myself, and I tilted my head back to stare at the ceiling, focusing on keeping my breaths calm and even. Things were silent for a moment, and then Bucky spoke again.

           “Last night, on the phone with Steve…” he started. “Are you really that upset about being stuck here? Because at dinner you seemed to agree that it was kind of nice.”

           I sucked in a sharp breath, feeling my face redden. I hesitated before answering. “I’m not upset,” I finally said. “It is kind of nice being here. It’s just…”

           “Just what?” Bucky prodded. I could feel his blue eyes watching me intensely, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I was sure my face was as red as a tomato at this point. I took a deep breath, figuring it was better to be honest than try and come up with a story.

           “When you said Natasha knows about this place – Have you…have you been here together?”

           I felt stupid and pathetic as soon as the words came out of my mouth, but I had to know. It had been nagging me since yesterday evening. I peeked over at Bucky; his brow furrowed.

           “No. This place used to belong to her sister, Yelena,” he explained. “I was on mission here in Austria last year and needed a place to lay low. Natasha suggested I stay at the cabin.” Bucky looked over to me, one dark eyebrow cocked. “Why do you ask?”

           “No reason,” I mumbled. His words had eased the storm in me, and now I just wanted to drop it. Bucky, however, had other plans.

           “Seriously, (Y/N), why do you ask?” he repeated, and then a slow grin spread over his face. “You were jealous!”

           My face went white. “I was not!” I cried, my answer both too quick and too defensive to pass as the truth. Bucky’s grin was wicked as he sat up to lean on his elbow, the hand he still had on me pinching my side playfully. I squeaked and rolled away from him, and I would have rolled right off the bed had Bucky not caught me and pulled me back to him so that we were face-to-face. He was still grinning but it was warmer, eyes soft.

           “You have nothing to be jealous of,” he chuckled. “Nothing has ever happened between Natasha and I, and nothing ever will.”

           “I’m not jealous,” I grumbled, and Bucky smirked.

           “Of course you’re not, doll,” he replied, and then he rolled away from me to stretch his arms above his head with a tired groan. “Well, since we’re awake, how about some coffee?”

           “The power’s out,” I reminded him, and he snorted.

           “You never heat a kettle over a fire, doll?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were such a princess.”

           With a mischievous grin, he rolled off the bed out of my reach before I could hit him. I threw a pillow at him, but he caught it one-handed and laughed.

           “Easy, doll,” he chuckled. “You’re gonna pull your stitches if you get too wound up.”

           Now that I was awake and sitting up, the aches and pains in my body were starting to resurface. My muscles were stiff and my arm was stinging, and I scrunched my nose. Seeing the change in my demeanour, Bucky slid open the drawer of the nightstand and dropped a bottle of Advil into my hand.

           “Here, this’ll help,” he said. “I’ll go get the coffee started.”

           I shook a couple of pills from the bottle and tipped my head back to swallow them. I leaned back against the headboard with a sigh, and then forced myself out of bed to follow Bucky to the kitchen.

           Bucky was stoking the fire when I walked in. I went right to the window to assess how bad the storm was. The snow had already drifted against the side of the cabin, almost reaching the bottom of the window. The wind was relentless, swaying trees and whipping snow in every direction so it was hard to see anything but white. I pulled away from the window, just as Bucky set a couple of mugs on the counter and spooned some instant coffee into each of them.

           “Steve wasn’t kidding about it being a bad storm,” I mused, and Bucky shook his head.

           “This is just the beginning, too. It’s going to get much worse.”

           The kettle started boiling, and Bucky grabbed it and brought it back to the counter, filling the mugs with the steaming water. He stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into mine, just the way I liked it, and then slid it across the counter to me.

           “Thanks,” I murmured, letting the heated ceramic warm my hands. We sipped our coffee in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the howling wind outside. It really was peaceful here, and I admitted as much.

           “Yeah, it’s the kind of place you go when you want to get away,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the window over my shoulder. He met my gaze, a sad smile on his face. “Sometimes it’s too much, y’know? I mean, I know I’ve been living in the twenty-first century long enough now that I should be used to it, but I grew up in the thirties – We didn’t have cell phones, or computers, or the internet, or even a fraction of today’s technology. We didn’t feel the need to constantly know what’s happening in everyone’s lives, and we weren’t able to be reached by the single press of a button. Things were simpler…quieter. Being here reminds me of that.”

           A smile tugged at my lips, and Bucky’s brow furrowed.

           “What?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

           “I like it when you talk about yourself,” I told him. “Especially when you talk about your life before the war.”

           Bucky snorted, but his cheeks were tinted pink. “Most people hate listening to old men ramble,” he pointed out, and I shook my head with a chuckle.

           “You aren’t a typical old man,” I said. “And besides, it’s very rare to get any stories out of you. So when you do open up, it’s nice. It’s like getting to see a glimpse into the elusive mind of Bucky Barnes.”

           Suddenly Bucky frowned, eyes casting down to stare at the mug in his hands. “You wouldn’t think it was so nice if you got more than a glimpse,” he mumbled. “I don’t open up because no one wants to see what’s underneath. The surface is safe, but anything deeper and you’re approaching dangerous territory.”

           I pursed my lips; he looked so sullen. I reached across the counter to slip my hand over top of his, and he looked startled but he didn’t pull away. “The right person won’t be scared,” I murmured, and he shook his head.

           “They should be. Most people are.”

           “But not everyone.” I bit my lip, and Bucky swallowed hard as he held my eyes. The air was suddenly heavy, but the sound of a giant crack outside had us jumping. Bucky had rounded the island in a second, placing himself between the door and me. “What was that?” I asked warily.

           “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I should go outside and check it out, though.”

           My eyes widened. “Are you insane? It’s snowmageddon out there!” I cried. “Buck, you can’t go out there.”

           “If there’s something out there, I have to take care of it,” he said, having made up his mind. He was already pulling on his boots. “Stay here. Lock the door behind me, and keep your gun close just in case. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He zipped up his jacket and grabbed his pistol, and I frowned.

           “Buck…? Be careful,” I said softly, and an unexpected grin flashed across his face.

           “I’m always careful, doll,” he said, and then he pulled open the door. The wind blew flurries into the cabin, and Bucky turned to wink at me before he disappeared out into the blizzard.

           I did as he said, locking the door behind him before grabbing my pistol from the shelf by the door. I tapped the grip with my fingertips restlessly, pacing the kitchen, my coffee forgotten. I couldn’t imagine anyone being out in this blizzard, but what if they were? What if HYDRA had found us, and Bucky was out in that storm trying to fight them off? Surely I would have heard gunfire by now if that were the case, though…

           Minutes passed that felt like hours, and then there was someone pounding on the wooden door. I held my pistol, ready to aim just in case, and cautiously walked over to the door.

           “(Y/N), it’s me!” Bucky shouted, pounding again. I could barely hear him over the roaring of the wind, but I quickly unlocked the door and wrenched it open, to reveal a very cold-looking Bucky. I stepped aside so he could come in, and then I was dusting the snow off his shoulders.

           “So what was the noise?” I asked, and he frowned.

           “The wind snapped a bough off one of the pine trees,” he replied as he shrugged out of his jacket. I took it and hung it off a hook.

           “We aren’t going to have any trees coming down on the cabin, are we?” I asked. Bucky shook his head, snow falling to the floor.

           “No, we’re safe in here.” He toed off his boots. “It’s wild out there. I haven’t seen a storm like this since my time in Siberia.”

           His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, and ice crystals had accumulated on his eyelashes like tiny diamonds. His jacket had done little to protect him from the snow, as his shirt was as soaked as his pants.

           “You’re covered in snow,” I griped. “Go change into some dry clothes. I’ll make some fresh coffee to warm you up.”

           Bucky shot me a grateful look before heading to the bedroom. I heated the kettle back up over the fire and then poured two fresh cups of coffee. I handed Bucky his as he came back out to the kitchen.

           “Thanks, doll,” he murmured. “At this rate, the snow’s gonna be halfway up the cabin before nightfall.”

           “I’m just glad winters in New York aren’t like this,” I breathed. “God, can you imagine having to dig your way out every time it snows?”

           Bucky nodded in agreement. “I don’t mind a little snow here and there, but I’ve spent enough time in Austria and Russia during the winter to last me a hundred lifetimes.”

           I grinned. “Who’d have thought that the Winter Soldier would hate winter.” I teased, and he shrugged.

           “You spend enough time living in the snow and ice and cold, with very little sunshine, and you’d hate it too.”

           “That must be why you liked Wakanda so much.”

           Bucky took a sip of his coffee. “I liked Wakanda mostly for the same reason I like it here – Things were simpler,” he said. “The city may be the most technologically-advanced in the world, but it’s surrounded by miles of farmland and plains. T’Challa let me live just outside the city, in my own little hut, and I farmed the land. I may have grown up in New York City, but farming in Wakanda and having no cares in the world was an absolute blessing.”

           “It sounds perfect,” I admitted. “I’ve always wanted to see Wakanda; I’ve never been.”

           “I’ll tell you what; I’ll take you with me the next time I go,” Bucky told me. “How’s that sound?”

           “You’d do that?” I breathed, and Bucky nodded.

           “Sure. You’ll love it. And I know you and Shuri would get along great.”

           I grinned into my mug, cheeks pink. I couldn’t believe Bucky and I were making plans to travel together.

           As the day wore on, the blizzard only got worse. The snow was already partly covering the windows, and I was thankful that I wasn’t claustrophobic. A quick search of the cabin revealed there wasn’t much to do here; Bucky redressed my arm with a new bandage, and then we heated some canned soup over the fire for lunch. I had found an old copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracula and had laid back on the couch to read it despite having already read it twice before, just to give me something to do. Bucky had sat on the floor, leaning against the armchair, with a piece of firewood and one of his knives. He had been whittling at the piece of wood for half an hour now, and I looked up from my book with a scrunched nose.

           “What is it you’re making, anyway?” I asked. “Other than a mess of wood shavings, that is.”

           Bucky looked up from what he was doing to give me a disparaging look. “You’ll see when it’s finished,” he replied, and I rolled my eyes dramatically.

           “Fine,” I sighed, dragging out the word. “Where did you learn to do that, anyway?”

           “My grandfather,” he replied. “He taught me when I was a kid. He used to make beautiful carvings, some as tall as me.” He grinned ruefully. “My knife skills have improved over the years – I was certainly no professional when I was younger.”

           Seeing Bucky reminisce had quickly become one of my favourite things. I smiled. “Well I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ve made.”

           It was another hour before Bucky finally set down his knife on the coffee table. I looked up from my book, curiosity winning over as I set the book on the table, and sat up straight. Almost hesitantly, Bucky set the little wooden figure in my hand. It was a little wolf, head raised in a howl. The details were intricate, right down to the fur patterns and the tiny teeth. My eyes widened in awe, and I shook my head as I met Bucky’s gaze.

           “Bucky…” I breathed. “This is…this is beautiful. You’re so talented! How did I not know you were so talented?”

           “It’s not something I go around advertising,” he mumbled, cheeks pink and expression bashful.

           “Jesus, you and Steve never cease to amaze,” I said. “Steve with his drawing, and you with this. Wow. Shit. And here I thought Steve was the artistic one.”

           “Steve is the artistic one,” Bucky told me. “He’s the one who took art classes in school. I focused more on baseball and boxing. This was just more of a hobby that I kept to myself.”

           “Well you’re clearly more than meets the eye, Bucky Barnes,” I murmured, turning the wolf over in my hands in wonder. “This is amazing.”

           “Keep it,” he said, and my eyes rounded.

           “What?”

           “Keep it,” he repeated with a shrug. “I want you to have it.”          

           “Thank you,” I breathed sincerely as I ran my fingertips over the surface. I looked up at Bucky with one eyebrow arched. “Just out of curiosity, why a wolf?”

           Bucky’s lips quirked up, and his eyes glittered. “Back in Wakanda, the kids used to call me ‘Ingcuka Emhlophe’,” he explained, a fond expression on his face. “It means ‘White Wolf.’ I liked it a lot better than being referred to as ‘The Soldier’ or ‘The White Boy,’ so I never stopped the Wakandans from calling me White Wolf.”

           “White Wolf?” I chuckled. “Because you were the only white guy in Wakanda?”

           “Something like that,” he admitted with a small smile.

           I grinned. “I like it. It suits you.” I looked down at the carved figurine again. “I really do love this, too. It’s like I’ll always have a little part of the White Wolf with me.”

           A childlike grin took over Bucky’s face at my words, and he nodded. “Exactly,” he murmured, and in that moment, a bond was created between Bucky and I.

           The temperature dropped when the sun went down, and the wind and snow hadn’t let up. We’d lit candles all over the cabin, both as a source of light and extra heat, and despite the storm raging outside it made the cabin feel pleasantly cozy.

           “It feels like we should have a Christmas tree,” I murmured. “With the candles and the fire, it would be completely cozy.”

           Bucky chuckled. “I could go out there and cut a tree down for you, doll, but we’d have nothing to decorate it with.”

           “I love how you aren’t questioning why I’d want a Christmas tree in February.”

           “Who wouldn’t want a Christmas tree in February?” Bucky replied. “Hell, Christmas year ‘round is something I could get behind.”

           “So, Bucky Barnes loves Christmas,” I mused. “Add that to the mental file of things I’ve learned about you since getting stranded here.”

           “We stay here any longer and you’ll officially know more about me than anyone but Steve,” he snorted, and I laughed.

           “I think I already have that in the bag. For instance, how many people can say they know you’re a cuddler?”

           Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “The hell I am –”

           “You were snuggled right up to me all night, Barnes; don’t try to deny it.”

           “I was keeping you warm,” he protested, and I smirked.

           “And after I’d woken up and you held me tighter like you didn’t want me to get up?”

           Bucky flushed crimson. “Tell anyone and I will make sure you get put on all the bullshit missions,” he mumbled, and I giggled.

           “It was cute,” I assured him. “I wish more people knew that Bucky, instead of the tough and stoic Bucky you show the world.” My face softened. “I wish I knew that Bucky better. He might just be one of my new favourite people.”

           “That Bucky doesn’t come out very often,” Bucky said, ducking his head. “Besides, he’s too soft. You can’t be soft in this line of business.”

           I shook my head. “You’re always in a work frame of mind,” I accused. “Doesn’t it get exhausting?”

           “Why do you think I was okay with being stranded here?”

           We were silent for a minute, and then I bumped his arm playfully with mine. “Enough serious talk,” I said. “Come sit by the fire with me. I’m starting to get chilled.”

           Bucky grinned and followed me to the living room. I took the fur blanket from the back of the couch and spread it over the hardwood floor in front of the hearth and settled onto it, my back leaning against the coffee table. Bucky settled down next to me, pulling a brown bottle from under the table.

           “Look what I found earlier,” he said, holding it out to me. It was whiskey. I took the bottle from him with an eyebrow arched.

           “You can’t even get drunk,” I pointed out, and he shrugged.

           “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it. It’s single-barrel and aged twelve years. This is top-shelf whiskey,” Bucky replied. “Open it and tell me it’s not smooth as hell.”

           Tentatively, I unscrewed the cap and took a mouthful. It was strong but smooth, warming my belly almost immediately. I grinned as I handed the bottle back to Bucky. “It is pretty good,” I admitted. He took a swig and nodded.

           We each downed another mouthful, and then Bucky turned his head to look at me with his head slightly cocked to the side. “You’ve gotten to learn a bunch about me,” he said, “but I want to hear about you. Tell me something about (Y/N) (Y/L/N) that no one knows.”

           I wrinkled my nose. “I’m an open book.”

           “Then you’ll have no trouble with this. C’mon, (Y/N), there must be something no one knows about you. Let’s hear it.”

           Biting my lip, I gazed at the fire. I wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey buzzing in my veins or just how at-ease I felt right now, but when I opened my mouth the words came spilling out.

           “I got married, when I was seventeen,” I admitted quietly, and Bucky’s eyes rounded. “When…when I was sixteen, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. They caught it early enough that they could treat it with chemo, and we thought it had worked. But then it came back, and I got really sick really fast. My boyfriend at the time – Adam – was scared I wasn’t going to make it through the second round of chemo. We had made plans to go to Columbia together to study law.” I shook my head, sad smile on my face. “We were young and we thought we were in love, so we wanted to be married before…well, before I died.”

           Bucky was looking at me with a mixture of shock, horror and respect. He shook his head, jaw agape. “(Y/N), I didn’t…I had no idea,” he breathed, and I chuckled.

           “No one on the team knows,” I replied. “The only people that know are my family, and Adam and his family.”

           “But you’re healthy now?” he asked, worry creasing his brow. I nodded.

           “They ended up having to remove my ovaries because the chemo wasn’t working the second time, and they took out my uterus too, just to be safe. I still have check-ups every year to be safe, but I’ve been cancer-free ever since.”

           “And…your marriage…” Bucky shifted uncomfortably. “Are you still…?”

           “God, no,” I snorted. “As soon as it was clear that I was going to make a full recovery, Adam realized that seventeen was way too young to be married. He wanted to be able to explore his options at Columbia – That’s what he told me. ‘And besides,’ he’d said, ‘I eventually want to have kids someday, and you can’t give me that.’”

           Even now, saying it left a bitter taste in my mouth. I scowled, taking a large swig of the whiskey. Bucky frowned.

           “What is he doing now?”

           The question caught me off-guard. “He’s a divorce lawyer in Manhattan, ironically enough,” I replied, and Bucky snorted.

           “So he’ll be easy to find, then,” he said, and I eyed him skeptically.

           “Why would that matter?”

           “Because the Winter Soldier just might pay him a visit when we get back to New York.”

           My eyes widened, and I leapt up onto my knees and shook my head vigorously. “Bucky, no,” I said. “Don’t you dare.”

           “Relax, I was only gonna threaten him. Maybe rough him up a bit, y’know, scare him –”

           “No. It was fourteen years ago, it’s in the past.” I grinned. “Besides, that asshole actually did me a favour – imagine if we were still married. I’d be absolutely miserable, in a loveless marriage and likely working as an underpaid lawyer. I would have never met Tony, or become an Avenger. And I wouldn’t be sitting here with you right now. So even though at the time Adam broke my heart, now I’m grateful for what he did.”

           “I still think he deserves to have his ass kicked,” Bucky grumbled. He met my eyes, his gaze fierce but soft. “I underestimated you, (Y/N),” he murmured apologetically. “I knew you were tough, but…To go through what you did at such a young age, and then to have the one person you thought had your back abandon you like that, for selfish reasons…”

           He shook his head, disgusted, and I chuckled. “Everything happens for a reason,” I said. “Honestly, the hardest thing to move on from out of the whole situation wasn’t the cancer or the divorce from Adam; it’s the knowledge that I will never be able to have children of my own.”

           I glanced down at my hands, suddenly sad. Bucky had urged me to open up, and now that I had started, I couldn’t stop. I bit my lip to keep it from quivering.

           “(Y/N), hey,” Bucky murmured, and then he was kneeling in front of me and taking a gentle hold of my chin to lift my gaze to his. He was frowning, but his eyes were soft. “Wanna know something else about me that no one knows?”

           My lips twitched. “Another Bucky Barnes tidbit? Of course.”

           Bucky’s smile was sad. “I can’t have kids either,” he told me. “After all the experimentation HYDRA did on me to try and copy the serum Irskine created for Steve, it…messed with things. At first it was just a suspicion, but…When I started getting my life back on track, I wanted to know for sure. I got them to run tests while I was in Wakanda, and the results confirmed my suspicions; the experiments had made me sterile.”

           My heart sank, and I felt tears spring to my eyes. “Oh, Bucky…” I whispered, and then before I knew what I was doing I had thrown my arms around him and pressed my face to his chest. I had startled him; I could feel it in the way his body tensed. But then his arms wound around me and he smoothed my hair with a large hand.

           “It’s funny,” he murmured, “how you never really realize you want something until you’re told you can’t have it. Steve was always the one who dreamed about settling down and having kids; I was always wanting to travel and see the world. But after everything I’ve been through, settling down with a family sounded nice. Of course, life had other plans.”

           “You deserve so much more than life has given you,” I sniffed, pulling away from him. He reached up to brush his thumb across my cheekbone, catching a stray tear that had escaped, and smiled sadly.

           “So do you, doll,” he murmured. “You’re an incredible woman – Kind, strong, smart, beautiful…Anyone that doesn’t see that is an idiot.”

           My heart fluttered against my ribcage, and I bit my lip. His mouth was close enough that if I just tilted my head and leaned in…

           No. I pulled back, and lifted the bottle of whiskey to my lips to down a large mouthful. That was a bad idea; a very bad idea. It was just the candles and the fire and the alcohol and the situation – I didn’t really want Bucky. Did I?

           I cleared my throat. “I must be surrounded by idiots, then,” I joked, to ease the tension in the room. Bucky chuckled and settled back into the spot next to me.

           “Men are dumb,” he said simply. “They were dumb a hundred years ago, and they’re dumb now. The only thing that’s changed is that now they have more ways to be dumb.”

           I arched an eyebrow. “Are you speaking from experience?” I asked, and he shot me a rueful grin.

           “I’ve done my fair share of dumb things when it comes to women,” he admitted. “My mother raised me to be a gentleman, and I had sisters so I knew how to act around girls. But sometimes none of that mattered and I still did something stupid to ruin things.” He shrugged. “No one is perfect, I guess.”

           “I don’t know…From what Steve has said, you were pretty smooth with the ladies in your day,” I teased, and Bucky snorted.

           “I could have gone on one date with one girl and Steve would have thought I was Casanova,” he deadpanned. “The poor kid couldn’t even talk to a dame without damn near having an asthma attack.”

           The laughter bubbled from my chest before I could stop it. Bucky grinned, and I shook my head as I struggled to compose myself.

           “Tell me Steve was wrong, though,” I insisted after a minute. “Tell me you weren’t the ladies’ man he makes you out to be.”

           Bucky’s cheeks flushed, and he pursed his lips. “I’ve been with my fair share of girls,” he admitted with a shrug, and I nodded.

           “I figured as much.”

           “But,” he continued, “I was always good to them. I never treated them as objects, and things always ended on good terms. My mama raised me well.”

           “I never suggested any different,” I told him, and his brow furrowed.

           “Then why does it matter how many girls I’ve been with?”

           “It doesn’t; I was just curious to see if Steve’s stories were true.”

           Bucky was silent for a moment, and then he turned his head to the side to look at me. “(Y/N), can I ask you a question?”

           I hesitated. “If you’re asking how many guys I’ve been with, a lady never tells,” I joked, trying once again to ease the tension in the air. Bucky’s lips twitched, but he shook his head.

           “No, not that,” he said. He wet his lips before continuing. “Did it actually bother you to think Natasha and I had been here together?”

           My stomach was in my throat. Bucky’s eyes searched mine, and I couldn’t pull my gaze away as I swallowed nervously. I couldn’t lie, though; the alcohol had my wits dulled, and he would detect a lie as soon as it came out of my mouth. Finally, I shrugged.

           “I wasn’t thrilled about it,” I admitted, and he frowned.

           “Why, though?”

           This was where it got complicated, because I wasn’t entirely sure myself why it had bothered me so much. “I don’t know. She’s just so beautiful, and the two of you have so much in common, I…” I felt the heat creep up my neck to my face. “It just…it bothered me to think that the two of you had been here, maybe in a similar situation to the one we’re in, and maybe she got you to open up to her in a way no one else had been able to do. I hated the thought that the two of you are perfect for each other and that…that things happened, and that she likely knew you better than I ever would.”

           By now, my cheeks were flaming. I had torn my gaze from his to stare instead at the fire, watching the flames like they were the only things holding me down. I had opened my big mouth, and now there was no going back. I felt embarrassed, pathetic and vulnerable, and part of me wished the flames would swallow me whole.

           “That’s…a lot to unpack,” Bucky finally exhaled, and I buried my face in my hands.

           “I’m sorry,” I groaned. “I shouldn’t have said anything…”

           “The only thing you have to be sorry for, doll, is thinking that I would, in any scenario, choose Natasha over you.”

           I froze, and then peeked through my fingers at him cautiously. He was watching me intensely, and I swallowed hard as I removed my hands from my face.

           “What are you saying?” I asked quietly, and Bucky chuckled.

           “I’m saying that, just as I’ve told everyone a thousand times before, Natasha is not my type. We’re almost too similar, in the wrong ways.” He shook his head. “I told you this morning that you had no reason to be jealous of her, doll. I meant it.”

           My voice was small. “I had no right to be jealous,” I whispered. “It’s not like I expected anything to happen between you and I.”

           “No?” Bucky had shifted his body to face me, and now he was looking at me with the same unreadable expression I’d seen on his face twice the day before. His flesh hand reached out to tug gently at the sleeve of my shirt – his shirt – as he wet his lips and looked back up to meet my eyes. “So you’re telling me,” he murmured, “that you have no idea what you’re doing to me, walking around here wearing my shirt?”

           I tugged my bottom lip between my teeth. Bucky’s eyes were hooded, and I felt my whole body heating under his gaze. I swallowed before speaking.

           “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” I breathed, voice barely above a whisper, and he shook his head.

           “What did I tell you about apologizing, doll?” he told me. “I’m not mad. How can I be mad when you wear that shirt better than I ever could? It’s almost sinful, what it does to me, seeing you wearing my clothes.”

           “So is that why you gave me the shirt in the first place?” I asked, feeling suddenly bold. Bucky’s eyes glittered.

           “I gave it to you because you were turning into a popsicle and I knew my body heat would be trapped in the fabric and it would warm you up faster,” he replied with a chuckle. “In the moment, my thoughts had been about making you comfortable. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I’d let anything happen to you.”

           My insides melted. “Did that concern for me come as concern for a teammate, or a friend…?” I asked. “Or…?”

           “Or,” Bucky agreed, his own cheeks pink now. “Something else. Something more. Something I hadn’t been able to explain for weeks now, until the second I saw you with my shirt on.”

           My brow furrowed. “Weeks?”

           This time he ducked his head. “Remember that mission in São Paulo a few weeks ago?” he asked, and I nodded.

           “The one where I jumped onto that school bus to save those kids?” I asked, and Bucky frowned.

           “You mean the one where you almost died?”

           “If I didn’t do something those kids would have died –”

           “(Y/N), you were on a third-storey balcony and you jumped onto a moving bus whose hood was entirely engulfed in flames…” Bucky shook his head. “That’s not the point. The point is that when I saw you jump onto that bus, I swear to god my heart stopped. I mean, there’s the concern you feel for your teammates when they’re in a dangerous situation. But then there’s the heart-wrenching fear you get when you’re about to watch someone you care about get seriously hurt or even die. And when that thought crossed my mind, (Y/N) – the thought that I was about to lose you – I’d never felt more terrified for someone else in my entire life. And I couldn’t understand at the time why it mattered so much to me, but now…Now I get it.”

           For a few seconds, the air hung heavy as neither of us spoke. The only sounds in the cabin were the howling of the wind outside, the crackling of the fire in the hearth, and our shallow and ragged breaths. I realized that my body had slowly, subconsciously gravitated closer to Bucky’s; our knees touched, and my hand was resting on his thigh. My eyes caught the way his gaze lingered on my lips before flicking up to meet mine, and before I could talk myself out of it, I was sitting up and capturing Bucky’s lips with mine.

           There was no resistance as his soft lips moved against mine, hands on my waist to pull me into his lap. My legs straddled his hips, and my arms circled around his neck as his hands held tight to my waist. My tongue teased his bottom lip and his mouth yielded to mine, allowing me to explore the kiss deeper as his hands roamed across my back and pulled me closer to him. His lips broke from mine to trail down my jaw to my throat, where he nipped teasingly at the sensitive flesh. I tilted my head back to allow him better access, and as his mouth nipped and sucked at my throat, no doubt leaving his mark on me, his hands had slipped under the hem of his Henley to knead at my flesh. I let out a soft groan, and felt him grin against my neck.

           “Y’know, doll,” he murmured, lifting his head to nip lightly at my earlobe, “as much as I like seeing you wearing my shirt, I think I’d like it even more if I got to take it off of you.”

           I shivered, and then I was lifting my arms so Bucky could slowly tug the shirt over my head, revealing that I wasn’t wearing a bra. His gaze fell to my chest, eyes dark as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. I should have felt exposed, but the hunger with which he was regarding me with only had me dizzy with desire. He took his time admiring me, hands slowly roaming my curves, but avoiding my breasts purposely.

           “God, you’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he murmured, voice husky, and I took his face in my hands and pulled his mouth back to mine in a fierce kiss. My fingers ran through his hair and he sighed into my mouth, flesh hand sliding down my back to give my ass a playful squeeze. I squealed and he grinned wolfishly.

           “Oh, this is gonna be fun,” he chuckled, and my body trembled in anticipation. When he leaned in to take one of my nipples into his mouth and suck lightly, I keened, fingers tangling in his hair.

           “Bucky…” I whined, and he peppered soft kisses across my chest.

           “Yeah, doll?” he murmured, hands massaging my hips as his mouth tended to my breasts. I let out a huff, trying to compose myself enough to speak. His touch already had me hazy, though, and it was difficult to form words.

           “Too many clothes,” I finally managed to mumble, and he took the hint as he leaned back enough to yank the t-shirt over his head. My eyes dropped to his bare chest, and then my fingertips were tracing the dips and planes of his hard muscles. I could feel those muscles contracting under my touch, and when I reached his shoulder where metal met flesh I hesitated. Bucky scowled.

           “It’s not pretty, I know,” he mumbled, and I pursed my lips. I pressed a quick kiss to his mouth before letting my lips ghost over the puckered skin on his shoulder. Bucky inhaled sharply, and when I reached down to thread my fingers through his vibranium ones and lift his hand to kiss his knuckles, he watched me with burning eyes and a slack jaw.

           “There isn’t a single thing about you that could make me want you any less, Bucky Barnes,” I whispered, and then his free hand was cupping the back of my neck and pulling my mouth back to his. The kiss was slow, tender and deep, and I hugged my body tighter to his in an effort to be closer to him. In doing so, it put me in a position to feel the bulge in the front of Bucky’s sweatpants. I rocked my hips against his experimentally with the tiniest of whimpers when I was rewarded with the friction I craved, and Bucky’s breath hitched.

           “Doll…” he rasped, hands tightening on my waist. I pulled back to meet his gaze with hooded eyes.

           “Please…” I begged softly. “Bucky, please.”

           I was fully aware of how desperate I sounded, but it was a shameless awareness. The need to feel his touch ran so deep it was practically an ache – An ache I desperately needed him to soothe. His eyes were black pools of lust as he looked at me, licking his lips as he contemplated his next move carefully.

           “So needy, baby girl,” he murmured, fingertips teasing as they skimmed across my bare flesh. I shuddered and he grinned lazily. “God, the things I wanna do to you…You want me to touch you, doll?”

           I nodded, unable to speak. Bucky’s eyes sparkled.

           “Gonna take real good care of you, sweetheart, I promise. Gonna show you how a real man treats a woman as incredible as you.” He kissed the valley between my breasts, hands playing with the waistband of my sweatpants. I was on fire, between his words and his touch, and I was spiralling into a daze that I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to leave. “Is that what you want, doll?” Bucky murmured. “You want me to take care of that ache for you?”

           I whimpered; was it that obvious I was aching for him? I could only nod meekly, but Bucky shook his head.

           “Words, doll,” he said, gentle but firm. “I’m not doing a thing until I hear you say it.”      

           His voice was still husky, but his eyes were suddenly cautious, as if he wasn’t sure I actually wanted this. I frowned, in disbelief that even now he was letting his insecurities convince him he wasn’t the only thing in the world I wanted. I took his face firmly between my hands and held his gaze to mine.

           “I want you to claim me as yours,” I whispered, “so that when anyone sees the two of us together, they know I belong to you and only you. I want you to fuck me so good that I can still feel you even after we’ve gotten back to New York.”

           Bucky’s eyes darkened until just the thinnest ring of blue remained around his pupils. “Oh, fuck,” he choked out, and then he was laying me down as his mouth claimed mine in a searing kiss. The blanket was soft on the skin of my back, protecting against the chill of the hardwood underneath, but I wouldn’t care if I was laying outside in the snow if it meant Bucky would touch me.

           His hands slowly – agonizingly – dragged the sweatpants from my hips. I let out a huff of frustration and he chuckled.

           “Patience, darlin’,” he breathed. “I wanna take my time with you, but I promise I’ll make it all worth it.”

           Bucky kissed his way up the inside of my leg and then down the other, purposely ignoring where I needed him the most. When his hands finally pushed my legs apart at the knees to expose me, I was a mess, biting my lip with my chest heaving. His eyes raked over my core hungrily before flashing up to my face.

           “Fucking hell,” he rasped. “Look at you, doll; you’re dripping like honey.”

           “All for you, Buck,” I said, breathless. “This is what you do to me.”

           Bucky groaned, and then his fingers swiped through my folds. I gasped at the sudden contact, back arching off the floor, and the grin that stretched across his face was pure sin. Pulling my legs over his shoulders, he wrapped his arms loosely around my thighs and then licked a clean stripe up my slit. I cried out, back arching again, and his arms tugged my hips back down gently.

           “Good girl,” he murmured, before his mouth went back to work. His tongue explored my folds, and then dipped into my entrance to gather my juices. I squeezed my eyes shut, hands fisting into the soft fur of the blanket beneath me as electricity buzzed through every nerve in my body. “Sweet as candy,” Bucky murmured into my flesh, and I keened.

           When his lips wrapped around my clit and sucked, my hips bucked and I writhed in Bucky’s grasp. He let me shamelessly grind against his face for a few moments, but then his arms were firm as they pushed my hips back down to the blanket and held them there. His mouth continued its assault on my core, licking and sucking and nibbling until my chest was flushed and I was reduced to incoherent moans and whimpers. With my hips locked into place, I had to use my hands to direct his mouth. My fingers tangled in his hair, tugging on the dark locks to hold his face to me, and Bucky groaned into me, sending vibrations through my core that had a fresh wave of heat crash through me. I tugged harder, nails scraping his scalp, and he growled.

           “Oh, you’re asking for it now,” he said in a low voice, and then he was teasing my entrance with not one, but two fingers. He pushed them into me slowly, watching my face for my reaction, and I moaned obscenely as he curled them and his knuckles brushed my walls. With a triumphant smirk, Bucky’s lips reattached to my clit as his thick fingers pumped in and out of me at an excruciatingly slow pace. My breaths were coming out in sharp rasps as I felt the coil in my belly tighten, teetering oh-so-close to the edge.

           Bucky must have been able to tell I was close, because he added a third finger and grazed my clit lightly with his teeth. I cried out his name as he pushed me over the edge, eyes squeezed shut and hands curling into fists in his hair. He pulled out his fingers and helped me ride out my high with gentle licks and soft kisses, and when my body finally relaxed, boneless, against the blanket, he kissed his way up my body to press his lips to mine.

           I tasted myself on his tongue, and I hummed delightedly. Bucky grinned into the kiss and nipped at my bottom lip playfully.

           “I have never seen something more beautiful than you when you come undone, doll, fuck,” he breathed. “If I died right now, I would die a happy man.”

           I giggled and pinched his side teasingly. “We’re not done yet,” I told him wryly, and then my hands were shoving Bucky’s sweatpants off his hips. He kicked them off impatiently, and my hand immediately wrapped around him. He grunted, and I felt the heat pool in my belly as I let out a soft whine – He was thick and hot and impossibly hard in my grip, and my walls were already clenching in anticipation.

           I began to slide my hand up and down his shaft, and a low hiss escaped Bucky’s lips as his eyes fluttered shut. I tried to push him off me so I could trade my hand for my mouth, but Bucky shook his head.

           “No,” he said gruffly, and my brow furrowed in confusion.

           “What?”

           I must have had a hurt look on my face, because his eyes widened and he was quick to press a tender kiss to my lips. “Oh, baby girl, no, it’s not like that,” he said quickly. “I would love to know how your mouth feels, trust me, but right now, my god, I need to be inside you so badly it hurts.”

           “Oh…” I breathed, biting my lip. Bucky’s hand replaced mine on his length and he lined himself up with my entrance, teasing it with the tip. My breath hitched, and he looked at me imploringly.

           “You sure about this?” he murmured, and instead of answering I rocked my hips against his, allowing him to slip fully inside me in one smooth stroke.

           Bucky’s eyes rounded; I had surprised him. They quickly darkened as he let out a low groan, and I bit my lip, letting out a whine as he stretched me better than I’d ever been stretched before. Bucky held still for a moment, giving me time to adjust to his size and him time to compose himself.

           I tilted my head up, lips searching for his, and he dipped his head to oblige me. When we broke apart, he rested his forehead against mine, breath hot against my face.

           “Tell me when you’re ready,” he murmured.

           “I’m ready,” I replied without hesitation. “Please, Buck…”

           With a strangled groan, Bucky slowly slid out of me before pushing back in. I drew a shuddering breath, relishing in how full I felt with him inside me. The pace he set was languid and unhurried, and despite having been so desperate to feel him, now that we were joined, I was more than happy with slowing things down. There was no need to rush – We weren’t leaving the cabin anytime soon, which meant we had plenty of time to learn every inch of each other’s bodies.

           Every languorous stroke was well-placed, hitting me in all the right spots until I was whimpering and entirely at Bucky’s mercy. I quickly came to the conclusion, though, that Bucky was just as much at my mercy as I was at his; I could feel it in every tender touch, kiss and thrust that he was all in – That this was more than just fuelled by desire. It had been a long time since someone had been so attentive to my body and my feelings, it made my heart swell.

           “Look at me,” Bucky suddenly whispered. “Look at me, doll.”

           I hadn’t even realized my eyes had been closed, and I blinked them open, only to have my breath catch in my throat. Bucky’s face hovered above mine, his eyes fixed on mine. I could see the fire dancing in his irises, casting golden streaks through the pools of blue; he had never been more breathtaking than he was right now. It wasn’t the colours in his eyes that had taken my breath away, though; it was the expression they held. Bucky, normally so closed-off and hard to read, was an entirely open book. His eyes held everything that his mouth couldn’t say – Trust, happiness, reverence, adoration…There was even something else there, something I dared not even put into thought for fear of ruining if before it could even begin. He was completely vulnerable, vulnerable for me, and I knew how big of a deal that was for him. With a lump in my throat and my heart fluttering wildly against my ribcage, I lifted a hand to brush my fingertips across his lips.

           “James…” I said breathlessly. The use of his real name had him groaning softly, and then he was dipping his head to kiss me deeply. He snapped his hips into mine, still at the same slow pace, but with more force behind the strokes now. A breathy whine escaped my lips and Bucky pressed his forehead to mine, chest heaving as he fought to even his breathing.

           “Eyes on me, doll,” he panted, rolling his hips into mine and earning another wanton moan. “I want to see you when you come apart around me.”

           “Fuck…” I whimpered, forcing my eyes to remain open despite it being so natural for them to drift shut as the coil in my belly tightened. Bucky’s gaze was piercing, hungry, and unabashedly intimate as he fucked into me, slow and hard and so unbelievably good that the rest of the world – the storm still roaring outside, the knowledge that HYDRA was probably out there looking for us, our teammates back home planning to rescue us – melted away until it was just him and I, our bodies joined in the most profound and visceral way, energy buzzing from his body to mine and back again until it was impossible to tell where he ended and I began.

           I reached my climax only seconds before Bucky did, brows knitting together as I struggled to keep my eyes on him, lips parted as I gasped sharply. Bucky’s eyes clouded over with pure, unadulterated desire, and then his hips stuttered and he was spilling into me with a groan that rumbled deep in his chest, his expression one of absolute bliss. His mouth found mine as we rode out our highs; the kiss was sloppy and lazy, both of us absolutely spent, but it was also sweet and tender. Bucky’s nose bumped mine affectionately, and then he was dipping his head to press his face to the juncture between my neck and shoulder.

           My fingers carded idly through his damp hair for a handful of seconds, and he hummed contentedly. Then his arms circled under me and he rolled us over so he was on his back and I was sprawled across his chest, our legs tangled together and his softening member still inside me.

           Neither of us said anything, but we didn’t have to; our bodies had already said everything that needed to be said. The wind still wailed outside, but the fire kept the cabin cozy, and the flames from the hearth and the candles bathed the room in a warm, golden glow. Bucky’s hand brushed through my hair before his fingertips swept down the naked expanse of my body, raising goosebumps on my flushed skin. I turned my head to press my lips to his heated chest, burying myself further in his embrace, and in this moment – skin-to-skin, curled up on a soft blanket by a crackling fire – I was more grateful than I ever thought I could be for a plane crash in the mountains in Austria.

[forthehpfanboys]

Two Years

Pair: Fred Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: You got back to Diagon Alley after the war and desperately wanna talk to him and explain why you were basically non-existent during the war. But is Fred ready to talk to you?

Warnings: Swearing.

Notes: Reader is Draco's Cousin! Hope you enjoy!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

Complicated couldn’t even begin to describe your relationship with the Weasley’s. 

For to start, you were related to the Malfoys which automatically meant it was rocky. You were Draco’s cousin. Your family didn’t believe in the same ideology as Lucius and Narcissa, leading to family feuds being normal during literally any time of the year. Your family didn’t exactly want the attention of the Malfoys or the Dark Lord once the war reared its ugly head, so your family fled to America, dragging you with them. They wanted to get as far from the war as possible. 

And two, well, you were Fred’s partner before the war broke out. Since your family was absolutely dedicated to being hidden, you lost communication with him when your family decided to just get up and go. You didn’t even have time to tell him goodbye or really anyone and it hurt. You knew you hurt him too and no matter how you begged, your parents wouldn’t let you see him, let alone send him a letter. Owls couldn’t travel across whole seas and you were basically in lock down, even if you were a grown adult. 

You stayed up most nights because of nightmares. You’d wake up in a cold sweat more times than you could count on both hands. After these tear jerking visions from hell, you’d usually climb from your bedroom window to the room, gazing out at the moon like a love struck teenager, hoping maybe even praying Fred was gazing at the moon at the same time you were.. Most nights he actually was.

During the war, Fred had come into a.. Complication. He ended up fracturing his leg, resulting in a cane and physical therapy. George took up fixing and running the shop with Ron while he was borderline trapped between surviving at the Burrow and physical therapy. 

Fred spent most of his free time sketching out ideas of products to tire his mind long enough to ignore the stupid nightmares and gazing out the window, hoping you’d apperate across the field and come comfort him, but you never came. Everyone in the Burrow avoided mentioning your name around Fred, anyway.

When the time came, Fred went straight back to work with his twin, spewing out ideas about different treats, potions, trinkets, anything and everything he came up with while bed ridden and they both got to work quickly. 

It was nice, relaxing, normal again. Everything was normal to Fred but a piece of him was missing. You were across the world and you held a piece of his heart and he hated you never gave it back. 

No matter how badly he missed you or longed for you to hold his hand, he wasn’t ready to face you when you entered their shop. He literally wasn’t ready to face you. He turned around when the bell went off, ready to say the shop wasn’t open yet but dropped the box he was holding. He ignored the sound of shattering glass and immediately booked it back into the room, where he nearly knocked over his brother. 

“What’s wrong?” George asked, swiftly setting the box he was holding down on the shelf. “Are you going into another attack? Do you need to go upsta-” He was silenced when Fred's hand covered his mouth.

“Hello?” A soft voice called out, causing George's eyebrows to furrow before his eyes grew wide. Fred moved his hand, using it to slowly shut the storage room door, making sure to turn the handle so it shut silently. The separation allowed the twins to whisper to each other in peace.

“Isn't that-” 

“Yeah.”

“Then why-”

“Because I’m not ready.”

“..You’re not ready? Blimey, Fred, it’s been 2 years since he left.” George ran a hand down his face, the other landing on his hip sassily. “What do you mean you're not ready? You always talked about how you missed him but now you aren't ready?”

“You wouldn’t understand-” 

“Don’t even give me that, Freddie. Talk to me.” George smiled, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. “I know you're older by like, 1/4 a second, but you don’t have to be a rock. Come on, don’t bottle it up.”

Fred let out a sigh, his eyes casting downward before he let out the smallest of chuckles. His hand came to rub the back of his neck.

“Fine.” 

George almost squealed with joy when his brother decided to open up to him. He wanted to clap his hands and jump around like a child, but opted for not compromising their position. 

Fred went on to tell George about how you left, how you didn’t even leave a note, how he didn’t know how to ask if you two were still together and if you loved him anymore. George has already known all of this, causing his face to melt into an unamused expression.

“.. You realize you're being ridiculous, right?”

“Gee, thanks George. I will most definitely come back to you when I have emotional turmoil.”

“No, no, mate, listen.” George wrapped his arm around his older brother's shoulder, gently guiding him away from the wall. “Listen, ok? You’re such a top notch guy, not as handsome as me,” George smiled wider when his brother snorted, “but you’re trying! So why not at least talk to the bloke, yeah? You guys were snogging before he left, so why not try to snog after?”

“I just told you why I can’t.”

“Who are you and what did you do with Fredrick Weasley?” George put the back of his hand across his forehead, being the dramatic shit he is. 

“Don’t call me that, you prat-”

“I thought I knew you! Confidence was your middle name! Frederick Confident Gideon Weasley!” The youngest twin only became cockier when the older one groaned and covered his face. “Oh, Frederick, where did you go?” He wrapped his free arm tighter around his brother and dragged him out the door, ignoring his protests and grabby hands reaching to hold onto the door frame. 

“George, wait!” Fred’s hushed whisper floated in the air, completely ignored by the other red-head.

“Fredrick! Where did you go, Freddie?!” He called out, knowing damn well you were still in the shop. Neither of the twins heard the shops bell ring a second tie, indication your departure.

“George?” Your voice echoed in the closed shop, leading George to dramatically turn to his brother and smirk at him. “Is that you?”

“Why yes, my dear friend! How are you?” George let go of his twin, allowing him to scurry off to the side and hide behind one of their many filled shelves. You walked up to him just after Fred hid, much to his delight and George’s dismay. George’s smile faltered ever so slightly when he took in your appearance. 

Your hair was a nest fit for Scabbers, the bags under your eyes would need to be checked with baggage at any muggle airport and your clothes. Not that there was anything wrong with a hoodie and sweatpants, but it was summer for fucks sake. He could see the sweat across his brow and wondered if he should turn the AC on.

“I’m as well as I can be, I guess..” You fiddled with a stray strand hanging from your hoodie. George noted the fraying hand made thumb holes and his eyebrow raised in confusion. “I um-” You ran a hand through your hair, “I wanted to talk to Fred, do you know where he is?” While your eyes were darting across the top level of the shop, George’s eyes flashed to his brother.

The shop owner shot his brother a glare when he shook his head back and forth fast enough to make anyone dizzy. 

“Um, no.. I haven't.” George grumbled out, his hands going to his pockets. He looked down at the floor deciding it would be better than the disappointed expression on your face. “Um, do you want me to give him a message for something?”

“No, yeah, if that’s ok?” You went back to fiddling with the stray thread. You didn’t notice Fred peaking at you through the products lined on the shelves. “Just um- Could you tell him I’m sorry for me? I’m sure he’ll know what I mean..”

“Yeah, sure thing, (Y/n/n). Anything for you.” George ran a hand through his hair after you turned on your heel and mumbled a thank you before exiting the shop. “You owe me.” The red-head turned to his identical and sighed when he saw the longing expression. “Merlin’s left tit, you’re fucked, mate.”

“I should’ve-” Fred hit his forehead against the wood of one of the shelves, a yell of frustration leaving his throat.

“Say it.” “..You were right. I should’ve talked to him.”

“Damn right I was. Now, go get your bloke before he cries in the street or worse, goes to Malfoy for romantic help.” George faked a shudder at the idea. George watched his brother turn, slamming his back into the shelf and slide to the floor. “Ok, Fred, seriously, this is getting kind of sad.”

“I can’t go talk to him, George!” Fred was pulling at his own ginger locks, his knees coming up to his chest. “I- No, I can’t.”

“Do you want me to do it?” George’s voice was soft. He plopped himself on the dusty floor right next to his brother. “I can talk to him as you? See what all of this is about?” 

“I don’t know, Georgie..” Fred’s voice was softer than his twins. He looked at his brother with a hopeless expression and glossy eyes. George figured from this it would be best to tackle the problem tomorrow so he just pulled his brother into his side and held him for a good while.

-

The next day was easier for Fred. The store was bustling, as it was Monday, morning and all the happy customers provided a great distraction. He took over the register while George focused more on the floor work: answering customer questions, restocking shelves. It was a lot for two twins to handle, but they managed, especially when Ginny or Ron offered their free days to come down and help. 

Fred had just finished closing the drawer, handing a youngster his change back when the bell above the shop's door caught his attention. He shifted on his feet when Draco was practically dragging you into the shop wearing the same clothes as yesterday. The red-head was starting to wonder if you were ok.

“(Y/n)!” George yanked you into a hug before you could even blink, causing you to erupt into a fit of giggles that left Fred absolutely yearning to have you by his side again.

“Hey Geo!” You briefly hugged him back before pulling away, causing his attention to shift to your cousin. 

“Malfoy.” George looked the blonde up and down. He’d throw hands if he had too, even in his own shop.

“Hey, be nice. He’s on our side now.” You punched the tall suited man lightly in the arm before shoving your hands in your pockets.

“It’s unfortunate but true. Most birds did appreciate my bad boy ages.” Draco ran a hand dramatically through his hair while George snorted. “But that isn’t why we’re here. Is your brother around?”

“He’s at the til, why?”

“I’m just here to make sure (Y/n) actually talks to him like he promised too.” Draco put a hand on your back and gently pushed you forward. “But how is business, Weasley?”

While George went on to talk about statistics and boring old shit, you slowly walked over to the red-head who was trying to distract himself by restocking some of the knickknacks in the class case beneath the counter. You cleared your throat, clearly scaring him. He let out a squeak and hit his head on the underside of the glass case.

“I-I’m sorry, Freddie! Are you ok?” you asked, your hands awkwardly fidgeting in front of you as the male stood up and rubbed the back of his head. You bit your lip, resisting the urge to grab his shoulders and check his head. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” He had his eyes squinted so tight he could see stars flashing behind his lids. He couldn’t look at you yet. You’d looked like a kicked puppy yesterday when you left and it pained him so much.

“Did, um.. Did you get my message from Geo?” You were fiddling with the string again. Fred opened his eyes slowly, nodding to you while he played with the product in his hand. 

“I.. Look, I don’t wanna beat around the bush, but I-”

“I already know.” Fred spoke up quickly, louder than intended. “I know, it’s fine.”

“S.. So it’s fine then?” You looked around, a tiny bit confused. Fred wasn’t one for jumping to conclusions, but it seemed his legs weren’t tired yet.

“Yeah.” 

“So, I just wanna be sure we’re on the same page, you know my family dragged me to America?”

“Uh-”

“And basically put me under house arrest so I couldn’t see you or message you or leave or really live? And I haven’t forgotten you and my feelings for you haven’t changed and Godric, Fred, I miss you so much.” Tears pricked your tired eyes as you glanced at him. You cleared your throat over the awkward silence you felt was your fault. Fred was replaying your words like a record stuttering on a player and the bloke was still confused.

“.. Come again?” The red-head blinked stupidly, subconsciously leaning over the counter. Maybe he wasn’t hearing you right over the noise of the shop. You couldn’t help but release a borderline silent chuckle that bubbled into your throat.

“I still love you, Freddie bear.” You twiddled with your fingers, your eyes glancing down to his lips before looking back into his sparkling eyes.

“You do?” The co-owner was trying to keep his joy nestled deep down in his chest.

You nodded your head.

“Oh thank fuck.” 

“Wha- Ah! FRED-”

The male had all but jumped over the glass counter, dramatically picking you up by your waist and slamming his lips to yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, while your hands gripped to his shoulders like your life depended on it. You immediately fell under the spell of his kiss and didn’t even hear your cousin and your boyfriend's twin brother whooping/gagging.

Fred soon set you down, his usual cocky grin spread across his face until his knee buckled. The strain of his dumb ass jumping over the counter and picking you off your feet like you were a feather was finally catching up with him.

“Ah, ow, ow.” Fred groaned out, bending over to hold his right knee. You put a hand on his shoulder, worry etched across his face. “Ah, so um.. I should probably explain-”

“We both have a lot to explain, Freddie. Two years is a lot of time to be apart.”

[pastelwitchling]

Kyle Valenti Appreciation Week [Day 1]

               “It’s a lot bigger than I thought it’d be,” Alex said, and Kyle smiled.

               He’d spent weeks preparing to go to this doctor’s convention in Albuquerque alone, wondering just how many old men in lab coats he would be forced to listen to discuss the importance of the work they’d done at their bigger, fancier hospitals. Then, on the morning he was getting ready to go, Alex showed up at his doorstep with a backpack and a smirk.

               “Ready to go?”

               Kyle was more than a little grateful. He’d thrown his arms around Alex’s shoulders, making him laugh. The beautiful sound was a good start to what was already beginning to look like a more bearable trip.

               So now they stood before a giant hotel that Kyle was sure was bigger than Roswell’s hospital, ready for five days of lectures and – hopefully – one too many martinis to get through it.

               “Do not leave me alone with these people,” he muttered as the automatic doors let them in, and the cold air conditioning slapped their faces.

               Alex scoffed. “If you hate coming to these things so much, why do you? Couldn’t you just take a sick day or something?”

               “I’m a doctor,” Kyle said miserably. “I’m legally not allowed to be sick.” He mustered a smile as he checked into his room.

               “Oh!” the receptionist smiled at the two of them. Kyle guessed she rarely saw anyone under the age of seventy at one of these things. “Your reservation doesn’t mention a plus-one. I can update you from the two double-sized bedroom to the single king-size, if you want.”

               Kyle glanced at Alex with wide eyes, and was glad to see he wasn’t the only one blushing. Then a ping caught Alex’s attention and he pulled out his phone.

               “Uh – we’re just friends,” Kyle stammered. “We’re not – I mean, he wouldn’t – he is way out of my league –”

               “No,” Alex cut him off, pocketing his phone and smiling politely, if not a little uncomfortably, at the receptionist. “We’re good with the two-bedroom, thanks.”

               Kyle swallowed and nodded, handing in his doctor’s badge and trying (and failing) not to look to Alex every so often, who was doing a great job of avoiding Kyle’s gaze completely. Was it really that bad for people to think they were together? He knew Alex was amazing, he knew he’d made mistakes himself when they were teenagers, but he’d hoped that they’d grown past that. That when someone asked if they were in love, they could laugh it off and take it as a complement.

               Kyle wondered if it was normal to want people to assume you were dating your best friend, then realized he was being spoken to.

               “Thirteenth floor, room 1369,” she said, still looking from Kyle to Alex and back as if too in love to know who to properly stare at.

               “Great,” Kyle said, eager to go. “Thank you.”

               They got onto the elevator with one old woman in the corner who was busying herself with pinning her badge on her lab coat.

               “Forty seconds,” he muttered to Alex who huffed a chuckle. “We’ve been here forty seconds, and I already wish I was dead. Ironic, considering we’re surrounded by doctors.”

               “Relax,” Alex said distractedly, and Kyle just realized how close he was. “You said the first lecture isn’t until tonight, right? So we’ll get to the room, and you can rest up until then.”

               Kyle swallowed. Alex’s breath was warm on the shell of his ear. Was that normal? To like Alex’s breath against his skin? To want to lean back into him to feel more of it?

               He shook his head, shutting his eyes tight. He was exhausted, and being ridiculous. He didn’t want to lean back into Alex – seriously, what was wrong with him today?

               Once they’d reached the tenth floor, the old woman stepped off, and Kyle and Alex were alone. He looked down at his shoes, feigning nonchalance. “Can you believe that receptionist thought we were together?”

               He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s not that hard to believe.”

               “Still,” Kyle said, “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

               Alex frowned. “Kyle, I’m not –”

               Bing!

               The doors opened to the thirteenth floor, and Kyle nudged his chin. “That’s us.”

               They stepped off and down the carpeted corridor to their room. Kyle used his pass to let them in, and Alex let out a low whistle at the sight. It was a suite, it had to be. The door opened to a large sitting room with Victorian-esque furniture splayed around and flower vases on small wooden tables. There was a large-screen TV hanging on the wall and a small kitchen on the far right, reminding them that they hadn’t, in fact, been transported to the eighteenth century.

               “Wow,” Alex murmured, checking the room on the left. “The beds are in here!” he called. “So’s the bathroom.”

               “Great,” Kyle said, “because I need a shower to wash off the convention from my skin.”

               Alex smiled, and Kyle tried not to think of the pride that bloomed in his chest at the sight of it.

               As he rummaged for a pair of underwear and pajamas from his suitcase, Alex got another ping on his phone. Kyle threw glances at him, and noticed that his smile dimmed before he’d even pulled it out of his pocket.

               Without responding, he clicked it off and tossed it on the bed.

               “Everything okay?”

               Alex hummed, mustering a smile that Kyle had learned long ago meant that he was bothered and trying not to fall into his own mess of thoughts.

               “Hey,” Alex said. “I heard about this cool burger place, just down the street. You want to clean up and go?”

               He groaned. “I’m so in love with you, please don’t ever leave me.”

               Alex laughed, his cheeks red. He plopped down on his bed, arms outstretched. His shirt had ridden up his stomach, and Kyle’s eyes lingered on the tanned patch of naked skin. Alex’s eyes were closed, and he raised his hands to fold under his head, bringing his shirt up more.

               If Kyle asked, would Alex let him touch him there? Would he let Kyle run his hand across his stomach, maybe higher up his shirt? Kyle imagined just lying down beside Alex, Alex looking at him with dark, hungry eyes. Alex reaching up to cup his jaw, caress his cheek, lean in with an open mouth and eager hands. What would Alex do, he wondered, if he just lied beside him and told him; Do whatever you want, I want you to.

               “I don’t know why you complain about these things,” Alex said, yanking Kyle out of his thoughts. “A whole week away from work with a fancy hotel room sounds pretty good after Roswell.”

               “It’s fancy this year,” Kyle said indignant, feeling a weird swell of shame in his chest. Not for the first time, Kyle was glad Alex didn’t have Isobel’s mind-reading powers. “You weren’t here when they put us in motels.”

               “We could’ve had fun in a motel.”

               “It’s a motel,” Kyle deadpanned. “There only thing you can do there for fun is . . .”

               Alex raised a brow. “Have sex?”

               Heat rose to the tips of Kyle’s ears and he cleared his throat. “Could you imagine . . . if – if we’d been there . . . together? Last year?”

               Alex said nothing for a long while, and Kyle didn’t dare look at him. Then he heard Alex sit up in bed.

               “Kyle –” he started, his voice strange, then –

               Ping!

               Alex turned silent, and Kyle looked over at him to see him focused on his phone, his finger hovering over the screen. Finally, Alex swallowed and pocketed it.

               “You okay?”

               Alex slid off the bed. “Yeah. I’ll go ask what time the meals are in this place,” he said. “You should get cleaned up.”

               He patted Kyle’s shoulder twice on his way out, and Kyle watched him leave. The second he was out the door, Kyle threw his face into his pillow and cursed himself.

               What had he said? What had he been thinking?! Alex was going to think he was hitting on him, pushing himself on his gay friend because he was bored!

               “Idiot!” he yelled, his voice muffled. “What were you thinking, what’s wrong with you?!”

               The empty hotel room didn’t respond.

                 As they sat over their burgers and fries, Kyle thought Alex was unusually quiet. Every time he tried to make him laugh, Alex would get a call or text, and his smile would instantly fall away.

               “I’m really glad you’re here,” he tried. “There’s no way I could’ve made it through this week without you.”

               “Week hasn’t started yet,” Alex reminded him, rational and calculating as always. Kyle smiled to himself.

               “Why’d you decide to come anyway?”

               Alex folded his arms on the table and sighed. He looked a lot more tired than he had that morning, but he smiled, nonetheless. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

               Kyle’s heart fluttered in his chest. “Alex –”

               Ping!

               Alex shut his away, his smile faded. “Sorry, just – just one second.” He pulled out his phone, checked the message on the screen with furrowed brows, seemed to hesitate about something, then swiped across his screen and fell silent again.

               It was when they were nursing their milkshakes, Alex mindlessly swirling a fry in his, that Kyle couldn’t take it anymore.

               “Okay,” he finally said, “what’s going on with you? I’m the one that’s supposed to be miserable on this trip, remember?”

               Alex blinked. “Nothing’s going on.”

               “Alex,” Kyle said. “It’s me.”

               Alex said nothing a moment, then another text came, and he all but flinched. Kyle frowned. There was only one person who could give Alex that kind of reaction.

               His shoulders fell. “It’s Guerin, isn’t it?” he said. “He’s the one that’s been calling nonstop.”

               Alex shut his eyes and sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, and said, “I don’t know why I can’t talk to him. Not now, I –” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought I could get over . . . the whole thing with Maria, but I . . . I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

               “Why didn’t you tell me?”

               He shook his head, and managed a smile. “Because I don’t understand what’s happening either. I don’t get why it’s suddenly . . . bothering me so much. And because this trip isn’t about that. This is about you, so let’s just table Guerin until some of this starts to make more sense, okay?”

               Kyle stared. He’d spent years watching Alex put his own feelings aside because everyone else was just that much more important. He’d seen Alex ignore his own tears so he could wipe away Kyle’s, he’d seen him bleed for Michael over and over.

               “You know,” he said, “back in high school, when I first started to become someone I’m not proud of –”

               Alex frowned. “What – why are you bringing that up now?”

               “You didn’t hate me for it at first,” Kyle went on. “Even when I didn’t invite you to parties, even when I told people that I didn’t really know you, even when . . . when I called you things behind your back –”

               “Stop,” Alex shut his eyes, “I don’t want to talk about that.”

               “You have to,” Kyle insisted, leaning in and taking Alex’s hand. “Because even after all of that, you wanted to see the good in me, and only the good. And then, when I stopped talking behind your back, and said all that messed up crap to your face, then you started to get angry. You put me in my place, every time. You give people chances, Alex. That doesn’t mean you don’t know how to punish them.”

               Alex stared at his milkshake. “What’s your point?”

               “That I got mine,” he said, and shrugged a shoulder, smiling. “And Guerin’s about to get his. It’s okay, Alex. You’re okay.”

               Alex stared at him a long while, then a smile tugged at his lips. “You were wrong, you know,” he said softly. “You’re the one that’s out of my league.”

               Kyle blinked, and realized he’d leaned in impossibly close. He cleared his throat, sitting back, his face inexplicably warm.

               “Manes,” he murmured, shaking his head. “This’ll be one hell of a week.”

               As he watched Alex bite his lower lip to keep his smile from widening, his face a cute shade of pink, he realized this trip might not be as bad as he’d thought.

[certifiedskywalker]

Stolen Moments - Geralt of Rivia

Geralt was right when he said that the life of a Witcher is not one suited to children, to a family. But Geralt was your family, your love, and you would take any stolen moments you could get. Even if that meant not getting enough sleep on long nights.

It was pitch black when you heard the door to your inn room creaked open. You sat up in bed and rubbed at your sleep-ridden eyes. 

“Fuck.”

“Geralt?”

In the dark, you heard the heavy ‘thunk’ of footsteps echo through the room. Soon enough, your eyes began to adjust and you could see the bulk of Geralt’s outline. Whisps of his silver hair caught in the thin rays of moonlight shining through the inn room’s small window. A lazy smile spread along your lips.

“How’d it go?” Geralt grumbled something you couldn’t hear. “What?”

“It’s dead, that’s all that matters.”

“Geralt,” you sat up a bit straighter and studied his shadowy form. “Light a candle so I can see you.” 

“Y/N, it’s late. I woke yo-“

“I want to see you,” you pressed, already reaching towards the shoddy nightstand at your bedside. Carefully, you lit the wick, birthing a small flame whose glow was enough to bathe the room in dimmed hues of orange. When you turned to look where you thought last saw Geralt, you saw nothing. Then another footstep and Geralt stood before.

His hair was blood-soaked in an almost violet color. You could see parts tangled, matted, some even missing. New cuts lined his handsome face, making him look older; but not nearly as old as he was. That you knew. 

“Geralt…”

“Let me wash off, I’ll be with you soon. Y/N, what are you...stop this.” You were already on your feet, lighting a few more candles before heading over the fireplace. For a cheap room, at least the inn owners had the decency to supply a bathing basin. All you had to do was heat up some water.

“Take all that off,” you ordered as you began to fight with some dried logs in the fireplace. “This will be ready soon.”

When Geralt didn’t respond, you turned your head to sneak a glance at him. There was the smallest of closed-lip smiles decorating his expression. He had learned early on in your relationship that you were just as stubborn as he was; if not more so at times. Without a sound of protest, Geralt set his weapons on the floor to be cleaned later and began to peel his blackened armor from his body. 

You wanted to watch him as he worked, just as you usually did, but you were driven to warm the water to get Geralt clean. He needed rest, you both did, and you wanted to see his face without seeing blood first.

So, freshly awake, you got the water to warm before pouring it into the larger basin. Water splashed around your feet and a small whimper fell from your lips. Warm for you was steaming for Geralt, and your coolled skin wasn’t ready for the sudden change in temperature. As the water filled the basin, you felt something brush against your back.

You glanced over your shoulders and saw Geralt’s bare chest. “It’s ready for you.”

“Thank you,” his voice was low, almost a growl as he spoke. Even under the layer of dark ichor, you could see how tired he was. You gave him a gentle smile before carrying the water pot back over to the fireplace. The flames you had stirred to life now roared.

Gold-orange light set the room in a warm glow. It was perfect. Your eyes felt droopy in the dim light and you fought it with what strength you had. It was only when you heard the telltale dash of water as Geralt moved to sit in the basin. You turned around and saw him, amber eyes glued on you, watching you in that way he does. Goosebumps rose up on your skin under his gaze.

“Warm enough?”

“Hmm,” Geralt’s hum was content. His eyes never left yours, even as you found a rag to wash him with. You leaned over the basin, wet the fabric, and, still, Geralt’s eyes never left yours. When you brought it up to his face, his amber irises seemed to blaze at your nearness.

“I missed you,” you murmured as you pressed the rag to his cheek. With the flick of your wrist, you wiped away the dark crimson that had soaked there. “Felt like you were gone for weeks.”

“Hmm,” finally, at your touch, Geralt’s eyes closed. “It did.” 

In a few more seconds, Geralt’s face was cleaned of blood. His chiseled jaw was covered in stubble as he went a few days without shaving. He looked rugged, more handsome than usual; if you ignored the matted, dirt-ridden state of his hair. When you pulled the rag from his face, Geralt’s eyes opened to meet your gaze.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Geralt murmured. One of his hands, one that had been cleaned by the water, reached up and brushed against your cheek. You leaned into the touch, letting your heavy eyes close to savor it. 

“I’m glad you did,” you pressed your lips to the meat of Geralt’s palm. Low and hearty, Geralt hummed. Your eyes fluttered open and you gave him a smile. “What was that, Witcher?”

“Me too.” You grabbed at his wrist and held his hand to the side of his face. Geralt gazed at you with the same heat that wafted out from the fireplace. His thumb skirted over the height of your cheekbone, leaving little sparks across your skin. It felt right.

“We should wash your hair,” you reached for one of the strands, “before it dyes it red.”

Geralt’s brows furrowed at your words. “What?”

“The blood, it could stain your hair in a way. Turn it red.” Your fingers pulled gently at the strands in your hand. Geralt closed his eyes and you let go of his hand. “Shall we?”

“Hmm, red isn’t my color?” You grinned as his teasing, let go of his hair.

“Hmm,” you replied, drawing on his typical grunting responses. “I like the silver, it suits you. Pairs well with your black armor.” Geralt mumbled, but you didn’t miss how his teeth shown between his pink lips. “Was that a smile?”

“Perhaps.” 

Geralt’s smile widened then and you leaned towards him. You let your fingers trail along his shoulder, then his neck. His pale skin was warm from the water as you danced your hand along his chest and then up again. With the lightest chest you could muster, you tickled the skin of his chin and jaw. Geralt let out a shaking breath under your touch.

“Y/N,” his tone sounded like a warning. A warning you knew well. You smiled. 

“Yes?” Geralt opened his eyes and you could see him. You could always see him but in stolen moments like these, you truly saw him in all his glory. He wasn’t always so hard and cold; when you got to him so open like this, soft and all yours, the late nights were worth it. 

“I missed you too,” Geralt finally replied. You grew close to him, to the point where you could smell the sweat that still clung to sections of his skin. He pressed his forehead against yours and, with the touch, your nose bumped against his own. 

“I think you mean something else,” you whispered. Geralt sighed softly and, with his eyes closed, his lashes fanned out against his cheeks.

“I do,” he grumbled. He pulled his head from yours slowly, his eyes opening to meet your gaze. His wet hand lifted to your face once more. “I love you.”

“Hmm,” you let Geralts’ words hang in the air for a long moment. Geralt cocked his head to the side and gave you a playfully annoyed look.

“Y/N.” That warning tone again. You leaned in completely and pressed your lips to his. It was messy, wet, and rushed; it was perfect. Geralt groaned against your lips and buried his other wet hand in your hair. He nipped and pulled at your bottom lip in such a tender way you had to keep from melting into his touch. Instead, you forced yourself to pull away.

“I love you,” you replied, leaning in to peck his lips once more. The quick kiss turned deeper, more passionate than the last. When you had to come up for air, you pressed your forehead to Geralt’s once more. “But we really need to clean you up.”

“Hmm, do we now?” There was a happy tilt to his voice, something that you didn’t miss, not never. “Don’t like me dirty?”

“I never said that,” you quipped with a grin. Geralt returned to the smile and pressed another kiss to your lips. 

You savored the feeling of Geralt’s lips on yours. How rare it was to have such a love like this. You hung onto the warmth between you even as the water in the wash basin went cold; even as the flames in the fireplace died out. You didn’t care and neither did Geralt. Why should he worry when he would always have you to warm him up?