#finally used my brain and got some more meal replacement shakes

[milkweedman]

Sunset today

[infernal-fire]

TAU (1/2)

Summary: Steve Rogers traps you inside his mansion. Your only means of escape? The naïve A.I., Bucky, that is designed to kill you if you ever step out of line. 

Pairings: Dark!CEO!Steve x reader, A.I!Bucky x reader, Bucky x reader

This is part of a series of works (not interconnected). I highly suggest you read the description of the series master list to better understand the premise of this story. 

Warnings: swearing, kidnapping, mention of sedative, technical Lima syndrome, psychological abuse, violence, blood, character deaths, injuries, mention of depression, suicide & poverty

The chair was on the brink of collapsing, yet Martha folded her arms and leaned back into it anyway. You internally grimaced, waiting for her to fall flat on her ass or give you the bad news. It had to be bad news. You had done this enough times to know that she periodically bounced her right leg only when there was bad news. These days, that was often. 

You huffed once, loud enough for her to hear, hoping to hint that you were hanging by the threads of your patience. She took the hint, finally throwing open the drawer in front of you with excessive force. Pens rolled and a notebook slid towards her amid the force. Again, another piece of furniture that was ready to give in. For someone as stingy as her, you aren’t surprised that it hasn’t been replaced - just wondering why she’s treating it like it won’t disintegrate any second now. 

Martha’s plump fingers slapped a couple of bills onto the table, her seedy eyes challenging you to pluck them from under her hand. You wrestled the bills out of from under her palm and diligently counted them, only to shake your head defeatedly. 

“That’s it?” you snarled.

“Steal better shit next time,” she replied, shrugging. 

You slowly sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, refusing to open your eyes and face her.

“I really need the money.” 

When you open your eyes again, it’s because you hear the roll of her weathered chair. Now standing full height, the middle-aged woman shook her head softly, a hint of a smirk playing out on her lips. 

“Like I said; steal better shit.” She turned to leave before facing you again. “You could always come and work with our girls.”

She glanced through the door that was cracked open, eyes resting on the table situated in the corner of the adjacent room. Around it, a group of girls set down cards while pushing poker chips around. 

“Sell my body? I’d rather die,” you scoffed. 

“Suit yourself. Now, get out.”

“Was planning to.” You flipped her the bird, knowing that she was watching you leave.

“Real classy,” she called after you. “You gotta come back here for your next week’s dinner, you whore!”

“That’s all you,” you smiled at her before slamming the door closed on your way out. Oh, the satisfaction of pissing someone off; unparalleled. 

Placing your measly wage into a makeshift purse, you made your way back home. You hugged your frame tightly, keeping your head down and pacing through the dilapidated neighbourhood. 

Once upon a time, when you were new to the shadier areas of town, you affirmed to yourself every day that this situation was temporary. The hope for a better job, better apartment and better tomorrow kept you going for a long time. Deep down though, you knew it wasn’t temporary, and now you were being proven right every day. What was keeping you going these days? Multiple times, you delayed the contemplation of that question, knowing that if you thought about it… well, it’s better to not go there. 

You were careful to double-check the lock on your door and windows when you stepped into the cramped shower. Today, you thanked God for hot water, even though you were sure he didn’t exist. Mind empty like a brand new chalkboard, you shuffled around your one-room housing and put together something edible to appease the churning stomach.

Your ear perked up at what sounded like the creaking of the fourth floorboard from your bed. You locked the door. You were sure of it. 

Still, you peeked over the short dividing wall that hid the view of your bed from the kitchen. Nothing. You shook your head at your paranoia and turned back to get to the less-than-appetizing meal waiting for you. 

Steve jammed the needle into your neck, expecting you to fall back into his arms. Instead, your forehead hits the edge of your counter and you slump onto the floor. Your eyes shutting down and head throbbing, you reach out to feel your attacker and touch Steve with saucy fingers. He groans in annoyance as he picks up your whimpering form. 

Thump, thump, thump.

The nightclubs you frequent were full of snobby, rich kids who didn’t know the value of wealth. You stole to survive. They could survive without their wristwatch for one night. 

Thump, thump, thump.

Music turned the speakers inside out, deafening those closest to it, but the youth are resilient to damage in any form. For you, though, it was too loud; too much. It wasn’t uncommon of you to walk away from the scene with a pounding head. 

Thump, thump, thump.

The inside of your head resembled the thumping of club speakers. Jaw slack and eyes foggy, you tried to rub your temples. But your arms wouldn’t move. 

Sitting up the best you could, you looked down at your hands to see them bound by zip ties, sitting on your lap. It was joke-worthy how your captor thought they could bind you with zip ties, of all things. He would have to do better than this. 

You tugged on the end of the tie using teeth and tightened it some more before huddling your knees up to your chest. Bringing your hands down as hard as you can against your kneecap, you awaited the snapping sound of the zip tie. Nothing came. You look at your hands again, realizing that they were still bound.

“Don’t do that,” a voice piped up from the dark corner of the room. Startled, you look to the source of the voice but no light fell in that direction. For the first time, you took in your surroundings: half of the room was divided by a set of bars. The other side had large machinery with wires running towards the jail section. As you trailed your eyes across the wires, you noticed a closed door. 

At least you knew it was possible to escape now. 

Quickly turning to the place the voice came from, you scooted backwards some more and anticipated the arrival of your captor. 

A woman crawled forward slowly with bounded legs and arms like yours. 

Seeing that it was just another prisoner, you tightened the strap of your zip tie again and tried breaking it one more time. It snapped. Rubbing your wrists where they were bound, you got straight to undoing the bind on your legs. Beside you, the girl moved closer and repeatedly begged you not to free yourself. 

“Shut up, Brit,” you mumbled, referring to her accent.

The bind on your legs gave away and you stood up and stretched. Tentatively stalking around the cell, you noticed the toilet and sink. Why would he have those amenities in here if you were tied up anyway? When you went to touch the bars separating the room, the girl cried out again. 

“Stop! Don’t!” 

You rolled your eyes and touched it anyway. Electricity surged through you and you yelped, pulling back immediately. 

“Could’ve told me it was an electric gate,” you snapped. 

“Don’t try to escape.” 

You looked at her incredulously. “And sit here like ducks, waiting for him to kill us?”

“Someone will find us!” she pleaded. 

“Look at me! Look at you! No one is looking for us. The police won’t blink twice if people like us are gone. And he knows that.” You eyed the door that was inside your cell and looked to the other one outside the bars. 

“Do you want me to remove your binds or not?”

The girl sheepishly looked down before sticking her arms out for you. 

“My name is Peggy,” she offered as she stood up. She held your arm for support when blood rushed to her head. You shot her a withering look in response and she took her hand off. 

“I don’t think we can leave. He can probably hurt us with these implants.” Peggy pulled her hair to one side and showed you the nape of her neck. A glowing red triangle shone from under her skin. 

Your eyes widened, immediately reached for the back of your head. You felt around and touched the area that stung a little when you touched it. You compulsively hissed, realizing that your implant was fresh and the skin around it had not healed yet. 

“Has he done anything to you using the implant?” you held and shook Peggy’s shoulders while you questioned. 

“No, no, but he said it collects brain data and that it was connected to my spinal column, so I shouldn’t try anything.”

“He spoke to you?”

“Once. It’s Steve Rogers, the inventor guy on the cover of all the Forbes magazines.”

“Brain data,” you silently repeated as you look to the other side of the cell again. 

“I have an idea. Rip your clothes like this,” you demonstrated.

Using the rags ripped off from both of your prisoner uniforms, the pair of you created a long rope-like contraption with a loop on the end. You stuck your hand through the gaps in the cell and tried to fling the loop to a nook in the machinery. Failing hurt, your arm accidentally brushing against the metal once or twice before the loop finally caught onto a crevice. 

“That’s the wrong part,” your fellow inmate breathed.

“Yeah, but that’ll work too.” You pulled as hard as you could and a section of the machine broke off, sparks flying from the source. It crackled and caught on fire. 

Peggy was pulling the cell door open, grunting as she tried her best. It gave way and you both looked at each other briefly before dashing out of the room. The jail room went up in flames behind you. Peggy looked over her shoulder, but you yanked her arm, signalling her to keep running. 

You flew up stairs and through doors, finally making your way into a clearing. Peggy rushed to what seemed to be the entrance door and frantically banged on it. 

“HELP!”

“That’s not gonna work!” you rushed to the door and inspected the lock. On the right side, there was a screen that displayed a handprint. 

Do not try to escape. Only Steven can leave the premises. 

“What?” you whispered. The new voice was coming from all around you, seemingly through fixtures in the ceiling and walls, but you couldn’t be sure. The situation was tense and you were scared the whole house was going to burn down.

Before you could catch her, Peggy planted her hand on the screen which scanned and turned red. Suddenly, all the lights emanated red, accompanying a booming alarm that blared through the house. 

In the distance, what you assumed was a statuesque décor piece, came to life. It reminded you of the spiders from the Maze Runner. A motorized killing machine. It stalked towards Peggy and you with pincers appearing from its side. 

Screaming, Peggy ran. So did you, but you weren’t sure if you were screaming. You couldn’t hear through the noise your friend was making on top of the deafening alarm. 

The spider machine stuck out its knife-like hands, trying to stab you. As you ran into another room, you frantically searched for an exit. Right now, your priority was to survive this thing.

You pulled open a cupboard in what appeared to be the study and instructed Peggy to climb in. The monster was coming. There wasn’t much time to hide. 

You shut the closet door and hid behind a lounging chair in the corner. 

The machine came in and scanned the room, looking for your heat signatures. It could see Peggy.

The cupboard door flung open and Peggy shrieked, crawling out of it in attempts to move out of the line of attack. She took 4 steps on her knees and looked straight into your eyes. 

“HELP ME-”

You screamed when she was dragged back towards the machine. You couldn’t save her anymore. You mobilized and ran back to the living room area, not even turning back to address blood that splattered across your back. It wasn’t in your best interest to find out how she was killed. 

“Aries!”

Frozen in fear, you look to your right to see the entrance door open. There stood your captor, staring at the machine that was now hovering over you. 

“Stop,” he muttered and set down his briefcase. 

Aries retracted its pincers, making its way back to the little pedestal it was perched on before. It powered down just as the CEO stepped into the house and glared at you.

For a split second, the doors were open, and you considered tackling past him. 

“Don’t even think about it.”

You collapsed onto the floor where you were already lying down. Getting out was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated. 

Your hands were bound again, but this time, behind you. You were seated on a pedestal like the one Aries was on, except this one had an ugly glass décor piece that extended to the ceiling. You tugged on the bonds, hoping for some leeway, but Rogers had learned his lesson. 

You shook your head side to side, trying to get pieces of hair and blood off your face. Eventually, you had to give up, slumping into the post your arms were tied to. 

“You cost me 7 million dollars worth of tech,” Steve’s voice sounded from another room. 

“If you let me go, I swear on my life I won’t tell anyone. They won’t believe me anyway.” 

He appeared in front of you and placed both hands on either side of your thighs. 

“Things will work out for you, if you just… shut up.” 

You exhaled and turned your face to the right, hoping he’d stop invading your personal space. 

“Just… please, untie me.”

He stood back and considered your request before rounding the side of the pedestal and untying you. 

“Bucky?”

Yes, Steve.

“Activate Aries if she moves a single inch from her spot.” He eyed you at the end of his command and sauntered away to god-knows-where. 

You hoped it wouldn’t be pushing your luck to stand up and stretch, so you did. You mentally considered the various stretches you did as a child, during gymnastics. It had been years since you recalled those, so you did them to the best of your ability. It’s funny how life works. One day you were among a row of girls, learning how to do a cartwheel and before you know it, you’re in a psycho’s mansion as a lab experiment. 

About 30 feet away from this pedestal was Aries.  

Cautiously, you took a few steps away from your place. No reaction from Aries. That meant ‘Bucky’ and Aries weren’t the same thing. You could also deduce from Steve’s command, Bucky was capable of conversing.

Do not take another step forward, Subject 10. I have been told to inflict pain if you move from your position.

You took another step anyway, wondering how much you could test the limits of this A.I. 

Do not take another step forward, Subject 10. I have been told to inflict pain if you move from your position. 

You considered making a run for it but reconsidered. Aries would activate in less than 5 seconds and Steve was still in the house somewhere. You needed to play this better. Besides, you didn’t even have an exit point. 

You went back to your pedestal and sat down, drawing patterns on the ground with your feet. It would help to know the time or date. A part of you wondered if anyone was looking for you, but you yourself had answered that question long ago. No one looks for people like you or me. 

It could’ve been hours or minutes, but finally, Steve called you into a different room. You observed your environment as you stalked towards the kitchen area where the inventor was seated. 

“Sit,” he motioned at the chair that was on the other end of the table. 

As soon as you sat, tiny robots flew to your seat and placed food in front of you. It was some sort of soup with a side of bread, the only utensil he gave you being a spoon. Smart bastard. 

You wanted to hold off on the food; you really did. But you didn’t even get to eat the sandwich that you were putting together before the kidnapping. So you began devouring the meal, ignoring his pointed stare at your lack of table manners. It was only when you were halfway through the meal did you realize that the food may be drugged. Too late now.

“You killed my only other test subject and rendered her data useless.”

“I didn’t kill her.”

Steve dropped his steak knife and fork, shooting daggers into your eyes.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he began. Clasping his hands together, he leaned forward, supporting his weight on his elbows. You could tell by the way he talked that he was used to getting what he wanted. He relished in it.

“Every day, for the next two weeks, I’m going to leave for work. And every day, you’re going to complete the puzzles and tasks that Bucky tells you to do.”

“And if I don’t?”

“It won’t take me more than 10 minutes to kill you, clean up the mess and dispose of your body.”

“If you could kill me, you probably would’ve. I know you considered it,” you remarked, leaning back into your chair and folding your arms.

“Now, why would I waste a perfectly good test subject?” It was his turn to mimic your body language. 

“If you want me to do what you need me to do, I need three things,” you announced. 

“It’s funny how you think you have any leverage in this situation.”

You kept your face stoic, trying to prove that you were serious about the negotiations. If he didn’t allow you these requests, you would never escape. 

“Okay, go on,” he said, clearly amused. 

“I need clothes. Regular clothes, not prisoner uniforms. I need to shower. And I need proper food, like what you’re eating.”

“That’s quite the list.” he laughed. Abruptly, his features turned serious. “I hope you know that you don’t hold any cards against me right now, and if I allow any of those things, it’s out of the kindness of my heart.”

It was your turn to laugh. “The kindness of your heart,” you wheezed between laughs. “Sure, okay. Yeah.”

He swallowed the last piece of his meal and gestured towards the sofas. 

“Bucky will be guarding you throughout the night. Don’t think of trying anything.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you beamed at his sour expression right before leaving the table.

Masterlist

[honeytae]

Is this the wife material you’ve been waiting for?

hello my lovies, happy wednesday! i hope you guys are having a great week, but if not...i’m here to provide you with some seokjin mega fluff. it’s got little actual plot to follow along with - however, i think it’s sweet, so hopefully you guys like it!

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy genre: fluff word count: 1.8k

Coughing as smoke billowed up off the pan, you tossed the lid to the side, eyes burning as you blinked them through the hot air of the oven space. 

“Shit.” You cursed as the fire alarm began beeping above your head, reaching for the dishtowel on your kitchen counter and, in a panic, jumping up to bat at the alarm in a desperate attempt to silence it. 

This was not how you wanted tonight to go. 

All you wanted was to make a nice meal for Seokjin to come home to. It was your anniversary, after all, and he’d been working all damn day. 

You already felt bad enough that your dinners were either takeout or something your boyfriend could whip up after work, since your inability to cook was absolutely hazardous to the building and the people in it, as Seokjin had lovingly informed you after you tried to cook the last time he wasn’t home. 

But even trying your hardest wasn’t enough, which was evident by the smoke exuding from the pot you’d desperately thrown into the sink to put cool water in, the blaring of the smoke alarms in your apartment, and the panicked “what the hell?” coming from your boyfriend as he walked through the front door.

The next thing you knew, he was directly beside you, arm still cradling his bag as he’d rushed in to the chaotic scene in the kitchen. His arm easily reached the smoke alarm on the ceiling, hitting it a few times before he successfully silenced it. 

Glancing around the kitchen with wide eyes, he returned his gaze to you, curled into yourself as you leaned against the counter in shame. 

“Hey,” he greeted briefly, “what happened?” He asked, his tone exasperated as he tried to piece together how the kitchen could’ve possibly gotten to this state in the amount of time he’d left to retrieve some clothes he’d left in the practice room the other night. 

“I can’t fucking do this.” You whimpered, your tone causing Jin’s eyes to soften immediately as he reached forward to pull you into his arms, his palm cradling your head against his shoulder as his other hand landed on the window, pulling it up to allow some smoke out of the hot room. 

You sniffled into his chest as he hushed you, mumbling sweet words to calm you as your fingers clung onto his shirt. 

“Okay, it’s okay. Come with me, love.” His warm voice soothed into your ear, you wordlessly following his lead as he guided you out into the living room, allowing him to sit you down on the couch with a quick peck to your forehead. 

“I’m going to go clean up, then I’ll be right back. Okay?” He asked gently, rubbing at the top of your spine as you nodded slowly. 

“I’m sorry.” You said, not knowing what else to say as the sweet man who’d just stepped in the door was about to clean up another one of your messes. And, not to mention, figure out an alternate dinner plan.

You kept your eyes on the ground as Jin dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands placed on your own as he dipped his head to try to catch some eye contact. 

“Hey, none of that, sweetheart. You don’t need to apologize.” He soothed, rubbing his palm up your thigh before his hands went to your own, picking up your fingers one by one to inspect them. 

“You’re fine, right? No burns or other injuries?” He questioned, you shaking your head in response and causing him to hum in approval. 

“Good. Because guess what? That’s all that matters.” He said, causing you to sigh as you lifted your head to finally look at him. 

“What if I told you I burnt your favorite pan beyond repair?” You mumbled, the man shaking his head with a purse of his lips.

“I don’t care. Pans are replaceable.” He said, threading his fingers through your hair to push it back behind your ear as you huffed a breath past your lips. 

“I’m still sorry.” You pouted, the man’s features crumbling into a chuckle as he shook his head, rubbing at your shoulder with a comforting palm. 

“You’re so silly to think I’d care about a pan.” He teased you, causing you to crack a smile as you met his eye for the first time since his entrance. 

“I care about the pan. And I’m buying you another one, whether you like it or not.” You quipped, Seokjin’s shoulders shaking as squeaky chuckles escaped his mouth. 

“Silly.” He said before leaning in to press his lips to the tip of your nose. 

“Now you sit here and look pretty while I clean up.” He directed you, coming to a stand with a point of his finger, leaving it up at you as he backed out of the room. 

You giggled at his actions, his eyes remaining on you challengingly until he rounded the corner of the kitchen doorway, at last obscuring your view of the man. 

Sighing, you looked around the living room, thinking of what you could possibly do to make it up to him. Him. The man you’d been with for four years today. Grunting, you stood up to further examine the room, opening drawers and cabinets to inspect their contents as your brain whirred with ideas. 

Spotting the collection of candles you stashed away for special occasions, you quickly snatched them into your hands, shutting the door behind you and setting out for the hallway closet.

Grabbing the table runner, you hastily ran to the dining room, lining the table with the fabric and placing the candles inches apart from each other to make an evened out display. 

Sneaking into the kitchen in search of matches, you thanked your lucky stars that Seokjin had his back to you with the faucet running, as he could no longer see or hear you when you snatched the flame starters in their little carton from one of the drawers. 

Scratching the wood against the strip on the box, you lit a match to hopefully light all of them, dipping the flame down into the glass candle cases and continuing the action with each one. 

“What happened to sitting still and looking pretty, love?” 

You nearly jumped at the sudden arrival of Jin’s voice from behind you, turning around with a small smile as he leaned against the wall across the room from you. 

“That’s your job, Jinnie. Come over here and sit.” You directed him, the man’s face contorting into a beautiful full smile as he pushed himself off the wall to make his way over to you. 

Pausing his steps, he instead stood in front of you, his eyes checking out the details of the table you’d built in his absence.

“Cooking is a definite no.” You sighed, turning to look back at your handiwork with a gesture of your hand to the simple decorations you’d put on the previously blank surface.

“But setting the table,” you started, Seokjin raising his eyebrows in amusement, “that I can do.”

Your boyfriend chuckled in response, bringing a smile to your face as he gripped your hand in his to pull you into his chest. 

“I love you.” He cooed, your nose scrunching up in response at the sudden affectionate tone he used before you repeated the sentiment back to him. 

“This is actually really good.” He admired the table again, making you scoff at the man’s amazement at the simplest candles lined up on a runner. 

“Why don’t you set the tables at our wedding?” He asked abruptly, making your chest erupt in butterflies at the mere idea of marrying the man in front of you.  

“I can make that happen,” You agreed, “but there’s going to have to be some kneeling and a ring first.” You teased, the man’s lips curling into another smile before his face faded into a more serious expression. 

“Okay.” He said simply, confusing you as he stared back at you. 

“Okay?” You chuckled, face falling when he wordlessly dug a hand into his jean pocket, producing a small black box between his fingers. 

Your mouth dropped open at the sight, widened eyes meeting his own as his pupils seemed to trace your features. 

“Jin.” You whispered, allowing him to hold your hand in his with a pounding heart. 

“You alright with this?” He asked in just as soft of a voice, you nodding eagerly in response as you grinned at him. 

“Is nearly burning our entire building down what you’re into? Is this the wife material you’ve been waiting for?” You chuckled through your shock, the man’s eyes crinkling as he giggled.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” He smiled, lifting your hand to his face to press kisses to each one of your knuckles, holding you appendages in his as he lowered himself to his knee.

”I love you so much. Kitchen fires and all.” He teased, squeezing your hand in his as you giggled down at him. 

“You are absolutely the only one I want, forever. You’re the only person I want to share my bed with, the only human I want to be close to all the time, the only one I ever want to burn all my pans.” 

At his last addition to the speech, you chuckled, bowing your head for a moment as your cheeks heated up before lifting your gaze to smile back at him. 

“You make my life so full.” He whispered, the tenderness in his words causing a tear to trickle down your cheek before reaching up to swipe at it with your thumb. “Please marry me.” He continued, making your eyes prick with more tears at those words you knew were coming, yet not emotionally prepared at all to hear them fall from his lips directed at you. 

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” You chuckled in bewilderment, Seokjin smiling so big that you could for the first time through the ordeal see the tears brimming in his eyes. 

Vision blurring with more unshed tears, you barely registered Seokjin slipping the ring snug onto your fourth finger before you were desperately tugging him up from the ground into a hug. 

He only got halfway up off the floor before you were seated on his thigh, his opposite knee supporting his weight as it remained down on the ground. Your fiancé easily intercepted your frame with a watery chuckle, rubbing his palm up and down your back as he lightly swayed your bodies back and forth. 

“Oh my god, I love you so much.” You spoke into his shoulder, sniffling as you only slightly pulled your face out from where you’d tucked it into his shirt. 

“I love you so much.” He spoke tenderly, swiping his thumb underneath your eye to catch a fallen tear with an adoringly smile. 

“We’re getting married.” You wept, Seokjin squeezing you to him with a sniffle as he nodded.

“We’re getting married.”

[wavesmp3]

you jump; i jump

sunwoo x reader 

requested from sensory prompts #46: the waver in someone’s voice when they’re stressed genre: spy au, exes (ish) to lovers wc: 5.6k  warnings: cursing, tiny bit of gore/blood

Sunwoo used to pride himself for being able to keep his cool, in even the most unimaginable situations. He kept his exterior when Haknyeon turned out to be double crossing their agency, Creker, and secretly sending information to a rivaling one the whole time. Sunwoo didn’t crack when his entire mission in Sydney blew up right in his fucking face, never even flinched when his gear malfunctioned dumping him in a hospital for a week. But all those instances seem to fall flat now. All the times where Sunwoo stayed strong seem to disappear the moment he feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around only to come face to face with you. “What are you-“ he falters, grasping at the last bits of crumbling pride and hanging on to the dip in his voice. “What are you doing here?” 

“You forgot this,” you continue, ignoring him entirely, “forgot it in Vienna specifically.” You dangle a watch in front of his face. The same watch he lost somewhere in Austria three months ago, at the same time that he was in the middle of the most intense and longest mission the agency had ever given him, and more notably, around the same time he met you. “Don’t look so shocked.” You scoff when he fails to respond. “You told me you were gonna be here.” 

Sunwoo laughs, except it’s less of a laugh and more of an exhale of pure disbelief. “I know what I said, but you’re…” his voice trails off, some part of him unable to finish the sentence and another part of him still too disturbed to believe it. 

You tilt your head with faux confusion. “I’m what?”

Sunwoo gulps. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

VIENNA, AUSTRIA  THREE MONTHS AGO 

Sunwoo remembers, with a starling amount of clarity, all that happened three months ago. He can recall every day he spent roaming the streets of Vienna with you despite the way he’s been trying to drown out the memories and douse his lingering feelings. 

When he met you at a pub on one of his first nights there, he told himself he entertained your conversation because, well, to put it bluntly, he thought you were cute. Although the small tug in his gut doesn’t help justify why he found himself stumbling back to his hotel room with you by his side. And there’s really no good excuse for the tiny sting of disappointment Sunwoo feels when he wakes up alone the next morning. 

It’s two days after that night when Sunwoo sees you again, sitting on a bench with a book in one hand and a to-go cup of coffee in the other. It’s an odd coincidence that he should see you in Vienna again, but the small pang of doubt is quickly replaced with a more promising burst of elation. Sunwoo can’t tell if it’s exhilarating or terrifying.

“Ah,” you mutter when you notice him approaching, “Sunwoo right?” It’s a facade, Sunwoo thinks to himself, he knows you remember his name, knows you only pretend to forget. But he doesn’t mention that, instead he nods rather lamely, shoving his fists into his pockets and burying away the voice of reason in the back of his head telling him this is a mistake. “Sit.” You say, moving your things to the other side of the bench and patting the now empty spot next to you. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

And in retrospect, it’s quite obvious that Sunwoo should have found the words alarming. Really, he should have begun to put his guard up the second he spotted you in Vienna again. But at that moment in time, the only thing Sunwoo can think to ask is if he was worth the wait. 

Your tongue darts out, swiping at your bottom lip in thought for the smallest of seconds, before disappearing into your mouth again. “Yeah,” you say, lips turning up into an intrigued smile, “you were.” 

—

Sunwoo doesn’t think much of the way he comes to trust you so easily, telling you the truth about his job in the darkness of the hotel room. He doesn’t think anything of the way you hang onto his every word without ever sharing much about yourself. And when one day, you sit down at the cafe booth across from him and ask, “what’s your current mission,” Sunwoo doesn’t think twice before telling you everything about his objective to infiltrate Pegasus. He also doesn’t notice the phone call you make soon after. 

—

When the truth does come out, it comes fast, like water rushing off a cliff and crashing into Sunwoo sitting unsuspecting at the bottom. It comes in the form of a charity event that he only attends as part of the mission which sent him to Vienna to begin with. The truth arrives, like a rock in his gut, at the same second that Sunwoo sees you across the hall. You, who he last saw at the hotel, and you, who’s supposed to be on a train to Paris right now. And when your eyes finally catch his, there’s something unmistakable swimming in them. You’ve been caught, Sunwoo thinks, finally placing a name to the familiar way you swallow and dart your eyes around the room. Sunwoo recognizes the feeling, vaguely remembers the rush he felt once in Santiago and again in New York. 

“I can explain,” you hiss, quiet and breathless, finding him outside the hall after a few minutes. 

And Sunwoo knows he should be dying for an explanation of what you’re doing here or who you’re really working with. Some small part of Sunwoo knows that he should already be replaying every conversation and trying to determine how much information he’s given you to use against him. But another, larger part of him, that’s poking at his heart and prodding at his brain, chooses to stare at your lying eyes, study the face he’s come to memorize, and lamely ask, “how much of…” his voice tapers off, gesturing to the empty space in between you two, “of this was a lie?”

You don’t respond, but in the silence Sunwoo finds the answer anyways. 

All of it.

—

It’s not long after that night that a new message from the case officer shows up for him.  

You’re on thin ice. New mission: get rid of that Pegasus agent. 

PRESENT TIME  THREE MONTHS AFTER VIENNA

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here?” Sunwoo asks you again, shifting in his plastic red chair and keeping his gaze focused on the street you’re both seated beside. He hadn’t planned on hanging out after crossing paths with you earlier today. In fact, the only thing he wanted to do was put as much distance between the two of you as possible, but when you offer him a meal in exchange for a conversation, his rumbling stomach agrees before he can even consider the offer. The scene you lead him to is a busy one, filled with people rushing down the road and bustling behind each of the food stalls. It’s a mosh-posh of neon signs, kicked up dust, and the aroma of food being fried. More importantly, it’s a loud area, one where you and Sunwoo can talk freely without the worry of being heard by someone seated nearby. He takes a bite into his skewer, waiting for your response. 

“And you still haven’t told me why you didn’t follow through with the mission,” you counter, twirling your lime green straw with the tip of your finger. “The one where you were supposed to kill me.” 

You say it plainly, but something in Sunwoo’s stomach turns hard at the reminder anyways. “We’re spies,” he mutters behind clenched teeth, “not assassins.” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, taking a sip from your coke, “the job description is pretty vague.” 

The words are met with a taut silence, a snap of Sunwoo’s eyes towards yours, and a search for any implication of murder behind the sentence. 

“It’s a joke,” you choke, wiping the coke that slips from your mouth and quickly shaking your head, “I haven’t killed anyone.”

“Well anyways,” Sunwoo continues, “I tried to finish the mission. Even hired someone to find you.” And as soon as the words leave his mouth, Sunwoo realizes he’s told you too much, realizes he’s let the truth slip too easily--again. Biting his lip, he thinks this must be what people mean when they say ‘old habits die hard’. 

“He didn’t follow through.” You tell him as if to fill him in on how exactly you’re still alive and sitting across from him right here, right now, miles away from Vienna and months after Sunwoo’s hire took his money and ran. “But you knew he wouldn’t, didn’t you?”

And this you say with a taunting smile, catching his eyes like there’s a private joke concealed behind them. Sunwoo only gulps and pulls his focus back to the busy street.

“So what do you want with me?”

“I left Pegasus.” You answer, clearing your throat.

Sunwoo waits. He waits for you to take it back, for you to laugh at his widened eyes and say it’s a joke. The punchline never comes. “You’re an idiot.” He settles on.

“And I’ve got two agencies who’d prefer me to be dead right about now.” You grimace. “But despite the bounty on my head, I’m still here which means you’re probably not on great terms with Creker either.”

“Get to the point.”

“We both have people who want us dead. We both have next to nothing to lose at this point. So let’s team up.” You pause, checking Sunwoo’s reaction. He watches you intently, body pushing against the creaking plastic table in an attempt to hear you better. With an almost mischievous glint in your eyes and a satisfied quirk, you continue: “Let’s take back what we stole for them.”

There’s a long moment where Sunwoo just stares at you, deciphering what to make of the proposition. You appear genuine, Sunwoo decides leaning away from the table until his back hits the chair, but Sunwoo isn’t exactly sure how much he trusts his own judgement considering the last time he decided you were sincere you had been lying to him left and right.

Sunwoo lifts his hand to the vendor of the food stall you’re sitting by. The previous glint in your eyes is gone, overshadowed by a darker shade of doubt. “What are you doing?” you finally ask, voice lower and less excited than it had been a second ago.

With a tired sigh, he replies, “I’m gonna need more food while you explain your plan.”

Sunwoo has to swallow back the smile that nearly emerges at how happy you get.

--

It’s a simple enough idea. Clear our names, you had explained, wipe ourselves entirely from both agencies. And it’ll work too, Sunwoo realizes when you begin the second explanation on the logistics of the whole operation. The only downside to your plan is you. Because the last person Sunwoo wants to start a new mission with is the same person who broke his heart three months ago. And it’s bothersome, almost, how calm you are and how collected you appear, especially compared to how scattered Sunwoo feels just to be around you again.

“What do you think?” You ask once you’ve explained your plan completely, tapping anxiously on the table.

“I think,” Sunwoo starts, inhaling deeply, “you’ve thought about this way too much.”

“Well, yeah,” you scoff, gulping down some more coke, “three months is kind of a long time.”

And yeah, he thinks, it is. But despite the time that’s passed since you’ve last seen each other and despite the way Sunwoo thought he was over you, his stomach still flips each time you look his way. He just prays that the past three months have at least somewhat watered down how he used to feel about you.

“How do I know you won’t ditch me after we clear you?” Sunwoo asks, pushing away the thoughts of lingering heartache to a corner of his mind.

“We’ll do you first.” You state simply. “Steal your file off Creker and get the bounty off your head first. Then we’ll do me.”

“And then how do you know that I won’t ditch you?”

You falter at that, frowning for the smallest of seconds, then say, “I don’t.”

Sunwoo nods, pretending to contemplate your offer. But in all transparency, Sunwoo knew he’d agree to your plan despite the bile that turns up at your name because with the way he’s been hiding in a crappy motel and eating instant ramen every night, it’s kind of hard to refuse any proposition that gives him the slightest chance at an out from Creker. 

“Okay,” he finally utters, wiping the crumbs of his second skewer off his hands, “let’s do it.” You meet his eyes expectantly. Nodding, he says,

“Let’s team up.”

//

You and Sunwoo clash more than anything else on the first day of prepping for the mission, crammed in a corner of Sunwoo’s dingy motel with two half finished cans of red bull sitting forgotten on the table, fighting about even the smallest details.

“I know the building,” Sunwoo argues, pointing to the floor plan you have pulled up on your laptop, “and this is the entrance we should use.”

“But using this entrance,” you refute, dragging your finger across the screen to show him exactly what you mean, “will give us better access to security and admin. And trust me, I know the building better than you do.”

“How do you—” Sunwoo stills. Something seems to register in your eyes at that moment as well, a small recognition of the tiny slip up, a barely audible acknowledgement that comes in the form of a cough. And all at once, Sunwoo’s reminded of the time he spent spilling his heart to you in Vienna under more covers than he was aware of. Sunwoo’s harshly thrown against the realization that you must’ve been watching him, surveying him long before you ever found him in that Austrian pub.

“See, I knew this wouldn’t work.” He grumbles, shaking his head. “You know too much about me. No, actually, you know everything about me. And I--�� there’s a dip in his tone, “I know nothing about you.”

“Fine then, ask.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is you think will even the playing field between us. Whatever it is you want to know about me,” you shut the laptop and turn your body to face him completely, an action that exudes largely frustration but more faintly, guilt, “just ask.”

--

Sunwoo learns more about you than he had intended to. He learns about the origin of the scar that runs along your spine. A fucked up operation in Shanghai, you tell him, writing over the lie you told him three months ago about it being from your childhood. He learns about your old partner Younghoon and about the shadow falling over your forehead at the sound of his name. He’s told about how you got involved with Pegasus to begin with, a similar story to Sunwoo’s beginning with Creker: an unlucky concoction of desperation and coincidence. You tell him, with reluctance, your most embarrassing story, followed by a long list of firsts and favorites. So by the time night falls, with two empty red bulls at the foot of the bed and the building’s floor plan now forgotten behind the black screen of your laptop, Sunwoo learns enough to rebuild a fraction of the trust he lost.

//

Everything goes smoother after that. You and Sunwoo seem to fall into a rhythm, meeting at a café in the morning and at the motel in the afternoon, planning out the missions with far less difficulty than before. A rather quick adjustment, from both of your ends, and an even faster allocation of responsibilities. He finds himself looking forward to sitting in front of your open laptop each day and conjuring new ways to distract you every hour. 

And it’s after meeting up with you one night, not as partners but—perhaps more cruelly—as friends, that a dangerously familiar warmth blooms in his chest and refuses to wilt away when he sees you again the next day. Sunwoo knows that he should be doing something, anything to blow out the flame, but instead he feeds the fire and prays that this time it spreads from his heart to yours.

//

“Where’d you get all of this?” Sunwoo questions one day when you show up at the motel with a suitcase full of equipment. An assortment of laptops, earpieces, weapons, and randomly picked gadgets.

“Took it from Pegasus before I left,” you smirk, pulling out an earpiece and holding it out in front of his ear. “You’re usually on the field, right? The one in action?” He nods. “Good, you can be the agent for this mission then,” you mumble, setting down the earpiece and holding up another. “I’m usually the person behind the computer anyways. Was even a handler for a mission in Seoul once.” You place the earpiece in his palm and begin to pull out the other pieces of equipment from the suitcase.

“What about Vienna?” Sunwoo says, inspecting a certain gadget from the case. “You were on the field then.” And it’s a question that would’ve been asked with malice if it had come up a couple weeks ago, but right now, there’s nothing but curiosity behind Sunwoo’s words.

“Oh,” you hesitate, a small smile appearing briefly, “I guess I do both.”

Sunwoo doesn’t ponder over your answer for long.

It’s later that day, right as you’re about to leave, that you frown at Sunwoo’s head, matter-of-factly saying, “you should change your hair before the mission.” Then, with a laugh bubbling behind your teeth, you add, “again.”

(Sunwoo changed his appearance a lot. One of the tactics that had stuck from his training days. Never really in big ways, but small changes here and there every couple of months. Sometimes it was a new piercing that he’d wear for a year and let close up in the next, and other times the change came in the form of a temporary tattoo imprinted on his neck whilst in Vancouver with Kevin. When Sunwoo met you in Vienna his hair was a light brown that he had gotten done in Tokyo and hadn’t bothered to touch up since. So when the time had come to change something again, he headed to the hair salon.

“When’d you do this?” you asked him that night, running a hand through the new red hair. 

“Just today.” He answered, hoping you wouldn’t ask for a reason. 

“I like it.” 

“More than the brown?”

“Way more.” You whispered, leaning in until he felt the breath of your words on his lips. 

And in the moment before you closed the distance, Sunwoo had made a silent vow to never change his hair again.)

Sunwoo gets his hair done the day after you suggest it, and when he returns to the motel from the salon, he finds you already there.

“Oh good, you’re back.” You mumble, arms full and an extra key card to his room that he had given you out of convenience a while back held between your teeth. “I just came to drop these off because I have to go to—" you stop, straightening yourself and eyes fixated on him. “You got your hair done.”

It’s an observation, a small, stupid thing really. A comment made in passing that should feel routine with as much time as you and Sunwoo spend together and one that should feel even more mundane considering you were the one to suggest it. But there’s something about the way you say the words that makes Sunwoo feel slightly breathless anyways. “Yeah,” he finally affirms, running a hand through his now black hair, “I did.”

You nod in acknowledgement, setting the things in your hands down, then turn to leave. 

“Wait,” he calls out. You do, pausing three paces away from the door and give a long look to the hand he’s placed on your arm to stop you before turning around to face him. And the next words seem to fall off the edge of Sunwoo’s mouth at that moment, tumbling back down his throat and landing heavily in the pit of his stomach. “Do you still…” he hesitates, attempting to smooth over the nervousness folding up in the corners of his mind. 

“What?” 

“Do you still like my hair?”

You consider it for a moment, bringing a hand up to tug at the new black fringe. And there’s something unmistakably domestic about the way you tilt your head in concentration, eyes fixed on Sunwoo’s hair as if there’s nothing more important for you to be doing in this moment. He watches you evaluate his hair closely. 

“Yeah,” you finally say, eyes meeting his and something like a double meaning swimming in them, “I still like it.”

//

The first mission goes smoothly thanks to you sitting back at the motel instructing Sunwoo which turns to take and what files to download. So with a flash drive containing all the information he needs to free himself from the agency stuffed in his pocket, he turns to leave, whispering into his earpiece, “is the exit path clear?”

“Shit.”

He stops walking. “What?”

“It’s blocked. I think I can get you out another way, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Just tell me.”

“Okay, go one story below. Take two rights and then a left.” He does as you say, feet hitting the ground as quietly and as quickly as possible. The less time he spends in the building the better. “At the end of the hall, there’s a window.” You say once he’s near the place you directed him too. His stomach drops. “Jump from it.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He breathes, studying the drop with grimace. “I really hate heights.”

“I know.” And there’s a misplaced softness when Sunwoo hears you mutter, “I remember.” You wait a beat. “Do you trust me?” 

“Do I trust you?” He echoes, dread and disbelief coating his words. “I don’t even—”

“Just answer the question, Sunwoo. Do you?”

“I—” he studies the drop again, thinks and overthinks the newfound steadiness in your voice. Quietly, he mumbles, “yeah.”

“Then jump.” You tell him how exactly to do it as well, where to find the rope you packed and which hook is best to use. He does as you say, preparing for a jump he hasn’t decided to take yet. And once everything is prepared, the only thing that passes between you and Sunwoo on the intercom is silence. “Hey,” you mutter after a long while, something like a joke audible in your voice, “you jump; I jump, jack.”

“Except you aren’t jumping.”

“Technically, yes, that’s true but—”

“Okay, okay, okay. Shut up.” Sunwoo inhales deeply, closing his eyes and letting silence fill the intercom again. The silence, however, is interrupted the second he hears a group of voices travelling from somewhere down the hall. His eyes snap open.

“Sunwoo—”

“Fuck it.”

He jumps.

— 

“You’re bleeding.” Is the first thing Sunwoo hears when he walks through the motel room’s door, quickly followed by you rushing to him, tilting his head with a finger against his chin, and inspecting the cut above his eyebrow. 

“Yeah well your little jump stunt didn’t make for the smoothest of landings.” 

He means it as a joke. A bad one he realizes when you pull your hand away, eyes dropping from his face and guilt hanging over your head. “Sorry about that.” 

He shrugs. “It didn’t kill me.” 

“Come on,” you beckon, grabbing the first aid kit and heading to the bathroom, “I’ll help you bandage them.” 

Sunwoo sits on top of the closed toilet lid, folding up his pant leg to examine the gash running across his shin. The cut, he realizes, isn’t nearly as bad as it feels, but you make a small face at the sight of it anyways. It doesn’t take you very long to clean the cut on his leg, quickly finishing it while kneeling on the cold bathroom tile and asking him questions about the mission.

“No stitches?” He wonders when you pat a bandage in place.

You shake your head. “You should be fine. Nothing more than a gloried scrape really.” You add teasingly while rearranging the objects in the first aid kit. And when you laugh at the look he gives you for the comment, Sunwoo does his best to ignore the fluttering that appears in his gut at the sound. 

You move on from the cut on his leg, placing the first aid kid on top of the counter and poking the bruise that’s forming above his knee before getting up yourself. He smacks your hand away.

“How’d you know about my fear of heights by the way?”

“You told me one night in Vienna.” You answer, tearing open an alcohol wipe packet. “Do you not remember?”

He shakes his head.

Frowning, you let out a small, “oh.”

Neither of you say anything after that. And Sunwoo’s so focused on the frown that’s yet to leave your face that he barely registers the way you lean towards him for better access, propping your knee on top of the toilet and between his legs for balance. Although he does notice the warmth that radiates off your body. And a minute after that, he notices how much longer it takes you to clean this, smaller cut than it took to clean the one on his leg.

“Sorry.” You quickly apologize when you press against the cut too harshly. Sunwoo waves you off. “I am sorry though.” You repeat, seriously, lips still turned down in a frown and brows knit together.

“It’s really fine.” He chuckles, amused by the amount of gravity in the apology. 

“No. For Vienna.” The amusement dies in the back of his throat. “I never apologized for…” you falter there, fingers paused against his forehead, “for that. But I am sorry.”

“It was your mission.” Sunwoo gulps. “You were being a good agent.”

“And a shitty person.” You say, no hint of a joke laced in the statement. “In fact, the mission was just to observe you. Make sure you didn’t find out anything too important about Pegasus. Meeting you was mostly on accident. And everything that followed,” you bite your lip, and Sunwoo can’t tell if you’re biting back a smile or a frown, “all those other parts just sort of came naturally.”

The flame in his chest from before bursts into a bonfire, filling his lungs with a hopeful smoke. “Naturally?” He echoes.

“Yeah,” you repeat, tongue darting out in concentration while you complete the last step of smoothing out the bandage. You don’t lean away when you finish. You don’t remove your knee from between his legs. Don’t pull away the hand you have holding back his hair or the one resting against the side of his face. Nothing but your eyes move, trailing down until they find his, visibly gulping, then wandering further below. “Naturally.”

And the word is like a spell, lifting his chin and drawing him towards you until his lips are brushing against yours. It’s barely a kiss, a small hesitant press of lips that lasts no longer than a second, but one that has Sunwoo’s heart pounding wildly in a way it never did three months ago. He pauses there, lips unmoving and hovering just below yours, waiting for you.

You don’t move. Neither leaning in nor away. His gaze flickers up to your eyes, finds them half open, focused on the upper curve of his lip. He captures your lips between his again, a second attempt that is met with response when you lean into it, inhaling him in for a tiny blissful moment and exhaling him out in the next, pushing him back by the shoulders and stepping away yourself.

“I should…”

“Fuck.”

“I should go.”

And you’re gone before he can say anything else. 

// 

The kiss is ignored by both of you while prepping for the second half of the mission. A silent agreement to act like it never even happened and another one to not discuss whatever misplaced feelings led to it. It’s almost sickening how easily you and Sunwoo fall back into being just partners. Especially considering the fact that Sunwoo’s feelings haven’t faded, the bonfire in his chest still burning with the same brightness. So Sunwoo spends his days with you, attempting to put out the fire between his lungs, and he spends his nights alone, replaying the kiss you both pretend to ignore.

“Tomorrow’s the big day.” You mutter on the last night, a trail of anxiousness slipping off your tongue. “And then we’ll be done.” 

Sunwoo only nods, watching how your tongue pokes the inside of your cheek and mulling over whether you mean done with the mission or done with him.

--

The Pegasus mission doesn’t go nearly as smoothly as the Creker one, complications toppling around Sunwoo from the moment he begins. They start small first: a locked door resulting in a change of entry and a janitor straggling in a hallway that should have been clear. He makes it to his first destination eventually, quickly shuffling through the room of file cabinets until he finds your physical files, slipping them into his bag, and heading to the next room with you whispering directions into his ear. The next room is empty when Sunwoo arrives. He works quick, bypassing the security system and fingers flying across to find your information.

“Faster.” He hears you mutter over the earpiece. A hasty reminder of what you had told him earlier that week: the room never stays empty for long.

“Got it.” He exhales, finally pinpointing your files and beginning the process of downloading and deleting them.

“Sunwoo,” he hears an elevator ding from somewhere outside the room at the same time he hears you, “someone’s coming.”

He doesn’t move. Keeping one eye on the closed door and the other on the still-pending status of your files. “I’m almost done.”

“If you leave now, they won’t see you.” Voices fill the hall. “But you have to leave now.”

“I’m not done yet.”

The voices move closer, louder. “It’s not worth it. Please, just go!”

He hears them behind the door. “It’s you.”

There’s a jingle of keys. “How will you—”

“Hey,” the door unlocks with a click, “you jump; I jump, right?”

“Sunwoo—”

He pulls the earpiece out at the exact moment that the door swings open.

-- 

The rooftop is obscenely pretty at this hour, with the golden sun partly hidden by a high-rise building but still growing in the distance, scattering its light across the sky, and casting a golden shadow on everything it touches. It’s a gorgeous sight, and yet, there’s no one but Sunwoo here to appreciate it.

“You’re okay.”

He whips around only to find you standing on the rooftop with him, body trembling and hands clasped over your mouth. Behind you, the door to the roof is still falling closed. Your eyes are red, dark circles hanging under them that make it look as if you haven’t slept days. Silently, Sunwoo wonders how he’s just now noticing your sudden restlessness, and a small part of him hopes—no prays that whatever’s chasing your sleep away is the same thing chasing his.

“I got it.” He says, pulling out the flash drive he stayed to retrieve. Your eyes never flicker off his. “How’d you find me?”

“How’d you get out?”

Neither of you answer. Instead, you begin to walk towards him, asking if he’s hurt with a voice that’s too soft and too concerned for Sunwoo to make out an answer. You ask it again.

“No, I’m not hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

You stop in front of him. Close enough for Sunwoo to see the tears welled up in your eyes. “You’re okay.” You repeat, voice wavering with a sudden gust of wind.

“I am, but I—” he hesitates; you take a step towards him, “I miss you.” He succumbs to the fire in his chest; lets it fill his lungs, burn up his throat, and throw the sentence, “I just miss you so much,” out of his mouth without bothering to hide the crack in it.

He meets your eyes and finds a starling amount of clarity in them. “I missed you too.”

“Really?”

You laugh at that, nodding your head and stepping closer to him again. “I missed you before we ever met.”

He stares at you. For too long probably. Watches a smile grace your features, spreading like a fire. The flame feels familiar. And for the first time since seeing you after Vienna, Sunwoo doesn’t have to hold back the urge to ask, “Can I kiss you now?”

“Please.”

He does. Lips crashing into yours, and you meeting the motion halfway, leaning into his lips, his body, him. A fervent want present in the way you pull at his neck and grab onto the collar of his shirt that would’ve probably been surprising if it wasn’t matched completely by him. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his and deepening the kiss for a second more.

You both pull away, just barely, faces still close and bodies pressed against each other.

“Hey,” you begin, breath hot against his lips and a knowing smirk appearing briefly, “was I worth the wait?”

And suddenly Sunwoo’s in Vienna again, sitting on a bench, and asking you the same question.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, smiling, “you were.”

//

a/n: i apologize this request took me forever to get around too. and if the actual spy aspects to this fic make zero sense then my bad i was spit balling here. brownie points if u can find the scene inspired by queens gambit and the other scene inspired by the office lmao

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 60

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,229

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

Author’s Note: We’re back! Omg y’all...I finally have a path to the ending for this fic! After this chapter, I’m planning for there to be 5 more chapters until the end, which will give ID a total of 65 chapters. I’m still working on writing and editing these last chapters, but I’m pretty confident in that timeline :D I also plan to post each Friday again, so there should be chapters now through September 10th, if all goes according to plan. 

PDA

You woke with a smile the next morning, partially because of the happiness filling your chest like a balloon. The other part was because the warm body behind you, accompanied by a rasp of beard on your shoulder and soft lips on your neck, signalled that you weren’t alone. 

The florid orange rays coming in the large windows told you that it was still early, the sun barely risen above the horizon. Turning over onto your other side to face Negan, you took in his tousled hair and heavy-lidded gaze. 

“Mornin’ doll,” he said, voice raspy with sleep. 

“Morning,” you whispered back, pressing a kiss to his irresistible mouth. “No crack-of-dawn meetings today?”

His lips quirked against yours. “Nope, thank fuck,” he murmured, before rolling atop you and spending a good portion of the morning taking you apart with pleasure, then putting you back together piece by piece with cuddles and toe-curling kisses. 

When he later glanced over at the clock and saw that it was almost 10am, he gave a groan and flopped onto his back with a forearm covering his eyes. “Much as I’d love to stay here all day, I gotta go with a couple Saviors to check out one of the nearby outposts. They reported some concerns about their fucking security measures, and also requested a few more men be stationed out there to help divvy up their shifts, so I wanna go see if there’s any fucking issues for myself.”

While you felt a tiny thrill that he was so willing to tell you this information, to let you know about his duties as leader, you also had a moment of worry about him possibly assigning more men out to work the outpost. “Is that the one you brought Simon in from a couple weeks ago?” 

Knowing exactly where your thoughts were headed, he said, “Don’t get your fucking panties in a bunch, doll. If the outpost needs more hands, I was planning to send a couple of my newer Saviors.”

Pleased at this response, you smiled and leaned in close so your mouth was hovering mere millimeters from his, before whispering, “I’m not wearing any panties to get in a bunch.” 

Before he could react, you rolled out of the bed and strode to the bathroom, putting a little extra swing to your hips. The growl and unmistakable rustling sound of sheets being thrown off was your only warning before Negan scooped you up into his arms and marched into the bathroom. 

An hour later and you were both sufficiently clean (after first getting extra dirty against the shower wall), and you saw Negan off from his rooms with a kiss and warning to be careful. He gave an arrogant smirk at that, which got him an eye roll and playful shake of your head as a response. 

You watched as he strode down the hall towards the staircase, shoulders encased in leather and his whistle echoing off the walls. While they’d never dare ask him about it, you couldn’t help but give a little smile at the thought of his men wondering why the hell their usually punctual leader was almost ten minutes late to leave for the outpost...and why he seemed so happy about it.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Unable to contain your excitement over the events of the night before, you headed over to Ben’s room not long after Negan left. Thankfully he was there, having just returned from finishing up serving breakfast. His roommate was out this time, so you were able to huddle across from one another on his bottom bunk and catch him up on your conversation with Negan.

Ben listened intently, mouth slowly falling further and further open as you went on. When you got to the part about Negan admitting he wanted only you, and called you his partner, Ben let out a whoop of joy and threw his arms around you in a hug. 

“I knew it!” he exclaimed. “That big lug is head over heels for you.” 

The two of you chatted happily for a bit, before you left and wandered back down to your own room. It had felt like forever since you had a chunk of time to just relax in your bed without over analyzing or stressing over something Negan-related. Gone was the weight of that padlocked box of questions, which made both your brain and subconscious very happy. The three of you snuggled up on the bed and spent the next couple of hours finishing your re-read of Harry Potter before it was time to head down to the kitchen for dinner prep. 

Today’s menu consisted of lasagna using leftover deer meat thawed from the freezer, with the signature side of rolls. Trixie had unofficially promoted herself as being in charge of roll duty, making sure the dough was the right consistency and the ovens at the perfect baking temperature. She wasn’t rude about it, but the little bit of authority she showed when instructing another staff member how to properly knead the dough seemed to fulfill her need to be seen as a knowledgeable and important part of the staff. And in all honesty, none of her feedback to the others was incorrect, so rather than reprimand her or say she was out of line, you had caught her eye at one point and given an almost imperceptible nod of approval. This caused her smile to beam so bright that it was a wonder you didn’t need sunglasses. 

As it turned out, you weren’t the only one who had noticed Trixie’s presence and been keeping a stealthy eye on her. Andrew, a member of the food prep crew, had been not-so-subtly following Trixie with his gaze lately, and today was no exception. He was an attractive man in his early 20s with shoulder-length black hair and kind brown eyes, a much more appropriate candidate for Trixie than her previous choice.

It seemed safe to say that Trixie was aware of the attention as well, as she found every reason possible to flounce past where Andrew was busy loading trays of lasagna into an oven. At one point, she even stopped to chat briefly with him, and out of the corner of your eye you saw her toss back her head and laugh at something he said. If it seemed a bit overly dramatic to you, well, Andrew didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her reaction caused him to fumble with the tray of pasta he was holding, almost spilling the entire thing onto the ground. He thankfully saved it at the last second, otherwise you would’ve had to interrupt and lecture the two of them about focusing on their work and not chit-chatting. And you didn’t want to do that, not when Trixie finally seemed interested in a guy more her age who was actually available and seemed to genuinely like her. 

Despite your initial tension with Trixie, you now realized that she had just been struggling to find where she fit in, to feel like an important part of the community. She’d initially been scooped up and led astray by Amber, but thankfully she had found her way back on the correct path and was making progress at getting along with the others, rather than isolating herself and using condescension as an emotional wall. Someone like Andrew, who was kind-hearted and considerate, not to mention absolutely captivated by her, was exactly what she needed. 

Focusing your attention away from young romance and back to meal prep, you spent the next forty-five minutes making sure everything was baked to perfection before sending out the first trays of lasagna and rolls. However, your mind kept randomly returning to Negan, almost unable to contain a secret smile each time you remembered where the two of you now stood. The usual worry and second-guessing had been replaced by the stability of knowing how he felt, and each time you remembered his words from last night a flutter of butterflies went off in your stomach. 

Negan had told you this morning that the outpost he and a small team of men were going to was less than an hour’s drive from the Sanctuary, so he planned to be back around dinnertime. Sure enough, about 20 minutes into when the first round of food was being served, you saw a small group of Saviors enter the cafeteria and settle down at a table. You guessed that they were the ones who had been out on the mini mission, and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing them back safely and with jovial expressions on their faces. You could always tell when things went wrong on a run, due to the overall aura of the men who returned, but this time they were smiling and talking animatedly with one another. Hopefully this also meant that Negan was in a happy, and perhaps affectionate, mood when you went to visit him later...

It was as if your thoughts had conjured the man himself. You were out in the cafeteria with a large water pitcher, making rounds to refill empty glasses for people, when a hush in conversation made you still and look up.

And there he was, standing at the entrance to the cafeteria with his signature leather jacket unzipped just enough so that the edge of a white tee peeked out over the top. He scanned over the tables like a king surveying his domain, looking both intimidating and absolutely delicious with the arrogant way he held himself, as if he had no cares in the world but was also ready to take on anything.

When his eyes landed on you, those sinful lips quirked upwards at the edges, and you swore that even from the distance of half a cafeteria you could see his golden gaze light up at the sight of you. He moved, striding with determination and purpose to close the space between your bodies. The breath caught in your chest at his beauty, at the raw masculinity and almost animal magnetism that surrounded him. 

He stopped mere inches away, and you gazed up at him in both welcome and a bit of confusion. Trying to act calm and unaffected, and not show how much you wanted to grin and launch yourself at him, you said, “Welcome back.” 

Your eyebrow cocked in question when he shook his head with a low chuckle. “Oh no, doll, that won’t do at all.” And with that, he wrapped an arm around your waist and lowered his head...

And kissed you in front of the entire Sanctuary. 

A wave of shock jolted through you, at the same time as your body automatically responded, molding itself to his. Your brain was flatlined on the floor from the unexpected move, while your subconscious ran around it in circles screaming with excitement. 

You could practically feel all the astonished stares from community members, as they watched their all-powerful leader break one of his cardinal rules and kiss you to within an inch of your life. And dear god, what a kiss it was! His lips were firm yet gentle, his tongue just barely tracing your bottom lip, as if he couldn’t help but steal a little taste. He wasn’t holding back, and the primal part of you recognized that he was publicly staking his claim for all to see. There could be no question after this moment that you were his, and that he wanted everyone to know it. 

When he finally pulled back, you could only look up at him with what must’ve been an utterly dazed expression, if his pleased smirk was anything to go by. Glancing to his left and then right, his brow furrowed and expression turned serious as he bellowed, “What the fuck are you all looking at?”

His words had the desired effect, as eyes dropped back to their plates and the community stuttered back to action, obviously trying and failing to act like something monumental didn’t just happen. You’d have given a lot of points to know what they were all thinking, but you didn’t see any angry expressionsand no one had said anything or acted out of line, so hopefully that was a good sign. 

Negan’s warm hand rubbed comfortingly up your bare arm, and it was then that you noticed he didn’t have his gloves on. That also sparked the realization that he wasn’t carrying Lucille, which was strange since he always had her on his person when making an appearance in front of the community. 

Now that you’re thinking about it, did he even have her this morning, when he left?

You thought back to when you had kissed him goodbye and watched as he walked down the hallway. Surely he’d have taken her with him to the outpost...but you honestly couldn’t remember seeing her up over his shoulder. You had to just be forgetting, because there was no way he’d leave her behind. 

That train of thought was brought to a halt when the hand on your arm trailed down along your waist and settled possessively on your hip. “I wanted to put in a request for one of your staff members to bring two servings of dinner to my room, for Simon and yours truly.” 

Before you could ask if he needed time alone once you were done with dinner, he provided the answer. “We need to go over the fucking outpost inspection results, but I’ll come and find you once it’s done.” It was the second time he’d done that today, answering a question before you had the chance to voice it out loud, which was a sign of how well he was coming to predict your thought process. 

You were still a bit in shock at all of this, especially how he was discussing his evening plan with you so publicly and audibly, as if to show that you were more than just his in a physical sense. He was broadcasting to the community that you were what he had already told you last night: his partner. His voice had been low enough that only the nearby tables would’ve heard, but you knew every moment of this interaction would be spread across the entire community within minutes after he left. 

Giving a smile and trying to look like ‘yep, this is completely normal, no big deal, I am totally not internally screaming with joy and wanting to climb his fine ass like a tree’, you replied, “Of course. I’ll have it sent up immediately.”

“Thanks, doll,” he said with a final smirk. Then his face morphed back into the intense, badass expression of the Sanctuary’s leader, and he strode out of the cafeteria. 

You were left standing there, still a bit shell-shocked by what had just occurred, but also giddy as hell over it. That emotional high was only slightly dimmed by the awareness that now, with Negan gone, you were the sole center of everyone’s attention. A quick scan of the cafeteria showed that most community members were trying not to openly stare. However, the lack of chewing and frequent side glances thrown your way as your legs finally unfroze and started back towards the kitchen were proof that they had all seen Negan’s display of affection. 

While the rest of the community might’ve at least been making a feeble attempt not to obviously stare, the same couldn’t be said of the kitchen staff. At least a couple of them must’ve witnessed what happened when serving trays of food, and those members must’ve scurried back to the kitchen to report it to the others. Every single one of them was staring in wide-eyed silence with a mixture of shock and fascinated curiosity when you walked back through the swinging doors. 

Even though your face felt heated and you were a bit off-kilter, you still managed to sound slightly firm when announcing, “Alright folks, back to work. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief when they didn’t argue, but a couple of them did give knowing grins, Trixie included, though at least they all seemed good-natured about it. Trying to act as though your world hadn’t just been spun off its axis with that public kiss, you went over to Ben, who was the only one that had stayed fairly composed the entire time. In fact, his eyes danced with mirth and he was obviously trying to hold back a smirk, so you felt only minimally evil when telling him of Negan’s request that two servings of dinner be taken up to his rooms for him and Simon. Ben gave a playful glare when you told him to take up the food himself, saying it loud enough that some others heard, making him unable to say no without looking a bit suspect. 

When the tray was ready to go a few minutes later, you quietly murmured to Ben as he passed by on his way out of the kitchen, “Say hi to Simon for me.” The words caused a hint of pink to flare in his cheeks as he gave a halfhearted glare. You almost felt guilty for teasing him, but knew Ben would more than forgive you when Negan came through on his promise to get Simon his own room.  

Though the kitchen staff still threw glances your way here and there, they quickly fell back into their usual routine and no one made any direct comments. You were safe from scrutiny...at least for now. At least no one seemed to have any extreme concerns about what had happened, making you wonder how many of them had suspected what was going on between you and Negan before now.

Once dinner and cleanup were over, you headed back up to your room. Negan had said he would come find you when he was ready, so you planned to just lay back and relax until then. 

Oh, who were you kidding. After that kiss, you were totally going to sit on your bed and think about all the dirty things you wanted to do to him the moment the two of you were alone. 

Trying to convince yourself that you could be at least semi-productive and pretend to have a hobby other than fantasizing about the leader of the Sanctuary, you pulled the copy of Harry Potter off your bedside table. You were just opening to the first page, planning to restart it again from the beginning, when a firm knock sounded at your door. 

Pulse jumping with excitement, you rose from the bed and didn’t even hesitate to cross the room and reach for the doorknob. It never occurred to you that it might be anyone other than Negan, let alone for it to be the last person you’d have ever expected to see at your door. But things had been going so well today that it was almost as if fate was bored with your happiness and wanted to add some drama to the mix. 

Totally ignoring the warning prickle that ran up your spine, you opened the door with a welcome smile. It quickly died on your lips at the sight of who was standing on the other side, hands on hips and eyes throwing daggers your way. 

It was Amber...and she looked pissed.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

[helenazbmrskai]

Shush

Wow. I think this is the filthiest and the most messed up shit I’ve ever written in my whole life send me holly water pls (after you enjoyed reading this duh) I don’t know how this idea popped up in my mind one night but yeah don’t come at me.

💊Title ‹ Shush ›

💊Pairing ‹ Jimin x OC (f) ›

💊Genre ‹ adopted brother au, forbidden/unhealthy romance, smut, angst › 

💊Summary ‹ Forbidden fruit always taste the sweetest and when the fruit comes in the form of an innocent boy it’s even sweeter. ›

💊Warnings ‹ emotional manipulation, discussions about an incurable disease, unhealthy relationship dynamics, some fluff, multiple smut scenes filthy so be aware!, mention (and brief description) of sexual fantasies, sub! Jimin, soft domme! OC, teasing, mention of porn watching, brief imagined masturbation, corruption kink, first time, virgin! Jimin, blowjob, handjob, good boy Jiminie, jealous OC, oral (f), fingering, unprotected sex (don't do this be safe!), exhibitionism, marking/biting, almost getting caught, dirty talk, riding, pls keep in mind that this is only fiction! don’t do this folks ›

💊Word count ‹ 6k ›

💊Masterlist

Brushing the snowflakes off my coat’s shoulder, I take a look around the spacious living room soaking in the warmth and waiting for my fingers to defrost, hearing nothing besides the wind that blows outside. Checking the clock on the wall I recall that mom should be still at work at this time around, nothing’s new.

I silently make my way upstairs then halting once I’m in front of Jimin’s bedroom door that has a big J on it. Mom would be upset if she knew I didn’t check on him first thing when I got home so I knocked once then twice before I heard muffled noises from the other side and the shuffle of sheets followed by a loud bang of something hard suddenly hitting the ground. The sound itself quite concerningly rings in your ears.

”Are you alright?” I place my palm on the wooden surface concentrating on the noises that I faintly hear filtering through the door, biting down on my lip as I still didn’t get an answer from him.

”Ok. I’m coming in!” I tell him after a couple of seconds of silence, I gave him enough time to yell out that he’s fine. I’m ready to burst through the door when his voice squeaks out a tiny unconvincing ’I’m good.’ but my hand is already on the doorknob. His body lays slightly off the bed when I enter his room, the bed under him is unmade and his hair is dishevelled sticking to different angles from all the tossing and turning looking soft, wearing only a thin white shirt and pyjama pants to bed. Probably haven’t gotten up from it all day.

”You fell off the bed again?” I chuckle, sending him an amused look spiced with an arched eyebrow – it’s not the first time I see him in this position – shaking my head from side to side, though my eyes reveal that I’m not angry just amused. I grab both his knees and help him to lay flat against the pillows just like he was most likely laying before. His eyes glow like a lightstick with a beaming smile on his face.

”Y/N, you’re home early.” Arching up a brow himself he situates his body to rest his back against the headboard interrogating the cause of my early arrival with a slightly hoarse voice. Jimin looks into a specific direction frequently enough for me to spot his staring. I reply to his statement with a roll of my eyes brushing his hair gently to the side after I checked he indeed has no fever. Giving him the benefit of the doubt that I have no idea he’s trying to hide something I smile back.

I scan through his room hoping to find out by the order of things are placed what he was doing before I got home, it’s easy to spot the differences since I’m the one who usually cleans in here but besides his laptop that sits on the far end of the bed instead of the desk, nothing else seems out of place.

”Why? Were you doing something you shouldn’t be?” I grin, at first the question was intended to be innocent but watching how Jimin’s face contorts into a scandalized look I know he’s up to no good. His expression soon gets replaced with shyness unintentionally a boyish blush spreads across his rosy cheeks. It gets me even more curious.

He gained some weight over the past weeks so his features are almost healthily filled out, the new medication seems to work better than the doctors had anticipated and right now he has minimal symptoms.

Mom must be pleased by the outcome, he regained so much colour to his pale skin too. I witnessed all his ups and lows, I still remember the day I met him. He was in a bad shape, bedridden, so pale and skinny like a skeleton. He couldn’t even sit up on his bed to greet me and when he opened his eyes hearing my mom’s voice calling out to him I came face to face with his teary eyes, hands grabbing his chest to ease the pain that he felt crawling his way up from under his ribcage as a silent tear rolled down his cheeks. He got better when mom decided to take him out of the care system and switched doctors to look after his further treatment.

I regarded him as a responsibility at the beginning of our relationship made sure he took his medication between meals just like my mother instructed. Cleaned his room and made him food when my mother was busy with work. She’s a nurse at the local hospital, she left me alone with him a lot, her job consumes a lot of her time so I had to take care of him almost every day after school even had to take a few days off so I can stay at home when his condition started to get worse and he needed more supervision than usual.

Be that as it may, he had his better days that I started to like so much, spending time with him stopped being an obligation and instead, the time spent together started to be the highlights of my days.

Listening to his angelic laugh, having him listen to me talking about my day. No boy or man ever paid this much genuine attention to me, only him. He has his eyes only on me.

His fierce response makes me come to my senses, dragging me out of my own consuming thoughts.

”Of course not!” He defensively spats my hands away when I try to pinch his cheeks. He looks very pretty when the sun shines on his face. He looks like an angel.

”Oh really? I guess it’s fine then to show me your laptop’s search history. How about right now?” I move faster than he can snatch the device so I’m able to get it and open his tab before he even lets a leg down to plant his feet on the ground.

However, I was not expecting to find something this interesting in his log history. Looking between the screen and his red face I tilt my head to the side seemingly deep in my thoughts. It’s not that I never acknowledged the fact that he’s a man in his mid-twenties and because of his unfortunate susceptibility to having a systemic autoimmune disease he never had the chance to socialise like it’s a norm for most people. The only other’s he meet day by day are my mother and I since he can’t go out because of his photosensitivity.

Maybe I could blame the stars that never flickered out of his naive eyes for the past ten years I’ve known him for not thinking that Jimin could have dirty thoughts. Well, this porn page clearly states otherwise.

I know it’s inappropriate to think about Jimin, my adopted brother, in this way but I can’t find it in me to stop the spiralling thoughts.

Wondering if he masturbates while watching these videos when I’m in school. How he grabs his cock with shaky hands, cute fingers coated in his precum. Wondering if he uses the same hand to hold mine innocently after he did dirty things to himself. I subconsciously rub my thighs together to ease some of the tension that gathered between my thighs, even fantasising about him makes me feel hot.

I feel bad thinking about him inappropriately when he’s sick but I can’t seem to feel the shame when I look directly into his bright eyes now. The rational part of my brain screams that it’s inappropriate even though we are not blood-related.

Heck, not at all as mom adopted him when his last remaining family member, his father died ten years ago.

Jimin’s facial expression is like an open book I read him so well. Poor boy can’t even lie everything he thinks about is apparent on his pretty face.

Afraid that I’ll call him names he lowers his gaze, waiting for me to tell him that I’m disappointed and disgusted by him now that I discovered his dirty little secret that he rubs one out to porn but oh boy he has no idea. That I think about him in a way a sister shouldn’t. That there is nothing wrong with being curious. He has all the right to be. It’s easy to forget he’s older than me when I’m the more experienced one in everything.

”Hey it’s ok,” I get to my previous position, sitting down on the edge of his bed right next to his waistline. I curl a finger under his chin to level his face with mine, showing him a small smile indicating that everything’s gonna be alright.

”I watch porn sometimes too, there’s nothing to be ashamed of here Jiminie. It’s only natural to be curious about it. It’s human nature.” He avoids making eye contact but a tiny nod in my direction shows me that he’s listening.

”If you want I promise I’ll forget that this ever happened. Do you want that honey?” Nudging his pinky with mine I offer him the chance to change the topic to something light.

”You won’t tell mom about it, right?” Nodding my head in agreement I assure him that this piece of information can be our secret and no one has to know that this conversation ever happened. It appears to calm him down gradually as he finally reciprocates my gaze and sighs in relief. What you didn’t expect to hear after that, however, was an explanation of why he started watching porn.

”I want to know how it feels.” Jimin admits shyly, looking around to avoid my eyes as he tells me his hidden thoughts and I find him truly endearing. The previous tense atmosphere seems to completely fade away as Jimin relaxes his muscles against the bedsheet and opens up his heart.

”What? Sex?” I asked, watching his reactions closely as I experimentally place my palm above his right knee. An innocent touch.

Jimin shivers into the contact but other than that nothing remarkably changes in his behaviour or posture. He pays careful attention to not let his feelings show up on his otherwise expressive face. Cute. Sooner or later I’ll know how he really feels about my advances as he can’t keep pretending for long. He was never good at it.

”Yes. They seem to like it so much when I’m watching those videos.” Humming approvingly I rest a manicured nail at the edge of his waistband, this earns a sharp inhale of breath but he doesn’t try to remove my touch that indicates he’s not uncomfortable with me touching him. He doesn’t seem bothered, just a little sheepish.

”You know, a video is nothing compared to the real thing.” I let a single finger slide under his shirt drawing circles into his hipbone eyes watching the way his chest moves up and down a little faster at that.

”What a shame that you don’t know pretty girls to have sex with.” Deciding it’s time to remove my hand I’m letting the limb fall to my side lazily. Jimin’s lips immediately form a pout after I stop making advances on his body, showing me that he was expecting something more. All this time I thought he doesn’t see me like I see him but maybe I was wrong assuming that. Gaining confidence I decide it’s time to push his buttons a little more.

”I’m sure girls would form long lines to get into your pants baby. I wouldn’t be surprised since you are so pretty.” The praise makes his ears bright red, mother did a good job with giving him a boyish undercut a good fashion choice to leave the tips longer so I can easily comb my fingers through it, curling a few strays behind his ears.

”Y-Y/N.” A breathy moan leaves his lips as I kiss the underside of his jaw on impulse, finding stability by grabbing onto his thighs to lean closer and breathe in his clean scent. I push him against the headboard but he doesn’t mind it at all, too lost in the moment, feeling my lips on his throat to register any pain.

I pull away slightly to reconnect our eyes. Jimin licks his dry lips, not having anyone to talk to until I arrived home, he kept his mouth shut only feeling now how dry his throat is all of the sudden.

A ghost of a smile appears in the corner of my mouth as I realise Jimin is watching my lips not even trying to conceal his desire to have another taste of the forbidden fruit. This is so wrong but his lips are so light against mine, afraid that if I apply pressure somehow this moment will end and I don’t want this to ever end but as the saying goes, nothing lasts forever in life.

The magical moment ends when I hear my mother’s voice from downstairs. ”Y/N, Jimin I’m home!”

The cheerful voice of my mother abruptly interrupts our first shared kiss, not letting him chase the taste of my cherry lip balm I place a small peck on his nose instead yelling back that we’re upstairs and we’ll be down in a minute.

”No need to rush,” I peck his forehead this time, giving his face small kisses to lift his mood. It’s comical how disappointed he looks with his nose scrunched up adorably. He really has no shame as he sighs licking his lips to taste the remaining flavour of our kiss.

”We can continue this tomorrow, we have so much time, I promise...”

And continue we do. True to my word I comply with his request pulling the oversized t-shirt over my head to reveal him my black lacy bra and the curve of my waist. His eyes devour the new uncovered flesh hands lingering in the air itching to touch my bare skin but too shy to do it without my permission. He remains frozen in the act. Dreamy eyes watching my reaction to his shy movements silently asking for a sign that it is alright to touch. He’s so curious he wants to hear those noises the couples always make in his videos.

I nod putting him out of his misery cradling his hand in mine to place the warm palm onto my covered breast I guide his movements fondling the flesh, his touch feels good despite the barrier between his skin and mine.

Slipping his hand under the cup his finger comes into contact with my nipple I show him how to circle the bud until it gets erect a small sigh escaping my lips. I had the sudden urge to steal a kiss so I leaned in to grab the back of his neck and crush our lips together no tongue just lips touching sweetly.

I removed his touch to intertwine our fingers placing both of our hands to rest against the bed leaning into his mouth more.

”Is that all that you want me to do?” I murmur the words into his mouth, encouraging him to say more, to do more. Jimin swallows the saliva in his mouth gaze significantly cloudy as he stares into my eyes, shaking his head. He got so far the current thoughts in his head are clearly not about stopping anytime soon.

”What else do you want then?” I press him to answer my question, following the line of his upper lip with my thumb smearing the lip balm that got transferred from my lips to his while kissing, Jimin took a shaky breath before opening his mouth.

”Y-your tongue.” His tongue seemingly came out subconsciously to wet his lips I closed my eyes moaning at the sinful image. He really did his research, I’m about to give him everything he wants if he keeps up with these innocent yet so dirty looks.

”Where do you want it?” I grin moving closer so our thighs are firmly pressed together letting go of his hand to cup his face with both hands. Bending my head to peck the outline of his vein on his neck his pulse quickens under my touch. Pleased to have had such a great effect on him.

”In my mouth.” He squeaks out his response when I bite into his shoulder careful not to really pierce his skin but let him feel a moderate amount of pain mixed with his pleasure. I smooth my tongue where I bit making sure that I don’t leave any marks on his perfect skin. I don’t want our mother to ask questions later.

”Hm,” I hum into his neck satisfied by the answer before lining our faces again to fulfil his wish. ”Open.” As soon as I command his lips part obediently waiting for me to slip my tongue into his awaiting mouth.

”Jimin. Can I touch you?” I sigh into his mouth, he tastes so sweet I can’t seem to get my fill as I discover every corner of his hot cavern licking the roof teasing him before letting our wet muscles touch in a heated battle for dominance. Jimin gets greedy soon as he pushes my tongue back to do the exploration of his own, the kiss turns sloppy and too much saliva. Hands clutching onto the duvet under him grounding his body swimming in euphoria from falling too deep into the feeling.

”Yes, please.” Our eyes open slightly to watch each other my mouth founds the corner of his lips then the side of his cheek and jaw before diving back in parting his lips with my tongue to continue tasting him.

With a feather-light touch, I snake my hands upwards his thin frame and tiny waist feels so fragile under my fingers. I want to pepper his torso with my kisses pushing his body down using his shoulders to see his weight bounce on the bed. But I can’t get so ahead of myself, Jimin deserves to be worshipped like the angel he is.

”Lay down on your back Jiminie.” I smile seeing how obedient he is following my orders without any complaints or questions. He trusts me so much.

The thought alone that he is under me letting me have my ways with him makes my underwear sit uncomfortably against my heat when I move my legs to straddle his hips I feel how drenched I am for him. So pretty and so eager under me as his head rests on the pillows he truly looks like an innocent angel.

I motion for Jimin to raise his arms so I can get rid of his shirt and finally do what I intended to do and kiss his body starting from his collarbones all the way to the line where his pyjama pants hide the delicious lines of his hip bones.

I press kisses of praises into his shoulder blades moving down following the line of his sternum to give attentive licks and pecks all over his stomach feeling his muscles tensing under my lips whines and other sweet sounds slipping out of his parted lips as he breathes heavily through his nose with his eyes closed.

When I let a couple of fingers slide under his pants I realise the lack of material under my touch. He’s not wearing his boxers. The outline of his dick is evident when I look down he’s not that long but where he lacks his grith makes up for it as I can already imagine how good he would feel buried in me stretching my walls so good.

”Do you want me to touch your pretty cock darling?” I don’t forget to ask for permission even though by now I can clearly see how much he wants all this. The sight itself, how his member strains against the concealing fabric is an awfully clear giveaway of his growing desires. Jimin maintains our eye contact with hooded eyes nodding his head fervently before he can confirm his needs with words. His body burns but not with fever.

”I..yes, please. I w-want you to.” Jimin squirms waiting for me to do something that would relieve some of the tension in his joints. His cock feels heavy in my hand ready to sink into my cunt anytime, I can’t wait to put my mouth around it first but I have to be patient. I circle a digit around the tip testing how much precum he has for me.

Holding the digit up to my lips I taste the slightly salty substance humming approvingly. Tugging his pants down I get to work giving a kiss to the tip before coating his member with my saliva so I can lubricate his shaft enough so it won’t hurt him. His whole body shakes when my mouth makes contact with his cock his virgin body overwhelmed with the new sensation the little pleasure already too much for him to handle.

I make a mental note about grabbing some lube on my way home tomorrow so I can be prepared for situations like this. My lips suddenly widen into a Cheshire grin as I deliver the last lick all the way up to the hilt replacing my mouth with my hand.

”Jiminie look here for a little.” I coax him to open his eyes again with a sweet voice. ”Like that darling.” I praise him when his eyes met mine, choosing the moment his gaze connects with mine to use the same hand that pleasured him to glide under my jeans and underwear mixing my arousal with his precum I moan for the show as I rub my clit before collecting my essence so I can use it on his dick giving him the needed extra lubricant.

Jimin’s eyes don’t stay open for long when I finally touch him properly with the intent of making him cum. He can’t seem to keep his moans and throaty whines to himself as I give him a confident grip increasing the speed of my wrist when his whines became more high pitched his body gives away all the signs when he shakes under my touch that he’s close embarrassingly fast but I don’t mind, it’s his first time after all. We can always work on his stamina later.

”Relax baby and just enjoy this.” I encourage him to let go, massaging his thighs with my free hand to relax his strained muscles, slowing down my strokes but give special treatment to the tip collecting the forming precum. ”There’s no need for you to hold back.” I peck his hip picking up my pace again for a few moments longer before taking him into my mouth waiting for him to cum swirling my tongue over the tip repeatedly.

”Y-Y/N.” My name comes out in moans like a broken record when he finally lets all the tension seep away from his body letting the building pleasure force him into submission as he cums into my mouth his body goes limp when the pleasure fades away after I let him ride out his high with gentle licks.

I place the duvet over his sleepy form after I help him back into his clothes, tucking him in as I kiss his cheek to say ’sleep tight’ with the gesture.

I toss the food around on my plate in front of me tentatively listening to the conversation held between my parent and her guest but not engaging, sinking my fork into the broccoli angrily as I hear Natalie’s sugar-coated voice destined for only Jimin’s ears to catch.

She leeched herself onto him as soon as she stepped into this house annoying me with saying stuff like ’you have such a nice brother’ just to emphasise my relation to him. Even my mom takes her side saying that they look cute together.

I know she wants Jimin to socialise, that’s why this dinner is purposefully held in the first place but I can’t seem to show a different emotion than disgust when I look at Natalie trying to woo my Jimin. She will never know how he sounds when he’s about to blow his load or how he would taste against her tongue because only I can see that side of him no one else, and especially not her.

  His ears are red from her constant compliments and I swear I even saw her hand grip his shoulder when she laughed about something my mom said, he shies away from her because he never kept a conversation going on with another girl that wasn’t me or my mom before but that doesn’t mean jealousy doesn’t bubble up in my chest when he doesn’t deny her advances explicitly.

The dinner continues for an awfully long time before I could excuse myself from the table to hide away in my room and peacefully start yelling into my pillow to relieve my pent up frustration throughout this unpleasant meal.

Either Jimin genuinely didn’t have a clue what she was implying or he was aware but fine with it I don’t want to waste any more time and watch her all over him. I continued sulking in my room when I heard a knock on my door grunting a ’yes’ before I resembled smashing my keyboard I suddenly felt the urge to complete that assignment I procrastinated on so I can keep my mind focused on something else.

I avert my gaze from the screen to see who’s my intruder but I refocus on my computer when I see it’s Jimin. I’m not in the mood to talk to him right now since the picture of Natalie all over him is the first image to enter my mind.

”What? Dinner’s over so soon?” I’m careful to use an unaffected tone when I speak up, holding myself back from making eye contact even though I would love to see his face, we haven’t got time all day to talk or cuddle at all since I had to help my mother all evening to prepare for this dinner that was a waste of time anyway.

Jimin stays silent not bothering to answer my question but I still refuse to look at him as I pretend to be absorbed in my work. Even if it’s far from reality when the only thing consuming my thoughts right now is that I want him to tell me no one else is going to touch him only I can make him feel that good. That he wants. No, needs only me.

”A-are you angry? Please don’t be.” I still don’t turn around and looks like it makes him desperate for my attention he thugs at my blouse but I don’t react.

I want him to panic take over his body so he won’t do this to me again. I have to busy my fingers with typing so I don’t move to card my fingers through his locks like I long to do when he lays his head on my lap kneeling on the ground to do so. I don’t push his head away but doesn’t react either.

Half an hour passes in this manner, only my typing is heard in the otherwise silent room Jimin’s head still resting on my thighs hands circling my waist. I’m halfway done with my assignment when I feel Jimin’s nose nudge my centre. I showered after I excused myself from the dinner to blow off some steam and calm down grabbing only a pair of underwear and a shirt to cover my body with.

Jimin placed a kiss on my clothed clit making my body jerk in surprise forcing me with his bold actions to finally look at him our gaze locks as soon as I look down. Jimin folds the sides of my blouse so he can get access to the rest of my underwear following my panty line with his nose.

”Can I make it up to you?” Jimin looks up with innocent eyes that have my stomach twist in excitement but I try not to show him how much he can affect me as well. I’ll still make him pay for his actions.

”So you know you did something wrong.” I scoff but it ends up in a gasp when he licks the front of my underwear without a warning.

I grip his hair to keep him in place holding him close enough so his head still rests on my thighs but not that close to letting him lick my centre again. He’s playing dangerous games right now but I don’t know if I have it in me to be gentle with him.

”You should stop before I can’t guarantee that I won’t lose my control.” I warn him through my gritted teeth, closing my eyes for a moment to focus on my breathing, his eyes grew bigger for a moment before the previous shocked expression morphs into something else.

He can’t reach my cunt from where he’s restrained by my hands so he licks the inner side of my thigh his teeth nibbling on my sensitive skin.

  I loosen my grip on his hair smoothing the silky locks out of his eyes but he cleverly uses the gesture to scoot forward and have another taste placing a more confident lick stretching the rubberband side of my panty with his teeth sliding his hands over my stomach that was previously so obediently circling my waist.

”You don’t have to do it.” I remind him, feeling out of breath from his kitten licks over my clothed mound.

”I know.” Jimin replies with a sweet smile adorning his face before he pulls my underwear down my legs slowly, watching with interest as I part my legs so he can have a good look at my glistening core.

”The girls from the videos always like it when the boy does this.” Jimin murmurs under his breath absentmindedly before rubbing my clit with his fingertips his digits dipping lower to catch where most of my arousal gathers a single digit nudging my entrance. I part my legs more so he can get more comfortable between them I let him get familiar with my most intimate part before I pull his hand away with shaky fingers.

”Taste it.” I order for him to pop his fingers into his mouth licking my arousal clean from them and he doesn’t disappoint as he does.

Now that his fingers are coated with his saliva I guide it back to my core. ”Want your finger in me.” I throw my head back when he enters, my walls sucking his finger in his movements are inexperienced and uncoordinated but I let him experiment until he gets the hang of it, and oh when he does. His one finger turns into two soon as he finds the best way to pound into my wet cunt curling the digits just the right way to make me see stars. ”Doing so good Jiminie.” I tell him between heavy pants as the rhythmical hard thrusts of his fingers starts to become too much to handle I feel my insides tighten just like my walls tighten around his fingers getting closer and closer.

I open my eyes to watch him lean down his hair tickling my inner thighs as he nestles between my legs licking at my clit while the movement of his hand never falters, the new stimulus that his visual between my legs and his tongue on my nub adds to the feeling, making me come undone around his fingers.

”Stand up baby.” I motion for him to stand as well, his finger slips out of my hole, with a confused expression plastered on his face but doesn’t question my intentions as he obligates standing on his wobbly feet I let him sit down to where I was before straddling his hips.

”Are you going to let me ride your cock? Make you mine?” I ask him using my sweetest tones before slowly kissing his lips making sure to map out his mouth once more before turning my attention to kiss the expanse of his neck.

”Yes. Fuck yes.” The way how the curse word slipped through his mind without him noticing is endearing, he can always surprise me with something doesn’t matter how much time I dedicate to learning his body and soul, he’ll always have layers to discover. These good days sometimes even weeks when his illness hides its ugly face into the background are so precious that I wish we could always be like this.

I situate my body so I can pull his sweats down I pleasantly discover that he doesn’t wear his underwear when his dick slaps against his stomach. I reach for one of the drawers where I know I placed the lube.

I squeeze some into my hand before wrapping my fingers around his fully hardened shaft smearing the lube over him Jimin whines when he feels the cold liquid hit his hot member moaning once I roll my wrist the way he seems to like so much. Have enough of the foreplay I position him in front of my entrance making eye contact with him before taking him in letting him have the chance of backing out.

Jimin’s thighs shake as I take him in fully he tries muffling his moans by biting down on my shoulder so our guests don’t find out what we are doing in my room. With a smirk on my face, I roll my hips getting the best responses as Jimin tries to hold back his cries tightening his hold on my waist to slow my thrusts down but I don’t listen to him as I start to grind down on him letting his member pull out almost all the way before sinking down enjoying how good he fills me up.

I slow down as a knock is heard at my door Jimin’s eyes widen in fear but I don’t let him move an inch as I silently take my seat with his cock buried between my folds he holds back a moan when I clench around him.

”Mom?” I call out to her, my voice a bit shaky but I was able to mask it away enough that it doesn’t sound suspicious.

”Are you alright? Can I come in?” I hear her worried voice, she probably heard Jimin’s louder cries and she thinks something’s wrong. At this moment I’m really glad that my mom is very dense.

”I’m feeling unwell so I’m going to sleep immediately but you go and have fun with the guests don’t worry.” I offer her my reply as I circle my waist can’t keep still as Jimin’s dick feels heavenly it shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does seeing how pathetically he tries to prevent my mother from hearing his moans but his innocent facade can’t fool me as I feel him twitch inside me as I talk to my mother while he’s balls deep in my cunt. I wonder if he wants us to get caught or that he would like me to fuck him in front of Natalie on our dining table so she can see she never had a chance with him.

”Fine but come and get me if you need anything.” She leaves with these last words without further protests and I thank her while bouncing on Jimin’s lap silencing his cries by kissing him hard. 

”What mom would think if she saw you in this situation Jiminie? Fucking me while you pretend to be an angel in front of her. Kissing her cheek with the same lips that were buried between my legs moments prior.” I whisper next to the shell of his ear he lets out embarrassed whines but I can feel him enjoy how I fuck myself using him.

My thighs ache as I increase the pace feeling so close again I guide Jimin’s hand between our bodies to make him rub at my clit he does it messily but it’s enough stimulation as I cum again watching as Jimin’s eyes squeezed shut close to reach his own high.

[script-nef]

Compensation | Gojou Satoru

Category: fluff

3k words; Dinner date [5/6]

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The door clicks behind you as you retire into your room after another day of work. Fatigue aches at your bones and the bed is soft underneath as you flop onto it. Investing in a cushiony blanket and mattress is probably one of the best decisions you made in your life. If not the best. 

Drifting away into dreamland sounds amazing. If not for All Might.

“A text is here!” 

“Toshinori…” Even though your favourite character is Hawks, there’s no way you’re not setting Yagi as your ringtone. Groaning, you blindly reach for the phone while not moving your smushed face. Comfort prioritises over the ability to breathe. 

Gojou: Hey! T minus an hour to our reservation! Get ready!

Ah, this. Gojou has made good on his promise to make up for the dinner you missed thanks to his theatrics. Something bubbles in your chest.

Since the beach incident, which ended fine with everyone happy and well-rested, something shifted. In the relationship between you and Gojou. Tensing in the neck, quicker palpitation sometimes. Like the feeling you had when you went on that flight to Shinjuku and also at the beach. Repetition is making it concerning. Maybe a trip to Shouko is overdue.

Gojou: Wear smth nice! Me: ? What? Gojou: They have a policy about ties n dresses or smth. Or we can show up in jeans n see how they react! Me: Let’s not. Gojou: K then! C you in 56 mins ;)

There it is again, the bubbles. Shaking your head to dislodge the feeling, you get ready for dinner.

Joints pop as you rise, lazily gathering towels and clothes. Something nice. If it’s a place with attire regulations, it must be pretty high-class. Or maybe he’s just messing with you to see what you would wear. Better not take any chances. 

Thirty minutes and your muscles are much looser thanks to the hot water. The fragrant smell of your shampoo and body wash puts you in a good mood as well. You quickly slip into a dress, a present Gojou got for you some time ago. It’s a soft and flowy one with intricate snowflakes decorating the ends. It became one of your favourites pretty quickly. 

Rhythmic knocks on the door alert you of Gojou’s arrival just as you’re done drying your hair. After checking in the mirror to see if everything is fine, you open your room door.

The only thing same about him from his usual self is the hair and smile. His casual outfit is replaced with a black suit, presumably the one he bought weeks ago when he tagged along with you to buy Ken-chan a present. Somehow it looks better on him now than it did before. Probably the antique hallway lighting than the department one, it just gives him a more cozy vibe. The blindfold is gone, replaced by sunglasses. His gorgeous irises are still hidden from your view. He cleans up well. 

“M’lady.” Bowing slightly, he stretches his hand out for you to take. You oblige with a giggle. The whole gentleman thing is cute.

“You’re on time for once! No, wait, you’re early!” Time seems to elude Gojou all the time. In the years you’ve known him, he’s never come to a meeting on time, let alone early. Especially ones about him by the higher-ups. There was one time where he didn’t even bother to come but Masamichi-san dragged him by the ear. Unfortunately, there’s no photographic proof which could have been used to mock him with.

“Of course I’ll come on time. Oh, you’re wearing the dress I bought you!” Gentleman vibe goes out the window, him returning to his hyperactive self. It’s still pretty cute. Where the hell is this coming from? There’s a constricting feeling in your throat. 

“Oh, you’ve never seen me wear it. It’s one of my favourites now, and I thought you’d like to see it. What do you think?” By now you’re out in the courtyard, illuminated under the moon. Skipping up ahead, you spin a bit, letting the dress flow out. He doesn’t say anything for a while. “Gojou?”

“You look beautiful.”

“Eh?”

“You look… beautiful.”

The softness in his voice catches you off guard. You stop in your track, the clothing falling and resting against your legs. This is a Gojou you haven’t met before, one with such sincerity and tenderness. He steps up, taking one of your hands in his. Something tingles inside your stomach, like fireflies buzzing around and lighting it up with warmth. What’s happening right now?

“I mean it. You’re dazzling.” 

Fire burns under your skin, originating from where he’s holding you and threatens to consume your entire body. The flutter in your stomach is nothing compared to this. Time stops. The only thing you can hear is his breathing and your heart beating. 

Moonlight cascades over him, showering him in an ethereal glow. Snow white hair shines brilliantly and something seizes at your throat. He slowly lowers his lips to meet with the back of your hand, pressing a light yet somehow heavy kiss. 

You're not moving. Not breathing. It feels like you're standing on a sheet-thin glass, a bottomless abyss underneath you. If you move even a centimeter, take even the slightest of breathes, the moment will break and you'll plummet down. 

Lungs scream at you to breathe. You can't. Not while he's still holding your hand with such gentle sincerity. Heat travels to every cell in your body and the flicker inside your stomach gets unbearable. 

The moment finally ends when his lips detach from your hand. Air slowly returns as he runs his fingers over your knuckles. When he peers down at you, there's just a momentary flash of piercing blue behind his sunglasses that makes your breath hitch. 

"Shall we go?" 

Shooting you a sweet smile, he doesn't let go of your hand and marches on forward. You barely remember to keep up, brain scrambled and chest exploding.

“This is an exclusive place. How did you get reservations this fast?”

“My stunning good looks!”

“Gojou.” 

“Apparently someone cancelled their reservations. Looks and luck. What don’t I have?”

“Humility.

“That cuts me, [Name].”

Stifling laughter, you look out of the window and onto the street. A few weeks ago the view would have been amazing, but now that you’ve experienced flying, nothing measures up to it. There hasn’t been another flight break as you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him for one, since he was so busy, but the exhilaration of the trip never quite left your body. 

When you turn your attention back to him, there’s a lit candle on the table and Gojou’s resting his head on his hand, staring at you. The intensity can be felt over his sunglasses.

“What’s up with the candlelight?”

“No idea.”

Attempts for small talk are useless. A silence sits in the air. Not the comfortable kind that you normally have with him, working in your office while he takes a nap on the sofa nearby. Or the one when he unceremoniously interrupts a break in the garden by coming up and resting his head on your lap, enjoying a soak in the sun with you. Or when you’re eating in the cafeteria together.

Something is just off here. It might be because of… his act earlier. Just thinking about it is enough to bring the blush back. But no, it's more to do with this place. It's much nicer than your school, expensive chandeliers and tablecloths, the air of refinery that everyone else naturally oozes. But it’s distant, detached. It doesn’t suit you or him. Eventually, you break.

“Why did you bring me here?” The smile disappears off of Gojou’s face and his brow scrunches in confusion.

“I thought girls liked this kind of thing!”

"Well, yeah, it’s exclusive for a reason. But I… don’t feel comfortable here. I’m grateful that you brought me here, and I appreciate all the effort you put into this to secure a place for us. It’s just that this feels way too serious to make up for a missed meal. I feel terrible that you went through all that trouble for me. I’m fine with somewhere more casual and comfortable, not the most expensive place you can take me.”

“You think this is the most expensive place I can take you? I’m wounded.” Gojou grips at his heart but the easy-going smile tells a different story. You give him a tentative smile back, worried he might be offended underneath his smile.

“Unless you want to stay here? I’m fine with that as well, this is completely up to you.”

“Nope, it’s up to you. Wanna head out then?” He holds his hand out again. You take it without a second thought. 

“Where is this?”

“My favourite restaurant! They have the best dango for dessert. And of course, the main menus are good as well.” He’s so consistent. 

Customers and chefs alike stare at you two when you walk in. Which is expected when Gojou’s dressed in an immaculate designer suit that’s in complete contrast to the humble and cozy interior of the shop. Some avert their gaze when they realise they’re being rude, but you can see them sneaking a peek from the corners of their eyes. You’re not dressed up as Gojou is, but mortification still flushes your cheeks. It gets worse when he guides you over to a table, leading you to a table by hugging you from behind. This never bothered you before so why is it affecting you so much now?

“Here you go.” He pushes a chair back for you to sit in. A server greets you with a smile, handing over the menu then disappears again. “Is this place better?”

It really is. Spices and the smell of broth leak into the eating areas, triggering your taste buds and causing you to salivate. People chatter and yell and cheer, the cacophony of noises filling the place with livelihood unlike the cold silence of the previous restaurant. This is somehow more peaceful. A smile blooms on your face. 

“This is perfect.” 

The rest of the night is smooth sailing. Gojou knows your taste in food perfectly, expertly recommending which ones to try out. The food is impeccable and the dangos are exquisite, the perfect blend of sweet and chewy. Conversation flows easily once you’re comfortable and blocking out whatever the courtyard thing was. 

He's been away for a while due to a sudden influx in curses so it's nice to have some quality time together like this. With your belly full and warmth spreading over your body, you were ready to hit the sack. 

That is, if he didn’t offer sake to end the night. 

“Hmmm sleepy…” Alcohol doesn’t taste nice. Fuzziness takes over your brain, like thoughts are all mixing with each other and the room is spinning weirdly. Closing your eyes helps. Lights are way still way too bright and it feels like sweat is pouring off you by buckets. Someone’s calling your name but the wall is so nice and cool against your blazing skin. 

“Didn’t know you’d be this much of a lightweight. Hey, hey, you with me?” Gojou’s blurry face comes into view when you open your eyes. Giggles escape you for absolutely no reason. 

“Gojou!” 

“Yes, yes, I’m here. I think you need to stop drinking. Nanami might never let me see you again.” 

“Your cheeks are so squishy!” It’s soft and smooth underneath your fingers, like he doesn’t have pores. Maybe you can’t feel pores with fingers but his skin is just that flawless. “Drop your skincare routine, baby skin.”

“You had like three cups, how are you this drunk? I already paid so let’s go back to school. Lift your arms?” You obey obediently and something warm encases you. A familiar and delightful scent assaults your nose. There’s a click, a lot of clicks, like someone’s taking a photo. You can’t be bothered looking to check. “Can you stand?”

“Mm…” 

“Guess that’s a no. Keep your eyes closed.” 

Your stomach lurches as you’re pulled onto your feet, supported by something under your arms. Cold air rushes onto your face and makes you whine. There’s a call of “thank you” which you reply in your drunken stupor with “I’ll be back!” Laughter comes somewhere from above. 

It’s dark enough outside that you can open your eyes again. Everything’s still a bit hazy but you can find your balance now.

“You think you can handle flying?” There’s really no way to tell other than to try it. So you nod.

There’s a blank memory between that decision and the moment you arrive at your doorsteps. Literally nothing. You blinked after making that choice and now you’re standing outside your room door. You would have fallen thanks to disorientation if not for Gojou supporting you by the small of your back.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

He stands around while you get ready to sleep, helping you tie your hair and catching you when you lose balance. After washing, you stare at him and he stares right back. The stare-off continues. He finally gets the message when you point at the dress and walks out. It’s a struggle to get out of clothes in an inebriated state but after much wrestling, you manage. 

Climbing into the bed, you’re about to actually fall asleep when there’s a knock on the door. Groans answer it because it’s way too far away. The person opposite seems to get the message and comes in. You peek and it’s Gojou with a plastic shopping bag. Sitting down and making himself comfortable on the bed, he ruffles through the bag.

“Hey, you have to drink this. It’ll help tomorrow.” He helps you sit up but pauses for a second. Your eyes flicker open. He’s looking at your body. “Are you still wearing my jacket? After you’ve changed?”

“Yup! Smells nice!” You bury your face in the lapel as if to prove a point. The grip on your arm tightens and he looks down. 

“It smells nice?” 

“Mhm. It's you. I feel like I'm being protected." He lets go of you, instead choosing to cover his face in his hands. His ears look red. Flicking it looks fun. "Gojou? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Drink the medicine." Even with your messed up, alcohol-ridden tongue, it tastes bad. Attempts at whining and escaping is futile because he's stronger than you. "There you go. Now sleep."

He helps you down this time, brushing your hair with his fingers and cleaning up after himself. It's nice and fluffy inside the covers. Gojou takes your hand again, pressing another kiss on the back of it. Shorter than the last time but the intensity hasn't changed. 

"Don't leave." It’s basically a whisper, but Gojou freezes immediately. There's no sound for a while and you can't see what's happening because of your drooping eyelids. Alcohol is great at inducing sleep. A rustling sound and his fingers interlocks with yours. 

“You want me to stay? I’d almost say you like me.” His voice is low as well, but still with a teasing lilt, like he's trying to help you fall asleep. So considerate. Always so considerate.

"Maybe." The word trails off into a mumble. Alcohol also gets rid of your filters and the understanding of when to stop talking.

"I'm sorry, what?" 

"Dunno… You're making me feel weird things…" Digging yourself further into the covers, you try to block out even the faint lamplight. Having none of that, Gojou pulls you out from the blanket cave, ignoring your whines.

"You'll suffocate in there. I'm fine with doing CPR but Nanami might not. What do you mean by 'weird things'?" 

"I don't know… There was like… this thing inside my stomach when you did the thing out in the uh… place. My insides felt itchy and weird thanks to you. Take that!" It probably could not have been more easier to catch your fist. "Noooo, you deserve to be hit! You did something to me… That's why I feel so weird when I'm around you. Ever since the beach trip… I sometimes get heart thumps when I see you… It doesn't make sense why I'm feeling this… I don't feel it with other people…" 

In an attempt to show how annoyed you are, you try to flail around on the bed but it comes out more as a tiny jiggle. Like a caterpillar. Gojou lets out a chuckle. It sounds like he’s laughing at you. Smacking him comes to mind but you’re comfortable right now so you’ll forgive him. By now you’re just mumbling into the blanket.

"Because like… it's the same. You know? This, this… whatever this is… Like in the movies, the fluffy ones. When the girl falls in love with the guy. They show like the whole thing with like the thingies… The close up, the blush, heartbeat getting quicker in the background… Thump thump, yeah? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Silence is his answer. You know he's still there because his hand is still connected to yours.

Sleep addles your mind. There's a whole lot of words popping up, like "Gojou" and "dinner" and "date" for some reason. But it's too late and everything is shutting down. Softly, slowly, you sink into slumber.

"Gojou?" Still nothing. "Hmmm you're asleep as well, huh? That's fine, that's good. You do so much to save everyone, you deserve a break. Like a hero… So brave, so selfless… Really stupid as well, so immature… Hn, maybe I do like you…"

"Say that again?" Oh, he's back. And he's gently shaking your hand, trying to keep you awake. But your consciousness is slipping away and soon everything turns into a pleasant hum.

The last thing you feel is something soft pressing against your forehead.

Next chapter →

[moodykylo]

Sleep Deprived

CW: Sleep deprivation, canon typical self loathing

Spoilers for tpp season 2&3

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Juno Steel was exhausted. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept a full night on the Carte Blanche, and it was starting to catch up to him. 

Juno’s sleep was becoming increasingly restless as the nights came and went; each night leaving old memories rearing their ugly heads. When he was able to sleep, it was anything but peaceful. Whenever Juno found himself drifting off, nightmares would begin behind his eyes, jolting him awake. He had to stop sleeping in the same room as Nureyev in fear of waking him. Now, he was alone, nightmares becoming worse and worse. He had really thought he was done with these childish nightmares of Sarah and Benzaiten, but now they were increasing in both frequency and fervency.

Now, Juno was sitting in his own room, on his bed, eyes burning with fatigue and brain on fire with memories. He sat in his bed, eyelids drooping as he fought with sleep. 

After about half an hour, sleep finally won and Juno’s dreams were anything but sweet.  Sweat beaded on his forehead and he thrashed in his sleep, mumbling quietly, behind his eyes a scene of the past replaying like a favorite movie, until finally, he woke with a gasp, chest heaving. 

Juno groaned, standing from his bed. He wandered out into the hallway - if he was going to be awake, he might as well make himself useful. He stopped in the middle of the hall to lean on the wall as dizziness hit him with no warning. Frustrated with the spell, he pushed through it, rubbing at his eyes.

Juno entered the kitchen, taking out his comms and squinting at it. The rest of the Carte Blanche crew would be up soon. At least he’d gotten some sleep that night, he thought to himself with a bitter laugh. He got himself a glass of water before walking over to the stove and starting to cook a simple meal as breakfast for the crew. 

Contrary to popular belief, Juno did know how to cook. Sure, his ability wasn’t anything spectacular, but he did know how to cook something decent. Today, “something decent” was pancakes. He made almost every pancake perfectly round, saving the oblong one for himself (although he could only manage to eat half of it).

Juno was just finishing up making the pancakes for almost everyone on the ship - although Buddy would be having her usual morning cocktail instead - when Jet walked into the kitchen, bright and early as usual.

“Juno. You’re awake before usual,” Jet said before gazing at the pancakes. “And you’ve cooked. This is out of character, you sleep the latest of everyone,” Jet observed. 

“Hey big guy. I was just awake early, couldn’t sleep.” Juno shrugged. He wasn’t exactly lying per se, but he wasn’t telling the truth, either. Juno rubbed his eyes as another dizzy spell threatened to make him lose his balance.

Jet looked Juno once over without saying a word, and then he grabbed a plate of pancakes. Rita walked into the kitchen next, eyes wide upon seeing Juno standing there. 

“Mistah steel! You’re never awake this early! You made pancakes too!? What, is it my birthday or somethin’? No, no my birthday ain’t for another few months-” Rita rambled before Juno cut her off to explain.

“Just couldn’t sleep. Wanted to do something nice for once, I guess,” he mumbled, leaning against the counter to keep himself steady - why was he so dizzy? Well, it could be the lack of sleep, but it had to be more than that, he thought to himself before Rita’s voice pulled him out of thought. 

“Awww Mistah Steel, that was awful sweet of ya. Thanks, boss!” Rita said before grabbing her pancakes. 

“Not your bo- You’re welcome, Rita.” Juno sighed, a tired smile playing on his lips. 

There was a short wait before the rest of the crew was in the kitchen all with varying reactions. 

“Woah Steel, didn’t know you were capable of being awake before noon, or that you could cook!” Vespa joked before taking a look at Juno, he looked absolutely exhausted. She walked closer to him, talking so only he could hear. “You alright? You look tired.” 

Juno sighed before pushing the heel of his palm into his eyes. “Just fine Vespa, just couldn’t sleep last night.” He blinked hard, trying to get rid of the thick weight of exhaustion from his eyes. 

Vespa almost said something else before Buddy walked into the kitchen. 

“What’s this about Juno cooking?” Buddy said looking over at the pancakes and her cocktail sitting on the counter, not missing how utterly wrecked Juno himself looked. She had known Juno had not been sleeping and saw it was now catching up with the ex P.I. “I’m impressed, wonderful job.” she praised. 

“Thanks…” Juno replied timidly. He was always struck with an odd pride when Buddy complimented his work.

Before any other words could be said, Nureyev entered the kitchen. “Juno, you’re up early…” His eyes were filled with an unspoken worry. Juno just shook his head, already knowing Peter wanted to ask what was wrong. 

“I’m fine, Ransom.” Juno replied before sitting down abruptly; standing was becoming too much work, his knees felt weak and his vision was fading in and out, he was cold, was anyone else cold? It didn’t seem that way… 

“Look everyone I’m fine, I just couldn’t sleep so I figured why don’t I make myself useful for once in the morning.” Juno said again, a tad too crankily. The tone made both Nureyev and Buddy raise an eyebrow, but the conversation was already moving forward when Rita started talking about a stream. Nureyev grabbed his pancakes and Buddy grabbed her meal replacement, a pinot noir, and sat down. 

When everyone was distracted from the discussion, Juno snuck out of the kitchen and into his bedroom to hide under his blankets - he was freezing. He knew that this probably meant a fever. The chills doubled with the room spinning when he moved too quickly and the splitting headache he had, he knew he was completely fucked for the day. 

He closed his eyes for a second before someone was knocking on his door, next thing he knew he was on his feet grabbing clothes from his closet. “Come in,” he said quietly. 

“Juno darling.” Nureyev’s gently called out before walking into the room. “Are you alright? You left rather quickly.” Peter looked over to Juno picking out clothes from the closet. 

“Yeah, just changing into some actual clothes…” Juno responded, putting his selected clothes on the bed. He discreetly grabbed onto the bedpost as the worst dizzy spell that day hit him.

“Juno?” Peter asked as he watched Juno grip the bedpost and sway dangerously. “What’s going on?” 

“‘M fine, just need a minute.” Juno straightened himself out trying to pretend nothing had even happened. “What’s up? What did you need?” Juno looked at Peter, shaking his head to clear the blurriness that was obstructing his view of his beautiful boyfriend, his makeup already done for the day, and suddenly he was embarrassed to be seen in his current state. 

“Are you okay? What happened just then?” Nureyev walked closer to Juno, taking note of how tired he looked, of the slight flush he could see on Juno’s face. “Are you sick? You look exhausted.” 

Juno mentally cursed himself, he was busted - he knew he couldn’t lie to Peter Nureyev, whenever he tried the thief saw through his lies immediately. 

“No, I’m not sick. Just haven’t been sleeping very well lately. It’s kind of starting to take a physical toll.” He sat down on his bed, too weak to stand, a chill running up his spine, accentuating his weakness. 

“Nightmares again?” Peter asked Juno, to which the other nodded. Peter took note of Juno’s state and frowned, concern evident on his face. 

“Are you sure you’re not ill? You seem to have a fever.” Nureyev cupped Juno’s face, frown deepening at the heat he found. 

“Careful Nureyev, you don’t want to get frown lines.” Juno joked before leaning into the coolness of Peter’s hands. 

“Now isn’t the time for jokes, darling, I am rather worried about you.” Peter said to Juno, cupping his too-hot cheek. 

“‘M okay.” Juno said, still leaning into Peter. 

“You don’t seem okay, dear… I’ll be right back, alright?” Nureyev asked, sitting Juno down on his bed. He was going to get Vespa, she was the ship’s doctor, after all, she would know what to do. 

“...Okay,” Juno responded after a beat. 

Peter took a final look at Juno, smiling at him worriedly before walking out of the room and beginning the search for Vespa. 

With Nureyev’s absence, Juno laid down on his bed, wrapping himself in blankets, trying to keep his eyes open. It was a grueling task, but he didn’t really feel like reliving every traumatic event he’d ever had upon falling asleep.

Sleep almost won, but just barely, Nureyev was back in Juno’s room with Vespa before the former P.I. could succumb to slumber. 

“Steel, I knew something was up with you this morning,” Vespa said as she entered the room, looking Juno over. 

Nureyev stood out of Vespa’s way, nervously watching, he’d seen Juno deal with quite a lot, and perhaps that’s what made him more nervous. 

“So, you wanna tell me what’s wrong, or am I going to have to examine you?” Vespa asked Juno, who only nodded listlessly. 

“Yes to which one Steel?” Vespa asked sharply, her worry coming off as impatience, she was used to Juno’s sharp tongue, and seeing him acting so unlike himself was worrying. 

“First one. Haven’t been sleeping well.” Juno slurred exhaustedly. 

Vespa looked at him sympathetically, she understood sleepless nights due to nightmares, she, however, had never had a time where the sleeplessness caught up to her quite as bad as it did Juno. 

“There’s nothing I can really do besides treat the fever Ransom told me about.” Vespa explained, pulling out fever reducers and handing them to Juno, who swallowed them dry and laid down. 

Vespa and Peter exchanged a worried look before Vespa left the room. 

Juno watched Vespa leave through half-closed eyes, fighting against sleep. He ultimately lost the battle, however, when he was asleep within minutes of Vespa’s departure. 

Peter watched Juno fall asleep, sighing in relief watching the ex-detective’s features grow soft and unguarded in sleep. Unfortunately for Juno, this peaceful sleep didn’t last long. 

After about an hour of Juno sleeping “peacefully”, Nureyev watched Juno’s expression twist into discomfort, sweat rolling down his boyfriend’s face, cheeks slightly flushed from fever. Juno started mumbling incoherently, terrified of a threat invisible to Nureyev’s eyes. 

Nureyev considered waking Juno as he watched him grow more and more terrified, but ultimately didn’t need to, Juno woke on his own, a strangled cry ripping from his throat. 

Juno couldn’t remember what his dream was about when he woke, hearing his own screams and feeling tears slipping down his cheeks, but he was still shaken anyway. He remembered hearing screams and feeling cool tears in his dream but maybe that was just his own. 

Nureyev was staring at him, looking at Juno with such worry that it made the P.I. feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t like being the cause of such a look. 

“Sorry, I’m okay.” Juno said timidly, watching Peter relax a little. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asked, but regretted it when he saw Juno visibly tense at the question. 

“I don’t exactly remember what happened.” Juno explained, weariness seeping out with every word. 

Nureyev only nodded, letting Juno drift off again.

____________________________________________________________________________

Many hours passed of the same cycle of Juno sleeping and waking with a strangled noise, whether it be a gasp or a scream, and Juno could tell it was only stressing Peter out, so when dinner finally came, Juno practically begged Nureyev to take a break from watching him. 

“I’ll be fine, It’ll only be an hour at most.” He’d said, Nureyev, nodding and leaving with a look of apprehension. 

Juno sighed, he knew why Nureyev was hesitant to leave, why he was always hesitant to leave; because Juno himself had left him alone. 

After the guilt wore off, Juno found his eyes growing heavy once more and he fell back to sleep. 

It was quiet for a while before Juno awoke again, sweat pouring down his face, and a faint knock at the door. 

“Come in,” Juno said quietly, expecting Vespa to be checking in on him, however, that was not who it was. 

“Ah Juno, I hope I didn’t wake you.” It was Buddy, her heels clicking on the floor as she walked into Juno’s room. 

“You didn’t wake me, I was already awake,” Juno said, embarrassed; he respected Buddy, and here he was looking like a mess. 

Buddy frowned. “Ah well, I’d like to have a chat with you,” Buddy said, her nerves ever slightly showing. 

Juno’s chest tightened with fear. “Um, yeah, sure…” Juno replied, feeling like a child caught with their hand caught in the cookie jar. 

“You’re not in any sort of trouble. I just want to ask, are you alright? I’ve just noticed you haven’t been sleeping recently, and well, I’ve been woken up a few times from hearing you scream.” Buddy explained looking at Juno with pity. 

Juno felt small and weak. “I’m sorry.” He responded meekly, guilt ever so evident in his tone. 

“Nonsense,” Buddy replied sitting on Juno’s bed, keeping her distance but still sitting close enough to be a comfort. “It’s no bother to me, it only concerns me that you’re bottling things up again.” She gave Juno a knowing look. 

“Sorry.” Juno replied, looking at the floor. He felt the guilt crawl up from his chest and into his throat and before he knew it, he was crying in front of the person he respected the most. 

Buddy felt a pang of sadness but did not let it show, she kept her composure and began to speak again. 

“I know things haven’t been easy for you. I don’t want you bottling all these emotions up, how about you talk about these nightmares of yours with me? No pressure but, it might help.” Buddy said, placing a comforting hand on Juno’s back. 

And with that, Juno began to sob, spilling his guts to Buddy, telling her everything that happened in his dreams. He wailed and retold the memories to Buddy, stopping with hiccuping breaths. 

Buddy had known of the former P.I’s struggles but hadn’t known the extent of them all. Perhaps she could blame the fever but she hadn’t expected all the walls Juno had built up to crumble at that moment, but she knew one thing - Juno trusted her. 

Juno couldn’t believe how easily he’d just said everything to Buddy, his captain, and the person who could kick him out of the crew at the slightest wrong move. He didn’t care, he finally felt light, lighter than he’d felt in months, and after a few moments, he spoke.

“So much for you not being my therapist,” Juno said with a tired smile.

Buddy laughed, the sound hearty and melodic, making Juno laugh along with her. 

“I may not be your therapist, but I do care about you, Juno, and that counts for something,” Buddy replied once her laughter died down. 

Juno smiled. “Yeah. Thanks, Buddy.” He laid down, suddenly too exhausted to continue sitting upright. 

“Any time dear, now I do believe it’s time you get some rest, hmm?” Buddy suggested, standing from the bed. 

Juno nodded, closing his eyes and drifting off, and as Buddy left he fell asleep, staying asleep, peacefully for the first time in a good long while.

[lastbluetardis]

Sacred New Beginnings (1/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong.

Ten x Rose AU, @doctorroseprompts

This Chapter: Teen, ~5500 words

Note: Er... surprise? This idea has been in my head for months but my brain took it and ran with it this weekend. I plotted the whole thing and am gonna try to update every weekend. I don’t anticipate this being more than like... 7-10 chapter? I’d love to keep it under 5 chapters but that might be trimming things down too much for my liking. Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this little story!

AO3

Flashing lights and shrieks of his name greet James the moment the back door to his armored car is opened. His head of security ducks out first and James can only see a mass of feet and legs but it’s more than enough to let him know it’s a heavier than usual crowd. Not surprising, considering the news of his latest break-up just dropped while he’d been flying back from a visit to America.

He slides out of the car, helped by hands that pull him as much as guide him through the throng. He ignores the shouts of his name—telling him to look left or right or up or down or every combination therein—and the barrage of questions and jokes that aren’t funny.

Was it you or him that ended it?

Three weeks, is that a new personal record?

Another notch in the bedpost, eh James?

Got another beau lined up yet?

If you’re looking for candidates, what do we have to do to get our names in the running?

“Ignore them,” he mutters to himself, too quietly for anyone except his security team to hear.

In answer, one of them gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as they reach his front door. Someone has already unlocked it for him and the darkness within is a blessing he’s all too willing to be shoved into. The cacophony muffles once the door shuts, and finally he’s alone, a rarity for him. If it’s not his security, it’s personal assistants and writers and producers and photographers and the paparazzi.

Or his lover of the month, as the papers have taken to calling his partners.

But nope, his home is empty and quiet and bloody freezing. A shiver ripples up his spine as he treads to the thermostat controller. Summer finally released its hold on London, and the muggy heat has been replaced with a damp chill that burrows down into his bones.

Several button-presses later, James hears the familiar clank of the radiator and he can smell the heating kick on. It’ll take a while for his house to warm up, so James keeps his peacoat on for the time being as he putters around his home, checking the fridge and the cabinets. As always, they’re well-stocked. He hasn’t had to do anything as mundane as grocery shopping in the five years since his YouTube channel full of acoustic covers of popular songs went viral and landed him a lucrative deal with a prestigious record label. Only in his wildest dreams had he expected to find fame and fortune in the hobby he loved so much—for it to have actually happened still took him by surprise, as though any minute he’d be told “it was fun while it lasted, but it’s time for you to leave wonderland now.”

Shaking his head of those thoughts, he goes to the antique dining table that can easily seat ten people, which is great for holidays or in-home meetings, but just plain depressing every other day of the year. A stack of mail has piled up, and he spends the next five minutes attempting to sort it before giving up and telling himself he’ll look at it in the morning, once he’s not quite as groggy—transatlantic flights always take it out of him.

Instead, he rootles around his fridge until he comes up with the necessary items to make himself a ham and cheese sandwich. With the prospect of food in front of him, James realizes he is starving. He shoves a whole slice of ham in his mouth while he assembles his pitiful meal, heaping on lettuce and sliced tomatoes as though that’s enough to negate the pile processed protein and greasy chips he layers in for crunch.

It’s tastier than any sandwich as a right to be, and he nearly makes himself a second one before catches sight of his phone screen and the slew of incoming notifications. His work is never finished, is it?

There are several texts from his publicist, Donna, welcoming him home and congratulating him on not making an arse of himself just by trying to walk up the front drive of his home. (To be fair, he felt entitled to channel his inner crotchety old man and tell reporters to get off his damn lawn if they encroached on his personal property.)

“Though some photos are surfacing of your trip to New York… Anything you need me to get ahead of?”

He rubs his fingers into his eyes, knowing she’s probably referring to his last night out in the city, where he went bar hopping until the wee hours of the morning to try to forget the text his subsequently-ex-boyfriend had sent him.

Thanks for everything, but I need to focus on my career. Cheers mate.

The career that James had kickstarted for him by introducing his rising actor boyfriend to several of his friends in the film industry, because James had been so damn desperate for affection that he’d once again let the wool get pulled in front of his eyes.

And so James had reached out to mates who lived in New York and they’d all gone out and acted half their age and had a wonderful time once James forgot about why he’d gone out in the first place.

But none of that now. Nope. No sir.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he replies. “Let me know if you catch wind of anything.”

Despite the fact that he only just got home and he’s jetlagged and still feeling the effects of his night out in New York, James can’t stay in his house right now. It’s so quiet that his brain is creating its own white noise. He can’t stand being in his head on a good day, and today is not a good day.

He grabs his keys and wallet and makes for the back of the house. His property is landlocked with the back gardens of other houses; the paps have learned the hard way that James is dead serious about protecting his neighbors’ privacy and will not hesitate to phone the police to arrest and sue anyone caught trespassing on private property to snag a photo of him. James hosts dinner for his neighbors several times a year and buys them gifts any chance he can to show his appreciation for their patience and tolerance.

In the dead of night, he slips out into his back garden, the crisp October air burning his lungs in the best way as he ducks his way through the neighborhood, his feet taking him far away from the crowd of reporters that are still stationed in front of his own home. Hopefully they’ll all have dispersed by the time he gets back. Perhaps he should have turned on music or a movie or something, made them think he was settled in for a lazy night in.

He wanders aimlessly for a while, enjoying this taste of freedom and trying to remember the days when he could leave out the front door of his flat without any fanfare.

It’s dark, and thick clouds obscure whichever moon phase they’re in, but the street lamps glow yellow on the damp pavement, lighting his way forward. A crisp autumn breeze ruffles his hair and the leaves, sending them tumbling around him and skittering across the residential street that’s so much quieter than the bustle of New York. It’s good to be home, though.

He arrives at a bus stop and catches one headed into the city proper. It’s no secret that James lives in London, and therefore the general population has gotten used to glimpsing him on the tube or walking on the street or frequenting pubs. He knows people snap quick photos of him, and he’s always happy to stop and pose for a selfie with respectful fans, but mostly he’s left alone when he’s out by himself like this.

Nevertheless, he hears the excited undertones of people trying to inconspicuously point him out to their oblivious friends. He keeps his head down, mindlessly opening and closing apps on his phone for something to do as he pretends he doesn’t notice them. He won’t be on the bus much longer anyway.

Several people get off the bus with him, including a group of teenage girls who are whispering heatedly among themselves. It’s almost funny, watching them debate amongst themselves before one of them approaches him.

She’s red-faced but determined as she blurts, “Can we get a photo?”

“Sure thing,” he says good-naturedly, inclining his head for them to come closer. “Need me to take it?” He holds out a lanky arm and flops it around a bit. “Got a longer reach than any of you.”

He’s certain one of the girls is about to start crying with joy as they all nestle into his side and hand him a new-model iPhone. Damn, it’s fancier than his own. When he was their age, he had an old flip phone that lost reception if he breathed on it wrong. It was a tank though—he’d dropped that thing hundreds of times, and nary a scratch.

“Do me a favor,” he says, handing the phone back to its owner, “and don’t ping our location if you post to social media, yeah? I appreciate it.”

“You’re my favorite person ever,” one of the girls squeaks.

His face splits into a grin and he tucks his hands into his pockets. “Is that so?”

The girls spend the next five minutes chatting with him about music and how they’ve been following him ever since his YouTube days. He listens and chimes in every now and then when they ask him a direct question, but he prefers being passive in exchanges like this, content to hear peoples’ stories. It makes him feel normal, if only for a little while.

Finally, they take their leave, and James turns in the opposite direction even though the destination he had in mind is down the street the girls had just taken. But he’s been burned far too many times by encounters with seemingly innocent fans, only for them to begin following him around and showing up outside his house to talk to him again. He makes a point of not drawing out public encounters with his fans.

He wanders down a street he’s vaguely familiar with, figuring he can backtrack in a couple blocks. The night is too beautiful for him to be upset about needing to take a detour.

Everything looks different in the dark, the glow of neon signs bathing everything in hues of greens and blues and pinks and yellows. Shops and restaurants are mostly shut up for the night, their windows dark or blinds drawn. Dingey motels with pay-by-the-hour rates are in full swing, as are the pubs that have a revolving door of people in varying states of intoxication.

Deep bass that he can feel all the way in his chest catches his attention, and he gets turned around a few times, but he eventually finds the establishment: Bad Wolf Brews. At first, he doesn’t think it’s open, and that he must be mistaken about where the music is coming from, but the heavy front oak door opens, and he realizes the glass on the door is tempered so that the interior lights don’t shine through. The music is clear and heavy and vibrating in his bones. He doesn’t think twice before catching the door before it closes and slipping inside.

The air is humid and smells of sweat and stale beer. Bodies are writhing and gyrating to the rhythm blasting through invisible speakers. The acoustics are phenomenal; none of the layers are lost and the sound quality is nearly as good as if he were listening to the record at home on his own stereo system.

The lights are low, and he’s sure he trips into a few people in the minute it takes for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, but finally, he’s at the bar. There are three open stools, and he claims one between a blonde woman and a red-haired man as he wonders what the hell this dive bar serves. He can see beer taps, but he’s more of a cocktail guy. He must look as lost as he feels, because the bartender hands him a menu that looks like it was hand-written and then photo-copied. It jives with the overall vibe of the pub.

The bartender checks in with him a minute later. James opens a tab and orders a sidecar sans sugar, and is pleasantly surprised by the quality. Not to make assumptions, but he’d figured an establishment such as this would have cheap liquor. If the alcohol in his drink is cheap, it’s well masked.

When he’s drained the last drop and about to signal for another, a hand rests on his shoulder. “Can I buy your next round?”

James looks up into the face of a stranger. It’s a woman with striking green eyes and a disheveled pixie cut. Judging by her crimson cheeks and glazed eyes, she’s three sheets to the wind. There’s buzzed, then there’s drunk, and then there’s plastered. He prefers not to let himself get to that last category, and by extension, he doesn’t really like to associate much with people who won’t remember the night come morning.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” he says with his most charming grin. “G’night.”

He has no idea if the woman knows who he is, but the way she shrugs and saunters to the gentleman sitting beside James, he doubts it.

He gets clumsily propositioned a few more times and always politely declines with a smile. So far, nobody here seems to recognize him and he is going to ride out this anonymity for as long as it’ll last. It has been too long since he’s been able to sit in a pub and drink quietly. Well, quietly, insofar as crazed fans or paparazzi aren’t harassing him—the music is loud enough that he’s sure to have ringing in his ears for a few hours once he gets home.

But he’s not really in any rush to get home, and so he orders his fourth cocktail before making his way to the loo. Alcohol goes right through him, and it’s nearly gotten him in trouble on tour a time or two.

There’s no line, but the loo is crowded, and he tries to ignore the double-takes as he stands in front of a urinal to take care of business. If he wakes up tomorrow morning to find that someone snapped a photo of him having a piss, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

Bladder tended to, James keeps his head ducked and shoulders his way back into the bar. His stool is unoccupied, and when he steps forward, he realizes why. A purse sits on it, seemingly reserving the seat but he can’t figure out for whom. He’s about to take the cocktail the bartender hands him and stand against the shadowed wall when someone picks up the purse.

It’s his blonde-haired stool mate. She flashes him a broad grin that lights up her entire face and squeezes something deep in his stomach.

“Saved your seat for ya,” she says with the ease and confidence of someone who’s known him his whole life.

“Thanks,” he manages through a suddenly dry mouth.

Feeling like an idiot for standing and gaping, he slips into his seat and downs half his new sidecar in one go. It’s as though the ice has been broken now, and she turns to him, her elbow on the counter and her cheek propped on her fist.

“Pretty sure you could outdrink a fish, mate,” she drawls, smiling again in that easy way that does too many strange things to his insides. “You’ve been knockin’ ‘em back for over an hour now.”

Has it really been that long? James checks his watch, and yup, it’s half past ten. The paps should be gone from his house by now, but he feels no draw to leave this place. The alcohol has left him pleasantly tipsy and warm, but he’s more drunk on the fantasy that he’s just a normal bloke having a nice night out in a newly-discovered dive bar.

“Fish don’t really drink though, do they? They absorb water through their gills via osmosis,” he replies, and he wants to bite his tongue off because what the fuck was that??

This woman, whatever her name is, doesn’t seem to mind his answer though, because her face scrunches in a giggle. His body is hot and throbbing with more than drink now, and he wants to hear that sound again but his brain has stopped working.

“Is that so different from you absorbin’ alcohol through your bloodstream?” she muses, finishing off whatever is in her short tumbler.

“Can I buy your next round?” he blurts rather than responding to her question, which he’s almost certain was rhetorical.

Her smile melts into something softer, something private and a little shy. “If you’d like.”

“I do.” He flags down the bartender and glances at his new companion expectantly.

“Gin and tonic,” she says. She thanks the bartender, then James when she takes her first sip. “I’m Rose, by the way.”

“James,” he says, feeling stupid because his face is plastered all over London, which likes to boast that it’s the home of international celeb James Noble. But wouldn’t he seem more of an arse if he just assumed this gorgeous woman knew who he was?

Nevertheless, his stomach sinks a bit when she snorts into her drink and says, “I thought it was you.”

“Yup, it’s me,” he forces, his voice flat. He hides his frown with his glass, knocking back the rest of his sidecar like it’s a shot. The room sways slightly with the violent motion of his head, and maybe he’s slightly drunker than he’d thought.

If Rose catches on to his sudden sour mood, she doesn’t mention it. “What brings you here to Bad Wolf?”

He shrugs and blows out a noisy breath. “I dunno. Went for a walk, ended up here.”

“Those are the best sort of adventures.” She hums wistfully. “Sometimes you find what you didn’t know you needed when you let yourself get lost.”

That observation is far too astute for his current state of mind, so instead he says, “Would you like to dance with me?”

Her eyes flicker across his face for a brief moment before she says, “Okay.”

He hops down from his stool, but Rose hesitates, clutching her purse and coat awkwardly. The bartender helpfully tells her to keep them on her stool, and he’ll keep an eye on it. Rose flashes him a grin that James would rather she flash at him, but he realizes that is utterly absurd, so he simply rests his coat on top of her things to better hide them from view. He then holds out his hand for her. Her palm is soft and warm against his as he leads her to the crowded dance floor.

They find space towards the back of the pub, hidden in the shadows of a hallway that states it’s closed off to patrons. And of course, of fucking course, right when he rests his hands on her hips to find the rhythm of the song, a new one comes on, and his own voice belts from the speakers.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. He loves his music—he made it, after all—but he can’t help but feel pretentious and more than a little silly to dance to it like this.

Rose, however, grins and says, “Oh, come on, this is one of my favorites.”

She catches his hands where he’d loosened them at her waist and forces him to grab hold of her. She’s wearing high-waisted trousers and a top that leaves a sliver of her belly exposed. His thumb grazes the skin of her bare side, and it’s enough to send tingles through his body. Rose, meanwhile, slings her arms around his shoulders and begins to rock her hips from side to side in sync with the bass, embellishing the motions until she looks absolutely ridiculous but so, so beautiful.

He can’t help but grin and laugh, and he mirrors her movements until they’re both dancing like idiots to his music.

“This is how my baby brother dances,” she explains, bouncing up and down while twisting her hips. “We have regular dance parties together.”

“How old’s your brother?” he asks.

“Just turned four.”

He blinks, and blood rushes from his face. “And… and how old are you?”

“A perfectly legal twenty-four,” she drawls, reaching up to flick his nose. “You can start breathing again.”

Thank fuck.

“That’s quite the age gap.”

“My mum got remarried when I was nineteen,” Rose says with a shrug. “She and my stepdad didn’t waste much time.”

“Clearly,” he mutters under his breath.

“It does feel a bit like they’ve started over,” Rose confesses with a too-stiff shrug. “New family, new life, and I’m the interloper.

There is no way this vivacious woman in front of him could ever be considered an interloper, but before he can tell her that, she continues, “Mum does her best to assure me otherwise, but still. It’s hard to watch all the things Mum and Dad are able to do for Tony—that’s my brother, Tony—when Mum struggled so much as a single mum with me.”

“Your dad’s not in the picture?”

A sad smile pinches her face, and he regrets asking.

“No, I never knew him. He died when I was a baby.”

“I… I’m so sorry.” Well, he’s totally buggered this all up, hasn’t he? He wracks his brain on how to salvage the easy banter they’d had at the bar, but draws a blank.

Rose seems to realize they’ve lost the mood, but she breaks out into a lazy grin and says, “Since you seemed so opposed to dancing to your own music, it’ll please you to know a new song’s on. C’mon, show me your moves.”

He’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so he follows her lead, watching her dance her heart out until her cheeks are pink and her hair is damp with sweat. He’s sure he doesn’t look much better, since he can feel the perspiration beading down his back and beneath his arms, but he can’t bring himself to care. Tonight has been the most fun he’s had in a very long time. Clubbing in New York had been a lark, but he’s been swarmed by his American fans half the night, and had been busy drowning his latest heartbreak to fully enjoy it. But here, now, with Rose, it’s like he’s any other bloke in a pub, chatting up a pretty girl he wants to get to know.

Their bodies are wrapped around each other with the ease and grace of partners who have known each other for years, and he forgets that he has known Rose for all of a few hours. He never wants this night to end. He wants to cling to this fairytale and pretend that the clock isn’t about to strike the proverbial midnight.

But time marches on as always. The clock really does strike midnight, and the bartender begins to clear people out of his establishment. James is as exhausted as he is exhilarated, no longer drunk on booze but rather the company of Rose and the magic they made together by simply dancing the night away.

They head back to the bar to retrieve their coats and her purse, and to close out their tabs. James slides his credit card to the bartender and asks him to charge everyone’s tab to his card. If the bartender is surprised, he hides it well. A few minutes later, James is signing off on the receipt of purchase of several thousand pounds-worth of alcohol. His personal assistant is sure to be confused as hell when she wakes up to see the charge. He fires off a quick warning text to her so she doesn’t open up a fraudulent charge claim.

James salutes the bartender, knowing he’ll come back to this pub as often as he can until he’s found out and this place once again becomes somewhere that’s overrun with his fans.

The night is refreshingly cold when he and Rose emerge into it, a nice change after the stifling, sweaty heat of the bar. However, she hunches her shoulders against the chill, prompting him to wrap his arm around her waist and tug her into his side, all too eager to lend her some of his body heat.

“Can I walk you somewhere?” he asks, glancing around the street that is now full of the drunken patrons who’d been in the pub with them. They all disperse in different directions, stumbling home or to a different bar that is still open. “Or wait with you ‘til you catch a cab?”

“Yeah, sure,” she says, pulling up her phone to order a ride. She taps on the screen for a few quiet moments then says, “Done. Should be here in a few minutes.”

They descend into a slightly awkward silence that James wants to break, but he can’t think of anything clever to say. So he says nothing, and finally headlights wash over them, momentarily blinding them before a taxi pulls up.

“D’you wanna share?” she asks, opening the door to the back seat.

Is she as reluctant to leave him as he is to leave her? Or is she being polite and eco-friendly by ride sharing? Nevertheless, he nods and slides into the back seat beside her.

There is something incredibly intimate about sitting with Rose in the dark interior of the taxi, and he feels like he’s fifteen and wondering how to hold his date’s hand after a cheap night out at the cinemas. He fists his hands together, knotting his fingers until his knuckles pop.

The driver goes to the address Rose provides first, and all too soon they’ve arrived.

“I’ll cover the fare,” he says when she makes to hand over some bank notes to the diver. “It’d be my pleasure.”

She hesitates, but nods, then opens the door to climb out of the car. His pulse quickens as he watches her walk away with nothing but a, “Goodnight.”

“Can you wait just a minute?” he asks the driver.

“Meter’s still runnin’,” he grunts.

“That’s fine.”

James scrambles out of the taxi. “Hey, Rose?”

She turns back to face him, frowning.

“I… er… I had a great time tonight,” he says lamely, but her frown relaxes into a smile. “It was fun. With you. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too,” she answers.

He licks his lips; his mouth is bone dry and his pulse pounds in his ears, making his vision throb with each frenzied beat.

“Do you… do you maybe wanna do it again some time? Hang out together? I… I’d really like to see you again,” he says, cursing his clumsy, fumbling words.

She scrutinizes him for a long moment, her expression indecipherable. His stomach sinks. Maybe this was a one-off, a story for her to tell her mates.

You’ll never guess who I met at the pub last night. James Noble! He paid for all my drinks and we danced like idiots.

He stews in his misery of doubt, and just when he’s about to tell her to forget about it, she slowly nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

“Really?” he asks, a hopeful edge creeping into his voice.

She laughs. “Really.”

“Brilliant!” James fumbles in his pocket for his phone, and he thrusts it at her. “Give me your number? I’ll text you. Or call.”

He rocks back and forth on his toes and heels, waiting for her to finish up with his phone. He has a sudden, potent bolt of panic that she’s snooping through his private messages or photographs for something to use against him to make a quick profit, but before that panic can take root, she hands his mobile back to him. It’s open to a new texting conversation.

From: 🌹 Bad Wolf Girl 🌹

Now I’ve got your number too 😉

He beams at the name she’s given to herself in his contacts, then he pockets his phone.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

“You better,” she replies with that knee-weakening smile he’s grown to love over the course of the night. “See ya.”

“Bye.”

He stands there like a moron until she’s safely inside, then he turns back to the taxi and climbs in. The deserted streets streak by as the driver takes him to his neighborhood. He never gives his address though; he always chooses a destination a few streets away, just in case.

James generously tips the driver and bids him goodnight before slipping into the night to his home. He was right: the paparazzi are gone. There is no fanfare as he slips his key into the lock and lets himself into his house. It’s warm and cozy, but still too quiet for his liking.

Between the plane ride and his night out, he feels greasy and disgusting, and indulges in a hot shower before bed. He washes Rose’s scent off of his body, an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla that’s as sweet as it is musky.

He’s groggy by the time he crawls into his giant, king-sized bed and burrows deep into his mounds of pillows and duvets. One of his ex-girlfriends once teased that he turns into the marshmallow man when he sleeps.

His sleep is deep and dreamless, and when he awakes with the sun the following morning, he feels more refreshed and invigorated than he ever remembers being. He’s got a full day of meetings with his songwriting team to brainstorm his next album, and he is ready.

But first, he checks his phone. There’s nothing from Rose, which makes him a little sad, but also nothing from his publicist, which is always a good sign. If ever she messages or calls him first thing in the morning, it always means there’s some sort of dumpster fire to put out. Usually a dumpster fire full of compromising photos of him.

He makes a point of not Googling himself, but he does occasionally check his social media pages for new posts about him, wanting to know when, where, and how his fans came across him in the wild. He easily finds the photo that he took with the group of teenage girls, and makes a point to like the original post and type a quick, “Nice to meet you all. Thanks for chatting with me last night - J” in the comments section. He snorts to himself as his comment blows up within seconds.

But other than some grainy photos of him riding the bus, he can’t find any other photos of himself. Nothing of him wandering the streets or drinking in the pub or even having a wee in the mens’ room. And best of all, there’s nothing of him and Rose. No photos of them dancing together or sharing a cab. If Rose has a social media account, it didn’t post any sneaky photos or bragging stories about dancing all night with James Noble.

He can’t quite believe it; he managed to have a fun night out drinking without it all being thrown back in his face the next morning. Within seconds, he’s grinning to himself and pulling up Rose’s contact information. It’s still in his phone, further proof that his night with her wasn’t some sort of jetlagged fever dream. She was real.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well. Thanks for last night.”

She responds almost instantly. Good morning to you too. I should be thanking you for paying my drink tab and taxi fare 😉 And for being an excellent dance partner.

“The pleasure was all mine, on all counts.” He sends that message, then types out a new one, “I’m gonna be in meetings all day (yes, I know it’s Sunday), so please don’t be discouraged if I don’t reply. But I’d really like to see you again. Want to do dinner or drinks or coffee or something?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, needing to make himself presentable for when his driver picks him up in an hour. Yet he can’t help but check his phone every three seconds, until finally there’s a message from Rose.

Yeah, I’d like that. I work ‘til five most nights, but I’m free after that. Or we can wait ‘til the weekend.

With spirits lighter than they’ve been in months, James steps out of his house with a broad, stupid grin that the ever-present crowd of paparazzi are all too happy to photograph.

[fa-headhoncho]

Untitled TFATWS Fic: Part 5

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt: i stuck at prompts so uh hoskins is the best and walker is kind of the worst and the beginning then the worst at the end :)

Word Count: 1865

Reader: Female

Warning: uhhh

Author's Note: lmk for taglist, also sorry for not updating, I've had major writer's block. also struggling with tying things together in the plot. i'd rather not post anything than regret posting something lol. PLEASE GIVE ME CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, I KNOW THERE IS STUFF WRONG, JUST TELL ME

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

=====

Waiting.

All you have left to do is wait. After letting the Flag Smashers get away, flying to Germany to infiltrate their base, and Zemo “mysteriously” breaking out of prison; you have to sit here at a random cafe and wait. Wait for a sighting or wait for the two idiots to respond to your messages.

The whole situation frustrated you. No evidence pointed to Sam and Bucky breaking Zemo out but that was enough proof for you and Walker to agree that it was them. Hoskins, on the other hand, was skeptical.

“Why would two Avengers break a criminal out of prison?” Said soldier questions from beside you. The three of you were sat outside, away from prying eyes and ears while you had a quiet meal together. It was nice to have some calm but it made you itch.

You shrug and look down at your cup of coffee, “Steve got me out of prison and I have more a wrap sheet than Zemo does.”

“Yea, but that was to save the world.” Lemar points out, giving you an exhausted look. An uncomfortable pit in your stomach forms at the mention of the first battle, the one that blipped half the world gone.

Silence falls amongst the three of you again as you all are consumed by your thoughts. A small frown appears on your face as you think back to those years ago. Natasha Romanoff, a woman you will never see again, walked into your cell with a kind smile on her face. She explained to you the circumstances and how they needed everyone they could find to defeat a titan wanting world domination.

The look on Bucky’s face seeing you in Wakanda with the blonde was nerve-wracking. He looked like he saw a ghost. It brought back memories that you knew he didn’t want to think of and you felt guilty. It was not the first time the past has blended into his present and it wasn’t going to be the last, but it was worth it.

After his initial shocked expression, he greeted you with a surprised smile. One you never saw on him during your time at Hydra with his former self. He greeted you with your alias and his smile only got larger when you corrected him with your real name.

It was a sign of a fresh start between the two of you. He stuck beside you during the whole battle, protecting you from the aliens since it was obvious you were a bit rusty. It was nice… until you lost him again.

“They were desperate.” Walker’s voice rings out from across from you, a tone of realization.

“Who?”

“The Avengers.” He clarifies making you scoff and lean back in the patio chair. “They were up against an army that they thought they defeated years ago, an alien titan threatening to take over a world they’ve been trying to protect for years. The team was split into two and they didn’t know when the other half would show up.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms in annoyance at his backhanded analysis. You were out of practice, yea, but you were useful. They couldn’t have been that desperate to recruit you. “How does that relate to now?”

Now it’s Walker’s turn to roll his eyes. “So,” He drags out then lets out a scoff, “we have no leads. We’re at a dead end and we have the government behind us. They are as desperate as we are but the only difference is that they’re freelance heroes.” He carefully explains causing you to let out a sigh. You understood what he was getting at and it made you annoyed that he was right.

“So they can blur the lines we can’t.” You reluctantly conclude, he nods and relaxes in his seat. You had to hand it to him, he was smart. His training and years of experience did him well but that didn’t relax your nerves.

Bucky was still in recovery and you didn’t know how he would react to being in Zemo’s presence let alone working with him. He’s been doing better and this plus him not going to therapy is an uncertain combo.

Walker seemed to notice you dazing off again, subtly asking Lemar to go refill their coffees. You don’t notice when the man gets up and walks off until the blonde says your name.

“Hmm?” You hum, moving to grab your cup which was no longer there. A small blush appears on your face as you realize your distraction was gone. Now you have to look at him.

“You know, my wife doesn’t like me working with you that much.” He leans back in his seat and rolls his shoulders back, looking off in the distance. “With, you know, the countless charges of treason and espionage against you.”

You let out a snort, there was a lot more than that. “Where are you going with this, Walker?”

“You said you have more a wrap sheet than Zemo does.” He simply states, eyes finally landing on you. There’s a moment of silence between you two as you try to define his words. Why was he bringing up his wife? Why did it matter that she was eerie of you?

“Yet, she knows I’ll be safe and level-headed because Hoskins is here.” He continues, “Sam is with Bucky, he’s in safe hands. If Zemo were to try anything he has Sam there to help him.”

You roll your head back and run your hands through your hair. There he goes again, thinking he knows everything and understands the situation. He continues to drone on but you stopped listening. You were proud of yourself that you kept your temper down this long, honestly, especially with your emotions right now.

You wait till he’s finished before looking back at him. He had a solemn look on his face, trying to show some sympathy and kindness but it only pissed you off further. “John, he turned him into the Winter Soldier.” Your voice was struggling to keep at an appropriate volume. “He said the words and he was gone. He still had nightmares about it to this day.

“Sam doesn’t know how to deal with the Winter Soldier. I barely do and I spent most of my life working with him. If he--”

“He’s not going to, (Y/N).” He snaps and you immediately shut up. You didn’t even realize the tears that started to pool in your eyes until you felt the wet drop roll down your cheek. He allows you to compose yourself before talking again, “My wife worries about me every day, you don’t think she’s not blowing up my phone every time she sees a newscast?

“I love her, would do anything for her. But she knows that when I see a fight, a chance to do something good or change the world for the better, that she can’t hold me back.” He passionately states as he fails from hiding his own emotions. “She still would worry even if I had...” His hands started to shake and his voice started to quiver.

It startled you, truthfully. He was allowing you to see a different side of him, the real man behind the shield. It was an odd time to get a new perspective on him but it was eye-opening nonetheless. He was opening his heart up to you as much as he probably didn’t want to, showing the same vulnerability you were.

“She supports me. She supports this crazy dream I’m living out right now and she’s there for me. You need to do the same for Bucky.” He culminates his speech just as Hoskins exits the doors of the cafe, juggling three cups and a pastry in his hands.

Walker immediately tries to relax his shoulders while you advert your eyes to the group of tourists across the street. There was a tense air between the two of you that if Hoskins noticed, he didn’t mention.

He sets the pastry down in front of you and you send him a grateful smile, a small warmth in your chest at the gesture to make you feel better. It works slightly until Walker’s words echo through your head.

=====

You let out a groan when you feel something soft wack against your face. Opening your eyes, you see black and don’t fully process what’s actually going on until the object is pulled away and replaced by a phone hovering above you.

“They’re in Latvia.” Walker’s voice rings out from beside you. Your brain finally catches up with being woken up so abruptly as you reach out and grab the phone from his hands.

Avengers Abroad. The article title readout causes you to furrow your eyebrows. Walker starts collecting your things while Hoskins stands at the doorway with two bags in his hands.

You quickly skim through the piece as the blonde aggressively throws your clothes into your duffle, “Why are they in Latvia?” You question, looking up from the phone to Walker who just ignores you. It would’ve made you laugh, seeing him pack up like a child whose mother just picked him up in the middle of a sleepover but the expression on his face was not one to mess with.

“We don’t know.” Hoskin’s soothing voice answers for him. “We need to head out immediately in case they spotted Karli, though. The most we can do right now is meet up with them and help.”

“And arrest Zemo,” Walker adds, walking out of the bathroom.

You raise your hands in exasperation, a questioning look on your face. “Weren’t you the one who was just convincing me that it was a good thing that they had Zemo with them?”

“Never said it was a good thing, just a desperate thing.” He corrects, “Now we have enough information to arrest them both for harboring a fugitive, we can take whatever information they--”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You throw your covers off and get up from the bed. You were furious that he would even utter those words, he knew they were with him and now he was just trying to corner them to make it seem like he was doing civil justice. “You just want to turn the tables to make it seem like you did all the work, you want the starlight more than you want to take down Karli.”

There’s a tense moment of silence where you and Walker just stare at each other. You could tell you struck a nerve by the way his shoulder’s squared up. It happened every time you insulted him and it was his tell to show he was trying to hold back his emotions.

“Just grab the rest of your shit and meet us in the lobby.” He demands, giving your bag a heave and throwing it at you. Luckily, your reflexes work faster than your brain does and you catch it. There’s a bit of guilt that bites at the back of your head for the low blow, especially since he gave you some good advice this morning, but you had more important matters to attend to.

_____

taglist: @crowleysqueenofhell @mischiefmanaged71 @thewinterrbucky @lizajane3 @ahahafudge @spookycereal-s @a-girl-who-loves-disney @kittengirl998 @ sebby-staan @felicityofbakerstreet @sltwins @tanyaherondale​ @mads-weasley​ @healy-facedown​ @bbl32​ @sebby-staan

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 19

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

While at first the days and nights that Mulder is away on a case feel lonely, she soon comes to appreciate the time to herself. She reads more, watches the rom-coms that he despises, has one-sided conversations with Priscilla, and gives her vibrator, long since relegated to the back of her bedside drawer, a second lease on life. When Mulder is home he’s more animated and energetic, their sex exciting and passionate. The things she loves best about him magnified, but also some of the worst. There have been a few nights he’s missed dinner without so much as a phone call, and her worry quickly gave way to irritation when he waltzed in the door raving about secret storage facilities hidden in mountains. They create new routines, new boundaries and expectations, and as time wears on, they adjust. He’ll call if he’s going to miss dinner, and she won’t guilt trip him when unexpected cases ruin their plans.

The day before Thanksgiving, he gets a tip from one of his sources about a UFO crash site in Utah and books himself and Monica tickets for that night. Scully questions whether he’s going to miss Thanksgiving dinner at her mother’s and he grimaces, saying he hopes to be back but as usual, can’t make any promises.

The last she hears from him is around 8:00 am on Thanksgiving day when he asks her to send his regrets to her mom. She tries to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she promises to pack up some leftovers for him to have when he gets home. When he hasn’t called by Friday afternoon, she’s a little bit worried. By Friday night, she’s panicking.

Not knowing what else to do, she goes to the Gunmen’s, using her own special knock that spells out “doc” in Morse code.

“Hey, Sis, are you okay?” Missy greets her with a worried frown, now an honorary fourth member of the trio.

“I haven’t heard from Mulder in over twenty four hours,” she answers, breezing past Missy and into the tech room. “I need you to find him for me.”

The Gunmen work their magic while Missy pours her drink after drink. They track his flight into Salt Lake City and then ping his cell phone just outside Provo around 8:00 pm Thursday night. After that, nothing.

“What do you know about the case he was investigating?” Byers asks, perched behind a computer with Missy’s arms draped over his shoulders, her chin resting on his head.

Scully rubs her hands over her face in frustration. “Nothing, other than an alleged UFO crash site. He didn’t give me any other information.”

“What about his partner, Agent Reyes?” Langly asks, “do you have any way to get ahold of her?”

“I’ve tried her cell a hundred times, it’s off,” Scully replies, feeling tears coming up again.

“Does she have a family, someone else you could contact to see if she’s been in touch?” Byers adds.

“She has a partner, Dahlia,” Scully explains, “but I don’t know her last name to look up her number. I’m sure it’s in Monica’s file as her emergency contact, but the whole Hoover Building is shut down for the holiday. I know that her first name is Dahlia, she works at a flower shop in Alexandria, and they live in Palisades. That’s it.”

“Well we can work with that, why don’t you go home and get some rest?” Frohike offers, resting his hand on her shoulder.

She shakes her head, quiet tears slipping down her cheeks. “I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers, her voice small and afraid.

“I’ll come with you, Sis,” Missy says, replacing Frohike behind Scully and wrapping her arms around her sister’s shoulders.

After Missy has gathered her things and kissed Byers goodbye, she drives Scully’s car back to her apartment and plies her with more alcohol. They hold hands as they sleep, Scully’s dreams plagued by visions of Mulder detained, hurt, or worst of all, dead. If she’d had any idea that having the X files reopened would put his life at risk, she never would have entertained the idea.

Please come home, she begs God, the universe, Mulder himself if he’s somewhere listening. Please be okay.

The phone shrieks and she sits up abruptly, her head spinning. Early dawn light is just beginning to seep into the room and she feels like she hasn’t slept at all.

“Mulder?!” she blurts out, a thousand prayers on the tip of her tongue.

“No, it’s Langly, sorry. We got a number for Agent Reyes’ partner.”

Missy is now awake, and scrambles to the hallway to get a pen and paper so Scully can write down Dahlia Vidales’ phone number.

“Thank you Langly, bye,” she says and hangs up without waiting for a response. She dials Dahlia’s number with shaky hands, repeating please please please in her head over and over.

“¿Hola?” says a creaky voice, and Scully glances at the clock to see that it’s only 6:00 am.

“Dahlia?” she asks desperately, her head feeling thick and muddy.

“¿Si, Quién es?”

“This is Dana Scully, have you heard from Monica recently?” Her throat feels thick and dry, her ears ringing in protest of what they might hear.

“Oh, Hi Dana. Yes, I spoke to her last night around ten pm.”

She lets out a shaky breath, feeling a wave of relief.

“Was Mulder with her?” she questions, her jaw quivering.

“Si, she said their cell phones were confiscated and they had stopped at a diner to get something to eat. She called me from a payphone. Is everything okay, Dana?”

She’s shaking, her body suddenly freezing even under her down comforter. The tension she’s been holding for the last two days erupts in a wave of tremors and she starts sobbing.

“Did she say when they’ll be home?” she forces out around her tears.

“They were hoping to get a flight this morning, so sometime today, should be.”

“Thank you, Dahlia. Sorry to wake you,” she says, and hangs up.

Missy holds her as she shakes uncontrollably, her head aching as her racking sobs jostle her dehydrated brain. Missy runs her a hot bath and after some ibuprofen, two big glasses of water, a set of warm clothes and a hot meal, she feels physically much better.

Mentally, she has shifted from worry, fear, and despair to white hot rage. When he walks in that door, she is going to kill him.

———

“Later, Reyes, sorry to hijack your Thanksgiving,” he says with a regretful smile as Monica slides into a cab. He grabs the next one, chucking his duffel bag into the trunk and slumping into the back seat with an exhausted sigh.

It’s been a long few days. They’d located the crash site and even got a little peek at it from behind a utility shed, but soon after they were loaded up in a paddy wagon and interrogated for six hours in a place that was definitely not a police station. When they were finally released, it was without their cell phones, though the suits were kind enough to let them keep their FBI badges.

He needs a shower and a shave, and a good night's sleep. He hopes Scully has gone grocery shopping, and if he's really lucky, there will still be Thanksgiving leftovers. He’d tried calling her from the terminal but she hadn’t answered. At least he has a full day off tomorrow before getting back to the daily grind on Monday.

The cab drops him off outside Scully’s apartment building and he tosses some money over the seat before retrieving his bag. Once inside, he’s fitting his key into the lock when the door swings open and he finds Melissa on the other side.

“Oh, hey Missy,” he says with a touch of surprise.

“I was just leaving,” she replies with an icy stare, and he wonders if something is up with her and Byers.

“Okay, see ya,” he says as she brushes past him and down the hall.

The apartment is dim, a fire crackling in the fireplace the only source of light.

“Scully?” he calls out as Priscilla trots up to him, rubbing her flank against his leg. He picks her up and scratches under her chin, letting her rub her cheek against his two-day stubble.

“I’m here,” Scully says flatly, and he realizes she’s lying on the couch.

He picks up his bag and walks it to the bedroom, dropping it on the floor and discarding his suit jacket on the bed. Returning to the living room, he leans down to kiss her on the cheek and then stands between the fire and the couch, facing her.

“Did you have plans for dinner?” he asks, “I’m starving.”

She scoffs, but he can’t make out her face in the dim light.

“Make your own fucking dinner,” she spits at him, and he physically recoils. Scully very rarely swears, so when she does, it means something.

“Whoa,” he says with a concerned tone, “What’s going on with you?”

“What’s going on with me?” she repeats, moving to sit up. “What’s going on with me? Hmm, let’s see,” she continues, her voice shifting to angry sarcasm. “Perhaps, Mulder, what’s going on with me is that my boyfriend skipped town just in time to miss Thanksgiving dinner with my family and I had to answer questions all night about where he was. Or maybe,” she says as she leans over and snaps on the lamp on the end table, illuminating her face. Her eyes are red and puffy, pronounced bags resting underneath them. “Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t heard from you in over fifty hours, not a single phone call, or email, nothing. Maybe what’s going on with me, Mulder, is that I have barely slept in two days.” She stands, moving towards him, her voice rising in volume and her bottom lip quivering. “Maybe what’s going on with me is that I thought you were fucking dead, and I had to track down Dahlia to learn that not only were you alive and well, but you were also perfectly capable of calling me, but simply chose not to. MAYBE that is what is going on with me, Mulder!”

He stands there shell-shocked as she pushes past him, slamming the bedroom door shut as wails of agony erupt from the other side. Priscilla jumps up on to the coffee table and quirks her head at him with a meow.

“I have no idea,” he says to the cat.

He cautiously opens the bedroom door and finds Scully sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, a wad of tissues in her hand and tears streaking her face. She looks up at him with a wounded expression that he’s never seen before, and would never like to again

“I’m sorry, Scully, I didn’t mean to make you worry,” he says softly, approaching her.

She gives him an incredulous look.

“How the hell would I not worry if I hear nothing from you for two days, Mulder? What was I supposed to think? And why didn’t you call me?”

“They took my phone, Scully,” he offers, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“What about the phone in your hotel room, Mulder? Or a pay phone, or a goddamn stranger’s phone. Your cell phone is not the only device available for you to contact me with.”

He’s starting to feel like he’s being lectured by his mother for staying out past curfew.

“Okay, Jesus, I get it. I’ll try to call next time,” he says with an irritated tone.

“You’ll try?” Scully asks him, the anger taking center stage again.

He shrugs. “Shit happens, Scully. You don’t know what it’s like out in the field. Sometimes you don’t have access to a phone, or you’re running down a lead and just can’t waste the time to make a call.”

The shift in her demeanor tells him that was the wrong thing to say.

“Waste the time?” she asks in a tight whisper. “Calling me so I know you’re okay is a waste of your time?”

“God, no, Scully, that’s not what I meant. You’re twisting my words around. Look, I’m exhausted, I’ve barely gotten any sleep, can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“YOU’VE barely gotten any sleep?!” she screams, then stands and walks towards him. Even with the ten inches he has on her, she looks larger than life, imposing, and scary. “I have been lying awake crying for two days worried about you!” she shouts up at him. “Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

He’s dumbstruck. He can’t remember the last time she referred to it as her apartment instead of theirs.

“Scully, you can’t be serious, all my stuff is he-”

“I said get OUT!” She cuts him off. She picks up his bag and walks it to the front door, tossing it into the hallway.

He walks slowly towards the door, waiting for her to say she doesn’t mean it, that they should get some sleep and talk about this in the morning. She stands beside the open door, her chest heaving and her jaw set, eyes focused on some far-away point but most certainly not on him. He steps into the hallway, opening his mouth to speak, and she slams the door in his face.

He hears the thunk of the deadbolt, and the sound strikes him as similar to the final nail in a coffin.

[transsergio]

The Invitation (read on AO3)

Moreid / Gen / 1561 words

The BAU is finally invited to the yearly FBI gala, and Spencer wears something new. Derek escorts him.

-

Spencer traces the raised script with his finger. The FBI’s winter gala is not something the BAU usually attends, so he’s missed out on this gold-lettered invitation for several years. This year, though, Erin Strauss has extended the party to them. Spencer suspects she’s receiving some sort of award and wants Hotch to see what he will never attain – upward mobility. It doesn’t help that the BAU has been on thin ice for a record number of weeks, making attendance more than “suggested”.

The morning they’d received the smooth, creamy envelopes warranting their presence, the bullpen had buzzed. Obviously the profilers were invited, but so were interns, clerical workers, and anyone else whose position fell under the BAU’s umbrella. It was going to be an expensive party, and Spencer was prepared. He had black-tie regulation suits in his closet. They were tailored and everything (at Penelope and Derek’s insistence once they’d seen how his coat consumed his shoulders). But something about them felt… off. They weren’t itchy or uncomfortable, but when Spencer looked at himself in the mirror, he felt like a mannequin in a store window. Too crisp. Too clean. So, he went shopping.

Spencer hadn’t been in the women’s department of a store in nearly a decade. He thrust himself into hormone replacement therapy as soon as he could afford it, roughly three years ago, but even before then he’d avoided the section. With his short haircut and a face that said he was either an ugly girl or a porcelain doll of a boy, people usually relied on other context clues to gender him. Wearing boy’s clothes, using the men’s bathroom, and jogging to the boys’ half of the gym when the coach separated a class by gender all helped. People usually didn’t question him, especially now that his voice had dropped and his little body fat had redistributed.

This felt most like freedom. Spencer no longer worried about caging himself in, speaking as little as possible, and the oversized fit of his shirts. He was still binding, but had found a groove in his own collection of sweater vests that kept him flat. He was realizing that his chest wasn’t really an issue anymore, regardless. It was no longer a dead giveaway that he wasn’t cis; and what was so great about being cis, anyway? Gender was a vast and personal experience that Spencer was only just starting to explore. While masculinity was what he’d chased for so many years, the distinction between masculine and feminine was growing increasingly blurry. Fabric was fabric draped over human form, and human form was pliable under their own hands. Had Spencer not developed a jawline by his own medical intervention? Had he not participated in his own evolution?

Spencer found himself nearing prom dress boutiques. He didn’t ask any of his team for help; this was something he wanted to discover on his own, and he wasn’t ready to answer any questions about whether he liked this fabric or this shape. He wasn’t sure if he would be truly comfortable in a dress, or if he simply admired the fashion. Once inside, he spent a lot of time touching. He got a sense for textures he didn’t like (gritty, shimmery layers scratched) and for what he did (smooth, cool satins were pluses). And then, the cuts and colors. There were so many more choices than men’s styles offered. Spencer tried to solve it like a puzzle. Somewhere in these shops was a dress he would feel most like himself in, that complemented his hair and skin, that went with his eyes. He wanted to find an extension of who he was, much like he had when he first came out to himself, trolling Goodwills for a new wardrobe – but this time, without making the attempt to hide in plain sight.

“Reid?”

Spencer turns, no longer lost in thought. He stands in the parking lot of the gala hotel, just beyond the yellow glow of a streetlamp.

Derek is looking at him. Derek, who teases him when he flunks his firearms qualification. Derek, who’s arriving in a standard suit and not smiling, for once. Spencer doesn’t particularly mind that part. He feels like Derek is in on a joke he isn’t most of the time, and he’s finally caught Derek off-guard.

“Hey,” Spencer says softly. He’s not so much afraid as he is uninterested in explaining himself.

Derek walks around Spencer’s car to take in the full view. Spencer wears a plum gown that poofs slightly from his waistline, but not excessively. The purple material extends up and is snug against his chest, his torso under a layer of lace that halts at his shoulders. It is technically sleeveless, and Spencer’s shaved his underarms for the occasion. The lower half is slit up to his knees and exposes his strappy silver heels. They’re short. He wouldn’t be standing if they were over two inches tall.

Derek’s hands are in his pants pockets. He takes a moment to read Spencer’s expression, who hopes he isn’t giving anything away.

“No makeup?” Derek asks.

Spencer rolls his eyes. “No. I’m not very good at it, so.” He shrugs.

Derek nods. He comes closer in a few strides. His shoes are freshly shined and reflect the parking lot lights.

“Were you comin’ in, or waiting for someone?” Derek leans against the side of Spencer’s car. Spencer considers telling him he hasn’t had it washed in at least a month, but figures Derek knows that. Derek seems to know a lot that Spencer doesn’t, ironically.

“I’m… not sure.” Spencer swallows. He doesn’t want to admit the rest. That he’s happy, that he’s had more fun swishing around his apartment in this dress than he has in a long time, doing something purely for himself. That if he were going to be alone in that ball room, this wouldn’t be a problem. That the last thing he wants is to put Hotch in hot water. That this will make things harder, and however useful he is to the team, it won’t compare to this new challenge he’s voluntarily imposing on them.

“Well, you got a date?” Derek is conversational. He talks like Spencer’s in his khakis and it’s another morning by the coffee machine. It’s a little grounding, a little exhilarating.

Spencer licks his lips. “No, nothing like that. I’m debating whether I should get back in my car or not.”

“Did you forget something in it?”

“Uh, no?”

“Then what’s the hold up?”

Spencer looks at him, truly, for the first time. Derek’s eyes are softer than Spencer usually finds them. They’re deep. He might trip into them and never come out. He’s focused on Spencer like minutes don’t matter. It’s a scrutiny based in full-hearted devotion that Spencer’s never seen before.

“I don’t… know.” Spencer says. He feels his eyebrows crease, his lips slightly pout, as he struggles. He does know. He won’t admit it here, not with a majority of the FBI waiting inside where they could see it all over his face – but the terror is shrinking. Derek is warm, and here, and gentle.

Derek sighs. It isn’t exasperation or impatience, like many of the sighs Spencer’s familiar with, but thoughtful. Derek refuses to look away as he says, “I get it. The fear that you’ll show this part of yourself and have to live with the judgment. I have my own secrets, kid. But you’ve gotta know the whole team will be behind you, no matter what. We won’t let you do this alone. I won’t let you.”

Spencer can’t stop himself. “How could you understand what this feels like? What’s Derek Morgan, ladies’ man and hunk of the office, got to hide?”

Derek scoffs with a grin, the kind that lights up his face. “What do you think, genius? I’m telling you, I get it. I’m glad you think I’m hunky, though. Was worried you weren’t getting my signals.”

“Signals? What signals?” Spencer feels his brain come to a screaming stop. He hates when it does that – when it processes new information too fast, and doesn’t know what to do with the rest of him. He’s still, like a beautiful scarecrow letting its arms wave in the wind.

Derek stands upright and shakes his head. “Nah. I’ve given you too much of a head start already. You come find me when you’ve figured it out.”

Spencer’s about to protest when Derek offers him his arm. Spencer reaches for it cautiously, as if he might startle Derek and bring the reality of the gesture crashing in. That Derek is essentially sacrificing himself for Spencer’s sake. For the life of him, Spencer can’t figure why, but Derek is already leading them towards the building.

“This isn’t a case, you know. You don’t have to do this,” Spencer whispers. They’re nearing other agents as they move through the parking lot.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to save me.”

Derek slows and turns in toward Spencer. His breath heats Spencer’s ear. “I’m not. I’m taking a pretty boy to a good meal. Is that so wrong?”

Spencer shivers. Derek takes his silence as a no, and they keep walking.

“Besides, you sit by Elle, and I don’t think we’ll have a problem.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure she’s wearing a knife."

[cherrydreamer]

Popsicle My entry for Day 17 of the HarringroveApril challenge! (TW: Some food and eating issues here relating to Billy recovering from the MindFlayer.) As soon as Billy is discharged, Steve wants to celebrate. Wants to do all those things that Billy’s had to miss out on for the last few months. Starting with food. Proper food. Not that hideous, beige slop that makes Steve grimace everytime the nurses dollop it out onto Billy’s plastic tray three times a day.

So they go to Rosie’s Place. 

They order their old usuals. The meals they built a friendship over, that summer before everything changed. Steve with a simple cheeseburger and fries, Billy with some hulking double bacon burger thing topped with a ring of pineapple that Steve can’t actually believe isn’t a joke order. He rags Billy about it again. Like old times. Rolls his eyes and says how it’s an abomination. How pineapple on pizza is one hideous thing, but this...this is against nature.

“Place back home used to do an Elvis burger,” Billy leans back in his chair, a smile on his face as he takes in the old comforts of the diner, “It was, uh, bacon, peanut butter and banana. Never got to have it though.”

“We’ll have to go try it sometime,” Steve says lightly, but he means every word, “I mean, you will, obviously. I’ll be having the normal food. Like a normal person.”

“You got something to say about The King, Harrington?” Billy curls his lip in some terrible impression, and Steve splutters out a laugh, “But, yeah. That...that would be nice.” Their feet meet under the table. Just a little bump, a nudge, and then Billy's pulling his Chucks back, but Steve files it away for later.

They’re deep in conversation when the waitress brings their food over, and Steve tucks into his instantly, covering the plate in ketchup and shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. Billy’s slower to start. He picks at the bun, pulls it all apart and then squishes it back together. And then finally he takes a bite. Chews. And grimaces. Steve watches as Billy’s face pales, all the colour draining, only to be replaced with a greenish tinge before he makes a gagging noise, eyes watering as he spits the food into a napkin.

"Bill? Is it bad? You want me to get the waitress?" Steve looks around wildly, fingers already in the air ready to wave someone over, but Billy just shakes his head, pushing the food away and pressing his lips into a tight line,

"I...I can't eat it."

Steve reaches over and pokes at it with his fork. It looks fine to him, "Is it not cooked right? Or burnt? Or you finally realise that pineapple on burgers is a terrible idea?"

The joke falls flat, and Billy hunches his shoulders,  "It's...not. There's nothing wrong with the food, Steve. It's me. I just...I can't.”

Steve puts his knife and fork down, lowering his voice, "Is it your throat? From the...y'know?" 

"The fuckton of chemicals I drank? Or the tentacle I gave a goddamn blow job to? Cause honestly, Harrington, neither of them really felt that great." Billy spits out the words, but Steve can see the red flush on his face, the way he's hunkering down, shoulders rising to his ears, and he reaches across the table to press his fingers against Billy's hand.

"I should be fine," Billy mutters bitterly, "I'm healed. They...there's nothing wrong anymore. But I just..my brain freaks out when I try to swallow. Like it's expecting it to hurt." He picks up a napkin and starts shredding it between his fingers, “They...they got me talking to a shrink. Says I’ve just gotta keep trying. Little things. Little bites. But it’s..it’s not as easy as it sounds,” the napkin becomes confetti. He picks up the pieces, rolling them into balls, “So they’ve got me on some like, astronaut food or something. Milkshakes and powders and all that shit. Tastes like metal. But it. It’s vitamins, right? I’m... It keeps me alive.”

Steve can’t think of anything to say. There’s nothing he can say. Suddenly the beige mush makes a lot more sense. 

He thinks for a moment, scanning the menu, "They do milkshakes here. You like strawberry, right?" he asks, but Billy just shakes his head,  “I’m not really hungry anymore.” He sounds small. Looks it. So Steve pushes his plate aside too. He throws some bills down on the table and then holds out a hand to Billy,

“C’mon. I’ve had an idea.”

  They end up at the park. It’s really just a patch of grass, a few rusting pieces of play equipment and a small basketball court. But Steve’s not there to play. Instead, he leads Billy straight to the ice cream truck It’s been there as long as Steve can remember. Been the same guy serving the treats too. And now Steve knows that he doesn’t make all of his money from Fat Frogs and Bomb Pops, and that if you say the right words you’ll get a baggy of shitty weed handed to you along with your misshapen Bugs Bunny face but still. Steve has fond memories of the colourful truck. He doesn’t even look at the menu on the window, instead, he orders two of the Disney character shaped popsicles and then drags a confused Billy over to a sunlit bench. He holds up the treats, one in each hand, and turns to Billy with a smile,

"I thought these might be easier for you to deal with. They’re not food, not really, but it’s gotta be better than mush, right?”

Billy just shrugs, face still pale, but he holds out a hand expectantly.

“So you want..uh, Mickey or Goofy?” Steve asks, wiggling each one slight in the air as he names them.

Billy smiles then, “Mickey, obviously. Squeaky little shit."

"And Goofy isn't?" Steve grins, passing the Mickey popsicle over.

"Nah, feels bad eating Goofy,” Billy turns the popsicle over in his hand, “He's trying. Plus I like that one cartoon where he keeps trying to go on vacation." Billy unwraps his popsicle slowly, and Steve looks away as he brings it to his mouth, concentrating instead on biting off Goofy's head. 

He turns round when he hears Billy's moan of satisfaction. His face is a picture of bliss, an orange halo already staining his lips. 

"Good?" Steve asks, 

Billy just nods, but he devours the popsicle in under a minute.

It becomes a regular thing. Instead of going to the diner, they hang out at the park and sit in the sun, working their way through the ice cream truck’s entire selection of popsicles, Steve feeling a warm glow in his chest when Billy manages to eat the entire thing, and a whole other kind of stirring whenever he watches Billy’s tongue wrap skillfully around the icy shafts.

And it's all great.  Until it starts to rain. On and on for days.  And the ice cream truck stops showing up.

So Steve has another idea. One that involves an early trip to Melvalds, a whole morning of preparation and ends up with him tired, sticky and with a whole mess of a kitchen to clean up before Billy gets there. He doesn't quite manage the last part, still scrubbing at the counter when the doorbells rings,

"Ok, so I tried something,” Steve’s explaining himself the moment that he opens the door, “I dunno if it's gonna work but...we’ll see," he smiles reassuringly at Billy’s confused expression, and leads the way into the kitchen, heading straight for the freezer to reveal his creation. He pulls out his Mom's Tupperware popsicle molds, each of the six spaces filled with a different coloured frozen juice, and with real chunks of fruit suspended in the ice. "So...they might not actually taste as good as the proper ones. But. I thought it might help. Cause it’s...real food, yeah? Vitamins. And little chunks, to kinda..to get your body used to it?”

Billy’s staring at him, eyes wide. “You actually...?” he asks, looking from Steve to the ices and then back again, “You made these…?”

"Yeah," Steve ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck, "It wasn’t hard. I just juiced a load of fruit and then stuck the chunks in and, y’know,” he points to the freezer, “Let...science happen."

"You didn't just buy the juice?" Billy’s grinning, wider than Steve’s ever seen even during the hottest days at the park.

Steve gestures around the kitchen, at the still-sticky counters and the sink full of soaking bowls and knives, "Nah, I know you really like kiwis and nowhere sells that in a carton, which is weird because you definitely  can juice them, because I did, but, yeah I needed a whole load and they were an absolute bitch to peel so there might be some of the skin still in there cause I kinda gave up after the first six but-"

"Steve," Billy cuts him off. Stepping forward to gently prise the popsicles away from Steve’s hands and place them on the counter instead. But Steve still feels like he needs to explain,  "And, yeah, there's...I thought if it worked then we could maybe put, like, protein powder in? Or something like that? So you're getting all the...whatever it is that you need to get better?"

“Steve,” Billy tries again, It comes out raspy, a little watery, and Steve finally, thankfully, falls silent as he talks, “Steve, this is. This is the...the nicest fucking...shit-” he coughs again, turning away, so Steve steps in, pulling out one of the popsicles out and not even checking the flavour, “Try it. Might be awful. Might be the worst thing you’ve ever eaten.” but he smiles as he holds it out, “Might hate me after this.”

Billy’s head whips round at that, and Steve realises just how closely they’re standing. How there’s barely an inch between them. How he’s practically holding the popsicle up to Billy’s lips. But he doesn’t lower it. He doesn’t back away. 

And neither does Billy.

Instead he licks his lips and then sticks out his tongue, moving even closer to lick a stripe from the plastic stick in Steve’s hand all the way to the tip of the ice.

“Good?” Steve asks, and Billy swallows and nods before reaching out to pluck the popsicle from Steve’s hand and put it back into the holder.

“Delicious,” he whispers, “But I can think of something I’d rather try,”

And Steve leans forward and closes his eyes.

Kiwi , he thinks, as his lips meet Billy’s, definitely worth all the mess.

[lazywonderlvnd]

you are so gd talented and I would love love love to see your take on a possessive draco (like Harry when he gets territorial over Theo in TCL)

you are so kind pls.....thank u so much 😩 here’s a drabble for you, angel, hope you enjoy and sorry it took a hot minute! ❤️

He’d never have let Draco do this normally — it’s hard for him, and not in that work-through-it-and-you’ll-be-better-for-it kind of hard, all it does is make him tense and angry — but he can see the slight mania in Draco’s eyes and the fear and desperation, and it’s all of that plus the hectic flush on his cheeks that convinces Harry not to fight it when Draco shoves him down onto the bed and points his wand and suddenly Harry’s wrists are bound to the headboard.

“Better?” says Harry drily. Draco’s jaw clenches and his eyes blaze. If he’d known how obvious he was, how clearly Harry could read all of his emotions on his face, maybe he would have gone to some trouble to take it down a notch. He tugs lightly at his bonds, testing them though he doesn’t plan to break them. He simply wants to determine whether he could if he wanted to. To his fascination, he’s not totally sure he could. They’re incredibly strong, which means there had been significant emotion behind the spell. “D’you feel like telling me what the fuck this is about yet?”

Draco doesn’t answer. He points his wand again, and then Harry’s clothes are gone. He can’t imagine a more vulnerable position to be in: tied up and naked. At one point in his life, the idea of Draco Malfoy seeing him this way would have been second only to Voldemort himself seeing him this way. Not anymore, of course.

Now all this does is make his cock twitch and start filling with blood.

“What’s with you?” he asks. Draco doesn’t answer again; he disrobes himself without magic, then slips off his shirt and trousers and climbs onto the bed, a knee on either side of one of Harry’s legs. He looks quite mad, and lucky for him he’s just fucking perfect enough that he makes madness into something ethereal. His hair is free from its usual product, tempting Harry’s bound hands with how soft it looks. The combination of helplessness and arousal makes his breathing shallow and loud, his chest rising and falling too obviously for his taste.

“Something wrong, Potter?” Draco purrs, fingers curling around the base of Harry’s cock, slick with magicked lube. He closes his eyes and focuses on breathing through his nose, but Draco only squeezes and he has to clench his jaw to keep in a noise. “You know, you couldn’t look more appealing if you were a six-course meal and I was starving.”

“Is that right?” Harry says. It’s strained slightly, and he lets out a hoarse laugh. He opens his eyes and meets Draco’s, doing everything in his power not to lift his hips into the constant, torturous slide of that perfect hand. “Keeping in mind, of course, that you’ve always been a bit of a slut for it I do have to say you look more ravenous than usual.”

Now Draco laughs, mockingly, and he speeds up his hand. He starts twisting his wrist at the top, palming over the sensitive, engorged head, and dipping his thumb into the slit like he’s trying to coax out more pre-come. He looks like he’s barely restraining himself from leaning over and using his mouth instead; he’s got a good and proper fetish for Harry’s cock, an obsession that rivals only his love of riling Harry up on purpose just to monopolise his attention. It only makes it more impressive that he hasn’t done it yet.

“Keep talking, Potter, I have all night. And I’ve always wondered how you’d look all worked up and edged past endurance.”

Something flutters in Harry’s stomach, a heady combination of shock and arousal and nerves. The look on Draco’s face, the implications of his words, they’re making Harry deeply uneasy as much as they’re turning him on.

“Is that your plan?” he asks, trying to keep his voice level. “You wanna watch me struggle?”

“Well that’s only part of it,” says Draco. He lets go of Harry’s cock, curved up against his stomach, thick and heavy with blood, and crawls up his body to press a series of kitten-soft kisses onto his neck. Harry closes his eyes again and breathes through his nose. There’s an instinct to resist that’s kicking in which he’s desperately fighting. He wants to know what the fuck is going on first before he decides to shut this down. Draco’s lips drag maddeningly up to his ear. “The other part is reminding you what you’re gonna spend the rest of your life missing if I ever catch you fucking around on me, Potter.”

Another pulse of shock rocks him. He stares up at Draco with his lips parted, confused at first until understanding catches up with him and his face flushes. 

“I see you’ve figured it out,” Draco says silkily. His hand goes back to Harry’s cock, still hard and throbbing, and now he bends and puts his lips to the head. He sucks lightly at it like a particularly good lolly, making Harry’s toes curl, ripping a half-mad groan from his throat.

“I dunno what you thought you saw,” Harry bites out, tugging unconsciously at his ties, “but I wasn’t planning on fucking Jenkins. But it’s good to know you’re keeping a jealous eye on me at work, love.”

Draco sits up and swipes his thumb over the wet and sensitive glans again. Harry loses himself for a moment and bucks his hips.

“Maybe you weren’t planning on it,” says Draco mildly. He traces his fingertips along the underside of Harry’s straining prick, dancing along the nerves, every vein engorged with blood, leading him along a knife’s edge towards a feeling of frighteningly unfamiliar vulnerability and desperation. “But you were thinking about it,” he coos. “Did you picture it, Harry? Pushing him against the wall face-first and filling him up with your cock?”

Harry’s head falls back against a pillow and he lifts his hips again, searching for friction. He’s so hard it’s beginning to hurt now and he’s slightly lightheaded from the loss of blood to his brain.

Draco’s hot, wet mouth engulfs him then, taking him down to the root so he can feel the throbbing head press just slightly into the tight channel past his uvula. His mouth falls open and he lifts his arse off the bed, trying to fuck Draco’s perfect throat, but he makes it difficult by always pulling back just enough to make it impossible. He’s actually shaking, muscles straining, as Draco works him at his own deliberately slow pace.

“Draco,” he rasps. His fists clench in their bonds. He can come this way, it’s building with a terrible force in his stomach. But it’s building slowly, as if his body itself has allied itself with Draco in an effort to make him struggle and suffer, all for the harmless glances he’d been shooting Jenkins lately. “Fuck. I —”

“You what?” Draco goads him. He replaces his mouth with his hand again, sliding it leisurely through lube and his own spit and Harry’s pre-come, little spurts of it continuously dribbling down its turgid length. “Sounded suspiciously like you were about to say please …”

Harry grits his teeth and swallows back the begging noises threatening to burst out of him. More blood rushes to his prick, turning the head a worrying purple. He wonders in a slightly hysterical, half-insane way whether he could die from this. From needing to come this badly and not being allowed to. From refusing to beg for it, even when it hurts.

“Well,” says Draco as he releases him and climbs up to straddle his waist, positioning himself above Harry’s cock. It rubs against the cleft of Draco’s arse, teasing him with the possibility of all that tight, gripping heat, and Harry lets out a low moan just thinking about sinking inside of him, of all that friction that’s so close but so fucking far. “At least the Wizarding world can sleep soundly knowing their hero doesn’t easily give into torture.”

“Bully for them,” Harry says through gritted teeth. “Now sit on my fucking cock before I decide to hex you.”

Draco laughs. His pink lips part tantalisingly; the long line of his throat glimmers with sweat and drives Harry to the very brink of fucking madness.

“Are empty threats usually effective in your experience?” Draco asks. He grinds himself along the length of Harry’s prick and lets the head catch on his hole, which he can tell is only loosely stretched. Which also means Draco’d been fingering himself before. 

Harry flicks his bound hand and Draco jumps, looking satisfyingly surprised for a moment. Even in spite of his predicament Harry manages a shit-eating grin. Hexes and jinxes are hardly effective done wandlessly but Harry’s rather adept at pulling off a decent Stinging Jinx.

“D’you think that’s a good idea?” Draco asks when he’s gathered himself. There’s a new flush on his cheeks, though, and it’s gorgeous. “Hexing me when I could easily leave you here hard and wanting?”

Harry opens his mouth to make another sarcastic remark (because he can’t fucking help it, even with his libido screaming out in agony for him to fucking leave it, just let Draco have this power trip) but before he can say anything Draco’s lining up and bares down until the head pushes through the ring of muscle — and he stops there. And Harry’s always been good at biting back vocalisations, an ability to stay quiet no matter what is a highly useful skill for an Auror, but when Draco stops and merely squeezes around the head of his cock he lets out an utterly tormented groan, bucking his hips only for Draco to lift up and away. 

“Fuck you!” Harry yells, tugging again at his ties and shouting at the futility of it. Draco’s watching this with glazed eyes and wet lips. “Fucking just — god, just sit on my cock, you fucking inbred little cocksucker!”

And Draco laughs, loudly. He bends and touches his lips to Harry’s sweaty forehead, then to his mouth, then his damp and heaving chest and over his stomach and finally delivers a few more chaste kisses to the skin above his pubic hair. Harry’s cock bobs next to his face, pulsing and throbbing and aching. Draco drags his tongue up the side of it and then presses his lips to the head, suckling gently, torturing Harry on purpose. And Harry, he’s not actually sure how much more of this he can take. His arms are aching now. His cock feels too engorged with blood, tight and hard and painful. He physically can’t stop himself from bucking up against Draco’s mouth.

He groans in frustration when Draco pulls off again but then he’s sliding Harry’s cock back into his arse, and not just the head this time. He sinks all the way down, enveloping Harry in all that throbbing, gorgeous heat, and he squeezes so perfectly around him, and Harry cries out and lifts his hips and tries to fight his restraints.

“Not thinking about Jenkins, are you?” Draco says lightly. He rocks his hips a little and Harry whimpers. He can’t remember if he’s ever heard himself whimper like that before.

“Fuck no,” he gasps out. “Just you.”

“Just me,” Draco repeats. He lifts himself up, pauses, and then sinks back down. He hands go to Harry’s chest and he does it again, again, again, fucking himself properly now and Harry can see he’s beginning to lose himself to the sensations finally. That glazed look is back in his eyes and there’s sweat beading at his hairline. “Nobody else could do this to you, Potter.”

Harry would have agreed to anything at this point but he still means it when he nods frantically, beyond caring now that he’s at a major disadvantage, that Draco has successfully taken him apart the way he’s so used to doing.

He’s about to come when Draco stops moving again, seated fully on his lap. Harry lets out a string of curses and creates bruises on his wrists where he strains and wrenches madly against the silky material binding them. 

“Draco, please,” he hears himself say. It hardly even sounds like him. “Please, fuck, please, I need — I need to come …”

“I know,” Draco coos. He bends forwards again and kisses him, soft and languid and a little mocking, and Harry’s cock twitches inside of him. “And I’ll let you. But you have to do the rest yourself.”

“What?” Harry asks deliriously. Draco lifts up until just the head is still being squeezed inside his tight heat, and Harry gets the message. “God,” he breathes, even as he bends his knees and plants his feet flat on the mattress, his hand trying of their own accord to reach for Draco’s hips, but they can’t. “You’re so fucking obnoxious.”

Draco laughs until Harry thrust brutally up into him, and then he’s moaning instead, fingers curling against Harry’s chest. Harry has no way of changing angles, of trying to hit Draco’s prostate or make him scream, so instead he focuses on his own pleasure, because really, at this point, it’s what he deserves. He slams up into him over and over, shaking the bed, making his thighs scream with the effort, and by the time he feels his orgasm approaching his dripping with sweat and his shoulders are killing him and he knows there must be terrible bruises on his wrists.

“That’s it,” Draco goads him. His own cock is bobbing precariously above Harry’s stomach, red and swollen and dribbling pre-come out of the slit. “Put your fucking back into it, Potter, fuck me like you mean it.”

Harry lets out a tortured moan and puts his fucking back into it. He feels Draco’s body tense up and clench around him and then release, nails digging into Harry’s skin, and come covers both their chests and hits Harry’s chin.

The soft, exquisite noises Draco makes push Harry past the edge himself and he comes inside of Draco with his veins thrumming; he fucks madly up into him until his come is leaking out around his cock and still he keeps going, sliding through all that slick, working himself until his shaking and weak and can hardly move. Draco takes over again, rocking on top of him, milking him of every last shudder and shiver and moan. 

He lies there panting and limbless, and when Draco releases his bonds, his arms fall to his sides and he groans at the soreness of his muscles.

Draco’s kissing him then, drawing his lips apart and ravaging his mouth with his tongue. Eventually Harry lifts one of his aching arms and puts a hand on his cheek, thumb grazing smooth skin.

After a minute and then two and then three, Harry finally mutters, “You didn’t really think I’d sleep with Jenkins, did you?”

Draco draws back and pushes some of his hair out of his face, considering Harry from his place straddling his hips.

“I’m still figuring you out,” he says after some consideration. Harry lifts both eyebrows.

“We’ve been together two and a half years.”

“Yeah,” Draco says. He lifts up and off of Harry, making him hiss. “And I’m still figuring you out, Potter.”

“Right back at you,” Harry says drily. He loves the way it makes Draco grin.

[artxyra]

The Secret Life of MDC | Part 3

Part 3 - Welcome to Gotham, now get out!

Part 1 | Part 2 |

Arriving in Gotham was just an absolutely massive mess, that quickly turned into a several page report for Marinette to send to the school board the moment she arrived in her temporary dorm at Gotham Academy.

Let recap back to the airport. When everyone got off the plane, Lila was quick to make up an excuse about Bruce Wayne sending her a private limo that she’ll be happy to bring the class along. Of course, Caline Bustier, absently believed the long-time liar telling her students to gather their belongings and for Lila to call the Waynes. It was as if she had completely forgotten the arrival procedures. Arriving in Gotham, proceed to find the bus driver, and meet up with the Gotham Academy Headmistress to retrieve the rest of the plans for the month. Marinette tried to tell Caline that what they were doing was against the procedure, something that she had to memorize for moments like this, only to be lectured about behavior the second she finished talking off to the side.

Then when they finally arrived at the school, Caline had the nerve to lecture her again about not informing her about the bus before being dragged off by the Gotham Academy headmistress, who clearly was not happy with the decisions made before they could even step foot onto the school grounds. Gotham is not a place to dilly dally unless you know the area or a native.

“Do you think, she’ll be fired after this?” Chloe asks while setting her things into the wardrobe as Marinette clicks the save button on her laptop.

“Maybe, no matter what happens, we’re here for a month regardless of the decisions the GA headmistress and Principal De La Fontaine decides in the coming days. All I know as the class president and temp. TA; my job is to help her overlook you guys.” Marinette sighs and closes the laptop's top before giving Chloe her full attention.

“I still can’t believe you graduated early. Though Adrien and I are grateful you managed to stay despite everything.” It was rare moments like these that made Marinette glad that she gave Chloe a second chance. Chloe had apologized one winter when she was freezing to death outside because her parent went on a tropical vacation on her request and decided to allow the staff to take a few days off. It was Sabine and Tom that took the former bully into their arms and made her feel loved, a love that she rarely receives from her parents. Since that day, Chloe takes pride in the honor of being Marinette’s sister just as Adrien did when they took him in also.

“I couldn’t leave you guys to perish in that class. Also, I just didn’t want to give Lie-la the satisfaction of winning.” Marinette says as her phones with the familiar sounds of “The Other Side” by Ruelle. Instantly, Marinette picks up the phone and smiles. “It’s Damian, he wants to go out tonight. Think I have time before—”

“Go, I’ll keep you from trouble, maybe even invite Adrien over if he isn’t doing the same with Jon.” Chloe pushes the noirette out of their room before closing the door behind the designer with a smirk on her lips.

As Marinette makes her way out of the dormitory, little did she know that Lila was just doing the same but for a different reason.

~*~

Damian Wayne @therealbloodheir I had a wonderful night with my beloved. I can’t wait for more nights like these. [Attached is an image of two hands intertwine with each other with the moon shining between them.]

Nette @GothamsFashionSense Replying to @therealbloodheir That sounds like a marriage proposal. Missing you too.

~*~

In the halls of Gotham Academy, conversations buzz around the single fact that Nette was back in Gotham for the first time in weeks. Groups of students gather around a single person, whose phone is out in the open, all gushing about theories on how the date went.

The same can be said for GA’s exchange students who crowd around Lila Rossi like she was the air.

“Gurl, spill, how was the date? You’re tending on twitter, again!” Alya squeals, gripping Lila’s arm.

“Oh you, it was truly romantic. Damiboo took me on this romantic dinner, but the first place we went to didn’t serve any vegetarian meals, and as you know I’m one but he’s not. We left and found another place that was just right.” Her high pitch voices drive a shiver down people spines, well anyone that is in clear hearing distance to the Italian teen's voice range.

“Do they truly believe that she’s Nette. Bitch please, we all know that Nette has dark hair from the back of the head photos on twitter.” A random student scoffs behind the trio.

The trio turns around looking at the person in a new light. The student had long braided blonde hair and wearing the GA uniform. “You’re not fooled? I was pretty sure that she would try and convert you the moment you step foot into the building.” It was Adrien that spoke first.

“I'm Allegra, besides me is Claude and Allen.” The student says shaking hands with Adrien before continuing with, “Anyone with brain cells can tell you that she is not Nette from @GothamsFashionSense.”

Allegra then takes the empty seat beside Marinette.

“Name’s Marinette, these dorks are Adrien and Chloe.” Marinette says, “About the brain cell thing, we’ve been saying that since she joined our class a few years back.”

“It ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, as to how they manage to hang on her every word. And one of them is a self-proclaim reporter. The bitch hasn’t reported anything remotely true since the liar had joined us and don't get me started on her early years.” Chloe places her two cents into the conversation.

This was the start of a blooming relationship.

Claude, Allegra, and Allen were quick to understand the environment that the Paris Trio was living in. An irresponsible, enabling teacher and a class full of idiots. With the Gotham Trio, the Paris Trio was able to understand how Gotham Academy works and learn the ins and outs of specific places. Despite the fact that Marinette vaguely knows just about much.

~*~

“So, how were your first three days at GA?” Dick Grayson asks as the Paris trio who are sitting on the couch inside the living room of Wayne Manor. "Is it about the same as it was when I went?"

“Dicky, I am this close to making heads roll.” Chloe’s fingers are teaching as a look of crazy twitches in her eyes.

“It wasn’t all that bad the first couple of days and then Lila tried to convince GA students that she was me by photoshopping our twitter photos. Other than that, I’m more worried about when Bustier announces that our class has been invited to the upcoming Wayne Gala. I’m already booked with mine and Chloe’s dresses along with Selina’s and Cass’s.” Marinette says, resting her head on Damian’s shoulder as their hands' interlock. Damian places a quick peck on her forehead.

The room was once again oddly silent before Adrien let out a loud giggle.

The family turns to the model who was staring at his phone with the biggest smile on his face. Adrien was no doubt in a group chat with Luka and Jon about upcoming meetings and plans.

“What?” Adrien asks, looking up to the group of extended family members staring at him. They all quickly look away, some whistling while others mess with the person they are next to. “Seriously guys, what?” The whining in Adrien’s voice just made it harder for them to pretend to do something as they hold in a laugh.

“Nothing,” Marinette snickers as Damian brings to play with her hair by braiding strands of it. She always liked it when Damian messed with her hair, he sometimes does something nice, surprising everyone with his styling skills.

“Hey, Pixie-Pop and Pixie-Pop’s friends. When did you guys get in?” It’s Jason, to which majority had forgotten about even though Tim was a close second as he is hovering over a half-full cup of coffee trying to stay awake but isn’t with them in reality. Maybe Marinette should make her special concoction that would knock anyone out for quite some time.

“Hey Mari, can you make the switch?” Dick whispers in the designer’s ear. Marinette huffs agreeing to the older sibling’s request. Damian nearly groans as his girlfriend gets off his lap and walks into the kitchen.

Marinette comes out nearly ten minutes later with a steaming coffee mug in hand. She walks over to Tim and pushes his cup out of his hand and replaces it with hers. Tim, absently, takes a sip. Within seconds he is knocked out, cold.

“I’ll never not be amazed at how fast your drink can knock Tim out,” Dick says as he picks up Tim and exits the room. Marinette shrugs and takes her seat next to Damian.

“When does Cass get back from her trip?” It was Chloe who decided to break the silence between them.

“Before the gala, that’s for sure,” Jason answers as he pulls out the controllers for the game console. He gives Marinette a knowing look, who smirks with mischief in her eyes. He should know better than to play against Marinette.

~*~

It was times like this that made Marinette wish that the school board had investigated Mlle. Bustier years ago, like for example when the liar first tried to get her expelled in college. Yeah, that was such a long time ago.

Today was supposed to be an easy-going day, but for some reason, Lila managed to convince the teachers, Mlle. Bustier specifically, to allow the class to visit a nearby street mall. Mlle. Bustier, of course, agrees despite the GA teachers telling her that it was a bad idea to let the student go out unsupervised in a place they still don’t know much about. Caline laughs it off stating that they’ll be fine, and it’ll be just like walking down the streets in Paris. That added another dash to her inability to be a proper teacher.

Which brings us to the street mall. Lila was going into stores left and right proclaiming to be Damian Wayne’s girlfriend or stating that she is the niece of some high profile celebrity in hopes of getting free or discounted items. That doesn’t dwell well seeing as Gothamites are not as gullible as Parisians.

The Paris Trio along with the GA Trio watch the mess that she was drumming up from afar. Chloe had invited Allegra to join them which then extended to Claude and Allan who wanted to go for the arcade.

Lila even had the nerve to ask Adrien to join her and Alya shopping trips with the underlying message of making him pay. Once being denied on numerous occasions, Alya managed to steal Nino’s wallet in hopes of paying for all their stuff. Yeah, that didn't help their relationship status.

“Alya I told you that money wasn’t for you,” Nino screams into his girlfriend’s face as she tries to come up with an excuse. He was infuriated.

“Nino, baby, if you love me you would have just given me the money. Lila really needed those items for her date with Damian.”

“I don’t care about Lila’s need; she is not my responsibility. In fact, neither are you, Alya. You just spent the money I had saved up for this trip.” Nino had wanted to go into a DJ shop that sold the equipment he wanted and started saving the moment the trip was announced the year before.

“Stop bitching, it was only a couple hundred dollars.”

Oohs and side-eyes make up the crowd they were drawing. It was a free drama tv for them.

“Ooh what do we have here, a lovers quarrel? Now would be the perfect time to spring my new trap.” Suddenly, it was like time freezes.

~*~

Chloe B. @QueenBeeOfParis The best thing about my idiotic classmates is television drama. #savemefromthem

Tina @thepinkmistress I was finding my own business when this shit happens. [Attach is a video clip of a couple arguing and goons dress in green takes over the streets]

Tim Drake’s Bish @rachelcovefe The nerve of this group. Just finished my shift only to be told by some foreigner that she was @GothamsFashionSense like bish please I know you ain't her. #anotherdayingotham

Kimmy @kimmyontheblock Replying to@rachelcovefe OMG same but she then added in that she was Jagged Stone's niece. Um excuse you but we all know that it's @MDCfashion

Mari Needs Coffee @MarinetteMemes So the first relaxing day in Gotham ruined by the Riddler and Lie-la’s fanatics. Yup, so good to be back. #memescomingsoon #goodgrief #imabouttoheadout

Part 4 >>

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[wouldpollyapprove]

A Girl That Wasn’t Meant To Love

Request: can you do a tommy x reader based on the song hell on high heels by motley crue

Requested by @magnificentzombiebasement

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Language, alcohol, prostitution

A/n: I had a completely different idea for how I wanted to write this and what I ended up actually writing is more of like a prologue. If you guys like this, I may write a second part, but it’s not a priority at the moment. I also want you guys to know that I gave up editing this halfway through b/c it’s hella long and I’m lazy. So, that’s the reason things may be spelled wrong or not make sense at all.

Masterlist

“There’s no shame in this life,” she’d been told before. It was by an old woman, one stuck in her place at one time in her life. “There is no shame in doing what must be done to survive.” Head held high, that’s what Y/n lived by. Ugly truths and monstrous men, she saw nothing but the end of the line. Every night was touch or go, wondering if she would have enough money to make it to the next. But with each rising sun, she grew stronger and the money in her pockets started to bulge.

There was no shame in what she did if it led to her survival.

Y/n never liked the only word ever used to describe women like her: “prostitute”. The word, unclean, allowed men to shove her face in the mud. Women, who never had to do a days work on their back to pay the bills, would spit at her, curses, even words sailors wouldn’t utter, leaving their porcelain lips. They didn’t see the pot of gold they had stumbled upon, all that they had that was out of reach from other’s. They were selfish in believing that some people had a choice in what had to be done to put food on the table.

It had always been a struggle to come by much of anything. Y/n grew up in a village in France that knew everything but wealth. People made enough to live, but never leave. War was the only thing that ever allowed boys and girls alike to wave at the village behind them. Most never returned, but there were always more to replace those in the ground. Producing like rabbits, there was no such thing as plentiful. Skin and bones, they all worked day and night to live for another hour, but it was never enough for Y/n. 

Tough as nails, she was tired of living from meal to meal. Wishing for the world, she wasn’t like her mother or sisters, who dreamed of getting by, she wanted to take what was her’s. And so, with what little she had, she fled to Paris. It took days, different strangers pitying her state, the dirt stained clothes and tangled hair, but eventually she reached the golden city.

There, she could find little work with the skill set she’d acquired as a child. Laborers weren’t meant to walk the streets of the capital, they were meant for the tiny villages that she came from. And so, another line of work had to be found and that is when the woman who ran Le Sphinx pulled her inside. Knowing nothing of prostitution, Y/n was forced to quickly learn, being educated in both the desires of men and etiquette. 

Once ready and thrown to the lions, she did whatever she could to stay above the sharp, white teeth. At first, there were many nights with tears streaming down her cheeks and the thought of home forever circling around her mind. It was hard to adapt to something she’d known nothing about. Even harder when she was merely competition to the other girls. No one would extend a hand, wipe the tears off her stained cheeks and tell her that it would get better. The girls at the brothel were worse than the ones Y/n encountered on the street. They did anything to start a fight and were worse than thieves. If you valued anything, it wasn’t to be kept in plain sight. It was a war zone one no man would ever have to face.

But before Y/n knew it, she was on top, the woman all the business men and visiting royals wanted to spend the evening with. It wasn’t bad to be sitting in the lap of a Norwegian royal, not once you were aware of how much their hat alone cost. Drowning in riches, this was close enough to the life she wanted. With all the money given to her by the men that believed they were her only loves, she packed her bags and moved to London. 

That was where the rich became even richer and where our story starts.

Settling into her London home, Y/n decided she would rather spend her days doing anything but lying on her back. There were some clients, wealthy ones, that she’d see occasionally, but she wanted to make money in other ways. And with all that she had saved up, she did just that by purchasing a dress shop. It was the perfect quaint life that she had been looking for all along and it was finally her’s. Most of her days were spent hiring seamstresses or going over new fabrics, Y/n wanted women to flock from all over the country to buy her dresses and she would do anything to achieve that.

But like everyone, she got bored. 

Wanting more than to roam the streets of London, she decided to put one of her best workers in charge and run around the English countryside. While on her little holiday, Y/n stopped in Birmingham. Meant to be the manufacturing capital of the country, it didn’t try to hide that fact. But she loved it. The dirt and grime, the sweat that covered the brow. She was raised just as they were, work until the day was done. The broken backs and accidental deaths were something she was all too familiar with. 

These people were her people.

Taking in the city around her, Y/n wandered into a pub near a few factories. Whether it was accepted for women to venture out on their own in this city or not, she didn’t care. A mediocre whiskey sour was all she was asking for. Pushing the doors open, gold details ran along the wall as the sun peeked through stained glass windows. For a pub on the wrong side of town, London was all that crossed her mind. There were many pubs in the capital that held themselves like the one she stood in. Shaking off her shock, Y/n took a seat at one of the bar stools, sinking into its cushion. 

“What can I get you?” the barmaid with eyes that dripped of honey and charcoal curls asked her.

“How about a whiskey sour?” she smiled at the girl. She looked to be no more than eighteen, what an age to be. By the time Y/n was that age, she was already in Paris, doing the job few women willing accepted. The girl nodded, curls bouncing around her chiseled face, before fetching the ingredients needed.

Y/n leaned back in her chair and began to search her purse for a cigarette. It was a bad habit she’d picked up from the brothel, but it did wonders at calming the nerves. She searched and searched, but it appeared that she smoked the last one that morning. “Fuck,” she muttered, doubling checking.

“Missing something?” a voice asked from across the bar.

She straightened to lock eyes with a tall man, his brunette hair shaved at the side. Unsure what to make of him, she simply nodded. He held himself like a businessman, suit and all, but all she could see were the rough edges of a working man.

“What have you lost?” he asked, waiting for a proper answer. 

Sighing in defeat, Y/n placed her bag on the bar. “My cigarettes. I fear I’ve cleaned myself out.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips, slowly he dug a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled a pack out. “I happen to have a few.”

Y/n couldn’t help but smile seeing the canister. God only knows where she’d have to go to buy a new pack. “Mind sharing one with me?”

Waltzing over to her side, movements swift and precise, he held one out between his fingers for her to take. Gently, she slipped it between her own before placing it between her lips. Being a gentleman, the man already had his lighter out by the time it was snug between her painted lips and lit it for her. “Thank you…” she waited for a name, taking a drag.

“Tommy.”

“Thank you, Tommy,” she smiled and watched as he slid into the seat next to her. “I assume your first name’s Thomas then.”

Tommy smiled. “No, it’s Ethel.” The statement pulled a laugh from the woman sitting next to him. “And what’s your name? Or do you not have one of those?”

“Oh I have one,” she said right before the barmaid returned with her drink. “Thank you,” she smiled at the girl. Attention back on the man beside her, she took a quick drink of her better-than-mediocre whiskey sour before answering his question. “Y/n L/n.”

The man nodded, eyes going up the length of her body. The silk smooth fabric of her dress, the purse discarded on the bar top, and the jewels that hung around her wrist told Tommy all he needed to know about her. Plain as day, Y/n came from money. “What brings ya to Small Heath?” Tommy questioned, lighting his own cigarette, and leaned back in his stool, turning towards her. 

“Small stop before traveling to London,” she admitted.

“London’s home, I take it.”

Y/n shrugged and flicked ash into the ashtray between them. “For now.”

Silence fell between the two. For once in her life, butterflies fluttered around her stomach, creating a knot that was both nerve racking and pleasant. There was never a chance for Y/n to even think of any sort of love except that of money before moving to England. But still beside Tommy, she felt something that she had never experienced before. Her heart told her it was more than just the love that overcame a silly school girl. No matter what it said, though, her brain overruled and told her off on the silly notion. 

The two spent the rest of the day talking at the bar, swapping stories of all they had done. Y/n swept her early career into a dark closet, locking it away from the young man. She knew how his sky blue eyes would turn the color of the sea with the knowledge out in the open. She couldn’t have that. For most of her life, Y/n had watched people’s views on her change in an instant based on a profession many dipped their toes into in the name of survival. She wouldn’t have that with him. Not when she could feel it in her bones that he was meant to be something more.

Eventually, Y/n had to go back to London, but she didn’t board the train without handing Tommy her address. “Write. Please. Anytime you wish, write to me. I will always answer,” a glossy smile danced on her lips, she placed a small paper in his palm. 

“I will. I promise,” he answered. Though they hadn’t known each other long, both knew that they would never lose touch.

“I best be going now.” Y/n scanned the station, noticing as people began to board the train. “Goodbye, Tommy.” Before she could turn on her heels, a hand caught her wrist and pulled her back. A grasp escaped her before soft lips captured her’s. Deepening the kiss, Y/n wanted to do anything but board the locomotive. 

Tommy pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. “Goodbye, Y/n,” he said with a sad smile as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

They parted that day and as Y/n watched him become nothing with the growing distance, she could still feel his lips on her. Call it love, call it lust, but it was one of the great wonders of the world, that she knew. 

Once in London, Y/n made haste to write to Tommy. Her friends couldn’t help but notice the smile that adorned her face when the mail was dropped by every day and the one letter she picked out of the rest, holding it to her chest. They wondered if she’d found a lover or a boyfriend, but there was no answer she could give them.

What was Thomas Shelby to her? To a girl that wasn’t meant to love?

An answer couldn’t be given in fear of ruining what had been created. 

Piles of letters flowed between the pair and soon, Tommy was asking her to come to Birmingham once more. The same excuses were used each time. She couldn’t find anyone to watch the shop or money was tight and she couldn’t spare a penny. White lies left her lips dressed as the truth. She couldn’t leave the safety of her home to visit the darkness of the unknown. Everything surrounding the man was new to her and Y/n couldn’t figure out how to handle it. Run straight at it or hide in the corner, those were her options. She liked the corner.

But Mr. Shelby wouldn’t have it with the excuses, deciding that if she couldn’t come to Birmingham then he would go to London.

A knock at the front door pulled mighty barks from Pearl, the French Bulldog Y/n found starving on the streets one night. With eyes on the stove, Y/n was weary to leave them unattended to answer the door. “Be there in a minute,” she called, giving the eyes a few extra seconds before sliding them onto a plate. Pearl ran between her feet, almost tripping her, as Y/n walked to the front door. Doing her best to keep the creature in the house, using one foot to hold her back, she opened the door, body freezing when she locked eyes with the man in front of her. 

“Y/n.” A smile like honey spread across his face, almost making Y/n forget why her heart seized up in fear. 

“Tommy,” she breathed out in return. The dog behind her used the shock to her advantage and quickly found a gap between her owner and the door, slipping through to bark at the stranger in front of her. Y/n scoffed and quickly scooped the dog up before she could take a bite out of Tommy’s polished shoes. “Pearl, you pest,” she scolded. “Um, please, come in.”

When the door was opened wider, Tommy stepped through the threshold and began to strip himself of his coat. “I was in town for business, thought I’d come see you.”

A smile lit up her face at his words. No one had ever been kind enough to do that, not for the innocent reasons he was. “There’s breakfast in the kitchen if you’d like some.” He nodded, following close behind as she led the way, eyes scanning the walls that past him.

“Lovely home,” he remarked as Y/n gestured for him to have a seat at the kitchen table. Doing as she pleased, he sank into the wooden chair and took in his surroundings.

The second his eyes had landed on her months before in the Garrison, Tommy knew the woman came from money. Back straight as a board, jewels dangling from her body, there was no mistaking it. He sat beside her, hoping she couldn’t sniff out dirt poor, violent prone individuals. By the end of her stay in Birmingham, it seemed she knew no difference between expensive suits obtained by gun point and those with a handful of coins. 

It was foolish for Tommy to believe she would want anything to do with him. He was a poor boy turned thief turned war hero turned criminal. Little he touched after the war was legal and he knew better than to believe that a woman of her status would ever want a man like himself. 

“Yeah,” she shrugged while dishing eggs onto two plates. Before placing them on the table, she set a piece of toast next to the eggs and grabbed the butter off the counter. A plate was placed in front of her guest, who wasn’t sure if he should be surprised that she knew how to cook. Anyone who owned a house such as the one Tommy found himself in usually had a few maids and a cook, but not Y/n it seemed. “What business brings you to London?”

“None worth anything,” he answered.

A groomed brow raised, she wondered why he wasted the trip. “Then why come?”

The answer that escaped his lips hit her in the heart, the one she saw coming. “For you.” For her, he had left the comforts of his home. For her, he had wasted precious time. And for her, he would surely be disappointed. 

“Tommy,” she drawled, eyes gloomy to match her said smile. “You didn’t have to.”

Leaning back in his chair, his blue eyes pierced her own. His demeanor had changed. Once loving and sweet, now sharp and calculated. “You refused to come see me, decided to come see why.”

Y/n sighed, unsure whether to let her eyes wonder or stay focused on the man in front of her. “I’ve been busy,” she lied.

Her words must have been see through, not an ounce of weight to them, when Tommy rolled his eyes. “Apparently, you’ve been so busy that you’ve allowed yourself to visit the coast.” His words were bitter, laced with venom, each syllable as dangerous as the next. “Thought I wouldn’t find out?”

A foolish move to believe she could live a wonderful life. Once back in London, Y/n had done her fair share of research on Thomas Shelby. When it came to survival, it was always best to know all those around you. Y/n couldn’t allow anyone to burn her empire, no matter how much she was willing to let them. She knew Tommy was making his way up in the world, climbing the latter, each rung as illegal as the next. He was a quick witted and calculated man. Ambition seemed to always cross his mind. Tommy seemed to know as much about her as she did about him. But if he only mentioned her trip to the coast, perhaps he didn’t know all she thought he did.

Opening her mouth to say something, she was cut off before a word could get out. 

“What am I to you?” The words were heavy on his tongue, even heavier ringing in her ears. 

Y/n sat there, opening and closing her mouth, the breakfast in front of her completely forgotten. There was no perfect answer. No sentence that could be formulated that could wash away the pain evident in his eyes. There was no word that could be uttered to mend what she had broken but the simple truth.

Letting her eyes scour the room, she did her best to avoid eye contact as Tommy’s gaze drilled into her. “If you believe you don’t mean anything to me, you’re wrong. You mean the world to me.”

“You have an interesting way of showing it.”

Y/n couldn’t help but flinch at the bitter words. “I…” she shook her head and got to her feet. She couldn’t sit still, not with her heart attempting to beat out of her chest. “I don’t know how to love.”

The words were barely above a whisper but Tommy heard them from his place at the table. Eyes softening, he wasn’t sure he’d understood her properly. “What do you mean?”

Pacing around the kitchen, tears welled up in her eyes at all she didn’t want to say. Y/n wasn’t ashamed of her past, in fact, many would find it triumphant, but it wasn’t one that bathed in love. She had never been loved or in love until she had met Thomas Shelby at a pub in Birmingham. Many only had one love and that was good enough. But with her background, love was never enough. She could love with her whole heart, but her loyalty would always come into question.

“I have never been allowed to love,” Y/n explained at the mini bar in the corner of the room. It may have been early, but it was never earlier too early for a drink. A strong on at that. Shaking hand poured whiskey into a glass, filling much more than needed. “I-I have never been in a… relationship that wasn’t physical.”

Tommy wasn’t sure what to make of her announcement or  the woman that stood before him. Whiskey pouring over the rim of her glass, it wasn’t hard for the man to see that her gentle words covered up a dirtier trust. Pushing himself out of his chair, in a few quick strides, he was by her side. Long fingers snatched the drink from her hand, placing it on the counter. “Were you a-”

“Please, please don’t say it!” she begged, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Please.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her against him, her head resting against his chest. “I won’t, I won’t,” Tommy said, rubbing a hand up and down her back. It did little soothe her but it was better than doing nothing. “It’s alright, love.”

Y/n shook her head, pulling away enough to meet his eyes. “No, it’s not,” she cried. “I’m fucking filthy! Not someone anyone would love.”

It broke his heart to see the pain in her eyes, the truth she placed on each word. Placing a hand against her cheek, he stroked the smooth skin, letting her melt against his touch. “I love you, Y/n,” he said softly to combat her sobs. “And I don’t care how filthy you are, I love you. And if I have to teach you how to lover properly, then so be it. But if you can love Pearl then I know you can love anyone.”

She was quiet, savoring each word that was said. No one had ever said such a thing to her and meant every word. Some customers had believed they were in love with her, taken her kindness for passionate love, but it was never that. “Do you mean it?” Y/n asked as Tommy wiped her tears away.

“Every word.” He leaned down, capturing her in a kiss. Y/n grabbed him by the collar and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Tommy could have stayed there, with his arms wrapped around her, forever, but Pearl had other ideas. The dog barked from the other side of the room, earning laughs from two. Turning his attention back to Y/n, Tommy brushed a stray hair behind her ear and asked, “Now, will you come to Birmingham with me?”

*~~*~~*

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