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munson-blurbs · 2 years ago

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Ghostin' (Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader): Chapter 4

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Summary: You accidentally overhear something you're not supposed to. Will it lead to you and Steve finally getting together?

Warnings: language, S4 is canon, pregnancy, body insecurities, body insecurities

WC: 3.6k

Taglist: @kaybee87 @sidthedollface2 @chelebelletx @livsters @atombombbibunny @tattooedkiss13 @manda-panda-monium @charming-winchester @corroded-hellfire @trashmouth-richie @sweet-villain @slightlyvicked @hxllfired @yogizzz @tlclick73 @thefreakofhawkins86 @sheisjoeschateau @harrypotteranna23-blog @harringr0ve @josie955 @luna-munson83 @blhemmings

Divider credits to @firefly-graphics

It’s been nearly a month since Vecna’s attack on Steve. Dustin has made tape after tape of Black Dog, which Steve listens to every night while he sleeps. He keeps the cassettes and the player on him at all times during the day, just in case Vecna’s powers strengthen enough to reach him while he’s awake. So far, the music seems to keep the monster at bay.

“How are you not sick of that song yet?” you ask him over a plate of greasy fries from Benny’s. Your doctor said you should be eating a healthy diet, and you are, for the most part. But something about those deep fried potatoes was too enticing that day, and you didn’t have the energy to fight the craving.

Steve just shrugs. “To be fair, most of the listening happens while I’m asleep.” He plucks a fry from the chipped dish and munches casually, like you’re discussing last night’s football game instead of a telekinetic murderer. “Besides, I told you—it reminds me of the time in the car when you were happy. First time I saw you smile like that since, y’know.” He doesn’t need to elaborate, and you nod in response.

Steve insists on coming with you to your 20-week appointment, even though your mom is able to attend this one. The two of them sit off to the side as the technician performs the routine ultrasound. No one mistakes Steve for your partner this time, and you find yourself bummed out at this. Maybe it’s because you’ve lost your partner—your child’s father—but a part of you knows the truth.

You have feelings for Steve Harrington. You want to wake up to his bleary-eyed smile every morning. You want to hold his hand, feeling his palm press against yours in a silent promise to keep each other safe. You want to run your fingers through his hair as you pull him in for a passionate kiss. You want him to touch you in places you haven’t been touched since…

Fuck.

The doctor reports that everything looks good, that your baby seems to be healthy and growing normally. The three of you breathe sighs of relief practically in unison as you thank him, and you wipe off the remaining gel residue on your lower abdomen before readjusting your shorts. None of your bottoms with buttons fit anymore, so you’ve resorted to only wearing your workout clothes. Your mom has offered to take you shopping, but you’re well aware that money’s tight, especially with Little Bean’s upcoming arrival. So gym shorts it is.

“You’re doing such a good job,” Steve murmurs in your ear as your mom chats with the receptionist. For better or for worse, everyone knows each other in this small town.

“Huh?” you reply dumbly, trying to ignore the shiver etching along your spine at the vibration of his voice.

Steve laughs kindly. “You’re doing a great job growing Little Bean,” he explains. “Keeping him or her safe and strong until they’re ready to make their grand entrance.”

“Oh,” you mumble. The compliment catches you off-guard, and it feels like your whole body is blushing. “Thank you. And, um, thank you for helping me with—with all this.” There’s too much that he’s done for you to list it all out, so you hope that will suffice.

Your mom finishes up her conversation and you all make your way to her sedan. With your mom at the wheel, you take the passenger seat. It’s getting a bit difficult to maneuver your body into the low car, but Steve politely holds your waist and helps you. There’s nothing inherently sexy about it, but it still revs up your hormones. If your mom wasn’t here, you’d have a hard time fighting back the urge to kiss him.

“Y’good?” Steve confirms before sliding into the backseat. You feel his meaty palm clasp your shoulder in reassurance, and you smile and relax against the headrest.

The car ride to Steve’s house is filled with pleasantries and easy conversation; no Vecna-induced episodes this time, thank God. You wave good-bye to Steve from the window, wanting to pull him in for a hug and never let him go. A sigh escapes your lips as he walks away, jeans clinging to him perfectly.

You’re not as sneaky as you think you are, because your mom notices your dopey grin and the far-away look in your eyes. “Y/N, really?” She anxiously pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “Are you serious right now?”

“Wh-What?” you stammer, trying to sound coy, but you should know better than to put on a facade in front of her. She already knows the truth.

“What do you mean, ‘what?’” she asks, tone more accusing than you’d like. “Y/N, you are pregnant with Eddie’s baby and making heart eyes at Steve. What are people going to think?” She shakes her head in disappointment. “Isn’t it hard enough dealing with the earthquake and preparing to be a mom? Do we need to add another boy into the mix?”

You want to tell her that Steve is more than just another boy, that he’s been your lifeline throughout this pregnancy (save for the months you’d hid from him), that he’s in constant mortal danger and that your thoughts flicker to him and his safety (and that cute mole on his neck, but you digress). But all of it stays bundled inside, shoved deep down and locked away.

“I know,” you mumble, biting your lip and averting your gaze. “It’s probably just the hormones. I’m not gonna act on it.”

It’s a promise you intend to keep. Hawkins is, after all, a very small town, chock full of people with a small-town mindset. Being the teen mother with a dead baby daddy is already bad; you don’t need the additional reputation of the town slut.

But your efforts appear futile. You can’t help how you smile when he does. Or the way your stomach flips when his hand brushes against yours. Or the way you two seem to melt into each other when he envelops you in a warm hug. You want to hold him forever, feel his strong arms wrap around your body and never let each other go. You want to kiss him, slow and soft, letting the hunger gradually overtake you until you just can’t hold back any longer.

A week after your appointment, Steve pulls up to your house just as you’re coming back from work. “Hey,” he calls out. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” He seems concerned, and you hurry to him as fast as your growing body allows.

“Everything okay? Is it—is it him?” Your voice drops to a whisper, and you breathe a sigh of relief when he shakes his head. “Then what is it?”

“I, um, I noticed you haven’t been wearing the kinda clothes you normally wear,” he stammers. “D’you have, like, pregnant people clothes?” His eyes dart away as he tries to hide his embarrassment.

You giggle. “You mean maternity clothes?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“No,” you answer honestly. “The stretchy pants seem to be doing the trick for now.” There are two reasons to avoid shopping. The first is purely financial: clothes cost money, money that could be spent on a crib or a changing table or the millions of diapers everyone swears the baby will need. The second is that you’ll actually have to look at yourself, take in your body’s changes—the stretch marks, the weight gain, all of it. You really don’t want to do that.

Steve wrinkles his nose adorably. “Okay, let’s go,” he says finally, and though his voice is gentle, you can tell he won’t take no for an answer.

“Go where?”

“The mall. I’m getting you some pregnant people clothes.” He smiles as he takes your hand and starts leading you to his car.

You keep your feet—your swollen, aching feet—rooted to the ground. “Steve, I don’t want to,” you tell him petulantly. “It’s too expensive.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he laughs, fishing into his pocket for his worn leather wallet. “Swiped my dad’s MasterCard before I left the house. As long as we don’t spend, like, $1,000, he won’t even notice.”

Based on all the awful things Steve had told you about his father—both of his parents, actually—you have no problem carelessly spending their money. But that only solves one problem.

“And I don’t wanna try stuff on.” You mutter too low under your breath, and Steve cocks his head to hear you better.

“What?” he asks, hands on his hips.

“I said, I don’t wanna try stuff on,” you repeat through gritted teeth, tears pricking at your eyes.

Steve furrows his brows in confusion. “Why not?” Initially, you assume he’s being sarcastic, but he’s genuinely puzzled.

“Seriously?” You bark out an incredulous laugh. “Are you joking?” When his expression remains unchanged, you plow on. “Look at me. I’m…”

“Beautiful?” Steve blurts out. “I-I mean, you looked great before you got pregnant, and you look great now, and you’ll look great after you have the baby.” He clears his throat and brings a hand through his hair. “Eddie would love seeing you like this. He’d think you’re beautiful, too.”

You’re left speechless at his candid admission, mouth suddenly drier than the Sahara. The mention of Eddie’s name leaves you both sad and disappointed. It’s a reminder that Eddie himself isn’t here, but it also implies that Steve wants you to remember who the baby’s real father is, and it’s not him. That you’re Eddie’s girl, and he doesn’t want you getting too attached to him. “Um, thanks,” you manage. Desperate to avoid further confessions–like you telling him that he’s so devastatingly handsome that it hurts you–you charge towards his car. “Let’s just go shopping, yeah?”

Steve only nods, slightly deflated that you pushed off his compliment. Did you not like that he called you beautiful? Was it too forward? Of course it was; you’re still in love with Eddie. You’re having his baby, for God’s sake. What you need right now is a friend, not a secret admirer.

After scooping up some maternity clothes–all on Mr. Harrington’s dime–Steve offers to drive you back home, but you politely decline the ride.

“Y’sure?” he asks uneasily.

“Yeah, I wanna window shop for a bit, maybe check out some more baby stuff.” The lie rolls off your tongue before you can stop it. “I’ll just call my mom when I’m done.”

Steve rubs the nape of his neck. “I can stick around, if you want. I don’t mind, really.” Don’t mind is putting it mildly; he wants nothing more than to take your hand and pick out onesies and burp cloths alongside you. Or maybe getting more clothes for you. He’d had to hold back when you’d walked out of the fitting room in a flowing sage green maternity dress. You were ethereal, like some sort of goddess, even when you’d made a face and grumbled something about looking like an avocado. He’d nearly replied, “Sexiest avocado I’ve ever seen,” but that would imply a) that he’s attracted to you, and b) he thinks avocados are sexy.

Instead, he’d offered a brisk, “looks good.” You’d rolled your eyes but bought the dress anyway.

You wait an appropriate amount of time that would allow Steve to get to his car and drive away before you exit the mall. You have one stop to make before you go home; thankfully, it’s only a short bus ride away, because by the time you arrive, you have to pee like a racehorse. Pregnancy bladder and large slushies do not mix well. Noted.

The bell chimes when you bolt through the door. “Hey, Robs,” you greet your friend as you dash towards the restroom. “Just gonna borrow the bathroom for a quick sec and then I need some advice.” Robin doesn’t have time to remind you that it’s employees only before you slam the door shut and breathe a sigh of relief. You need to tell her about your feelings for Steve and get her advice. She’ll know what to do; she always does.

You can hear the bell again as you’re washing up, but you don’t think much of it until you hear Robin say, “What’re you doing here, dingus? You don’t work today.”

Steve.

“I know, I know,” he grumbles. “But I gotta talk to you about Y/N.”

Fuck. He’s going to tell her about how clingy you are, that he feels smothered or like you’re using him to replace Eddie.

“I would’ve been here sooner, but I got caught up at the gas station. Tammy Thompson, like, cornered me and started bragging about some stupid record deal,” he starts. “But, dude, I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Tammy Thompson?”

“No! Y/N; I can’t stop thinking about Y/N!” Steve’s exasperation is evident. “And I know I shouldn’t, because she’s having a goddamn baby, and she’s grieving Eddie, and she’s way out of my league, but I can’t take it anymore. I can’t just stand around and pretend that I don’t think she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, pretend that I’m not…in love with her.” He sighs. “Shit. I’m in love with her,” he muses, as though he’s just realized it himself.

“Steve, I–” You can hear Robin’s panicked tone, and you shut off the water as quickly as you can.

“And, look, I know you’re gonna tell me that I just need to get over her, go out with someone else or whatever,” he presses on, and you hear his palm slap against the counter. “But it’s not that simple with her. I’ve never felt this way before.”

“N-No, it’s not that,” Robin rushes. “It’s–”

This has to be a joke. There is no way in hell that Steve Harrington is in love with you, especially given your current circumstances. You’re broken, bruised, hurting, scared, and pregnant. You’re just waiting for the punchline, the gotcha moment, but it doesn’t come.

“I gotta tell her. I gotta do it,” he decides, ignoring his friend’s interjection. “Even though she won’t feel the same way. I just need to tell her, and she can decide whether or not she wants to talk to me again. But I can’t keep this to myself.” He’s rambling now. “Unless that puts too much pressure on her. Oh, God, what if she feels like she has to tell me she likes me back, even if she doesn’t, just to spare my feelings? Because she’s so nice like that; that’s one of the things I love about her. But I also love that she’s honest, so maybe she would just let me down gently–”

“Steve.” This interruption isn’t from Robin. Steve’s head snaps in the direction of the bathroom as he hears your voice.

“Y/N,” he breathes, face turning bright red, “h-how much of that did you hear?”

“All of it,” you tell him softly. You practically have to coach yourself to put one foot in front of the other until you’re standing before him. “I heard every word.” And with that, you press onto your toes and cup his blushing cheek with your hand. You lean in as much as your bump will allow and kiss him. Kiss him like you’ve been wanting to, parting his lips with your own. You feel his right hand slip around your waist as he manages to pull you closer; his left hand rests on your upper arm. It’s tender but passionate, hungry but gentle. You don’t break away from each other until you hear a soft muttering from behind the counter.

“Finally.”

You giggle at Robin’s utterance, suddenly shy at the fact that you’ve initiated this in the middle of Family Video.

“I, uh, don’t normally kiss someone for the first time with an audience,” you explain. Your first kiss with Eddie happened in his van after school, tongues tangling as he pressed his lips to yours.

Steve just shrugs and laughs it off. “Yeah, well, I don’t normally profess my love for someone before I even take them on a date.”

“To be fair, nothing about any of this,” you gesture wildly, “has been normal. Abnormal kinda seems par for the course with us, actually.” The mere idea of an us makes you happy. You’d never pictured an us other than you and Eddie, but you can see Steve being your teammate, your partner, your love. It’s exhilarating and terrifying, but you’re tired of fighting it. “Besides, we can still go on a date.”

“Tomorrow night, then?” Steve asks, grinning wider than you’ve ever seen from him. “Dinner and a movie?”

“That sounds perfect.” And it does. Your time with Steve is usually spent at doctor’s appointments or agonizing over Vecna’s wrath. All you want is a nice night out with him.

“Cool,” he nods, adding, “wear that green dress you bought today, okay?”

The next evening, Steve picks you up at 6:30. You’re wearing the dress, just as he requested. He still sleeps over most nights, but he’s not actually living with you, nor does he have his own key, so he knocks on the apartment door.

“Wow, Y/N, you look incredible,” he breathes, eyes glued to you. He’s so enthralled by your beauty that he nearly forgets about the bouquet of red roses in his hand. “These…these are for you.” He holds them out shakily. “S-sorry, I didn’t even ask what your favorite flower is. I just kinda assumed these would be okay, but if you don’t like them—”

You once again derail his train of thought by kissing him, smiling into it and hooking your finger through one of his belt loops. “Steve. I love them,” you say reassuringly. “And you look so handsome.” He’s wearing a black shirt tucked into gray slacks. A silver watch adorns his wrist.

“If you keep interrupting like that, I’m gonna ramble more often,” Steve grins as you grab a vase for the flowers, quickly returning and lacing your fingers with his.

“I don’t think you need an excuse to do that,” you tease, pressing another kiss to his cheek and walking to his car. It feels so nice, so freeing, to be able to do that whenever the urge strikes you.

Your eyes widen when he pulls up in front of Enzo’s. “How did you know that Little Bean wanted chicken parmesan today?”

“Lucky guess,” Steve laughs. “Also, who doesn’t love chicken parm?” He follows you into the restaurant, holding the door open for you with one hand and placing the other on the small of your back.

The smell of fresh bread and garlic permeates the air, and you suddenly feel starving. The hostess brings you to a candlelit table. Steve pulls your chair out for you, and you smile gratefully.

“Such a gentleman,” you giggle, tilting your head upwards as he kisses you gently. “And they say that chivalry is dead.”

“No, but apparently, loyalty is.” A new voice startles both of you, and you freeze in place. You turn to see Gareth standing at a nearby table, carrying a bin of dirty dishes. “Y/N, what the hell are you doing with King Steve?” His eyes are drawn to the swell of your belly. “Are you—is that—”

“Eddie’s,” you murmur, unable to look at him. Steve’s palms are practically glued to the back of your chair.

“You’re having Eddie’s baby, and you’re swapping spit with Steve Harrington,” the boy sneers. “Moving on a bit fast, huh?”

You shake your head. “It’s not like that. We didn’t plan for this—any of this—to happen. It just…did.”

“Tell me,” Gareth goes on, disgusted look plastered to his face, “you gonna tell this kid who their dad was? Or are you and Harrington gonna play one big happy family and act like Eddie never existed?”

It feels like your throat constricts. You hadn’t even thought of that. When were you going to explain to your baby what happened to Eddie? And if Steve stuck around—and you wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t after this—would Little Bean call him ‘dad’? You don’t even realize that you’re crying until you see Gareth’s face fall.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry,” he starts, the impact of his words sinking in. “I shouldn’t have said that—”

“Let’s just go,” you tell Steve, voice barely above a whisper. “‘M not hungry anymore.”

Steve nods. “I’ll take you home.” He’s speaking to you, but he’s shooting Gareth a glare; the busboy is lucky that looks can’t kill. “Maybe we can pick up some snacks on the ride back.”

You leave the restaurant wordlessly, too ashamed to hold Steve’s hand this time. He hands you his keys and instructs you to wait in the car.

“I’ll be there in just a sec,” he promises.

When you’re out of earshot, Steve approaches Gareth, who is now trembling. Probably thinks I’m gonna beat the shit outta him, Steve thinks, and I should. But he doesn’t; instead, he leans in to hiss into Gareth’s ear.

“Unlike you, I don’t get off on humiliating people,” he growls. “My shift at Family Video ends at five tomorrow, if you wanna talk about this like a real man.”

And with that, he’s out the door.

#ghostin #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #fanfic #stranger things #steve stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x pregnant!reader

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bottoms-movie · 4 years ago

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SAMBUCKY FIC RECS PT. 2

The first part did really really so I decided to make a second part of sambucky fic recs. Just as the last one: the fics are split into three categories: based on tfatws, canon divergence, and au. CHECK OUT PART ONE HERE All fics are completed and all are on AO3.

BASED ON TFATWS

The Truths Beneath Our Ribs | Mature | 6,742 words

5 times Bucky wears Sam's things +1 time Sam wears something of Bucky's

anything you can do, i’ll do you better | Explicit | 5,526 words

Steve is going to kill them if they don't learn to get along, but did they have to take it so far?

making amends | Explicit | 8,645 words

“Not Cap yet,” Sam said. He looked a little ruefully at his hands, which were covered in nicks and cuts. He could already feel his palms bruising from that last shield catch, but at least nothing was broken this time.

“I respect that,” Bucky said slowly. Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. Bucky flexed and unflexed the vibranium fingers of his left hand, a nervous habit that Sam had clocked ages ago. “And you’re right.”

“Thanks, I know.” Sam waited a beat. “About what?”

Barnes sighs, and it’s a deep, soul-weary thing. “Maybe no one ever told you this, but I’m telling you right now. You don’t have any obligation to care about me because Steve did. You don’t have to pretend.”

Sam blinks, taken aback. He has to think, really think, about what he says next, because it’s - it’s either going to build or break something.

You’re My World | Explicit | 6,585 words

“I… oh, I get it now.” Sam tilted his head, perceptive as ever, goddammit. “All this flirting with my sister, that was just to get my attention, wasn’t it? I know it was. Say it.”

“That wasn’t—” Bucky croaked, but Sam wasn’t having it.

He huffed a low laugh, and bulldozed right through Bucky’s feeble pretense. “You like it when I pin you against the wall? Take away all that power you have, that strength that your arm gives you? Make you feel small, maybe?”

Call Me By Your (Pet) Name | Teen | 6,928 words

“You got a list of the nicknames available to us lesser mortals?” Sam continued, staring straight ahead at the seat in front of him. “The ‘you’re not Steve Rogers, so don’t even think about it’ collection?”

“Yeah, sure, there’s a list,” Bucky replied, pausing long enough to draw a pointed look from Sam. “Bucky,” he finished, gesturing broadly with his arm to convey the obviousness of the answer.

5 times Sam and Bucky used pet names as a joke + 1 time they used them in earnest

That’s not very gunkle of you | 2 parts | 4,325 words part 1: Bestie Vibes Only | Teen | 1,822 words

“What’s buzzin’ cousin?” Says Bucky, sitting down next to Sam on the docks.

That’s the moment that Sam realizes he needs to change tactics, no more subtly looking up definitions for his weird old person slang, it’s time to fight fire with fire.

“Not much bro, this view is highkey just hitting different TBH” he says, casually looking out at the water.

There’s a beat of silence and then,

“That’s swell doll, I just ate some four-o cackle jelly with side arms, and I’m looking for some kicks, you dig?

Oh, this means war.

misunderstandings | Not Rated | 3,167 words

Sam thinks Sarah and Bucky had a date, and he's Not Okay

you walked into my life to offer me a better view | Teen | 2,534 words

He was standing twenty feet away at the edge of the docks, chatting with Sarah, and Sam couldn't take his eyes away. Bucky's smile was warm, wide, and when he tipped his head back and laughed, his nose scrunching up and eyes crinkling at the corners, Sam could feel it vibrate straight to his heart.

falling, falling, flying | Teen | 2,778 words

Bucky had kissed him.

And Sam had pulled away, because that beautiful golden sunset made Bucky’s hair gleam with the faintest touch of blond, that rare summer breeze hissed like a dying missile past Sam’s ears, the kiss was so familiar, too familiar, and Sam was falling, falling—

(“Let yourself be happy, Sam. Please.”)

lonely boy, you are my world (and i could be anything you need) | Teen | 5,747 words

It all starts with Sam, a shelter, and this sweet kitten that reminded him far too much of a certain century-old, grouchy super soldier.

too dangerous to fall | Explicit | 3,466 words

Bucky Barnes is a one-armed menace. He has murder eyes and no care for basic safety protocols. His jokes are terrible and his bad moods are worse. He’s a godawful roommate who leaves his wet towels on the floor and his combat knives in the linen cabinet. Sam can’t stand the sight of him.

What happens in Louisiana | General | 3,478 words

But just then, in the engine room of the Wilson family boat, away from prying eyes, it felt like something they both needed. The closeness. The warmth.

Steve would laugh at them. Two grown men not being able to get it together. He would roll his eyes at Buck, nudge him with his elbow and tell him “you’re sweet on Sam Wilson so make a move already, punk.”

keep the ashes from my heart (and walk away) | Explicit | 4,412 words

“Jamie asked me out on a date,” Sam says. Bucky swallows. “Took him long enough,” he says, keeping his tone light. He bumps their shoulders together for good measure. “You should go for it.” “You really think so?” Sam asks, looking at him. “Yeah, man,” Bucky says. He fixes his gaze on Torres, high up in the sky, sunlight glinting off his wings. It hurts Bucky’s eyes. He blinks, rapidly. “You should be with somebody who can make you happy.”

(In which Sam starts dating someone who is not Bucky, and Bucky pines, gets seriously injured, and proves himself wrong.)

Hey Samuel | Teen | 3,223 words

"Bucky."

"Yeah?" He looked up eyes wide. Did he say something out loud?

"We're walking the wrong way."

"Oh." Right. Um. "Let's get ice cream."

"I don't know about you, man, but if I eat ice cream in this weather I will get sick."

Bucky was at a loss for words. What now?

OR Ride along Bucky's journey of figuring out when exactly did he fall for Sam Wilson.

Anyday, everyday | General | 6,735 words

He moved his head and locked eyes with Sam. "D'you- can you.. help me cut my hair?" He asked. He forced himself to look away, feeling embarrassed for asking him to come all this way just to give him a haircut.

His stomach dropped when he felt Sam let go of his hand to stand up. Of course he was about to leave. Who wouldn't want to leave Bucky?

"C'mon, Buck. Let me cut your hair." Bucky's eyes snapped up to Sam's. He had a small smile on his face and his hand was reaching out, waiting for Bucky to take it.

Or; the five times Bucky fell more and more in love with Sam, and the one time he finally got the guts to tell him.

If You’ll Have Me | Teen | 4,779 words

Sam casually shrugged, although there was an intent look in his eyes, "Yeah, well it's getting late and I didn't feel like flying anymore so I was wondering if your old man self is okay with-"

"You can stay here." Bucky quickly finished for him.

I like Bucky, Sam I am | Not Rated | 2,653 words

"I would kiss you on the boat. Or in Wakanda by your goats."

Static in the Dark | Teen | 4,989 words

So prompt idea, some bad guy follows Bucky to the docks for revenge (over whatever you can decide) and Sarah gets to see how protective Bucky really is over Sam when he gets in the line of fire

CANON DIVERGENCE

A Different Kind of Problem | Explicit | 7,616 words

“Do you know what it feels like to be insatiable?”

Two months ago, an interrogation gone wrong left Sam with Bucky’s explicit words seared into his brain and body.

Now, Bucky is living in the Avengers Compound, making pancakes and wearing Steve’s huge sweatshirts, fluffy haired and a little shy, seemingly completely content to be on house arrest — and Sam has never been more confused. Whatever Steve thinks, Sam doesn’t have a problem with Bucky. This domesticity is just so at odds with the feral sexuality Bucky had used to rattle Sam during his interrogation. Where did that side of Bucky go? And why can’t Sam stop thinking about finding it? Maybe Sam does have a problem with Bucky… it’s just not the problem Steve thinks it is.

Bucky’s Choice | Not Rated | 4,753 words

When Bucky enters Westview to try to help Wanda Maximoff, he is confronted with something he never expected- Steve Rogers, back from the dead and ready to start a life with Bucky in Westview. It's everything that Bucky ever wanted, everything that Steve abandoned when he went back in time to live his life with Peggy Carter. But Bucky and Sam have been involved for months, and Sam is waiting for Bucky outside of the Hex. Bucky has to make a choice- the life he always wanted with Steve, or a new start with Sam?

tonight i’ll need you to stay | General | 2,227 words

For once, Bucky wants to stop leaving when things are finally looking up. And he wants people to stay with him, too.

(or, 3 times bucky needed an excuse to stay with sam, and the one time he didn't)

How to Win a Supersoldier in Ten Days | Explicit | 14,901 words

When they realize that all the Winter Soldier's interactions with Sam are just him trying to Awkward MurderBot Flirt (TM) with the sexy man, Steve, Tony, and Nat convince Sam to play the honeypot and bring Bucky in.

Sam's pretty sure the honeypot isn't supposed to fall in love with the target, but what can you do?

at the end of the war (what’s mine is yours) | Mature | 4,290 words

They don't talk about it: that's how it works.

warm blood (feels good, i can’t control it anymore) | Explicit | 4,492 words

Sam's just chilling watching TV one evening when Bucky comes in and stares at him silently for a minute or two before sitting down on the couch. He's pretty close to Sam.

Okay, he's really close to Sam. Like, Sam would be using the word 'cuddling' if it wasn't so bizarre.

"What," he says, carefully not looking at Bucky, and Bucky huffs a sigh.

"Steve's not here," he says as if it's obvious. "Don't make it weird. Just- shut up."

Caught With Their Pants Down | Explicit | 3,539 words

“Sam, this guy is not coming, the intel was false,” Bucky replied. “I get this whole ticking boxes and what not, but Rogers got it wrong, and for the love of God I need a fucking toilet.”

“You need to learn to plan your water intake better, is what you need. You’re a damn fool and I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because you love me,” Bucky replied, and Sam could hear the smile in his voice.

“In your damn dreams, Barnes.”

They’d been fucking for about six months, but Sam didn’t want Bucky to go getting a big head about it.

sharp teeth, soft heart | 3 parts | 17,866 words part 1: you touch me within and so i (know i could be human once again) | Explicit | 12,444 words

It’s inevitable, the way it goes. He’s my friend, Steve says, and he is, he is, he must be. Sam’s best friend is Steve, and Steve’s best friend is a werewolf, that’s just how Sam’s life works now.

But once he realizes he’s attracted to Bucky and Bucky can tell, everything becomes, like, a thousand percent more difficult to negotiate. Sam’s just trying to live his life, that’s all, and he keeps getting confronted by Bucky Barnes in a soft flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair all soft and shiny. Bucky glances over at him and smirks, and this is really very embarrassing, how Sam can’t hide his attraction even if he keeps a totally straight face.

I’m so into you I can barely breathe | Explicit | 6,515 words

Sam Wilson had a long day dealing with morons, so he decided to finally go to the famous club in town. There he meets someone who just might get him back in a good mood. And then some.

twelve ounce steak (boxers in briefs) | Explicit | 3,753 words

Sam has pretty lips. Bucky seems to think so, too.

caught it bad (i’ll be on the way) | Mature | 4,830 words

Sam constantly gets roped into doing dumb things with Steve, but this time, it works out perfectly for him.

meet me in the a.m. | Teen | 3,147 words

Steve accidently starts a fire and Bucky's tired. When unbelievably hot firefighter Sam saves the day, though, he can't really be that mad.

i wanna savour, save it for later | Not Rated | 6,419 words

"It's his damn ratings, man," Sam says. "It's weird 'cause when you read the reviews, he seems to like our food and all. Nothing but praise for days. And then you get to the rating, and it's always the same. Three goddamn stars."

Bucky tips his beer bottle from side to side, lips pursing slightly. "I see. And that's… a bad thing?"

"We are not a three-star joint," Sam says flatly.

Or, the one where food truck owner Sam gets caught up in his quest to unmask an anonymous food blogger. Falling for one of his regulars was never on the menu.

we were a fire with no smoke | Explicit | 15,295 words

Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. Take the boys out of New York but they’re still Brooklyn Catholics, that’s clear enough. Bucky catches the gesture, smirks hard enough Sam can see his eye teeth. It should be dangerous but he’s beautiful, pale and charming and recklessly easy.

“You wanna come in?” Sam asks, ignoring the noise Steve makes, and Bucky’s smile gets wider.

“Yeah,” he says. Steps up close to Sam. “I do.”

my house of stone, your ivy grows | Teen | 9,042 words

When Sam Wilson inherits the manor of the old man he once took care of, it feels like his luck is finally looking up. It's an opportunity for a fresh start, something he's in desperate need of. When he arrives, however, it becomes clear that an easy transition into estate living is not exactly a possibility. The house is run-down, nothing like Sam remembers it, and the groundskeeper — who Sam apparently has to share the house with, wants nothing to do with him.

You Smiled Because You Knew | Teen | 3,754 words

"You've got the wrong address," the man who'd answered growled. He had long, scraggly hair that had mostly escaped his attempts to pull it away from his face. He had nice eyes, and wouldn't have been unattractive, especially with a shave, except for the scowl. "Nobody here wants or needs your . . . services."

It was apparent by the tone the man did not appreciate Sam's hard work.

Well, that was tough shit.

#marvel #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky #tfatws #sambucky fanfiction #sambucky fic rec #fic recs #usermarcy #usersof #usersmile #usersamanne #sambucky fanfic #tusersammy #tusernini #my fic recs

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kormiato · 4 years ago

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How Heisenberg react on other Lords around his s/o

let`s just say an obvious fact. Heisenberg is a possesive man. and he`s don`t get jealous. he`s get mad. he`s a selfish, he`s a showman. and we all know about it, okay? fight me if that`s not true, that`s a completely canon. so i wondered how he would react on a company near his s/o in form of other Lords. sorry that I wrote so small for Moreau, I just don`t know what to write. also maybe I`ll write something like that about the other Lords if you`ll like it. anyway, enjoy! <3

Lady Alcina Dimitrescu + Bela, Cassandra and Daniela Dimitrescu

Oh god, we all knows relationships of these two. They very, very tense. So Heisenberg will say absolutely no when you ask him if you can go to Alcina`s castle. Нe quickly gets annoyed at the very thought that you will go to the dwelling of that “bloodsucker bitch”. Of all the three Lords Alcina is the last person in list he wants you to go to.

But if you still go, be ready to see grumpy metall daddy. He`ll complain about it a lot. He`ll maybe even just pick you up near the gate of the factory and bring you back to his domain without any words. Don`t worry, he`s just got too jealous mad. But you`ll have to spend the rest of your day in factory, watching while Karl works. And you doesn`t complain about it, right?

If you have to spend your time at the factory, Heisenberg`ll be a showman but in three times harder than he usually is. He is making metall flying more often and does it right in front of you to show that he`s way much better than some damn bloodsucker in a castle. He can even take his shirt off because “it`s too fucking hot in here” and he can`t continue working like that. He`s doing a lot off a physical work just for you to see how strong he really is.

I like headcanon about Karl like a cool uncle for Bela, Cassandra and Daniela and they three really love him. So maybe if it`s really warm outside and he`s in good mood, he`ll let you go for a little walk around the village with them. They really like you and their mother also seems to like you and your company around her and hers beloved daughters.

if in Karl`s opinion you`re staying with Alcina for too long his patience may break. In that case he`ll come to the castle himself to take you back to the factory. He just throws you on his shoulder carrying you out of the room where you was peacefully drinking tea and chatting with Alcina a moment ago. Alcina obviously will shout something after him about how brusque and rude he is but he`ll or wave a hand at her saying something like “yeah, yeah, as you say, Dimitrescu, but I`m taking what`s mine back, go find another toy for yourself, bitch.” or he will raise his hand up showing the middle finger making Lady D gasping indignantly.

You have to silently listen to his complains and angry curses address to Alcina all the way home. And if you`ll protest trying to protect Lady Dimitrescu, he`ll get more pissed. He`ll casually put you on your feet looking at you with pure fury in eyes. How dare you protect some super-sized vampire being when you have him? You`ll eventually have an argument about your words (he`s so dramatic I can`t). After that Karl just throw an angry “then go to your loved fucking Alcina! I`m going home!” and just will start leaving towards the factory. but even if he said that, he wants nothing more than you to follow him, he hope that you`ll follow him. and you do that everytime. you immidieatly follow him, grabbing his hand with a little smile on your face. He irritably repeat that you should go to the castle if you want so much, but he will not pull out his hand, just squeeze your hand a little tighter. you just smiles more at it feeling the warmth spreading in your chest and you say “yeah, as you say, Karl”.

Miss Donna Benevento + Angie

I also like headcanon about Donna`s good relationships with other Lords. So I think he`ll don`t mind you going to her house at all, but he`s dislikes Angie because he finds her annoying. So he still complain but less than if you`d go to the Dimitrescu castle. (he`ll always complain c`mon guys. he`s too possesive to let anyone else play with his toys ;) and you all know that.) He, still, let you go and don`t trying to prevent you from going.

If you`ll want him to go with you, he`ll dismiss that, saying that he still have a lot of work in factory. But if you`re lucky and you got him out the factory, then Donna probably will be shy at first since Karl isn`t the frequent guest in hers house. But as you starts a conversation with her and Angie she seems more comfortable around Heisenberg and even offer a tea for you two. Heisenberg is calm around Donna, but might shout a little at Angie if she will piss him off too much. But he`s quickly apologize for it to Donna. Donna just nods at it continuing the conversation.

Of course Angie will making him have a tea party with her, you and Donna. And even if he don`t want to, he doesn`t seem to have an other option because you like that idea, he sees it by how your eyes starts sparkling a little. And considering that fact that you don't have a quiet life because of Miranda, he just can't refuse, wanting to make your life a little better, happier.

Imagine Angie braiding a lot of different hairpins in his hair while he grumbles about how stupid he`ll look like. And you just can`t help but smiles and giggles a little with Donna on a couch. And he think that if it didn`t make you happy he`d throw Angie in a wall with all strength. But as long as it let him see your smile he`ll be patience.

One day you brought Heisenberg a little puppet of him from Donna. “Look! It was made by Donna. Cool, right? It`s look exactly like you!” At this words Karl just raised his eyebrow looking at the puppet in your hand skeptically. “Why the fuck did you brought it thing here?” “Because I liked it. And Donna let me take it, she said that she can make another one. Look how cute it is. Just like you. I`m gonna put it on a desk in our room.” after that words you go to your shared bedroom leaving Karl proceed what`ve you just said. You said that compliment that easy that he is just kinda turned off by that still don`t used to hear that in his address.

Lord Salvatore Moreau

If you say that you want to visit Moreau, Karl will be disgusted about it. He didn`t like talking with that fish man, he was disgusting person to spend time with. And he quite doesn`t want you to spend time with Sal. When you say that you want to go view some soap opera or show with Moreau, Heisenberg just like in other two situations will complain about how stinky this bastard is, that he lives practically in a swamp, that he`s vomits and he`s not good company. And if you`d say “then tell me who IS a good company for me” he`d immidiately answer “me of course, dollface.” and smirk at you.

He also a little woried that Moreau will hurt you accidently. But he definitely won`t say it out loud, no. Because of that he won`t be able to work properly. All will fall out of hands, he`ll be mad because of it and eventually will start destroying his failed soldat and growl in a fury.

If you`ll come home in tears because of some drama film that you was watching with Sal, Karl automaticly will ask “who made you feel like this? if that was Moro, I swear, I`ll kill him and make a sushi roll out of that bastard.” and you`ll have to explain that the reason why you`re crying right now is that protagonists of some drama serial died in the end. After you said that to Heisenberg, he`ll just sigs and ruffle your hair gently.

When you back to the factory you started smell of mud and rotten water. Karl obviosly don`t like it so he`ll throw his coat over you and make you work in factory so you`ll smell like him and factory, your real and only home. He also will be more clingy than usually because of that. He will hug you longer and will always try to touch you somehow. When you two get to the bed he will cuddle you, hug from back tighter than usually. He will be like that until he`ll make sure that you don`t smell like Moreau but like him, like home.

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drabbles-mc · 4 years ago

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50 Types of Touch

Nestor Oceteva x F!Reader

Dedicating this to the second half of my brain @garbinge because she sent me This Post by @creativepromptsforwriting and that’s what got this all going. Love you lots! xo

Warnings: language, very slight steam, minor mentions of blood/injuries

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: Before anyone says anything, YES I am willfully ignoring some of the things we’ve recently discovered about canon!Nestor lmao. Let me have this 😂 This is all just soft, my friends. I needed some softness after how my week has gone and Nestor is my comfort character so it only made sense that it went this way haha. Hope you guys enjoy! xo

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Touching Foreheads: Nestor almost always rests his forehead against yours after a long kiss. He’ll usually close his eyes and just focus on the feeling of you so close to him. After a long, hard day, those few seconds of silence and closeness are how he centers himself.

Running Fingers Through Hair: The first time you ever saw Nestor’s hair out of braids, you almost lost your mind. How he managed to tame it so well all the time was amazing to you. You were always big on playing with stray locks of it, especially when he got out of the shower. When the two of you were curled up on the couch together, you found yourself absentmindedly playing with the ends of his curls. Sometimes you caught yourself and were afraid it bothered him, but you noticed that he slowly started wearing it down more and more often at home, and it made you smile.

Hiding Face in Neck: Whenever you do this to him, his hand automatically comes up to cradle the back of your head. It never fails to make him smile—he finds it to be adorable. His favorite is when he can feel your lips curl into a smile against his neck, or when he can feel your laughter against his skin.

Caressing the Other’s Hand: Nestor is notorious for doing this to you while he drives. One hand on the wheel, one hand on you, always. He’s either tracing patterns on your hand, or resting his hand on your thigh. He also loves when you do it to him while the two of you watch movies together—your eyes are on the screen but your fingers have a mind of their own.

Feeling Their Pulse: The few times that you’ve had to go to the hospital for him, it was always the first thing you would do. Didn’t matter what the doctors or monitors hooked up to him said, you had to check for yourself. Sometimes he’d be barely awake and try to crack a joke about it and you would roll your eyes through the tears, because of course he would have sarcastic remarks at a time like that.

Patting the Other’s Head: It was something that the two of you would do to each other in passing. When one was laying with their head leaning against the arm of the couch, it was almost impulsive. You remember the first time you did it to Nestor and he looked up at you, a confused expression on his face. He thought that you were trying to get his attention, or maybe crack a joke, but you just kept walking. The first time he did it back to you was to see how you’d react, but you’d just smile and continue doing whatever you were doing, sometimes letting out a quiet hum of approval. So now it was just something that each of you did, a type of acknowledgment without having to speak.

Holding Hands: He’s never been big on casual hand-holding. He’ll hold it in the car sometimes, but usually one of the only times he’s holding your hand is when the two of you are walking through somewhere together, whether it’s a crowded store or whatever business parties and functions he has to go to with the Galindos. Keeping his fingers interlocked in yours is his way of making sure that he doesn’t stray too far from you.

Shielding the Other One with Their Body: Nestor spends so much of his life ready to dive in front of bullets or whatever other danger is thrown Miguel’s way. Needless to say, his life with you doesn’t quite carry the same risks, and he works very hard to keep it that way. However, the second that he senses that someone is giving you a hard time, or making you uncomfortable in any way, he won’t hesitate to place himself between you and the other person. He’ll gently nudge you behind him, keeping a protective hand reached back and placed on your hip to provide you with whatever comfort he can while he addresses whoever was causing the issue.

Listening to the Other’s Heartbeat: Before you, he’d never met someone who found it so comforting to listen to it. Most times when you were laid up on the couch together, you’d sprawl at least partially on top of him so that you could press your ear to his chest, close your eyes, and just focus to the rhythmic beat. It was always comforting, but he never understood how much it really meant for you until one day you crawled up into his hospital bed with him and did it, and he felt your body start to tremble against his. After that he started doing it to you, too, and he started to understand the security it gave you.

Spooning At Night: He’s a Big Spoon all the way. He likes being able to wrap his arms around you and keep you pulled close. He’ll tangle his legs up with yours to soak up all the contact with you that he can. This is one of the only times that he’ll nestle his face into your neck, because it makes him feel all that much closer to you. You enjoy the feeling of his chest rising and falling against your back, and he likes feeling like he’s as close to you as he can get.

Laying Their Hand on the Other’s Neck: You rested your hands on either side of his neck all the time. You’d idly trace over the ink there as the two of you stood and talked. More often than not your hands would slide from the sides of his neck to the back and pull him into a kiss, and he’d always let you. One of his hands covered an entire half of your neck. It made you feel small, but it was also comforting to soak up all the warmth emanating from his palm.

Pushing a Strand of Hair Behind Their Ear: He’d blown the same stray lock of hair out of his face at least four times while he was working on his laptop, but he didn’t make any move to actually fix the issue. You watched from the opposite end of the couch with a small smile on your face, trying not to let your amusement be too obvious. Once he did it again you shook your head and leaned forward so you were sitting upright, motioning for him to lean in closer to you. He leaned in, expecting you to say something, or kiss him, but instead you reached out and carefully tucked the unruly strands behind his ear with a quiet laugh before collapsing back into your previous position. He sat there and watched you for a moment before shaking his head, smiling as he went back to his work.

Nudging the Other One: You were always nudging him. It was your preferred way of getting his attention. Whether you were on the couch watching a TV show and something was happening that was exciting you, or you were out shopping and you saw something that you thought looked really cool. You were always bumping his shoulder lightly with your own. At first he didn’t realize it was your preferred way of communicating your excitement, or trying to get his attention. But now feeling the slight bump against his shoulder immediately snapped him to attention.

Putting an Arm Around the Other’s Waist: You usually did this in response to him draping his arm around your shoulders. If the two of you were walking down the street he’d almost always wrap his arm around you, and your body’s natural reaction was to put your arm around his waist and pull yourself closer against his side. Sometimes he’d wrap his arm around yours if he was communicating to someone that you were with him, and vice-versa. You’d feel his fingers put pressure against your hip and you’d smile, knowing that he was proving a point to someone.

Hugging Each Other: Nestor wasn’t a big hugger until he was with you. It just wasn’t something that he had a lot growing up, and in their world of business, genuine hugs were far and few between. The adjustment after he started dating you was a bit odd for him, but now a long, tight hug from you breathed a whole new life into him. It’s the first thing he looks to do after a bad day.

Massaging Them: The first time you asked Nestor to give you a massage there was nothing but panic written all over his face. He wasn’t used to using his hands for something so gentle and intimate. He was afraid he’d do it wrong and hurt you. So you offered to give him one first and even that he hesitated on, not used to being so vulnerable and relaxed with someone. You started off by just working his shoulders and neck, but he practically turned to jello in your hands and then it didn’t take much convincing after that. The first time he gave you a back massage and you told him to just straddle your hips while you were lying on your stomach, the smirk that came across his face was priceless, and shortly thereafter massages became a favorite lazy-day activity.

Holding the Other’s Chin Up: Usually he’d place his hand on the side of your neck and then position his thumb underneath your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up and look at him if the two of you were having a difficult conversation. It was a soft but firm reminder of where his focus was. He’d always been big on eye contact with you, and when you were upset it mattered all that much more.

Squishing the Other’s Cheek: He hates when you do it. Or, rather, he acts like he hates it. But underneath the eye rolls and the shaking of his head, you can see him fighting to contain a smile. It was always done in jest, and to get a bit of a rise out of him, and it always worked.

High Fiving: The first time you held your hand out for a high five, he almost didn’t do it. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d given someone a high five over anything. But you’d come home with some really exciting news, and when you finished your story you held your hand up for a high five, and for a solid almost ten seconds he looked back and forth between you and your hand before realizing that you were serious about it.

Bandaging/Stitching Up an Injury: You do more of that than you care to admit when it comes to Nestor. You never got less worried for him, but your annoyance levels varied as time went on. You thought that he’d get mad but you’d be muttering under your breath as you cleaned out his knuckles and put bandages in the gashes on his face but when you’d look at him, he’d be smiling. You’d ask why and one time he told you he was glad that you were comfortable enough to not only stitch him up, but also let him know that you thought he was an idiot sometimes. He liked the balance in your care for him, and it got both of you to laugh despite the bloody gauze around you.

Kissing the Other’s Brow: Nestor’s go-to while he was hugging you, along with kissing your temple. For you, the feeling was always coupled with him squeezing his arms a little tighter around you for a moment as he pressed his lips gently there. It was the first step in comforting you after a bad day.

Falling Asleep on the Other’s Shoulder: The first time he looked down and saw that you had fallen asleep on him in the middle of a movie at your place was when he stopped trying to deny the fact that he was in love with you. You looked so peaceful and content slumped against his side. He didn’t dare disturb you, even when his arm started to go numb. Instead, he just settled back against the couch and chose another movie to put on.

Carrying the Other One in Their Arms: This usually follows you falling asleep on his shoulder. You’d usually wake up as he lifted you, sleepily wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning into his chest as he walked to the bedroom. Sometimes you’d grumble and groan about him waking you up, but it was never too long before you fell right back to sleep. His favorite was the rare occasions that he had to carry you inside after you had too much to drink, because you’d be leaning into him, talking and flirting with him like you were still trying to pick him up at the bar, despite the fact that you lived together.

Whispering in Their Ear, Lips Touching the Skin: One of the few things that you’ve seen make Nestor let out an involuntary shiver. It drives him crazy in the best way, and regardless of how the two of you are positioned, his hands instantly start to roam and trail all over your body, silently encouraging you to keep going.

Stroking the Other’s Arm Soothingly: When you did it to him, you were usually following the outlines and designs of the ink that covered his arms. He’d watch you as you focused intently on the ink, smiling at how entranced you got by it. Sometimes when he spooned you, he’d lazily drag his fingers up and down your forearm to give just that extra bit of affection as the two of you laid there together. Depending on how tired you were, sometimes it would tickle and hearing your sleepy giggle made his entire body feel warm.

Kissing the Top of Their Head: Nestor did this if you were sitting at the table or on the couch and he was walking by you to take care of something that would take more than a minute or two—like a phone call about work or going to take a shower. If he was going to the kitchen to cook he’d make sure he stopped to kiss the top of your head before getting immersed in his cooking plans. Sometimes you’d look up at him and make him kiss you on the lips as well, other times you would smile as you continued whatever activity you were enthralled in.

Pulling the Other One Towards Them: Nestor could tell from the second you walked in the door whether you had a bad day or not. If you had, he would immediately walk over to you and pull you into a hug, letting you lean into his chest. On the opposite end of that spectrum, if the two of you were arguing and you tried to storm away mid-argument, he’d reach out and tug you back towards him—never forcefully, but he hated not resolving things and he’d all but beg for you to not storm off.

Feeling For Each Other in the Dark: Something that became second-nature to you once you started living together. He got home late a lot, and while he was usually pretty quiet and careful about getting into bed without disturbing you, every now and then it’d wake you up and even half-conscious you still reached out for him, and in those moments, he really knew what it felt like to be wanted.

Tickling: Once Nestor found out you were ticklish, it was game over. Any time you were trying to pout or be dramatic about something small, it was how he got you to laugh and abandon any plans of keeping a petty argument going. Did it sometimes result in him getting an accidental kick to the stomach? Maybe. But it was worth it to see you laughing so hard tears were starting to trickle down your cheeks. Nestor was ticklish too, but any time you would try to get him he would be one step ahead and somehow you would still end up on the receiving end of it.

Grabbing Onto Their Arm: The first time you watched a scary movie together, Nestor thought that you were going to snap his bicep in half with how hard you were squeezing onto it. It wasn’t what he expected from you—you seemed so unfazed by most things. One time he grabbed your arm while the two of you were out and about and it caught you off-guard, but you came to realize that he only did that when he felt like there was something off wherever you were, and you became very responsive to his touch, immediately making sure you stayed closer to his side.

Pinky Swears: Another thing that he couldn’t remember doing since childhood. But he realized that you used them for little reassurances that were actually big reassurances. The most common reason that you would lock him into one was when he told you he would be leaving for work for a few days. “Promise you’ll come home in one piece?” you’d ask. He’d smile and nod, “Promise.” And then you’d hold your pink out, “Pinky promise?” He’d lock his pinky with yours and pull you close to kiss you on the lips, “Pinky promise.”

Caressing the Other’s Back: Nestor was big on slipping his hands underneath the fabric of your shirt so he could run his hands up and down your back while he held you. Whether you were standing and hugging, or you were laying on his chest, he liked being able to feel the softness of your skin underneath his fingertips. Sometimes, when he was sitting at the table hunched over his computer, you’d materialize behind him and use your palm to run circles into his back, gently reminding him that he’d have to go to sleep eventually.

Tasting Their Smile: Feeling Nestor smile while he kissed you was one of your favorite things in the world. You’d cup his face in both your hands as you pressed your lips to his and soon enough you could feel him smiling as he held you tight. Sometimes the two of you would be trying to kiss through the laughter and it was clumsy but it was perfect.

Washing the Other’s Body: The first time that you climbed into the shower with Nestor without the intention of fooling around, it caught him off-guard. He’d had a rough go of it with whatever he was doing with Galindo, and he’d come home dirty and blood, instantly making his way to the bathroom to wash off stress. You gave him a minute or two to himself before getting in with him. He’d sighed as he rested his forehead against yours, and it was the most defeated you’d ever seen him. You kissed him and told him to turn around and you gently started to wash all the blemishes and stains from his skin. He was tense at first, but he gradually eased into it and took comfort in you taking care of him. He would do the same for you, too, hands tenderly running body wash all over you as he soaked up the way you’d relax and smile at his touch.

Kissing Bruises and Scars: He never liked talking about how he got his many miscellaneous scars, and you never pressed him about it. Nonetheless, in the small hours of the morning when the two of you were laid up together, you’d find yourself lightly kissing over them. He’d look at you with a soft smile, not commenting on it one way or the other. By the same token, when he laid with you and noticed a new bruise on your arm or leg, he’d ask where it came from. Nine times out of ten you had no idea, and usually didn’t notice them until he said something. He’d kiss them, telling you to be more careful, and you’d laugh, telling him that something wasn’t quite right about him telling you to be more careful.

Lifting the Other One Up: Watching you climb on chairs and counters at home stressed Nestor out more than it should’ve. But one day he saw you getting ready to climb up onto the counter to get a pot from the top shelf and before you could prop your leg up, he just walked up behind you and lifted you up so you could grab it. Could it have grabbed it himself? Sure. Would that have been easier? Probably. But was it the hardest you’d laughed in a while when you realized what he was doing? Definitely. Now if he was able to catch it in time, he’d always prop you up to help you out, but mostly just to hear the laughter it caused.

Putting Their Head on the Other’s Chest: Nestor very rarely laid on you, but when he was exhausted and feeling defeated, he would situate himself between your legs and rest his head on your chest to listen to your heartbeat. And, more often than not, it was a silent invitation to play with his hair because it soothed him. You always defaulted to laying against his chest, but on the rare occasions that he did it to you, you made sure to be extra attentive and careful with him. It was sad but also calming in a way to feel his chest rise and fall against you as he wrapped his arms around you.

Stroking Their Leg: If you were on one end of the couch and Nestor was sitting in the middle, he almost always pulled your legs so that they were draped over his lap. And if he wasn’t doing anything besides watching a show or a movie, he almost always found himself grazing his fingers up and down your shins. Usually you’d be scrolling on your phone or doing things on your laptop, and you’d flick your eyes up to look at him but he would be completely enthralled with the movie, hardly noticing what he was doing. But you took comfort in the sensation of the pads of his fingers going up to your knee and back down again.

Leaning Into the Other’s Side: Even if you didn’t start out that way, any time the two of you sat near each other you always gravitated towards him and ended up leaning on him. You didn’t always mean to—it was like a subconscious pull. Nestor noticed but he never said anything about it, liking that you always wanted to be close. He’d wrap his arm around your shoulders to invite you to be as close as you wanted, and you never turned down the invitation.

Patting Them on the Back: More often than not, if you were patting him on the back it was usually to punctuate a reminder while he was working. You’d casually remind him that he hadn’t eaten anything all night, “So you might wanna get on that, baby,” you’d give him a gentle pat on the back or the shoulder before walking away, leaving him to whatever he was immersed in. It was usually enough to snap him out of it, to get him to tap back into reality long enough to take care of himself. Sometimes you coupled it with reassurance, telling him that whatever the issue was, he’d figure it out, and he would relish the way your hand felt against his back.

Sitting Close, Knees Touching: It reminded you of when you first started dating—the timid amount of pressure he’d apply when his leg was next to yours. If he had been feeling especially bold, he’d reach out and rest his hand on your knee. Those days were so long ago now, but you still smiled when you thought about them. But these days, that was how the two of you usually ended up when you were gaming together. You’d be sitting on the very edge of the couch, legs pressed against each other as you fought the urge to push each other off the sofa. It was a position that was almost always coupled with laughter and good-natured goading as you tried to mess each other up.

Braiding Hair: Nestor’s braids were, obviously, near and dear to him. You never offered to do them because you understood that he was very particular with them and you respected that. However, when his arm got busted up after things got rough on the job, and he couldn’t really move it for a few weeks, he had almost no choice but to ask you to take a crack at it. You were nervous, but probably not as nervous as he was. You took your time, wanting to get it just right. It was relaxing for him to just be doted on, but when he saw that you could actually do the braids well, it was a whole new sense of relief for him.

Piggy-Back Rides: Another thing that was born out of injuries. You messed up your ankle while you were trying to take care of things in the back yard, and for whatever reason instead of lifting you up the way that he usually did, he opted to give you a piggy-back ride instead. You had been in so much pain at the time that you just agreed, not caring how you got from Point A to Point B. But once the moment and the pain had passed, you reflected back on it and brought it up. Truthfully, he’d been flustered and for whatever reason that was the automatic thing that his brain told him to do.

Sitting on the Other’s Lap: He loved when you curled up in his lap. Even if you weren’t engaging in the same activity, he liked having you so close to him. You’d do it a lot while you were reading, book extremely close to your face as you got lost in the story, while he would work his way through another episode of his favorite show, every now and then looking to see what emotion the book was eliciting from you.

Feeling Their Temperature: Nestor “It’s Just Allergies” Oceteva. He never wants to admit when he’s sick, claiming that he doesn’t have the time to be sick. But one morning you woke up and rolled to look at him, and he looked like death warmed over. You knew that the cold he’d been ignoring had finally gotten the better of him. You reached forward, placing the back of your hand against his forehead and you silently shook your head as you got up and started to pull some things together to hopefully help him start to feel better. He took the tea from you begrudgingly when he woke up, “I’m not even that sick—I don’t need all this.” You nodded, “Sure you don’t,” you laid a damp cloth across his forehead.

Linking Arms with Each Other: Your favorite way to drag him to something that he didn’t want to do. If you saw a store that you wanted to go into but you knew he wouldn’t be thrilled around, you would immediately loop your arm through his and make your way towards the door, knowing that he wouldn’t want to put up enough of a fight to stop you. You’d laugh at your very small victory, and sometimes just to throw you off your rhythm he’d loop his arm a little tighter to throw you off-balance, just enough to make you lean on him, making you both laugh.

Touching Their Elbow to Get Their Attention: While Nestor would place his hand on your waist or the small of your back while you were at home together to get your attention, any time you were in public he made an intentional point to always touch your elbow to get your attention. He’d heard you rant before about how much it bothered you and made you uncomfortable when men you didn’t know would try and get your attention or ask you to move by touching your lower back, and ever since then he tried to lead by example. So if you came with him to work functions or anything of the sort, he always made sure to tap your elbow or shoulder to get your attention, and any time he saw someone else not following suit, his gaze very quickly corrected them.

Dancing with Each Other: Nestor wasn’t a dancer by any stretch of the imagination. But sometimes he’d get home late, or come out from the shower, and you’d be dancing in the kitchen while you cleaned, or while you waited for whatever you were baking in the oven to finish, and it was hard to not get swept up by you. You’d reach out and take his hands in yours and he just couldn’t tell you no. He’d twirl you around and spin you so you were pressed flush against him. Dancing always led to smiles and soft laughs as the two of you traipsed around your little kitchen together, making the most of it all.

Holding Onto the Other’s Shoulders For Support: “Lean on me,” you looped your arm around Nestor’s middle back as he slowly got out of the car. “I’m not gonna le—” You didn’t let him finish the sentence, “Just do it! You don’t get to argue with me while you’re bleeding.” He huffed and grumbled under his breath in protest but he rested his hand on your shoulder, gripping it slightly as he leaned onto you for support. It was a short walk from your car to the emergency room, but you could tell that every step of the way he hated the fact that you were holding him up. You shook your head slightly at him as he limped along, his fingers pressing firmly into the soft skin of your shoulder.

Putting a Hand Over the Other’s Mouth to Shut Them Up: Always done in jest. He liked to do it to you when you were beating him in a debate, and you did it to him when he was giving you valid reasons not to worry about something that you were stressing about. The only difference was when he would do it to you, you’d lick his hand and he would instantly release you. It always amused you, because out of everything that had ever happened to him, that was where he drew the line. When you did it to him, though, he would just stop talking and look at you with raised eyebrows, and even though you couldn’t see his mouth you knew that he had a smug grin on his face because you knew that he was right.

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor oceteva x you #nestor oceteva imagine #50 types of touch #fanfiction #my writing #drabblesmc

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spiderling-space · 4 years ago

Note

Hi, could you please write a headcanon for a Mc who is the daughter of Thor from Next Avengers: Heroes of Tomorrow and the dorm leaders reaction to this. If it is possible thank you.

OMG!!!! The Next Avengers isn’t known a lot and I didn’t expect to receive a request from it. I suggest checking out their comics too. I enjoyed both the movie and comics but I am based and it made a major ship of mine canon. I’ll leave their comics look under the cut.

I’ll refer MC as Torunn for this request. It’s been over 6 years that I watched this so I might have forgotten her characteristics.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle thought Torunn was only a trouble maker who loves to brawl which encourages Ace and Deuce more. He cannot allow that so he tries to talk with Torunn to adapt more appropriate manners.

He sees that his talk backfires when she comes with her giant sword to Heartslabyul. Riddle starts “Queen of Hearts Rule #666 says that you cannot use a sword bigger than -” but he is interrupted by her. HE is furious as it is also against the rules “I’m not using it, I’m just holding it. If I used it” she summons lightning which freaks him out “it would be Mjölnir”

Riddle thinks of adding a few new rules to Heartslabyul such as “No lightning summoning in Heartlabyul” and “No Mjölnir in the dorm” just for Torunn. He doesn’t like how she got around the rules, accidentally asking it out and embarrassing himself and unfortunately Torunn heard it, answering his stupid question.

🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁

Leona Kingscholar

When Leona first saw Torunn at the entrance ceremony, he thought she is a twink. His opinion on her changes when she plays Magift with her friends against Savanclaw.

If he didn’t have a plan in motion, he would have asked Torunn to transfer to Savanaclaw to play in his team against Diasomnia. He thinks she would have countered the Lizard and Savanaclaw would have won.

Even after the whole Magift tournament, he makes Ruggie ask her to join Magift club. She may not be a player but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be useful to train against as a practice for the next year’s Magift. He even encourages her to use her full powers to learn how to counter lightning when fighting against the Lizard in Magift.

🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul didn’t think much of Torunn until she became a torn at his side. He thought he can trick her into a contract easily but some unforeseeable events happened. First she cares about her friends more than he predicted and second, she is a deity. He learns about the later when she puts her fist fast on the coffee table which breaks while all the electricity in Monstro Lounge goes out, yet Torunn’s eyes are glowing and small lightnings appear on her arms.

He may want the deed of Ramshackle dorm but he knows it is not wise to piss off a deity who can manipulate the electricity, is super powerful and probably has lightning powers. He releases her friends from his servitude and tries to find new ways to get deed of Ramshackle.

After the overblot incident, there is no bad blood between them and he thinks Torunn as close associate. He hires her to generate enough energy for Mostro Lounge to use every few days. The amount he pays to Torunn is far less than his electricity bill. He even thinks of hiring her for Octavinelle’s whole energy need.

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is ever the friendly person. When he first meets Torunn, he invites her to the feast. When Torunn says his feast reminds him of the feasts of Asgard with plenty of food and people, he says “I don’t know what you mean but thank you.” She then adds that she has never seen that feast while she struggled with her made-up family in the world Ultron ruled.

When her words register with Kalim, it touches his heart. He says he didn’t mean to upset her and apologizes. He asks the reason behind it and sheds tears when he hears her story. He promises to be her friend as long as she is in Twisted Wonderland.

To disperse the sad aura, Kalim offers to ride with flying carpet. Torunn accepts and they fly together. When they reached the peak, Torunn jumps, giving Kalim a heart attack but then she starts flying. They return to Scarabia dorm while flying together. He asks if she can fly them together because he wonders what it is like to fly without any object.

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

Vil Schönheit

Vil is never going to admit but he is jealous about Torunn’s skin and hair. She has flawless skin and perfect hair even though he has never seen nor heard that she puts a lot of work on herself.

He wonders her secret and bluntly asks her self-care routine and what she uses for her skin and hair.

When Vil doesn’t get actual, he is annoyed, thinking that she is making fun of him. Then Torunn says “Probably because I’m Asgardian, Midgardians refer us as gods.” casually. Well, at least being a God which Vil can accept as an excuse is a better explanation than Neige’s “I’m not doing anything”

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Idia Shroud

It is weird for Idia as his family are the ones that referred as Gods and his uncle is the thunder God.

When he learns she is the daughter of the thunder god, he thinks they can be cousins from parallel universe. He is relieved that is not the case when she tells him about her family and Asgard.

A plan formulates in Idia’s mind when it clicks that Torunn would be as powerful as Olympian ones. He asks if she can fight wrestle with his annoying cousin in RSA. He would film the entire thing and watch whenever he wants a laugh.

🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉

Malleus Draconia

When Malleus saw her for the first time, he thought her sword was just a regular sword but bigger than the one Sebek and Silver use.

He is in one of his nightly walks when he spots Torunn rise to the sky, lightning surrounding her, not harming her. He is curious about her, she was supposed to be magicless then how she can do these. As far as he knew, humans cannot fly.

Malleus asks how she was able to fly and evaded the lightning. She tells that she is the daughter of Thor the thunder God and has inherited his powers. She demonstrates her skills with her sword, summoning lightning with it. He is amazed by her skills and happy that he wouldn’t hurt her if he accidentally summons lightning when he is moody.

Malleus also thinks about a new nickname for Torunn as “Child of Man” wouldn’t fit her. Maybe “Child of Asgard” or “Child of God” would be better. He needs some time to think about it.

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anika-ann · 4 years ago

Text

My Timid Hello, My Clumsy Goodbye (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, canon semi-compliant?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Barton!reader Word count: 8900 (...sorry)

Summary: You’re spending the evening and the night before your wedding with the two most important men of your life.

When the sun rises again, you’ll say your ‘I do’ in a close circle of friends and family. It’s not a goodbye to your old life and it’s not a hello to some enormous change; but you will no longer be a Barton. You will be a Rogers. Why not reminisce a bit?

Warnings: mention of an abandoned baby, blood and injuries, alcohol, implied possibly rougher sex (nothing graphic) ...mature?, language, so much sappiness... let me know if I missed any

A/N: For what-is-your-backupplan-today 10th anniversary of CA:TFA challenge. Prompts in bold. Thank you for coming up with this wonderful theme and hosting this challenge! Long live CA:TFA!

A/N: Throughout the fic, you’ll find snippets of lyrics from SYML’s "Everything All At Once”. Honestly, the song has a completely different meaning to me, but tearing it out of context works for this story just fine :) When you’re done reading, I recommend the music video. It friggin’ broke me in the worst and best ways. Enjoy!

This is my hello This is my clumsy goodbye I'm putting my glass down I wanna remember tonight

Tony rented an island for you. Clint nearly passed out learning about it and grumbled for days about having a hard time to top that, which, no arguing, was understandable.

It was an incredibly extravagant thing to do, throwing around money that could have been used for a much more honourable cause, but you couldn’t complain. One should not look a gifted horse into mouth – and so you didn’t.

Because Tony Stark renting an island was his premature wedding gift. The fact that your brother bitched about not being able to top that, well, that was his problem. You were certain that deep down, he knew you didn’t need any fancy gifts like that.

Then again, Tony’s gift might have been epically overpriced, but not exactly unthoughtful; along with a private island came a private jet and you being literally flied under radar so no single paparazzi knew where you and America’s golden boy Steve Rogers would seal the deal with your ‘I do.’ So, you were everything but ungrateful to your friend that he succeeded at pulling off such covert operation; and frankly, this place was nothing short of wonderful.

The golden sand was pleasantly warm under your toes as you as you and Clint walked towards the two single beach chairs facing the ocean. Wearing bikini under the baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts, sunglasses on top of your head, because why would you deprive yourself the gorgeous view of the sun beginning to set down, you followed your brother – not in blood but in every other sense – to the seats, allured by the view, the serenity and the cold sixpack in his hand.

You had already had a traditional bachelorette party with your girls – with the team, with your family. Natasha, Wanda, Pepper, Sharon and Maria. The night had been the perfect blend of what was considered typically feminine, dress up, fanciness and wine and gossip, and a fun night out with shots, dancing, karaoke and pool. That particular night sadly was interrupted shortly by an annoying photographer, but he soon understood it was not very clever to annoy three and a half Avengers or the CEO of Stark Industries for that matter.

Clint however… Clint deserved a special evening with you. With the rest of the team in various state of chilling out, scattered around the luxurious small houses and gorgeous beaches, you two were left the privacy such moment required.

Even if the special moment consisted of simple talking and drinking beer while watching the sun set, a symbolic end of one phase of your life – a phase that was undeniably tied to the famous and yet barely known archer, one of the seven defenders who rushed into the Battle of New York to save the Earth.

One of the seven had been your brother, having previously been controlled by the monster who brought an army from outer space; there was no questioning whether you would join the fight or not, no matter how you preferred the latter part of your field medic job title to the former.

Another of these brave people, as it turned out, was your future husband. A man you had met for the first time that day, but whom you didn’t hesitate to push back down when he got hit by a freaking alien weapon and stood up, wanting to shake it off as if it was nothing. Your medical training told you not to let him; and your stubbornness had been just a touch stronger than his that day.

Apparently, Steve found you always standing your ground to be one of your most endearing qualities.

What a fancy way to express it instead of simply calling you a stubborn pain in his ass.

“You’re lost in your head, Twinkie,” Clint hummed, playfully nudging your ribs with an elbow, bringing you back to the present.

Your nose automatically scrunched at the childhood nickname.

“You gotta stop calling me that, Bobo,” you retorted, a grin spreading on your face as it was his turn to grimace.

You knew it was nothing but an act and that he in fact loved that nickname, because it held so much sentiment, so many memories… as did his endearment for you.

Bobo had been your first word or so Clint always claimed. Obviously, you wouldn’t remember.

You wouldn’t remember your parents, having been only two days old when your mother left you with a damn circus which was in your hometown at the time. You couldn’t recall how you wouldn’t stop crying until you heard a seven-year-old Clint humming a lullaby for you, with silly replacements of lyrics that always made you laugh later on when you could understand them.

How he started calling you Twinkie, because he was a sugar addict and apparently, you were sweet and small and he liked you; so much that he soon appointed himself to be your brother, your bro, your Bobo.

Once you were older and learned that your involuntary nickname for him also meant ‘crazy’ in Spanish, you were sold to that Bobo endearment forever.

Including the night before your wedding.

“You keep zoning out on me, Kid. Getting cold feet?” Clint hummed, casually handing you a can of beer, opening it up for you.

You automatically reached out and took a sip, eyes fixed on the warm colour on the horizon. What a ridiculous question… but kind and caring, with a hidden promise of getting you out of here if you just asked. Your amazing, protective, crazy brother.

You couldn’t but smile widely, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“You offering to kidnap the bride, Clint? I’d like to see you try. You were always better at trapeze than at being an escape artist.”

Clint scoffed. “Please. These are amateurs. I bet I could pull it off.”

That drew a laugh from you.

“Are you calling the Avengers amateurs? Better yet, are you calling your wife an amateur?” you teased him, watching his face lose colour when he realized that he did exactly that. You leaned over and patted his thigh. “Don’t worry, Bobo. I won’t tell Nat.”

Clint visibly relaxed, but a shadow of worry twisting his expression.

“Seriously though. Where’s your head at, Kid?”

You just shrugged, smile resting on your lips as you wondered if you ever felt so relaxed. It went along well with the reminiscing of the past and despite the fact that tomorrow was a big day and you should probably be nervous, you weren’t. Not in the slightest, more like the opposite. You were giddy even; it dawned to you that nothing in your life had ever felt so right.

No moment in your life offered you such serenity to your heart, your shoulders free of any weight, body light as air.

“Just taking a trip down the memory lane. Thinking about how lucky I was to be dropped at your circus of all circuses of the world,” you grinned at Clint, your tone remaining completely serious.

Because you were being serious – words couldn’t express how grateful for everything that led to this moment you were. How grateful you were to your brother for watching over you, making sure you would always see the light of a new day, guiding you when you found yourself in a dark.

Clint didn’t react beside his fingers twitching and you knew he was giving you the chance to say what you needed to say.

“About how you taught me pretty much everything I know. About how while I might not be the best person in the world, my brother, who is the best brother ever, made me into a decent person and I owe him everything I am. And how I should probably feel guilty for tying myself to another guy who just swept in and whisked away your little sister.”

Clint stared at you, gulping as his eyes gradually filled with tears. You found yourself in a very cheesy moment, bordering on absurd and it was almost too much to handle – but Clint took a deep breath, cleared his throat and swallowed his tears.

“Well, that bastard did steal my greatest life achievement with way too little effort,” he remarked, voice cracking slightly, the image of him causing your eyes to burn as well even if his words made you both tear up and burst out laughing.

“Dammit, Clint, stop making me laugh and cry at the same time…”

“You started it!” he pointed his index finger at you accusingly, taking a large sip of his beer to drown his sentiment. “But for the record, you should not feel guilty. It’s not like you’re leaving me.”

“I know, but-“

“And if you were, you’d be leaving me in good hands.”

“That’s true, Natasha does have a grip on you and might keep you outta trouble-“

“She’s the one who gets me into trouble half of the time!” Clint cried out in protest and you would have argued if it wasn’t the truth.

But before he had met her, Clint was able to make up his own trouble just fine – he was more than half of a reason why while doing a bit of trapeze yourself, you also grew interested in medical care. Because who else than the little sister should treat her big brother’s wounds when he got too crazy?

“In all seriousness, I’m proud of you, Twinkie,” he said sincerely, one corner of his lips raised in a lopsided smile. “You’re entirely entitled to have your own life and if there’s one guy in this whole damn world I’m willing to trust to have you… well, I guess it’s that big blond dumbass.”

“He can be a bit dumb of ass occasionally, can’t he?” you mused lovingly. “I guess it’s right what they say… we do pick our partners similar to our parents, maybe not only in looks. I didn’t really have a dad, I had you, so…”

Clint sighed, smile widening, before it slipped from his face as he caught up on the not-so-hidden insult.

“Hey!”

You couldn’t but laugh at his shocked expression, accidently spilling a splosh of beer on the sand.

“Just… maybe make sure that even married, you still find time to hang out with your big dumb of ass brother every once in a while?” Clint suggested, sounding surprisingly vulnerable.

Your whole demander softened, a little pang of guilt stinging in your heart as he took your words too seriously – and at his worry.

“Clint… I will always find time for my amazing brother.”

“Well, you’re marrying a pretty amazing guy too, so, you know, I understand the dilemma…”

You snorted when he seemed to genuinely fawn over your future husband, shaking your head before downing the rest of your drink.

“As amazing as Steve might be – and gosh, he is, don’t get me started – you still own a pretty big chunk of my heart.”

“Good. You are a Barton at heart,” Clint hummed, pretending that a few tears didn’t roll down his cheeks, leaning towards you as his expression once again grew serious.

Your chest tightened. Oh no. He was gonna say something to make you cry too – as if you already weren’t at verge of crying, emotions bubbling under the surface.

“Clint-“ you warned him silently, but he spoke up anyway and you gulped, bracing yourself.

“Just… whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are. Not a perfect housewife, but a good woman.”

That was not what you were prepared for, as touching as the sentiment was.

You burst out laughing, head thrown back, hands clutching at your stomach as it actually hurt with the sudden clench. Tears did spring from your eyes, a perfect blend of touched and infinitely amused at your brother’s words.

“Har, har, that’s what I get from trying to speak from heart…” Clint muttered grumpily and you willed yourself to calm your hitching breaths as you looked at him, the pout of his mouth causing you to cackle again.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… I am moved, I really am. Thank you. But me? A perfect housewife? And you realize I’m marrying Steve Rogers, right? The epitome of a good man? He would probably threaten to sock me in a jaw if I tried to change into something I’m not just for his sake and actually sock me in my jaw if I turned into a bad woman.”

Clint’s eyebrows jumped, a smirk appearing on his face. “That’s a lot of punching.”

“My thoughts exactly,” you agreed, reaching for another can, pausing when a thought occurred to you. “Just so we’re clear, I might turn into a bit of a housewife when we have kids, alright? And I want to be a good wife, a good partner to Steve, which is what I’m trying to do even now.”

“I mean, yeah, sure, wouldn’t expect anything less. But… just promise me you’ll stay you and that you’ll keep giving him a run for his money, keep him on his toes a bit,” Clint shrugged with a grin, drawing another chuckle from you.

You saw his point – and you fully intended to keep Steve on his toes. You had a good reason to believe that your future husband enjoyed when you did.

“Oh Clinton… I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He nodded contentedly, picking up another beer and raising it for a toast, his can clinking with yours.

“Cheers to that!”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you then, a quiet joy wrapped in one moment; the sun ending its quest, the warm breeze in your hair, the waves whispering of a journey you were about to take off to. And all that with a wordless comforting presence of your family, ready to offer you a shelter if a storm rocked your boat and the wind caused you to lose course.

As your mind wandered, you had to laugh at yourself – it was almost as if you were raised by pirates and not circus performers. Perhaps it was the little bit of free cheeky spirit these life journeys had in common what brought the metaphor to your mind. It was a bit like working with the Avengers too, always on a road, adrenaline in your veins even as you mostly stayed on the jet, ready to assist them… yet here you were pondering that maybe, you were yearning for settling down a bit more.

“Cap wouldn’t punch you anyway, right?” Clint remarked, breaking the silence and you blinked yourself back into reality, taking a moment to figure out what he was talking about.

Oh. Right. Steve punching you if you changed yourself significantly for his benefit.

You smiled softly, heart swelling in affection when the answer to that question appeared obvious.

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“Good. He’d try once and I’d put an arrow straight between his eyes,” Clint promised darkly, almost causing you to choke at the sudden violent note. He quickly fixed it with a ramble, lightening the atmosphere yet again. “Minus training of course. He’s allowed to try in order to improve your hand-to-hand. Not that he would ever land a hand on you anyway. Always so soft on you…” he grinned, seemingly alright with that attitude if not slightly calling the big strong supersoldier out.

Oh you could be cheeky too alright if that was what your brother wanted.

“That you know of.”

A confused huh was the only reaction you got – that and a puzzled look.

“He’s always soft on me,” you repeated Clint’s words, turning to him, lips slowly spreading in a wicked smirk. “That you know of.”

Clint’s brows furrowed for a short moment and then his features twisted in a disgusted grimace, face growing a tint crimson.

“Gross!” he complained, more blood rushing to his cheeks. “You know what, I changed my mind. We’re leaving. You’re not marrying him. I’m kidnapping the bride and never returning her, locking her somewhere far far away-“

You snorted at his indignation, your grin undoubtedly battling the one of the Cheshire cat.

“No will do, Bobo. I’m marrying Steve and you can’t stop me.”

This time, Clint didn’t even protest, eyes misted over, nose still scrunched at the mental image, lamenting as the night slowly settled over the paradise-like island.

“Oh god, please help, I can’t unsee it, can’t unhear it--- ew-”

Your laughter was carried away by the breeze as Clint seemed to be unable to look at you.

You swung your beer around, thinking that yes – nothing quite ever felt so right as being here in this moment. Relaxing with your brother, teasing him relentlessly and counting down hours to when you’d say ‘I do’ to the only man who in your eyes ever battled the mantle of the best man in the universe.

In one unending moment You fall within my reach I'm close enough to whisper Hold on to me Hold on to me

You weren’t sure what time it was when you snuck into the beach house, one of few, which had been wisely chosen to be occupied by you and Steve only. You attempted to be quiet and liked to think you succeeded, in your even barely tipsy state, but your effort turned out to be in vain as you found Steve perched against headboard of your bed; reading a book, thin white t-shirt and sleep shorts on display as the soft sheet had been kicked away, scrunched up by his feet.

He was gorgeous – he was gorgeous and yours, a momentary picture perfect of peace, appearing to feel just as light as you did and somehow the dullness of the moment, just him relaxing in bed with a good read as you came home… it was more alluring than one would think.

Steve looked up from the book when you wavered in the doorway, soft lopsided smile spreading on his face.

God, that smile. It might be over two years since you saw it for the first time, but it could still make you weak in your knees.

And somehow, it was now even more charming now than the day you met, more tender than just before you kissed for the first time, sweeter than when he proposed.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted you, appreciative gaze roaming your figure and the little too much skin on display – something you regretted when the warm sunrays had bid you goodbye, raising goosebumps. And Steve, the attentive man he was, noticed, his smile earning a teasing edge. “You look a bit cold in there.”

You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out.

“And you look pretty cosy in there. Thought you’d be either asleep or with Bucky.”

Steve shrugged, not letting go of his unfinished chapter just yet, knowing you had a routine to go through before joining him.

“Maybe I missed you. Maybe Bucky is an old man and needs his sleep.”

You chuckled, not rising to the bait – you knew what would follow if you dared to say Steve was just as old. Not that you would complain about Steve trying to convince you about the opposite. You could never.

“Well, I bet he still made you a promise of breaking a bone of mine or two if I ever hurt you. He’ll find energy for that, centenarian or not,” you hummed nonchalantly as you bounced off the doorframe, heading to the bathroom and leaving Steve puzzled by your remark.

“How did you know?” he called out after you, endearingly confused.

“That’s what big brothers do, love!”

Short silence was your answer as you reached for your toothbrush and begun your nighty ritual.

Steve must have figure out what did it mean for him, considering you had a protective brother of your own, because a moment later, his half-amused “noted!” reached your ears.

You chuckled and shook your head, smile spread on your face which you didn’t think could be erased as long as you were in this paradise – free of worry, full of joy. And why wouldn’t you be? You were about to marry one of the smartest, kindest, sassiest and most beautiful men that ever walked the Earth. What was not to love?

You couldn’t but let your mind wander again; if you had only known the day you met, right from that moment, that you’d end up here…. well. It felt a little surreal, knowing that by this time tomorrow, you’d be Steve’s wife; then again, Steve’s life story was surreal enough on its own.

Who would have thought that the stubborn handsome man in the ridiculous suit and you, equally stubborn about you at least checking on the wound upon half-dragging him to a quiet corner in a middle of a battlefield, would grow so close?

It hadn’t been simple. Steve wasn’t the most open guy and while friendly enough, he wasn’t exactly offering his heart on his sleeve, not to strangers. But it hadn’t been too hard, once you were meeting on regular basis. Piece by piece he revealed his true colours and soon after he did… you started falling; hard and fast.

Not necessarily swooning, not on the outside at least; you were a professional, after all. The safety and the well-being of the team was your priority.

It was just too bad – or the best thing, you supposed – that Steve had the same goal as you with one significant difference; as far as he was concerned, the responsibility to look after his team sometimes excluded him.

Oh, was he wrong about that.

And boy, did you let him know you thought so. You still kept proving him wrong to this day and was planning on nurturing his own acknowledgement of his self-worth till your last breath…

“Get your ass in here, Steve!” you called out after him, slowly losing patience as you had tried asking politely the previous two times with no result but being dismissed.

The change of tone and language made his head snap to you from where he was talking to Sam, an offended scowl on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Captain. Don’t be a stubborn jerk and get your ass in here so I can clean your cuts.”

A few months ago, you wouldn’t have been able to talk to him like that; to the great legend, Captain America. At least you certainly wouldn’t have called him his first name and maybe, just maybe, you’d be a little less crass. But now? He might be Captain America still, a hero who deserved all the good things for the sacrifices he made for the world’s safety, but first and foremost, he was just Steve to you.

A colleague, a teammate, a friend. You might not be a part of the team per se, not the way Clint, Natasha or Steve were, but you still belonged. And you were all friends.

Friends irritated each other sometimes and frankly, Steve was often battling with Tony for the mantle of the most infuriating one.

Friends also needed to call each other out on their bullshit by any means necessary when the time was right and now the time was as good as any.

Usually, Steve slipped through your fingers, because he was a supersoldier and the others weren’t, so their injuries took precedence; today, it was only Natasha, Sam and Steve, and the captain was the only one whom you hadn’t checked yet. And you knew there were things to check, the trickle of blood from his eyebrow probably the least of your concerns.

“I wouldn’t argue with her, Steve. She can be pretty stubborn. Clint wouldn’t stop complaining about it,” Natasha supported you from the pilot seat and you fought yourself so you wouldn’t grin at her in victory – it would only irritated Steve further. “She’s almost as bull-headed as you are.”

At that, your smile would have slipped. But honestly, she wasn’t wrong.

“Don’t I know it,” Steve grunted, sparing Sam another glance and when the Falcon himself beckoned to you as well, wordlessly asking Steve to get himself checked up.

The captain sighed irately, but made his way back to the separate and well-lit space of your examination room.

He didn’t try to hide his annoyance – in fact, he squared his shoulders and his steps sounded a bit loud for anyone to believe it was a coincidence. Also, the scowl of exasperation never left his otherwise handsome face.

“This is completely unnecessary. A stupid waste of time,” he hissed as he walked past you and you took a deep calming breath, exchanging an eyeroll with Sam before you disappeared from sight.

“Captain. I respect you and your position, but you say one more time that my job here is unnecessary and stupid, you’ll be looking for a new medic,” you retorted as he stripped the upper part of his uniform angrily, revealing his white-tank-top-clad torso.

Well, at least the fabric used to be white – now a blood stain the size of both of your palms was seeping into the material at Steve’s right side, gushing from what definitely appeared to be a knife wound.

You were gonna murder him one of those days... unless he got killed himself first.

“Seriously?!”

“It’s just a graze-” he started to argue but you cut him off when you tore the fabric away. He winced as some of the dried blood had acted as a glue, having stuck the cloth into the wound, and now was violently ripped off.

“Tr to insinuate again that I’m incompetent at recognizing what’s just a graze, Steve. I dare you. This is a cut wide and deep enough for stitches! Haven’t you had the serum, you could have been bleeding out to death on this table!”

“But I do have it-“

“Or for fuck’s SAKE, stop being a baby and let me treat the bloody gash in your right mesogastric area! The serum accelerates your healing, but it doesn’t make you invincible OR immortal as far as I know--- Jesus fucking Christ-!”

He bristled, taking a deep breath to fight back, but he never got the chance, because you started working and the words died in his throat. Surprisingly, inspecting the damage, poking around a knife wound that might have already begin to seal itself thanks to Erskine’s formula but had not been just a graze hurt and coincidentally, it pulled the rug from under his feet.

To his credit, Steve barely even hissed at the pain.

“Just so you know, I’ll be using the disinfection that stings worse,” you noted, voice dripping venom, because you were genuinely done with Steve’s bullshit.

You lied through your teeth though. You wouldn’t. No matter how infuriating Steve was and how difficult he made your life – causing you to fall for his stupid martyr ass and pine after him among other things – you would never purposely hurt him.

And he must have sensed that, because your remark didn’t earn you a murderous glare or a retort – much to your surprise.

In fact, Steve fell entirely quiet, watching you work without protest, not even objecting when you applied enough local anaesthetic to knock out an elephant and sewed the tissue together so it healed easier. He let you inspect the rest of his torso and bandage his ribs, vigorously shaking his head when you asked him if he was injured anywhere below the waist.

He observed you as you kept an eye on his face for any minute sign of pain he’d be hiding, but all you could see were his irises, startlingly bright blue, pools of honesty and something you had trouble decoding. He seemed… humbled almost. It silenced the anger inside you, the flames of rage – and fear for his well-being, if you were being honest with yourself – turning into a barely smouldering pile of ash.

When you moved on to his head, gently pushing away the strands which obscured the gash on his eyebrow, his eyelids slid shut. You knew how unpleasant facial injuries were, especially around one’s eyes and so you took care to be extra careful as you cleaned the wound and the area surrounding it, most definitely not using the stingy disinfectant.

Not that Steve could get an infection as far as you knew. It was more force of a habit than anything else… and it made you feel better. He had this idiotic mask of an invincible hero he put up sometimes and it drove you insane, because you knew he was only human, a beautiful kind soul, but god, could he be an ass.

“Almost done,” you whispered soothingly when you noticed his jaw tightening as you had to apply a bit more pressure to get a tiny piece of gravel from the cut. You certainly didn’t want that to stay under the newly healing skin.

The moment you retreated with the bloody gauze, Steve’s eyes were back on you, wide and regretful.

“I’m sorry,” he offered quietly, a genuine apology that sounded almost absurd after you two were hissing at each other like damn hellcats. “I didn’t mean to--- I’m sorry for being rude and ungrateful. Thank you for taking care of my injuries.”

One glance into those deep irises and benign hesitant smile and you were done for. How could you stay mad at him? Well, you were still mad at him for the absolute disregard of his own health, but… well. You also understood he felt like he needed to stay strong for the team and put them first and how he actually was in pain.

Pretty much everyone was a pain in the ass when in pain.

You sighed as you searched for few band-aid strips to cover the cut.

“It’s alright, Steve. I’m used to old men being grumpy and not meaning things they say when they are,” you offered lightly and he hung his head with a chuckle, clearly not taking the old man remark personally – and understanding you were referring to your brother.

His smile was wider when he looked up again. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

You shrugged, carefully slipping two fingers under his chin to angle his face so you could stick the strips over the wound.

“Well, I deserve it sometimes. I don’t mean to… to be overbearing and make you feel like you’re incompetent or something,” you added hesitantly, worrying your teeth over your lower lip as the tone you’d been handling him with caught up with you. Perhaps you could have been nicer.

You smoothened the stripes of band-aid, gulping as you felt Steve’s gaze boring into your face while you continued.

“I know you’re not incompetent. You’re very capable, you’re the best. It’s just… I still--- worry- for all of you. For the full-time Earth’s mightiest heroes. Silly, huh?” you muttered self-depreciatingly and when your eyes met, you were startled by the intensity he watched you with as you laid your fears bare in front of him, leaving you vulnerable. You swiftly looked away and dropped your hands. “Here, almost as good as new.”

A lump grew in your throat as you stripped your gloves, tossing them into the bin. Did you reveal too much? Didn’t it sound silly indeed as you said it out loud? Yes, you were all friendly with each other, but you were supposed to be a professional, focused on your task, not getting distracted by-

-by Steve gently grasping your wrist, causing your heart to skip a startled beat. Definitely not getting weak in the knees when you shot him a surprised glance and he just… brought your hand to his face, lips briefly skimming over your knuckles.

Jesus Christ, Lord have mercy with me.

“Don’t you ever apologize for caring. Don’t stop caring. Silly is the last thing I’d call it.”

Your cheeks felt like set on fire, stomach fluttering as well as your heart. You could feel the ghost of Steve’s lips on your skin, sending your heartrate sky-high, causing your head to spin a bit, your body hot all over.

Did he really—did he just-? And did it mean that… did it mean anything at all?

He let go of your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles, but held your gaze adamantly as he gave you a sad smile and rose to his feet, clearly ready to leave.

You, on the hand, stood there frozen, mind racing.

Why had he done that? Was he really just trying to express gratitude and say sorry for his previous behaviour? Because that was not the way it was supposed to be done, because such tenderness left you entirely bewildered. Was he trying to tell you he was somehow interested in something more than friendship? Was he just high from the anaesthetic, mind you, local one that was not supposed to mess with his brain? Was there any sign of a head injury you missed?

“Thank you, again,” he whispered softly, moving to sidestep you and your hand instinctively shot out, latching onto his forearm… gently.

You gulped, heart stuttering when he glanced at you, puzzled.

One part of you wanted to sink into the floor in embarrassment at your unwitting reaction. Another part of you observed him so closely that you would swear that there was another emotion in his eyes and it was neither apology nor gratitude. You wistfully hoped for longing, the same longing you felt when you were near him, sometimes distant and barely there, other times so acute it hurt.

With your stomach somersaulting in doubt, you willed yourself to raise your free hand slowly, purposely giving him a chance – Lord, please, don’t let him take it – to stop you before your palm settled on his cheek.

You were certain you experienced a small cardiac arrest when Steve not only didn’t avoid the touch, but actually leaned into it, gaze fixed on your face, eyes brighter and softer than you ever remembered seeing. Your gaze flickered to his mouth deliberately, throat turning dry. Too daring? He kissed you knuckles, surely you could reciprocate some affection?

Swallowing against your dry throat, you leaned in before you could change your mind and dropped the briefest peck to his lips, causing his eyelids to flutter shut.

Oh no. Oh no no no no, you totally crossed a line-

You went to retreat your hands from him, but the second you moved, his eyes were snapping open, hand covering yours on his face to keep it there, the other cradling your face and then there was a warm and soft sensation on your own lips as he seized them with his.

Your mind went completely blank save two single thoughts: Steve is kissing me. I really like that.

A small sound escaped you, a blend of surprise and contentment, breaking you from your trance and turning you into an actual participant of the pleasant and entirely unexpected activity.

You drew in a small breath, head spinning from the scent of Steve’s shampoo, disinfectant, sweat and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on and not caring.

He tasted faintly of blood, but otherwise was nothing but sweet as his lips caressed yours, gently tugging at your lower lip and then the upper, the lightest graze of teeth and tease of tongue, finger pressing into your jaw to pull you closer, thumb stroking your cheek.

You whimpered involuntarily when his lips parted from yours, soothing as they returned for a short peck, to drop a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth, to brush your cheek.

Your name was a breathy whisper between the two of you, barely audible as all you could hear was your heartbeat pulsing frantically in your ears, growing aware of your fingers clutching at Steve’s still unzipped armour and nearly sinking in his hair, his hot breath tickling your skin.

You didn’t dare to open your eyes – what if you dreamed it up? What if you looked at him and saw regret – it didn’t feel like he would be regretting it, but… still. Insecurity tugged at your mind as it slowly cleared from the literally breath-taking kiss.

Steve repeated your name with urgency that was unheard of, the single word sounding almost as a plea.

“Please say something.”

Oh.

You blinked your eyes open, surprised to be met with his searching gaze, a minute furrow of his brows. It seemed you weren’t the only one whose mind was being the worst of one’s enemies.

Perhaps your brain was being stupid. Perhaps you both wanted this. Perhaps you felt exactly the same.

As you forced yourself to move, fingers actually slipping into his hair to caress his nape, Steve inhaled shakily, shoulders slumping. The tinniest of smiles tugged at his mouth, tempting red and minutely swollen from the kiss; you had to resist the urge to just taste it again.

Instead, you licked your lips only, savouring the previous sensations, smiling unwittingly.

“That’s… uhm, that’s a really creative new way of driving me crazy.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose along with one corner of his mouth, relief written all over his face.

“Oh? There are other ways in which I’m driving you crazy? Because I couldn’t tell...”

You narrowed your eyes, but you didn’t think he bought you unconvincing act of being irritated with him at such remark.

“Don’t push it, Captain,” you warned him, but your treacherous mouth kept curling up in a smile, your body still buzzing with aftershocks of the kiss.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh-huh… s-sure,” you stuttered briefly as his thumb caressed your cheek, bright smiling eyes watching only inches from your face – and yet it felt like he was too far.

“You’re driving me crazy too, you know,” he noted in a breathy voice, causing you to gulp as his gaze flickered to your mouth, clearly implying how you do so… among other ways… like your stubbornness practically matching his.

“Oh really? I do? I couldn’t tell…”

He chuckled, his hand slipping to your nape, soft tickle of his fingers making you squirm.

“I’m gonna kiss you again now if that’s okay,” he whispered, not waiting for your permission and erasing the distance between your lips again.

Still, you whispered your approval to his mouth.

“So okay…”

Long moments later when Sam called out to warn you that you’d be landing soon, you said yes to the grumpy old man’s request to let him treat you dinner.

Oh if you only knew by then how far you’d come…

Lost in thought, goofy smile on your face, you exited the bathroom, ready to snuggle your future husband… and to fully take the opportunity to make love, last night before you officially became his and he became yours.

You had a brief second to register that the bed was empty, your heart skipping a started and disappointed beat. The second you stepped out though, you were literally swept off your feet.

A yelp erupted from your throat as you found yourself with no ground under your feet and high in the air, one of Steve’s arms under your knees, the other under your back. Your hands frantically gripped at the nearest firm point, Steve’s shoulder and arm as you finally realized what the hell happened and was met with a cheeky grin and sparkling blue of his eyes.

That traitor was waiting just by the door to ambush you! Why?

You slapped his very much bare shoulder playfully, hissing a curse, not unaware of the heat radiating of him and seeping into your skin.

“You jerk! You almost gave me a heart attack!” you complained, but he didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not.”

Steve grinned wider, shrugging and pulling you closer to his torso, nuzzling your temple and dropping a placatory kiss there.

“Still looking a little cold.”

“No, I look like this because you scared me,” you emphasized, vainly trying to resist the seduction; a mixture of playfulness, sweetness and blatant display of strength as he still held you with ease. It was hard not to be temped. “And you look like you’re awfully warm, parading here without a shirt.”

“Well, I’d call us even since you’re parading around in these absolutely sinful shorts. Makes me hot. I can warm you up,” he mumbled to your skin, lips moving to your ear, causing you to shudder.

How was it so easy for him to make you all hot and bothered? You guessed that at least, as he said, it made you even... it wasn’t difficult to get him riled up either.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Driving you crazy?” Steve offered, sounding awfully delighted at the idea and you only melted into him further at the reminiscence of your first kiss and what followed.

“Always,” you confirmed, deadly serious, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips or the mewl that escaped you when his teeth grazed the shell of your ear, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck.

“But you love it.”

“Uh-huh…”

“I can live with that with that then,” he said, stalking to the bed determinately. “Now let me drive you so crazy you can barely speak and the only sound you’re making is whimpering my name.”

He all but tossed you on the bed, a yelp of his name in fact erupting from your throat, followed by a fit of giggles that only died when his mouth seized yours, his lips only leaving when heading south to indeed drive you crazy.

And yes; you loved it.

And you loved him too.

In one unending moment I fall within your reach My song a sweet surrender Hold on to me Hold on to me

Before the girls could steal you from him, Steve decided – with your enthusiastic agreement – that you should once again try how it felt to make some morning lovin’ outside marriage. With the ceremony planned for the late afternoon, you had plenty of time; and needless to say, it was bliss. Then again, you believed that marital sex with Steve would be just as delightfully pleasant, thank you very much.

Then, it was a whirlwind – make up, hair, dress, a tear or two spilled when you saw the result in the mirror.

More tears spilled when you glanced out of the window and saw the tastefully and modestly decorated arch, the path created by few scattered rose petals, the male part of your almost family sans Clint in the suits, effectively hiding Steve from you; and you from his just in case, because no one wanted any bad luck.

Your staring was interrupted when your brother went to pick you up to lead you down the aisle.

Upon entering the room and setting his gaze on you, he promptly looked away with a sniffle. It both warmed your heart and made you laugh as did his remark.

“Nope, not giving you to him. In fact, I’m never giving you to anyone. No one will ever be worthy, so I’m keeping you.”

“Hush, Clinton, you’ll still have me,” Natasha winked at him as he took a deep calming breath before carefully eyeing you again.

Clearly, it hadn’t done the job, because few tears still found their way down his cheeks.

“You’re a knock-out, sis,” he sputtered hastily, but no less honestly – clearly moved to tears.

And yet… you snorted at his choice of words and he rolled his eyes, quick to compliment your beauty instead.

You wouldn’t have it any other way though, even appreciating his first remark more for it came from the bottom of his heart rather than from what convention required.

Embracing you carefully in fear he would mess up the work of art his wife and other girls created, he held you in his arms for a moment, as you retuned the hug, clutching at his suit with a little too force. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the bridesmaids clearing the room.

“It’s not like I’m leaving you, Bobo,” you hummed with a smile, throwing his own words from last night at him.

And you weren’t leaving him; your heart swelled with love for your brother, your father figure, your long-life friend.

With sniffle, he let go of you and looked you up and down, proud smile spreading on his lips.

“It’s okay. If you are, I have the best spy in the world for a wife, we’ll drag your ass back home.”

You just slapped his chest playfully and took a deep breath – it was time. Clint grasped your hand firmly then, elbows interlocking, and went to step out just a moment after the bridesmaids left to join the groomsmen.

Well-aware everyone was going to stare and that Steve awaited you at the end of the aisle to marry you, your legs were shaking minutely as the magnitude of the event finally dawned to you.

“Getting second thoughts now?” Clint teased you, eliciting a chuckle from you and shake of your head.

What a question.

“No. Just… please don’t let me fall,” you muttered to him, entirely serious and grateful for your choice of footwear – simple flats hidden by the long flowing skirt of your dress. Better chance of not spraining your ankle on your wedding day.

“Never.”

Clint squeezed your hand under his warm palm and you took a deep breath, stepping into the doorway. Soft melody welcomed you, your very own wedding march Bruce was playing on a mouth organ – something you had previously had no idea he was capable of.

Looking up from your skirt, you feasted your eyes on the company and the beautiful scenery for only a regretfully short moment, grateful for Sam’s Redwing programmed to record and take photos.

Your gaze instinctively searched the small crowd instead, until it fell under the arch where three men stood.

One of them was Sam himself, having obtained a licence so he could be your wedding registrar; he looked positively dashing. So did Bucky, who patted his best friend dressed in his old-fashioned green captain uniform on the shoulder, his smirk visible even from tens feet away as he stepped back.

Naturally, your gaze lingered on Steve, your feet acting of their own accord and following your brother’s lead.

Gosh, your future husband was the most handsome and absolutely hottest specimen to ever walk the Earth. Hair combed neatly to one side and in his old army uniform, he truly looked like the gentleman from another era he was and yet, he undeniably belonged exactly where he was. His eyes were bright and blue just like the sky, lips slightly parting before curling up into a brilliant smile which somehow still carried the tenderness he treated you with when he felt particularly affectionate.

He must have uttered something under his breath, because Bucky pressed his lips together as if he was holding back laugh. The absolutely best best man, ladies and gentleman.

Your found yourself smiling just as widely, a stray tear tickling the corner of your eye and you had to fight the sudden urge to ditch Clint in order to gather your skirts and run the rest of the way just to jump into Steve’s arms.

But in reality, there was no rush – here, on the damn island Tony rented, there was so much time that one short walk meant nothing in comparison.

“Alright, maybe I’ll give you to him,” Clint whispered, making you bite the inside of your cheek so you would cackle.

Leave it to your brother he would find Steve Rogers so fine he’d be willing to give you out just to have him become a part of your family.

One corner of Steve’s lips twitched in amusement – supersoldier hearing didn’t miss the remark then. Good. Then Bucky heard it too and you had a witness just in case Clint would change his mind. Again.

Finally, with your heart almost in your throat, you reached the end of the aisle, Clint gently putting your hand into Steve’s… without letting go.

“You be nice to her, Cap. And I mean really nice, you hear? Or else-“

“Hush,” you hissed good-naturedly in your brother’s direction, winking at him before you returned your gaze to Steve. “Hey there, handsome.”

Steve chuckled under his breath when Clint stepped back. He returned the greeting with soft ‘hey there, beautiful’ and then proceeded to lift your joined hands, brushing your knuckles with his lips – just like the day you shared your first kiss.

Well now you truly found yourself on the verge of crying. And Lord, you wanted to kiss him so much-

Sam cleared his throat loudly, casting you both a meaningful look as if he could read your mind and wanted to remind you that there were a few things to go through before that could happen.

Ugh. Formalities. Just let me kiss him…

Steve licked his lips – the audacity! – and turned, lightly tugging at your hand so you both faced your friend who held a little leather book open, beckoning towards the guests: Bucky and Natasha, the best man and the best woman, Clint, Bruce, Tony, Vision, Wanda, Sharon, Pepper. Just your closest friends and family.

Sam cleared his throat again.

“Alright. We all know why we gathered here today. To get these two amazing people married, so they could officially become a special team within our team.”

You grinned, peripherally noticing Steve eyeing you as well. Team indeed.

“This is the part where I would ask all of you, bride and groom included, to speak up now if you’re aware of anything standing in the way of this wedlock or to remain silent forever. But frankly, if you have something to say, right now is the perfect time to keep it to yourself. Just let these lovebirds get married…”

Muffled laughter and giggles erupted from your group. Honestly, you wouldn’t say it better. You noticed Clint shifting and Natasha forcefully holding his hand down; you bit down on your lip so you wouldn’t laugh and sent her a grateful smile instead. The best maid of honour ever.

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear, folks. We have the rings, correct? Great. Just so you know, these two saps asked me to read one vow which they are making to each other, because they didn’t trust themselves to say theirs individually without bursting into tears. So now it’s left to me to cry instead. Thanks for that.”

Your cheeks were honestly starting to hurt from smiling so wide, but tears prickled in your eyes acutely just at the thought of the vow you agreed on. You spent countless hours thinking about what you wanted to say and realized that your vow would be too long and that you would in fact start crying and that you could never name all the things you loved Steve for. It had been a relief to find out that Steve shared the sentiment and the deal was made.

Natasha and Bucky dutifully laid the rings on the pillow Wanda’s powers held levitating by your and Steve’s side – not without Bucky finding a split second to compliment your appearance and earning a brief smirk from Steve.

“I know,” Steve uttered and you wondered if there was a dare going around as to who would make you burst out laughing first.

This was your wedding dammit. You could be at least a bit a lady and remain collected.

Hardly.

“With this ring,” Sam started, breathing in and out and you knew you already lost, first tear rolling down your cheek as you gazed into Steve’s inviting eyes, “I give myself to you without giving up myself. With this ring, I surrender to you for I have faith you understand the value of wielding such power and for I deem you worthy of it. With this ring, I promise to love you, to respect you and to support you to be your best self as I trust you to do the same for me, for us.”

You blinked away the waterfalls, reaching almost blindly for Steve’s ring and with fingers trembling – with giddiness, not nerves – you somehow succeeded at slipping it on his left ring finger.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice cracking even in such simple sentence and the watery smile Steve graced you with made your ribcage feel too small for your swelling heart.

Fingers equally clumsy, he slipped a ring on you as well, shoulders squaring as if in pride.

“I do,” he said firmly, the damp path down his left cheek only adding severity to his vow.

“You may-- uhm, okay, you may kiss the bride, your wife--- I mean, Mrs. Rogers. You may kiss the groom, your husband…” Sam mumbled under his breath until he didn’t, because Steve pulled you in for a kiss the same moment Sam said the first ‘may’ and incidentally, the same moment you practically threw yourself at Steve.

Laughter and whistles erupted from the group of your friends as Steve bend you back dramatically, the determined press of his lips to yours not at all disrupted by the change of angle, claiming your mouth in ways that made you shudder and stirred flames in your belly.

Years and years later, you’d recall that kiss and realized an amazing thing; how it felt just like your first kiss, your last one, and every single one in between.

With you still practically horizontal, Steve’s crinkling eyes met yours, delighted smile on his kiss-swollen lips.

“I love you, Mrs. Rogers,” he hummed, adding a cheeky grin. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“The horror,” you muttered back teasingly, pulling at his nape, demanding another kiss, your own declaration whispered to his mouth. “I love you too, Mr. Rogers.”

And you did. Gosh, you did.

S.R. masterlist

(divider by firefly-graphics)

Well. This turned out SO DIFFERENTLY than I anticipated and SO MUCH LONGER. If you feel like leaving feedback, I’ll be grateful. If not, well. *shurgs*

Excuse me while I go and continue dreaming of ONE fictional man. Ugh. Anyway.

Thank you for reading!

And once again, thanks to WIYBUPT for hosting and for just being awesome in general :)

#catfa 10th anniversary challenge #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #barton reader #barton reader fic #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fafiction #steve rogers fanfic #my timid hello my clumsy goodbye #anika ann

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redorich · 4 years ago

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Soooo.... is there more of that Hermit!Tommy battle?

here’s the last part :)

Xisuma stalks through the rubble of the Dream SMP, armored boots crunching on gravel and broken glass. Fundy, as far as he knows, is still face-down in a river somewhere. As rain pours down his visor, seeps into the cracks, and sparks his electrocuted skin, Xisuma wonders what’s drawn him to water so much today; here he stands, watching the water below him churn underneath the docks and eat away at the shore. Xisuma himself stands high above it all, atop a small, jagged mountain.

He hears the tell-tale shing of a riptide trident. Thank every star in the void-- if Xisuma has to deal with a channelling trident right now, after his last fight, he thinks he may just sit down and quit. Even though he can already tell who’s behind him from their warped presence alone, Xisuma turns wearily to face his next opponent.

Dream stands before him, breathing oddly in a way that indicates at least one cracked rib. His mask is shattered, and more of his face is bloody than clean. From the looks of things, Techno must have scratched him on the thin skin above his eyebrows. Xisuma knows intimately how that wound bleeds profusely, how it gets into one’s eyes and makes it impossible to see. Dream’s obviously coming down from a potion high, and his netherite chestplate is in shambles.

"So much for 'Technoblade never dies', huh?" Dream says confidently. Xisuma can see right through him; despite Dream's easy smirk, he's barely able to stand.

Xisuma's long past the point of asking nicely for his opponent to surrender. He says nothing, and a purple glow oozes up from out of the ground; the stone beneath the men's feet is overlaid with a runic circle: a tell-tale sign of admin magic.

Dream's not as experienced in admin magic, but he's an excellent fighter. Instead of meeting Xisuma's magic with his own, Dream bursts forward in a bout of speed that causes his fractured ribs to shriek in protest, and knees Xisuma solidly in the solar plexus. The hermit wheezes and his runic circle falters, but he does not respond. While he pours all his being into this work of admin magic, Dream is free to ravage his physical form, already battered as it is by Fundy. Dream’s axe is long gone, as is his sword, but his fists are more than enough.

“So you’re just going to give up?!” Dream demands. “You won’t even bother to fight me head-on, you’ve got to waste all your energy on some magic attack that won’t even work? I’ll kill you before you can set it off. You’ll have died for nothing. All your people will have died for nothing.”

Again, Xisuma says nothing. Rage bubbles up from deep inside him. He allows Dream, the vile admin, to rain strike after strike upon him while Xisuma musters the power necessary for his magic attack. Fuck Dream. If Xisuma focuses enough, he can convince himself that the rain hurts worse than any pain Dream can inflict. Even as Dream claws at Xisuma’s throat, digs his fingers into already-bleeding wounds, even as Xisuma’s vision grows steadily darker, the electricity sparking through his veins keeps him wide awake. He will win this fight-- there is no “or die trying”. He will win. He will survive. He will persevere. He will...

Xisuma stumbles. The magic circle dims for a moment. How long can he keep this up?

“Just die already!” Dream growls out. “There’s nothing you can do--!”

From high in the sky, obscured by inclement weather, a red blur divebombs rapidly and throws all its weight into kicking Dream in the head. He falls like a stone, groaning. “What the fuck..?”

Grian stands proudly, elytra fluttering in the harsh wind. Behind him, Tommy launches up into the air with a riptide trident and lands at Grian’s side.

Dream’s mind is overheating. It’s firing on all cylinders and then some, trying to process and calculate everything. Tommy’s escaped from prison. He’s got a trident, but no armor-- Grian must not have had a spare set, and as it is Grian’s vulnerable because he’s wearing an elytra instead of a chestplate. Damn it, why didn’t he keep track of the sky? How many other enemies are hidden within the dark storm clouds? Can he kill Xisuma before Grian attacks? Does Grian have a weapon? He must have been the one to give Tommy the trident, but Tommy’s been away from where he belongs-- under Dream’s heel-- and Dream can’t predict whether or not Tommy will attack him.

“Hello, Dream,” Grian says mildly, breaking Dream out of his own head. It’s an almost friendly tone, but it still sounds ominous.

Dream is instantly proven right when Grian holds out his hand for Tommy to return the borrowed trident. The moment the weapon touches his fingers, he yanks Tommy in front of him, pins him in place from behind, and holds the deadly gleaming trident prongs to the teen’s neck.

“Grian, what--?!” Tommy yelps, then whimpers when Grian roughly jostles the trident.

“No,” Dream breathes. His heart drops into his stomach. “Don’t you dare.”

Grian smiles. “You were right, Dream-- I never cared about Tommy. None of us did. We hermits always want what we can’t have. Diamonds are too easy for us. Netherite means nothing. We saw Tommy, and we knew he was running from the man who owned him. Now we own him. And I’m the one who gets the privilege of killing him, so you can never have him!”

Dream’s face, bare as it is, is painted clear to see with fear. Horrified, he wheezes through his pain with wide eyes. He’s still on the ground.

“Do you have anything to say, Tommy?” Grian asks sweetly. “Any last words for Dream?”

Through teary eyes, Tommy looks down at Dream. He bites his lip, fists his hands in the spare fabric of his pants. “Dream...” he says hesitantly, then grins widely. “Get fucked, green boy!”

The purple runes at their feet flare brightly. Dream snaps his gaze to Xisuma, who has gone completely forgotten in the whirlwind of revelations. Tommy and Grian, who Dream now understands faked the whole hostage situation, both tackle him to keep him from exiting the magic circle.

Dream wakes up when he does not remember ever losing consciousness. He's still in the exact same position was was in last he remembers, so he can't have been out for long. There’s a beat-up guy in armor, a guy in a red sweater, and... Tommy. Oh Lord, Dream thinks, what has he done?

He looks down from the mountain and sees blood and bodies everywhere. He did this. This is his fault.

“Stand down!” he yells as loud as he can. It’s not like it’ll make much of a difference; there’s not many people left alive to stand down.

Grian edges closer to Dream, who still hasn’t gotten up. Dream doubts his legs will support him.

“Hey, shh, we can fix this,” Grian says.

Dream fists his hands in his hair, tears beading in the corners of his eyes. “There’s nothing left to fix! Why aren’t you killing me? Your people are dead, too!”

Xisuma flinches, but Grian’s face hardens slightly. “You’re the admin here,” Grian says, “all you have to do is bring them back.”

“But-- but they-- canon lives--”

Tommy interrupts Dream. “Canon lives?! Who was it that came up with the idea in the first place, huh? Was it you?”

Dream’s shoulders slump and he hangs his head in defeat. “...Yes.”

Grian slaps him upside the head. It’s not hard enough to do any damage, but Dream is already so wrecked that it sends his head spinning.

“Idiot,” Grian says. “It was the dreamon, not you. Nothing’s stopping you from reviving everyone.”

“They’ll just start fighting again,” Dream says, grasping at straws.

Xisuma shrugs, though it looks painful. “Then turn PvP off.”

“...They’ll kill me. I’d deserve it.”

Tommy puts his arm around Dream’s shoulder, helping him sit up all the way. This is so fucked, that the kid-- literal kid-- Dream tortured and manipulated is showing him pity.

“It wasn’t you, who did those things,” Tommy says, as though he can read Dream’s thoughts. Perhaps he can. Dream’s face is very expressive, he knows; it’s part of why he wears the mask in the first place.

“It was, Tommy. You of all people should understand this, you should hate me the most! I remember everything I did to you,” Dream cuts himself off, takes a ragged breath, and continues. “I remember planning out what I did, feeling satisfied with it, the blood was on my hands.”

Tommy frowns sharply, though his arm still hasn’t left Dream’s shoulders. “So that’s it, then? You’re too much of a pussy to even try? If it’s really your fault, then you should be the one to fix your mess.”

Now that, that Dream can understand. He nods shakily, calling up an admin console. “When I’m done, put me in the prison. I don’t want to hurt anyone like this ever again.”

The two hermits look at each other unhappily over Dream and Tommy’s heads, but say nothing. They watch as all across the server, mutilated corpses dissipate into fine white pixels, and people begin to respawn. The hermits and Dream SMP citizens alike raise their weapons, but find that PvP does no damage any longer.

Dream is crying.

“Come with us,” Grian offers on a whim. Xisuma startles, but sees where Grian is going.

“Yeah, why don’t you come to Hermitcraft? You can be alone there.”

“Why can’t I be alone here?” Dream asks sullenly.

Tommy grins. “Think of it like a therapy vacation.” When the two hermits laugh, he laughs with them. “Worked for me, didn’t it?”

Holding out a hand for Dream with deceptive casualness, he waits with bated breath for Dream to take it. Dream hesitates, wondering if he should, if he deserves it.

Fuck it. He may not deserve it, but he wants it. To Hermitcraft he goes.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #dreamwastaken #technoblade #tommyinnit #xisuma #xisumavoid #fundy #itsfundy #hermit!tommy au #me.cpp #me.txt #that-one-engineering-bard

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decennia · 4 years ago

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i give u free reign to infodump ab all of the knights and the og army bc i am vv intrigued agjgssgsh

THERE IS SO MUCH HERE OMFG MORAL OF THIS STORY NEVER ASK ME TO INFO DUMP BECAUSE I WILL TAKE FULL ADVANTAGE OF IT—

I've separated it into sections:

The Knights of Walpurgis, and the motivations for their assigned sins.

Dumbledore's First Resistance, and the motivations for their assigned virtues.

The dynamics between the opposing contenders.

Given the sheer volume of information, I've included a cut. Please enjoy this manip that I am still very proud of.

THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS (later known as Death Eaters) Tom Riddle (Pride)

Pride and arrogance were very large contributing factors to Tom Riddle's downfall in the end, and honestly, the whole idea for the gifset came from Florence + The Machines' Seven Devils playing while casually thinking of Dagrim and Tom, and then about how perfectly Tom would fit as Lucifer.

Dagrim Patil (Avarice)

When questioned about what she wants, and what Riddle promised her in exchange for her unwavering loyalty, her response is, quite simply: everything. Dagrim grew up starved not for affection, but recognition. And what she was denied in childhood, she would take in adulthood by force. Her philosophy is that if something is worth wanting, it is worth taking.

Cantankerous Nott IV (Lust)

We know so little about Theodore Nott's father from the source material, other than he was elderly, and he raised Theo himself. And that he was a Death Eater, of course. His name is an ode to his ancestor, the Cantankerous Nott who created the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood directory. I assigned him "lust" purely for the events leading to the conception of his son (sis, it gets messy).

Abraxas Malfoy (Envy)

Abraxas Malfoy envied Tom Riddle to the point of a half attempted mutiny. He was quickly put in his place, his co-conspirators made examples of, and spared only for his close friendship with Dagrim, who pleaded for his life. Riddle, who trusted Dagrim to a fault for all she'd done to earn it, conceded. Abraxas would later prove himself to Riddle again, regaining his seat among Riddle's favoured generals. He was the one who taught Lucius to never disobey the Dark Lord, and he was not a kind teacher.

Ulysses Mulciber (Gluttony)

Indulgence and excess, spoiled rotten and filthy rich. The Mulcibers were the richest of the Sacred at one point in their lives, rivalled only by the Malfoys. Ulysses never knew the meaning of "enough," and was a glutton not only in all manners of vice, but also for cruelty, dealing it out carelessly with little to no regard for the repercussions he was well protected from by his noble standing and wealth. He was one of Riddle's greatest allies and sponsors, and instrumental in his rise to power.

Carmilla Avery (Wrath)

Carmilla was in the year above Riddle, and was quick to anger and slow to calm. Her temper was legendary, and even her younger brothers – also admitted into the Death Eater ranks – feared her. She had an untempered fury, a rage at the world for no reason at all. She developed an unhealthy codependency with Abraxas Malfoy, who served to have a soothing presence over her. People seldom survive crossing her, as her reputation dictates.

Serafine Lestrange (Sloth)

Serafine is not lazy (as the sin "sloth" would suggest), she just lacks the motivations to pursue the goals that are expected of her. A particularly bright witch, and a wealthy one too, she never applied herself at school for she didn't see the need. Instead, she fell into a fascination of the Dark Arts, where she met Riddle, perusing the Restricted Section. She is rather discontented with life, disillusioned from already such a young age. She initially joins Riddle's gang for the excitement of it all.

DUMBLEDORE'S FIRST RESISTANCE (later known as the Order of the Phoenix in its official conception in 1970)

Albus Dumbledore (Patience)

Name a man more patient than Dumbledore, I'll wait. Better yet, he'll wait, because he's patient as hell. So patient, in fact, he waited until after Harry's supposed death to come to him as a hallucination and tell him about how he was a Horcrux.

Rathin Patil (Temperance)

Temperance is abstinence, and I wanted to explore the kind of toll having his sister so far gone into the dark would have on any man, let alone one who really cared for her and wanted to do right by her. Rathin is not a perfect man, he is still fallible, and unfortunately, he develops a dependent comfort in inebriation when Dagrim disappears with Riddle. He pulls himself back together, especially when he becomes Isaiah Moody's partner at the Ministry, and he begins to pursue Miraya.

Miraya Varma (Diligence)

Methodical and persistent, Miraya Varma earned herself a position at the Ministry immediately out of Hogwarts where she would later go on to form her own task force within the Ministry specifically designed for the interrogation and recommended sentencing of dark wizards and witches. She has been known to put her duty first, up until the birth of her son, Divyansh Patil, father to Padma and Parvati.

Isaiah Moody (Humility)

For a very long time, people seldom knew the Moody name, and that was the way Isaiah liked it. He believed that his line of work would endanger his loved ones (in spite of his wife being in the same profession) and so he never took credit for the numerous arrests he made. It was Isaiah who suspected something was strange about Morfin Gaunt's arrest while investigating the Riddle Massacre, and consulted Dumbledore about it. Once his identity was discovered and he was viewed as a threat by Riddle, an attack was made on his heavily pregnant wife, jeopardizing her and his unborn boy's (Alastor) life.

Minerva McGonagall (Chastity)

Mini Minnie is seventeen, my dudes. But not only that, Minerva grew up with a religious father (he was canonically a reverend), who probably taught her his values. Also given the fact that Minerva was the first of the younger generation to participate and involve herself in the war (she sought out Dumbledore and enlisted herself into his Resistance, fearing her family would be made into another statistic if she didn't at least do something to intervene), she really didn't have much time to think about something as arbitrary as the concept of virginity. Also, it's the 1950s.

Corinne Scamander (Kindness)

Corrine is honestly the greatest. She has all of the tenacity of Tina, and the best qualities of Newt. It was Dumbledore's previous bond with Newt that encouraged him to recruit her, and she willingly accepted, because of course she would. She'd always been the soft spoken girl with a tender touch and a love for life, and she was often the advocate for hope in the resistance. She was adept in a few healing charms she'd learned from her father, and was something of a specialist in magical beings, proving herself to be highly valuable while Riddle was expanding his ranks with all manner of dark creatures.

Declan Diggory (Charity)

Sacrifice is in the Diggory blood, and Cedric's grandfather, Declan, was not the first to prove it. He also, unfortunately, wasn't the last, but he sure was one of the best. Selfless to a fault, Declan would willingly get hypothermia if it meant someone else would have warmth. Diggory's contributions to the war effort consisted of offering sanctuary and shelter to muggleborns who received death threats, and orchestrating the evacuations of targeted muggle residences. He was the leader of a small faction of the resistance, including, but not limited to: Fleamont Potter, Enoch Longbottom, Wilhelm Shacklebolt, and Ramona McKinnon.

DYNAMICS (just the contenders for now because this is hella long)

Albus Dumbledore vs. Tom Riddle

Adversaries, a fair deal of mistrust and guilt from Dumbledore's side (upon reflection, he'd been the one to introduce Tom to the wizarding world; even though he knows that if Riddle had been left unchecked, the risk of him becoming an Obscurus would've resulted in catastrophe all the same). Riddle sees Dumbledore as nothing more than a foolish old man, a pest, and an obstacle to overcome at first, but learns to begrudgingly respect Dumbledore's strength and mastery of magic (after all, Riddle only knew him as the Transfiguration teacher before, and thought the accounts of Dumbledore's victory over Grindelwald had been exaggerated to great effect). Riddle's hubris was believing he could defeat Dumbledore on his own, thinking himself already stronger than Grindelwald ever hoped to be.

Rathin Patil vs. Dagrim Patil

Rathin had always been very protective of Dagrim, and loved her dearly, although his acts of affection were often misinterpreted as pity and condescension. This only served to push them further apart. When Dagrim turned to the Dark Arts and found solace in Riddle, it revolted Rathin, as he was hugely against the corruption the Dark Arts has on the performing witch or wizard, and wouldn't wish it on his worst enemy. He still very much loves her, and it hurts him to fight her. Dagrim, on the other hand, finds catharsis in duelling her brother, believing it to be justice for the way her parents treated her and the little he did to dissuade them.

Miraya Varma vs. Cantankerous Nott

A mutual respect and an academic rivalry, Cantankerous and Miraya were not friends by any means, but not enemies, either. Cantankerous even went as far as to warn Miraya of an impending attack, allowing her to evacuate the building. But although he knows she's clever, he also knows that she's incredibly stubborn, and displayed little surprise to find her awaiting him in the now vacant building. They are equally matched, and their unique relationship spans several decades, even into Cantankerous' failed run at Minister for Magic, and Theodore and the Patil twins' time at Hogwarts. She was present at his trial following the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, and watched as he was sentenced to life in Azkaban for his crimes as a Death Eater.

Isaiah Moody vs. Abraxas Malfoy

Given his profession, Isaiah has a lot of enemies on the Sacred Twenty-Eight who are loyal to the Dark Lord. One such enemy is Abraxas Malfoy. When Tom gets word of Moody's involvement in solving the Riddle Massacre, he sends Malfoy and a newer Death Eater, Evangeline Rosier, to hinder the investigation. Abraxas and Evangeline were responsible for the attack on Isaiah's heavily pregnant wife, who, if she hadn't been an Auror herself, would've never survived. Alastor Moody was prematurely born at St. Mungo's following the attack, and all of Isaiah's efforts were turned on exacting vengeance on those responsible. Malfoy went into hiding, but Isaiah, ruthless, managed to hunt down Rosier. She died under questioning, setting in motion a vicious cycle of vengeance between the Moodys and Rosiers. Once Isaiah had been killed by Evangeline's brother (Evan [who was named after her] Rosier's father), Abraxas deemed it safe to rejoin society.

Minerva McGonagall vs. Ulysses Mulciber

On the list of things Ulysses loathes, he would put half-bloods above muggleborns (although he turns a blind eye to his Dark Lord's blood status when it conveniences him). Half-bloods only serve as a reminder of the lowest and weakest of his kind; the unworthy muggleborns, the lecherous blood traitors, the vermin muggles. Mulciber prides himself as something of a "purifier," and finds great enjoyment in pruning family trees that have been poisoned by muggle blood into purity once more. He takes a great interest in Minerva McGonagall, given that she is an incredibly powerful witch at such a young age, and he wonders how glorious she would've been had she been a pureblood (a twisted and untrue belief among the Sacred Twenty-Eight during that time). Minerva, the threat of Mulciber weighing heavily on her, places her family under Dumbledore's protection. She vows to stop Mulciber and his perverse idea of justice.

Corinne Scamander vs. Carmilla Avery

It didn't take much to enrage Carmilla Avery, and Corinne had been caught in the tempest Carmilla's fury since the day they'd met. Carmilla, who took great pleasure in picking on people she deemed lesser, made a target out of Corinne, perceiving her kindness for weakness. During their time at Hogwarts, Corinne had gained the attention of Avery for being a blood traitor and a muggle sympathizer, which only strengthened Carmilla's vindication. Corinne, who had been friends with Rubeus Hagrid prior to his expulsion, and who had almost fallen prey to the basilisk when she had heard Myrtle Warren's cries from the bathroom, never lowered herself to Carmilla's level nor did she rise to any of the challenges. This hurt Avery's ego, as she thought this was Corinne's way of claiming herself better than her. It wasn't until after Hogwarts that Carmilla's growing resentment came to a head, and, without the protection the school offered Corinne, Carmilla was looking to finally put an end to the blood traitor line of Scamander.

Declan Diggory vs. Serafine Lestrange

Declan and Serafine were childhood friends who drifted apart during their time at Hogwarts, particularly when she fell in with Riddle's crowd. She is viewed by Dumbledore as having the power to sway the entire outcome of the war, for if Serafine could be persuaded into leaving Riddle, her cousins (one of whom is the father of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange) would surely comply, and the families who held the Lestranges in high regard would be inclined to follow. This makes Declan and Serafine key pieces in Dumbledore's game of strategy. However, Serafine was disowned long before she defected from the Death Eaters, leaving the Lestranges firmly in Riddle's grasp. Although Serafine claimed to feel nothing for Diggory, she still refused to deal any real harm to him when they duel, in spite of having ample opportunity to do so; something which Riddle picked up on. She was later forced to torture Declan in front of him to prove her loyalty to the Dark Lord, something which Declan permitted her to do, knowing she had very little choice in the matter. He was left for dead, but Serafine would later secretly return with Corinne to get him medical attention. She gives her son, Francis, "Declan" as a middle name.

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red-talisman · 4 years ago

Text

Some random, unbetaed snippets set during the Siji Manor arc in which I'm trying to process my Feelings about these two and about Wen Kexing's backstory. Spoilers for eps...mid-20s onward, I think, show canon only. CW for loudly implied, past, severe child abuse.

Even though Zhou Zishu has never slept so deeply beside another person since his master was still alive, he's too well-trained to forget just how dangerous the person at his side, ironically, actually is.

Every so often (when Chengling says something especially innocent, when sunlight glances a particular way off a kitchen knife, when Zhou Zishu smiles unprompted) he'll see Wen Kexing's eyes widen and his face go strangely blank, like a performer caught in the middle of switching out masks behind the curtain. It's the blankness that Zhou Zishu recognizes from the moments when Wen Kexing casually sets aside his gentlemanly front and leaves corpses in his wake.

The second most horrifying thing about it is the fact that Zhou Zishu can't sense any change in his qi - no focused heaviness of killing intent, no ozone tang of impending violence like a lightning strike. It's not because of the Nails slowly destroying his senses, either, but rather that this means Wen Kexing is either constantly on the edge of violence or the violence has simply settled so deeply that it's indistinguishable from his resting qi state.

The most horrifying thing about it, though, is what that implies about the years in which his shidi had been taken from him.

"In a faraway land," Wen Kexing whispers to him one night across the landscape of blankets between them, "there was a little dog who was taken by a demon king. One day, the demon king put him a cage with the other dogs, some little and some less so, with no food. When all the dogs cried for something to fill their bellies, the demon king laughed and told them that they had all the food they needed right there in the cage with them. The next morning, only the little dog was still alive, and he wasn't hungry any more. When the little dog begged to be let out, the demon king laughed again and said there was no need for that when there was still plenty of food left."

Earlier that day, Chengling had asked Wen Kexing where he learned to cook so well when not even the aunties in his sect knew how to use spices to cover the taste of meat that was still edible but on the edge of turning sour.

Wen Kexing stares at Zhou Zishu in the dim light of a lantern left by the window, eyes wide but his face not blank at all. Zhou Zishu smiles like a cracked window and reaches over to push the hair out of his face, letting his palm rest kindly on a sharp cheekbone.

The first time that the casual intimacy between them turns heated and hands slide inside of clothing, Zhou Zishu has to take a moment to chase down and silence the ghosts in his own head. When he finally lets out a breath and meets Wen Kexing's gaze, he realizes that the distance between them has suddenly widened into an abyss that he can't see the bottom of.

Without knowing where the traps are hidden, Zhou Zishu casually lets his body tilt against Wen Kexing's in a way that puts Wen Kexing at a higher eye level and doesn't block the range of either of his hands. There's a tension in Wen Kexing's body that makes Zhou Zishu's instincts want to reach for a weapon rather than a belt.

"Don't think this will get you out of making breakfast in the morning," Zhou Zishu scolds into Wen Kexing's shoulder, his teeth a relatively safe handspan away from Wen Kexing's throat, as though nothing fundamental between them has changed. Nothing has, really.

It takes a few breaths, but eventually Wen Kexing's body relaxes with the same careful mindfulness. "Wah, A-Xu," he whines, sounding almost normal, "my A-Xu, so cruel!"

Zhou Zishu scoffs. "Only when you want me to be, you spoiled brat."

Instead of the dramatic wailing that he expects, there's a pause, and then Zhou Zishu feels Wen Kexing silently shove his face into the thick hair piled loosely on top on Zhou Zishu's head and his arms under the shamelessly disheveled top layer of his robe.

It should feel weird or even invasive; Zhou Zishu has never been in the habit of so much touch unless it was for a mission or getting an excess of yang energy taken care of as efficiently as business allowed. But it doesn't, and to his own surprise and mixed emotions, he finds himself relaxing - naturally, this time- into the curl of Wen Kexing's body.

("It was never about pleasure, before," Wen Kexing whispers to him when there's no moon or lantern to soften the darkness.

(Zhou Zishu...could respond in a lot of different ways to everything that isn't being said. But it's late, and the Nails are aching, and neither of them can change the past.

("I don't know much about that either, but we have time to figure it out," he sighs drowsily.)

A small bird startles Zhou Zishu after lunch in the west courtyard. His senses of smell and taste are the worst by far, but sometimes his hearing will dip unexpectedly and the only way he can hide it is through lip-reading and suppressing any outward reaction. But when he doesn't hear the rustle of tiny wings, the sudden dart of the bird across his slowly narrowing peripheral vision makes him twitch and drop his wine cup.

Without missing a beat, Wen Kexing picks up a shelled piece of walnut from his stash and flicks it at the bird. The bird drops to the ground, dead.

"Well," says Zhou Zishu, reaching for the wine pot, "I suppose we have part of our dinner decided, then."

Wen Kexing blinks at him, then at the bird. Zhou Zishu wonders if he had even intended to act.

"A-Xu," he says, something evaluative in his tone, "how could you be so reckless? What if it'd been an assassin's bird? Or a messenger between two of our many enemies?"

"Then living here on a remote mountain surrounded by trees and wildlife is suddenly going to get a lot more interesting," he replies dryly.

"Perhaps I'll make you a feather bed, sewn with the finest silks and stuffed with only the softest feathers of our enemies' spies." Wen Kexing leans forward on an elbow over the table. "Perhaps I'll make lanterns from our enemies' skullcaps and the fat of their flesh to light your way at night so that you'll never stumble again. I'll set their heads on spears around the walls to scare away the evil spirits from your dreams."

"Aiya, what kind of man do you think I am that you would offer such ridiculous things?" This isn't about 'things' at all, Zhou Zishu knows, and doesn't look away from the bloody claws being held out in challenge. "I have my first shidi and my first disciple in the home of our master. What need do I have for anything else? If you want such things, you can take them somewhere else and come back when you're ready to be sensible about what I need."

Wen Kexing watches Zhou Zishu reach out to pick up one of his hands, turning it over to bare the wrist. They both know that, like this, even with half his martial arts gone, Zhou Zishu could slice through tendon and bone, open up a primary vein, block several key acupoints that would damage his internal energy before Wen Kexing could stop him.

Instead, Wen Kexing smiles and presses his bare wrist more firmly against Zhou Zishu's fingers. "I suppose A-Xu is right," he says softly.

#word of honor #shl #wenzhou #jukebox fic #i can't stop thinking about the implications of wkx's backstory with ghost valley #and also i need more exploration of zzs' own trauma #there are some interesting similarities and sharp differences between their respective histories #that could provide such interesting character studies argh #shl spoilers

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the-widow-sisters · 3 years ago

Text

Returning the Favor

Summary: After Natasha and Yelena decided they needed to go find Alexei, Natasha ends up stopping the car at a small, rundown inn so the two of them can rest. When they are getting ready for bed, Yelena is reminded of all those ugly marks on Natasha's back, and she feels compelled to try to help in some way. Strangely enough, Natasha accepts her help. Canon compliant.

Word Count: 3120

The women had been driving for quite some time that evening and had fallen into a mostly comfortable silence as Natasha focused on driving and Yelena mentally celebrated the fact that Natasha actually liked her vest that she was so proud of.

However, they both were extremely exhausted by now, and they had started looking for places to stop and stay.

After several minutes of searching, Natasha finally pulled in and stopped at a small, rundown inn that looked like one of the sleaziest spots in town.

“It’s not the Ritz Carlton, but it’ll do,” Natasha muttered under her breath as she unbuckled her seat belt, and Yelena glanced at her with some confusion, trying not to let too much of the emotion invade her features. The last thing that she wanted to do was look uneducated or unknowing in front of Natasha.

“I’ve slept in worse places,” Yelena finally settled for wryly admitting, and Natasha just looked at her with something that resembled guilt. However, it was gone as soon as it appeared, and they both got out of the car, heading for the front of the little inn.

Yelena just lingered near Natasha as the redhead asked for a room for the both of them, and she took a moment to analyze anyone she saw and the general area. She needed to make sure that the both of them would not be compromised or caught.

In the midst of her pre-planning, she had not realized that Natasha had finished getting a room.

“Hey, did you hear me?” Natasha called, and Yelena looked quickly at Natasha, silently questioning what she needed.

“What?”

“Can you go get our bag?” Natasha questioned, and Yelena somewhat begrudgingly nodded in agreeance, not really sure if she liked being the bag-fetcher, but she complied as Natasha chucked the keys in her direction. Yelena caught them easily.

“We’re in room 19. It’s only got one bed, but we’ll figure something out,” Natasha told her with all the calmness in the world. Yelena, however, was still stuck on the fact that she and the older woman were going to be sharing a bed.

It was something that she longed for throughout her many years in the Red Room, wishing they could be like they were as kids when they would crawl in bed together and wrap their arms around each other. She really needed that comfort through the horrors and tragedies she had to endure. Now that she was actually going to get her wish, she was feeling more anxious about it than anything. Things were not the same with her and Natasha, and she could not get a good read on the redhead.

Nevertheless, she decided to just go and get the bag and worry about the bed arrangements later.

Once she headed up to the room with the bag slung over her arm, she quickly noticed that Natasha had already peeled the bedcovers back and was about to sit on the edge of the bed and remove her shoes. It was then that Yelena truly considered something that she should have thought of beforehand. Yelena just stood stock still, her eyes shifting about as she scanned the room. Natasha seemed to realize her tenseness and spoke.

“What?”

“We need to check for cameras,” Yelena spoke quietly, worrying they could be heard.

“I already did,” Natasha immediately assured her, and Yelena found herself surprised that the redhead had bothered with it. She would have assumed that Natasha was long over even remotely thinking of that sort of thing.

She guessed some habits just never die.

“Well, aren’t you ever the golden child?” Yelena muttered under her breath, a tiny bit of bitterness easing into her tone but mostly finding herself filled with some strange sense of being cared for.

Yelena shook those thoughts from her head, remembering the reality of their situation. Yelena uncomfortably stood near her side of the bed, already feeling her stomach twist with the fact that she was going to have to share a bed with someone that she so desperately wanted to get close to and that seemed to not really want her all that close.

Once she kicked her shoes off, she looked back up in Natasha’s direction, just watching her as she tiredly removed her own shoes. Her eyes swiftly locked onto the bit of skin on her back that was exposed as she bent over slightly. Yelena felt her heart ache as she was intensely reminded of the bruises covering Natasha’s back in giant, hideous splotches.

It made her hurt, and now that the image was back in her head, she could not quite get it out. It was bothering her relentlessly, and she quickly considered the possibilities and how she could at least get a better look at the marks.

It was then that she thought of the perfect excuse. Yelena cleared her throat a bit.

“Hey, um… Since you bandaged my arm earlier… I was wondering if you wanted me to take a look at your back? You know, returning the favor and all,” Yelena offered, forcing a sense of casualness and nonchalance in her voice when she was really feeling something much more overwhelming. It constricted in her chest, squeezing her heart as she made the tender offer to someone that she somehow adored despite the fact that she had not seen her in years and years.

She could see Natasha stiffen a bit from her position sitting on the edge of the opposite side of the bed. Yelena just watched her carefully, feeling sure that the redhead was going to turn her down.

Honestly, she was beginning to regret asking her at all. She knew that it probably sounded weird, and it honestly made her feel a little weird to say anything at all. However, all she knew was that every time she looked at Natasha’s jacket-covered back, all she could think about was the ugly bruises that she had caught sight of when they were at the safehouse. Even now, Natasha’s thin, black shirt did little to take the image from Yelena’s mind.

She was about to add onto her last statement and try to write it off as a joke or something until Natasha suddenly replied.

“If you want,” Natasha consented, her head turning to the side as she glanced in the blonde’s direction. Yelena awkwardly shuffled over, easing onto the bed behind the redheaded woman. She paused for just a moment before touching the older woman’s shirt, trying to gather her nerve.

It had been so long since she had been so close with Natasha. Granted, they had their close-combat fight from earlier, but she was completely and terribly out of practice as far as peaceful, intimate contact with this person that was somehow so important to her.

Some part of her was weirded out by the whole thing, but another, somehow louder part of her was screaming how right it felt and how much she just wanted to hug the person in front of her, regardless of the anger, hurt, and many other mixed emotions that had been running through her rampantly.

Yelena gently looped her fingers around the hem of Natasha’s shirt and pulled up. She kept going until the shirt hung itself around Natasha’s shoulders, exposing the ugly marring that had been concealed beneath the fabric. It was then that she realized that Natasha’s back was not just bruised but there was also some raw skin there that was just starting to heal a little.

Almost before she could think better of it or control herself, Yelena reached her free hand out to Natasha’s back, gently touching the ugly purple-red splotches with the most feather-light contact she could muster.

Her astute observational skills did not miss how the muscles of Natasha’s back tensed up with the contact. However, other than that, the redhead showed no resistance to her. Yelena trailed her fingers down the older woman’s back, feeling the skin, muscle, scar, bruising and raw flesh that was there.

To her surprise, there was an ugly scar on the lower part of Natasha’s back, and Yelena ran her thumb over it gently, noticing how the skin on it was peeling up some. It was no doubt reopened somewhat from her activity throughout the day and the amount of falling and scrapes they had. Natasha never moved out from under her touch, and she actually hardly moved at all outside of the controlled breaths she was taking.

The sight of these things made her stomach flip and her chest hurt. And she could not help but feel extremely guilty for her own actions earlier. She knew she could not have made these wounds any better by slamming Natasha into every wall she could find. The guilt was almost stifling, and it made her irrational.

So irrational that Yelena felt a tug in her to just hug the redhead from behind. But she pushed away that urge as quickly as it came, negating it and shoving it in some locked part of herself. However, much to her frustration, it still lingered a bit within her despite her best efforts.

“You’ve got a lot of booboos,” Yelena muttered under her breath, trying to bring at least a hint of levity to the situation since she was so uncomfortable with her own feelings. Natasha huffed a bit, her muscles in her back moving just a bit with the contraction of her chest.

“Booboos seem to be the thing that I have most of,” Natasha replied softly, her voice some mix of bitterness and a poor attempt at a reciprocation of Yelena’s humor. However, it came out much more tense than it should have, and Yelena found herself at a loss as to what to say.

Things quickly grew quiet again, falling back into that awkward silence between them. Yelena knew logically that there was nothing that she could do for the bruises and raw places on Natasha’s back, but she still felt her heart aching as if she needed to do something.

“There’s some antibiotic ointment in the bag over there,” Natasha pointed out suddenly, almost as if she sensed Yelena’s difficulty and hesitance to leave Natasha in her current state without some sort of attention.

“I bought it earlier,” Natasha explained simply, her voice quiet as she explained its presence. Yelena hesitated for a moment more before heading over to the bag and searching through it, pulling out the ointment and then heading back to Natasha.

She knew the redhead was doing this mostly for Yelena’s benefit since the antibiotic ointment was not going to do much for the places on Natasha’s back. However, she desperately hoped that Natasha did not see through her motives and realize that she just wanted to be close with her. It was hard enough for Yelena to admit to herself, and she could not imagine the humiliation if Natasha found out about it.

Yelena sat just behind Natasha, her legs folded together as she opened the container and placed it between her legs. She then reached a hand up to help keep the shirt in place where it was bunched up around Natasha’s shoulders.

Yelena dipped her free hand in the ointment, making sure her fingers were coated with the sticky stuff. She then hesitated for just a moment, hovering over Natasha’s shoulder blade. She waited for a long moment, trying to gather the nerve, and once she finally managed to get just enough courage, she made contact with Natasha’s skin.

Natasha let out a breath that was not quite a hiss, but it was definitely a sigh of discomfort and slight pain. Yelena knew that the stuff was not made to burn, but she also knew that sometimes medication burned anyway despite what it said on the container. She did not reply with an apology, knowing it would do no good. Plus, she could not exactly trust her voice to work at this moment.

Yelena worked at the place gently with her fingers, rubbing the ointment into Natasha’s skin and trying to get the stuff to actually sink in some so it could help her sister. Natasha loosened gradually as Yelena almost massaged her back.

The blonde ran her palm over the wound, trying to spread the ointment across her back. There were very few raw places on Natasha’s back but when she hit one, Natasha’s muscles would tense slightly before relaxing considerably.

Yelena then moved across Natasha’s back to the other shoulder, rubbing a small bit across the relatively small abrasion there. Natasha did not react to that one, and she assumed it was mostly just bruising.

When Yelena moved down to the lower parts of her back, however, Natasha stiffened quite a bit, the quietest of noises escaping her. If Yelena had not been trained to listen for things as she had, she would have definitely missed it.

Yelena ached to do or say something that might ease the pain, but she had no idea what. She just settled for rubbing the stuff more gently and speeding up her work over the area. She then dabbed a bit of the ointment on her index finger before rubbing it on Natasha’s scar. She knew that there was not much reason to do it there, but she somehow wanted to let Natasha know that she was paying attention and that she cared.

Natasha had been extremely hardened to her throughout their time together so far, but she had caught small glimpses of Natasha just looking at her with something that was infuriatingly real. Something that was completely opposite of the words that Natasha kept repeating and seemed to have taken up as her mantra.

You weren’t really my sister.

That stung more than anything that Yelena had heard in years. It had come from someone so close to her, someone that she absolutely loved so much that it hurt. The only thing that had eased the pain was the way that Natasha kept gazing at her with that tender, loving, soft look in her eyes. Of course, every time she looked in Natasha’s direction in an attempt to get a better look at the expression, Natasha returned to her calculating, quietly brooding countenance.

She never said anything to acknowledge it, but she would stare at Natasha for a long moment to silently inform Natasha that she was indeed paying attention and knew that she secretly cared still.

Her returning stares must have done something, because when Natasha bandaged her arm that evening, Natasha had that love and care in her eyes that she had been trying so desperately to hide. It was not as strong as it could have been, but it was still plenty enough to make Yelena’s heart hurt with the need to be close with the person that she considered to be her sister.

“How bad is it back there?” Natasha questioned, and it was then that Yelena realized how long she had been focusing on Natasha’s back. Yelena pulled her hand away quickly as if she had been burned and used her clean hand to pull down Natasha’s shirt over the wounds carefully.

“You look like someone tied you to the back of a truck and drug you behind them on the road,” Yelena informed her simply, trying to keep the small note of worry out of her voice and finding that she was failing miserably.

“That’s reassuring,” Natasha replied, her voice completely deadpan, and Yelena smirked a tiny bit as she headed for the bathroom to wash her hands.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Yelena responded with just as much sarcasm in her tone as Natasha had used. Once she had cleaned her hands, she headed back into the room, feeling her muscles growing a little tired from the events of the day. Natasha had already moved into the bed, laying on her side comfortably as she faced the wall. Yelena moved onto her side, sliding underneath the blankets and positioning herself.

However, Yelena bristled just a little as she realized that there were too many ways for people with ill intentions to easily get in. There was a window near Natasha on her side of the bed, and Yelena’s side of the bed was not far from the door. It made her terribly uncomfortable as soon as she actually considered the arrangement.

“I’ll take the first watch if you want,” Natasha offered quietly, and Yelena felt something in her chest melt. Natasha somehow knew that Yelena was uncomfortable and nervous, and it made Yelena feel strangely vulnerable and naked for the woman to be so well aware of it.

“No, I can. You’ve had a longer day than me,” Yelena expressed.

“We literally did the exact same things today,” Natasha informed her, and Yelena could hear the slightest hints of a smile in her voice.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t the one that fell and hit literally everything on the way down,” Yelena acknowledged, rolling over on her side to face Natasha. To her surprise, the redhead was already laying on her back and looking in her direction. Yelena’s mind was quickly overtaken with the almost completely undisguised affection in Natasha’s eyes.

This time was sort of like earlier that night, but it was so much stronger.

“I also was the one that landed on my feet when I hit the ground,” Natasha teasingly spoke, her voice soft, and Yelena was shaken from her stupor. She rolled her eyes, huffing slightly as she shrugged in response to the redhead.

“Fine, you take the first watch. Just make sure to wake me up so you can get some sleep, too,” Yelena informed her, turning her back to the redhead so she could face the door as they slept. Natasha did not move for a long moment, and Yelena could practically feel her gaze. The last thing the blonde was aware of was when the mattress shifted a bit as the older woman sat up in the bed to keep watch.

To her pure surprise, when Natasha woke her up for her turn to watch, Yelena realized that she had rested more well than she had in years and years. She could not remember a time that she slept so soundly without some sort of sedative.

As Natasha laid down in her place and started to try to sleep, Yelena could not help but marvel at the woman resting there quietly.

Somehow, although they had been separated for years now and things were somewhat awkward between them, Natasha still managed to make her feel safer than she ever had.

And that made some of her leftover anger and bitterness dissipate.

#yelena belova #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #black widow #widow sisters #marvel #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #black widow fic #black widow fanfic #black widow fanfiction #family #sharing a bed #gen fic

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ptersparkers · 5 years ago

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affection

summary: the two times jj maybank had rejected the affections of others and the one time he welcomed it.

warnings: hints at abuse (it’s not mentioned at all but it’s canon with jj’s relationship with is dad) and typos, probably.

(not my gif, i’m having trouble finding the editor)

add yourself to my taglist!

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” Pope warned the blonde tourist when she said she was going to say hello to him. By her posture, attitude, and everything about her, he knew she was going to try to get his attention in a promiscuous fashion.

“C’mon,” she said, jutting her bottom lip out. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. JJ had engaged in small talk with her at last night’s party, but it didn’t go beyond speaking casually. You had arrived only to give John B. the towel that you had borrowed and left but JJ tried to catch up with you.

“He doesn’t like to be touched or hugged,” he said casually, leaning against a tree that hid him under the hot North Carolinian sun.

“That’s not what I saw last night,” the blonde said, smirking as if she knew him better than his best friend since childhood.

“Delusional,” Pope muttered as she began to walk away. John B. had come back outside with two water bottles in his hand and gave Pope one when he saw a stranger attempt, and failed, to get JJ’s attention by caressing his shoulder.

He jumped back and knocked over the cleaning supplied for the surfboard he was working on. The girl gasped at his sudden expression and apologized over and over again before stumbling out of the space, not daring to look at Pope who hadn’t bothered to hold in a laugh.

“Jesus,” JJ cursed.

***

“Maybe my boredom will be cured if I walked into the ocean,” JJ said casually. Kiara had been scrolling on her phone for the past twenty minutes, waiting for John B. to set up the party in the boneyard.

“That’s dangerous,” Kiara said, not looking up from her screen.

“I’m so bored,” he said. “The sun’s not even down and the tourists are gonna be the same oblivious shits they always are.”

“That’s why you get drunk, JJ,” she said. “Tourists suck but it’s nice to escape for a little while.”

“Do you know when Y/N’s gonna be back from her shift?”

“I think at nine,” she said. “She’s gonna swing by for a little bit and play it by ear.”

“Okay,” he said, not wanting to press any further.

When the sun eventually set and the air became a little cooler, three bond fires were lit and the place was scattered with teenage tourists who were looking for a good time and to party with the locals. It was no secret that JJ had previously enjoyed his trysts and used to have no attached feelings with people who would be leaving within a week or two. It seemed that the girls who came to the parties knew he would be there and it was almost like they had a secret game of who could catch his attention and who would last long enough flirting and, eventually, being led away from the party.

It wasn’t like that every night. But sometimes, buzzed girls get brave when it comes to seeing someone they want to spend the night with.

“Wow,” one girl said, laughing at whatever nonsense JJ had said. “It sounds like you and your friends get into a lot of trouble around here.”

He laughed and took a swig of his beer. “I wouldn’t call it trouble.”

“What would you call it?”

“I’d say we’re adventurous,” he replied. John B. could see a few girls hanging around JJ’s every word in hopes that they were going to get lucky that night but he had to laugh at the futile attempts to seem like they were more worthy than anyone else at the party.

“How long do you think they’ll last?” you asked, approaching John B. and standing next to him, leaning on a wooden fence.

“Not even ten minutes,” he said. “They’ve been eyeing him like the last piece of meat.”

“Don’t they always?”

“What’s up with you nowadays?” John B. asked. “You’ve been working a lot more these past two weeks.”

“One of my coworkers got food poisoning and I offered to cover her shifts,” you said, sighing. “I’m kind of exhausted but this ends tomorrow because she’s coming back to work and I’m ecstatic to relax and hang out with you guys.” John B. nudged your shoulder and you two shared a laugh. The sibling-like bond strengthened with every heart-to-heart conversation you two had.

“I think we’re all starting to go insane when you’re not here,” he confessed. “Kie’s getting annoyed with us. Pope keeps forgetting to bring snacks. JJ’s complaining that he has no one to talk shit about us with.”

You laughed. “And you?”

“I have no one to annoy, duh,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I think I need to sleep for a month straight before I do anything else,” you said. “Or at least have some time to take a decent nap without it being too hot to sleep.”

The conversation died down when you watched ahead and saw that JJ had tried his best to avoid the advances of the raven-haired girl when she tried to put her hand on his cheek. You had to admit, you felt bad for the girl when you saw the others she was surrounded by snicker, but you all knew they’d eventually try their hand at getting JJ alone for the night.

JJ made up some excuse to leave them sitting by the branches and approached the two of you.

“I’m gonna head back,” JJ said. “Too tired for this shit.”

“Get some sleep,” you said in concern, handing JJ his jacket that was resting beside John B.

“It’s really good to see you,” JJ said, backing away. “I’m sorry, those girls kinda freaked me out so I’m gonna go. I’ll see you guys tomorrow?”

You and John B. nodded and waved goodbye, watching him disappear into the dark.

***

“You busy?” a redhead asked, sauntering to where JJ and John B. were sitting. The Wreck wasn’t as busy in the late mornings before the lunch rush on Tuesdays and the two were sitting by the bar, enjoying complementary smoothies that Kie had given out. A group of girls were sitting not too far behind, seemingly encouraging her to behavior.

“Kind of,” he said, averting his gaze.

“I saw you at the party last night,” she began. “I wanted to say hi but you left before I could.”

“Just had a lot of things on my mind,” he said nonchalantly as John B. desperately resisted telling this girl to leave them alone.

“Well, would you want to come walk by the beach with me?” The redhead looked back briefly at her friends, who were giving her a thumbs up.

“No thanks,” he said with a fake grin. “But thanks for the offer.”

The redhead, defeated, walked back to her friends without another word.

You walked into The Wreck with a bikini top and jean shorts that were nearly soaked, Sarah trailing behind you. You had just come from a surfing session and convinced her to come out with you that morning before deciding to meet up with JJ and John B. at the restaurant for lunch.

“I’m starved,” you said as Sarah left the room to go and use the restroom. JJ turned his head at your voice and grinned as you walked over to him, your arms stretched out to give him a loving embrace. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and peppered it with loving kisses.

“I missed you. I think you should quit your job and only hang out with me.”

You laughed and pulled him from your body, moving wisps of hair from his eyes before stroking his cheek with your thumb. His eyes were trained on yours and you kissed the tip of his nose, which left JJ a blushing mess.

“Oh, come on!” you heard someone yell from behind you. You turned around to see four girls frowning towards you.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked.

“Other than be JJ’s girlfriend, I don’t think so,” John B. said, amused.

“Whatever,” you said, turning back around and planting a kiss on his lips for all to see.

“That’s my girl,” JJ said when you two parted, squeezing your hip.

“Anyway,” Sarah said, clapping her hands, “I’m starved and the food Kie’s making is not going to eat itself.”

You had to admit, while it was amusing to watch girls try to get on JJ’s good side, it was increasingly annoying when you noticed just how much people took notice of him. Was he good looking? Absolutely. Was his body sculpted by the gods? Of course. Was he your boyfriend and not some one night stand a tourist could enjoy? Why, yes.

There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that JJ would reject any advances that came his way nor would he ever entertain the idea of doing something that would end up with both of your hearts broken. JJ wasn’t stupid; he had spend so long pining after you and finding the right time to tell you how he felt to even think about dating anyone else, much less a tourist who didn’t mean anything to him.

He was yours and you were his. Simple as that.

#jj maybank #my writing #affection

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fific7 · 4 years ago

Text

Dangerous and Divine - Part 4

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly fluff with a bit of lemon zest 🍋 The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral sex, between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

(My GIF)

“Angel....” he sighed.

“Billy....” you smiled lazily, “...you’re such a big sap.” His barking laugh rang out loud in the room.

He rolled off you, laying on his back, stretching and turning his head to look at you, smiling. “Not somethin’ you should really be sayin’ to an ex-Marine, sweetheart.” You shrugged, “Not if it’s true.” “So, first I’m a puppydog and now I’m a big sap?” You nodded, “Yes. Yes, you are.” He rolled back onto you, kissing you again. “Okay, okay, I’m a big sap. But not a puppydog, alright?”

“Oh, alright,” you grumbled, pushing back an errant lock of that hair. Then you ran your fingers through the whole lush mass of it. He grinned, “You really like my hair, hmmm?” You were still playing with it. “Yeah. So what if I do?” He shook his head forward, so that several strands of it tickled your face. “Another little thing I know about you now.” You blew the strands off, and began pushing them back over his brow again. “Gonna use it against me, Russo?” He chuckled, “You bet.”

He rolled away and stood up next to the bed, pulling the condom off and knotting it before throwing it casually into a bin under the bedside table. A nasty little voice in your head muttered, strategically placed bin, looked very practiced doing that, you sure he doesn’t bring women back here? Oh shut up, you silently answered.

“Like some more wine?” You nodded, so he strolled out of the bedroom (you were totally watching that tight ass walk away) and returned a few moments later holding two glasses. He held one out to you, which you took and sipped from. Really good wine, you thought.

He lay down next to you, taking a drink of his own wine and just gazing at you. “What?” you asked. “What?” he parroted back at you. You poked his shoulder, “Why are you staring at me like that?” He took another drink, eyes never leaving yours over the rim of the glass. “So I can’t just sit and look at my beautiful girlfriend?” You laughed out loud, “What?! Did you just use the G word, Russo? You’re joking, right?” He grinned back at you, “Are you sayin’ you don’t wanna be my girlfriend?” You were surprised to see his grin fade a little the longer you gazed back at him.

Sitting up straighter, you said, “Billy.... tell me you are joking with me? We’ve known each other for like, 5 minutes! And you’re a player, and a very busy boy and I’m a very busy girl. I like you, I really do... but this is all just a bit of fun between us, right?...what else could it be at this stage?” You were surprised when a real frown appeared on his handsome face and he looked away from you. He sat up, resting his wrists on his raised knees, wine glass dangling between them from his long fingers.

“What else...?” He turned his head to look at you, “...somethin’ real. Maybe you don’t, but I feel a deep connection between us, even this early in. Like, I can be myself with you. Without all the bullshit.” You took a long sip of your wine, maintaining eye contact, considering what he’d just said. You reached out and ran your thumb across his bristly chin. “I do think we clicked, Billy. And I’d like to see you again, if you want to.” His fingers went to your thumb where it lingered on his face, and he stroked your skin. “Yes, I do want to. And I want to keep doing this. I mean... us sleeping together.” You laughed, “Now why am I not surprised?” He gave you a small, almost shy smile, “Okay, then.” He put his wine glass on the bedside table and lay back down, propping himself up on an elbow, “You gonna stay the night?”

Taking another sip of your wine, you nodded, “Yeah, think I will. See? I’m even willing to do the walk of shame I promised myself I wouldn’t do for you, Billy.” Now a big genuine grin from him beamed its way to you, “I’m honoured.” “Yes, you should be,” you said, smirking and leaning forward to kiss him softly.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You and Billy had disappeared under the covers after that, kissing, touching and eventually snuggling into each other before you fell asleep. Waking first in the morning, you looked across the pillow at the exquisite vision that was Sleeping Russo. His face was relaxed and peaceful, his hair tousled and laying over his forehead, lips ever so slightly parted - you could just hear him giving out tiny little breathy snores. He had one arm thrown over your hips, pinning you against him.

Thinking over what he’d said last night, you allowed yourself to be a bit overwhelmed by it. You still weren’t really sure that he’d been serious, but it had sounded like it. Calling you his girlfriend after knowing you for only a few days? That was way too soon, and also didn’t sit well with his super-confident ‘I’m a CEO - look at me - how fuckable am I?’ persona. And you’d seen the reactions of the women in that bar on your first ‘date’, and even in the restaurant yesterday evening.

The eyes of every woman in the place had been pulled towards Billy like a magnetic force was in play as he’d walked in with you. Then their eyes had flickered over you with something close to disdain. Yeah, thanks for looking at me as if I’m a piece of trash. Well, you mentally shrugged, sorry bitches, I’m the one who got to go home with him. And then got to have him.

A tingle ran right through you as your memory provided a reel of you and Billy having sex. Then your mind went back to the ‘girlfriend’ thing, and you couldn’t deny that it gave you a little bit of a thrill that he’d actually said that. But then that annoyingly sensible part of your brain said, “Hey, just chill! Take things easy, see where it goes.” You tried to ignore the other side which was yelling, “Go for it! Tell him hell yes you’ll be his girlfriend.”

You extricated yourself from underneath Billy’s arm and headed to the bathroom, pulling his long white tank undershirt on as you went. Mmmm.. your nose said, Aroma di Russo. Looking into the bathroom mirror, you decided you looked like you’d gone several rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson.

Trying to repair the damage somewhat, you washed your face, swirled some toothpaste round your winey-breathed mouth followed by a ‘rock chick head banging’ rearrangement of your hair. Well now you just looked like Lady Gaga on a bad day. Shrugging, you padded back through to the bedroom, finding a pair of dark chocolate eyes regarding you from the bed as you walked in.

‘Buon giorno,” you smiled at him, getting a big smile back in return, his eyes now sparkling with mischief. “Mornin’ to you too, angel. Uhhh... now what was it someone was sayin’ to me last night about matching clothes?” “Ha ha smartass.. we are not matching, I am wearing one item of your clothing.” Chuckling, he beckoned you back to the bed, but you shook your head, “I better get going, Billy, it’s later than I thought.” You’d been a little surprised to find out it was 10am, you never slept that late - well, not recently since you’d had your own business to run. “It’s Saturday!” he protested, “Where have you gotta be so urgently on a Saturday?”

“I always check in at both cafés on a Saturday morning, it’s our busiest day. And help out if needed.” He contemplated you from his position lazing on the pillows, “A hands-on boss. I’m impressed. I like to be hands-on too.” He saw you rolling your eyes and he said, “Hey! I am actually talking about my business practices here!” You laughed, “OK, OK, I’ll accept the truth of that statement!” You started picking up your clothes, throwing them on quickly and grabbing your phone to call an Uber.

“No, no,” said Billy, leaping athletically out of bed, giving you a nice eyeful as he did so. “I’ll take you home then I’m coming along with you to work.” Your jaw dropped, “Why would you wanna do that, Billy?” He was heading for the bathroom, and said over his shoulder, “Cos I want to spend some more time with you, is that okay?” You spluttered, “Well... yeah, fine,” to his departing back.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d grabbed a quick shower at home - declining Billy’s offer to join you. “I know you already showered before we left your place,” you admonished him. “Can’t be too clean,” he smirked, “maybe there were some places I missed and only you can reach.” Groaning out an “Uhhh!”, you disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. Not a moment too soon as the door handle rattled a split second afterwards. “Now that’s just not fair!” you heard from the other side of the door. You turned on the shower, grinning at the constant string of pleas from outside but ignoring them all.

Dressed casually for your weekend café visits, Billy dropped you off in Greenwich Village and joined you a few minutes later in the café, after finding a parking space. Here, your three co-workers were already knee-deep in customers, and you were busy taking someone’s order to their table when he stepped through the door. Your stomach did a backflip, and you took a moment to appreciate just how especially hot he was looking today. Black jeans, black V-neck T, black combat boots, topped off with his leather jacket.

Once again, all female eyes tracked onto him like lasers, including your three staff - Stace, Amy and Jen. You sighed, welcome to your new normal you thought. However Billy’s eyes were locked on you, and he smiled, indicating with a raised finger that he was heading to an empty table. You nodded back, mouthing “Two minutes,” at him as you cleared off a table. And now all the female eyes were on you, with a mixture of curiosity and no doubt a dash of jealousy mixed in there. You returned to the counter, walking behind it carrying two coffee cups and a plate, which you rinsed and popped into the industrial-sized dishwasher.

Jen sidled up to you, she was the Jake equivalent at this café. Before she could say anything, you smirked, “He’s my new... friend, okay?” She looked at you, wide-eyed, “Now don’t take this the wrong way, but I would. He’s really hot!” She was just about the only one who could get away with that comment, and you laughed, “You can look, ragazza, but you better not touch!” Her hands went up, innocent look on her face, “Wouldn’t dream of it!” “Can you pass on the gossip to the girls?” you asked, “I’m off to sit with my hot boyfriend.” Moving to the nearest Gaggia, you all of a sudden realised what you’d called him. Oh. You’d better watch that.

Carrying two double macchiatos over to where Billy sat scrolling through his phone, you informed him that you were going to refine his palate, coffee-wise. Amy followed in your footsteps, bearing a plate of pastries. She gawped unashamedly at Billy as she put the plate down in the middle of the table. You sighed inwardly, she was young and had no filter sometimes. “Thanks, Amy,” you emphasised her name, and she snapped out of it, looking at you guiltily before smirking and walking away. You in turn smirked at Billy, “You have a fan.” He laughed, “She’s a kid.” “Yes, she is, and currently sporting heart-eyes for my....” you stopped speaking briefly then continued, “...but she’s a quick learner, she’s only been with us a few weeks and she already makes a mean coffee.”

He added sugar to his coffee, smiling, “What’s this then?” “Macchiato. Espresso, but with a dash of milk foam.” Raising the small cup to his lips, he sipped. “Mmmm, yeah it’s good. A bit stronger than I usually take my coffee, but yeah... I can see you succeedin’ in refining my tastes.” He placed the cup back in the saucer, looking back up at you suddenly, “What were you gonna say? When you said she had heart-eyes for me. Your... what?” He was smirking at you, but his eyes were serious. Truthfully, you’d been about to say ‘boyfriend’ but you weren’t about to admit that to him. You placed your hand on his arm, “Friend, of course.” His hand covered yours, eyes boring into yours, “Well why didn’t you just say that? Hmm?” You could just feel yourself blushing, shit! he’d sussed you out, you were sure of it, but you just laughed, “I don’t know. Cos I hadn’t had my coffee yet, maybe?”

His hand left yours, and he chuckled, shaking his head, “Yeah, okay.” Watching him picking up a pastry and biting into it, you found yourself staring at his mouth before shaking yourself out of your mini-trance. He asked, “So, are we headin’ over to Chelsea soon?” and you nodded, also choosing a pastry and munching on it. “And afterwards?” he questioned you. You thought for a moment, “We could head back to my place for some lunch.” “Yeah, I like the sound of that,” he agreed, devilish smirk in place, “with a hot and sexy session in bed as afters.” You lightly slapped his wrist, “Billy!” your head swivelling to see who might have overheard him - he hadn’t particularly kept his voice down.

You spotted a young woman at the table behind glaring at you as if she was offended, not by the conversation, but by the very fact that you were sitting there with Billy. You quickly looked away from her. Lordy, at this rate you were going to end up with a knife between your shoulder blades just for sharing the same breathing space as Billy. Shortly afterwards, Billy headed for the door as you went over to say Bye to your team. Meeting up with him outside, you saw him looking at a small scrap of paper before screwing it up and tossing it into a wastebin. “What was that?” you queried. Grinning, he said, “Woman at the next table gave me her number on my way out.”

As you two were still standing by the café window, your turned your head until you met the disappointed eyes and angry face of the woman who’d glared at you earlier. You knew she’d just seen Billy throw her number in the trash. Normally you would’ve flipped her off just to drive home the point, but you reminded yourself that she was a customer of yours, so instead you smirked at her, stretching up and softly kissing Billy. He slid his fingers onto your neck and up onto your jaw, kissing you back. It wasn’t as full-on as the kiss in Chelsea had been - which was just as well as she wasn’t the only one watching - but it was enough to send her a metaphorical finger.

You’d then strolled off with him, taking his hand as you did and intertwining your fingers with his. He seemed pleased about this, looking down and smiling at your linked hands. A twinge of guilt hit you, as you’d done it solely to further piss off that blatant bitch who you well knew was still watching and seething with jealousy, but then you did have to admit it felt.... actually quite nice.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The lunch at your apartment had been really enjoyable. You’d prepared one of your favourite dishes, using fresh pasta you’d made a couple of days prior, and which had been waiting in the fridge just so it could make a suitable entrance. Billy had been fascinated, watching you make ravioli parcels with it and filling them with white crab meat, seasoning as you went along. Then you’d made a light butter and sage sauce to go with it and some garlic bread to have on the side.

He’d polished off stacks of it, saying it was so good that he was going to kidnap you and hold you captive in his kitchen. “Oh, yeah...” you scoffed, “...what is it all those cavemen like to say about women... keep them barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, right?!!”

“If you insist,” accompanied by a smirk and a sly wink. “Not a chance, Mr Russo.”

Even bigger smirk, “We’ll just have to see, won’t we, sweetheart?”

You took the conversation to the bedroom, joking with Billy that while you were indeed a total and utter goddess, there was no way you’d ever end up being a domestic goddess. Billy was laughing, removing your clothes and his in the meantime, while you still chattered on. He finally got you to stop talking by pinning you down underneath him and kissing you with heated passion, telling you that yes, you were his goddess and as such, he was going to worship at your feet.

Billy got up and pulled you smoothly forward by your ankles until you were lying half off the bed, then spent rather a lot of time with his head between your legs, before bestowing a further offering upon your body. This second generous votive consisted of him pleasuring you with his impressive erection, and was the most sensual and prolonged example of worship you’d ever experienced in your immortal goddess-type life. This you graciously and very loudly accepted from your devotee.

You and he fell into a light sleep, both spent after your exertions. Just before you drifted off, you heard Billy whisper, “Next time m’gonna eat some of that pasta right off that gorgeous body of yours,” and your dreams ended up full of Billy, and food, and wine, and sex. And grapes. Well, you were a goddess after all, so you had to have a bunch of grapes to nibble on, right?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Waking up on Sunday morning, there was a notable lack of a warm body beside you in your bed. Had he just left?...you wondered.... without even waking you? He’d better not have. Not if he wanted to retain his crown jewels, you thought grimly. You got up, rustled around in your drawer for a long t-shirt and pulling it on, walked through to your open-plan living area. There in your kitchen, stood a naked Billy Russo in all his splendour, his back to you as he held the handle of a pan on the cooker, stirring the contents with one of your favourite neon-coloured big kitchen spoons.

“Mornin’, goddess,” he called to you, sniper senses picking up your arrival within his vicinity. You were just smiling at his use of your new pet name when he turned towards you. He leant back on the cooker, arms folded across his chest, giving you a real eyeful of his toned torso and the rest of his ‘equipment’, as he’d called it. You momentarily lost the ability to speak - goddamn that man was a work of art. Quickly recovering, you managed to say, “Morning, Marine.”

A grin curved his lips upwards, “How d’you like your eggs in the mornin’, ma’am?”

“Over easy,” you grinned back. He tapped his shoulder a couple of times with the kitchen spoon, “Ummm.. how about scrambled? And then I’ll give you the “over easy” version afterwards.”

That damn smirk of his, you thought, it’s downright dangerous.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Amazing artwork created for this chapter by @lauraeartwork 🥰

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo imagine

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guiltysecretpasttime · 3 years ago

Note

Consider the idea of Lin /Bumi badly timed proposals"? (just a humble linumi shipper loving your fanfics)

Note: Here's my belated response to this prompt. It ran away from me again until I struggled to close the story out. Hope you like it!

One-shot Post-canon AU Lin x Bumi II

Also on AO3.

---

Outside of the military, Bumi was known to be the spontaneous one. The Avatar’s child who was the most likely to get into trouble. Or get into an adventure, as his grinning father would correct. He was the kid who took quickly to throwing fruit pies to the air acolytes. He was the teen who travelled to the next city because there was a Pro-bending competition happening there. As an adult, he was also the one who tried (and succeeded in) applying for the United Forces on a whim.

It was not often that Bumi would plan for anything linked to his personal life.

This was why, on the weeks leading up to that Night (with a capital N), he felt out of his depth. He did what he did best and tried to plan as he would regarding a military campaign.

This was why he thought he was assured of success.

What he did not count on was the extraneous factors, which was their extended family and social circle.

That – and the weather.

---

“Booms -I’m sorry, it’s not going to work out.” Iroh’s voice crackled over the telephone. “That downpour wouldn’t make anything stick long enough to be legible.”

Bumi sighed as he peered at the window of Tenzin’s study. The waves did crash unpleasantly against the edge of Air Temple Island as the rain fell. “Well, we can still move it tomorrow, right? You and the boys are still free?”

“Of course, provided that the weather is better. As for our availability - ,” Whatever Iroh said was lost as the line crackled again as it was wont to do when the weather was poor. Bumi clicked his tongue. Tenzin really needed to have some repairs made in this temple. “- So after that, we can definitely pick it up for you.”

“Great!” Bumi could care less if they need to adjust the timing a bit – as long as it pushesthrough.

He did not need the details.

---

Or maybe, he should have probed for more details.

The retired commander saw that now as he watched visitors mill around Air Temple Island.

Various air acolytes and airbenders from the different temples now crowd the usually empty courtyard.

How was he to know that it was time for the anniversary of the return of the airbenders? He did not even know there was an identified datefor that.

Or maybe, he would have known had he listened to Tenzin’s lectures.

He scratched his chin, pensively, wondering if this might change anything when something cold and wet lashed at his behind.

“Hello, Bumi.” His sister walked over, a water whip formed at her side, grinning as she usually did.

“Mother said you shouldn’t hit people.”

“Mother said a lot of things that you didn’t follow.” Kya crossed her arms mockingly. She nodded to the entrance of the residential building where their mother stood, surrounded by her youngest grandchildren.

He understood. They never could begrudge their mother anything, especially now with her waning health.

A sea of green passed in the periphery.

“I see Suyin and her brood are here.” Bumi contemplated briefly if it would have any impact to his plans.

Kya commented. “Did they really have to be always in green?”

“Did you always have to be in blue?”

“Touche.” Kya shrugged. “Though, I needed to be blue to occasionally camouflage in the South Pole if I needed to be stealthy.”

“For what?”

From afar, they see Katara beckoning Kya forward from where she and Pema stood by the stoop of the house. “I’ll go get settled now.”

Bumi excused himself, citing some reason to check on something, which, technically he needed to do.

“Tenzin said nothing formal; nothing big. Just a small gathering.” The loud voice of the Avatar grumbled.

The clinking of metal was heard next before Bumi rounded the corner. “And yet, everyone is here.”

“Chief Beifong!”

“Avatar.” Lin inclined her head in greeting, with blank politeness on her face.

Bumi knew better though – the slight tightening of her jaw and the grip she had on her belt: oh, Lin was irritated.

“What’s up?” Korra toyed with the sleeves of her formal wear, obviously uncomfortable.

“How are your travels?” Bumi interjected, popping beside Lin before she manages any acerbic remark.

“We are travelling in style! I think I could get used to it.”

“I think you already are.” Asami looked on with amusement.

“You’re lucky,” Bumi pointed towards where Oogi and the younger bison were flying around. “Dad had to travel on a sky bison.”

“Mom said it wasn’t pleasant.” Lin wrinkled her nose.

“There! You! Are!” Bolin ran and huffed as he arrived before them, doubling over in the effort. “Wing and Wei just found where the food was being prepared, we can sneak off to get some before the– oh hello Chief Beifong!”

“I did not hear anything.” Lin looked skyward and waved her hand at them.

“Beifong!” Bumi quickly caught up with Lin, who strode off quickly when the teenagers started talking about food. “Are you on duty?”

“Yes.” Lin sighed, putting her hand on her hips then stomping, doing a seismic perimeter check. “I know, but I have to.”

“I’ll look for you later.”

“Alright. We’re a bit stretched – Tenzin did not give us the correct numbers of attendees, as usual.” Her forehead crinkled as she concentrated on the perimeter check. “Good thing the Fire Lord sent General Iroh and some of his men to represent their nation.”

“Oh, that’s what he meant.” Bumi murmured to himself.

Lin glanced at him in askance.

“Iroh.” Bumi did not want to expound further. Lin had a way of ferreting out the truth from him without seismic sense anyway.

Bumi accompanied her like a silent sentinel as Chief Beifong went about doing check to her team and on the island.

They have finally arrived at the main courtyard where the usually unflappable master airbender was fluttering about like a bright orange butterfly, holding several sheets of paper, which no doubt was the program for the day.

Lin groaned when Tenzin noticed them.

“Lin!”

“I better go ahead.” With one final eye-rolling, Lin left Bumi’s side before he could even ask where she will be stationed at the end of the program.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Bumi jumped a bit, startled by Kya once again. “Of course not, my meddling gossipy sister.”

She offered him a drink, which he rightly declined. “What’s Tenzin up to?”

The man was now talking rapidly to the chief of police. They were far enough not to hear them but near enough to see what was going on.

“He’s quite excitable.” The retired military man shrugged. “Thank the spirits for Pema, that woman is a saint.”

“You mean, thank the spirits for Lin,” Kya nodded towards the pair as she took a sip of her drink. “Pema was just about ready to rip her hair off these past days. She was looking quite frazzled earlier and after a drink or two, bam! Out tumbled everything - Tenzin was anxious and has been driving her nuts with all the prep for today’s celebration.” She raised a glass to the earthbender and airbender on the main event area. “But look over there – just a few words from our dear Chief of Police and the man calms down.”

Bumi could not help but tense up as he observed Lin and Tenzin on the platform.

As Lin continued to converse with his younger brother, Tenzin began to slowly deflate. A smile started to form on the earlier stressed airbender’s face and the corner of Lin’s lips upturned, a ghost of a smile.

“I swear – those two, I wonder how it would have turned out for them had they known this was going to happen anyway…” Kya trails off, as though suddenly realizing who she was talking to. “I mean – hey, they’re both in happy relationships and it’s perfect and -.”

Bumi swallowed drily, drowning out his sister’s voice.

He had thought about that occasionally, really. There was nothing to go on and Lin had been upfront about, well, everything so he knew where her heart is.

But, looking at the pair now, at the anniversary of the return of the airbenders, supposedly the pinnacle of all their arguments…

“Booms – don’t do anything stupid.”

Now that snapped him from his maudlin thoughts. “Why is it that everyone thinks I’m gonna do something stupid when I keep quiet? It’s a bit offensive, you know.”

“Bumi, I didn’t mean -.”

No matter, Bumi was adamant that his Plan pushes through.

---

“POP! POP! BOOOM! BOOOM POP! Whiiiizzz! BOOM!”

Everyone on Air Temple Island (and even those at the edge of Republic City) looked up to see fireworks littering the night sky.

“BEIFONG… WILL…YOU… ohmy sweet - is that a ring??? .. ME.” Suyin squealed as she read what the fireworks were spelling out.

There was a cacophony from the courtyard of Air Temple Island as everyone sought to find which Beifong was being proposed to.

From their perches around the island, Iroh and the UF men whooped in success of their mission tonight – deploying the firework proposal.

“OH-MY-BOLIIIIN!”

All eyes were on Opal who was clutching at a wide-eyed earthbender.

“What?!”

Various voices added to the din, shouting different things.

“Bolin did you really?!” Mako pointed up to the sky.

“What – no I did not. I’m not marrying – I mean,” Bolin swiftly turned to Opal. “I would like to marry you.” Then he shouted at Su and Baatar Senior’s direction. “But not now. One day but not now – I mean, I need to talk to Su and Baat – oh shit Su’s gonna kill me.”

Attention turned to Baatar and Suyin.

“Um no,” Baatar shrugged casually, an arm around his wife. “It’s not our anniversary anytime soon.”

Suyin was still being antsy. “Wing! Wei! Did any of you -?” She saw her twins wave up their arms in surrender, wildly shaking their heads as they each held a plate of food. “If that’s not you…”

“Kuvira and Junior –.” Wei.

“That is unlikely.” Wing.

“Huan?” Both Wing and Wei asked, everyone’s heads swiveled to the artistic Beifong.

“Excuse me.” Huan looked very offended, as though it was an insult that someone would be proposing to him in public.

Bumi’s face fell as the Beifongs present began arguing as to who the firework proposal was for and the actual Beifong who the proposal was meant for was nowhere to be seen.

Just then a soft squeal and a sniffle came from Kya’s side.

Pema was holding to her arm. “No-no-no – it’s for Lin, don’t you see? That’s why – Tenzin is leaving me.” Every other word was punctuated with a sniffle. “That’s why they’ve been talking over plans and that’s why – I saw them talk to Jinora the other day. Oh-airbenders-Tenzin is -leaaving me.”

“Ahem, I have an announcement!”

Now, everyone turned to stare back at the platform where Tenzin stood. Behind him, stood two more people - Lin Beifong stood in his shadows, arms crossed, a guard observing the proceedings, while Jinora stood to the side with a nervous smile, hands at her back.

“Ooohhhh!” Pema let out a wail.

“Shh, Pema!”

Bumi froze. There have been still some lingering insecurities that were in relation to his brother that would take a long time to tamp down. With the man’s whimpering wife at the side and his own significant other beside said man, it did not take much to wear Bumi down to his insecurities.

“This has been a long time coming and before anything else,” Tenzin paused at this to throw a significant look at his back. “I would like to say that this is no split second decision, we’ve talked about it and well –.”

No way he was going to let Tenzin take over his plan tonight.

“I will be stepping down soon with Jinora as my successor.”

“LinBeifong, will you marry me?”

Two voices rang into the night, clearly silencing any other words that might have been going on.

Bumi did not care for or did not mind what the reactions of the people around them were. He only had eyes for the earthbender who was gaping at him then looking back at the sky then back at him.

He worried the longer it took for Lin to react.

From his side, Pema sagged in relief against her sister-in-law while Jinora and Tenzin stood at the platform, greeting well-wishers.

Lin, meanwhile, was yet to do anything other than stand still.

“OH – we forgot the most eligible Beifong of today!” Bolin stated the obvious, pointing to the sky and back at Chief Beifong on the stage.

“What are you doing, go get her.” Kya nudged him from the back.

Bumi ran to the stage, almost tripping on his formal robes. “Lin – I’m so sorry – I didn’t think it would be this public – I -.” Lin hated public displays. “I ain’t doing this to pressure, I -.”

Lin gripped his arm to stop him from speaking.

The crowd went silent as Suyin could be heard shushing everyone (“Quiet! We need to hear what her answer is!”).

Bumi’s heart sank as Lin pulled away from him.

This is it. The Rejection.

He could only look to the ground, unwilling to face family, friends and even his former colleagues in the UF.

Suddenly there was a rumble on the ground as Lin extended a leg in front of her and she raised her arms slowly with a grunt.

“YES – BUMI – I – WILL – dear Agni – Liiiin is marrying Bumi!” Su’s shrill voice read out the words etched on the courtyard.

Tenzin groaned, mumbling about the destruction of his courtyard.

“Shut it, airhead. That courtyard has seen worse when you broke up with -.”

Nope, he did not want to hear about their break-up and so Bumi took Lin in his arms and planted a nice long kiss to seal the deal.

He pulled back and was met with a large grin on Lin’s face.

It might not have worked as he expected or planned it to be but at least, he could honestly say that it was -

Mission accomplished.

#linumi #linumi fanfic #lin x bumi ii #lin beifong #bumi ii

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keilemlucent · 4 years ago

Text

the sex party: i

(r18+)

shinsou hitoshi x reader

ao3

part 1 (you’re here!) || part 2

word count: ~7.1k

You and Hitoshi definitely have a thing for each other, but who would've thought that a 'sex party' would produce a confession?

warnings:

COLLEGE AU! characters are explicitly aged up to college students as early 20 year olds!

not really a sex party, mutual pining, friends to lovers, confessions, reader is canonically bi, brief momo x reader, light dom/sub, spanking, references to drug use, smoking (cigarettes, salem trademarked fic thing), drinking, and smut

there is a scene where there is attempted sexual assault. it is marked with ***** before and after.

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this.... this piece is a monster. i’ve been wrestling with it for a month and now its here for y’all. the second part is already out ;^)) thank you to @keiqos for being an absolute king and beta reader this monster. enjoy y’all!!

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You never imagined that you would be where you were. It was under weird circumstances, but god if you weren’t going to try and enjoy it.

The party you found yourself attending was lit with flashing lights and rainbow projections. There were two different DJs on various floors of the suburban mansion. They bumped out remixed club music, making the walls hum and thrum and bodies writhe and sweat. One of the kitchen counters was loaded with bottles and bottles of hard liquor and mixers.

You were quickly making a third mixie. Just a vodka soda, boringly. There were certainly more fun options, but you weren’t exactly sure how to feel about this party just yet. You were having trouble discerning whether this was a ‘gin and tonic millennial’ party or a ‘jungle juice in an old cooler’ party.

Denki and Jiro had convinced nearly two car-fulls of your friends to roll up. It sounded so fun, so wild!

“Yo! Our friends from the EDM scene are throwing a SEX party! You all should come! It’s at a mansion across town!”

Their ‘friends’ were two middle-aged, white hippies who did a lot of molly for their age.

Nonetheless, you found yourself in a massive, odd house and managed to lose your friends fairly quickly (and accidentally). All the rooms stayed dimly lit and loud. You could hardly keep track of your own two feet.

Someone pressed you into the counter, a hand grazing against your barely covered ass.

You whipped around, watching as a couple walked away, one of them giving incredibly loud bedroom eyes.

Oh yeah, the ‘sex party’ part.

It wasn’t a kink party, or really a sex party at all. Sex was encouraged and provided for, but not necessary. The mansion’s massive attic was where most of the sex acts were happening with its five beds, three bondage rigs, a wall of toys of all types, condoms, lube, whippits, and even Viagra in decorative bowls. You had yet to venture up, but Denki had already spammed the group chat about it.

(It had been the first place he went upon arriving.)

You took your drink down the stairs (the place had three fucking basements) and turned into a small hallway that led outside.

It was cold, but your somewhat drunk body hardly minded. The sobering bite of wind gave a nice reprieve from the thrumming heat inside.

You immediately spotted Hitoshi leaning on a retaining wall, half a cigarette hanging from his lips. His face lit up, when he saw you, waving you over.

You smiled back at him, glad to find a friend and best of all Hitoshi.

You two were quite close.

In addition to both being sociology majors and having a lot of overlap when it came to classes, you’d known each other since freshman year and only grew closer with time. You’d spent many nights at his house off-campus, sipping cup after cup of black coffee in the midst of a paper writing and studying. You also definitely didn’t ever have close calls of affection though, no.

No.

Never.

You and Hitoshi were obviously just friends.

...

“Wild party, huh?” Hitoshi quirked an eyebrow, nodding to the house. He offered you a cigarette that you took greedily.

You placed it between your lips, Hitoshi ever so casually leaning forward to light it with his signature clipper. He’d nabbed it off some ‘milf’ at the casino which he and Denki had gone to for bingo ‘for the meme’ freshmen year.

You let out a puff, “Thank you! And yes, very wild. I’m on drink three and I still feel overwhelmed.”

Hitoshi sipped his own, nodding in agreement, “I know Jiro and Denki know some wild people from the scene, but this seems over the top.”

“It is kind of fun? But definitely an ‘I need to be a little more fucked up’ kind of fun,” You remarked.

You set down your cigarette on the cement wall, attempting to boost yourself up onto it. You nearly had it, except you really didn’t and slipped back down. You anxiously turned around, checking your dress over for any sort of tears.

Hitoshi set down his own cigarette, standing in front of you. You looked up at him and felt very small and very horny all of a sudden. It certainly wasn’t an abnormal set of feelings, given how the two of you teased each other relentlessly.

“Need some help there?” He chuckled at your struggle as you frowned up at him.

“If you insist.” You expected him to offer a hand to stabilize yourself on but no, Hitoshi’s big hands were suddenly grabbing at your waist, lifting you on the walls with little effort.

You swore you almost felt him squeeze you before letting go.

“You’re welcome,” Hitoshi just smirked as he returned to his spot, taking a deep drag to look at you through lowered lids.

You glared, but in good fun.

At that moment, a few other of your friends poured from the door to the patio. They were all shouting, jarring and drunk, and very happy to see the two of you.

You unconsciously shifted a bit closer to Hitoshi on the wall, bare leg just barely touching his shoulder.

You didn’t notice it, but Hitoshi definitely leaned into you too.

“(Y/N)! Hitoshi!” Momo addressed you firmly as Denki and Hanta snickered behind her. “You both are smarter than to smoke, aren’t you?”

“Nope,” You popped the word from your mouth to take another drag.

“We’re drunk, give it a rest,” Hitoshi waved his hand dismissively. You were both her friends, but she did have a pole up her ass sometimes.

Almost to emphasize the point, Jiro withdrew her own pack and started offering to other people.

As the ever-important smoking ritual continued, you couldn’t help but shiver from the now-painful gusts of wind. You abruptly hopped off of the wall, only wobbling a little on your heels as you hit the ground. Hitoshi moved to steady you, a firm hand on your shoulder.

(God, you wanted to melt into him.)

See, Hitoshi had been smart enough to wear a warm outfit. A pair of black jeans, a form-fitting, well-cut sweater, and a jacket which was slung over his arm.

He offered it to you, eyebrow raised, “If you’re cold, you’re welcome to this. I’m gonna stash it when I get inside anyways.”

You shook your head, pushing back on his arm, feeling the hard muscle beneath. You almost shivered. “No, no it’s okay. I’m gonna head back in.”

“Mind if I tag along then?” Hitoshi asked, eyes scanning around you. He seemed well aware that there were some creeps at this party.

Most of the time, you wouldn’t feel great about needing some tall, beefy dude to casually stand around as a deterrent. But, honestly? You appreciated it immensely.

“Right this way, smokestack,” You just had to give him shit, it was part of your cute dynamic right?

(It made the incessant flirting easier to hide.)

...

You couldn’t help but continually notice how Hitoshi had bulked up. He had been hitting the gym a lot and working on himself physically.

God, did it show.

His body had been a bit lanky and wiry before, but he’d filled out so well. With his cute sweater on, you could see how the fabric stretched tight around his biceps and his chest. You couldn’t look at his forearms in any setting or risk drooling all over yourself.

Not that you would mind drooling for Hitoshi, but you’d prefer it to be in a different context.

(But, you’d never admit that.)

The two of you wordlessly winded through the house, finding a somewhat less feral living room in one of the basements to relax in. Most everyone occupying the space was just mingling, save for a few couples making out. It seemed manageable. You settled for a spot on the carpet against a wall.

Hitoshi raised an eyebrow, “Really?”

“I feel way safer sitting on a floor than a couch here,” You couldn’t help smiling when you saw him snuff out his own amusement.

You both watched as a couple was grinding and audibly moaning on one of the aforementioned couches. Hitoshi relented, “Point taken.”

He slid down the wall next to you, shoulder to shoulder, drinks in hand.

You both sat in silence for a minute, just taking the sounds and sights of the party. People-watching could have been an olympic sport at this shindig.

“Hey,” Hitoshi broke the mild tension, tapping your upper thigh over your dress. “I’m not saying this to be a creep, really, I promise. But, I really like your dress.”

You turned your body slightly, towards him. Oh, now you needed to give him shit— “Oh, how complementary. Not creepy at all. Just my very sweet, male friend telling me how I look pretty in my party dress.”

Hitoshi leaned closer to you, mirroring you by lying half on his side. His breath and heat curled over your face and neck, “Oh, (Y/N), now you’re putting words in my mouth. I said that I like your dress. Because it’s one of Mei’s designs, right?”

You looked down, heat filling your cheeks.

Fuck your drunk mouth.

“Though,” Oh, Hitoshi was closer. He had leaned to your ear, steadying a hand on your shoulder. “I do think you’re pretty in this dress. I’d use a different word instead of pretty though.”

“Like?”

“Mmmm, gorgeous,” He hummed too casually. “As strong of a word as I can use without being a creep, right?”

“‘Toshi,” You groan, swatting his hand away. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

He just beamed at you, “I’ve been told.”

Hitoshi drew back and met your eyes.

Once more, you mirrored each other. Both of you bore comically dilated pupils, wet lips, flushed faces and slight tremors in your hands.

“You know, I think I referred to you as ‘sweet’ too...” You raised an eyebrow at him. You couldn’t help the way your gaze flickered down to his lips. It flitted back up, “But, that’s nothing, right?”

Hitoshi bit his lip, taking a big breath.

Suddenly, he was standing up.

“Hey, wait—” You stammered, standing as well. “I’m sorry, that was a lot. I only meant to tease.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Hitoshi put his hands in front of himself, creating distance between the two of you. “Same. You know I can’t help giving you trouble, (Y/N).”

Ouch.

You cracked a smile, rubbing your arms, “Of course, yeah. Silly friend shit.”

Hitoshi was quick to redirect, pointing a thumb out of the room, “I’ve gotta hang this somewhere. See you in a bit, or you can come with me if you like?”

“Nah, I’ll wander,” You patted his shoulder, waltzing off your churning gut by cutting in front of him. “Take it easy, smokestack.”

You couldn’t hear if he replied.

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

You did, in fact, wander. With meandering feet, you moved through room after room. You poured yourself another drink, but it’s not nearly as strong. Your run-in with Hitoshi soured your mood. While not fully ruined, you were definitely feeling weirder than you wanted to be.

Hitoshi and you obviously had energy, yeah. But the most either of you had acted on it was ‘seemingly meaningless’ flirting. It was always followed up with a ‘no homo’ or ‘aha, got ‘ya!’, yet it always felt real in the moment. You weren’t a dumbass. You had caught Hitoshi eyeing you a few (read: many) different times. There were so many close calls and contacts between the two of you.

There was one time while you were making a box of mac and cheese in Hitoshi’s kitchen circa 2 AM. You had borrowed one of his shirts and a pair of joggers to sleep in, a common act of yours. He walked past you for a glass of water, keeping the cup under the tap until it ran over just to look you up and down.

His gaze wasn’t prying or predatory, not even close. You trusted Hitoshi with your life and you knew that he wouldn’t ever breach boundaries like that. Rather, he regarded you in a way that made him lose time, something soft and gooey in his eyes. That time, it wasn’t lustful attention. It just felt-

(Like the way lovers look at one and other, enamored.)

Another time was during one of his performances. The house venue had been dimly lit and musty as fuck, but that didn’t distract Hitoshi. As Jiro’s vocals shook the basement, you met eyes with Hitoshi as he slammed on guitar. His gaze always returned to you throughout the whole set. When you had teased him about it, he claimed that looking at you helped keep his stage fright in check.

The reasoning didn’t calm the butterflies in your stomach.

There was another particularly telling occurrence where you had fallen asleep on Hitoshi’s floor in the middle of working on your final paper for your theory class the semester prior. He returned from his smoke break to find you curled up under the first piece of cloth you could find (which, in that case, was one of his hoodies). You weren’t fully asleep, and you certainly weren’t when Hitoshi hefted you into his arms, laying you so gently down on his bed and covering you with a throw blanket.

Oh, god, the sweetness, like something you’d never known when you felt his hand on your face, smoothing over your cheekbones, your nose, and then your lips. His gentle voice, deep with the late-night, “You work too hard, you know.”

He nestled next on the floor next to the bed, leaving you to sleep undisturbed the rest of the night.

There were, of course, many more instances of Hitoshi’s way-too-kind kindness, and a pile of your own moments as well.

It was all damning, but relatively ignored. Your friendship was more important than any stupid feelings the two of you had right? You refused to acknowledge your own feelings beyond semi-sexual remarks, jabs, and jests. You couldn’t jeopardize your friendship, right?

...

You eventually found yourself at the foot of the stairs that led to the attic. Even from the landing, you could hear various rhythmic slaps, moans, and laughter.

You ascended the stairs and took in the sight greeting you.

There were various bondage rigs that were free-standing, all occupied at the moment you entered. Loops for ropes and chains to be tied to drilled into the ceiling. Flogs, whips, canes, and other implements hung heavy on one of the walls.

The room was lit dimly, yet nothing seemed obscured. A few rainbow lights illuminated the sweaty bodies about the room. Not everyone was having full-on sex. Most people were actually clothed. A lot of folks it seemed were just there spectating.

Speaking of most people, your party peers were all lounging on the beds. Sans, Hitoshi, of course, standing and laughing with Kaminari.

The lot saw you enter and flagged you down. You walked past a heavily-tattooed man getting pegged by a woman in a tutu and a crowd of costumed partygoers doing whippits which were being handed out by a man in an elaborate steampunk top hat. A cute girl with silver hair was strung up in a nearby rig, moaning as a leather-clad man fingerfucked her.

You stood next to Hitoshi, bumping into his arm with your own, “Didn’t take you for a voyeur.”

He snorted, joshing you back, “I have my moments.”

“I didn’t take you for a prude, (Y/N)!” Denki snickered, bringing attention to you. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost when you walked in here.”

“Denki, please,” You rolled your eyes. “I walked into a room made for very wild sex acts. That’s a very different expression than the one you’re describing.”

That made him snort and fall back onto the bed, along with Hanta and Mina.

(How high were they? That wasn’t even a good joke.)

Hitoshi chuckled himself, something low and lumbering.

(Don’t think about how hot that is.)

“This makes me think back to that night, in sophomore year,” Hanta spoke as he sat up. “You know, kink night.”

“Oh, yeah! I forget about that,” Denki turned towards you and Hitoshi and raised his eyebrows.

You flushed.

Momo, innocently, asked, “Kink night?”

Hitoshi cleared his throat, looking anywhere but you.

“Oh yeah!” Mina piped up, hugging Momo’s shoulders from behind. Jiro was sitting in Momo’s lap, head on her tits. “We made a drinking game of exposing our weird sex acts and kinks to each other.”

You laughed uncomfortably at the memory, avoiding the very embarrassing and horny part that involved you, “That was the day that we found Mineta was into scat.”

“Oh wow,” Jiro gawked. “That was before Mineta got canceled?”

“Oh, yeah. He got wasted and ran off after that. Thank god.” Denki snickered. “You know what else happened that night?”

“Denki, please, stop talking.” It was Hitoshi placing a firm hand on the other’s shoulder.

Denki just looked at the two of you like he was some old god of mischievous, turning back to the girls, “That’s when we all found out about Hitoshi and (Y/N)’s suuuuuuuuuper compatible kinks. Like, scary compatible.”

“They got sooooo awkward about it too!” Mina snickered, looking at your and Hitoshi with matchmaker in her eyes.

You would kick her ass for it later. In that moment, you tried to keep a somewhat neutral expression as you recalled the night in question.

Sure, it was a year or two back and you and Hitoshi weren’t half as close back then.

The lot of you had been sitting on the floor of Denki and Hitoshi’s dorm, passing around a bottle of cheap, flavored vodka in a fucked up, horny game of truth or dare.

...

“You’re next (Y/N)!” Mina passed the bottle to you and fell back against the carpet. You swallowed thickly, swishing the content liquor inside. “Dare or sex act?”

The rules of the game were simple. Choosing ‘dare’ meant that someone else chose a sexually-charged dare for you and ‘sex act’ meant exposing either a kink or a sex act you’d done. It was a roulette either way, but one option gave you far more control than the other.

After the last dare consisting of Denki giving a very messy lap dance to Eijiro, and you weren’t really in the mindset to repeat anything even close to that.

“Sex act,” You sighed in defeat.

Denki snickered in the corner, “Spill it!”

Hanta cheered you on as you bit your lip in thought.

The liquor swirling in your stomach was affecting your inhibitions, and with one shy, half-glance to Hitoshi, you spoke up.

“I have a spanking kink, what of it.”

You drowned out Hitoshi’s red cheeks and the cheers of your friends with a deep chug from the bottle.

The bottle was passed to Hitoshi as you asked the question, “Dare or sex act?”

Jiro giggled from the bed, sipping at her own drink as well.

“Sex act,” Hitoshi groaned, rolling his eyes at Denki, but you all knew he loved what was going on.

“Reveal yourself, Hitoshi! What gets your rocks off!?” Mina shouted drunkenly as she rolled on the floor. You made a mental note to cut her off from having any more of the trashy vodka.

Hitoshi gave you a fleeting, but very horny look before regarding the group.

There was a twitch in your lip that made you think his smirk was all for you.

“I love pulling a cute girl over my lap and turning her ass purple while she’s begging for more.”

As everyone around you jeered and cheered, you gulped.

And so did Hitoshi.

...

“Yeah!” Hanta fell back. “That was so fucking funny. Like, all night it was all (Y/N) being like ‘I’m a filthy masochist!’ and Hitoshi being like ‘I’m a filthy sadist!’”

“Hanta, for the love of god,” You interrupted him, face burning with a fucked up mix of shame and lust. Hitoshi was mirroring you. “Why do you have to bring that up?”

“Oh, dude, because whenever we talk about it, you and Hitoshi get so embarrassed, it’s hilarious!” Hanta fucking giggled and reached for his drink.

“Are we gonna talk about how you and Denki both like fisting—” You give them a taste of their own medicine, watching the two of them choke and gawk. To the side, Momo whispered to Jiro, eyeing you.

Hitoshi barked out a laugh, losing some tension in his shoulders. You met his eye for a moment, only to see the jewelish purple taken up by his blackened pupils.

Fuck.

Momo spoke up, brow furrowed, “Can I request something a bit odd of you, (Y/N)? It’s perfectly okay if you say no.”

“Shoot,” You reply, sipping your beverage.

Momo bit her lip, eyes going to Jiro, then you, “Can I try spanking you?”

Everyone collectively choked. You especially.

You took another nervous sip of your drink, avoiding eye contact with the group.

You regained composure, refusing to look at Hitoshi, but letting the fucked up idea brew and brew in your mind, “Uh, I mean, is Jiro okay with it?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Jiro nodded, kissing her girlfriend’s jaw. “Pain isn't my thing, at all, and she’s always wanted to try it. And hey, if you’re a ‘filthy masochist’, be my guest.”

But, would you be her guest?

Your drunken mind considered.

It was the most acceptable setting for it to happen in public. You really did like getting spanked and were a raging masochist, so it would, at the very least, be fun for you. A little humiliating, but that was also a turn on. You’d also get to indulge Momo, who was dating Jiro, but they both seemed perfectly okay with a bit of platonic pain play, so what was the real harm?

Your gaze flickered to Hitoshi.

Oh, fuck.

His face was lit up with a deep blush even in the irisian hues of the sex attic. His eyes were pointed distinctively opposite of you, a hand literally over his mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Your mind lit up with ideas.

Terrible, sinful ideas that you would be the peak of you and Hitoshi’s teasing.

Fuck it.

“Sure, I’m down,” You smirked and Momo lit up. Immediately, she was up and scouting out the area for a spot to go to town. Momo even seemed to be eyeing up a wall of toys.

“Hey,” Jiro whispered to you as you truly realized what you got yourself into. “Thanks for this. She’s really into this kind of stuff, and I like indulging her, but I can’t handle too much.”

“Oh, of course!” You spoke so brightly. “I have a high pain tolerance, so I’m sure I can take what she dishes out, too.”

You heard Hitoshi clear his throat behind you.

You let yourself take another glance at Hitoshi and it made you want to die on the spot. His eyes glared in anger with the sinful intensity that was entirely directed at you. You could tell by the awkward way he was leaning that he was trying to hide the bulge in his jeans.

Is... Is he that turned on by just the thought of me getting spanked?

Oh, this truly was your best teasing yet.

(Were you taking this too far?)

Kaminari was gripping the sleeve of Hitoshi’s sweater, not allowing him to leave. Judging by how the latter was looking and staring, he wasn’t going to either way.

Momo walked back over, tugging you by the hair to a bed that was a lot higher than the others. It was the perfect height for you to bend over.

“What’s your safeword?” She asked, running her hand down your back to push you against the comforter like she’d done this hundreds of times before. Your chest fell against the bed, forearms giving you a bit of leverage.

You hummed, “Just ‘red’ should be good.”

“Perfect,” Momo smiled before pressing the back of your neck, forcing your face into the sheets. “I’m gonna give you ten with my hand, okay?”

“I trust you, Momo, do your worst,” You spoke so confidently, but truly you didn’t know what was coming.

Momo smoothed a hand over your ass, hardly covered due to the angle you were bent over. The pretty fabric of your dress, pulled over your curves, was hiding less and less. Momo hummed, running a firm hand down the zipper of the dress, “Do you have a preference as to if I pull your dress up or not?”

Oh, holy fuck.

That was beyond teasing.

Fuck it.

“You can pull it up, but keep my panties on. I need some dignity,” You winked back at her.

Momo blushed. She delicately pulled the fabric back, resulting in a round of wolf whistles from your friend. Sober you was going to hate the fact you did this, but drunk you? Thriving.

(Though you wished it was Hitoshi delivering, but you digress.)

Without warning, Momo brought her hand down on your ass, a loud smack resounding around the room, causing a slight hush.

Oh fuck.

You were already drawing some attention.

Despite the pleasant haze of painful pleasure that was beginning to swirl in your mind and gut, you couldn’t help but notice the looks and stares.

Particularly, you got a nasty feeling from the figure in the far corner eyeing you up from ass to toes. He looked fairly nondescript, but the aura he was giving off felt like poison. Something sticky and unpleasant formed in your gut when you looked at him. Your drunken mind chased it away by turning your head the other way.

And then all you could see was Hitoshi’s gaze on you.

It was damn near feral.

His cheeks flushed and dewy. A bit of sweat was dripping down his temple, reflecting the party lighting like some sort of sick joke. One of his hands was raking through his violet locks. His teeth dug into his full lips as he stared you down.

Your eyes met and you refused to look away.

So did he.

Another hit, harder, made you bite your lip to suppress a cry.

Three more and you couldn’t help the bubbling sounds that were spilling from you. Soft cries and moans, maybe a whimper or two leaked from your bitten lips. Momo wasn’t holding back, and you were sure your ass would ache tomorrow.

Good.

Two more and tears leaked from your eyes. You were sure your friends were just waiting to give both you and Momo so much shit, but you couldn’t care less. All you could do was drink in the hungry way Hitoshi eyed you.

It was definitely not the way people who were ‘just friends’ looked at each other.

“Last two, make ‘em count!” Mina shouted from behind you with a cheer. Some of the others in the room were clamoring to watch.

Momo ran a soothing hand down your back, “You doing okay?”

“I’m peachy,” You push out, voice clearly tear-stricken. “Finish me off, Momo. Bruise me.”

That apparently set her off. Momo smacked your ass with such a force that your face pressed harshly into the bed, obscuring your view of Hitoshi.

The last slap was, by far, the worst. Momo decided to tease you, torturing the raw skin of your ass. She would wind up only to pet your lower back or stroke the tops of your thighs. When she finally gave you the hit you deserved (for torturing Hitoshi and yourself), it sounded across the room just as loud as your sob that followed it. Tears leaked from your eyes as your breath came out in shudders. You loved the feeling of numbness and pain that emanated from your abused cheeks. You relished it.

You turned your head upright, vision blurry. Momo pulled your dress down, helping you sit up.

You didn’t get much of a chance to catch your breath as Hitoshi dashed away and out of the sex room, very tense and very distressed judging by how Denki was shouting after him.

Oh fuck.

You kicked yourself mentally, cursing your stupid fucking hubris.

You took it too far.

He’s either turned on, uncomfortable as fuck, or both.

Probably both.

You start to sit up, ignoring the sobering pain heating up your ass. Quickly, Momo pressed you back down to the bed. A solo cup of clear liquid was offered to you.

“Aftercare, obligatory. Drink this, it’s just water,” Momo stated curtly, watching you down the water. You rubbed the tears from your eyes.

“How’s my makeup?” You asked, ignoring the rising panic in your chest.

Momo inspected you for a moment as the others came over, jeering. She quickly rubbed away smears of mascara, running a hand over the side of your face, “Do you feel okay?”

“Yeah, totally. Shit was fun,” You prayed you were disguising the turning of your gut well enough with your nonchalant tone. “I’m gonna find Hitoshi and make sure he has an extra pair of pants.”

Momo frowned, pressing you down and squeezing your shoulders, “Somehow, I don’t believe that. Please rest for a moment, (Y/N).”

You faltered, following Momo’s command without much thought. Your mind was still in a somewhat of a fog as you sipped at the water she gave you. Her hand rubbed at your shoulders and back, dropping praise every few moments.

The rest of your peers filed over, cheering, flopping on the bed around you.

“Holy fuck, (Y/N),” Hanta whistled, clapping your shoulder.

“That was so hot,” Denki sighed, red-faced and wide-eyed.

Momo ran an affectionate hand through your hair as Jiro fell into her lap, winking at you, “She’s so good, right?”

“Yeah, holy fuck. If y’all ever need a third, you have my number.” You breathed, shaking out a laugh. “I think I need to find Hitoshi, though.”

You stood up, wobbling for a moment, comically aware of sets of eyes on you as you dashed away. Your friends shouted encouragement from behind you as you descended the stairs.

Truthfully, your intent was to smooth things over and make the routine, ‘but we’re bros!’ comment. You knew that this wouldn’t be enough, considering how far you pushed it.

You fucked up.

Took it too far.

What does Hitoshi even think of you now?

...

Your mind was sobering with the help of the water and pain.

You had to find Hitoshi.

So, you quickly moved about the house.

You scanned room after room, checked the front and back yard, but couldn’t find him anywhere.

Where the fuck was he?

You passed by a room upstairs, door shut, and you swore you heard his voice inside.

The panic that had been brewing in you was spilling over. Your ass ached and walking hurt like hell with the bruises that were forming. All you wanted was a cigarette and to apologize to your best friend for taking things way too fucking far—

You swung the door open and was met with a scene that did not include Hitoshi Shinsou.

A mess of four very cute, very high girls, mostly but not entirely clothed, were writhing on the bed, all popping up to look at you.

You flushed, body tensing as you tried to laugh it off, “Oh, wow, sorry about this! I thought my friend was in here. I’ll let you all get back to it.”

The girls hardly seemed perturbed by the sudden intrusion, rather they seemed quite complimentary.

“Aw, you don’t wanna join?” One of the girls pouted, giving you puppy dog eyes. “You’re so pretty!”

“T-thank you,” You shook your head, “You are all very sweet, but I have to find my friend.”

“The one behind you?” A different girl asked.

Your hazed mind hadn’t even picked up that was anyone behind you.

You couldn’t help lighting up. Hitoshi had to be behind you, of course, this silly anxiety attack would come to an end—

You turned.

Your face fell.

***********

It was the creep from the sex room, grinning down at you. There was a nasty glint in his eye.

Your heart started going faster. Your gut soured with a feeling far off from drunkenness.

“Actually, uh, no, I’ll be going, thanks.” You tried to sidestep the man, but he quickly blocked the doorway, boxing you in.

“No, I think we’ll stay,” Oh, the man’s voice was sick in your ears.

You were too shocked to move at first.

His reached for your shoulder, but you managed to stumble back from him.

“No, hey, dude, don’t touch me,” You barked back, pass your growing fear.

He scoffed, muttering something about you being a ‘cheap whore’ and stalked you down.

Your back hit a wall. You froze.

You felt trapped.

His cheap cologne was choking you.

He was just inches away.

You looked helplessly to the girls on the bed, but they had dissolved back into each other. Their hands were grabbing at each other's writhing bodies, clothes being torn away with light moans filling the air. They were far too fucked to be bothered with what was happening to you. The deafening music of the party drowned out your senses beyond the small room.

You tried to slip away from him, out of the door, but his arm slammed beside you.

He caged you.

His hand shot to grab your wrap, squeezing hard and shooting pain into your shoulder as you tried to rip yourself away.

“Get the fuck away from me!” You snarled, trying to wrench out of his grip, away from him. You fell deeper into panic.

You could feel his breath on your ear, and your heart dropped in your chest. With the thrum of the party, it felt far too loud for anyone to hear you. Even if you shouted for help, would anyone come? No one even knew that anything was wrong—

A voice cracked like a roll of thunder through the man’s actions and the drone of the party.

“Get the fuck off of them before I break your fucking fingers.” A familiar, blessed voice cut the air from behind you.

Thank fucking god.

Hitoshi stood in the doorway.

You almost sobbed in relief.

His broad form took up most of the door frame, chest puffed out in his anger. His brow was lowered, mouth twisted in revulsion and fury, all directed at the man who had you caged. Only rage colored Hitoshi’s features. Until he caught your gaze, anyways.

Then, it all dissolved to fear.

“We’re busy, she’s fine, fuck off.” The guy said, digging his hand into your side.

You kicked at his shoe, relishing the way he hissed in pain.

The man glared at you, then looked to Hitoshi. The man scoffed, looking him up and down to assess whether putting up a fight was worth it.

Apparently not, as the man shoved you roughly towards Hitoshi.

*********

You tripped into the latter’s chest as he caught you easily.

Without missing a beat, he steadied you and crushed you to him. One of his broad hands moved up to almost shield the side of your face. You were surprised to find that his body was shaking just as hard as your own. You both mirrored each other in rage and panic.

You pressed your face into his sweater as tears remained dangerously close to falling from your eyes. Fear still tore through you and everything about Hitoshi made you feel a hell of a lot safer.

Hitoshi’s arm tightened as he continued his stare-down.

The man grumbled, exiting the room in a huff and harshly pushing back Hitoshi (and you). You flinched, wincing. A low, rumbling growl rumbled in Hitoshi’s chest as he stared death at the man.

You knew that this was probably all too much. There were details of intimacy and boundaries that were being broken without thought from both of you and that was very bad, probably.

But, you also were drunk on fear as opposed to vodka, and having someone safe to hold you felt better than any hit you could’ve found at the party.

You surrendered to your very obvious reality.

When the man was gone, filtered back into the party, Hitoshi looked down at you, his mood entirely changing.

His anger dissolved. His face softened as he tenderly (and quickly) assessed you. Concerned, but earnest eyes searched your face and body for visible signs of harm. When he was satisfied, Hitoshi linked your hands and pulled you from the room.

He walked you through the party, quickly but gingerly. Your mind buzzed, still panicked and anxious, but the thought of cold air and a less stimulating environment was like aloe on a burn.

Finally, you reached the front door, walking onto an empty front landing.

You fell into Hitoshi.

Your sweaty, shaking hands clung to the back of his sweater as you buried your face into his neck. The familiar scent of his woodsy cologne and natural sweat was more of a sedative than any drug you could find at the party and you fucking needed it.

Hitoshi wrapped his arms around you from the small of your back to your shoulders, squeezing as he buried his face in your hair.

You stiffened but relaxed a moment later. You couldn’t keep pretending. You didn’t have it in you.

You were surrounded by him and the cold air, and nothing felt more comforting.

You decided to forget the semantics of your relationship for a little.

(You hoped, prayed, that he would too).

Hitoshi suddenly tensed, “Is it okay that I’m touching you?”

You could only nod, voice weak and small in the back of your throat, “Y-yeah, it's cool. It’s been cool.”

Hitoshi grounded you, turning the two of you so you were protected from any potential prying eyes. He moved you just right so that his cheek rested on top of your head.

You allowed yourself to close your eyes and focus on the calming beat of Hitoshi’s heart.

He soothed you by existing; he always did. But, in that moment, after such an uncomfortably close brush with something fucking disgusting, his presence was almost cleansing. It purged you of the incessant clawing in the back of your mind.

You’re safe.

You pulled away just enough to look up at Hitoshi’s face. You felt him give you a squeeze which made the smallest, unlikely smile form on your lips.

Slowly, like he was trying not to spook a wild animal, Hitoshi cupped the side of your face. The hold was firm, like it had power to it. You sank into his palm.

(Fuck that feels nice—)

“How are you feeling?” Hitoshi asked softly, gaze warm and honey-like.

You laughed weakly, leaning into his palm, “Like shit. Holy fuck.”

The hand cradling your lower back stroked a thumb idly, “I can only imagine. What happened back there? That guy had been in the ‘sex room’ with us, right?”

“Uh, excuse you, ‘sex attic’, I think you mean?” You still managed to joke. “And yes. Must’ve been following me or something, fucking creep.”

“If you want, I’ll go back in there and kick the shit outta him. I’m sure the others will help. It’d be so worth getting him thrown out for,” Hitoshi snickered, turning his head towards the door as he did.

As he turned back, his eyes widened as your fearful expression returned.

“P-please don’t leave,” You knew it was too much, right? Obviously. But, you didn’t care.

You felt fairly certain Hitoshi didn’t either by that point.

You pressed yourself back close to him and buried your face in the crook of his neck, clutching at his front. “Please don’t go.”

You weren’t sure if he’d return any affections (obviously earlier gestures were just to comfort you, right?).

He did. Immediately, he squeezed as much of you as he could reach, nuzzling his face into the side of your head.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.” Hitoshi reassured you with his voice as well as his touch. You shuddered, feeling his lips and breath so close.

The two of you stayed like that for a while.

You retained your death grip on Hitoshi, contemplating it all. Perhaps it was the setting or the way your body was thrumming, but something was forcing you to come to terms with how you really felt about him.

You enjoyed teasing Hitoshi too much for it to just be platonic. You knew this.

You wondered how Hitoshi felt considering all of those heated looks and smirks he loved dishing out.

(An insecure thought or two crept about only being a fuck to him. You tried to repress it, though it certainly didn’t calm you.)

Despite these thoughts, you held Hitoshi with everything you had, fearing that whatever long-cultivated connection the two of you would slip away by the end of the night.

After a few minutes of slow silence, Hitoshi offered you a cigarette, which you took graciously. He leaned forward to light it, silently regarding you with warm eyes.

You took a fat inhale, breathing out with shaky lungs.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke abruptly.

His eyes widened and he shook his head, gently grabbing your shoulders, “No, (Y/N), there is literally nothing for you to be sorry about.”

“No, there is. The thing with Momo,” You shook your head. “That was bad. I’m sorry, I was teasing you and I took it too far. Way too far.”

Hitoshi went still, averting his eyes and biting his lip.

“I appreciate the apology,” Hitoshi's face erupted in red. “B-but, you don’t need to be sorry.”

He’s... embarrassed?

Oh.

(You truly were a dumbass, but god love ‘ya.)

You took another puff, nodding.

Hitoshi pulled you to him again, this time wrapping an arm around your shoulders. His thumb rubbed idly at the bare skin of your arm as he whipped out his phone.

“What do you want to do?” The air was cold as Hitoshi spoke. It nipped at your skin and made you crinkle your nose.

With a moment's hesitation, you replied in a hoarse voice, “Can we go home?”

Hitoshi visibly softened for you, “Of course. I can call us an Uber. To your dorm...?” There’s a question in his voice that you both already knew the answer to.

You shook your head, “Your place?”

He nodded, “Of course, (Y/N).”

You leaned into his shoulder, letting yourself relax.

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