#four different people sent/tagged me in the post that the second one comes from.

[acasternaut]

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 13 thoughts

before we begin: i’m gonna be upfront with you. this is another episode i did not like. this was scully’s 3, if you catch my meaning.

but i made a post announcing that i did not like this episode after a mere 10 minutes of viewing, and received some comments saying that others were big fans. as always, this is a place where i welcome discussion! PLEASE tell me what you think. you can try to talk me into liking it! tell me how you see it, and how it makes sense to you, and why you enjoyed it; maybe you’ll sway me. maybe not. maybe i’m cool and different for not liking things other people like, or maybe i’m basic because other people don’t like it as well. i have no frame of reference, which makes this blog so fun!

frankly, there are some things that i as a viewer just don’t want to see. i am not a fan of misogyny or watching THE hetbait of all time kiss other people.

here we are! so, i have been informed that in the timeline of canon, this episode i’m about to watch actually takes place BEFORE the last one. which i have noted. although it will be hard to distract myself from knowing what i do know now, i’ll do my best. 

(author's note: yeah i see why that clarification is important)

okay, the episode description. mulder? vacationing? i don’t believe it for a second. 

oh god, i don’t wanna see scully pine for some random guy. maybe there will just be an intellectual attraction here. i just don’t want to see it. i’m not sorry!!!!

okay. let’s go. still not believing in vacation mulder, but i’ll give it my best. 

some guy named jerse is getting divorced. wait. wait no. i recognize that name from a fanfic i read. NO.

i couldn’t remember what the hell this dude’s name was (jerve? juss?) because he only popped up BRIEFLY in a fanfic i read that had no seasoning relevant warnings. but because of this, i know what he is here to do. DAMN IT. let this be a lesson: read fic that is marked by the season!!!!

jerse is getting divorced. he is kinda handsome, i won’t lie. but he looks like a sick freak and he’s being weird to this bartender 

oh god, he has kids. scully STAY AWAY FROM THIS MAN- I’M NOT GONNA ASK AGAIN. pulling out a photo of him and the kids at the bar. a pathetic individual.

he burned himself out of the picture with a cigarette?? this is clearly well-adjusted behavior 

now he’s drunk outside a tattoo shop. in the rain. looking at a tattoo of a cartoon woman. and now he’s home? he has a tattoo he doesn’t seem to remember. ah. the cartoon woman. drink can do this to a man.

now he’s crawling on all fours? what do you want me to do about that. 

gooood, i know what’s coming because of that fanfic that accidentally spoiled me, and i’m gonna be so pissed. has my hater energy been distracting you lately? is this blog still enjoyable? be honest. but not too honest. i will cry.

mulder and scully are talking to someone about a UFO sighting, someone who is talking about explosions but no sound. she’s busy looking at the vietnam war memorial. NO there’s a little car that someone left for their dead brother :( she picks up a leaf and takes it with her…. i bet she is thinking about her own brothers and the sister she lost

back to jerse. he’s on the phone trying to sell stocks to a random woman who is fighting with her kids. 

oh. a disembodied voice calls him a loser. well, do it again for me. so he’s hearing things, including laughter.

OH no….. he’s blaming some random woman in the office for calling him a loser and confronting her. she was LITERALLY BUSY! leave her alone. he’s throwing stuff around. very professional (heavy on the /s). and he gets sent home which is good because i was scared, they were scared, we were all scared. 

scully is in mulder’s office, holding his name tag. awwww.

oh, my suspicions about mulder were correct- he did not want to go on vacation, but he was forced to! he is taking piles of x files with him. and he’s suspicious that they’re trying to get rid of him.

“gotta pay the rent” <- your dad had like 3 fucking houses i do not believe that for a SECOND you need this job to put food on the table mulder

“why don’t i have a desk?” she asks <- LMAOOO... i miss you s1 scully desk we saw that singular time that i always assumed still existed but i guess no longer does

(this seemed like a funny throwaway line to me at first, hence my lmao, but i later understood that this line was said with a Seriousness. however, i like to leave things as they were so you can really get a feel for my mind, all the wrong conclusions included)

AWWW he says we can get a desk and they can be really close and we can play battleship... LMAOOO i think….? i can’t tell if he’s being genuine and wants to help, or catty because he’s pissed he has to take a vacation 

OH! he’s pissed. what does he want her to keep an eye on? “that contact that we met last night at the wall, who had the distinction of being present for a first- that being you abandoning me during questioning” OHHHH he went there!!! damn! slim to no empathy when he is in alien mode.

“in the future, i’ll make sure that all those people being interviewed provide you with a multimedia laser show to keep your interest maintained” <- WHAT THE FUCK MULDER? DO I LAUGH OR WANT TO SLAP YOU? she looks so gagged. clearly something is on her MIND, you insensitive dolt.

so this guy they were talking to is named pudovkin, he’s from russia, and he has a doctorate in astronautical engineering, which is a term i have never heard before.

scully still seems distracted… but she asks if pudovkin’s reports on UFO crashes are for sale. which mulder confirms, but they are at a high price.

mulder tries to give her the assignment, and he made all these arrangements, but she says NO!!! LMAO (?) she says that russian guy they spoke with was recounting the plot of a cartoon. okay, queen is well-versed in her cartoons! i see you

oh my god, what is the tone of this episode…?

“so you’re refusing an assignment based on the adventures of moose and squirrel” “refusing an assignment? that makes it sound like you’re my superior”

oh, that pissed him off… “do what you want, don’t go to philadelphia, but let me remind you that i worked my ass off to get these files reopened. you were just assigned. this work is my life” <- HEY BUCKO. let us take a deep and calming breath. let us choose our words with kindness when talking to our friends.

“and it’s become mine” <- oh my GOD... that motif.... her getting pulled further and further into this...

so i can tell you right now, with confidence: i do not like this episode. why is he being mean? she is clearly thinking about something. i thought he was teasing at first, but clearly now he isn’t. if i were him i would say “hey, you seem distracted. is everything alright?” IS THAT HARD? IS THAT SO FUCKING HARD TO DO?

and it would still make for compelling TV!!! hey listen, i hear you saying "if they didn't have problems, there would be no plot" to which i say: there has been plenty of plot in the past when they have treated each other with kindness, no?

she says she is losing sense of her life- “this isn’t about you, mulder, or maybe it is in an indirect way”- and he says “maybe it’s good that we get away from each other for a while” <- WHAT IS GOING ON???

he seems so shocked to hear that the x files aren’t her whole life……… baby boy, let’s use context clues... yes, he is in ahab mode....

he says he’s going on a spiritual journey to discover something about himself…. and she sets the leaf she found from before on his desk. hmm. hmmmm.

back to jerse. he’s on the phone again. begging for his job back. doesn’t seem to be going well. oh my gosh, he just beat the phone. smashed it over and over again. i am frightened.

the evil tattoo is taunting him. so he is crawling on all fours to see if it’s coming from the floor below, which simply has a lady and some birds! those poor birds! 

(is this tattoo supposed to be a representation of mental illness? if so, which one? is it supposed to be insecurity? placed upon him by society? toxic masculinity?)

he’s talking to some missionaries who are trying to tell him that his downstairs neighbor is not involved in a plot to drive him insane…..

oh my god he broke into the bird lady’s apartment. OH MY GOD???????????

soundtrack this episode is killer though, i’ll give it that. put more music in my monster of the week content.

oh my god he’s like. dragging something. hard to tell because the screen is almost ENTIRELY BLACK. yes. he is putting a box in an incinerator. that presumably contains bird lady. real charming fellow, this jerse. 

(this is kinda like if little shop of horrors involved a tattoo instead of a plant. the tattoo says no one will hurt him again. sure, man. i’ve seen how that musical ends)

mulder is wet. on the road, outside his car. very wet. calling to see how scully is doing. he wants to know where she is!!!! but there is no answer.

scully is in philly, looking at the files about the russian space guy, watching him. she’s tailing him now into some convenience store. he is fighting loudly in russian and exchanging money……. hmm. that’s not promising. 

is he going into the tattoo shop? so goes the scully, in that case.

oh no. jerse is in there. he’s asking a separate russian guy who is the tattoo artist to cover up the cartoon tattoo…. 

oh god, he gets scully involved. “you like this, on his arm?” and now it’s winking. it has changed its design.

she says the coloring is nice (very thoughtful response to being sucked into a strange situation), and the russian tattoo guy is talking about how he learned how to tattoo in prison, while the creepy voice in jerse’s head is commenting on his new undying love for scully. but the actual russian space guy is in the back!!!

god, i don’t want to watch thiiiiiiis. but i must. i am a journalist, after all. she lies and says she’s visiting her aunt. and that she wishes she was impulsive sometimes. 

she says she’s leaving- but he gives her his number. god, is this gonna be a multi-episode thing???

OH MY GOD, MULDER IS CALLING FROM GRACELAND “i’m at that special place and i wanted to share it with you…. did you know elvis bought all of his furniture in just thirty minutes?”

wait. hold on. that’s cute. he wanted to share it with her. but also how DID he know where she was? it’s their usual spot… “i knew you wouldn’t abandon me” <- AWWW why were you mean earlier!!!!! you are being sweet now :(

(again, i ask: what IS the tone of this episode?)

she says there’s no case, no x file, the russian guy is involved in gangs and fraud and whatnot. she's handing it over to the philly bureau and that is that.

she is very pissed that he is ordering her around as always (well, i support that!) and he pulls his “what, do you have a date or something?” card. and then CONSPICUOUS SILENCE.

oh my god he’s STUTTERING “you’re-you’re kidding” (he sadly returns to graceland and makes some elvis moves) (we can hear the sound of his heart breaking)

jerse’s tattoo is still talking to him while scully looks at his business card. she says her flight is cancelled and that she can pick him up!!! oh my god. oh my gooood.

jerse is huffing his cigarette and also trying to burn out the tattoo with it. more concerning behavior. it's like when seymour throws the rat poison in audrey ii.

the jehovah’s witnesses are strategically knocking on the door of the now dead bird lady. and scully is here with jerse. she’s entering his apartment. 

you know what? this motherfucker looks like jeremy jordan. just an observation. sing, newsie boy.

she’s saying she doesn’t go out much…. but she noticed he’s bleeding. and also she says she’s a doctor. feels like that is relevant information to reveal before a date. don’t you want to know what a potential date does before you go out with them? well, i guess that is highlighting her desire to be impulsive.

oh god, she also finds the photo of him and the kids…. while he’s in the bathroom bandaging his wounds. 

she wants to go to the crummy bar??? okay. get out your inner rebellion i guess.

he says that this is a good place to go when you’re down, because everyone here looks like they have worse problems than him. fair enough. except for also NOT fair enough... because he killed a woman!

scully says she goes around in a circle when an authority figure comes into her life, and part of her wants it, needs the approval, but then… 

(it seems she is making a pointed reference to mulder here...? is that what he is to her? an authority figure?)

now she’s talking about her dad….  she would sneak out of the house and smoke the cigarettes. yes, i remember this from beyond the sea!!!! she did this because she knew that if he found out he would kill her.

he says the tattoo marked him never going back. SHE TRIES TO SEE IT AND HE GRABS HER???????

what the fuck what the FUCK. are we going to witness violence.

SO NOW SHE’S GONNA GET ONE TOO?? on her back???? the ouroboros she was looking at before! yes, the never ending cycle.

what the hell… i am deeply uncomfy. he’s watching her get a tattoo and it’s like erotic or something??? to him. and she’s breathing all weird. and then. there is a tattoo.

(this scene only reinforced my previous conclusions from earlier today looking up "am i asexual" quizzes)

god, is she gonna stay here with him? he says the weather is bad and he wants her to be safe and that he’ll sleep on the couch.

she says she feels different now after the tattoo. and he’s taking off the bandage. says it looks alright. but he’s bleeding again. and she’s taking off his shirt…..

the tattoo starts TALKING??? “you kiss her, and she’s dead” HEY WHAT

oh god……………………. the door shuts

pause. y’all. i don’t think i’m cut out for this.

okay, back to the FBI. mulder is here. trying to find scully. and he cannot reach her!!!

he sees the leaf she left on his desk…. and these two are waking up the next morning. his tattoo is still bleeding. dude, you should probably make some sort of appointment about that. 

scully’s in his giant shirt as she shows the detectives at the door (!!!) her badge. they want to talk about the disappearance of the bird lady. they are not taking her seriously, because she is in some random guy’s shirt in some random guy’s house. but she’s jotting some stuff down. 

things are clicking in her mind, about the disappearance. oh my god dial up noises! wow, that’s loud and annoying. shoutout to people who had to deal with that in the 90's.

she seems to be realizing that she has made a grave mistake. 

THE STUFF THE RUSSIAN GUY MADE THE TATTOO INK OUT OF WAS IN THE KILLER’S BLOOD????!!!

she grabs her tattoo because like. now it’s in HER blood too. oh my god the tattoo ink had DRUGS in it????

scully is trying to call mulder…. who runs to his phone. but she hangs up on him!!!! now why would you do all that? oh, because jerse approaches.

she tells him to sit down. very seriously. and she straight up says she thinks the blood the detectives found was his. well i guess honesty is sometimes a good policy.

so they might hallucinate stuff now from the ergot. and they might be dangerous. they need to get to the hospital now. 

he confesses to hearing things now…. “she talks to me. she hates women. my wife, my boss, you” ohhhh my god. i wonder how she is feeling....

she says they need to go to the hospital now. together. 

the tattoo's voice is talking to him about who she called…. and he presses the redial button…. and….

HOLY FUCK, HE’S ATTACKING HER. i mean, i knew it was going to happen eventually, but like. doesn't make it any more enjoyable to watch.

oh man, they are really going at it…. he knocks her out….. and he wraps her up to take her to the incinerator……………. ???????

but she stabs him with the scissors… and she’s trying to tell him to take control. so he BURNS HIS ARM OFF???!? to get the tattoo to shut up. 

BUT NOW THE MUSIC FLOURISHES OVER HER TATTOO???

girl if she has a demon in her now............. i need a cigarette

she’s coming back to the office with bruises on her face. “congratulations for making a personal appearance in the x files for a second time” says mulder. well, that’s gotta be a record. and that is exactly what he brings up next!

he’s trying to make a joke, but she’s grabbing the leaf on his desk………

he thinks this is his fault…… “not everything is about you, mulder. this is my life” “yes, but it….” (sighs)

end episode.

okay. so. what am i thinking. 

well. i am thinking many things. first of all- what is that tattoo supposed to represent? was it supposed to represent how misogyny poisons men’s minds? and turns them into people they aren’t deep down? is it about male insecurity, and how it turns into violence? and if we are taking that interpretation- doesn't that kinda just blame women for the scourge that is misogyny? like "look how you divorced that guy, guess you can't blame men for hating half of the population" because if that was what they were going for. i find issues with that.

second. i’m glad scully had her growth moment. if i were her, i would have told off mulder a long time ago for being too domineering. i don't think he intends to do it- i think he gets too caught up in his own quest for answers- but intention does not make his actions any less hurtful. and she clearly needed to have that rebellion moment. i’m glad she had it, even if it went terribly, at least she survived.

but the agents' dynamic felt… mean-spirited. i couldn’t tell what was joking and what was below the belt, and i’m not sure i’m supposed to be able to. he does take advantage of her, and i certainly don't oppose her pointing that out. i oppose him being mean to her- or at least, i find it hard to watch. i understand that the whole project does mean the world to him because maybe, just maybe, it will bring his sister back- but still. it is an infuriating characteristic of his, how little attention he pays to others.

and i don't necessarily think that aspect of him is written consistently, either. what about that time they were so incredibly close to answers and he let them go because he wanted scully to be able to see her sister again? what about every single time he's risked his neck for her?

i guess what i'm saying is, his fury at the start of the episode felt like it came out of nowhere, and was directed at her questioning his authority- and was over nothing beyond her tuning out one time. i find that idea of mulder as this authority figure that scully is chasing approval from in a manner akin to her own father (!!!) hard to reconcile with the mulder who held her in irresistible, who pummeled the doctor who maybe possibly might have hurt her in one breath, who runs every theory by her, and so on. you see what i'm saying? it felt as if this episode cast the whole series in the retrospective light of him only wanting her around so he can have a loyal henchman, and not that he valued her as an actual person- which we know he does. she zones out one day and he snaps on her? she goes on a rant about how she is always chasing authority's approval shortly after? i'm just not buying it. it felt like the rift era again. you could argue that it is scully's grief that is distorting her view of him, but even entertaining that possibility from a narrative perspective made me feel like i needed a bath. so... sleazy.

bullying aside- for an episode about breaking free from mulder’s influence, he seemed to really care for her and try and reach her, if we ignore the terrible things he said and just focus on his actions. on vacation and at work, he wanted to make sure she was okay. and it was sweet, but when cast in the light i mentioned earlier- in comparison to her father- it felt, like, paternalistic, which made my skin crawl. which is an understatement.

she needed to have that important character development, don’t get me wrong. it seems she’s worked so hard her whole life and has never made time to break some rules, except for when she was a kid. she needs to rebel at some point- but it was the framing of their dynamic that icked me out. and maybe i'm interpreting something in a different way than everyone else does. honestly, i hope i'm misunderstanding something. please feel free to correct me.

there was clearly something on her mind that distracted her from one interview, and the episode is trying to show us that her life isn’t just the x files like mulder's is. they’re different. maybe they spend too much time together. maybe they needed time apart, and maybe she needed to do the things she never let herself in the past. but… you can tell from reading this post that while i agree with some of the character choices- scully confronting him for being too controlling, letting herself let loose for once- i think they made sense in theory but less so in this particular execution. 

and yeah, there’s me the viewer who doesn’t want to see that shit happen, be it scully being attacked or sex outside the slowburn that gave us the term "ship". you can’t blame me there. i am a mere mortal. but also…… damn. something about the way jerse said he hated women and grabbed scully made me feel sick. 

i think that scully has a lot of grief and anger, and i think she reached a boiling point in this episode. and i think she won’t do the things she did ever again. but it still felt so out of character to see her do those things. and was she implying, with her whole speech about her father, that she seems mulder as this controlling force in her life? that their dynamic has been entirely unequal from the beginning? that he acts like a boss to her, and whatever the fuck it is they have going on (because it can’t be described in words, we both know that) has been an imbalance of power this whole time? that makes things feel…….. less warm and fuzzy, in retrospect, don’t you think? the idea that mulder only keeps her around as a foot soldier and doesn't really give a damn about her?

(again. it could be her grief talking. grief is not rational. but i had never seen it like that before, and it casts everything in a different light)

i think this episode had clear commentary on misogyny. the way that jerse’s thoughts were poisoned to hate women, how we explore mulder inadvertently taking the upper hand throughout their relationship, the way the detectives wouldn’t believe scully at her word when questioning her about the blood. i think it explored scully's frustration in being in a male-dominated field, and feeling like she always has to be perfect. but other than that, i'm not sure what i'm supposed to take away from the whole thing, unless i am to think that whatever relationship it is they do have is nothing more than one of uneven control. because that's the vibe i was getting from this one.

it felt out of character, and not just in the purposeful subversion of how we normally see scully- their whole fight felt off. and the tone was all over the place. first we're joking, then we're arguing nasty style, then we're joking, then sexy, then fight time violence against women, then joke? unresolved ending feeling i cannot explain? what do i make of this?!

idk. i don't feel like i'm wording my points well, but i'm not sure i want to really keep trying either. and i feel that if i did my usual thing, which is watch an episode, take notes, think it over for a day, and THEN edit the notes, i might be able to have a more coherent thought process- but given potential controversy, i want to get this out tonight.

i want to really hear your thoughts- if you ride or die for this episode, walk me through it! did you also not like it? is it mid to you? i'm listening. i want to know. i have no ill-intent, and i feel bad that i've been a bit harsh lately. let us discuss. it is all peace and love over here.

[riaaanna]

Queen Fanclub Convention 2023 Part 1: First Impressions

Hello again! This will be another series of posts on my time at the Official Queen Fanclub Convention 2023! This is the first time I've ever joined the convention, and I signed up as a member last year just to be able to go here.

The convention ran from 6-9 October 2023 and took place at Haven Golden Sands Holiday Park, Mablethorpe. Mablethorpe is in the east, which I've never really been to and trains don't really go there from Manchester. Apparently this has been the traditional venue over the years. It's a holiday park by the beach where we stay in caravans and the main events took place in a big hall. I was a bit wary of it at first because it was unfamiliar but it turned out to be quite nice.

Travelling there would have been a chore from Manchester. I would have had to take a total of four(?) hours of train with two changes and get off at Skegness before taking an hour of shuttle to the venue. But fortunately I didn't have to, thanks to my friend and saviour Ian who very kindly allowed me to tag along from Stafford (only an hour from Manchester) all the way to Mablethorpe. He was the reason I survived the entire convention so big cheers to him from here on!

Here's the full programme for the convention! As you can see lots of fun things ahead - but we'll cover the first welcome night for now!

I decided to arrive as per schedule but it was already so crowded and I struggled to find a spot, until I managed to get one at the back near the bar. So learned my lesson from then on to always come in early if I ever want to get a good spot to see the stage and screens clearly (and avoid the horribly noisy bar). While a good portion of people were properly paying attention to the event there was also about half the room who were just chattering among themselves and catching up with each other. So from early on I could already tell that the place is full of regulars, treating the event as a reunion more than anything. (Looking at photos from previous years, you can tell that "Queen Convention" banner on the stage has been reused too many times lol)

It was a bit intimidating to come in as a newbie (and I missed that newbie welcome session too). I told the reception desk I was new and they were very welcoming. I didn't expect them to do anything for me but then just before the event started, Queen Fanclub president herself Jacky came up to my table just to say hello to me the newbie! She was so nice and really made sure I felt welcome. The picture below is from a later night but here is she!

It was about an hour ish of meeting new friends (including Cilla who ended up being great company through the entire weekend - big shoutout to her!! 🥺💖) and chatting before the event started. Jacky made a lovely welcome speech, which specifically made sure newbies feel welconed right after our chat! And we received a welcome video from Brian - filmed on the first day of the QAL tour in the US just before they went on stage. Credits to David Taylor for the first part of the video which I merged with mine (Brian's part).

Afterwards there was also Doug Bogie (left) making an appearance on stage. He is apparently an active regular at the Queen Convention, being involved behind the scenes and everything, which I didn't know and is pretty cool. Aside from him Barry Mitchell was also quite active but has apparently recently taken ill (right), so we all sent him well wishes (and later on wrote on a huge get well soon card for him).

And finally - the band of the night! Live Killers (a Queen tribute band) took the stage and this was the second time I saw them live, the first being in Montreux. They were with a different vocalist iirc, but they were just as fantastic! And as a bonus... Tim Staffell made a surprise appearance on stage and sang Doin' Alright with the band!

Overall a great first night! I didn't want to stay up too late so I could prepare for the next full day. The next few posts will mostly focus on each guest panel, as they're the highlights and main reasons for me coming to the convention. As always thank you for reading!

[darsynia]

Ephemera | Steve/F!Reader Smut Oneshot

This really resonated with me, thanks for the request! Sent to DarsyWrites, so I hope you don't mind that I took a screenshot to respond.

Summary: You and Steve both survived the Blip, and each of you are trying to offer comfort to your fellow survivors in your own ways. When Steve shows up at your studio to create one of your signature grief pieces, you are faced with the fact that you're not over the way he'd disappeared after your memorable first date, weeks before the disaster in Sokovia.

Warnings: Smut, including mentions of oral (male receiving), fingering, and vaginal sex. Vague reference to suicide (post-Endgame) MINORS DNI

Pairing: Steve Rogers/F!Reader

Square filled: 'Betrayal' for @avengersbingo

Length: 3,132

Note: ‘ephemera,’ something temporary, fleeting, delicate, easily lost; also collectible memorabilia

Tags: @ronearoundblindly @starryeyes2000 @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @munstysmind @nekoannie-chan

Excerpt:

“Do you want the folder part back?”

“No ma’am.”

You set the whole thing inside and shut the door securely. “Still ‘Miss.’ Feels appropriate, I guess.”

“Rough way to build a life,” Steve observes.

“Oh, good, a six-word lecture from the perfect man!” You turn your back on him and walk over to the only piece of furniture in the room, a kitchen-style counter that takes up an entire wall. The resin and frames are already all set up, so you rest your palms flat on the empty stretch of marble and try to channel its cool implacability.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what brought me here.”

You push out an abrasive laugh. “Everyone feels guilty about what they bring to burn, Steve.”

Suddenly he’s against your back, hands coming down beside yours on either side. “I brought myself to burn. Hours of coming here and pushing myself to find something worth drawing, just so I could watch the strip of skin at your back when you lifted your arms up to get more paper.”

Ephemera

Your art is different now. Everyone’s is.

The project angers some people, but that’s not your problem. Everyone deals with the decimation their own way, and yours is particularly bare. Bleak, even. It’s probably good that you lost so much business (some gone, and some gone), because you’d drive people away, no question.

Every week, you see a new, familiar face. They look different now, sporting more lines, more gray, more sorrow, few smiles. After four months, their seedlings have finally taken root in this dust-driven world, begrudgingly seeking out the harsh sunlight. Many have heard about what you’re doing and find it cathartic. They come into the studio with folders, notepads, photo albums, all with looks of raw determination. Some are looking forward to the process, others just want the result. They walk in looking for examples on the walls, but you’ve kept them bare.

Something feels off about that, something’s missing, which is the point. A world of uncreated masterpieces.

Not everyone makes appointments with their name, but that’s one of the beauties of this shitty new world. It doesn’t matter. Either they’ll show up or they won’t. You don’t need someone’s mother’s maiden name to hold a timeslot, you’re not doing this for the money-- if you were, no one would come.

The front door opens as you finish prepping the woodstove, and you straighten, wondering how long to give them. People walk in and need a minute, sometimes. They’re looking for catharsis, to quite literally refine their grief into something new, and those seconds before you greet them are important, you’ve found.

“Hello?”

You suck in a breath. It’s Steve Rogers, you’d recognize that voice anywhere. Not because of his day job, but because of the hours he’d spent here, steeping humanity into the lines of his sketches. Weeks before the tragedy in Sokovia, the two of you had done dinner on Coney Island, talking for hours on a darkened patch of beach, far into the night. You’d stood and stretched, fingertips reaching for the stars, and when you’d turned around, you had offered to show him what touching the stars felt like.

You’ll never forget the mix of tactile sensation of that night. The power of his cock on your tongue, the way Steve had drawn claw marks in the sand beside his thighs to prevent himself from gripping your hair. Barely seconds after he came, a couple walking at the edge of the water spooked the two of you, and then you’d just… never seen him again.

“Coming,” you call out, your voice thready with longing. During the brief walk to the storefront, you wonder what the hell he’s brought, whether you’re going to have to do an Indiana Jones to keep it out of the fire.

Steve stretches out his hand to shake yours when you get out there, like he doesn’t remember what it felt like when you’d stroked him. 

“No ink,” you chastise, turning his hand in yours to check.

“No inspiration,” he counters.

You can’t help the self-deprecating laugh as you let go. “That’s never been my problem!” As soon as you say it, you wish you could snatch the words back. It’s gauche to imply that you enjoy any part of this process.

“All evidence to the contrary,” he says, regarding you with warm, professional favor. “I’ve heard good things about what you’re doing. It’s kind of you. Important, even.”

“You haven’t heard from everyone, then.”

Steve purses his lips thoughtfully. “I have. People say it’s disrespectful. That you should be preserving this stuff, not destroying it.”

“The time for preservation was before the blip. I’m just giving people back their agency.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.” He holds up a folder. It’s a centimeter thick, which is more than you’re used to, but not a problem. You can’t even imagine what could be in there. Multiple recruitment rejection papers? Howard Stark’s schematics for his shield? The mission debrief after the Attack on New York?

“Am I going to have the Smithsonian on my ass if we do this?”

“Don’t worry about it. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you fought like hell to prevent the inevitable.”

Your throat clenches painfully, because it would be clear to anyone in earshot what Steve-- what Captain America is saying.

Sometimes you can’t protect the things you want most to keep safe. Even if you give it your all. 

It’s the heart and soul of your new life’s work, so you nod.

“I won’t look,” you promise.

“Looking won’t change anything.”

“I still won’t.”

You lead him down into the burn room, and he looks around appreciatively. “I wondered how you’d protect against fumes and all that.”

“Yeah, we got in on the first round of improvement funding.” You hold out your hand for the folder. “I’m still supposed to ask you if there is photo paper in here from before 1985.”

A wry, amused look transits his face as he nods.

The rest of the run-down doesn’t take long, and you don your heavy protective mitts as you rattle it off. “Most of the wait time is taken up by letting things cool down. I will warn you that I deliberately leave a small amount of material behind each time. It’s difficult to get everything, and the overlap--”

“It’s part of what connects us,” he finishes for you.

“Yeah.” You open the woodstove and pick up the folder. “Do you want the folder part back?”

“No ma’am.”

You set the whole thing inside and shut the door securely. “Still ‘Miss.’ Feels appropriate, I guess.”

“Rough way to build a life,” Steve observes.

“Oh, good, a six-word lecture from the perfect man!” You turn your back on him and walk over to the only piece of furniture in the room, a kitchen-style counter that takes up an entire wall. The resin and frames are already all set up, so you rest your palms flat on the empty stretch of marble and try to channel its cool implacability.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what brought me here.”

You push out an abrasive laugh. “Everyone feels guilty about what they bring to burn, Steve.”

Suddenly he’s against your back, hands coming down beside yours on either side. “I brought myself to burn. Hours of coming here and pushing myself to find something worth drawing, just so I could watch the strip of skin at your back when you lifted your arms up to get more paper.”

“I figured as soon as you knew what my head looked like in your lap you were on to the next one!” you shoot back. It’s instinct borne of rejection; the full comprehension of his gentler words drift down like ash, too little, too late.

“Was given a mission the next day,” he says, mouthing the words along the cotton seam on your shoulder. “It felt cheap to call. What would I say? ‘Hold that thought for when I get back’?” Steve grazes your ear with his nose, and you shiver, pressing back against his solid bulk.

“I held it anyway, you asshole.”

Steve strokes his hand up your arm to your neck, angling your head to the side so he can drag his lips along your throat. His hand keeps going, sliding down past your collarbone and into the loose neckline of your shirt, stroking just shy of your nipples with each wide caress.

You’re conflagrating, partly in anger, mostly in lust, but you dredge up enough breath to say, “Never thought I’d see the day Steve Rogers forgets to say please.”

The monumental troll pulls back, lifting his hands up and stepping away. You’re left without anything to moor you, your sweaty palms sliding on the marble as you turn around to glare at him.

Steve’s standing there, chest moving with the force of the large breaths he’s taking, both hands fisted at his sides. “I wanted to be a soldier. Point me toward the danger, send me to batter it down with the strength they forged me with, fine.” He spreads his hands, looks down at them, his face twisting. “Our collective strength was never going to be enough. Across the universe, fields aren’t harvested, books go unwritten, homes aren’t built, children left unfed, art not created-- as if that somehow enriches those of us left behind."

You get it, you’re sympathetic, but you were so hurt when he ghosted you that you say the first thing that pops into your wounded brain.

“So, what? You decide to fix it by going to find the women you left unfucked?” 

Steve Rogers’ every molecule is made of sheer, unmitigated righteousness, so he says, “I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

You want to forgive him. You want to throw yourself at the man, kiss his chest, his neck, his lips, all the while explaining away the crunched-down diamond of abandoned misery you’ve been harboring in your heart. You’d set it on fire when you finally realized he wasn’t going to call, he wasn’t coming back, and now the coal of that hope is a fossil fuel polluting your ability to trust him again.

He whispers your name, and you break, turning your back on him again.

“Fuck you, Steve. If that’s what you came for, get on with it. Take what you want and get out of here.”

“I wanted to touch you that night. I had sand embedded in my fingerprints for days after.”

You hear him approach, and shit, all you can think about is cutting yourself on the glass shards of his regret. “So why now?”

“I run a support group,” Steve murmurs, and you let out a knowing breath. Of course he does. He touches your back gently, easing up behind you, his thumb tracing the bare skin he’d mentioned. This presents an aching possibility: Steve is telling the truth. He’s wanted this, wanted you , and he’d held back until the world was torn apart.

“Go on?”

“Lost two this week alone. Another one three weeks back. I find myself advising people to take joy where they can, to stop trying to look to the future.” You reach up, dragging your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and Steve relaxes, dropping his lips to your shoulder, sliding an arm around to fit your hips back against his. “I don’t recognize myself anymore, in the language I’m using to support people. Can’t live in the past, can’t promise any kind of future-- and the here and now?” He lets out a frustrated breath, and you get it. What kind of world is it when asking how to live in the 'here and now' feels like a rhetorical question?

“Goddamnit, Steve… I’m here,” you sigh, starting to turn toward him. Are you angry? Yes. Do you want him? Always. You can pick up the pieces later… or not.

At least you have practice with the ‘not.’

His lips are on yours almost as soon as they’re within reach. The kiss is frantic with longing, a bonfire of grasping caresses, nips and soothes. Steve tugs at your neckline, and you nod, kissing his jaw as you back away just long enough to take off your shirt. You lose it somewhere on the floor as he herds you back against the counter, thumbing open the snap of your pants.

“Yes,” you groan, and Steve cups your face in both of his hands to kiss you, gliding one hand down your arm to anchor himself on the flat surface behind you. With the other, Steve trails his fingertips down your chest, catching the imperfections of his skin against the delicate lace of your bra. The feather-light touches remind you, incongruously, of the ash collecting in the woodstove in the middle of the room. You and Steve are banked fires, but you come together as ephemera, moments cherished but quickly lost, destined to exist only in memory.

He starts on your pants, and you rest an alarmed hand on his. “The windows--”

Steve looks over his shoulder; this room has high, square windows that catch the sunlight from the open lot next door, but since it’s partially underground, they’re technically at street level. Someone could lean over, look in, and see the two of you.  “Just keep your eyes on me,” he says, stepping closer. You can’t see past him, meaning you’re visible to no one but Steve. “On me,” he repeats, cupping the back of your head in his free hand and taking your mouth even as he pushes past the lace of your panties with the other.

There’s confidence in the movement of his hand, in the just-right motions of his fingers, and you’re combusting, held up by the desperate grip you have on the fabric of his shirt. The kiss deepens as Steve’s tongue translates the flamewrought runes he’s painting between your legs, thickening your blood to lava. You feel your orgasm approach, and it’s too intense, you can’t breathe and kiss and come all at the same time, so you pull back, burying your face in his chest.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he breathes hoarsely into your hair. The gravel in his tone is so fraught with desire that it sends you over, the honey-soaked pleasure blazing through your veins. Steve gentles you through it, whispering nonsense syllables that sound like ancient words of praise.

When you finally stop shaking, he lifts you up to sit on the counter, which is good, because your muscles are wrecked, and so are your emotions. He starts to pull back, and you rest your hand on his face, forcing him to look at you.

“You give away too much. It’s why you didn’t come back. It’s why you’re struggling with how to support those people. The ones who died, they took some of you with them, didn’t they?” you ask. His brows furrow and his eyes close, and you know you’re right. “It’s why we’re going to do this, and when we’re done with both works of art, you’ll move on, and so will I.”

Steve opens his eyes, blue eyes shocked, determined. “That’s not what I came here to--”

“You did. It’s untenable, Steve. Intangible.” You breathe in, and the adrenaline of telling the absolute truth to this avatar of honesty tastes acrid. “It’s symbolic. You didn’t want that night to end, and you knew if we did this, it would.” He’s still denying it, so you reach out and start to unbuckle his belt. “It’s okay for things to be fleeting, you know. Admitting that isn’t betraying how hard you fought.”

He sucks in a breath, letting out a little noise when you turn your hand just the right way to reach into his pants. Just as you make contact, Steve leans down and kisses you. It’s almost chaste, this kiss. Respectful. The operative opposite of the motion of your wrist. You understand that it’s his answer, his acquiescence, that he can’t bring himself to vocalize the awful finality.

The moment flames on, Steve trembling against you as you work him, brushing kisses on your lips, your cheek, your hairline, his hands alternately clutching at your hip or feathering caresses on your arms. Suddenly he sucks in a breath and stops you, a low groan answering your quiet query about his well-being.

“Can-- I want--” you whisper, and he nods, hand dipping into his pocket to come out with a condom. Minutes later you’re both naked and he’s walking you over to the far corner, out of sight of the windows, out of sight of the doorway. “Chivalrous to the end?” you tease, and he leans you up against the smooth wall, blocking you in with his palms flat on either side.

“I don’t feel chivalrous,” he says, taking your hands and resting them on his chest. “I feel like Zeus. I want,” --and here, he pulls you close, nipping at your ear. “But, I know I can’t stay, not with my life as it is. It’s not the moral choice, but--”

“As long as your Hera isn’t grief, Steve, there’s no shame in this,” you whisper. That unlocks something in him, and he’s lifting you, lining up and then, right before he thrusts home, he presses his forehead against yours. It’s everything-- lust and sorrow, lamentable solidarity. 

The pleasure is almost secondary to this understanding, this connection, this-- it must be said, goodbye. Even so, it’s ruinous, the way Steve locks eyes with you, one hand on the wall, the other splayed on your face to hold you steady when he turns his head to kiss you. Searing sweetness races across your whole body from the places where you’re joined, bittersweet and glorious. You’re both vocal, he with deep, satisfied groans and you with moaning cries that he tastes from the outside of your throat.

All too soon, Steve’s grip grows tighter, the snap of his hips more vehement. “I can’t-- I don’t--”

“Let go, that’s what this is about. Grief, catharsis, ashes, pleasure, all of it,” you murmur, your kisses sloppy and imprecise. Steve pulls you from the wall and turns, holding you impossibly close as he ruts up into you, face buried in your neck. 

Though you’d expected to go without a second climax, the power of what he’s struggling with drags an unexpected shockwave through you. It shocks Steve, too; you can feel the wave of goosebumps crossing under your hand on his arm.

“That was…” Steve looks shaken.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

You cradle each other in your corner for a long few minutes, two naked humans with naked emotions, until inevitably, the reality of your humanity comes to the forefront, and you need to clean up and dress. The timer will go off in a few minutes, so you prep the resin for the ashes, throwing glances over at where Steve is standing staring at the woodstove.

“How many people have you done this for?” he asks.

“Oh, I call that my Fuck Wall over there, why do you ask?” you say, hating the edge of vulnerability in your voice. Instead of lashing out, instead of challenging you, Steve just walks over and pulls you into a warm, comforting hug.

With the words muffled by the fact that his face is buried in your hair, Steve says, “Were any of those people you?”

The alarm for the stove goes off, and you pull away. “Stop trying to fix everyone, asshole,” you say affectionately.

“You first.”

Neither of you will, of course, but as you and Steve work together to take the ashes of his former life and fashion them into an avatar of what he’s lost, you’re maybe, finally glad you have the chance.

[zozo-01]

wip wednesday (midnight hockey edition 💞)

I was tagged by the lovely @autisticempathydaemon, but unfortunately, I don't have anything new to share in terms of fics. [sad face] SO!!! I shall share a lil reflection I did that I'm still really proud of!!!!

--

As a brown girl, I've watched my favourite player, Nazem Kadri (an Arab, Muslim man) be continually harassed for his race and religion. But the discrimination he faced was the implied kind.  The kind that many white people can excuse because, "it's not a violent action so therefore it's ok," while I and many brown kids feel hurt from the microaggressions around us within a sport we love. 

Racism being present in hockey is something I’ve known my whole life. Though I have never played the sport, I’ve been hearing horror stories of what happens to players who aren’t white. (Who look more like me than they do their teammates.) Growing up in Toronto, one of the biggest hockey markets, you hear these stories everyday on the news.

Nazem Kadri’s stories were the ones that hit me the hardest. As a Pakistani, Muslim girl, many of the racist comments he receives are similar to the ones I have heard. I remember at age 10, reading about both the racist and Islamaphobic messages he got during a game at the same age as I was. Sam Kadri, Nazem’s father said himself, “Somehow, people with these comments about 9/11 and bin Laden seemed to keep coming up somewhere. I would get furious. But what can you do? I would definitely confront people who talked like that if I knew who it was, but I couldn't put myself in a compromising position.”

 I remembered feeling… dirty in a way? The best way I can describe it was my brain rejecting my body. Maybe because it didn’t want to think of the horrifying implications? That the same things said about him could be said about me.

I remember feeling the exact same way when I had learned that St. Louis fans had sent racist threats to him following game 3 of the Colorado/St. Louis second round series.

What had happened in game 3 was that Kadri was pushed into Jordan Binnington (the Blues goaltender) by an opposing player. This caused Binnington to sustain a knee injury and led to him leaving the game early. Many Blues players and fans were furious at the incident as this was a significant blow to the Blues roster. To play the number one seed and Stanley Cup favourites without your starting goaltender is a death sentence. What added fuel to the fire was when the league decided not to suspend Kadri. While Kadri’s innocence can be debated, this isn’t the first time he laid a serious hit on an opposing player, Blues’ fans needed someone to blame and they decided for it to be Kadri.

Ashley Kadri, Nazem Kadri’s wife, posted some of racist and death threats that were sent her way after game 3. To sum them all up, they all had the sentiment of  “you’re different, and you deserve pain for that.”

And again that dissociative feeling came rushing back to me.

But I think the thing that hurt me the most was when his comments after his heroic game four performance didn't go in depth about his experiences. The line that stood out to me was "For those who hate, that ones for them." As if it wasn’t basically everyone. But honestly, who can blame him?

Players, coaches and referees of all races have been kicked out from hockey from all levels for reporting and standing up to racism. And even if he did go on a similar rant that Steve Kerr had after what happened in Uvalde, he’d be called the ‘angry brown man.’

Over the course of this project, I didn’t learn anything new. It just reaffirmed something that I’ve known my whole life.

I (and many POC kids like me) fell in love with a sport that didn’t love me back.

It's easy to call out racism when it's obvious, and the NHL commends players for speaking out about their experiences... until it's a coach calling a player the 'n-word,' or a player on the ice calling the opponent a slur, or when it's time to punish a whole fanbase yelling out hateful speech, suddenly the NHL goes silent. We've seen what happens when a player goes against the 'Boy's Club' in hockey. Both Kyle Beach and Akim Aliu faced the consequences. And like always, everyone plays innocent when these allegations come out.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. There are a number of Black, Brown and Indigenous kids in junior leagues right now that are preparing to be stars in the league. Quinton Byfield was taken with the number two overall pick in the 2020 Draft. K’Andre Miller has emerged as an amazing player this year for the New York Rangers. The league is diversifying. Slowly, but it is. It would be nice if these kids, who are all around the same age as me, weren’t subjected to numerous racist attacks for every mistake they make. 

With this project, I want the white fans in the league to know that racism is in hockey. There is no denying it and continuing to deny would do no one good. I also want these fans to (and excuse my language) shut the fuck up when a player talks about an experience of racism and other forms of bigotry years later. We have established that hockey culture prevents players and coaches from talking about their negative experiences. So I do not want to hear none of this “why didn’t come out back then” shit.

The information provided can help the league let go of the toxic nature of hockey culture, so that people can finally talk about their experiences without facing repercussions, accountability can be taken to make sure that racist people are removed, regardless of their power, and that BIPOC parents can feel safe to put their children in hockey. And that those children grow up and inspire a new generation of BIPOC hockey players and fans, the same way Nazem Kadri did for me.

My whole life, everyone has preached to me that "Hockey is for all." My goal and hope are that within my lifetime, that hockey will be for all.

[cafedanslanuit]

- ̗̀ it's been a minute since i had something so sweet ̖́-

day seven squirting ft. bokuto koutarou [haikyuu!!]

☄  tags/warnings: +18, afab reader, msby!bokuto, camboy!bokuto (bokuto runs his own +18 twt acc), fingering (f receiving), squirting, sex tape (bokuto consensually records), a little bit of overstimulation, a bit of nipple play, praising!!, established couple <3

☄  words: 1.6k

☄  masterlist

Bokuto’s got a dirty little secret.

He knows how most of his teammates and friends see him. He’s the happy-go-lucky talented guy they can always count on, the one who will make a comment that will get everyone laughing and the one who will lift their team’s spirit after losing a couple points. Even after you started dating, he was still the aloof Bokuto, sweet and caring with lover— nothing they hadn't seen before.

Maybe that was one of the reasons he enjoyed doing this so much. What started as thirst traps on an anonymous Twitter account had quickly evolved in videos of him touching himself on full display. Bokuto had never anticipated the high of the thousands of likes he received daily, as well as the comments of both men and women desiring him so badly, even if they had never seen his face. The anonymity of it made it even more exciting and soon he was reaching a follower count of four digits.

But then, he met you. Sweet little thing that loved him as intensely as he loved you. As the relationship progressed, you had both shared racy photos and videos and he made sure to cater his videos to your taste. He had found out you liked when you could hear him moan as he fucked his fist and when you got to see him come, his cock twitching as spurts of cum fell on his abs. The videos he sent you were so much more fun to make than his regular ones— and soon he started feeling guilty.

That was when he decided to tell you the truth. Sitting on his bed, you listened to him explain how it all started and took his phone when he placed it on your hands with shaky hands. Bokuto wasn’t sure if he had seen correctly when you pressed your thighs together as you scrolled down his Twitter profile in silence. After seeing the preview of three or four videos, you raised your head and felt your heart clench at the unsure expression in Bokuto’s eyes.

“I think this is really hot, Kou,” you admitted with a soft voice and it was amazing how his eyes seemed to gleam at your words.

Before you could continue, his lips were on yours, devouring your mouth and pushing you on the bed. You giggled in between the kiss, smiling when Bokuto started kissing your neck, his hands already sliding underneath your shirt.

“I mean it,” you pressed, moaning softly when Bokuto sucked the skin between your jaw and your ear. “I love the ones you send me, I’m not surprised other people like it as well.”

“You’re not mad?” he asked against your neck.

“No. I mean— you don’t really, uh… interact with your followers, right? Like, I saw you only posted but didn’t really reply, so I thought—”

“Don’t talk to any of them,” he quickly answered, hovering over your face for a brief second. “Only you. There’s only you for me.”

“Well, then I think it’s pretty hot,” you chuckled before pulling him closer and crashing your lips against his.

Bokuto kissed you passionately, lips sliding against each other as he supported his weight on his elbows, not wanting to crush you. He licked your bottom lip and sucked it gently, loving the small groan you made before he went back to kiss you again.

“How did I end up so lucky?” he sighed, going back to kiss you again and again. “You’re so perfect. So, so perfect for me.”

“I could say the same thing,” you said, your fingers running across his back.

“Can I record us?”

You pushed Bokuto away by the shoulders, taken aback by his sudden suggestion. You raised an eyebrow at him questioningly, a little bit dumbfounded.

“Huh?”

“Shit, sorry— we don’t have to. I just… you mentioned the ones I send you, which are— they are completely different from the ones I upload. And I thought about the ones you usually send me. And… they’re so hot. You’re so hot, baby,” he breathed out, his eyes lowering to your breasts and then back to your lips. “I don’t have to upload it, no— we don’t even have to record it, shit, I’m so sorry, just forget—”

“Okay.”

It was now Bokuto’s turn to look at you, a confused expression on his face.

“Record us,” you said. “I’ll decide about uploading it when it’s done.”

That was how you had ended up in the position you were now. Bokuto’s phone was propped up on the bed while you were sitting in front of him, your back resting on your boyfriend’s chest as his hands roamed around your naked body. He pinched and twisted your nipples gently, loving the way you squirmed when he hadn’t even properly touched you.

One of his big hands made its way to your pussy, wet from all the touches and kisses he had left on your skin as he undressed you. He gathered your slick on two of his fingers and spread it all over your folds, his dick twitching at the tiny little whimpers that left your mouth. His golden eyes travelled to his screen, where even if both your heads were out of the frame, he could clearly see your pretty count on display.

Bokuto started circling around your clit, waiting until you were bucking your hips and trying to meet his hand for him to actually touch it. The whine you made was heavenly, eyes closed and head thrown back against his shoulder as he rubbed your clit. He turned his head and pressed one, two kisses on your temple. He watched on his screen as your boobs jiggled due to how fast you were breathing and he closed his free hand on one of them, his fingers fondling it as his thumb played with your nipple.

Wanting you to last a little longer, he stopped his movements and let his fingers travel downwards to your needy hole, that was already clenching around nothing, begging for more of him. And who was him to deny anything his pretty girl wanted?

He pushed two fingers inside, taking his time as he did so. He knew how thick his fingers were and how you loved the burn whenever he stretched you. He shushed you tenderly as you tried to fuck yourself on his hand and he circled your waist with his other hand, keeping you in place as he started pumping his fingers.

His bedroom quickly filled with your sweet moans and the lewd sound of his fingers fucking your soaking hole. A part of Bokuto wished he could capture your expression, but at the same time, he was glad he was the only one who got to see you like this. He kissed your cheek and pressed his palm on your clit, feeling your body jolt in pleasure as he moved his hand.

You turned your head towards him, your lips capturing his in a needy kiss. He swallowed all your whimpers and bit your bottom lip, loving the loud whine he caused. Your tongue slid inside his mouth, sloppy and rough and yet Bokuto wouldn’t have it any other way. He kissed you back matching your energy, his fingers curling inside of you.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, closing your eyes tightly. He took a look at you and couldn’t help but buck his hips against your ass. A thin coat of sweat covered your face, dazy eyes and swollen lip smeared in saliva as you looked at him.

“You close?” he silently mouthed, always avoiding to reveal his natural voice on camera. You nodded, biting your own lip and he pressed another kiss on your lips.

Bokuto removed his fingers from you but before you could complain, he started quickly rubbing your clit. You let out a small cry as you felt your orgasm rushing, paired with another feeling you adjudicated it to that being the first time you were on film. Your boyfriend tightened his hold on your waist as his index and middle fingers kept stimulating your clit in quick motions.

One look at Bokuto’s camera was all you needed to fall apart. Seeing his large, beefy arms holding you in place while his thighs were wide open behind you was more enticing than you had ever predicted. The way he touched you, so caring yet so dominant was the last drop for you to come hard. You cried out as you reached your orgasm, white light filling your sight as your body tensed.

“Fuck, that’s so hot— that’s so fucking hot— keep— fuck, baby—”

Bokuto’s hushed and needy whispers made you look at the screen once more, and you could see a clear liquid spraying from you. He kept flicking his fingers over your clit, making you gush again, your voice nothing but a mess of moans and choked-out cries. The more he moved his fingers, the more you kept on squirting, the new sensation making your head spin.

It took a couple of moments for your high to end, your hand wrapping around Bokuto’s wrist to get him to stop. He immediately did and went to stroke your thighs, leaving small kisses on your collarbone and shoulder. Leaning forward, he stretched his arm and took his phone, ending the recording and setting it on his nightstand.

“You’re so sexy, baby,” he said, his big hands all over your body as his raging boner kept pressing on your ass. “Didn’t know you could do that.”

“Mmm, you make me wanna do all sorts of new things, apparently,” you teased him, turning your head and kissing his cheek. “Want me to help you with that?” you ask, rubbing yourself against his cock.

Bokuto’s grin made your heart skip a bit and soon enough your back was against the mattress, his big arms caging you on the bed as he looked down at you hungrily.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

[pogueszn]

plastic plants

summary: Trying to help him change was like watering a plastic plant

word count: 4.6K

pairing: Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader

warnings: canon Rafe things, ANGST, toxic relationships, mentions/implied/ drug use, manipulation, infidelity

a/n: i debated on posting this but i’m proud of my characterization of a mostly canon (with a smidge of fanon) Rafe and i’ve had friends of mine encourage me to post it. I don’t condone any of the events that happen in this story and if any of the tagged warnings effect you please do not read it.

Y/N AND RAFE WERE YOUNG WHEN they started this relationship. 

Y/n was still on the edge of fifteen when Rafe kissed her for the first time. She could close her eyes and see it like it happened yesterday. 

Y/n had always been shy, Rafe, on the other hand, was not and he ended up dragging her to a party at one of his teammate’s houses. She tried not to but she clung to him like the heat on a summer’s day. And somehow halfway through the night, the teens started a cliche game of truth or dare. Kelce dared Rafe to kiss the hottest girl in the room. And he kissed her. 

Things hadn’t always been so complicated. They used to be better, kinder. Rafe was never so mean to her, she used to not be so naive. They used to talk about their differences instead of offering up a victory to the one who could scream the loudest. They used to genuinely love each other. 

She hadn’t noticed when her Rafe slipped away, the change had been so subtle she hadn’t even realized he was slipping through her fingers until it was too late. He hadn’t always been so cruel, had he? Her head was pounding, questions swirling around her mind as Rafe slept soundly on her. His face squished into her chest as snores leak from his mouth and settle in her shirt. She runs a finger down his nose and over his cheekbones. 

“When did things get so hard, huh?”

Topper’s house was flooded with people. Y/n hadn’t even wanted to be at this party. She would have much rather stay at home, under her covers with her boyfriend. But if there was a chance to get wasted, Rafe would be there. 

He had left her in the kitchen over forty minutes ago. She fiddled with her half-empty cup before checking her watch. It was getting late, she had work in the morning. She threw the rest of her drink in the sink before she started pushing her way through the crowd. She had bumped into over a handful of people before she noticed Topper. 

“Hey! Topper!” she shouted over the loud music, “have you seen Rafe?” 

Topper chugged the rest of his drink before pointing to the patio, 

“He’s out there! He’s a fucking beast! He just snorted like four lines and downed a beer in like twelve seconds!”

Her heart dropped. 

He told her he stopped. That he was clean and he would continue to be, because “she was the only drug he needed.” When she found him he was red in the face, his pupils so wide his eyes were black. Rafe always scared her when she was high. As of recent, Y/n felt like she didn’t know who Rafe was but some days she’d look him in the eyes and know exactly who he was and wonder how she thought she didn’t. But when he was high, it was like she was looking at a completely different person. His eyes were empty and dark. It sent a chill up her spine. 

“Baby! Where have you been?” 

He closed the distance between, his clammy hands pulling at her waist, pressing sloppy kisses on her neck. Her hands come to his chest, pushing him away from her. He stumbled back, looking at her in confusion. 

“You told me you stopped, Rafe,” 

He let out a breath that sounded like a scoff as he avoids her eyes. 

“Who told you that? Was it Top? Because he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about-” 

“It doesn’t matter who told me, Rafe! The shit is still on your nose!”

Rafe rubs the powder off of his nose, clearing his throat.

“I’m just having some fun, Y/n. it’s not a big deal.” 

“It’s not a big deal?” 

“No! It’s not! I’ve had a rough couple of weeks, okay? I’m just trying - I’m just trying to have some fun, alright, I thought I had a girlfriend not a fucking therapist!” 

The people on the patio were trying to pretend they weren’t listening, their eyes shifted back and forth as they awkwardly try to find something else to focus on. She doesn’t even really know why she was crying but Rafe was always making her cry. 

“What, Y/n? What? Why are you crying?” 

Y/n shook her head at him and raised her hand before turning on her heel and walking out. Rafe was quick to try and chase after her, but his heart was pounding. He’d be peaking soon. This was a waste. 

He gave up looking for her in the crowd and tried to make it out of the door. She was halfway to her car by the time Rafe made it out front. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Home,” she said, “I’m going home, Rafe. I’m not doing this.” 

��Oh, that’s rich!” he exclaimed, “you’re supposed to be my girlfriend, Y/n! I’m trying to spend time with you and you just want to leave-” 

“Are you forgetting the fact that you were the one who ditched me?” 

“So you’re just gonna leave me? I thought you loved me?” 

Y/n slammed her hand on the top of her car, turning over her shoulder to face him, 

“Don’t Rafe.” 

“If you - if you loved me, you would stay.” 

She sniffled, the sound tied a knot in Rafe’s stomach. He knows she loves him, she’s probably the only one who loves him. 

“I’m so tired, Rafe. I really wanna go home.” 

“Can I come with you? Please?” 

The silence is suffocating. A cold sweat cover’s Rafe’s body. Maybe it was just the lines from before or maybe he was worried she would tell him no, and get in her car and drive away from him. 

“Get in.” 

RAFE HIT HIS PEAK ON THE RIDE HOME. Y/n had seen him high a handful of times before but it still made her sick to her stomach. She helped him into the house and let him get comfortable in her bed. He mumbled an ‘I’m sorry,’ into her chest as he fell asleep. Y/n struggled to fall asleep but when she did, she stayed asleep for the rest of the night. Dreaming of a time where the lines weren’t so blurred and when Rafe wasn’t so into drugs. When she knew what she was doing and what she wanted to do. 

The sun had just started to peek over the horizon, pink and orange hues slipping in through Y/n’s curtains. Y/n felt movement under her head, she stirred before rubbing her eyes and shifting to lean on an elbow. 

“Sorry, baby,” Rafe muttered. 

“Are you leaving?” 

Rafe made quick work of collecting his belongings and throwing on his clothes. 

“Yeah, uh, Topper wants to go golfing.” 

Rafe doesn’t give her time to question him before he places a kiss on her forehead, his large hand cradling the back of her head. He kisses her once, twice, three times on the mouth before he bids her one last goodbye. Y/n glances at the clock on the nightstand. 6:53. She still had time before she had to be up for work so she replaced Rafe’s body with his pillow and drifted back to sleep. 

When Y/n didn’t hear from Rafe for the rest of the day, she thought it was a bit unusual. But she didn’t dwell on it. Rafe was always a late texter, taking several hours to respond to a message if he even responded at all. Maybe he spent the day with Topper and Kelce, maybe ended up going to a kegger in The Cut and causing some ruckus, or got too drunk at Topper’s and forgot to let her know. Long story short, she wasn’t that worried. 

On the second day with no contact, Y/n started to become unsettled. She had tried texting him, calling him, had even stopped by the Cameron household to see if he was there and just avoiding her but she came back empty-handed. 

The third day, her stomach had been in knots all night. Kelce and Topper claimed they hadn’t seen him, she couldn’t tell if they were lying, but they were of no help either way. Sarah was too busy with John B. Routledge to care about her brother going MIA, Wheezie hadn’t heard from him, and going to Ward would be the last resort. She would hold off talking to Mr. Cameron as long as she could. But if she didn’t hear from him by Thursday she would have to. 

Y/n had barely slept a wink since Monday night, the only thing in her stomach was a sad protein bar and the large amount of coffee she had been drinking to keep herself moving. It was late, going on one o’clock. She had called Rafe again, for what seemed like the millionth time to no avail. At this point, she was expecting the sound of his voicemail, but what else could she do? She had no idea where he could be, his friends didn’t know where he was. What else was she supposed to do? Fear fell over her like a heated blanket on a hot day. She breathed in deeply through her nose before letting it fall out of her mouth in a shitty attempt to calm herself. Her fingers trembled around her nightshirt, the fabric creasing in her fist. Tears burned behind her eyelids - what was she supposed to do? Should she have already told his father? Was she being stupid for not telling anyone that Rafe was seemingly missing? What if he was hurt or something and she was just sitting on this information? What if- 

Her mind stopped whirling at the sound of her door opening. And in sauntered the devil himself. Rafe slinked into her room, closing the door softly behind him.

“Where the fuck have you been?” 

 His clothes were dirty, a stubble forming on his face. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, his face looked slimmer since the last time she saw him. And that was only three days ago. 

“Before you-” 

“No! There is no ‘before you start’,” she tried her best to keep her voice as quiet as possible, very aware that her parents were asleep just down the hall, “you vanished. For three days, Rafe. I had no idea where you were, or if you were okay! I was worried sick about you!” 

He nods, 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, crossing the room and reaching out for her, “I missed you so much, come here,” 

She was angry - god she was so angry, but she had been so scared. So scared that something had happened to him, that someone might have hurt him, that she let him pull her into his chest. She let him wrap his arms around her shoulders, leaving a kiss on her head as one of his hands rubbed her back. She savored the safety she felt in his arms, letting her head rest against his sternum. He pulls away much sooner than Y/n wanted, his large hands resting on her shoulders, 

“Listen, Y/n/n,” he sighs, “I’m in some real big trouble.” 

Y/n stomach drops, her hands still resting on Rafe’s waist. 

“What kind of trouble?” 

Rafe breathes in deep, his fingers swiping at Y/n’s shoulders as he thinks of what to say. 

“I - um...I owe Barry like a lot of money-” 

She slips from his grasp, scoffing as she goes to sit on the edge of her bed again, 

“So that’s where you’ve been?” she questions, “at Barry’s?” 

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t nod. Just runs a hand down his sunken face as he glances back down at his feet. 

“How much money do you owe him, Rafe?” 

He was silent, twiddling his thumbs as he leaned on her desk. She asks him again, this time getting a response. 

“Five thousand.” 

“Jesus, Rafe!” 

He pushes off of the desk, 

“I know, I know, alright, I-I’m in some trouble and I need your help.” 

She furrows her brows at him, her whole body twisting in confusion.

“And how do you expect me to help?” 

She knows what he wants. It was obvious but she wanted him to ask. It was the least he could do if he wanted the money. The hard-earned money she had been saving since she was sixteen and got her first job. Her parents always had money and would throw a few hundred dollars at her if she ever needed it but this was her money. She made it by herself, earned it. It had been untouched for three years. 

“I’ll pay you back, I swear, Y/n. On my life, I’ll pay you back.” 

Y/n puts her head in her hands. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“You know...you know how much I care about you. And - and if you came to me for help, I would do it. I would do anything for you.”  

She looks up at him. He breaks her heart. He really does. He breaks her heart every day, whether he realizes it or not. He breaks her heart like a hobby and she lets him. 

“I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t help me.” 

She lets out a shaky breath, biting her lips as she weighed her options. She closes her eyes, gulping. 

“Y/n, please.” 

“If I give this money to you,” she starts, “do you promise me this is the last time?” 

“Yeah,” he says softly, avoiding her eyes, “yeah. I promise.” 

“No, Rafe,” she replies, “I want you to look me in my eyes and promise me that this won’t happen again. No more drugs, no more Barry, no more disappearing, no more.” 

He swallows thickly before he nods, 

“I promise.” 

She walks wordlessly to her desk, grabbing her checkbook and a spare pen. He wraps his arms around her waist, pressing rushed kisses on her neck and any other place he could get. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he rambles in between wet kisses, “I love you so much, thank you.” 

She rips the check out. She slides the paper into his awaiting hand, half of her savings, and her pride a two in one deal. 

IT HAD BEEN TWO WEEKS since Y/n lent Rafe the five grand. He had left again that night, cashed the check, and paid Barry the money he owed. Things were calming down between the two of them, and even though it was hard for Y/n to sacrifice half of her funds she would do it if it meant Rafe would be safe. And clean. Y/n spent her time with the seemingly sober Rafe, ready to commit to working on their relationship and getting back to who they were before. 

But as of two days ago, Rafe had started to act differently. He was abrasive and secretive, keeping his phone on him at all times. Y/n wasn’t the type to go through his phone or look through the people he followed on Instagram. Y/n wasn’t the type to invade a person’s privacy but there was a sinking feeling in her gut. Was he using again? It ran so much deeper than Y/n distrusting him. This was fear that Rafe was getting himself in trouble again, digging himself into a hole that no one could get him out of. So she waited for him to take a shower. He had left his phone on the charger - an unusual thing for him to do as of recent. Maybe it had slipped his mind but Y/n took it as a sign. 

Guilt bubbled in his stomach as she typed in his password. She takes a moment to look at his home screen, a picture of the both of them at midsummer’s last year, her back pressed against his front as his large hand rested on her waist. She smiles. 

She clicks on his phone log first, scrolling through while she kept an ear out just in case the water stopped. There was nothing out of the normal, Kelce, Topper, Y/n/n, Y/n/n, Topper, a few randomly placed Dad’s or Wheezie’s, and a couple of calls to Dominoes.  She let out a sigh of relief, her eyes slipping shut. Now she just had to check his texts. They didn’t differ too much from his call log besides the group chat with the boys and the sad ‘K’ he got from Sarah. She was just about to close his phone and go back to what she was doing - or maybe even slip into the shower with him - until she saw something that stuck out to her. 

Dominoes 

Attachment: 3 Images 

What the fuck? 

She clicks on it before being anxious was even a thought in her mind. She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t another girl’s nude pictures. 

There was a ringing in her ears that drown out everything but the sound of her breathing. Although every bone in her body is screaming at her not to, she scrolls up. She’s sick to her stomach, she imagines her face is turning green as she continues reading through the text. Countless nude pictures had been exchanged between the both of them, raunchy paragraphs scattered in between. Y/n had decided she had seen enough after watching a small portion of a video Rafe had sent. Her hands shook with an emotion she could place. Somewhere between anger, disgust, and sorrow. She doesn’t bother closing his phone as she stomps into the bathroom, taking his phone with her. The bathroom was steamy and hot, Rafe’s silhouette outlined in the foggy glass. She rips the door open, angry tears clouding up her vision. 

“Yo! What the fuck!” he shouts, wiping water from his lashes. 

“Who the fuck is Dominoes?” 

He gawks at her, confused, 

“What - what the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Don’t play coy, Rafe! Who’s the girl you’ve been sending pictures of your dick to?” 

“What?” 

She groans loudly at him, she shoves the phone into his wet chest, not caring if any water got on his thousand-dollar phone. 

“God, I can’t even look at you right now,” she says, “what the fuck, Rafe?!” 

He’s trying to sputter out a response, anxious hands struggling to turn the water off. 

“Y/n- just - just wait a second!” he shouts, nearly slipping on the tile as he grabs his boxers and pulls them on. 

“Wait for what, Rafe?” she turns on her heel to look at him, hot tears are slipping down his cheeks, “for you to give me some bullshit excuse to get out of the fact that you’re cheating on me!?”

“I’m not cheating on you!” 

“Rafe, what the fuck? You’re getting nudes from someone who isn’t me - you’re sending nudes to someone who isn’t me. You’re sexting someone who isn’t fucking me! That’s fucking cheating!” 

His face was beet red, whether from the hot shower he was taking or the fact that he had been caught in a lie.  Water is dripping onto her carpet as he raises his hands animatedly. 

“I’m not cheating on you, okay? I never fucked her!” 

“Oh! That’s grand, Rafe! You’re not cheating because you didn’t sleep with her! So what is the shit in your messages then huh? Book club?” 

His cheeks puff out, breathing heavily as his eyebrows furrow, his fist clench at his sides. 

“Well, maybe…” he begins, “if you put out more I wouldn’t have to talk to her.” 

There were tears still streaking down her puffy cheeks but in one blink, her eyes dry. Her head twitches to the side, 

“Are you serious?” 

The switch in her tone was enough for Rafe to realize that he shouldn’t have said what he did. He licks his lips nervously, he goes to speak - to try and start damage control but she cuts him off, taking one step closer to him. 

“If I put out more? I’m sorry, but I’ve been busy working extra shifts to get the five grand back in my bank account that I had to use to pay off your debt.” 

He winces, 

“I told you… that I was going to pay you back.” 

“Oh, yeah because you’ve proved to be so reliable!” she exclaims, motioning to the phone that was abandoned on the bathroom sink.  

“Don’t, Y/n. Don’t say that.” 

He steps closer to her, his damp hands resting on the crook of her neck. He tries to lean his forehead against hers but she struggles against him. 

“Get off of me,” she says softly. 

“Y/n/n, please-” 

“No! Don’t touch me!” 

She pushes him away from her with such force it sends him stumbling. 

“I think you should leave.” 

Rafe gasps, he reaches for her again but she slinks away from his grasp. 

“Please, please don’t make me leave.” 

“Rafe, you need to go.” 

“I don’t want to - Y/n/n, please don’t-”  

“Rafe, go!” 

Her voice cracks as she yells at him. She feels her heart clench as he flinches. It was Rafe’s turn to cry now. He wipes his nose, looking at his feet. He nods. He returns to the bathroom to grab his things. He’s shrugging on his shirt when comes back out, watery eyes looking at her, begging her. 

“You know that I love you, right?” 

She says nothing. 

“Y/n,” he calls. 

“Please, just go.” 

He runs a hand down his face before he shuffles to her door. 

Y/N HAD BEEN WORKING MORE often the past few days to keep her mind off of what happened. It wasn’t much use though. No matter what she was doing Rafe always managed to slither his way into her thoughts. The texts between him and the girl - whose name was Monica, she had learned - seemed to be burned into her eyelids, every time she closed her eyes she saw the pictures, the things Rafe said to her. 

Missing Rafe came in waves. She could go for a few hours without thinking of what happened before everything came back to her. Missing him came in waves, waves that turned into riptides once the sun went down.   

Y/n works the closing shift on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She had been on her feet all day, the new non-slip shoes she bought had been digging into her skin for hours, her head was aching. She made sure to flip off all the lights, making sure things weren’t too bad for the opener tonight, and slipped out the front door. The moon was high, its light dancing over the slightly choppy waters, the only sound was the cicadas humming back and forth to each other. She stuck the key into the lock and twisting it. She groans when the key gets stuck. She was still fumbling with the key when she hears someone call her name. 

His truck is unmistakable, she had been there when he picked it out, she could find that car in a jam-packed parking lot. 

“Y/n, please, can we talk?” 

She hadn’t heard his voice in three days. It was like hearing a song you had stuck in your head for hours. A weight lifted off of her shoulders while a knot tied itself in her stomach. She chews on her lip as she weighs her options. 

“Please, baby, just hear me out...please. I can give you a ride home.”

The lie Y/n told herself was that the only reason she had gotten in the car was that her feet hurt and didn’t feel like walking the two blocks back to her house. Especially this late at night. But she knew the truth. Rafe’s face lit up when she pulled herself into the truck, he tried to keep the smile off of his face but she could still see it. Even without the light turned on. His smiles were rare nowadays and Y/n always cherished them when she could. 

Rafe pulled into her long driveway, putting his truck in park and letting out a sigh. He fiddles with the bottom of his shorts. He’s trying to think of what to say but nothing he comes up with was good enough. Y/n, tired of the uncomfortable silence, speaks first. 

“Why’d you do it?”  

He shrugs from the driver’s seat, his eyes glued to his pants. 

“Really? That’s it?” she questioned, “that’s all you got for me? Not even an ‘I’m sorry’?” 

He looks over at her, his cerulean eyes filled with sorrow - or something that looks like sorrow. 

“I am sorry.”  

She scoffs, 

“Sorry you did it or sorry you got caught?” 

“I dunno,” he replies, “both I guess.” 

Another wave of silence covers them. Neither of them knows what to say. Rafe had never meant for this to happen, he never meant to hurt her.  But these things just happened, he had no control over it. 

“If...I could go back in time and not do what I did, I would.” 

Y/n glances at him from the corner of her eye. She lets him continue. 

“I shouldn’t have done it - but- but things weren’t the same since you gave me the cash and I just needed someone.” 

“You should’ve just talked to me. That’s how relationships work, Rafe. Communication.” 

He nods, still unable to hold eye contact for longer than a few seconds. 

“I know, I know.” 

His hand wanders over the center console, taking her small hand in his own. Her hand is limp in his grasp but she lets him hold it, he takes it as a sign, pulling it up to his mouth and leaving soft kisses over her knuckles. 

“I’ll be better. I’ll block her - on like, everything if that’s what you want. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything you want me to, baby, I swear.” 

Y/n stays silent in her seat, chewing on the inside of her cheek. 

“Please, Y/n, just give me another chance. I don’t know what to do without you. Just give me one more shot.” 

Y/n lets out a shaky breath, tears burn in the back of her eyes. She looks at him. His eyes are full of hope, almost like he’s certain she’ll take him back. He opens her hand, placing it on his cheek and leaning into her palm. 

She feels nauseous almost, her toes curl in her shoes. She licks her lips and then she nods. 

He mimics her, 

“Yes? Is that a yes?” 

She nods again. 

His smile is blinding. He nearly pulls her into his lap, her stomach is smushed into the middle compartment. He’s pressing kisses on any surface of her skin he can get to. Her neck, her head, her cheeks. 

“Thank you, thank you, I love you so much. You’re so good - it’ll never happen again, I’m gonna be better for you I swear -” 

Rafe continues to ramble in between his kisses. Y/n is still, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. She lets him smother her in kisses, her fingers grazing over his back absentmindedly. She closes her eyes tightly when her mind starts to race. She knows what’s to come, she’s seen this film a thousand times before. Her body is tense in his grip but her heart is full with her love for him. Her brain is furious, screaming at her but she tries to shut it out. She breathes in deep, his cologne filling her senses. She presses her nose into his shoulder. Somewhere deep down, she knows he is incapable of change. Trying to help him change was like watering a plastic plant. She presses a soft kiss to his shoulder and once again succumbs to her love for Rafe Cameron. 

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[scripttorture]

You mention in posts how torture doesn’t make people obedient and usually makes them spiteful (which obviously makes sense), but isn’t it realistic for someone to comply out of fear rather than loyalty? Whether that was giving up information or obeying orders or something else entirely. I imagine it depends on the person, and they would probably still be willing to turn on their torturers if given the chance, but would it be possible for them to obey orders in hopes of avoiding more pain?

This is a much more nuanced and complicated topic then we’re taught to assume.

 When it comes to giving up information it’s pretty clear cut. No, torture can’t lead to accurate information for a lot of interconnected reasons. I have about six separate masterposts covering the reasons for this.

 One of those is the antagonism torture produces. Another is the memory problems torture causes. Another is the effect that the use of torture has on organisations and the chain of command. Another is the effect torture has on torturers.

 Torture drastically increases the chances of memory loss and it also increases the chances of inaccurate memories. So not only is a torture victim less likely to talk, they’re more likely to be wrong if they do talk.

 But the effects on victims aren’t the main reason torture doesn’t work as a way of getting information. You’re assuming that torturers have access to people who have information.

 The reality is that torture destroys an organisation’s ability to gather accurate information. Most information comes from volunteers: when torture comes into play less people volunteer information. This means that an organisation which tortures is more likely to be questioning someone who knows nothing. That person is then abused until they start making things up.

 Because there’s less access to volunteered information and because humans are very bad at telling when someone is lying, a lot of these made up stories are believed. And this then effects who else the organisation arrests and tortures. This creates a sort of spiral, with lies leading to more lies.

 Additionally the torturers themselves make things worse. There’s less quality research on them, but the research and anecdotal accounts create a pretty clear picture of their behaviour. They undermine the chain of command, they lose the skills the originally had as they turn to torture, they’re aggressive, incredibly competitive and they have a… fracturing effect on their organisation.

 Basically they’re incredibly difficult to work with and totally convinced of their own importance. And this effects their colleagues. It totally divides organisations. The worst case I’ve read about involved members of the same organisation killing each other over access to prisoners.

 That’s a short run through of the main factors. Torture, in the legally defined sense, means all of these factors are in play. Plus a few more I’ve omitted to keep this shorter.

 With all of that together you just can’t get accurate information.

 If you want longer posts I’ve made on the subject I suggest looking for the ‘torture doesn’t work’ tag and the ‘torture as interrogation’ tag. You can also read the masterposts. If you want a much more in depth look at why torture consistently fails as a way of getting information I recommend O’Mara’s Why Torture Doesn’t Work and Rejali’s Torture and Democracy.

 O’Mara is a neuroscientist and goes through the effects torture has on the brain in a way that’s accessible, explaining the damage torture causes and how that destroys the evidence torturers claim to be seeking. Rejali’s book is a breeze block but it’s really a must, it is the textbook on torture in a broad sense. He ties together information from across the globe creating a broader picture of what torture does, not just to victims but to societies.

 The question of compliance under threat and pain… is more complicated.

 People can be forced to do some things. That much is obvious from a brief glance at human history and things like slavery. But it’s important to listen to what people in these scenarios say.

 And my opinion, based on what I’ve read, is that what these people say doesn’t support the idea that humans will easily obey instructions when they’re hurt or threatened. I think instead these people are making hard headed, rational choices in absolutely awful situations. I think when we don’t have these experiences of torture or slavery, it’s easy to look at the surface of the situation and assume that pain alone assures obedience. I think that happens because it’s hard for use to understand the rationale when we don’t have that lived experience.

 Let me give some examples. So it probably goes without saying that slavery goes hand in hand with physical abuse. One of the major researchers on slavery, whose data I quote pretty regularly, assumes throughout his writings that pain is the deciding factor which ‘makes’ people obey.

 But he also describes a couple of very obvious consistent patterns in the ways slavers behave. Slavers almost universally do the following things as well as using physical abuse:

Separate enslaved people from their community

Bar enslaved people from other forms of support

Make enslaved people financially/materially reliant on the slavers

Tell enslaved people that going to the police/authorities will lead to the enslaved person being arrested

Try to convince enslaved people that they will be better off if they comply, usually by framing it as a debt to be worked off with promises of riches after a period of time

 Now here’s the thing: we know from studies on cults and studies on ICURE techniques that a lot of these strategies will result in obedience when there is no violence or physical abuse.

 Given that I don’t think we can assume that violence is the deciding factor. In fact I think the evidence we have from forced confessions under torture suggests the violence may lead to less obedience and a lower ‘success’ rate then a set up that used emotional abuse or other exploitative techniques without violence.

 We have two sources of historical data that are used for statistical studies on forced confessions. One is from historical France. We think that this data set only involved torture to force a confession; no other method of coercion just violence. The rate of forced confessions varied a little in different areas but over all it’s about 10%. The second data set is from the ‘London Cage’ a British prison during the second world war. Here we know that torture was combined with blackmail, bribery and other kinds of coercion. The rate of forced confessions there was about 30%.

 And while this is just two studies, while the data is lacking… That is one hell of a jump.

 Let’s circle back to ICURE. ICURE stands for Isolation, Control information, create Uncertainty, Repetition and Emotive responses. It’s a set of techniques which can, sometimes, change someone’s beliefs when it’s applied consistently over a long time.

 Notice the effort slavers put in to isolating their victims. Notice that the behaviour pattern I’m describing means the slavers are creating uncertainty over seeking help and repeating those messages as well as messages that the victims will be better off if they just go along with it.

 Slavers will generally also try to control the information their victims have access to, taking phones and blocking access to news sources and other resources. Now a lot of slavers will transport their victims to other states or countries putting a language barrier in place. They sometimes also use emotive responses in attempts to persuade victims to comply.

 I’ve read multiple accounts where survivors of modern slavery described slavers telling them that the money they were making was being sent to the victim’s family and without it the family would not survive. (Sometimes the slavers do send small amounts to the families of their victims, sometimes they pocket everything.) I’ve also read accounts where gangs of slavers used religion and oaths taken in a religious setting to persuade their victims they’d be punished by God for not complying.

 Even with all of this, all these techniques we know can sometimes ‘work’- lots of people refuse. Lots of people disobey. Lots of people escape. Lots of people actively sabotage the operations the slavers put together.

 And if you look at that same history of slavery, that shows us people can sometimes be forced to work, you’ll see that this has always been true.

 We have records of historic enslaved people attacking slavers, forming organised militias, forming parallel societies, sacking towns, taking over an entire Caribbean island and beating off four European armies in the process. We also have records of smaller acts. Sabotage, worship of banned deities, speaking banned languages, destruction of property, aiding in the escape of others.

 What I’m saying is: this isn’t black and white. The evidence, modern and historical does not paint a clear picture of violence leading to obedience.

 Instead I believe that it shows humans are resilient, stubborn, adaptable creatures. People can survive all kinds of horrible situations. It is more accurate, more human, to assume that people make rational choices.

 Sometimes those choices involve short term compliance while looking for a better option or a way out. But we tend to hear less stories about the people who completely refuse to comply. We tend to treat that as an impossible fiction when it is a recorded historical and modern reality.

 Bringing this back to writing as a general rule the more complicated the act the less likely you can force someone to do it. Because the more complicated it is the more opportunities they’ll have to sabotage it or use it against their abuser.

 I recommend reading up on the history of Haiti pet. Then Brazil via Palmares.

 I’ll end this by bringing it back to those statistics on forced confessions in historical France. Imagine the conditions with me for a moment. Unsanitary, cramped cells. Dehydration, starvation and disease. Plus the kinds of scarring torture that are conjured up in the minds of most Western people when the word ‘torture’ comes up; thumb screws, leg irons that tighten until the bone snaps, whips.

 Picture it. Try to imagine the pain those people went through.

 And remember that 90% of them did not comply long enough to sign their name.

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[chasingpj]

𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝

"You only want to stay because of your little boyfriend. Is he more important to you than us?“

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader

words: 5,297

warnings: angsty, mentions of breaking down

timeline: post sea of monsters

if you want to be tagged every time I update this story click here

a/n: i'm so fried after editing this, if i missed any typos, i'm sorry. as always, let me know what you think! i love getting feedback from you guys!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Your siblings sit in a half-circle at the back of the Hermes Cabin, ready for their lesson. James lays out the materials you’ll need for the potion he was demonstrating today: the mortar and pestle, herbs, spell books. He has almost everything except for the sand, which was the most crucial ingredient. So, he had sent you to retrieve some from the dunes since you were the only one who didn’t need the lesson Ernest was teaching.

Ernest stands in front of Sage, Alice, Lou Ellen, and Atticus, lecturing on the properties of sand. Your siblings listen attentively, taking notes in their notebooks, all of them but one. Ernest looks up from reading a part of his book of shadows, noticing Atticus is distracted by his familiar.

"Atticus, are you listening?" Ernest asks, raising his eyebrow as he closes his book. Atticus cradles Harvey in his arms as if he is a newborn baby, his finger scratching his tummy as the animal curls up towards his chest. He doesn’t notice the other staring at him for a few seconds, looking up after realizing he had stopped talking.

"Me? Yeah, dude. I'm listening," Atticus bluffs, and Ernest squints, leaning back on the desk behind him.

"So what did I just say?"

"Atticus, are you listening?" Atticus repeats, smiling as his sisters giggle beside him. The corner of Ernest’s mouth tugs into a slight smirk as he rolls his eyes.

"What did I say before that?" He clarifies. Atticus sways in his place, continuing to soothe his tired familiar, and he hums, trying to recall what they were discussing. He’s quiet for a while before grunting. He really wasn't listening, too distracted by his surroundings to focus. Ernest pretty much lost him at “alright guys, today…” However, he remembers you volunteering to get sand after James realized he forgot to get some himself.

"Ehm… I don't know. Something about sand?"

Ernest sighs, "Yes, I was talking about sand. Can anyone catch Atticus up on the properties for sand?"

"Different sands have various spiritual properties, but the lake sand that you're using today can be used in spells for self-reflection and grounding," Travis chimes in all of a sudden. He's laid down in his bed, holding a comic book over his head as he looks at the group.

James turns away from the materials, amused that the other has probably been listening this entire time. It was the middle of the day, so the Hermes cabin was pretty empty since everyone was out doing their own thing. The only other people in the cabin were the Stoll brothers and a handful of their siblings. James chuckles,

"Travis, you want to be a witch too?" He jokes, and Travis shrugs,

"I practically am already. I'm always listening to your lessons," he admits amused, returning his attention to the comic book he was reading.

"Everyone has a little witch in them. See Atticus; even Travis was listening," Alabaster teases.

Atticus grunts, "Yeah, yeah. I was trying to put Harvey to sleep!"

“You act like he’s a baby that needs to be coddled!” Sage raises her eyebrow. Atticus had always been super affectionate with Harvey. She swears she’s never seen Atticus and Harvey separated for long like the way you and Ambrose have periods where you’ll be apart. When Ambrose knew you were safe, he’d usually wander off to find your siblings or mess around with monsters in the forest, so he wasn’t with you 24/7. But Atticus managed to have Harvey with him all the time.

“Do not judge my parenting! He likes being held,” Atticus defends Harvey, and Lou Ellen rolls her eyes.

“Parenting? You sound like a single dad.”

Alabaster snorts, “anyways," he cuts in, grabbing both of their attention. "we can start the potion whenever Y/n decides to come back with it," he says as he sits down in a nearby desk chair.

Lou Ellen hums, "she's been gone for almost 40 minutes now. The dunes are on the other side of camp, but it shouldn't take her this long?"

"Maybe she got sidetracked?" James shrugs. "We can go look for her if she doesn't come back in another 10 minutes, but I'm sure she's fine.”

"I'm here!" You announce as you burst through the cabin door, Ambrose running next to you. He runs through the wall, rushing to join your siblings. You sigh, your arm coming up to wipe your forehead that was a little damp from sweat, and your cheeks are a little flushed from being in the summer heat.

"Look who decided to come back," James announces, shaking his head in playful disapproval. You smile sheepishly, too caught up in your breathing to say anything as you pass the jar to him. You return to your spot between Lou Ellen and Atticus, hoping they wouldn't ask too many questions.

"What took you so long?" Lou Ellen asks, her voice concerned. You clear your throat, attempting not to sound hesitant as you come up with a lie on a whim.

"Oh uh, I just got distracted… some of the girls from the Aphrodite cabin were hanging out at the dunes, and I got caught up in conversation," you stutter a little, suddenly feeling nervous as Atticus squints at you. You accidentally meet his stare before looking away fast, turning so that your back is facing him.

"You're lying," he declares. You scoff,

"No, I'm not!"

"I'm your twin, y/n. I know when you are lying!" He reminds you, and you groan.

You and Atticus have always had this weird twin sense. You both can tell when the other is lying because you could pick up on each other's emotions really well. You thought maybe if he didn’t see your body language, he wouldn’t be able to pick up on your lie, but of course, he didn’t need a visual to know that you were nervous. You could also feel each other's pain to a certain extent which has always been annoying. Atticus was pretty accident-prone when he was younger and, well, still is. This meant any bumps and bruises he managed to obtain, you would always get dull aches in the same area. The most annoying part of it all was that the more severe the pain, the more you felt. Once you had period cramps so bad, you both had to call out from school because he was also curled up in his bed, declaring that he’ll never make period jokes again in his life.

You weren’t sure why you had this connection with your brother. Since you’ve had it your entire life, you had thought this was a regular thing, but you’ve recently found out that it wasn't normal at all. You just assumed that it came with the quirks of being children of a sorceress goddess. You had to admit that it was cool, but at times like this, you wished you didn’t have it because Atticus called you out a lot.

You didn't want to admit you got distracted by Percy in the combat area. On your way back, you saw him practicing with the test dummies. You watched him practice for a few seconds, and you had no intention of stopping to talk to him initially, but when he caught you walking by, he called you over.

"Admit it, you were nervous," Percy laughs, continuing to tease you about how you ran away from him during Capture the Flag. You scoff, nudging his shoulder,

"Of you? Please,” you deny even though you were nervous about going head-to-head with him, but he didn’t need to know that. “It doesn't matter if I ran away because I still won!” You stick your tongue out at him, and he smiles,

“You should still practice your sword fighting, Y/n. You can’t always run away from a sword fight,” he points out, and you frown,

“I’m not a close-range fighter. It’s just how it is.” After declaring that you “failed” in sword fighting, you were a bit insecure about your abilities. It was a good and bad thing because after your “failure,” you delved into your magic studies, and you were proud of how much better your abilities have gotten. You could confidently say that you are now a more powerful and seasoned witch than you were at the beginning of the summer. The bad part was that you never stepped foot in the combat area again. The dagger you carried around barely saw the light of day, strapped in its holster most of the time.

"Well, one day, you might not have a choice… c'mon Sabrina Spellman, show me what you got," he jokes as he gets into his stance. You smile, putting the jar of sand down before taking your dagger out of its casing.

"I don't got much to show," you say playfully.

You thought that you'd just go one round with him, but the next thing you knew, he was giving you an entire lesson. He sparred with you a few times, analyzing how you fought and he gave you tips here and there. He was helpful and patient, and you did walk away knowing a few new things.

You swallow as you feel the stares of your siblings, now interested as to why you lied. You try not to become more flustered as you recall the feeling of Percy standing close behind you. His touch was gentle, hands slightly calloused as he adjusted the way you held your dagger, and with light fingertips, he moved your limbs, putting you in a stronger stance.

You shake your head, fiddling with your fingers, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you trailed off, hoping Atticus would drop it. You turn to your brothers, James preparing everything, but Alabaster and Ernest were just as interested as the others regarding where you could have been.

"She was probably with Percy,” Connor mocks, a sly smirk on his face as the whole cabin filled with Ooo's and amused chattering. Your shoulders slouch, head hung low, and you felt like you wanted to crawl in a hole.

"Were you actually?" You hear Atticus asks with amusement in his voice. You don't move from your place, keeping quiet. You knew there was no use in denying it because Atticus would easily sense the lie.

"She definitely was!" Alice squeals when you don’t say anything, and you glare at your sisters, making them giggle.

Lou Ellen nudges your shoulder, "what were you guys doing? You looked flustered when you walked in here,” she teases and winks.

"Probably making out!" Connor butts in before you could answer, and you gasp, snapping your gaze to him.

“We were just sparring!" You blurt out, and Connor laughs at how defense you suddenly became. The last thing you wanted was rumors leaving the cabin, and you groan as your sisters start pestering you with questions, along with the assumptions of your other cabinmates.

"Okay! Okay," Alabaster shouts a little over the chattering. "We need to focus. You guys can talk about that later," he says, and silence falls amongst your siblings. You nod, relieved that you get to avoid the topic for now. You watch as they exchange looks, silently communicating something to each other. You had an idea that it had something to do with you as Ernest’s eyes flicker in your direction and Alabaster’s face hardens. James gave them a dismissive wave with his hand as if he was telling them not to worry before continuing to sort out the materials in front of him.

"Let's start this potion. Some of us have chores to do," James cuts through the silence as he grabs the mortar and pestle and sits down in front of you and your siblings.

As James puts the potion together, carefully showing you how to cut and crush certain herbs, Ernest sits beside him, explaining the steps carefully. You lean a little forward, focusing on the lesson, and you diligently write notes in your notebook, trying not to miss any crucial details.

“Take good notes; I’m copying those,” Atticus whispers in your ear, and you squint at him playfully. His arms were too occupied with Harvey, so he was just watching the demonstration, confident that you’ll take thorough notes for him to copy. You shake your head, turning your attention back to Ernest as he speaks. After demonstrating it, they pass on the materials to you guys, and it was your turn to try it out.

The potion was a little too easy for you, and you find yourself growing a little bored as you put everything together. It annoyed you because you felt like your brothers were going easy on you and you were itching to get into the more advanced stuff such as healing potions or something like a disguising potion.

Out of your three older brothers, Ernest was the most knowledgeable about potions. He was always helping out in the infirmary, making healing potions for the Apollo kids to use. Sometimes the Hermes kids would ask him to make potions for pranks, and you’ve even seen some of the girls from the Aphrodite cabin begging him to make love potions for them. Usually, Ernest would decline their requests, giving lectures, especially to the Aphrodite girls, why a love potion is a terrible idea. But in the times that he has agreed to do them, the results were always hilarious. Once, he made a Hilarity Potion for the Stoll brothers that turned the Ares cabin into a bunch of giggling messes for 24 hours. Until that day, you’ve never seen someone giggle aggressively before.

You were the first to finish the potion, bottling it up in a miniature glass jar before pushing the cork into the top. You carefully wired wrapped the jar, attaching it to a necklace and fastening it around your neck. After being praised by your brothers, you were off to do the chores that were given to you by Connor as repayment for not ratting you out to the Aphrodite Cabin about your spontaneous meeting with Percy at the docks.

You were done right in time for dinner, the time passing as usual as you and your siblings talk and laugh at the table. Soon, you were singing along to the songs at the campfire, and by the time it came to an end, your eyelids were heavy with fatigue. You knew then that you were not going to study into the night as the soreness from sparring with Percy started to settle in your muscles. When you arrived at the Hermes cabin after washing up for bed, you could barely keep your eyes open. The last thing you remembered was mumbling a good night to Atticus and turning over in your bed.

Your dreams were always weird, so when you’re taken to a meadow in the middle of nowhere, you weren’t surprised. Actually, you were pretty content, preferring this scene instead of the bizarre settings you often came across.

You swore you could feel the soft summer breeze blowing on your face, and you take a deep breath, basking in the fresh air. You look out at the grassy land ahead of you, noticing you were standing at a crossroad. Two gravel roads stretched in either direction, one path seemingly identical to the other. You turn around to study your surroundings further. You squint, hand hovering above your eyes to protect them from the shining sun that's beginning to set behind the hills. The valley was still; the only sound you could hear was the wind whooshing past your ears, and you felt safe.

“Come with us, y/n.” A familiar voice cuts through the stillness, and you gasp, looking in the direction it came from. You find Alabaster standing on the left road, James and Ernest standing beside him. You felt your stomach turn as their eyes darken. Your arms wrap around your frame as the once warm wind turns cold. Dark clouds roll in, splitting the sky in half as the right side remains the same sunny meadow. Groans of thunder echoed throughout the land, and you can sense an eerie presence lingering in the air.

“What?” You whisper to yourself, noticing Atticus standing on the right road.

“No! Don’t,” he shouts, his expression glazed over in fear, and you step back.

“Don’t listen to him. We know what’s best for you,” James says, his arm extended out for you to hold, and you shake your head. “Come with us.”

“No! Come with me!”

“Come with us!”

You feel your heart racing in your chest, the screams of your brothers sending goosebumps to your skin. Their voices become more desperate, and you can hear the grief and panic in their voices.

“No, no, no. It’s a dream… you can change it,” you whisper, becoming overwhelmed as the thunder grows louder and so the desperation in your brother’s wailing. You stare down at the ground, and your hands are pressed firmly over your ears. You try to concentrate on shifting into another dream, but before you could, you felt as if your body was sucked into a vortex. A distant voice calls your name, and you groan, your vision blurry as your eyes flutter open.

Alabaster stands over you as he nudges your shoulder softly, whispering your name until you finally wake up. “C’mon, get up.”

You lazily sit up in your bed, your surroundings fuzzy as Alabaster guides you to stand up. You assume that it must be morning as you slip your feet into your slippers and you rub your eyes. It didn’t take you long to notice that it was still night time and you whine softly, confused and annoyed that you were woken up from your slumber.

“Al? What’s going on?” Alabaster doesn’t answer, grabbing onto your wrist, and you were too groggy to protest, following him to the back window of the Hermes cabin. You stumble a little when you land on the grass, Atticus coming to your side and grabbing on to your other hand. You don’t even notice the nervous look on his face or the way his hand was shaking, too busy attempting to stay awake.

Your vision was still fuzzy, and you lay your head against your brother's arm, feeling Ambrose’s mouth tugging on your shirt frantically as Alabaster leads you into the forest. You don’t know what it was, but you had this feeling that something was wrong and a soft sigh leaves your lips as you gather your strength to get out of your grogginess.

“Wait… wait!” You snatch your arm from Alabaster's hold. “What’s going on?” You ask as your brothers turn around.

“We’re leaving,” Ernest says, and you furrow your eyebrows. “We’re going to join Kronos’s army.”

“We? Are you insane?” You felt your heart drop to your chest, and you tried to look for any sign that they were joking.

“Come with us, Y/n,” Alabaster pleads, and you feel goosebumps forming on your skin as you get an overwhelming feeling of deja vu. The tone of his voice, the way their eyes darkened, was the same as the dream you just had. Your brothers glowered down at you, waiting for your decision.

"No… no, this isn't right,” you whisper. You let go of Atticus’s hand, just now noticing how tight his grip was. You wipe your shaky palms on your pants, and for a moment, you thought you were still dreaming. At least, you were hoping that you were still dreaming. You scan your surroundings, trying to find a sign that would tell you that this wasn't real, but you don't find one.

“There is no reason to stay here, to fight on this side. Kronos will win the war. The camp doesn’t stand a chance,” Alabaster declares confidently. Your mind wanders, recalling the dark stormy clouds that loomed over your brothers in your dream and the eeriness that took over. You could practically feel your pulse in your ears, grasping the fact that your dream was a warning.

“And how are you so sure?” Your voice quivers, and you sigh in disbelief.

“Because mother told me,” Alabaster says, and your head jerks back, your eyebrows furrowed.

“Mother? She spoke to you?”

“Yes. She’s fighting for Kronos, and she believes it is in our best interest to join her.”

A wave of emotion washes over you all at once. You were shocked, furious, even a little jealous. Your mother never came to speak to you. You knew that she tended to favor your more powerful siblings. Your older brothers have talked to her a few times, and the reminder made your chest feel heavy. You knew she looked after you, obviously. She had saved your life by sending Ambrose to you and your brother's aid. You prayed to her daily, and she occasionally sent you signs that made you feel she was there with you — but coming to see you? That was a privilege that you weren’t worthy of; at least, that’s what it felt like.

Your fury came from the fact that your mother was the motivator of all this. Why would she persuade your brothers in her own interests? Weren’t there rules that your godly parent couldn’t interfere with certain things? You weren’t sure what the rules specifically were, but this didn’t feel right. You shake your head,

“Mother isn’t omniscient. She doesn’t know who will win.” Your fist is clenched hard on your side, and you watch as Alabaster’s expression hardens,

"You're only fighting on this side because of your little boyfriend. Is he more important to you than us?"

"Boyfriend?! What are you talking about-”

"I'm talking about Percy! Don’t think we haven’t noticed you hanging out with him. Sparring together? In the strawberry fields together? You guys were practically flirting at the campfire, and Connor told us that you’ve been meeting him at night. Is that true?"

You feel your face get hot, but it wasn’t at the accusation of Percy being your boyfriend but the rage that was swirling in your chest. You hated that he thought you would compromise your loyalty to your siblings for a boy. That wasn’t true. In the right circumstances, you would always put your siblings first because you knew they would do the same. But this wasn’t about Percy; you haven’t thought of him until Alabaster brought him up. This was about loyalty to the camp.

"He's not my boyfriend. It doesn’t even matter what side he’s fighting on. I couldn’t care less. Al… this- this is about family!"

"Family?! What?”

“The camp,” you say shakily, and you shift on your feet as a sarcastic laugh leaves Alabaster’s lips.

“The camp? You mean the camp that doesn’t deem our mother worthy of her own cabin? We’ve been trapped in that Hermes cabin since the beginning. Half of us didn’t even have a bed to sleep in the first summer we arrived. You and Lou Ellen had to cram in a twin-size bed the first couple of weeks until you got lucky and something opened up. Y/n, they don’t care about us. They toss us to the side, barely give us a space to learn our magic. This camp isn’t family. We're your family, Y/n. We understand you the most. We share the same powers, the same mother. We care for you."

You look down at the ground, hating that you were unable to deny that the words he spoke held truth. The children of minor gods were treated differently. You didn’t have a cabin dedicated to your godly parent, and that was enough to make you feel lesser than. You remember Ethan Nakamura saying in passing that being forced to sleep in the Hermes cabin was pretty much an odd punishment for not being a child of one of the 12. You remember laughing and brushing it off, not thinking much of it at the moment, but now, it suddenly occurred to you that he wasn’t joking at all. He was dead serious.

You have to admit that the living situation wasn’t ideal. It affected how you were able to study your magic and came with annoying inconveniences. You slept in a sleeping bag for your first summer, tucked away in the corner of the room with Atticus. The system in place for who gets a bed was set up by seniority. The longer you've been at camp, the more secure your sleeping arrangements were. You only got a bed because, at the beginning of the summer, a good chunk of kids had left to join Kronos’ army, which bumped you up on the waiting list.

You almost gave in, only so that you'd be with your siblings. If you stay, most of them will be long gone, and you'll be forced to fight them on the battlefield, but you couldn't leave. It didn’t feel right to compromise your loyalty to the camp. Though there were days where you did feel like an outcast, you couldn’t ignore the times you didn’t. Your friends here were important to you too, and you’ve always seen the camp as your haven. It was the only place where you didn’t have to worry about monsters or entities. Sure, some people at camp saw you as some freak, but you never felt as much as a freak here as you did in the mortal world. In the end, it boiled down to one question. Did you want to fight alongside your friends for a camp that brought you a sense of comfort? Or will you fight for a bitter, greedy titian who’s only using you so he can have the throne?

"No, I’m staying,” you say with a tight jaw, looking up to meet Alabaster’s eyes. You kept thinking of the dark clouds, the thunder roaring in the background, the way the valley darkened. That was a warning. That was a clear sign to run the other way, to not walk into the storm.

"Atticus?" Alabaster shifts his gaze to your brother, who stands beside you. Your entire body tenses up, your teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek.

He couldn't go. You couldn’t bear the thought of being without him. Though you were sure that he would be on your side, it was then you decided that if Atticus left, you were going to leave too. You hated that you were second-guessing him, but you weren't sure what to believe after this whole thing being pulled by Alabaster.

"... I'm staying.” His voice is more confident than you expected it to be, and you sigh out shakily, feeling the weight of dread lift from on your shoulders. You’ll still have your twin, and right now, when you felt like your whole world was falling apart, that’s all that mattered.

"You both are fools," Alabaster hissed, and your fist clenches, gaze snapping up.

"You’re the damn fool. How are you so sure that if Kronos wins, everything will suddenly be better? Alabaster, he’s feeding off your anger for his own agenda. You really think if we fight in his little army, he’ll care about us?” Your voice cracks, you scan the crowd of your siblings looking at you. You peer over at your sisters, who were huddled behind your brothers.

“Sage, Alice, Lou Ellen? This isn’t right. We- I- don’t go, just stay here at camp,” you plead, hoping that if you could persuade them to stay, maybe your brothers will forfeit their plan. “I have a bad feeling. I had a dre-”

“Stop,” James barked. You couldn’t help but cringe; the way his eyes narrowed at you was something you’ve never seen before.

“The odds are in Kronos’ favor. He has a bigger army. His allies are strong. This camp doesn’t stand a chance. You asking them to stay is the same as asking them to die,” he declares. “Mother says if- when he wins, she will take care of us. We can live and study with her, she promised.”

Your eyes sting with tears, and you close them, fingers anxiously peeling the skin around your nails. It was way too good to be true. That’s probably something you’ve always wanted, to live as a coven with your siblings. You only wished for a conversation with your mother, but the opportunity to learn from her directly was tempting. Still, you thought about the chaos that would reign across the country, across the world. You didn’t understand how a world under the rule of Kronos could be any better than the world you had now. And you deduced that it would probably be even worse.

“It’s all bull,” you spat, and you scoff. “I’m asking them to die? Take a look at where you’re taking them! This is mad. Guys, please,” you plead again. You frown as Alice and Sage refuse to look at you, huddling close beside each other.

“I- I’m staying,” Lou Ellen suddenly breaks the silence, and you feel a rush of hopefulness. Her head is lowered in a bow, avoiding the stares of your brothers as she walks to you. You reach out your arms, grasping her hand the moment she was close enough. You hear Ernest scoff, turning around to look at Sage and Alice.

“Anyone else would like to stay?” His tone is harsh, cutting through the night and Alice and Sage stare at the floor. You could tell from their trembling hands that they were scared. If they felt any conviction, any second thoughts, they didn’t dare to speak up.

“Let’s go before we get caught out here,” Alabaster announces, and you meet his eyes one last time.

“We’ll see you on the battlefield, sister.”

The walk back to the Hermes Cabin was silent. You hold on to Lou Ellen’s equally clammy hands, the three of you shaken up from what just happened. A part of you still couldn’t even believe that this is how your night played out. You glance at Atticus, his face expressionless, but you knew his mind was scattered with a million thoughts. If your own grief wasn’t enough, you were met with the burden of the grief radiating off of him.

Atticus coped with things differently than you did. You were quick to cry when you’re sad, scream when you were angry, but he bottled it up. He would bottle it up until all his emotions boiled over the limit. Even then, he was private, never letting it out where people could see him, but no matter what, you felt it, and no matter what, you were there comforting him.

He meets your gaze, and you take in the sadness on his face. The sight of his sorrow made it hard to hold back your tears. You knew that when Al called his name, he felt your panic. He felt your dilemma. You didn’t exactly know his stance on the impending war, but you knew at that moment, Atticus made his decision because he didn’t want to be separated from you. He manages a sad smile as there is a mutual understanding of this between the two of you. He slings his arm around both you and Lou Ellen’s shoulders in a failed attempt to lighten up the situation. He swallows hard,

“We’ll be okay,” he musters out, and as confident he wished to sound, the weakness in his voice was unavoidable. You suppress the sob that threatened to leave your lips, a tear falling down your cheek, and you nod,

“Yeah, we- we’ll be okay.” Your voice falters.

and hopefully, they’ll be okay too.

masterlist taglist: @nct127bee @xxyrr

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 3

Here is act 3!!! Thank you so much for all of your enthusiasm so far! Hope you enjoy :)

8.6k - masterlist - ao3

--

Aelin has never really thought of herself as someone with a lot of friends. She’s always had Elide, Aedion and Lysandra, but they almost fall into a separate category. Like what they’ve been through surpasses friendship, and she thinks at this point Elide and Lysandra are as much her family as Aedion.

Throughout her years in the industry she hasn’t made many friends, Chaol and Dorian are probably the only two, but she's learned how things work. It didn't take her long to realise that all the girls she met at auditions, and bonded with over all of the things they had in common, would have stabbed her right in the back at the earliest opportunity.

It's cutthroat, but she can't say she's never succumbed to the temptations.

She’d be lying if she said she’d never pretended she was there to audition for another character just to get the other actress to spill her analysis of the character. She can’t say it was unintentional when she’d leave the audition room and then pretend to take a phone call where she’d discuss how pleased the casting director had been with her take and had promised to call, watching the faces fall of the other hopefuls she waltzed past.

She can’t say she’d never do it again.

That said, she feels like she has a good thing going with Fenrys, Manon and Rowan. They've hung out a couple of times and she likes them admittedly more than she thought she would at first. The dynamic is fast and snappy, funny and sarcastic, and she can feel herself getting back into the old motions.

Aelin knows they’re friends now, and it feels really fucking good, but she has one concern. She’s not entirely sure that what she feels for Rowan can be described as friendship and she’s kicking herself for letting it happen. The physical attraction she can excuse, he looks how he looks and she’s defenseless against that, but the rest? The rest is where she’s really let herself go.

He’s opened up to them a lot more now, and they spend a lot more time together than they did at the start. Just last week she had thrown herself into her seat at the end of a long day of shooting and plunked her feet in his lap. She had expected him to throw them off and growl something at her, but he had simply rested his left hand on her ankle and continued to scroll through his phone with his right.

It had felt far too easy to settle into his touch, and far too enjoyable to have the heat of his skin against her own.

Even so, there’s a level of detachment to his interaction with them. He falls somewhere between bemused dad and despairing lecturer tasked with herding a group of unruly children through a life or death venture. He curses actors all day long but he’s just as dramatic. There are moments when she catches him beginning to smile at a comment from Fenrys or the bickering she and Manon do before he halts himself and seems to rein it back in.

She wants to see him grin.

It’s kind of weird to think back to the first week of shooting and how unsure she felt around them, how insecure she was of her own ability compared to theirs, but by now she’s pretty sure she’s past the worst of that and she doesn’t want to waste any more time doubting herself, at least in comparison to them. It helps when Rowan makes little comments like nice job, Aelin or when she catches the nod he does after she nails a scene, especially when he tries to hide it.

She posted a picture on Instagram of the four of them from set last week, her and Manon crouched at the front wrapped up again in the massive coats they give them on set, their faces almost completely covered by the puffed up collars, and Rowan and Fenrys stood behind them, their arms crossed across their chests and faces twisted into overly dramatic imitations of anger. It had taken some pleading and possible bribery from Fenrys to get Rowan to agree to the pose, but they had succeeded in the end.

She had captioned it so we stole their coats… and tagged each of them, watching as the likes came flooding in. Only seconds later the comments had begun to run a bit wild.

This is going to be so good I can already tell.

fenrys looks so hot fuck me up

ARMS!ARMS!ARMS!ARMS!

Are they dating?

She stopped reading the comments pretty quickly after that.

They’re about a third of the way into shooting, and Aelin knows what she’s accomplished so far is some of her best work. It hasn’t been easy, but she’s put hours and hours of her time into understanding her character and she feels like she truly knows Feyre, and almost sees some of herself in her. There are differences of course, Aelin isn’t quite as naive as Feyre or as forgiving, but they’ve both been dealt a shitty hand, and Aelin likes to think she’s working just as hard as Feyre to pick herself back up.

She finishes the take, and slaps her usual high-five against Fenrys’ palm and sends her regular nod over to Rowan. Good? Her nod asks. Good, his own gesture returns. She tucks her smile away as she begins to wander over to where he’s stood chatting with a producer.

She’s built a habit of going over to him once they finish shooting, she wants to seek him out constantly, and she feels drawn to him in a way that she’s beginning to lose the fight against. She’s about halfway towards him when she spots a tall head of brown hair making its way towards her.

She barely has time to process before there are a pair of strong arms around her waist and she’s being lifted up and swung around, her feet dangling inches above the ground.

“Hello, superstar.” His voice is deep in her ear and she can feel the vibrations where she buries her face into his neck.

“Gods! I thought you weren’t coming for another two weeks.”

She gasps as he places her back down on the ground and she can finally smile up at Chaol. Taking in the chestnut-brown of his hair and the faint creases beginning at the corners of his rich brown eyes. Gods, she’s missed him.

She’s known he’d be visiting the set at some point. The Crescent City is his baby, a script he’s been working on for years, and she knows he couldn’t stomach leaving it all to Rowan without any supervision.

He had first mentioned it to her a few years ago, but back then it was nothing more than an idea. Aelin knew he had been chipping away at it in the background for a while and it wasn’t a surprise when he first sent it to her. It’s different now though, now that there’s a budget and a set and actual progress made in getting it on screen.

It feels like a big deal to her; she can’t imagine how Chaol feels.

She had never dreamed though, through all of their midnight conversations about it and their half-dreaming out loud discussions, that she would be the one to star in it.

Chaol just grins at her, a twinkle in his eyes that she knows means he’s happy, and says “thought I’d surprise you.”

“It’s definitely a surprise.” She leans up to wrap her arms around his neck for a second time. She squeezes him tight and breathes him in, his smell is comforting and it makes her feel young again. “How long are you here for?”

He gives her waist a short squeeze, reminding her that his hands are still resting there with hers still up on his shoulders. It’s not the closest she’s ever been to him, and it doesn’t cross her mind for her touching him so freely to be an issue.

“A couple of days.” He smiles down at her again. “Lunch?”

“Of course, let me change first?” She asks, releasing his shoulders and turning to walk back to her trailer. He holds a hand out, as if to say lead the way.

She sets off as he follows, and she can feel the lightness of the wide smile across her face. It’s a kind of comfort now that Chaol is here, he’s taken care of her for so many years and his presence grounds her in a way she hasn’t really found with many other people.

Rowan still stands with the producer behind where some of the team are tinkering with the filming equipment. His brow is drawn into a frown and the producer standing with him has begun to look profoundly uncomfortable.

The take was good, she knows that, and when he runs a jagged hand over his face a jolt of concern strikes her. He looks anguished, or frustrated, and she wonders how he’s soured so quickly after the silent exchange they shared mere moments ago.

His gaze snaps to hers and it’s a powerful thing. His stare weighs heavily into her, so much so she wants to look away and her steps falter. The stumble is barely perceptible, but she sees it and thinks maybe he does too. There’s something thorny in the pull of his brows and the twist of his mouth and she wants to go over, ease his troubles, but that’s not her place. And Chaol is inches behind her following her lead.

Rowan’s eyes flick to Chaol and his mouth twists further. And not to get ahead of herself yet again, but surely not, right? His gaze switches back to rest on her, only for a second longer before he mouths something short and sharp to the producer and disappears.

Aelin shakes it off. She might think they’re friends, but as has become her mantra, he’s her boss. What she needs is something gentle and simple and uncomplicated. In the real world, everything she wants from Rowan is decidedly complicated.

Sitting opposite Chaol is a place she’s been many times before. More often than not, Dorian would have taken up the mantle at Chaol’s side, the pair of them closer than brothers. They have the kind of relationship she thinks truly cannot exist for people other than the two of them.

The level of understanding they share, the lengths they would go to for each other, it’s unparalleled and she longs to find a bond like that one day.

When she was younger being sat in a position like this, opposite Chaol, so close they could whisper to converse, would have been a dream. She had a bit of an infatuation with him when she first met him; he was a few years older than her, charming, handsome and calming. He had been her entrance to the world she lives in now and he had kept her safe and taken care of her.

She had thought he was everything she wanted.

She had realised pretty quickly, after going in for an ill advised kiss that he had swerved, that that would never be an option for them. He had let her down kindly and gently, which she appreciates now, even if it felt like a blow at the time.

He hadn’t let her pull back from him though, he had kept her close until she eventually got over the embarrassment and was able to look at him without blushing. It’s not something she dwells on now, she was young and naive and she could have done a lot worse than Chaol.

He was who she had gone to when she had met Sam. She had waxed poetic to him about the boy with the curly brown hair and the shy smile. She smiles lightly to herself at the thought of him, what he would make of where she’s at now.

He’d kiss her cheek with his arms around her waist, boasting how his girl, his baby, was a star in the making. She swallows the thought, struck by both the image and the lingering pain it brings, but also by the knowledge that she’s gone a couple of days without thinking of him.

She hasn’t thought of the boy with the brown eyes in a few days, hasn’t woken up screaming in even more. She breathes past the panic that threatens in her throat, both at the idea that she hasn’t thought of Sam for a while and the reasons there could be for that.

“How is the love of my life?” She focuses back on Chaol and watches him try very hard not to choke on his mouthful of his drink.

He had picked the cafe, even though she’s been in Rifthold for a while it is still far more his space than hers, and he knows the hidden gems like this that she isn’t privy to yet. It’s rustic and cosy, the brick walls have colourful bunting draped between them and none of the chairs inside match. She’ll have to come back if the food is good, the atmosphere inside is relaxed and busy enough that she can feel completely anonymous. She doesn’t want to leave, maybe next time she can bring a book.

“My beautiful wife is well,” he manages once he swallows, and she smirks at how he knows exactly what she’s asking. “Almost past the second trimester now, and still refusing to slow down.”

That sounds exactly like Yrene. She says as much and Chaol nods wearing the expression of a man who, if he didn’t love his wife so much, would be tired of chasing after her.

Yrene is a whirlwind of energy and efficiency and it’s why she’s one of Aelin’s favourite people. She’s full of exciting tales and inspiration, that is, when she can get Yrene to slow for a second enough to catch up. She probably doesn’t need her high paced job as a doctor in Rifthold General Hospital, like, Chaol’s scripts are successful, he’s won a number of awards that sit in a special cabinet in their house, but that’s just how Yrene is.

Caring and kind and so, so smart. If Aelin didn’t do what she does, she’d love to be like Yrene.

“Second trimester?” She cries. “He’s almost here!”

Chaol is again at risk of choking. “Aelin, please. I still have a few months left to get ready.”

He looks almost panicked and she scoffs. “Chaol, please.” She mocks his tone perfectly and ignores the eye roll he gives her. “You were born ready. You’ve basically raised me for the past few years and look how well I’m doing.”

He laughs, and she smiles, it’s exactly the reaction she wanted.

“I’m not sure that’s the glowing compliment you think it is,” He says dryly and she just pokes her tongue out at him.

“Chaol,” she begins, seriously this time. “You are already the best dad I know, you’ll be fine. And if not, the baby has Yrene, so he’ll definitely be fine.”

He doesn’t bite on any of it, just looks bashfully to the table cloth and nods. She can’t resist one last comment.

“And even then, he’ll have me and Dorian.”

“Gods, Aelin. The thought will send me to an early grave.”

She tilts her head to the side and sketches a flip of her hair over her shoulder. The combination of her and Dorian and a baby probably would give Chaol a heart attack but she’ll embody her role as the cool aunt, and Dorian can more than handle the cool uncle.

“Do you not want your child to be cool?” She knows he’s barely finding her funny at this point but she’s missed him and she loves winding him up.

He’s saved from having to respond by the arrival of their food. She stares longingly at his burger and greasy side of fries and forces herself to take a mouthful of her wilted salad.

After a few bites she notices his expression, something pinched around the corners of his mouth, and she knows there's something he wants to say.

To say that Chaol is less invested in her sobriety than Aedion and Lysandra would be a lie, but he doesn’t question it as openly as they do, so she doubts what he wants to say is anything to do with that. She’s ordered an orange juice to spice it up, and he has a tap water that he ordered without question so she thinks he mustn’t be concerned.

“What?” She says slowly, whatever it is she wants to know, and the pain of waiting for him to spit it out was almost too much.

He shakes his head and pops another fry into his mouth. She can’t resist stealing one and a swipe of ketchup off his plate.

He begins carefully, after using his napkin to dab at the corner of his mouth. “How is it going? You read the script pretty early on, do you think…”

He trails off, and seems to pause while he considers his words, but she doesn’t need him to finish.

“Chaol, I think it’s going really well,” she says and it’s sincere. “And it’s not just because I’m in it.”

It’s far easier to crack jokes and reassure others than it is to be the one being reassured.

He shoots her an unimpressed look, but she knows her words have done their job. Even through her faults she knows he trusts her judgement.

“I feel like you asked that in a way that meant you thought it wasn’t going well.”

She’s fishing a little, but Chaol is a gossip at heart, even worse than Dorian despite how he’d deny it.

He sees right through her, but relents as he takes another bite of his burger. She stabs another bundle of lettuce, dipping it in a pool of dressing resting in the bottom of her bowl as he swallows and speaks.

“I didn’t think it would go badly, but Fenrys Moonbeam has a bit of a reputation, and I just hope he’s taking it seriously. I put a lot of work into it.” He pauses and Aelin just waits. It doesn’t seem like he’s quite done. “Rowan Whitethorn too. But I think his reputation is a bit different.”

It puts her in a bit of a weird position with a sharp taste in her mouth, wanting to defend her new friends to one of her oldest, but Chaol has to understand that how he sees them isn’t right.

“I don’t think either of them is quite how you think.” She says it gently because she doesn’t want to risk irritating Chaol with this. “Fenrys works really hard, you know. He’s putting a lot of work into understanding Rhys, Rowan too. He puts a lot of thought into what he does, he’s really smart.”

He’s watching her silently, his eyes shining with a question she doesn’t want to answer.

“You’ve written an incredible story Chaol, we all want to do it justice.”

The quirk of his eyebrow is somewhat impressed as he takes her in, but maybe there’s something more in there. Something that catches the difference between the way she talks about Fenrys compared to the way she talks about Rowan.

“I’m glad,” is all he says.

“It’s going well,” she says and truly believes it. “I’ve said it before, but it really is a work of art, Chaol.”

She pauses, her next words thick in her throat. “Thank you… for writing it, I mean. It means a lot to me, and I am honoured to play this part.”

He nods thankfully, and she knows he appreciates the compliment but his response is typical Chaol. Quiet and understated but shining with sincerity.

There’s a moment before the corner of his mouth pulls upwards and she knows he’s just about to turn the game around and tease her now.

“A part of me wishes I hadn’t written so many intimate scenes between them, the thought of you and Fenrys Moonbeam…” He trails off.

She tugs her lips inwards between her teeth, pleading with the blush on her neck not to rise. They haven’t got to those scenes yet, and she’s been avoiding the idea of them. She doesn’t want to think about what she’ll have to do with Fenrys in a couple of weeks.

Fenrys isn’t the problem though, she knows he’ll be professional and respectful. The problem is that Rowan will be there, watching them, watching her, and the idea plays with her in a dangerous way. Everything about Rowan feels dangerous to her, and gods if that isn’t half the draw.

“I know we joked before, but you do know you’re not my father? You’re worse than Aedion,” she laughs.

Chaol just shakes his head, “I’m allowed to look out for you.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, but you’re only, what? Five years older than me?”

“Six. And Rowan Whitethorn is older than me.” The way he says it is noticeable, like he has a point to make.

“He is?”

So she didn’t know that, but it worries her how it doesn’t change things even a little bit. It doesn’t change how attractive he is, or the fact that she should be going nowhere near the idea of the two of them. She needs to call Elide, or her actual therapist.

“Yes, I think he was in the year above me at the Royal.”

She really doesn’t know all that much about him, hadn’t even known he went to the stage school in Adarlan.

What she knows is the fleeting moments she sees of him behind the camera, the expressions he makes when he’s impressed and when he’s not. She knows things like his coffee order, his hatred for the little pastries the catering department provide and how he doesn’t seem to drink alcohol. She knows about Lyria, but it’s from the internet, not him.

She doesn’t know him.

“Oh,” is all she manages.

Chaol eats another fry, watching her the whole time, and she wants him to look away. She has nothing to feel guilty about; they haven’t done anything. She has one, probably inadvisable, crush on her boss that she’ll speak to Elide about and get over. Then the movie will be done and she won’t ever have to see him again.

The dropping sensation in her stomach at the thought is less than desirable.

Chaol stays for a few days. He hangs around on set and sits in her chair while she films. It’s a pleasant kind of relief, tinged with an element of nostalgia, to have him around. He makes her feel like a kid again, and she feels herself looking towards him for approval when she desperately avoids how she wants to do the same to Rowan.

He relents on the second day, after having met Fenrys and Rowan properly, and admits to her that he thinks his baby is probably in good hands. She just says “I told you so,” because she’s a child and annoying Chaol is fun.

She’s sitting in Manon’s chair next to him, and they’re talking about Aedion. He and Chaol have a friendship she likes to pretend doesn’t stem from a mutual concern for her. Chaol is saying something about how he doesn’t envy Aedion’s schedule, but she’s barely listening.

Aelin’s watching where Rowan stands a few feet away. He’s wearing a soft-looking black sweatshirt and jeans, and she can’t help but imagine how it would feel to slip the sweatshirt on herself. How it would still be warm from his body, how the sleeves would trail way past her fingertips, how the smell of him would surround her.

He’s directing Manon, gesturing jaggedly with his hands and she’s nodding along. The shades of their hair almost match, Aelin notices absently, but she prefers the silver shine to Rowan’s compared to the clean-white of Manon’s. Rowan makes a gesture with his right hand and his fingers flex in a rhythmic movement, the elegant lengths of his fingers flowing freely in motion.

She wants to take that hand and put it on herself, she wants to run it down her side and between her thighs. She wants to take his fingers into her mouth and suck.

And like, what the fuck Aelin?

Texting Rowan is, objectively, a bad idea. Not that it’s a bad idea to text a colleague and ask to hang out, it’s just that that isn’t exactly what she wants to get from texting him. So yes; it’s a bad idea, and Aelin knows this, but she’s been thinking of doing it for a couple of days and the desire to do so hasn’t faded. She’s thought about it for long enough that she’s rationalised it, it’s not rash.

Aelin wants to know Rowan.

She taps away at her screen, hi rowan… No. That's not right. Aelin deletes it.

Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to… Nope. Not right either. She bites her lip while she backspaces the string of letters.

She wants to seem casual, so if he’s not into it it’s not awkward. Aelin’s a feminist, but she still doesn’t want to outright ask him out until she’s tested the waters a little more, got a bit of a better read on him and whether he could be into it or not.

She thinks he is, at least a little bit. She knows his eyes linger on her sometimes, sometimes her face, sometimes her arse. She likes it, but whether all he feels is attraction, or whether he feels the same as her is a mystery.

She still hasn’t spoken to Elide about it, but there’s a devil on her shoulder whispering that she’s probably past the point of no return already.

i’m sick of takeout, she types. want to go and grab a bite somewhere???

Aelin taps send before she can overthink it. She can always invite Fenrys to come along too if Rowan doesn’t seem keen on doing something just the two of us.

It’s not long before her phone buzzes with a response. You’re sick of takeout, so you want to go and eat out?

She chews the inside of her cheek, his response doesn’t really give her much. And while it’s not a rejection, it’s not a yes. Maybe her text was stupid, gods, why didn’t she think-

Her phone buzzes again. How about I cook something instead?

Much better. She smiles as she writes her response.

i don’t really want food poisoning :/// my boss might be a bit pissed if i can’t work

The bubble with the three dots pops up immediately, and her thumbs hover over the screen as she waits.

Ha. Ha. He sends, and she can’t fight the little laugh that escapes her as she imagines him rolling his eyes at her. His next text comes through pretty quickly. I’m on board with going out if you want, just thought something more private could be better.

And shit. There are a number of ways she could interpret that. Aelin’s trying not to read into things, things like Rowan saying he wants to go somewhere private with her, he could just be talking about paparazzi. Damn, he probably is just talking about paparazzi.

oh yeah sounds good actually but pls don’t poison me

He just sends a straight faced emoji.

Aelin leans back into her couch as he sends another follow up text.

Do you want to come here?

She could, but he hosted last time. And while she liked the atmosphere at Rowan’s house, she can’t deny that she likes the idea of him here. She likes the idea of seeing Rowan making his way around her kitchen, likes the idea of Rowan sitting opposite her at the end of this couch.

or you could come here????

She bites the corner of her nail as she stares at her screen, waiting for his response to come through.

Sure. I’ll swing by the store to grab some ingredients. How many people am I cooking for?

Aelin pauses, her thumbs hovering above the keyboard.

was thinking 2 but i can invite others if you want

She thinks that’s pretty clear, but it also puts the ball in his court. She’s the most nervous she’s been so far as she waits for his reply, and the three dots pop up before disappearing again. They pop up again, before finally his message comes through.

Don’t. His text reads. I’ll pick up enough for two.

His response is pretty clear too, and she smiles as she sends three thumbs up emojis.

Her apartment isn’t dirty, or even messy, but once she’s locked her phone she’s up and full of nervous energy. It’s probably presumptuous to make sure her bed is made, but she does it anyway. She leaves the leggings and oversized sweater she wears on, it’s casual, she’s chilled out. Or she can at least pretend to be.

She’s doing her last round of the apartment, keeping her eyes peeled for any stray socks or underwear that she could have left anywhere. A blush threatens her cheeks at the thought of Rowan and her underwear, but she forces it down when there’s a sharp knock at the door.

She swings the door open and there he is.

He looks good, as always, but today it’s highlighted by the deep green military-style jacket he has thrown on over his plain white t-shirt. The tan of his skin always looks good against bright white, and the green of his jacket draws out the depths of his green eyes.

“Hey,” she breathes as their eyes meet.

He smiles, a slightly crooked thing, and he just looks even more attractive. “Hey.”

He’s carrying a brown paper bag pressed against his side in his left hand, and she reaches out to take it from him as she steps aside to let him in. He steps in, but resists her grab for the bag, instead wrapping his right arm around her waist to pull her into a brief hug. “Thanks for having me.”

His words take her back to the first time she visited his house. The time with Fenrys and Manon and the football game. The visit with her and Rowan in his kitchen.

She’s nowhere near as stiff with him as she was then and she lets herself relax into the hug.

“I only let you in on the promise of food,” she says into his chest and feels more than hears his reluctant snort of laughter.

Every time they touch she’s struck by how much she likes it. How much she wants more. But then he pulls back, twisting to push her door shut.

“I feel like I should let you know now before we go any further that I can’t cook.”

Rowan only raises a brow.

“Seriously, when I was in college I set off the fire alarm in my residence at least three times.”

“Three times?” His eyes widen in playful disbelief. “What were you making?”

“Well,” she laughs. “The first time I was trying to make Lysandra a birthday cake but then I got distracted and left it in the oven for three hours. The fire department got called but it was not that big of a deal, there wasn’t a fire.”

There’s laughter dancing in his clear green eyes as she regales her tale of youth. She practically beams at the knowledge that she has put it there.

“But our kitchen did smell like smoke for the rest of the year.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re bad at cooking.” Rowan tilts his head down at her and she realises they’re still standing in her entryway. “That sounds like you don’t pay attention.”

Aelin shrugs at his teasing. “The third time was the worst. I was trying to do that thing where you put vodka in pasta sauce.”

“Gods,” Rowan’s laughing now and she loves the low rumble of the sounds. It pricks the hairs on her arm as the sound washes over her skin.

“There were some flames,” she confesses and he winces.

She didn’t have a completely normal college experience, she was acting part time in very minor roles during her time there but she managed to make some memories in her short time there. After Sam she dropped out and the memories always leave a bittersweet taste in her mouth.

Talking about this with Rowan and laughing at her silly little anecdotes is one of the first times it hasn’t hurt.

“Sucks to be an actor,” he says mockingly with a nod into her apartment as she finally leads him into the kitchen. The apartment she’s staying in is fine, more than fine, it’s actually a really great apartment and she tries to fake a frown through her smile.

Aelin shrugs. “We can’t all be big, household-name directors, living in glamorous mansions, too famous to go out to eat.”

She shoots him an amused look, and Rowan just smirks, tilting his head to the side in a way that exposes the length of his throat.

So maybe this was a fucking dangerous idea.

Inviting Rowan to her apartment had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he’s here, now he’s in her space, looking all… damn him, he looks so fucking good she feels flushed.

She used to think brunettes were her type, Chaol and Sam were both brunette, with tanned skin and brown eyes. Recently though, as much as she wants to resist it, her type has pretty much become Rowan.

Rowan with his silver hair, and green eyes. His low voice with it’s lilting accent from across the sea. His skin is tanned too, but she knows it comes from spending hours outside rather than genetics.

She hasn’t thought seriously about another man since they started filming, or more likely since the moment they met in the hallway.

And if she allows herself to admit it, probably a lot earlier than that.

She shakes herself as he watches her.

Rowan smirks at her as he places the bag on the counter. “We’ll have to try not to set this kitchen on fire.”

She’s perched atop her counter, with one knee crossed over the other, as she watches Rowan unpack the items from the bag. He’s shucked off the jacket by now, and the t-shirt he wears gives her uninterrupted access to the image of his toned arms and the tattoo that swirls down his left side.

She realises a moment too late that he’s asked her a question.

“What?”

She can tell Rowan knows why she didn’t respond, she just hopes it’s not too much for him. From the smirk he wears she thinks maybe not.

“I’m trying to teach you a valuable skill, it may help to pay attention.” She flips him off and revels in the dark flash of a smile he offers. “I asked if you have a frying pan.”

Aelin pulls a face, she hasn’t done a lot of cooking here past the basics like pasta and soup. Her microwave has been a trusty companion.

“I don’t know.” She waves a hand to the cupboards that line the side of the room. “Have a look in there.”

He gives her a look that tells her he’s deciding whether or not he likes her giving him orders, but then he turns to rummage through her cupboards before returning triumphant and waving the silver frying pan in her face.

“So, what are you making for me?” she asks as he finds a chopping board and unloads the hoard of vegetables he brought with himself.

“Veggie burgers,” he states simply, and she knows she pulls a face because he laughs. “Before you complain, they’re good for you. And they’re tasty.”

She still wrinkles her nose at him, unconvinced.

He cocks his head as he pauses his rhythmic chopping of the leafy green vegetable he has on the board. She’s trying desperately hard to make eye contact and not just stare at the motion of his hands, and his arms, and the ink swirling down his skin.

“Didn’t I promise not to poison you? Do you not trust me to take care of you?” Aelin doesn’t think she’s reading into things to hear the flirty tone to his voice.

“I’ll let you know after I’ve tried the burger.”

Rowan shakes his head at her, the ghost of a smile floating across his face as he resumes his chopping. “Ye of little faith.”

Aelin just shrugs, making a show of being sceptical by turning her nose.

“You could always help,” Rowan comments. “Or do you regularly invite guests around expecting them to make you a meal?”

“Tell me what to do, chef.” Aelin holds her hands out, ready for instruction. “I am yours to instruct.”

Rowan nods and reaches back into the bag and pulls out a can, he turns to find a bowl and a fork and places them in front of her. She’s impressed that in under half an hour he knows his way around her kitchen far better than she does.

“Mash these,” he says.

Her disgust isn’t pretend this time and her lip curls. “Mash these beans?”

Rowan nods.

“Mash them?”

“Yes, you do know what that means don’t you?”

Aelin hits him with the fork on the bicep and he laughs again, the sound smooth and rich in her stomach. “Shut up. You’re not convincing me this is going to taste good.”

Even so, she opens the can and is about to tip them into the bowl when Rowan grabs her hand. His fingers are warm and solid where they wrap around her own, and she snaps her eyes to his face at the contact.

“Rinse them first. You warned me and yet I still overestimated your ability in the kitchen.”

He’s smiling slightly, exposing the whites of his teeth, and he’s so close to her face. They’re almost level where she sits on the counter and Aelin swallows. His eyes are bright as he looks at her and she feels her smile grow involuntarily. Something flickers across his face before he clears his throat and steps back letting go of her hand. She misses his touch immediately after it’s gone.

Aelin slides off the bench and turns towards the sink to compose herself, she rinses the beans under the tap and Rowan stays silent while she does.

She turns back and tips them into the bowl and begins to mash as Rowan grates a carrot. Aelin really didn’t know her flat even came with these things.

“This is actually fucking disgusting.”

She’s managed to turn the bean mixture into a grey-ish mush. There’s no way this can taste good, she’s going to struggle even putting it in her mouth without retching.

Rowan snorts. “It’s good for you.”

Aelin wrinkles her nose again, but keeps going. It speaks volumes that she’s willing to trust Rowan on this.

It feels weirdly domestic to be here with him in her kitchen, and they move with an easy kind of synchrony. He adds his chopped vegetables to the bowl and she mixes them together as he readies the pan.

“Up for getting your hands dirty?” Rowan asks her once he’s done, and hell if Aelin doesn’t read far too much into that. The answer is yes.

“Always.” Sue her if she makes sure to look up at him through her lashes, and to bend forwards towards him as she rests her forearms on the kitchen counter.

“Grab a handful of the mixture,” He points to the contents of the bowl. “And shape it into a round patty.”

Aelin goes to put her hand tentatively into the bowl, it’s now a grey-ish mush with flecks of orange and green and she’s dreading it getting under her nails.

“Wait,” Rowan says, and he reaches out to roll the sleeves of her sweater up. It’s such a sweet gesture that it kind of takes her by surprise. The gentleness with which he holds her wrist as he rolls the fabric is nice, and she finds herself watching his face as he does it.

His brows pull together, in an expression she assumes is concentration, as he makes the careful motions. He looks good, she notes, not for the first time.

His thumbs and index fingers move down to squeeze the junction where her wrists meet her hands as he finishes and says, “there you go.”

“Thanks,” she breathes.

Aelin turns back to the bowl, attempting to somehow calm her heart. Rowan really needs to stop touching her if she wants to get over whatever this is. But now that he’s here, and he’s looking at her the way he is, and specifying that he wants to spend time with her, just the two of them…

It’s the first time she allows herself to consider that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t something that’s only dangerous. She finally allows herself to consider the idea that this could be fun, this could be something she could really enjoy. And here, in her apartment just the two of them, he doesn’t have to be her boss. He’s just Rowan and she’s just Aelin.

She really likes that thought.

Rowan clicks the pan on, and the sound startles her out of her head. Aelin hesitates before finally plunging her fingers into the mush and gods, she has some faith in Rowan if she’s going to even consider eating this.

It’s gross, but she manages to shape it into two round patties, and she places them into the pan when Rowan instructs.

Aelin washes her hands as Rowan pays attention to the burgers, and she retakes her seat on the counter after sorting out their plates and condiments. She might not be a great cook, but she can be a good host.

She watches him flip them a couple of times, taking the opportunity to ogle without risk of being caught staring. He has strong arms, and the tattoo snaking down his left makes her mouth water with every flex of his muscles. He has wide hands with long, almost elegant fingers that she wants to link through her own. Aelin is reminded, as he lifts the pan, of the thought she had the other day when he was directing Manon.

It wasn’t the first time she had considered Rowan in a sexual way, but it was the most direct, and she’s not complaining, but sometimes it makes it a little difficult to concentrate in his presence.

Finally, he switches the heat off and turns to place the patties in their buns. Aelin has to admit they look a little better now that they’re cooked, but she’s still not convinced.

He presents her with the plate, wearing a bashful little smile, and she’s taken by how adorable she finds it. He’s actually nervous to hear what she thinks.

She slathers it in ketchup, hoping to make it somewhat palatable and lifts it to her lips, about to take a bite when he speaks.

“We’re eating here?”

Aelin pauses, putting the burger back on her plate. “Where else would we eat?”

Rowan shrugs, still holding his own plate. He doesn’t put any ketchup on his and she’s trying not to be disgusted. She taps the bench next to herself, and Rowan seems to deliberate for a moment before finally hopping up at her side. He towers over her again now that they’re on an even playing field and she likes it. She likes how much bigger he is than her, and likes it even more how she still feels safe with him.

“Okay, now go,” he says, still apprehensive of her reaction, and Aelin makes a big deal of taking a deep breath before her first bite.

She chews it all silently before swallowing, working to keep her expression neutral, and Rowan doesn’t look away from her face the whole time. She purses her lips afterwards, and waits for him to speak.

“So?”

“It’s not terrible,” she admits with a small smile creeping up the sides of her mouth.

Rowan quickly takes his own bite, and she watches the way his fingers dwarf the same bun that fills her hands. He hums his own pleasure.

“Not terrible,” he repeats. “Admit it, it’s good.”

She flips a strand of hair over her shoulder before she takes another bite. She was sceptical -- more than -- when it was still a mush, but she has to admit it’s tasty, and very Rowan. She doesn’t know for sure he’s a health nut, but based on the parts of his body that she’s seen and his distaste for all things sweet, she can guess.

“Maybe,” is all she says before taking another bite. He watches her with a smug smile, one she desperately wants to get rid of. It isn’t helpful that the way she wants to do so is by kissing him.

“Oh!” She jumps down from the counter, throwing her plate to the side, suddenly reminded. “You know what I have that would go perfectly with this?”

She grabs two glasses out of the cupboard and sets them down on the bench in between where she’s been sitting and Rowan. Aelin turns to the fridge before pulling out the small bottle.

Rowan groans, and she tucks the sound to the back of her mind. “Aelin,” he starts. “I don’t want any of that.”

“Come on,” she cries. “A milkshake is an essential with a burger and this is the best I have to offer. If I’d thought ahead I could have at least found a bottle of wine to go with the dinner you cooked for me.”

She’s not entirely sure why she said it, especially when she’s pretty sure she’s deduced that he doesn’t drink, and the reason for it, but it feels like an automatic apology that just slips off her tongue whenever she’s in a setting where alcohol could be a presumption.

Rowan’s expression locks down at her comment and she immediately regrets it.

“Um-” she starts but Rowan clears his throat.

“It’s okay,” he says slowly, avoiding her gaze, “I don’t drink.”

“Oh,” Aelin all but whispers, and it surprises her when Rowan lets out a dark huff of laughter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m guessing you know why.”

His voice has a somewhat bitter edge to it that she hates.

“I wasn’t-”

She stops when he finally looks up at her and she sees his expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says again quickly and he only shakes his head and pats the counter at his side.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

There’s something in his eyes that makes her retake her seat at his side and pick her burger back up, taking a bite as he takes a breath.

“It’s not something that usually falls into casual dinner conversation.”

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

It’s something she isn’t sure she realised the importance of at first. The offer of whether to share or not. She fights a desperate war inside of herself every time conversations head down a lane like this. The desire to scream her story from the rooftops squaring off against the desperation to remain closed up where no one will ever know what bubbles just below the surface.

Usually privacy wins. Usually she swallows those words down and stays quiet, keeping this reel of pain and loss and tragedy buried deep within, but here with Rowan, tucked away in the kitchen of her temporary home, the words don’t feel so daunting.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s often something that makes other people feel uncomfortable. They pity the guy with the dead fiancée”—Aelin blinks past the way his voice wavers—“but they don’t want to actually hear about it. I’ll spare you the gorey details but after that I couldn’t bring a drink to my lips again. I’ve never so much as considered it — never wanted to.”

There’s an ache beginning in her chest, and she puts her burger back down on her plate. Rowan hasn’t touched his since his first few bites. She desperately wants to comfort him, wants to place a hand on his shoulder and take the pain away any way she can, but she knows from experience that it can’t be done.

This kind of pain, this grief, is something that can’t be taken away. She lives with her grief and her guilt after Sam every day of her life, and she thinks she will forever. No matter how many therapy sessions she goes to, no matter how many days and weeks and months pass, Sam will always be a part of her. Scrawled across her heart in his messy penmanship.

“I understand,” she says quietly. “More than you’d think.”

This is the moment where she could probably finish, where she could twist the conversation back to Rowan and pat his shoulder sympathetically, or where she could tug it to somewhere new and safe.

But she doesn’t often get opportunities like this, in the dim light and the quiet of her flat where the only other sound is the noise coming from the hood above her cooker. She doesn’t often get to talk about this with someone who truly understands.

All of her friends tried in the months after Sam, and gods bless them they still do, but none of them were as close to Sam as she was. They were upset for Aelin and her loss, not at the loss of Sam. And Rowan, who sits next to her staring at the floor, she thinks he could understand.

His gaze lifts from the floor to meet hers as she begins to speak.

“His name was Sam,” she says and Rowan nods.

“I know.”

Aelin feels her breath leave her chest in a whoosh.

“I saw some of the headlines at the time, Aelin I’m so sorry.”

Her jaw works as she tries to find the words, any words, to respond to that. But she’s shaken. She didn’t think anyone knew, or even noticed, outside of her immediate circle. But then she thinks back to the dinner they shared, the way his gaze had burned into her when the conversation had turned to her break. He knows — he has known — and he gets it.

She shakes her head, composing herself enough to speak. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His lips twist as she repeats his words back to him.

She doesn’t mean to say, “I knew about Lyria too,” but Rowan just nods, breaking their gaze to stare down at where their hands lie beside each other with an expression she can’t read.

Aelin knows she shouldn’t, for any number of reasons, but she reaches out to twine their fingers together atop the marble of her countertop. His fingers are rough and calloused between her own but the thumb he rubs against the back of her hand is gentle and reassuring.

He doesn’t speak, but there isn’t anything Aelin feels the need to say. It’s a kindred kind of silence, one borne of more pain than either of them could bear to speak aloud, and there’s an awful feeling of comfort in it. She knows he’s thinking of Lyria the way she’s thinking of Sam. But there is a part of her mind, a part that’s like a rising sun creeping above the horizon to break the shadow of night, that’s thinking of Rowan too.

Eventually she picks her burger back up again, it’s cold now but she can reluctantly admit it doesn’t taste horrendous. Their fingers stay linked as they each eat single-handedly, building themselves back up to sharing short stories and playful quips.

She’s glad she invited him, her boss or not.

[fluffi]

SARCOLINE SUNSET I: WELCOME HOME, OUTSIDER :: SOOBIN

pairing: soobin x gn!reader, platonic!ot5 x gn!reader genre: fluff, some subjective angst, bits of humor, enemies-to-lovers, childhood friends word count: 4002 event: #summerscape for @kpopscape credit: @enha-woodzies​ for making the gfx for this series! show her some love <3 author’s note: i accidentally deleted this post so here is a rushed reupload. it might not be as good as the original because it isnt proof read as well but i still hope the algorithm picks it up, maybe this’ll be good for the post. Also, the second part will be coming out in 15 days. warnings: people disappearing, mentions of burning and fire (further warnings will be released in the next parts as the story gets darker)

THIS STORY IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION AND DOES NOT DICTATE JAY OR NI-KI’S PERSONAL LIVES AND/OR FAMILY.

part two ->

The blonde stared up at an intricately designed structure in awe, walking forward to touch the sides of it and running his calloused hands up and down its rusted carved wedges. It seemed oddly cliche and unrealistic, but he could feel its story. Every touch of the ceramic pillar provided him with emotion that he couldn’t bring himself to explain.

The sun hadn’t set yet, but he could make out the faint reflection of it settling in the background. The huge pine trees around him were making conversation with each other; their faint whispers and rustles providing peace to his veins.

So entranced in the scenery of such a mystical place, he forgot to watch out for his younger peer. Kicking back into his senses, he nervously called out, “Riki! You there?” His voice, usually strong and boisterous, laced fear today.

“Don’t worry about me Jay, I’m right behind you. Just climbing this fence..and..there!” Riki let out a grunt as he jumped onto the soft grass, looking at his older friend with an innocent grin.

At the sight of his buddy, Jay visibly loosened. It was clear that he didn’t feel safe in this environment, yet felt entranced to it in some way. Riki caught up to him in a quick jog before standing next to Jay, in awe at the magnificent view that they were spectating for the first and possibly last time.

“Is this…the place you were talking about?” Riki was out of breath from running after his peer. He pats the grassy patch below him before slumping onto it, crossing his legs afterward.

Jay took a seat next to him, setting his canvas satchel and leather jacket next to him. “According to the maps and books, this is the right spot. I just want to see if the myth is true.”

Riki clapped his hands in excitement and turned to face Jay. “We’re staying till the sun sets right? I want to see what the carousel looks like at night! This structure is so fascinating. It must be beautiful out here at night.”

“No, we’re walking back as soon as the sun goes down. I do not want to risk being out here at night. People have disappeared from staying too long and I wouldn’t want to worry your mother.”

Riki visibly slumped and turned back in time to see the last drop of orange dip. It was quiet for a while. The singing birds stopped humming their soulful tunes, yet the whispering trees grew louder, their inaudible gossip echoing in the ears of the two boys.

At nine at night, Riki’s mother would call Jay, heeding no response. She would do the same for his parents and his friends. The only piece of information they could provide was that Jay had brought Riki, in his words, to “a magical place”. With no other vital details they could draw from their son’s peers, Jay and Riki’s family agree to call the local police, reporting two missing people: two minors, one last seen in a brown leather jacket, and a taller one tailing alongside him. Both their hairs were dyed in a striking shade of blonde.

Summer’s heat-blasted onto your skin as soon as you stepped out of your sleek white Toyota. It was good to be back, you supposed. Although it was something that not many people would fawn over, you were ecstatic to be home in town.

Leaving at the mere age of sixteen wasn’t easy. After your parents decided that you were too good for a mediocre high school where people cared more about their body count than grade count, they immediately sent you off to a prestigious boarding school in the big city. You were given three days to pack and say goodbye to your friends, the rest of your family, your world. As excited as you were to study in the evolutionary epicenter of technology, you didn’t like how you had almost no say in this decision.

You didn’t return home from high school even after four years of studying at that mentally draining institution. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to come back, you were just so accustomed to life in the big city that it seemed pointless to return to square one. With the rest of the world finally in your grip (or so you thought), you enrolled in a highly expensive university and received a full-ride scholarship.

Perhaps that was your breaking point. Piles of work that could never be cleared must’ve got to your head. No one out there seemed to care about your mental health and well-being. The only reason you were allowed to take a break from the university and return was because of your constant breakdowns that your lecturers called “distracting” and “unethical”. You were hoping that this drop-by in town would give you a physical and mental cleanse.

There was no place as hot as home, from where you had been. The blazing sun scorched onto the road. Carrying baggage by itself was already hard enough, but this heat was immensely torturing. You struggled to carry your belongings while trying to close the car boot at the same time. Oh, a pity. You had just returned home and you were slowly turning into a bundle of disorganization, unlike your previous methodical attitude.

“Need a hand?” A familiar suede voice behind your shoulder sounded like music to your ears as you dropped all of your luggage and turned back to see…

“Taehyun!” Child best friend number one. You were looking at a once-innocent boy with doe eyes who had matured into a fine young man. His hair was dyed platinum blonde and, although younger than you, possessed a flair that was completely unlike his past self. His facial features were more prominent than ever and you wondered if all of your friends had developed as well as he had.

You locked your arms around his neck and embraced him as he took your baggage from you.

“You’re so tall now!” You gasped in awe and looked him up and down.

“Of course I am! A boy has to grow, doesn’t he?”

Speak of the devil(s), four people tagged behind Taehyun, waiting for you to notice their presence. All of them were just as tall (if not taller) than your blonde friend and stood out like a sore thumb. It wasn’t just the height, their hair was also in very...exciting colors.

“Can’t believe you forgot about us just for Taehyun.” Ah, that nasal voice was so recognizable. Choi Yeonjun, second-best friend. You cherished him like he was your secret weapon, a power waiting to be unleashed into your industrial world. Although older than Taehyun, they seemed to be the same height now. You couldn’t tell because his new neon pink hair was waxed slick and puffy which made him look a teensy bit taller than his younger friend. You had seen him around on social media and he was a hair-changing chameleon.

Alongside Yeonjun was Hueningkai, better known as Kai in the friend group. He was the youngest one, constantly babied and spoiled, you could say. He was probably influenced by the rest of his friends too, his hair now in a mossy shade of blonde. 

Poor Yeonjun, you completely disregarded his existence and dashed over to Kai instead, eagerly standing next to him to compare heights. The kid had grown so much, you couldn’t tell if you were contented that he was now taller than you or dejected that you had missed so much when you weren’t around.

“Hey, wait up!” Someone from behind called. With Hueningkai and Yeonjun blocking your view you couldn’t see who that one person walking next to Choi Beomgyu was.

Beomgyu, the last friend who joined the friend group. He was always a comedian and never failed to make your day. Although, he didn’t seem so smiley anymore. You figured that it was school stress and adulting getting the best of him. We all had those days; you regrettably knew them like you knew the back of your hand . Unlike the rest of his friends, Beomgyu’s hair was kept in a natural shade of ivory brown. He had never been swayed by the rest of the crowd.

There were so many things to do, so many people to see. You had missed out on most of your growing: having fun with friends, staying up late at night just to watch the stars, dancing on your balcony. You had missed the people too. The town felt different from when you had left it.

“Soobin! Don’t just stand behind, meet our friend! They just returned from the city, right?” Beomgyu ran over to you before giving you a little squeeze.

Who’s Soobin?

“Hey, I’m Choi Soobin. Twenty-one this year. I moved here a few years ago. You must have left before I showed up.” A simple and concise introduction from the blue-haired man. Maybe he was the root of this hair-dyeing trend in town (pun very much intended), as well as the height trend since he was just as tall, if not taller than the rest of the boys.

You briefly introduced yourself but that was about it. You didn’t know how to create small talk, nonetheless with someone completely unfamiliar to you.

Later that day, you wondered if he had replaced you, become another guardian in the friend group. As one of the oldest, you and Yeonjun were always known as the parents of your three “kids”, but Soobin seemed to take care of them equally well. Throughout the day, you watched his every action, how he helped Beomgyu with homework, how he styled Kai’s hair, how he treated Taehyun to his favorite meal, exactly like what you did when you were still around. For once, you felt like the outsider.

Marshmallow Night had always been a tradition here. It was a five-of-you kind of thing, well, the six-of-you now. It had always been the go-to celebration whenever one of you hit a milestone, or was just held for fun. The days of joy where the only thing you had to worry about was whether your smores were burnt.

It had changed a lot over the years, you guys would add some new events to it and remove the ones you guys outgrew, like hopscotch.

You had missed most of its evolution.

Instead of being the main catalyst for today’s event, you resorted to sitting at the side as Soobin took the lead, carrying tables back and forth as well as setting up the fire in a method that the five of you had never used.

Oh, how much you loathed him. You hated his innocent-looking face that spurred out words of authority and boastfulness. You couldn’t stand how he looked so obnoxious with his bright blue hair, his dark brown eyes that held an impeccable gleam. He looked so cheeky, so mean, and worst of all, he had made all of your friends convert to mini spawns of him. Even Yeonjun, the oldest member, no longer felt like the Choi Yeonjun you once knew.

If you could, you would throw him out of your hometown, except that you seemed to be the outsider here. Anyone who walked past would see five people sitting on a huge log, helping each other light marshmallows and biscuits. They would barely notice the one person hunched over on the other side, sitting on the ground, eyes dazed and uninterested.

Occasionally one of the boys would call out to you, either hand you a s’more or ask if you were alright, to which you responded, “I’m alright! Don’t worry about me, I’m having fun.”

Anyone could also see that you weren’t in the zone, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment and be a party pooper. You ended up spending most of the time scrolling on your phone, checking school emails, and such. It didn’t feel like you were back home, it felt like you were on a vacation, on your own.

The commotion had died down, for the most part. Everyone else was either discussing school gossip in hushed voices or making the most of use of their electronic device. You were tempted to join the little heated conversation that Soobin and Beomgyu were having, but you didn’t know who this ‘Chaeyeon’ girl was and either way, you wouldn’t want to voluntarily speak to Choi Soobin.

It wasn’t long before both of them went to do something else, the only sound prevalent being the wood crackling from the bonfire and the occasional chirp of evening birds.

It was a loud, sucked-in breath that drew the attention of everyone, eyes pinned onto the instigator.

Choi Soobin, once again disrupting the peace of this curated environment. He ducked his head in apology and you were about to return to your world when Kai’s curiosity got the best of him.

“Why did you just do that?” His booming voice resounded over everyone else.

You weren’t going to lie, you were curious too. It wasn’t every day you heard a gasp like that.

Soobin looked back up, eyes wide and awake. He was excited about something but seemed to be masking it for the sake of..suspense?

“Okay. You guys know Yongsam Park right?” He put his phone down and tapped his hands on his thighs in a state of urgency.

Now that statement got everyone’s attention. “It’s the flower place outside our town, everyone passes it when they enter. Of course we would know where the place is. Why are you so adamant about it?” Taehyun inquired.

“Well, have any of you gone inside the park? Or near the landmark in general?”

“No. Why would we? There’s nothing to do there than to take pictures of boring flower statues.” You stated.

“See. You guys don’t know anything about the place.” He smirked tilting his head upwards and proudly crossing his arms.

“Could you cut to the chase and tell us what it is already?” Thank Yeonjun for his smart, impatient mouth.

Soobin didn’t answer and merely flipped his phone so you could see whatever was on it. The only words you could make out were “Yongsam...missing...carnival” and something related to the park before he turned it back, away from your view.

“You can’t just say that we don’t know anything about this place then proceed to give us nothing about it.” You rolled your eyes, disinterested in the conversation once again.

“Fine. I’ll send it to you.” Soobin rolled his eyes back as four of the other boys snickered. They loved seeing the two of you bicker.

In courtesy of Beomgyu who gave Soobin your number (without your consent), you received a news article and skimmed through it with eager eyes:

[WHAT’S THE HYBE?]

YONGSAM PARK CURRENTLY UNDER INVESTIGATION, AUTHORITIES SAY 3 days ago

What’s the deal with Yongsam Park? Insiders say that, although bland and boring, Yongsam Park is currently under high-level investigation for the disappearance of a few citizens. The flower-decorated park is the perfect place to take Instagram-worthy pictures and is quite harmless in itself, so visitors were shocked to arrive at the park only to find it surrounded by heaps of yellow tape.

Yongsam Park was developed by Kim Yongsam, director of My Flowers, a multi-million florist franchise that has now spread to Japan and Taiwan. In a 2015 Interview with the millionaire, he mentioned that he had created the park in the inspiration of the rising ootd picture trend, also known as the outfit-of-the-day trend, which he had initially discovered from his teen daughter. 

“I wanted to create a welcoming park for people of all ages, but I couldn’t find a suitable place to do it without the budget being drastically high. In the end, my team and I found an abandoned site and decided to build a simple structure with lower costs up there. Props to my team for the discovery of this landmark. The scenery there, especially in the evening, is stunning .” He stated in the 2015 interview with Soup Magazine.

What’s the abandoned site? With the evidence that is still standing, Yongsam Park is rumored to have previously been a carnival. Said evidence is a worn-down carousel in the back of the park, along with piles of other burnt carnival decoration and equipment. With research, Yongsam Park’s site may have once been an abandoned carnival that perished from an unknown wildfire. This may have been the primary cause of the drought that ensued in the 80s, leaving only a carousel and ashes behind. When questioned, Mr. Kim said that he had decided to leave the carousel standing behind the park due because he felt ‘drawn by its alluring glow’, as quoted.

Investigators and the local police have only enclosed the flower section of Yongsam Park because that was where the victims were spotted. They believe that disappearances took place there and are currently trying to find evidence to back up their stance. Most of this new information is not known to the public, however, Kim and his team are trying to keep it that way. The current disappearance count is seven people, the most recent case being two high-schoolers.

The carousel is still open and does not require a visitor ticket, but visitors are advised to take precautions and leave before the sun sets.

RELATED

TWO MORE BOYS HAVE DISAPPEARED AT THE NOW INFAMOUS YONGSAM PARK 5 days ago

FAMILY OF TOURISTS DISAPPEAR AT YONGSAM PARK, INSIDERS SAY THIS IS THE SECOND CASE OF DISAPPEARANCE HERE 2 weeks ago

JAPANESE COUPLE DISAPPEAR AT FLOWER PARK, NETIZENS CALL THE NEWS A POLITICAL DISTRACTION 3 weeks ago

“Are you seriously...telling us...that we should visit a place where people have been kidnapped?” Yeonjun gawked. “Dude, that’s so stupid. What if we die or something?”

“Don’t say that! I was just curious if you guys wanted to go since it’s so near and since your old friend is back home.”

“It’s a dumb move. I’m not risking my life just so I can celebrate the return of my friend. Not worth it.” Beomgyu huffed.

“Hey! You’re worth it, right?” Soobin glanced at you, waiting for a response.

He was...defending you? His ulterior motives were questionable and you weren’t sure if he was protecting you because he cared about you (cue the puking) or solely because he wanted to go to Yongsam Park that bad.

You didn’t reply and chose to drown out the wailing and chaos that ensued with your friends. You clicked on a related article below, curious to learn more about this lesser-known part of the park.

[WHAT’S THE HYBE?]

TWO MORE BOYS HAVE DISAPPEARED AT THE NOW INFAMOUS YONGSAM PARK 5 days ago

Park Jongseong (20) and Nishimura Riki (15) mentioned to their friends that they would be heading to ‘a magical place’, before disappearing for around a week. They were last spotted walking through Yongsam Park, according to anonymous witnesses. This is the third case of disappearances at the park and both teens are the sixth and seventh people to go missing.

Both families reported their children missing just two days after their disappearance. With this case being the last straw, local authorities forcibly shut down Yongsam Park despite protests from staff and management.

Parents of the two minors refused to respond when called for an interview and HYBE reporters resorted to interviewing the victims’ friends instead.

“Jay’s never been a bad kid. Yeah, he might be late here and there, but he wouldn’t skip class or fly across the country for vacation during school. I just don’t understand why he’s not here with us. He wouldn’t voluntarily disappear.” Park Sunghoon (19), a friend and classmate of Jongseong (who is better known as Jay among his friends) said.

“Although I’m not close with Jay, I know Riki personally and I know for a fact that both of them wouldn’t run away like that. Why, Riki was gearing up for a dance competition that he’s been excited about all year, and now he’s just gone? Like that? Riki has always been like my little brother, and he’ll always be. I just want him back at my side.” A teary-eyed Lee Heeseung (20) says.

Netizens have been complaining about the lack of coverage on this issue.

“Maybe Mr. Kim spent all his money on covering this story up from the mainstream public. That’s why he had to build the stupid park on an abandoned sketchy site.” An anonymous netizen commented.

Regardless, we’ll be keeping our prayers for Jongseong and Riki, as well as the five other victims, to return home soon.

“...you guys are such wimps.” That was the first thing you heard Soobin say when you tuned in to the conversation again.

How dare he say that? How dare he have the courage to call you, someone who moved out on your own at 16 to live in the big, scary world, a..wimp?

“Look, Choi Soobin. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a wimp. I didn’t say that I wasn’t interested on this trip.” You stand up and blurt out without thinking twice.

The rest of the boys are gawking at you, their mouths open wide in awe and shock. Yes, you weren’t a wimp, that was for sure, but they had known you all their life as someone who could not stand going out into the wilderness. Maybe the big city had really changed you.

“At least someone wants to go! Perfect. We can leave tomorrow at noon, bring your camping stuff!” Soobin grabbed his things and began walking away.

“Camping?” The five of you exclaimed in unison.

Taehyun, the rational member, gasped. “I, personally, wouldn’t mind going to the carousel thing..or whatever it is, but I am not staying the night. Dude, are you nuts?” The rest of you nodded your heads in agreement.

“It says in the article that we are advised to leave before the sun sets.” You point out, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible in fear of breaking this mask of false confidence, when in reality, you were terrified of this place.

Soobin turned back and eyed you down disinterestedly. “Conclusion is that we’ll bring a small backpack, or whatever you guys want to pack, and we’ll stay there until eight. Deal?”

“Seven.” Hueningkai timidly said.

“Whatever you guys want.”

You hadn’t been able to sleep last night. It wasn’t due to fear of the place you were going, rather, you weren’t too excited about having to spend half of your day around Soobin.

What were you going to say to him? You were definitely overthinking at this point.

You know, they always say that the person one hates the most is the one that they also love most. And when Soobin flipped his blue hair back or cheekily smiled, showing his endearing dimples, you couldn’t help but…

No! You loathe Choi Soobin. You couldn’t stand his smile, or his hair, or his height. That evil moonwitch.

“Hey, you ready to go?” Speak of the devil (or moonwitch), you spotted a fluff of blue hair in your peripheral vision.

You couldn’t even muster up the courage to look back at him, merely nodding your head while staring at the white wall.

“Why aren’t you looking at me? Are you...scared?” You could see him wiggle his eyebrows as he made that statement.

That was it. You turned back at him. “Yes I am. I’m absolute terrified. I can’t stand the fact that I have to forcibly spend my precious time around you. It’s like I’m about to voluntarily live a nightmare.”

Woah there, calm down. You had smoke spurting out of your ears at this point.

Soobin’s once excited face fell into one of disappointment. “Yeah, it’s a nightmare having to be around you too. Gosh, the immaturity.” He left the room in haste as your eyes shot lasers through his well-toned back.

Maybe you had gone too far with the insult. He hadn’t been mean to you at all, really.

Then again, he had been mean. He took your place when you weren’t around. Suddenly, you were determined to get it back.

“Hop on the magic school bus!”

“Shut up, Yeonjun.” You deadpanned before leaning your head on his shoulder. The two of you were finally falling back into routine and you couldn’t help but bask in this nostalgia.

You also couldn’t help but notice how Soobin kept on looking through the rearview mirror at the both of you, pupils darting away once you locked eyes with him.

Man, this was going to be a long ride.

2021 © fluffi

[thefallennightmare]

Hard to Love [21/21]

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Words: 1621

Warnings: this story will have mentions of abuse, mental and physical so please read at your own risk. Some swearing, angst, and a good amount of fluff. Maybe some smut if I'm feeling frisky.

Summary: After moving to a new town all on her own, Reader would do anything for a stable job and income. Even if that means housekeeping for one of Boston's eligible bachelors. What she didn't expect was finding herself falling in love with him and finding him out about the past that she was running from.

A/N: I cannot believe the ending is here. I also cannot thank you enough for all the love that you guys have gave this series. I really do appreciate it and love seeing all the comments! Your words of encouragement are what kept me going for this story. I’m so so sad it’s done. 

Lets finish this story with a happy ending! 

Tags: @kelbabyblue @patzammit @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @jennmurawski13 @divadinag @cosmicbreathe @thevelvetseries @capstopavenger @chris-butt @denisemarieangelina @im-a-stranger-thing @jennamarieee623 @introvertedmouse @lharrietg @thejemersoninferno  @breezykpop @instantbasementtimetravel @rodgersteves @michaelscotfield-blog1 @40srogcrs @wonderingshawn @bellaireland1981 @katelyneannxo @lady-x-red @sare-bare93-blog @annmariek8​ @raabrakha​ @stxvercgersslut​

ONE YEAR LATER

“Where’s my cutie pie?!” I shouted, entering the home. 

Four feet trotted down the long hallway from the kitchen to the living room where I stood, hanging up my jacket and bag. Bending at the knees, I allowed all of the kisses and whines of happiness, scratching the furry ears. 

“How’s Dodger doing today?” I cooed. 

He followed me into the kitchen as I searched the fridge for something to ease my stomach. Munching on a piece of cheese, I checked my phone and saw a new message from Chris. 

I’ll be home in a few hours. I’m sorry baby, I didn’t think these interviews would take so long. 

Don’t be sorry! I’ll wait up for you xx. 

The last year, I had grown incredibly; putting everything that happened to me in the past, locking it away. The scars still remained on my body but I never let it affect me. Chris would always make sure he showed extra love to them, telling me that he loved the way I look. 

The first time Chris had to leave for work was a couple of months after everything and it was hard to get adjusted to sleeping in the bed alone but Dodger was the best replacement, keeping me safe every night. Chris tried to turn down movie roles but I quickly shot that down. I wouldn’t let him lose out on a possible great job because I missed him. 

I ended up seeing the live video he posted when I was missing and the amount of outpouring coming from his friends and fans also helped me heal. There were a good amount of people who at first weren’t happy that Chris was in a loving relationship but eventually, when he kept posting pictures of us on Instagram, they got used to it. 

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I saw a new message appear from Chris. 

Our weekend starts in less that two hours. I can’t wait to be alone with you. 

I smiled fondly at the message. 

The past couple weeks were filled with either him working almost every day or me continuing my schooling. We had his family and friends over a few times last week as well so we were practically begging the Gods above for some alone time. 

Which is why this weekend we had zero plans, just the two of us in our home. 

And Dodger. 

“OH COME ON!” Chris yelled at the T.V. 

A giggle erupted from my throat from my spot on the couch, my feet placed in his lap, as we watched the football game. 

Our weekend together was coming to an end, school for me and another press conference for Chris’ upcoming movie tomorrow, meant that reality was about twelve hours away. We spent the weekend in multiple different rooms of the house, our moans vibrating off the walls. 

I’ve had sex more in this weekend than I had in my entire adult life. 

Now, we were exhausted, so we decided to spend the rest of our Sunday in our lazy clothes on the couch; Chris wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweats and I ended up stealing his shirt and a pair of his boxers. 

Even though his eyes were transfixed on the game, he still made an effort to show me attention by rubbing the soles of my feet. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at this man in front of me. He let his beard grow this weekend, too lazy to shave it, which I didn’t complain one bit. The red marks on my thighs from earlier were an indication of that. His hair was short because he decided that he needed to buzz it last night; he was sick of it getting in his face. 

I marveled at the way the muscle in his jaw tightened when I rubbed my feet into his lap, purposely pressing into his soft cock. 

“If you keep that up, I’ll miss the last half of the game,” he threatened in a low voice. 

“But I’m horny!” I whined, lifting my shirt up and over my head. “Please?” 

I pinched my hard nipple between my fingers, hoping that would be enough to get him on top of me. 

It was. 

I yelped when Chris pulled my ankle towards him, his body on top of mine in seconds. His gold chain was dangling in front of my face as I looked up to him, our chest rising with heavy breaths. 

“So naughty,” he muttered against the crook of my neck. 

“Enough small talk and fuck me already, Evans,” I purred into his ear, fingernails digging into his bare back.

I couldn’t help but gnaw nervously on my bottom lip, tasting a bit of blood, while I paced the floor of our bedroom. Chris was out running errands but with the text I sent him, I knew that he would be on his way home asap. 

Can you come home please? I have to talk to you. 

My hands shook with nerves, feeling my cardigan being weighed down with the pressure that was in the pocket. I couldn’t help but worry about what Chris’ reaction would be. We never talked about this and I didn’t know if this would be what broke our relationship. 

“Y/N?” 

Hearing his voice, I made my way down the stairs and into the living room where he sat with Dodger on the couch. 

“Hey, everything alright?” He asked. 

I nodded and sat across from him. “Yeah, I think so.” 

He knew in the way my knee bounced and sucked in my bottom lip that whatever I had to talk to him about made me nervous as hell. Placing a hand on my knee, he gave me a warm smile. 

“Tell me,” he begged gently. 

Words were so foreign to me, not knowing exactly how to say it, so instead I handed him what was in my pocket. 

“I know we haven’t talked about it much but I couldn't not tell you. I mean you deserve to know. If you’re angry I understand. I’m confused too on how this happened,” I rambled. 

Chris didn’t hear a word I had spouted, his eyes trained hard on the stick in his hand with the two solid pink lines. 

“You’re pregnant?” His mouth twitched. 

I nodded and handed him my phone that held an email from the doctors office, confirming the pregnancy. Yesterday morning while Chris was out with his mom, I secretly had an appointment. 

“The doctor says I’m about six weeks,” I spoke softly. 

I was unsure of what his reaction would be, his gaze still stuck on the pregnancy test in his hand. 

Dodger knew something was different, sniffing the test in Chris’ hand. 

Finally after what felt like forever, Chris looked into my eyes and his mouth curved into a smile. 

“We’re having a baby?” 

The smile he had was a giant one, where you could almost count all of his teeth as he smiled down towards Dodger, showing him the sonogram on my phone as if Dodger could tell what he was looking at. 

The joy in his voice brought tears to my eyes. 

“You’re happy?” I asked. 

His hands snaked around my waist, pulling me into his lap. “I’m fucking ecstatic.” 

Our lips met in a rushed kiss, his hand finding its place on my stomach. His forehead rested against mine and his eyes shone with so much love that my heart leaped into my throat, knowing that his reaction was the complete opposite of what I was prepared for. 

“Stay here,” He mumbled against my lips in another kiss. 

I waited patiently as he rummaged for something in the desk of his office and he returned, hand behind his back. 

“I was saving this for when we went away next month but I don’t think I can wait.” He spoke before handing me a small box. 

A small velvet box. 

I gasped, watching him get down on one knee, and pried open the box. Inside was a gorgeous oval cut diamond on a plain gold band. The sunlight from outside had caught the ring in a warm glow of light. 

“This isn’t the most romantic idea of a proposal but I don’t want to wait any longer to ask you this. I first met you in this room when you came to work for me and in that moment I knew I wanted you; I needed you in my life. Y/N, you know I love you so fucking much. You have changed my life in so many ways and now we’re having a baby. You’re having my baby and somehow I love you even more. Y/N, will you marry me?” The tears welled in his eyes and he blew out a shaky breath. 

“Fuck yes!” I cried, hormones causing my eyes to pour tears down my cheeks. 

After he slid the ring on my finger, he picked me up with ease as he walked us towards our bedroom so we could celebrate the rest of our lives. 

I couldn’t believe how much my life had changed in two years since I first drove up to this house, nervous about what the job was that I had an interview for. I never imagined that I would face my past again, not letting it define who I was anymore. And I definitely never thought I would find someone who would love me with his whole entire heart and soul, knowing how hard to love I was. But he did; Chris vowed to me that night in hushed moans that he loved me then and forever. 

Along with the baby I was growing in my stomach; our baby. 

AND FIN!

[babyjamiebarnes]

Build-A-Bear

Part Two

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Peter Parker (platonic), background MCU characters

Warnings: [chapter] language; [series] language, smut, violence

Summary: The only people who knew she was actually a Stark were her dad, her step-mom Pepper, and her “uncles” Happy and Rhodey. A promotion within Stark Industries takes her from an already-sought after position in the Weapons Anaylsis Unit straight to the Avengers as a Weapons Enhancement Specialist... which means her dad is her new boss. There’s only one rule at work: no fraternizing with coworkers. There’s one more rule at home: no dating any Avengers. So what is she supposed to do when a grumpy super soldier becomes not-so-grumpy around her? At 25, do her dad’s rules still apply? Or is her entire livelihood at risk?

Author’s Note: This one was gonna be super short but I felt bad so it’s super long instead lol. I originally planned on posting shorter chapters more frequently so it might be closer to 3-4 days between parts now that I’m posting longer chapters. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I’ve never done a tag list before so I’m going to keep the limit pretty small. And if you want, you can buy me a coffee! ❣️

(Part One)

Tags: @kennedywxlsh

About an hour later, a light knock on the lab door drew your eyes from your work to Bucky as he walked in. Peter’s eyes darted up but immediately looked back down when he realized the visitor was for you.

“Hey Bucky,” you smiled. He smiled back and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“So… you wanted to see my arm?” he said, more as a question than a reminder.

“Yeah, if you could sit right here, that’d be perfect.”

He did as you asked and took a seat on a lab chair, letting you lean across the lab table toward him so you could fiddle with his prosthetic arm. You quickly grabbed your magnifying glasses, flipping the magnifiers up so you could examine him at face value first.

After a few minutes of looking at the outer plating and sensory receptors, you pulled away.

“Can you feel with this arm?” you asked.

“I can feel pressure but I can’t actually feel with it.” You gave him a confused look, only sort of piecing together what he meant. As he fumbled over his words to explain again, you put your glasses to the side, running around to Bucky’s side again to stand in front of him.

“Okay, this might be weird but it’ll really help me. Hold your hands out, palms up.” He did as you said. “I’m going to do the same thing to both arms and then I want you to show me, using just your right arm, how it felt on each one, okay?”

Bucky nodded and watched as your fingertips gently glided over his forearms, leaving goosebumps in your wake. The second time, you brushed your palms against his skin, as if you were brushing away crumbs. The final time, you scratched your nails down his right arm, making him take in a sharp breath as he watched the skin of his arm turn a pale pink. His left arm, however, kept catching your fingernails between the plates so you resorted to scratching across instead of down.

“Okay, now show me.” You flipped both of your arms over, palm up.

Using just his flesh arm on your right arm, he grazed his fingertips over your skin, admittedly sending a shiver down your spine. You didn’t even consider how weak that touch usually makes you, especially from someone who looks like that. And you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t find him attractive before you even graduated college. You and your roommates were guilty of many nights of fuck-marry-fight with the Avengers as your victims.

When your gaze moved up to meet his, he brushed his hand over your arm, then delicately scratched his nails down your arm.

If it hadn’t been for the slight hum of machinery across the room, you’re sure Bucky would’ve heard your heart beating out of your chest.

Dad would literally kill me if he knew the thoughts going through my head right now, you thought.

“Okay,” you started, pausing briefly to clear your throat. “What about what your left arm feels?”

This one made him furrow his brows, either in concentration or confusion. He pushed his fingertips against your skin harder than before and moved them down your arm. He used more pressure again with the second movement, then went back to heavy fingertip pressure for the scratches.

“Hm,” you said simply, letting your arms drop to your sides again. “So you feel the weight of the touch but not the sensation that comes with it?” The confusion in his eyes made you rephrase. “So this on your right arm —“ you ran your fingers down his flesh arm again, “gives you goosebumps, but this on your metal arm —“ you repeated on the left, “is just a weight, no shiverbugs?”

“Shiverbugs?” he repeated with a barely noticeable smile.

“Goosebumps! Sorry. Shiverbugs is something my grandma used to say. Sometimes I slip into the family slang,” you chuckled. Bucky’s smile grew a bit at the sound of your laugh.

“Yeah, I only feel that on the right arm. No shiverbugs with the left.”

You jokingly scrunched your nose at him before returning to your previous seat. He stood there as you scribbled down notes on how he feels things and your immediate thoughts on how to make it more real for him.

“Is there anything you want done to your arm?”

Bucky seemed slightly taken aback at the question, but quickly steeled his expression. “I know Tony wanted to make it quieter,” he said.

You pushed your glasses up your nose and leaned your elbows on the table between you. You could tell he was still pretty reserved, either because you were new and he didn’t feel comfortable around you, or because he didn’t feel comfortable in the tower as a whole yet.

“I know what Tony wants,” you said gently. “What do you want?”

He frowned at this, turning his eyes to the floor as he thought. After a beat, he finally said, “I just want it to feel real again.”

And you could’ve cried right then and there. You knew the story of the Winter Soldier. You had heard what Bucky had been through. You couldn’t imagine going through anything close to what he experienced, and you’d be damned if you let him down.

But you couldn’t cry in front of him on your first day, so you smiled at him softly.

“That’s not an easy feat but I’ll do what I can, Barnes.”

He smiled briefly before frowning again. That frown seemed to be his default expression.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked.

“Not right now. Thanks for helping me out,” you replied. He just nodded before walking out. Your eyes stayed on the door for an extra couple seconds before you spun around on your seat and scurried across the room to plop down next to Peter, who was packing his stuff to head home for the day.

“Hey, Boy Wonder, question.” Peter looked at you with raised eyebrows. Nicknaming ran in the family. “Want to use that biomolecular engineering and help me with something?”

•••

Nearly every day when you stopped in the kitchen for lunch, you’d run into Bucky. Sometimes he’d be with Sam, sometimes Steve, sometimes on his own. But almost every single day, he’d be in the common room chatting or the kitchen eating. For the first couple weeks, he was a little tense when you were around. You’d hear him and Sam bickering as you approached, just to see him quiet down once you entered the room. It was a bit disheartening at first, but when it was just the two of you, he always engaged.

You’d called him into the lab a couple times to look over his arm again, but you always felt bad taking him away from whatever training or cases he was working on. The digital renderings were always there, and you spent plenty of time digging into those and running simulations of the different ways you could muffle the wiring. And it’s a good thing you ran the simulations, because a couple of them would’ve fried his whole arm and then some.

Peter was a great help too. When he wasn’t working on his own projects, he’d poke his nose into your work and throw out recommendations. Robotics may have been your specialty, but the kid knew his stuff. He’s the only reason you finally figured out the perfect combo to quiet Bucky’s arm without knocking him out.

Nearly four weeks after your first day — and a week after Peter went back to campus, leaving you alone in the lab — you cornered Bucky in the communal kitchen again and turned on your classic Stark charm.

“Hey Bucky,” you said sweetly, leaning over the counter across from him while he tossed fruit into a blender.

“Hey [Y/N].”

You’d grown a bit more comfortable with each other, mainly from when you two were left alone. He still was a bit quieter with one of his friends around, but he was growing more talkative in general. You felt comfortable tossing nicknames at him; he felt comfortable saying “hey” instead of “hi” and once gave you your own nickname. Since you called him Bucky Bear a time or two, he called you Build A Bear. He almost looked panicked when it slipped, but your initial shock was quickly followed by giggles, easing the tension in his shoulders. But the feeling that name sent to your stomach felt more like bats than butterflies. He even joked with you now.

“So I’ve been looking at the blueprints we have for your arm and I was wondering — I know this is a lot to ask — could I maybe spend some more time digging around in your arm?” You flashed him a hopeful smile, even propping your chin on your hand to look cuter.

Before he answered, he put the lid on the blender and started it, staring at you blankly as the sound filled the entire room. You just sat there, continuing to smile at him. And the more you fluttered your lashes while he let the blender run, the more you could see his frown-y facade start to crack.

He finally broke into a smile when he shut the machine off.

“You don’t have to ask, [Y/N]. I mainly train in the mornings so my afternoons are free. As long as I’m here, you can call me in whenever.”

You jumped up and ran around the counter, giving him an unexpected hug, made obvious by the way he tensed up. You elected to ignore it.

“You’re the best, Bucky Bear.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, gently pulling away from you to pour his smoothie into two glasses. “I just have one stipulation.” You looked up at him expectantly. “Take the rest of this? I, uh, I made a bit too much.”

With a laugh, you grabbed the nearly full glass and led him down the halls to your lab. Since Peter was only coming back one weekend a month, you had kind of taken over the lab, adding some color to make your workspace a little less drab. Your guilty pleasures playlist — aka your favorite middle school dance songs — played quietly over the speakers as you directed Bucky to sit down.

Getting into his arm wasn’t the easiest task. You had to pry off the opening of each individual outer plate, then unscrew — yes, with a screwdriver — the covering on the inner plates to actually see the wiring inside. Fortunately, Bucky brought his phone with him so he could occupy himself and let you focus. You were a bit surprised at how easily he understood modern technology, but he wasn’t quite the old man Steve was when it came to the changing times.

After spending a solid 10 minutes leaning over the lab table to open Bucky’s arm, you poked around inside for a while, jotting down notes as you went. Shuri had sent Tony quite a few notes for you to reference, but seeing everything firsthand and taking your own notes always helped.

Unfortunately, Bucky had two removable sections in his arm: one on his forearm, one in his bicep.

“Scale of one to ten, how comfy does the table look?” you asked.

Bucky looked up from his phone and gave you a confused look. “Uh, maybe a two? Why?”

“Well, Buckaroo, I need to get to the top plate too so you’ll have to either hold your arm up for me to get to it or lie down somewhere.”

He glanced back down at the table, then looked at you in confusion as he voiced his own suggestion. “What about the couch in the common room?”

You tapped your nose and pointed at him with a smile, gathering your supplies and the rest of Bucky’s arm. He led the way, lying flat on the couch and raising his left arm over his head.

“Is it okay if I play more music out here?” you asked as you unloaded everything.

“Sure. I should probably catch up on modern music anyway,” he said with a soft smile. You had Friday play your guilty pleasures playlist again while you got to work on opening up the top of Bucky’s arm.

You’d been poking around for almost 20 minutes when the silence was broken.

“Music nowadays is so sexual,” Bucky said suddenly.

“Hm. What makes you say that?” you asked, only half paying attention as you drew up more stream-of-consciousness notes on the coffee table beside you.

“This song.” You paused and immediately recognized the beat for “Candy Shop” by 50 Cent.

“Oh come on, as if you didn’t have any inappropriate songs in the ‘40s,” you scoffed.

“Of course we did but it was never this blatant! We were more subtle back then,” Bucky defended.

“Bro,” you deadpan. “If you think ‘Candy Shop’ is obvious, you have way more catching up to do. Friday, play ‘WAP’ by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion.”

You watched Bucky react as the song started. Even the initial “there’s some whores in this house” made his eyes go wide. At “wet ass pussy make that pull out game weak,” he turned to you, beet red in the face.

“What kind of music do you listen to?!”

“This is a popular song!” you laughed. “We have some obviously sexual songs that aren’t quite as… vulgar too. Friday, play ‘T-Shirt’ by Thomas Rhett.”

Bucky eyed you cautiously this time, not quite sure if you were actually playing a more censored song. He visibly relaxed when he heard the first lyrics, “Get off of work and we meet down at our spot. We got a patio with a view of a parking lot.”

“See, this is already so much better.”

“Don’t act so innocent,” you smirked, rolling your eyes at him.

“That sounds like an accusation,” Bucky laughed.

“Oh, it is.”

“Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?” He sat up to face you directly, one leg landing on each side of your body sitting on the floor. His posture combined with his playful conversation had you wondering where this confidence came from. Because you definitely liked it.

“Come on,” you scoffed. “You can’t convince me a face like that,” you pointed directly at him to emphasize your point, “wasn’t making panties drop left and right back in the day.”

He shook his head and laughed to himself, leaning back on the couch, yet made no move to deny your accusation.

“Who would’ve known my sweet little Bucky Bear was a player?” you joked.

“Oh, like you’re not the same way, Build A Bear.”

“Excuse me?!” you squealed. “I’ll have you know I’m a good little Christian girl and I’m saving myself for marriage,” you said with a grin, maneuvering from sitting on your butt to kneeling and clasping your hands together like you were praying.

“You’re a lot of things, [Y/N]. A good liar is not one of those things,” Bucky smirked.

Your mouth fell agape. You liked this confident, playful side of him. You’d only seen glimpses until now.

“What’s your number?” you asked, dropping your hands to your sides.

“Uhh… My phone number?”

“No, your sexual body count,” you laughed, making sure to clarify; former assassins probably have a different interpretation of ‘body count.’ “How many people have you slept with?”

You knew it was a personal question but given the topic of conversation and casual tone you’d both taken on, it didn’t seem totally out of bounds.

Bucky thought for a second, slowly counting on his fingers. Your eyes watched as the slender metal digits flicked up: one, two, three... “Four.”

“Yeah, okay,” you scoffed.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Bucky said with a laugh.

“Because that’s my body count.”

“Doll, I took plenty of dames out on the town, but I’d leave the night with a kiss and nothing else,” he said, that old school Brooklyn lilt sneaking up on him.

You sighed and shook your head, still not believing him but choosing to let it go for now.

“Give me your arm,” you said, holding your hand out. Bucky let his arm drop into your hand while you picked up a microchip with a needle-thin pair of tweezers. “This will adhere to the vibranium and essentially act like a pillow to muffle the sounds of your arm. So it’ll still make noise — I can’t just get rid of all sound — but it’ll be notably quieter.”

You tucked the chip under the inner plating of Bucky’s arm, watching as it sparked over the metal to let you both know it was working.

“Now lie back down so I can put you back together, Humpty Dumpty,” you said.

Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, but leaned back on the couch with his left arm over his head. After 15 minutes of angling the plating just right so it would fit back together, you climbed off the couch, distancing yourself from Bucky for the first time in nearly four hours.

“Anything else I can help the mad scientist with today?” Bucky asked. He had moved to rest his elbows on his knees, looking up at you from his spot on the sofa.

You checked your watch to see how much time you had left in your workday. 4:15. Forty-five minutes until you can clock out for the weekend. Not quite close enough to bullshit through some dumb side project so you don’t get too invested. But there’s one thing you wanted to check out to improve the feeling in Bucky’s arm.

“Can you take your shirt off?” you asked plainly.

Bucky’s eyes went wide for half a second before he slipped back into his playful demeanor. “Shouldn’t you take me on a date first?”

“Shut up,” you giggled. You giggled. “I just want to see how the arm is connected to your torso.”

Without pause, Bucky leaned forward, grabbed the back of his shirt, and tugged it over his head to let it fall to the floor. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t consider what he’d look like underneath his clothing, so it took you a second to gather your bearings again. You couldn’t help yourself. How could you not admire the slender lines of his collarbones, the thick layer of muscle covering his chest, the distinct ridges on his abdomen speckled with scars, the very tip of what you could only assume were two tantalizing depressions leading right to —

“Like what you see, doll?” he smirked.

Your eyes met his, reluctantly pulling away from what you knew would be the source of your dreams tonight.

“Four, my ass,” you mumbled in fake annoyance, kneeling between his thighs again to get a better look at him. Your fingertips trailed along the smooth line of scarred skin bordering the harsh metal of his arm. It took all your willpower to focus on work instead of the heat his body was radiating being so close to each other. “Was this how, you know, they put your arm on?”

Bucky shook his head, his expression growing sullen at the indirect mention of his tormentors. “They just kind of dug away at it. The Wakandans actually cut away a bit more of my skin to allow for healthier healing.”

You could tell it was carefully done, judging by the faint discoloring and thin ridge alongside the metal, as opposed to angry red lines that protruded out like the photos Shuri sent.

“Does this area hurt?” You pressed your hand flat to the scar; Bucky had to try to reign in his heartbeat. You had leaned in close to see his arm, leaving you close enough for him to just dip his head down and —

“What’s going on here?”

Both of you whipped your heads to the side to see a very confused — and slightly annoyed — Tony standing in the entrance to the common room, clearly just passing by and stumbling on a somewhat compromising situation: his daughter on her knees between a shirtless Winter Soldier’s thighs.

Without taking your eyes off your father, you reached around on the coffee table and grabbed your notebook.

“Research! I promise!”

“Research that couldn’t happen in your designated lab?” You could tell there was so much more he wanted to say, but had to keep it to himself for now to avoid telling Bucky who you really were.

“I had to open the compartment in his tricep area and didn’t want to make him lie down on the lab tables for three hours.” The accusatory glare from your dad made you shrink into yourself, your voice growing quieter as you spoke. Fridays were family dinner night, and you already knew you wouldn’t hear the end of this.

“Uh-huh,” he said slowly, still eyeing you and Bucky suspiciously. “And why did he need to be half naked for that?”

“Da — Tony,” you said, barely catching yourself. “I mean, Mr. Stark. I was examining the scar tissue and spinal connection to determine how to enhance the sensory receptors currently embedded in the vibranium.”

Tony’s eyes flitted between you and Bucky. Your eyes were wide, clearly nervous as he grilled you. Bucky, on the other hand, was flushed pink and leaning a little too close for Tony’s comfort.

“Keep this PG from now on, okay? And no working outside of the lab. This is Stark Tower, not Bezos Tower. We’re not gonna work you to the bone.” He started to walk away before stepping back and adding, “No fraternizing with coworkers, remember?”

With a quick nod, you stood abruptly and gathered your things to take it back to your lab for the night. Bucky was quick to slip his shirt back on and followed you with his head down to avoid the burning gaze of your father — or as far as he knew, his boss.

You didn’t expect Bucky to go back to your lab with you, but part of you was glad he did. Being around him brought you a sense of calm and comfort, even after what just happened. If he had just walked away, you’d assume the worst: that an accusation like that was far from what he wanted to hear.

You set all your things back on your table to start putting them away when Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat.

“Sorry about that,” he said. You spared a quick glance at him, seeing the tension in his shoulders as he chose his words carefully.

“Why?” you asked, genuinely confused on how that situation was somehow his fault.

“Tony… he doesn’t really like me much.”

“Yeah, I know,” you laughed. “But that was way more of a me-problem than a you-problem. We’ll just have to work in here from now on.” You shrugged and went back to putting your tools in their respective drawers.

Bucky still stood right inside the doorway, the door shut behind him so no one outside could hear you two. He rocked back and forth on his feet, trying to force himself to follow through with at least mentioning what he planned on asking you.

“I was actually gonna see if you wanted to get dinner together sometime until Tony gave us that speech,” he chuckled.

You slid the final drawer shut and turned to Bucky. You knew you two were getting closer and you couldn’t deny feeling an attraction to him, but you never expected him to feel that same pull. The thought made you smile back at him while he cracked his knuckles, most likely from nerves. What happened to that fun and flirty attitude he had just a few minutes ago?

Your grandma always said to never date a man who wasn’t nervous about asking you out...

“I’m pretty good at keeping secrets,” you said quietly.

His eyes stopped darting around the room to find your gaze. You stepped closer, taking slow steps as you crossed the room to him until you were toe to toe. He didn’t take his eyes off of you until you held your phone out to him.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” you said with a small smirk.

His lips curled into a small smile as he snatched your phone and entered his number.

“I’ll text you my address. Does tomorrow night work?” you asked, unintentionally biting your lip but not missing the way Bucky’s eyes followed the movement.

“Tomorrow sounds great,” he replied.

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Buck.” You took a bit of a risk and stood on your tip toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, his face immediately flushing red. Your own cheeks grew warm when you stepped back, tossing Bucky a quick wave as you turned back around and hoping he’d leave before you started screaming.

[simonsrosebud]

the one where someone doesn’t know who kevin day is, pt. 2

part one three four five

dalton’s apartment becomes a common occurrence over the next month.  kevin kisses dalton into the couch cushions, and then the bed.  and this one time it’s almost the same, except dalton interrupts.  “oh, hey, i’ll be at your game tomorrow- ah,” he breathes as kevin kisses down his neck.

kevin doesn’t like that.  no- he likes that, that dalton is willing to see him  do what he loves and all, but not that he told him right now.  because now he has to stop what he’s doing and explain.  explain that he’s pretty fucking famous in the exy world, that his mother is the creator of the sport, that he’s kevin day- what that entails.

but dalton takes it surprisingly easily.  he thinks it’s because he’s not invested in the sport in the way almost everyone else kevin knows is and just doesn’t get it, or maybe because he actually likes kevin for kevin and just doesn’t care about his past and the weight of his name.

because after kevin’s done dalton kisses away his frown and climbs onto his lap.  “don’t worry, hot shot, you’re still just a history nerd to me.”

kevin upgrades dalton and his friend to his family seats.  his friend seems to know exactly who he is when he goes up to them before warm ups, and by the guys face kevin realizes that dalton definitely didn’t tell his friend who they’d come for.

kevin hugs dalton.  “i’m not out yet,” he whispers.  “otherwise i’d kiss you.”

dalton grins like a child.  “later.”  he shrugs.

andrew mocks him in the car to fox tower after their win.  “invite your boyfriend?”  and he freezes.  “fuck you for thinking i’m an idiot.”

kevin thanks god that nicky rode with matt.  aaron and neil both look at him, though.  “you’re dating someone?”  neil will never not be oblivious.  aaron just sneers.

kevin stays quiet.  he should’ve known better from andrew, after all.  but he pulls out his phone.  come pick me up?

be there in 30, we're walking home from the stadium LOL

it's enough time to go hang out with the rest of the team and the vixens in the lounge, dan would kill him if he didn't show at all.  but he must lose track of time because eventually the door opens and instead of another fox it's dalton.  it's not enough to pause conversations, even though kevin is sure they all at least notice.

when kevin follows him out dalton knocks shoulders with his and smiles.  “are you drunk?  i noticed they were drinking.”

“no.  i’m um, i’m-i’m four months... sober.”

dalton is a pure angel because he smiles at kevin as he drives.  “that’s good, kev, i’m proud of you for that.”  and he doesn’t make him explain, or ask questions.  he takes it at face and lets it go, and it makes kevin want to bask in the feeling he gets from it.  it’s a different kind of trust than he’s used to.

he texts andrew that he’s not coming home for the night.  as soon as they get inside dalton’s place he has his lips on kevin’s.  “looked really hot tonight,” he mumbles and lets kevin walk him backwards towards his room.  “wish you still had your uniform on.  so strong,” and squeals when kevin picks him up.

“stop talking, d”

the next morning dalton drops him off at the stadium for training.  he doesn’t see anyone else there, so he lets dalton grab his face and kiss him before climbing out with a smile.

it fades when he sees nicky and allison staring at him as they exit the stadium.  he forgot it was therapy week for the team.

kevin freezes up.  nicky’s grinning, and allison continues walking to her car.  “wait!”  nicky wiggles his eyebrows when kevin grabs his arm.  “for once in your life, nicky, please don’t tell anyone.”

and it’s weird, because nicky kind of loses his smile.  “are you gay?  or bisexual?”

shrug.  “second.”

“are you serious about not telling people?  you’re obviously not out yet.”  kevin nods, and nicky smiles.  “i won’t tell.  i can keep secrets, you know, when they matter.”

kevin looks to allison, who looks to nicky.  “we’ve all noticed you hanging out with that guy lately.  if a bet about you two boning comes up we’re splitting the pot.”  nicky nods.  “secrets safe with me, then.”

kevin doesn’t tell them that andrew and neil know.  allison’s stubborn and he’s lucky he got her to keep her mouth shut on the first try.

he’s still moody during practice, though.  on their way back, andrew drives right past fox tower and to dalton’s apartment.  kevin doesn’t even realize until the car stops.  “what are-“

“get out.  you’re not allowed back until your mood is gone.”  and kevin could just walk back.  it’s only a fifteen minute walk, honestly, but he doesn’t really want to.  he wants dalton to wrap his body around him so he can take a nap and he wants to just hug him.  he’s realized over time that he’s been incredibly touch starved, and he’s become a fan of bear hugs.

he could feel himself distracted during practice, worrying himself over if he should tell the public that he’s bi to get ahead of it and worrying over what he and dalton are.  if it’s going in a direction that would even give him reason to come out.

so when dalton lets him in with a smile at the unexpected visit, kevin kind of falls into his arms and hugs him.  “can you hold me.”  it’s a different type of vulnerability, but dalton takes it with grace.

and eventually, when dalton’s lying on him with a hand in his hair, he asks, “do you wanna be my boyfriend?”

kevin snaps his head to look at him.  he runs his hand up dalton’s bare back.  “i’ve never been in a real relationship before.  my last one... she was toxic for me.”  triggering would be more accurate.

“that’s okay,” he whispers, his hand slides down to kevin’s face and he drags his thumb down his lip.  “just want you, kev.”

it’s the first time he thinks he’s ever heard something along those lines, and it hits so deep.  he rolls over dalton and kisses him into the mattress.

the foxes have a field day with it.

kevin doesn’t tell them, but he realizes two weeks later that allison was right when she guessed about them starting bets, and it doesn’t help when kevin brings dalton back to the suite only to find the upperclassmen and cousins all spread out on the couches and floor- minus renee and aaron.  he freezes and starts to walk backwards but andrew steps in front of him.  “stay.”

“why.”  but andrew doesn’t answer because he’s already said his piece, and kevin almost ignores him until neil pulls the vice captain card and forces him to stay.

kevin wants to hit him.

“it’s fine, kev,” dalton practically pulls him to the group.  dan greets him first and introduces herself.  “we’re playing never have i ever, drinking edition, if you wanna play, but you’ve got to drink for kevin, too”

and dalton’s wanted kevin’s friends to like him ever since he first saw them, so he doesn’t really want to say no.

“this is a bad idea.  they don’t play nice,” kevin says to dalton.  and he’s right.  the foxes don’t really play the game right, and all they do is go for each other.

kevin starts.

never have i ever payed a guy to knock me out:  neil takes a drink with murder in his eyes.  andrew’s behind him and flicks the back of his head.  he isn’t playing, but he’s not letting neil get wasted without being close by.  and also, he kind of lives there.

never have i ever gone to a peaceful exy banquet:  no one drinks, and for some reason it makes them all burst into laughter.

never have i ever done cracker dust:  dan says that one with a drunk pointed look.  the cousins, neil, and dalton for kevin all drink.

never have i ever had a panic attack over getting a phone:  neil

never have i ever kissed the same gender:  neil, nicky, allison, dalton takes two swigs.

never have i ever dated someone outside of exy:  nicky and dalton for kevin.

never have i ever broken a bone:  kevin, matt, aaron

broken a hand:  kevin

witnessed kevin having a meltdown:  everyone

lived with my dad for two years without telling him he was my dad:  kevin shoots daggers at allison.  dalton drinks for him.

had to get shitfaced to get a tattoo:  kevin

sent neil to west virginia:  kevin

seen kevin’s real smile:  dalton, neil

dated kevin:  dalton.  it settles a few bets all at once.

given kevin a blowjob:  dalton laughs before taking a drink, but that’s the last straw for kevin.  he’s sober as all hell and not letting them take the piss out of him and dalton like this.  “we’re leaving.”  he pulls dalton up.

dalton has an arm around his shoulders and his head ducked by kevin’s.  “s’fun, hm?”

kevin’s not having it.  it was not fun and he had reasons he didn’t want dalton meeting the foxes yet and the whole thing was fucked over because neil pulled the VC card and dalton was too nice to decline it.

neil says, in french.  “you knew he’d find out at some point”

kevin is furious.  “none of you had the right pulling the shit you did tonight.  i’ll fucking kill you.”  and he grabs dalton by the waist to escort him out.

all posts/updates relating to this au can be found in the “OC: dalton miller” tag!

[angstsfordays]

Beautiful Pain (3)

Chapter Three- Found You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced! Reader

Summary: Post-Blip, you started to feel lost when most of the Avengers team are gone. Coping with your loss, you still find hope in the connection with your remaining friends. However, it is not easy as everyone is trying to figure their lives after the Blip.

Having a long history with Bucky ever since you both saved each other from Hydra, you were still glad you had Bucky after all this time. However, as you try to give Bucky space to find himself after being pardoned for his past, you start to wonder if you should ever cross the line of friendship before it’s too late.

That thought might have to be put on hold though, when you, Sam and Bucky find yourselves having to deal with threats that continue to rise in a post-Blip world.

Chapter synopsis: The three of you decide to take matters into your own hands which lead to the most unexpected alliance.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: Hey everyone! This chapter covers the second half of episode 2 and the beginning of ep 3. Subtle hints of Bucky x reader here and there, but more importantly I want to cover how the reader plays into the dynamics of relationships in the series.

More Bucky x reader interactions in the next chapter, I promise!

The tag list is still open! Let me know if you want to join in with a message or comment in the chapters!

Leave a comment to let me know what you think! 🥰

I really appreciate it! 🙏🏼

Previous: Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two

Next: Chapter Four

-------------------------//---------------------------

The three of you changed back to more comfortable clothes before meeting up to find the man that Bucky wanted you and Sam to meet.

Walking on the streets of a neighbour in Baltimore, you were curious to know who the mysterious man was. As Bucky continued to lead the way, a kid on the street called out to Sam calling him the Black Falcon.

You beamed widely at the innocence of the kid who was excited to see a hero he had known. Sam went on to correct the kid and ended up engaging in funny banter with the kid.

You couldn’t help but grin at how effortless Sam was with people. He was different from Steve but you knew that Sam embodied his spirit with his own character. He would be such as good captain in your heart.

Soon, the three of you arrived at the house and Bucky went to knock on the door. When someone came to answer the door, you tried to put on your friendliest face to greet them.

Bucky asked for someone named Isaiah to which the young boy in front of you claimed that there was no one of that name.

Bucky didn’t give up and continue pressing on, claiming that you all just wanted to talk. It wasn’t very obvious but you could tell the boy was starting to get defensive and reiterated his point.

He was hiding something and didn’t want the three of you to inquire further. As a last resort, Bucky asked the boy to pass on a message that he was sure to able to reach out to the person you were supposed to meet.

The boy told us to wait while he closed the door. Sam questioned about how Bucky had met this person to which he replied that they met back during the Korean war. If your calculations, that was almost 70 years ago which only meant this person must at least be in his nineties.

Your deduction was confirmed when you were all let into the house and you came face to face with an aged man. The man looked less than friendly and was looking over the three of you with a hardened expression.

Gingerly walking closer, you saw how the man known as Isaiah looked fit for someone of his age. Bucky started off by introducing both you and Sam to Isaiah and vice versa. You tried to put on a polite smile despite the tense atmosphere.

Bucky went on to explain how Isaiah was a hero and was once feared most by HYDRA, just like how Steve was and that they met in 1951.

Isaiah took over the conversation and that was when you learnt that Isaiah was with the U.S military and they had sent him to go after Bucky when he was still the Winter Soldier. You could the small smile forming as he retold of how he managed to take out Bucky’s metal arm in Goyang.

You thought that Isaiah was starting to warm up but as he continued speaking, you knew he was still reserved.

“I’m not a killer anymore,” Bucky emphasized to Isaiah but the aged man wasn’t pleased.

“You think you can wake up one day and decide who you wanna be? It doesn’t work like that. Well, maybe it does for folks like you.” Isaiah responded as he stared back straight into Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing on. He explained the situation that there were possibly more super soldiers like him and Isaiah. When you heard that, your eyes widened in shock at the revelation.

“I’m not going to talk about it anymore.” Isaiah was seething with anger and threw a metal box into the wall. The non-blunt object that impaled into the wooden wall only serves to exemplify how Isaiah was enhanced like Steve and Bucky.

You winced at his action and looked over to see the young boy who you presumed to be Isaiah’s grandson looking down in silence.

Isaiah stepped closer towards Bucky and spoke once more. This time, instead of lashing out, his voice was shaking.

“You know what they did to me for being a hero?” Isaiah paused shortly before speaking his next sentence. “They put my ass in jail for 30 years.”

Once you heard his words, you immediately looked down with indescribable emotions. Isaiah continue to tell of how he was treated like nothing more than an object, having people run tests on him, taking his blood and going into his cells.

“Even your people weren’t done with me.” Isaiah directed his words at Bucky once more.

Sam tried to calm Isaiah down but the man was livid. He shouted for all three of you to leave his home and everyone retreated without a question. As Sam and Bucky filed out of the door, you turned your back to throw a last look at Isaiah who was still fuming silently.

You gave a slight bow to show a sign of respect and apology.

“A warning, miss.” Surprised to hear Isaiah speak to you directly, you looked up to meet his eyes.

“My grandson spoke of you before. You and I are the same even if we were made differently.”

“What? I don’t understand.” Blinking your eyes in confusion, you waited to hear Isaiah’s explanation.

“I don’t know how you have gotten your abilities. But if you don’t stay low and keep your head down, they will come for you and do the same things to you that they did to me.” You took a sharp intake of breath at Isaiah’s warning. It only heightened the fears you already had, making it more real.

You thanked Isaiah quietly before making a move to catch up with your friends. When you reached the steps, Bucky and Sam were already walking ahead of you.

You proceeded to follow them before glancing back to see Isaiah’s grandson giving you a nod of acknowledgement before he closed the door. You could already the argument as Sam confronted Bucky on why he only let you two know about Isaiah only now.

Sam continued to question why there was a Black super soldier decades ago and why nobody knew about it?

“Guys, let’s not do this here-” You tried to intervene when you noticed a police car driving around the corner to where you all were.

The car stopped at where you all stood and the officers stepped out to inquire about what was going on. Sam replied that everyone was just talking and it was nothing to worry about. When the officers started asking for identification, Sam remarked that he didn’t have any.

Bucky tried to pacify the officers who insisted to engage in the situation. It was not a pleasant exchange of words as it seemed like it was going nowhere with the officers trying to probe and Sam trying to deflect.

“There’s nothing going on. We are all just friends talking things out.” You tried to give a brief but succinct explanation to get the officers to back off.

The officer clearly ignored your words before continuing to ask Bucky if Sam was bothering him. Bucky had it and went ahead to ask if the officer actually knew who Sam was.

Another officer came up to whisper into his partner’s ear and you could hear him telling him of your identities. The officer quickly retracted his initial behaviour and apologised to Sam.

“Mam.” You see the officer now acknowledging your presence only when he knew of your title.

You just grimly stared back in response before looking around to see that you have gained the attention of onlookers in the neighbourhood. The officers went back to the vehicle while Bucky continued from where you all left off on the conversation.

Bucky explained that he didn’t let anyone know about Isaiah since the man had been through so much. You had to agree on his reasoning and you knew Sam did too.

The officer came out again to let Bucky know that there was a warrant out for his arrest.

“Look, the president pardoned him for all that,” Sam interjected but the officer claimed it was not for that reason. Instead, Bucky had missed his court-mandated therapy and that was akin to missing a check-in with a parole officer.

He apologised before having to call for Bucky’s arrest. As Bucky walked over to the car, the officer took out the handcuffs. That set you off as you marched forward.

“Hey, don’t treat him like a criminal. He’s not going to do anything.” You tried intervening to which the officers telling you that it was standard protocol.

“Don’t worry, doll. It’s fine.” Bucky gave you a brief smile before getting into the back of the car. He gave Sam a last look before giving you one that tried to reassure you once more. As the police car drove off, Sam approached you and you two made your way to the police station together.

-------------------------//---------------------------

Once you arrived at the station, you sat with Sam as you waited for Bucky’s release. From the corner of your eye, you could see Dr Raynor, Bucky’s therapist coming to approach the two of you.

“Sam, I’ve heard a lot about you.” Dr Raynor extended a hand to Sam before continuing to introduce herself. As you met eyes with her next, she moved her hand to you and you returned the gesture.

“It’s good to see you again, Y/N.”

“Likewise, doctor”. You exchanged pleasantries with her before Sam gave his thanks to her for getting Bucky out. Dr Raynor denied the credits for it and the two of you exchanged a confused look before you heard a familiar voice.

“Christina!”

You and Sam managed to mirror the exact same expression before he inquired how Dr Raynor knew John Walker. Apparently, they worked together back in their military days.

What a small world.

With a smug look, John claimed that Bucky would not need to follow a strict schedule which raised your brows in question. Dr Raynor asked whose authorization was this on to which John pointed to himself with a pleased smile.

You wished you could wipe it off his face.

“He’s too valuable of an asset to be tied up. Just do whatever you go to do with him, then send him off to me.” That word was a trigger for you. Knowing Bucky’s past and how that word only reduced him to some sort of objectification. You couldn’t help the need to say your piece to him.

“Don’t talk about him like that.” You shot back to Walker and he gave you a quizzed look. “Like what?”

“Like his only value boils down to how well he can fight for your task force. You talk about him like he’s some object for your use when he’s a person.” You tried defending Bucky’s honour.

Sensing your enmity, John raised two hands to show that he meant no harm.

“A little bit too much here, Y/N. You’re his girlfriend or something?” John’s casual remark took you aback especially for what he implied in the second sentence. A sudden sense of shyness overcame you as you did not what to say in response.

You struggled for the right words to say and looked over to Sam who gave you an inquisitive look before you saw Bucky coming out. You made no indication to give John Walker an answer as you made your way towards your friend.

You could hear John saying that he had unfinished business with Bucky, Sam and you before indicating he will be waiting outside.

“Hey, you okay?” You spoke softly to Bucky who nodded in response. “They didn’t do anything to you, right?” You added on. Your worry for Bucky only made him grinned at how you were so concerned over him.

Bucky placed his hand at the back of your head and stroked your hair to calm you down.

“I’m fine. Really.” Bucky tried to convince you as you pouted. His hand mover over to your cheeks as he went on to hold your face gently. Bucky gave you a small pinch on your cheeks to tease how you could look cute while being worried at the same time.

“James, condition of your release, a session now. You too, Sam.” Dr Raynor instructed. Sam tried to excuse himself but Dr Raynor was not having it, saying it wasn’t a request. As she looked over at you, she gave you a reassuring smile.

“Would just need these two boys. You’re fine, dear.” Nodding politely to her, you tried to tell the boys to behave with a faked stern expression as they turned back to give you the last look before they walked off with Dr Raynor.

-------------------------//---------------------------

Turned out the session didn’t really go well when you saw both men walked out with hardened expressions on their faces. As the three of you stepped out of the precinct, you saw a flash of red and blue lights accompanied by the sound of a siren.

You looked over to see John and Lemar leaning against a police car and reluctantly approached them.

John once again tried to propose that it was better to work together. Sam considered it for a moment and decided to inquire further. Apparently, the leader of the Flag Smashers is Karli Morgenthau. Civilians have been helping this group to hide safely from the authorities and move to new locations discreetly.

Her rough location was predicted to be in displaced communities across central and eastern Europe. Bucky being the cynic he was towards John Walker tried to get John Walker to give an exact location.

The two of them gave heated exchanges before Bucky decided to taunt John Walker. You could see the latter’s patience wearing thin. He was trying to be patient and nice with all of you all this while but you were all hard on him.

You almost started to feel a little bad.

Sam stepped in before it felt like things were going to escalate and reiterated the most important point- which was that the Flag Smashers had to be stopped at all costs.

They were too dangerous to be roaming out freely on their own. Shoot, it sounded hypocritical coming from you when you were experiencing the same thing. They weren’t killing anyone, they were just trying to deliver medicines and vaccines to vulnerable communities.

Was that really a bad thing? You thought.

You turned your attention back to the conversation and picked up from how Sam said that it was better that you all were separately from John and Lemar. After all, you were all free agents versus them working under an establishment.

It would be challenging for you three to have to conform and work with stipulated regulations and authorizations. That was your cue to walk away but John spoke up once again, stopping you in your tracks.

“A word of advice then. Stay the hell out of my way.” It sounded more like a threat than advice.

“Y/N, last chance. The offer still stands.” John Walker shoots his last shot towards you. You peered over to see Bucky and Sam staring at you intently.

You shook your head before you spoke. “Sorry, I’m with my boys till the end.”

“You will regret it.” John tried to make you feel bad but you knew it wouldn’t work on you.

“We’ll see, Walker.” You just threw a smirk and a mock salute his way before turning back.

Sam clapped you on the back and rested his hands on your shoulder as you all walked off. Bucky placed his arms around your waist and gave you a gentle pat on your side.

For once, they were on the page on something and that was being proud of you.

As the three of you contemplated on what to do next, Bucky insinuated something in his words. Sam knew what he was implying immediately tried to refute the idea.

When the gears started shifted in your brain, you grabbed onto Bucky’s arms to stop him in his tracks. You shook your head before the words even came out.

Letting out a sigh, he tried to talk reason to you. “Doll, you know he is the only one to know all of HYDRA’s secrets. Don’t you remember Siberia?”

“Yes, which exactly why it is a bad idea! Do you remember what he did to you back then? To us? He’s scheming and manipulative, you can’t trust him.” You argued back.

“Y/N, he has a point if we want a start.” Sam chimed in to convince you. You begrudgingly gave in as Sam continued.

“So you’re just going to go up and sit in a room with this guy?” Bucky gave a hesitant yes.

Sam gave it a few more thoughts before affirming that it’s time to pay Zemo a visit.

-------------------------//---------------------------

The trip to pay Zemo a visit required you to pack up and head over to Germany. Standing outside the prison, your gut still told you that this was a bad idea.

Who knows if Zemo might try to get into Bucky’s head again?

Once you were led through the corridors nearing Zemo’s cell, the officer left you, Sam and Bucky. “I’m going in alone,” Bucky stated citing that considering Sam and you were both technically associated with the Avengers.

Sam refuted his reason as Zemo was still viewed as dangerous, given that a man like him could have broken up the Avengers.

Bucky emphasized that Zemo was obsessed with HYDRA and they had a history together. Your rolled your eyes at the comment and still showed your disapproval.

“Trust me, I got it.” He told Sam before looking back at you. Bucky knew you had reasonable doubts but he had to do this on his own. He placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb caressed it affectionately for a short moment before letting go and walking off.

As you waited outside with Sam, the two of you kept quiet for a minute before Sam spoke up first.

“You know, I’m not the biggest fan of cyborg in there but he’s really lucky to have you.” Looking over to Sam who gave you an endearing gaze like a big brother would, you muttered a quiet thanks, not knowing what else to say.

“Tell me, how do you stand that grumpy old ass? Seems like he’s not a great company with his brooding all day.” Sam tried to quip to make the conversation light-hearted. You chuckled at hearing his usual snide remarks about Bucky and then took a moment to think about his question.

“He does not brood all day. You just need to know how to make him smile and laugh.” You answered thoughtfully, unbeknown to you Sam was quietly observing the expression on your face.

Your bashful grin did not go unnoticed by him but you didn’t know you were even making such an expression when you continued to talk about Bucky.

“Bucky is a cynic at times, but he’s such a softie. You know he always has lunch with his 70-year-old neighbour on Wednesday to keep him company. The man’s son passed away many years ago and he had no one left. Bucky is the only one he interacts with on most days. ” You painted a different side of Bucky, one that you were familiar with and you hope Sam could learn to know.

“After all he’s been through, I believe Bucky can overcome anything that comes his way. I hope that I can help to find himself and find peace with himself again. He deserves to be happy.” You got so engrossed in singing Bucky’s praises that you didn’t notice Sam observing you with a gleeful look.

When you realised that you have been rambling, you paused yourself to look over to see Sam with a weird expression.

“What?” He chuckled and shook his head.

“Besides Steve, I can’t see anyone who likes him as much as you do.” His words got you flustered as you felt him implying it in a different meaning.

“Well, as friends of course-” You tried to correct the context before he stopped you from finishing your sentence.

“Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sis.” Sam placed his arms around your neck and ruffled your hair playfully.

“Hey!” You countered back playfully before the two of you continued to play around light-heartedly.

Your lively banter reminded you of the lighter moments from your Avenger days with your friends and you suddenly paused in our actions to give Sam a hug.

“I missed you, Sam.” Before you knew it, the tears started welling up as you started to think about old friends.

Sam returned the hug and he knew by your words what you had meant. Before Wanda, you were the youngest in the team and everyone doted on you like a baby. Even with new additions to the team, everyone still regarded you as a darling. Losing half of the team in the fight with Thanos would have the most impact on you.

Looking down at you quietly sobbing in his arms, Sam thought that even though he had seen you grown up over the years, you were always still the little sister figure in the team.

Even though you were given such extraordinary abilities and viewed as a powerful fighter, he thought that you were no different from any ordinary woman trying to live her best life.

You once confided in him that you hoped to quickly retire from fighting and live a life that would truly make you happy. The guilt started seeping in as he knew he had unknowingly dragged you back to another fight.

Once this was all over, he hoped that you can be free to live that life you wanted.

-------------------------//---------------------------

Once the visit was over, Bucky led you and Sam to a garage. He suggested the idea of breaking Zemo out of jail and both of you immediately threw up arms.

Sam thought Bucky lost his mind and you did too. Sam started listing off the reasons why getting Zemo out was a bad idea and you added in your piece. Bucky still seemed to be insistent on the idea and you literally grabbed your head in frustration.

When Bucky tried to reason and come up with a hypothetical, you already knew he was up to no good. Bucky continued talking about how a plan could be formulated to break Zemo and it sounded way too well thought out.

Sam felt uneasy just like you and exclaimed to ask Bucky where exactly you all were. When Bucky didn’t answer, Sam already turned his head to see movement from across everyone. You turned your head too to see someone entering the scene and you had a hunch you knew who it was and that you weren’t going to like it.

As Zemo stepped forward in prison warden’s uniform, you were stunned for words but more importantly, you were outraged.

“Bucky! I can’t believe you-” You exclaimed.

“Doll, let me explain.” He tried to pacify you.

“I didn’t want to tell you two because I knew you two wouldn’t let this happen.” Bucky tried to justify his actions and held Sam back from moving onto Zemo.

“You’re going back to prison.” Sam directed at Zemo before turning back to Bucky.

Zemo, for the first time, tried to speak up in the chaos.

“If I may-”

“NO!” Sam and Bucky shut him down immediately. You skipped ahead to go up to the man and grabbed him by the collars. Your hands were threatening to light up with your bright energy flames and Zemo showed a fearful look beside his usual demeanour.

“You’re gonna get it from me, you punk!” Your teeth clenched as the words came out and Zemo held his hands up in surrender.

“Apologies, miss. I mean no harm.” You felt Bucky holding you back and untangling your fingers from Zemo’s collars.

“Y/N, please listen to me first.” You unwillingly gave in once you saw Bucky give you a puppy-eyed pleading look. You gritted your teeth and clenched your fists before giving him a look that said you were willing to listen.

Bucky looked over to you and Sam, trying to appeal for your co-operation. “The two of you backed Steve when he refused to sign the Sokovia Accords. You both broke the law and stuck your neck out for me. I’m asking you to do it for me again, please.”

“I really think I’m invaluable-” Zemo tried to appeal himself but he was met with Sam’s telling of him to shut up. You turned to glare at Zemo and he backed off once more.

You and Sam looked at each other, subsequently both coming to agree on the plan. Sam then turned to Zemo and warned him to play any games. Zemo was not to even move without permission and he agreed that it was fair.

You later learnt that you were in Zemo’s personal garage and while you were amazed by his car collections, you made sure to not get distracted while you were around the man.

Zemo made clear that his intentions were to end the Winter Soldier program and thus your goals were aligned in stopping the Flag Smashers. He was even confident in knowing where to start as he gathered up his things and continued to lead the way.

You still couldn’t believe that you had to work with the man that framed Bucky and caused the lives of many innocent people to be taken away.

You could never trust him entirely and you made sure that if it counts down to the worst-case scenario, you would be willing to go further than you usually did in handling people like him.

-------------------------//---------------------------

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@tanyaherondale @spookycereal-s @cataves

[phantomchick]

Naruto Fic Rec Masterpost!

Adoption by Defenestration; or, A Family Can Be A Fox Demon, Its Jinchuuriki, and Three Dozen Highly-Trained Assassins  by elumish Oneshot, Gen, Fluff, child neglect, Naruto gets unofficially adopted by his anbu guards and it’s incredibly cute Summary: He will not be the ANBU who let the jinchuuriki plummet to his death out a fourth story window. Let that be another ANBU’s legacy.

Being Over-Prepared is Impossible (and other mottos)  by Pleasedial123 Longfic, Gen, Team Seven, team as family, Bamf Kakashi, Bamf team 7, au, kakashi pov, Complete but part of a three part series and the third part is still ongoing, still highly recommend, what team 7 should have been, Skilled Teacher! Kakashi Summary: In one world, Kakashi awoke, felt grieved at being assigned a team he sees his own in, and he let that grief make him a lazy teacher.  He saw himself in Sasuke, Obito in Naruto, and Rin in Sakura. He woke, saw himself in them, and took a large step back, regretting accepting them as his new team.  In that world he was quite hands off - merely a watcher because it was so very painful to watch. He saw himself and all his mistakes in this new team of his. 

In this world, Kakashi awoke, saw the similarities, and instantly panicked. 

He suddenly realised what he had done, passing a team.  Kakashi was left scrambling not to repeat old mistakes and regrets. This team would not suffer the fate of his team.

In this world, simply put, Kakashi became a teacher.  This is the beginning of a new team seven.

Something in the water by maldoror_gw  Oneshot, Gen, Teen and Up for language, hilarious, Tsunade pov, fluff, mild crack, pre-shippuden post naruto,

Summary: "Sakura...what is that man reading?" Tsunade asked in a dangerous voice. Sakura's gaze twitched away from her ex-teacher to her new - and temperamental - mentor. "Erm...a book...written by a...well-respected member of the community...about...romance?" Tsunade noted with passing approval that Sakura was demonstrating both loyalty and quite a lot of imagination in defending her one-time team leader (who was now trying to edge around a pillar to get away from Tsunade's venomous glare).

backslide by blackkat Time travel, time travel fix it, mature, fluff, team seven, m/m, slow build romance, Naruto adopts himself, Uzumaki heritage, bamf Naruto, complete longfic, Summary: Naruto’s friends are gone, his lover is dying, Konoha is destroyed, and Madara’s second return has pushed the entire world to the brink. Hunted and harried, Naruto is sent back in time to upend Madara’s plan before it even starts, and sets about changing everything. Butterfly effect nothing: the world is at stake, and Naruto is hardly about to let it fall to ruin once more. Not while he’s still breathing.

Tobirama Kicks Some Sense Into Konoha by allseer15 Hurt/comfort, whump, emotional whump, time travel, fix it, time travel fix it, The ‘what if Tobirama came to the future saw an orphaned Naruto and adopted the shit out of him’ Fic, Iconique, child neglect, child abandonment, fluff, so much fluff, completed longfic, look I have a weakness for the time travel fix it trope at the best of times but this fic is good even looking at it without focusing on that! Prolonged Tobirama content, Senju lore, senju feels, Summary: The Hidden Leaf Village in Naruto's time seems to have forgotten just why the village was founded and have lost their way.  Through a mishap with a hiraishin seal, Tobirama finds himself during Naruto's time and he is having none of this nonsense. His brother may be gone, but he won't stand to have Hashirama's dream trampled so. And if he has to cause a civil war or burn the village down to the ground? Well that depends on how much resistance he meets. All Tobirama does know for certain is that no child will suffer underneath the protection of Konoha and if he has to take them in and care for them himself, then he will.

Hardest of hearts by blackkat Oneshot, Gen, look I really like blackkat’s naruto fic okay, part one of a completed three part series, all three parts are great, Fix its are the best, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix It, Orochimaru redemption story, the sheer shadenfreude of one baddie fucking over another baddie, in this case Danzo, Obito has a ‘bad guy but not that bad of a guy’ solidarity moment with Orochimaru at the start and I loved it so there’s that, featuring a low key constantly horrified at this turn of events Minato,

Summary: Orochimaru gets one more chance. Just maybe, it will be enough to save him—and the entire world as well. 

A Snake In the Grass, a Wolf At the Door by blackkat Mature, Completed ten chapter fic, Orochimaru redemption story, Orochimaru/Kakashi’s dad, you read that right, quality Sakumo content, Families of Choice, Humour, Fluff and Angst, somewhat crackish, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, baby Kakashi being a cutie Summary: Orochimaru is on the edge of breaking when someone unexpected pulls him back to solid ground. When the time comes, he returns the favour.

Nukenin by WhisperingDarkness Gen, dimension travel, team seven, team as family, Kakashi actually being a good sensei even when he’s not a sensei at all, possessive kakashi, Team Seven is his team, Kinda Fluffy, Protective Kakashi, the ‘this might as well happen’ adaptability is real, Kakashi adopts team seven and team seven adopts kakashi, even though he’s illegal, 4 chapter fic, marked as complete as author doesn’t plan to continue it, but even taking these chapters as stand alone this fic is great,

Summary:  In the sealed scroll he finds a Bingo Book – his own page marking him as an S-class nukenin with flee-on-sight orders.  “Ok. That is definitely different.”  In his head he blames Naruto – even if his number one unpredictable student had been nowhere near him on this mission. When things go this stupidly impossibly wrong it must somehow be the future Hokage’s fault.

Ear to the Wall by Vodkassassin Ongoing, it’s really really good though! great Kakashi content, Minato is very stressed and I love him, Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, whump, PTSD’d Kakashi gets to relive his childhood but gets a little bit of a real childhood along the way, ADHD Rin, time travel fix it, look I like what I like and what I like is fix its and time travel apparently, Kakashi adopts Orochimaru before he descends into douchbaggery, Orochimaru Redemption story, everyone is alive,   Summary: The Minato-sensei beams at him, and replies, “Kakashi! I’m glad you’re awake,” and, yup, that’s Minato-sensei’s voice. Kakashi falls back down against the bed, closing his eyes. It’s too short of a way down, and he clenches hands that are too tiny and feeble and not his in dog-print sheets he hasn’t owned for decades.

How To Save The World With No One Even Realising by IncompleteSentanc (Erava) Gen, Teen and Up, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, time travel fix it, Canonically Accurate OP Team 7, SuperBadass!Sakura, SuperBadass!Sasuke, SuperBadass!Naruto, RegularBadass!Shikamaru, Canonically Violent Sasuke, Equally Violent Sakura, Saving The World One Murder At A Time, Various Jinchuuriki, Team 7 As Super Villains, Doing Super Villainy Stuff, Like Murder, And Professional Eyeball Removal, Poor Obito, Poor Minato, AKA The Worst Four Months of Minato's Life, And Everyone Else's Too, Dark Humor, Bittersweet Ending, Dark Comedy, Crack treated seriously, completed 3 chapter fic, Well worth the read, Team 7 To The End! Summary: Minato knows at the beginning of the week that it's going to be a hellish one. Mostly because it starts with the kidnapping of one of his two remaining students, only a year after they'd lost the first one. He just doesn't realise at the time that it's not going to be a hellish week - it's going to be hell for quite a bit longer than that. It all starts with Rin's kidnapping, and her subsequent rescue at the hands of a mysteriously appearing, monstrously strong, murderously violent woman. A woman with cotton candy pink hair. It only devolves from there.

Just Killing Time by Elizabeth Culmer (edenfalling) Gen, Oneshot, Short and Sweet, Classic of The Fandom, Ficlet, Team 7, Kids being Kids, Fluff, Fluff and Humour, Slice of Life, Cute Kids

Summary: After Wave Country and before the chuunin exam, Team 7 kills time while waiting for Kakashi to show up. 

there lies a trail of fire behind us by BowAndDagger Gen, Madara is extremely confused but mostly on board, Time Travel au, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bamf Naruto Uzumaki, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Except Zetsu, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Fix-It, Founders Era, clan wars era, Pre-Slash, POV Uchiha Madara, the Completed part one of an Ongoing/Incomplete series, completed 4 chapter fic, Summary: As he returns from a mission, Madara makes a strange encounter with an even stranger shinobi. Then, he’s summarily kidnapped to go on a quest to save the world by said weird shinobi. (He absolutely did not choose to follow the stranger on his own free will. He was kidnapped. He did not give chase. He did not.)

A Political Perspective by VJ Riddle  / MueraRashaye Ongoing, Possibly (Probably) Discontinued, Teen and Up, Gen, Team 7, training montage deluxe, Konoha is a murder village, Good Teacher! Kakashi, AU, slowly developing into Bamf team 7, Bamf Kakashi, slowly developing into Team as Family, lots of fun ideas, not crack, Minor Spoiler: Zabuza and Haku get x’d before their character development gets its chance to shine in this fic, Sometimes people don’t warn for that in the tags and it can be a dealbreaker in fic for me as I love those two, not a dealbreaker in the case of this fic though! Really good fic so far, kind of verging on dry in places but it always stays fun in the end with lots of interesting elements, I enjoy the character insight from the pov switching, and also how much of a headcase Kakashi is, graphic depictions of violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence,

Summary: Hatake Kakashi was a shinobi, and as a shinobi, the only people who could give him orders were his military superiors. The idea that a Council made up of civilians and peers was under the impression they could give him orders...displeased him. Or: He was ordered to pass Team 7. He was fine with that, until they actually passed.

Integrity by Liz_Starling Oneshot, Gen, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Compliant, Integrity, Child Neglect, BAMF Uzumaki Naruto, Reflections on Naruto’s inner workings as a person, promises,

Summary: Naruto keeps his word. Some people are loyal to their families. Some, their orders. Naruto is loyal to the only thing he’s been able to count on; the promises he makes.

Foundation (Build It Higher, Bury It Deeper) by RayShippouUchiha Ongoing, BUT EXCELLENT, it made me cry, Naruto feels, 6 chapter fic thus far, Bamf Naruto, Bamf Tsunade, Naruto deserved better, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Mature, Team 7, Uzumaki Feels, Abandonment, Tsunade gives Naruto the personal talk he deserved instead of finding out from a chakra imprint when he was dying, so we stan, I love this fic

Summary: It’s just… he’d thought, given his fight against Neji and then his confrontation with Gaara, that someone would finally really acknowledge what he’d done.  That beyond Iruka-sensei’s crushing hug and Kakashi-sensei’s absent pat, someone would actually notice that he’d won against both of them.

That he’d beaten a genius on his own and then had battled another jinchūriki to a stand still.

So while he hadn’t really expected to be promoted too he’d still ...

¦ part 1 ¦ part 2 ¦ part 3 ¦