#free shields and dinner for everybody

[by-saiyuri]

I've been putting these two in the same team recently, so I sketched aventurine getting clara some (top quality ipc-endorsed) shoes

[katy-133]

Why Spy and Sniper are opposites (and why they understand each other)

(A Team Fortress 2 meta.)

I had this in my drafts half-written for a while and then felt motivated enough to finish it up after seeing @gobbogoo's excellent meta about the professionalism aspect of Sniper and Spy's relationship.

I love foil characters. In my mind, what can make a foil compelling is when the two characters are opposites in many ways, they are also, at their cores, the same in the ways that really matter. When you get right down to it.

Mechanics (Or Far vs Close)

Sniper and Spy were literally made for each other.

In-game, Sniper and Spy are designed to counter each other. The Sniper vs Spy Update introduced multiple weapons for both Sniper and Spy that were designed to undo specifically the Spy and Sniper classes. They were introduced day-by-day in a comical, "Your new toy may counter mine, but now my new toy counters that!" fashion. Sniper's Razorback shield prevents Spy backstabbing him. Spy's Ambassador allows Spy to kill Snipers wearing a Razorback, and so on.

When you play as Sniper or Spy, different gameplay styles emerge from their different strengths and weaknesses. Sniper works well at a distance, behind the rest of his team, because his primary weapons are long range. Spy works well close up because of his ability to instantly kill with backstabs. And Spy's disguises can be more convincing if he's where the enemy team is, so he works well when he's ahead of the rest of his team.

Dirty vs Clean

Sniper roughs it with his (Cosy Camper) backpack and his camper van. Spy wears Louis Vuitton suits (or rather, "Louis Crabbemarché"--TF2 universe's counterpart), as mentioned in The Naked and the Dead comic:

Sniper urinates in mason jars and throws them as a weapon (Jarate). Spy has a special knife (Your Eternal Reward) that kills so cleanly, it instantly removes the body. Spy calls Sniper "filthy" as an insult in-game. It's something to cast scorn over, to Spy.

Spy: "You disgust me, filthy jar man!"

Alone vs Together

Sniper loves his job as a sniper for RED (and BLU). His job makes him stronger when he's at a distance from his team. Therefore, while he's not totally isolated from people, he doesn't mind being alone. He works well like that when he's working.

Sniper: "I love this job. Sunshine's free, bullets are cheap, and everybody's got a head."

Spy's Rally, an alternate Meet the Spy audio recording (as I wrote before), illustrates how Spy values teamwork and believes that it goes against the natural order of life.

Spy: "Disorder, the natural state of nature, is cheap to create, costly to overcome. [...] Nature abhors a team, gentlemen. And together, we bold few, we unnatural brothers, are going to seize Mother Nature by the throat."

Sniper finds strength in being alone. Spy finds strength in being together.

Out of vs In the Spotlight

When there was a irl figurine of Sniper being sold, Valve's blog released a post written by Sniper ("Well, Now I'm a Statue", 11 December 2012). He explains that he hates that his happened, as it goes against his wantiness to stay out of the spotlight.

Sniper: "It probably wouldn't surprise you to learn that a professional assassin like myself tends to be… discrete about things. We keep to the shadows. We avoid the spotlight. We don't host bloody dinner parties, is my point, and we don't make big bloody statues in effigy to our bloody selves."

Despite being an operative who has the ability to literally turn invisible, Spy has a flair for theatrics. He likes spectacle. In Expiration Date, when Scout apologises to Spy, Spy wants him to repeat "You're better than me," line over the PA system so that all the other mercs hear it.

Inexperienced vs Experienced in Romance

Sniper is never shown to have experienced romance and it's possible he never did. Sniper, despite his character being inspired by Crocodile Dundee, an adventure romance comedy, doesn't have a love interest. Sniper's "kangaroo wife" line is a made-up insult by Soldier.

Soldier: "I will send my condolences to your kangaroo wife."

In Meet the Sniper, we see him call his parents when he gets access to a payphone. His parents whom he sends postcards to (we see this postcard in the Sniper vs. Spy update). And it's his parents that the Administrator threatens the safety of to keep Sniper in line. It's his parents that are Sniper's priority of keeping protected. Not a girlfriend.

As essayist Kayla explains in a video meta about the mercs' past relationships, Sniper grew up in Australia, where (in the TF2 universe) the country's culture and people value large muscles due to Australium metal exposure giving Australians super-strength, as explained in the Catch-Up comic:

Security locks are punch-based (as Saxton Hale demonstrates to Miss Pauling in The Contract comic). Kids are expected to get into fist fights with each other. Meaning that Sniper is "not attractive by conventional Australian standards" in the TF2 universe (again, observation by Kayla in the video meta).

Spy on the other hand, is characterised by his past relationship with Scout's mother and it's one of the few things we know about Spy's past. Spy has an in-game line about liking his romances "in groups of six." When Scout needs advice on asking Miss Pauling out on a date, he goes to Spy for help (keep in mind, Scout doesn't know Spy is his father at this point). He has a reputation among his team that he is experienced in romantic relationships.

Spy: "I like my teams like I like my romances: in groups of six."

Where Sniper and Spy are Similar

Being Discreet and Valuing Secrets

In the TF2 comic The Naked and the Dead, we find out that Sniper knows that Scout is Spy's son. By this point, Scout doesn't know (or is heavily in denial about it). We know Sniper knows because when Sniper and Spy come across Scout dying in a hallway, Sniper leaves Spy to have a private moment with Scout, when Spy tells Scout that he's his father (or rather, Tom Jones is his father, because Spy can't bring himself to tell the whole truth).

Sniper is discreet in leaving them alone, because he never explicitly says that he knows (or what he knows) in that scene. It's mainly left unspoken. He only says one word, and Spy knows what's he's going to say. And Sniper chooses to leave because he knows that this secret is important to Spy and Scout.

Spy ability to be discreet and valuing secrets inherently comes with his job. His disguises only work as much as his ability to act like the person he's pretending to be. Spy also values the secret of his identity so much that we don't ever see him without his mask. The SFM model of Spy mask less (where we see he has hair) is a fan-made model that the fandom has collectively accepted. It has not been shown in any official Valve works. In Meet the Spy, he's always wearing his mask in the various Top Secret photos. There's also a Miss Pauling contract line for Spy in-game where she tells him that he should wash his mask. He canonically doesn't take it off.

Miss Pauling: "Spy, just between you and me, you should really wash that ski mask. Like once. There's visible stink lines coming off that thing. Anyway, I need a favor."

Kinda ironic, since Spy values cleanliness.

Are Both Willing to Put Themselves in Danger to Save One Another

Despite their differences, when they're on the same team (or even when they're still on opposite teams but have come together against a greater enemy, like in Mann vs Machine), Sniper and Spy can work together to save each other.

In the comics (The Naked and the Dead), Spy gets shot in the leg and is about to be killed by Classic Sniper (from the first Team Fortress game) while trying to infiltrate a building to save his team, but is saved by Sniper.

To do this, Sniper had to run up several flights of stairs, break down a door, crash through a window, scale the side of a building, and then climb silently into the room Spy was in. While naked and bleeding. Sniper was willing to put himself at great personal risk to save Spy.

They Both Experienced Loneliness Just Before Joining RED/BLU

I imagine that, one day, Sniper and Spy will figure out that they are not so different. If they knew about each other's pasts, they would notice a certain similarity.

Sniper's backstory (his description on TF2's website) is that he was a "tracker of dangerous game" in Australia. He would have spent a long time on his own, in the wilderness, isolated from people. He lived on a farm with his parents, not in the cities. In the comics (Blood in the Water), Sniper explains that he grew up with kids who wanted to fist fight, while he would climb up trees out of their reach and throw stones at them. He didn't fit in.

He calls his parents in Meet the Sniper, but they don't like the line of work he's in. Which upsets him, because he wants their approval.

Spy's backstory is that he had a love, Scout's mother, and ran away from her. We don't know the details of why. But we do know that he and her are still on good terms. Spy and her are seen together in Valve's promo animation for the Second Annual Saxxy Awards:

Spy appears to still love her, as at the end of Meet the Spy, he takes one of the photos of them together. Notably, the most chaste photo of the pile--it's of the two of them holding hands, walking away together.

I think that's insight on what he would have wanted in another timeline. But he ran away on his own, leaving a woman he loved (and still loves) as well as his baby son. He left his family.

This is what their lives were like before the Gravel War.

It's also worth noting that they both joined RED/BLU. They all chose a line of work that many would not, and this gives us insight into their character. Whether it was for the money, or for the chance to fight, or to combat loneliness, both Sniper and Spy found themselves working for RED/BLU.

In Conclusion

Sniper and Spy are opposites in many ways, but when you get right down to it, their cores are the same.

[space-mermaid-writing]

The witchling and the god [Loki x Witch!Reader] Chapter 16

Summary: The Avengers were looking for someone to help Loki fit in with the team. To become socially acceptable, so to speak. He had been given the choice of sitting in a cell in Asgard or serving some sort of community service probation on Midgard. The Avengers and Shield both felt that as long as Loki was on Earth, he should be under supervision. This is now your job. Why? Because you’re a witch. You’re not sure why this qualifies you, but here you are, giving it a shot. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Witch!Reader, Magic, Witches, slow burn, everybody lives in the tower, character development, Loki‘s redemption, Stephen Strange is a friend, Loki and Stephen are frenemies, Tony Stark is a good bro, kids love Loki, Tony has stupid nicknames for everybody, eventual smut

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Previous | Next

Chapter's Note: When I wrote this chapter, I was thinking about throwing in some Stephen/Reader for jealousy, but later discard the idea. Stephen is way better as a friend. Especially to Loki. Even if he doesn't know it yet. Beta by @zaria-04

Chapter 16: Dinner and wine with the sorcerer

It's early in the evening when you leave your room in the tower and head for the lobby on the first floor. You and Stephen have finally found a mutually available spot in your schedules for your agreed-upon dinner. Admittedly, he was the more difficult factor in this. You're quite flexible in your free time.

In the elevator, you run into Tony. He looks tired, his Metallica shirt is wrinkled and full of oil stains. He greets you wordlessly with a brief nod, which alone is very unusual for him.

"Are you okay?" you ask him. "You look like you haven't gotten much sleep the last few days."

He gives you a suspicious look. "Depends on who's asking. Did Pepper set you up on me?"

"No, I was just being polite," you wave it off. "I can shut up, though, if you don't feel like talking."

Tony sighs and pinches his nose. "I may have lost track of time in the workshop yesterday. Pepper's at a conference in Europe for a few days and asked me to take care of some stuff at the office. Why are nights so short when you're productive?" He tinkered all night and now takes care of a multi-billion dollar company on the side. You guess geniuses just have a different kind of lifestyle.

"If I wanted to let you know I won't be around for a few days, will you make a mental note of that, or should I come back to you for it later when you're not dead on your feet?"

The elevator opens and Tony gets off. It's not the floor you want to go to, but you follow him anyway to continue your conversation. "It's alright, I have Jarvis to remind me. What are you up to?" Tony asks you.

"Witch stuff," you wink.

"My cue to not ask further, I suppose."

He's probably right about that. "When I'm back I'd like to talk to you about my contract," you bring up another topic you wanted to discuss with him. "I mean, Loki is officially going on missions now and there have been no more incidents. Maybe we should talk about new goals. I'm not sure I have anything else to contribute."

Tony stops and looks at you. "I strongly hope that doesn't mean you want to leave us." You shake your head. You don't. "Speaking of which, what did you do to tame him?"

"I have my ways," you reply evasively. Actually, you have no idea what you did. You just didn't treat him like a criminal but a normal person. It probably helped that you like each other, but that hadn't been intentional. Maybe just a byproduct of you two spending so much time together.

"Well, whatever it is: don't stop it," Tony instructs you.

Sure, that you can do. You decide to take advantage of Tony's good mood a little further. "Loki should have more access to the outside world. I don't think he needs to be locked up in the tower anymore."

"Consider it approved. We'll talk about the details when you're back."

You nod and say goodbye. Tony continues toward his, more like Pepper's, office while you walk back to the elevators.

That was one thing done. Now you just have to tell Loki that you won't be here for the rest of the week. Originally, you had considered taking him with you, but Loki told you he was going to meet his mother. Thor will take him to her. You take it as a good sign that he has contact with his family and Asgard. Things have really all turned out very well.

Being in a great mood you make your way to Stephen. You take the subway to the Sanctum Sanctorum. Bleeker Street is not far from the tower – almost just straight south some blocks – but you don't feel like walking. And Stephen doesn't like opening portals for everyone all the time. "I'm not a cab company," is his usual statement. And you can understand. It's different when he sends people home through it. "Then they're no longer interrupting my work."

Stephen can be really charming – if he wants to be.

You've only known him after he became the Sorcerer Supreme. From what you've heard from others – Stephen himself doesn't talk much about it – when he was a surgeon, dinner with him used to be a spectacle: expensive clothes, exclusive restaurant. It was all about maintaining a certain image.

Today, dinner and wine means sitting together in one of the more comfortable rooms of the Sanctum. The fireplace is lit up and you have various take out boxes spread out on the small table between the couches. At least the wine is of high quality – Stephen insists on that – and is served in proper glasses.

You’ve moved on the floor between the table and the couch, legs casually stretched out toward the fire, barefoot. Stephen hovers cross-legged a feet in the air, his posture relaxed as well.

"... so we have to assume that what we understand by magic these days is something different from what is described in the ancient books. It explains why there are spells that no one can implement today, even though there is a detailed record of them," Stephen finishes his explanation.

You roll your eyes and poke the box of Phad Thai with your plastic fork. "Okay, I get your point. Still don't think it's right to separate the different sources of magic so strongly just because we don't understand their connection or variations."

"From a science point of view it is." Stephen has that lecturing tone in his voice that you don’t like. The one that shows he is used to being right.

"Don't get me started with your science talk! You guys always think you're the peak of humanity with your knowledge. When I was your age, science said that magic flows in the veins and that you can transfer the ability if you drink witches blood. There were whole essays and tutorials about it."

The Cloak of Levitation, shifting every so often between Stephen's shoulders and the unoccupied seat on the sofa, pours you more wine and you thank it with a nod.

"When you were my age, we had only sixteen states and you weren't even allowed to vote. So, don't play your senior citizen card on me, woman."

"Shut up, young man, and show your seniors some respect!" You laugh and take a sip of the wine. This kind of banter is not unusual for the two of you. The teasing is not serious, you have too much respect for each other. At least, you suspect Stephen is capable of something like respect. Sometimes you're not so sure about it.

You put down your Phad Thai box and stretch. "Next question: what do you think about the theory that electricity is some kind of magic?"

It's a highly debated theory that often divides minds.

"Oh, that's actually quite interesting. I've read a few papers on it. There are good arguments for it." As he speaks, Stephen points his fork in the air, as if to punctuate his words. "The main argument against it is that the majority of people would have to be considered magic users."

"That's true," you nod, "although there is a difference in the terms magic user and magic adept. And besides, people need devices, foreign components, to use electricity. They never get it from their own body. On the contrary, it is better if the body does not come in contact with it ever."

"But there are enough kinds of magic that need similar kinds of components," Stephen interjects, "For example, magic is stored in artifacts, like electricity in a battery."

"True." You think about this for a moment as another thought occurs to you. "Follow-up question: is a radioactive piece of uranium a cursed item?"

Stephen nods affirmatively. "Absolutely! But not in the magical sense."

You couldn't agree more. Both are similarly lethal.

"Imagine if we told Tony he was some kind of Tech Mage," you jump back to the electricity magic discussion, laughing at the thought. "Not sure if he would love it or hate it."

Stephen's expression clearly says he would not be pleased if Tony Stark suddenly had magical abilities as well. Even if only by a technicality. He clashed with the trillionaire often enough while they have separate domains.

You wonder what Loki would think about the topic. You’re sure he has an interesting take on these things, too.

It's very late when you arrive back at your room in the tower. Stephen has kindly opened a portal for you after all. You two had emptied another bottle of wine and you are glad that you have made your way home without stumbling.

On your nightstand you have already prepared a glass with a potion against hangover. It's a well-tried recipe that you got from your sister and that works wonders. Unfortunately, it tastes a bit spongy. Nevertheless, you empty it in one go and then go to bed so that it can take effect while you sleep.

The next morning starts earlier than you'd like. Just because you don't have a hangover doesn't mean missing hours of sleep will make up for it. You roll out of bed and move wearily to the bathroom. You're glad you took the day off, because there's nothing else for you to do today but make a few preparations, maybe process a few more orders. You want to get everything done before you head out.

You're meeting your family for a rare event: every one hundred years, a lunar convergence takes place where the moons of three planets line up. It's a special event, with a high magical power. Basically, it is like the introduction to a new century. Many witches and other magically gifted people gather for it. It is a spectacular event every time, and you are happy to be able to attend it with your siblings.

It occurs to you that you haven’t told Loki yet that you won't be around for a few days. Even if he has his own plans with his mother, you don't want him to wait in vain for you on the other days.

So you pack up everything you need from your room, put the bag by the portal door of the walk-in closet, and then make your way to the suite.

Loki is sitting on the couch, reading. When he hears your footsteps, he looks up, his lips pressed tightly together. He puts his book aside and stands up to meet you.

"Hey Loki, how are you do-…"

Gruffly, he interrupts you with a wave of his hand. You frown as you notice his stony expression.

"Hypocrite!" he accuses you.

Astonished, you look at him, having no idea what has triggered this rage in him. "What?"

He takes a step closer to you and then another. It's a threatening gesture and the way your body reacts is mind boggling. Your muscles clench and your heart beat becomes rapid. It's like your body is aware of a danger lurking but your mind is still unaware - though to be fair this is one of the cons of being with Loki: often enough it's hard to tell what is on his mind.

"You said you don't want me to toy with you, yet you play your little, wicked games with me."

"I can’t follow you, Loki. I don't play games," you try to reason. Your thoughts are racing, trying to understand what he means.

"Oh, so you didn't seduce me to tame me?" he hisses. "Was it all just a trick so I wouldn't cause you problems? After all, it's your job to keep me under control."

Open-mouthed, you stare at him, too surprised by the accusation. His words remind you of your conversation with Tony yesterday. Had Loki overheard? You were in an open hallway of the tower, anyone could have heard you. But the words are taken out of context. That's not what happened. Not what you meant.

Loki takes your affected silence as an admission of guilt. "Was it fun?" he asks you, his voice poisoned to mask the pain. "I admit, you fooled me. Not many are able to do that."

Loki’s right – it's your job to make sure he stays in line. But that's not what your conversation with Tony was meant to be. None of this had been planned. Your feelings hadn't been planned. Could you build any kind of relationship on something like that?

Your head is spinning but the answer is simple: No. The imbalance between you two is too great. It had to lead to trouble. This is your mistake, and you need to fix it.

"You are right," you murmur, speaking more to yourself than to Loki. "This is wrong." You turn to do what you should have done long ago. Without another word you leave and as you do so, you're so wrapped up in your own head that you don't even register that Loki remains rooted to the spot.

He looks after you, agonized.

You run straight into Tony's office, paying no attention to the secretary who jumps up to stop you but isn't fast enough. Luckily, it's really Tony sitting in that office, not Pepper. And luckily, he's not in an important meeting.

His head shoots up as you yank open the door and rush in, upset.

"I quit!"

Placing both palms on the desk, he rises from his seat. "What did Loki do? Do I need to kill him? Because I tell you, I just started to like him a little. But I won't hesitate if necessary."

His words remind you this is solely on you. Loki didn't do anything wrong, even though your performance right now probably gives a different impression.

You take a deep breath.

"No I…" You try to think of the right words and start walking small circles in front of the table. You can't sit still, the movement helping you think. "I want to keep doing the job, but I don't want to get paid for it anymore. What you've given me in money so far is more than I need anyway. It's never been about that for me. This may sound strange, but somehow Loki has become a friend and it's wrong to be with him and get paid for it."

Tony looks at you and the furrow on his forehead disappears. "That's what this is about? Jesus, this could have been a simple phone call. You shouldn't scare a man my age like that. I could have a heart attack." He exhales relieved. "Sit down, I'll fix you a drink."

Just slowly, you settle into the seat in front of the table. Your hands are still too nervous and you knead your fingers together. The conversation with Loki has gotten to you and your thoughts are still hanging on his words.

You don't register Tony again until he sets a glass of amber liquid down in front of you. He remains leaning against the table, a drink of his own in his hand. "If that's your choice, I have no objection. You're welcome to work for free. But you should at least think about it. I also have friends who only like me for my money."

"They are no friends, Tony."

"Ouch." He puts his hand over his heart, as if you've hit him personally. But his expression is not truly offended. Instead, he seems thoughtful, as if trying to properly assess the situation. "So… friends? Is that how you kids call it nowadays? Because let me tell you, when I was young and someone said they were just friends, then they were most certainly not just friends.”

Sighing, you finally reach for your glass and sip it, because Tony’s words hit it right on the mark. "It's complicated," you mutter.

"Of course it is. He's Loki and you're a witch."

"Well observed, Sherlock," you snort in amusement. Then something occurs to you that you hadn't considered before. "If it's not too much to ask, I'd like to keep my room here in the tower."

"If you'll keep doing the same work for free, I'll even put a new doormat on it."

"Thanks, Tony."

"Anytime, Sabrina."

Your eyes meet and Tony smiles at you. A gesture you return. He's a good man, surprisingly helpful. You're glad to have met him.

"You know, I've never watched that show," you admit as he uses that nickname again.

Tony pushes himself off the table and walks around it to his chair. "You're fired," he simply says.

"You can't fire me. I don't work here anymore."

He grins widely. "Shit, she found a loophole."

You're feeling a little better. A weight has been lifted off your shoulders, you finally don't have to feel guilty about Loki anymore. After your meeting with your family, you will talk to him and explain it. Then he will see that you care about him and not about the job.

–-––––––––––––––––––––––

Ah yes, miscommunication at its finest!

Witchling Tag List: @lokisgoodgirl @lokixryss @itsybitchylittlewitchy @yokshi-unbeliebubble @fictional-hooman @elennair @all-envy-suyu @purplekitten30 @elisadmaggiore @nothing2113 @baebeepeach @ceo-of-stfu @moonlightreader649 @ronipiamka @fluffybunnyu @ninjarose23 @ozymdias @huntress-artemiss @thedistractedagglomeration @rosaline-black @sofi786 @moonlightreader649 @paetonnn @eldriidd @r4inlov3r @eleniblue @eleniblue @maeisonline @marvel-love24 @sinsandguilt @kalinaselennespeaks @ohtellmelove @eleniblue @msrawog @hyojin-2579

[timelessdp]

Holiday Truce

This year I was @tidehopper gifter

I liked your prompts and I put together the Cujo and the Vlad showed up in dinner. I hope you will like it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43867041

A black and white blurred figure flew in the night sky at Amity Park.

—I can't believe you Cujo! This is a the seventh times in this week to came to the real world, and it's still Tuesday. What could I do with you?-Phantom rolled his eyes.

—Woof Woof! -answered the miniature dog.

—Hey Phantom!- his dad shouted after him. —Can I help you?

—Oh hi Jack! What are you doing outside this time of the day? It is almost midnight.

—You know I always loved the filed trips. And now that we have a truce we can finally work together!

—Sure. But I actually finished for today. Although...

He flew closer to the ground, and stopped in front of the other Hunter.

—I know you don't keep animals. But I think Cujo would be a nice exception. He is a ghost, so he just need some ectoplasm to live peacefully. I would be grateful if I don't need to chase after him every day.

—So do you want me to watch out for your dog?

—Argh... Why do everybody believe that he is my dog?!

—Isn't he yours?

—No, he isn't. So would you like to know him better?

Jack nodded.

Phantom handed Cujo over to his dad.

The ghost licked the man face.

—Be good! -the ghost boy smiled and left alone them.

Danny lied down to his bed as he would be a sack of flour. He immediately felt asleep.

He woke up for somebody licking his face.

—Stooop. I am still not awake -he rubbed his eyes, then he noticed the ghost dog. —I have never thought in my dreams, that you will be the one who wakes me up.

—Woof!- he was wagging his tail.

—Could you go out until I dress up?

—Yip...-whimpered.

—Okay. Okay... At the least stay beside my bed.

Danny finished the morning rutin quickly. Then he went downstairs. Cujo followed him.

—I see you two already like each other -his father said.

—He is very sweet if you know him. I mean Phantom intruduced him to me.

Daniel took his cereal, and started to eat at the kitchen table.

Cujo hopped onto his lap and spilled the milk everywhere.

—Cujo! Bad dog! -Danny put up and put him to the ground. —Stay there- the boy sighed and looked at the clock on the wall. —OMG I will be late- he picked up a toast which had been made by his father. —See ya!

—Bye Danny!

The boy had the luck with the ghost shield on around the Fenton Works.

He had an ordinary school day.

—Danny we should start our History project- Valarie started —Who knows when I will have enough free time again.

—You are right Valarie. Do you want to come over? I think I have never introduced you properly to my parents.

—Maybe because everybody know your parents.

—That is true, but they don't know about you. And I have some books for the project.

—Well I am in.

—Yes! We should order food too. Because I don't want to poison you.

—It takes more than a little ectoplasm. I think most of the population of Amity Park resistant against it.

—Believe me, when I say it isn't a little bit. Last time a ham attacked us.

They reached the Fenton Works very soon. Danny opened the front door just to face with the huge Cujo.

The boy stood as a surprised Pikachu, frozen. Somehow he forgot about him.

Valerei raised her hand with a gun.

—What are this monster doing here?!

—Err... -Danny shook his head. —Phantom left him to us to avoid your kind of problems. It just completely came out of my mind. Cujo be small!

The animal shrinked to a size of a puppy and jumped into Danny's arm.

—He doesn't bite.

—So that means Phantom left his dog to your family.

—He had never been Phantom's dog.

—Woof!-Cujo agreed.

—Do you promise that he won't cause any more difficultness?

—Until the shield is on, Amity is safe from him.

They heard tramples. Cujo jumped down. Danny's mom was that.

—Come inside.

—Alright- the youths agreed.

—Mom I don't know if you have ever met Valerie in the proper way yet.

—You are the Red Huntress. Danny told about you so much. Thank you for your help.

Now it was Valerie, who froze.

—How do you know?

—You have her gun in your hand. And the heigh is the same. Also you just given away yourself.

Danny made a facepalm. As a secret identity would be this easy to tell.

—I should be more careful...

—Do you wanna see our newest arsenal?

—Technically I came to learn with Danny...

—No worries, I will get the books until you get the tour. Be careful.

—It would be fun. Finally somebody who can appreciate our work. My children hate ghost hunting.

Danny just rolled his eyes.

—Ten minute and I will join-he went forwards.

—Can I ask what was the reason to start hunting?

—This little monster -Valarie pointed to Cujo.

—Woof!-the dog stepped onto the girl's leg.

—Leave me alone!-she swung his weapon.

Cujo became a big and growled at her.

—There is no need to attack. Please put your gun down.

She listened to Maddie, and in that moment the dog transformed into a puppy again.

—Long story for short. My dad worked for the axion lab as security. But he wasn't ready for ghost attacks, and this beast ruined his work. We lost everything. I started to work at the Nasty Burger. And one day I got a packet from Vlad Masters and there was a suit. That is how I started hunting. But I don't really care about the engineering.

—But you need to know how to works to use it safely.

—Not really. Since Technus boosted my suit, every piece is like a second skin to me.

—Hmmm... I am curios how high is your ectocontamination. We should check it up in the lab.

— Won't it hurt?

—It isn't dangerous to humans.

—I am not convinced. In regard of everybody in Amity have a higher level, than an average human has.

—That is true.

When they arrived to the lab, Valarie's bracelet started to beeping.

—I gotta go. Tell Danny, I am sorry.

—What is that?-Maddie asked.

—It is a ghost detector.

—Interesting ours haven't shown anything.

—Maybe because it is off? Let me see it. Hi Mr. Fenton!- she greeted the man, who was tinkering something.

—Hi! Maddie give me the torch!

—Right away sugar cube!

The barcalet became quiet.

—It seams like Phantom finished already.

As a soon as she said out loud, the ghost boy showed up.

—Hi Val! What's up Mr. and Mrs. Fenton?

—I am working on the Fenton ghost detector. I don't want to register Cujo as a treat.

—Cool! I caught some ectopus- he stepped beside the portal and flushed the thermos's content. —Have a nice day -Phantom waved then flew up.

—So... Where is the ectocontamination measuring device?

—At the back off the room. Come with me.

The walked beside computers, huge weapons, tubes with colorful substances, weird household utensils.

—There are lots of weird thing.

—It happens when you are an inventor. Oh I found it.

The device looked like a modern thermometer.

Maddie raised up the tool into Valarie's forehead, but before she could start the process Danny appeared and push away her hand.

—Sorry Mom, but you had said if the identity reach rate three in the danger scale the gun part is activating. And It would be a bad idea to use it on Val, before you uninstall that function.

—Ups. You are right. We could check it latter. I am going to repair it. Have fun kids -Maddie left them.

—The last time when she wanted to use it, Jazz was the one who saved me. I shouldn't left you with them.

—I knew the danger of this place...

Danny lowered his voice. He didn't want to his father hear it.

—I ordered Pizza. I know what is your favorite. It is already in the kitchen.

—Then what are we waiting for? I haven't eaten since morning, because of the Lunch Lady.

—Yeah I know.

They went upstairs. Just to find Cujo eating one of the Pizza from the box.

—Bad dog! Why do you want to eat my food? It isn't for you! -He picked up the dog and put down on the floor.

But Cujo didn't listen to him and flew up to the table.

—You don't want the thermos, do you?

Cujo looked at Danny and continued to eat.

—Argh... At the least Val yours is safe- he held out the clear box.

The girl wasn't as soft-hearted as the boy, and she put the dog onto her own thermos.

—You are very thin already. I don't want to you to starve.

—I am not starving. But thanks.

—So where are we should start the project?

—Hmmm... Well we have to stay in the middle ages. And we had got Japan for the project. I don't know. Maybe the Shintoism? I mean our books are highlighting the religions.

—I always loved the Samurais. They are very strong and brave warriors, who are commitment for a case and doesn't stop until they reached it.

—Just like you Red -Danny said moonily.

—It is weird to hear from your mouth. Phantom the only one who call me Red.

—It slipped out my mouth...- he scratched his head.

Valarie leant close to Danny's face.

—You are sus.

—Me why? I didn't do anything!

—And now you are panicking -she rolled her eyes.

—I am not!

Valarie give Danny a peck.

—What a nice couple- Vlad stepped inside the kitchen.

—Vlad what are you doing here?

—This day is the anniversary of the ghost hunting club, and Maddie invited me.

—I didn't know what is missing.

The girl grasped the boy's hand.

—Danny, can we continue this conversation upstairs?

—All right! Vlad I don't want to hear anything about you.

—You won't.

Valarie suddenly opened her thermos.

—Ups my hand is a bit slippy.

Cujo showed up.

—Please pay attention to Vlad- Danny asked from the dog.

—We are playing open cards, Daniel? You are not afraid that our little secret accidentally came into light?

—Vlad Masters. I know your secret. And I think the Fentons would listen to me if I reveal that their "friend" truly a ghost!

—Ghost?! Where?- Jack's voice came from the basement.

—As you have a chance against me, mademoiselle. I know where you live.

—She have my protection. As well Cujo's -Danny showed the scary eyes.—So behave, or leave.

—Hmmm... I see I am not welcomed here. Maybe next time- he disappeared in his pink fog.

—That wasn't a wise move.

—Then it is true - Valerie looked at Danny's eye.

—I didn't want to know this- he looked away. —Plasmius and I have an agreement. Because the knowledge about halfas put in a great risk. The government, the ghost zone. I have too many enemies.

—But you knew my secret all along. It isn't fair.

—My life never was. Sorry to rope into this mess.

—Yowl... Yowl...

—Cujo regrets too.

—Those puppy eyes. I can't believe he is able to do that. We are not friends yet.

—Yowl...

—Sign... So I guess the goth girl and the geek guy, know about this.

—Yes, they are. And my sister Jazz.

—You need to tell your parents too.

—I am not ready.

—Have you ever told somebody?

—No. Everybody figured out themselves.

—Then understandable. Maybe some clue would help and your mother will figure out.

—Nope. Their equipment targeting me since I became a ghost. And they couldn't put the pieces together.

—Before we start to studying let's to collate our timetable, which time is available for us patrolling the city.

—You are a genius!- Danny give a pick onto Val's cheek. —This way we both have enough time to sleep.

—That's the plan.

Jack came up.

—As if I heard Vlad in a moment ago.

—Actually he was here. Just got a call for an urgent conference.

—That is sad. We would have celebrating. Anyway, the ghost detector is finished.

—You are great Dad!

—I check on your mother how the ectomeasuring works.

—Okay.

—So the timetable...

—Oh yes... I almost forgot about it...

[agapi-kalyptei]

Games are bad - a hot take by a tired, busy old man

Obviously I'm going to exaggerate. Don't feel hurt because I *will* talk about games you love.

tl;dr all game mechanics are bad and should be optional

-----

Thesis: your game is, in all honesty, bad

I don't have time. I don't want to play Tetris for 20 hours to see what's the story like. I don't want to play Tetris at all, or I want to play Tetris only for the story, or I want to play Tetris in small, manageable bits to relax, and not be tricked into addictive behavior towards the game.

Tetris = any game, obviously, but you realize how stupid it sounds to play Tetris for the story, right? It's OK to enjoy Tetris, but I don't want to be forced to play Tetris to have fun.

Every single part of any game should be optional.

Chapter 1: F2P and MMO is a bad thing.

Games centered around grinding are games centered around extracting more money from players, and thus have extremely little artistic merit.

Single player games without paid addons that require grind are just a poor excuse for you not getting your shit together. Why are you tidying up your castle in Minecraft when you cannot even do the dishes in real life.

Games with grind are just an embarrassing way for developers to extend the play time. If you're not star-struck and bewildered and if you're not learning anything new for more than a few minutes, the game developer has failed you and intentionally put you in a rabbit wheel to make you spend more money and time.

Why does this building cost 80 diamonds? Why not 8? Why not 1? "Oh but it wouldn't be realistic" "Oh but you need epic things to be proportionately harder to get" "Oh but it's about delayed gratification". Shut up. I don't care. I barely like your game enough to play it once, give me a way to skip the boring things. You can keep the "normal" difficulty for 15 year olds who get 3 meals a day cooked for them for free.

Chapter 2: FPS are bad, but have one good thing going on for them

That is, being good at FPS or many other action games just feels viscerally rewarding. You put skill in. You get a visual result. You get fake game reward points. You progress the story maybe. The grind is still bad, but you get tangible difference in the skill, you get rewarded with adrenaline, and visuals. You get transported to fantastical locations and maybe that makes you think about traveling a little bit.

Games are bad, but it's okay to enjoy various aspects of the medium without having to accept them as a whole. Every single part of any game should be optional: maybe I do want to play Halo just to look around the country. What does it matter do you? I paid for the game same as you. You can play on hardcore difficulty if you want. I've been there. It was fun. But it's not fun anymore. My legs hurt. I have work to do.

I won't learn anything from dying 100 times. I don't want to die a single time, because there's nothing interesting about it anymore. I've played hundreds of games before, do you really think that shooting a little different weapon in a little different way is going to enrich my life?

Chapter 3: Sometimes I don't care about your story.

If you make a game where you cannot skip the cutscene, you should be legally barred from making another videogame for at least 15 years. The end.

Chapter 4: what does your game teach me about life?

(See upcoming rant: Your movie/show/book is bad.)

I don't care about unlocking a slightly better shield. I will unlock it, because I need it in your stupid game to make stupid progress through your stupid fights, but how does that make me a better human? How is that an interesting dinner conversation?

Look at Spiritfarer. I tried helping an ungrateful borderline narcissist do their stupid little tasks and in the end they barely thanked me, and complained how everything is everybody else's fault, and then they died. That was an unpleasant, but very relevant experience. I don't want my friends to die on my IRL, not even the "bad" ones. The game used the strengths of the medium to tell me a story that I can relate to. What does your stupid game teach? That bigger weapons kill bigger aliens? Your mother must be very proud.

If your game has nothing to say, it's a pointless game. If it says something to someone else than me, good, I'm glad. If people play it for enjoyment and to relax, good, it's their time and their stress levels. I'm not judging that. But if there's a part in your game that says absolutely nothing, and that you keep in anyway, with no way to turn it off, just because it's "game mechanics" then I'm afraid you're just not good at making games.

[izndn]

Departure

On this day, many years ago, I left a place once called home. The warmth of the people I cherish and familiar places that I often came to it all become a memory lane through depicted photographs and motion pictures. At times I wonder, where to go next?

It is January. You depart for your flight. For half a year, you have been on endless planes alone or with others, but now you are alone again, going farther miles away. Nobody is picking you up at the airport or waiting for you elsewhere. The only waiting thing is the city itself.

The airport feels like home. You got used to airport life these past months. Everything is very similar, the check-in counter, passport control, security clearance gate, boarding pass, and departure gate. You are walking through that long passenger boarding bridge before entering the plane. Good morning or evening, depending on your flight time.

”Welcome on board.”

This time it is almost midnight, and the dark sky fills with dimmed lights. You always choose your seat next to the window so you can see every tiny geography as you had seen in the atlas. You put the phone on airplane mode. One of the attendants gives you a blanket, a mini pocket fill with earplugs, and socks. The plane is about to take off any minute. You are fastening your seat belt and taking a deep breath. The pilot announcement feels like the same radio song you play time after time. The flight attendant demonstration of life vest and oxygen mask are living in your head rent-free. “Please sit back, relax and enjoy the flight.”

During the 16 hours of the flight, you watch a film, the city of stars going to the city of lights. How cliché. It is too dark to read a book, so you listen to any songs of the plane selection. A mid-aged couple begins a conversation with you. They are going on a ski holiday in the Alps, how lovely. You have not gotten any sleep since yesterday, so you do not catch on with the rest of what they are talking about, you look through the window, and everything is still dark, with nothing to see. The time on the screen is a mere illusion. You are high above traversing the countries at different timezone. The flight attendants are serving the meal, and you think about whether it is a late dinner or early breakfast. It does not matter. Either way, you are hungry, eating with somehow dim light, savouring the almost cold meal. The tummy is full. You are half asleep, but counting on sheep does not work. So you go to the restroom, brush your teeth and think it might help you to fall asleep. Alas, you feel fresh instead, so you go back to your seat and stare into a blank darkness.

Too early to have jet lag. You are arriving at the transit airport. A passenger greets you, says you look like you know your way around here, then smiles. You have no idea why she would say that perhaps she founds you attractive. Another passenger is asking you the way to reach the gate. He seems to be confused and has never been here before. Somehow the two of you go in the same direction, with only different gates and destinations. Now you are waiting in line for the security check to begin. You take out all your electronic devices and then take off your boots. “Should have worn a pair of sneakers at first.” After that, the nightmare is about to be over. You pass the gate, and the officer asks where your next destination is. Then checks your passport and put the stamp on it. He says some words in your mother language you do not recall, then says, “Good luck!”

Seven in the morning. You are walking faster and faster. There is only about an hour lefts before the next boarding, everybody is rushing their way. You reach the boarding gate half an hour before, with spare time to sit and drink a bottle of water. Through the big glass shield, you see the plane and a hue of blue sky at dawn. The sunrise is probably around eight to nine in the morning during winter. On the next plane, you get your window seat again. This time is not great at all. The bright sun wakes you up with the heat makes your head dizzy. However, you can see everything now. The white clouds, the tiny buildings from above, and sleepy people during the early morning flight. The flight attendant asked whether you would like a cup of coffee or tea with a piece of croissant. How delightful, despite the heat and narrow seat. Before you even finish sipping your coffee, an hour's flight flies by in an instant.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. We’ll be landing shortly. For your safety please remain on your seat and fasten your seatbelt...”

You arrive at the destination airport. This time it is different. You begin to lose in translation. Everyone is a stranger. Nobody is at the gate to check about anything. You pick up your luggage, and you are at the arrival area all of a sudden. The information guy says you better take the train to the city, but first, you ought to buy the sim card. Rough morning to knock your brain on another language to buy a card and ticket. Then, having to pedal the bicycle to charge the phone. Somehow you manage to get on the train with two pieces of luggage, looking exactly like a lost tourist. Wind up in the biggest station with many people. Some helpful people help you carry your luggage, some weirdly look at you, and one grumpy grandpa scolds you because you put your luggage on the other side of the stairs and to carry another one. Great.

Finally, you get out of the station. It is drizzling with a temperature below ten degrees. From there, you walk through the old buildings. Not so long afterward, you find your destination point. The receptionist gives you the room key, the old and odd shape of the room key in an antique building. At least it has an elevator that fits two-person, or you cramp in with your two pieces of luggage. You enter the room. There is one single bed, a desk and chair, a square tv box, and a high-wide window looking through the other building windows. People are working and fitting clothes in that room. While another person is sitting while reading something, the rest of the windows are closed with the lights on. It is something that excites you for the first time since arriving. Thinking of taking a bath, you ask the room service for an extra towel, and after a few minutes, an old lady comes to bring it, and the way she smiles warms the cold evening air. The next thing to do is to go out for dinner at a fast food chain and order a salad. How boring of you. Jet lag probably starts to kick in, decide to take the evening walk.

Walking with no particular destination, you look around, and there are the twinkling sparks it lights. In an instant, you realise you are here and have arrived. About to begin a new journey in a place where you do not know and nobody knows you. Would it be a place you can call home or a mere passing through for you to go on the next journey? What about the constant change of destination? It all feels as if a long daydream during the longest flight.

In the endless journey to find a home, will the arrival destination welcome its departure?

https://on.soundcloud.com/uXvQY

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (April 25/2021) - The Red Banquet

The day has finally come.

All the preparations have been completed. The invitations have been sent out. Everything has been leading up to this moment, and the Eggpire is ready to make their move.

It’s time for the Red Banquet.

A brief summary of the week’s total events can be found at the end of the post.

---

VOD LINKS:

Captain Puffy

Badboyhalo

Antfrost

Eret

Skeppy

Ranboo

---

- Puffy walks around on the surface. Everything is prepared, the armor is where it should be. She hopes everything will go well.

- Everyone is dressed up for the occasion (except George). Hannah, Niki, Fundy, Eret, George and HBomb are all there.

- Bad says hello to Ponk in the Egg Room. Ponk tells him that no one has arrived yet. Antfrost greets them by the entrance and they go up the stairs to find Niki waiting. 

- Puffy and the other guests soon enter the room as well. Antfrost points them towards a coat room where they can put all their items. Foolish arrives with the Rolexes. They drink some cider, head to the dance floor and play some tunes.

- Bad comes over and greets Puffy. Foolish informs Bad that he peed on the Egg. Sam also has a dumpy and HBomb has two of Fundy’s cocks. 

- Antfrost goes off to speak with Ponk alone and check for some last guests. They watch as George arrives.

Ant: “He looks sort of lost, but that’s okay -- we welcome everybody here.”

Ponk: “Hold up...I don’t know...hmm. Hmm...”

Ant: “I mean, he looks harmless enough.”

Ponk: “We need to get a real good look at him first. Quickly.”

Ponk: “I don’t know what that’s about.”

Ant: “I don’t know. Well, we’ll just keep an eye on him.”

Ponk: “Yeah...”

- They then go speak to HBomb and Niki. H hasn’t stopped dancing

HBomb: “I’m doing my best impersonation of a white dad.”

...

Ant: “Did you guys notice that the guy over there -- George -- just sort of wandered in? He seems sort of lost.”

Ponk: “I feel like he’s hiding something.”

- From the walls, Ranboo in a shadowy outfit can be seen watching. 

- HBomb is the DJ.

- Bad comes over to say that dinner is ready. Bad tells Puffy that they have shrimp cocktails and they all go to sit at the table. Some people are in jail and weren’t able to attend. Ponk cooked all the food.

- Bad welcomes the guests to give toasts to the meal.

First up is Foolish, who says that he hopes that after today, nobody has to say “turn a new leaf” or “let bygones be bygones” ever again. Everyone has come here in agreement in the hope of something new.

Next is Eret. 

Eret: “As the monarch of the SMP, it’s awesome to be able to maybe see the SMP going back to being reunified again, and seeing all of us not have to worry about fighting each other on different sides. I hope this is a new chapter of the entire community as a whole. Cheers to that.”

Then Ponk steps up. Long ago, an old, wise man told him “People change like the tides in the ocean.” Now he truly knows they do.

Puffy steps forward. Bad and Antfrost, she considers as friends, and the Egg has separated them. She hopes this brings them all together and makes the server more peaceful. 

George was asleep twenty minutes ago. He asks about the soup. Ponk says it’s made from organic, free-range beets.

Finally, Bad says he appreciates everyone coming. This is the perfect opportunity for everyone to come together and let bygones be bygones. To set aside past issues to grow and advance forward, even with the wrongs that have been done. 

- He nods to Antfrost, who breaks a block behind them, revealing a button. Antfrost presses it.

Bad: “I was very, very happy that we were able to gather everybody here together for what is, I’m sure, going to be a banquet that none of us are ever going...to...forget.”

- Lava starts pouring down from the ceiling, walling them in.

Bad: “Yep. Prepare to die.”

- Everyone panics. 

- Puffy tells Bad that she didn’t trust the Eggpire anyway, and planned for this. She removes the cover from the table and looks into the chest -- it’s empty.

- They watch as the Eggpire members all don the diamond armor that Puffy and Sam had prepared. Hannah says she had to do it, had to tell them. For the Egg.

- Sam says that he had another plan, because he didn’t trust the Eggpire. He’s tired of all this fighting, and it’s about time that they blow up the Egg for good this time.

- Sam flicks the TNT lever and the explosives rain down on the Egg. When they explode, though, the Egg turns into crying obsidian instead of getting destroyed, reverting back to normal Egg blocks after a few seconds.

- After Quackity’s attack, Bad and the others took preparations to make sure that the Egg wouldn’t be vulnerable to TNT anymore. Now, it’s time for the executions.

Bad: “You see, the Egg needs something, and it’s gonna get it from each of you. See, in order for the Egg to hatch, it needs energy. And it gets that energy by people dying near it. And that’s the role that you guys are gonna fill! We’re gonna kill you, one by one--”

Eret: “You’re a monster.”

Bad: “What’d you say, Eret?”

Eret: “You’re an absolute monster. How could you. We all trusted you, Bad!”

Ponk: “Trust! Okay, Eret. Keep talking. Keep talking about trust.”

Eret: “...That was a long time ago.”

- Bad says that Eret is the perfect person to sacrifice first! He leads Eret to a spot in front of the Egg lined with Netherite blocks.

- Foolish steps forward, saying he’s had enough. The Egg can shield itself against TNT, but can it withstand lightning?

- Nothing happens. Bad laughs.

Bad: “You really thought, Foolish? You thought you could enter the Egg’s domain and beat it in a battle of power? Come on...you’re in the Egg’s territory, Foolish.”

- The Egg is suppressing Foolish. Ant suggests they start with Foolish instead and take Eret’s life later.

- Puffy steps forward. She and Antfrost shout at each other. Puffy says she gave them chance after chance. Antfrost says that Puffy betrayed them first.

Ant: “Foolish, your own son, is about to be slaughtered because of you!”

Puffy: “I’m only one person!”

Foolish: “Puffy, Puffy, it’s okay, it’s not your fault--”

Puffy: “NO! It’s not alright!”

Ant: “Puffy, you could have stopped this if you had stayed with the Eggpire. But this is your fault.”

- Antfrost kills Foolish with a sword.

---

CANON DEATH: FOOLISH

Cause: Sacrificed by Antfrost to the Egg

---

- Everyone screams in horror. The Eggpire wonders who to kill next.

- Suddenly, Quackity shouts at them to stop and drops into the room. He tells Bad to calm down. He puts on diamond armor.

- Quackity tells them they’ve just killed a man, asking if this is what they wanted. Bad tells him that he’s doing all this for the Egg, for what the Egg can give them.

Quackity: “I’m telling you, Bad, you’re a pawn to power. You’re nobody, Bad. You’re working for something that, quite frankly, doesn’t even care about you. I mean look at the Egg, look at the Egg! Look at what it means! It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything, Bad. So how about...how about we just stop playing games.”

- As Quackity monologues, he subtly slips Puffy a Netherite axe, potion of strength and a golden apple.

- Bad can’t stop, or else he can’t get what he needs. 

Bad: “Guess what, Quackity. If you wanted to stop us, you should’ve brought more than just yourself. You should’ve brought an army.”

Quackity: “Guess what, Bad? I did! I did. In fact, I brought the next best thing...I brought my biggest enemy!”

- Technoblade logs on and drops into the room, his hoard of dogs following.

- Not only that...Quackity also went looking across the lands for the best mercenary he could find. Purpled drops into the room as well.

Bad: “We HIRED you to take out Puffy, and you join the enemy’s side?!”

Purpled: “Bad, to be frank with you, Quackity just had the better price.”

- Techno explains that he didn’t want to work with Quackity, but the Egg is too great a danger to the server and it’s against everything he stands for.

- Suddenly, Puffy jumps forward with her axe, attacking Ant. The Eggpire is shocked that she has a weapon.

Puffy: “You’ve taken my kindness for weakness, Antfrost!”

---

CANON DEATH: ANTFROST

Cause: Killed by Puffy with an axe

---

- A fight breaks out. Bad shouts for the remaining Eggpire members to retreat. They run out. Quackity orders Purpled to go track them down.

- Bad leads the Eggpire out. They can regroup later. For now, they have to run. They have to split up. They can’t get caught, they have to stay safe and go as fast as they can.

- Alone, Bad thinks to himself.

Bad: “This is such a trainwreck. This whole plan...everything was for this moment! And it’s gone! They -- they have the Egg now...they have it. What can I do? I can’t do anything! I need to get out of here. I need resources...”

“Wait, I know where I can go. I know who I can see...but the Egg, the Egg is -- it’s in their possession right now. What can I do? What can I do against it? I can’t do anything, they have it! I needed the Egg, I needed...I needed what it was gonna give. It was gonna help me get what I wanted, but now they have it...they have it...I just...I just wanted what...I just wanted what it could give me.”

“I didn’t really -- I didn’t really want to hurt anybody. I just wanted what it could give me, but...I don’t know. Did I screw up? Am I in the wrong here? I don’t know...I just need to go. I need to get out of here.”

- Bad starts rowing away into the ocean.

- Quackity asks Sam what to do next. The Egg is invincible.

- Purpled lost them in the labyrinth. Sam says he’ll build a prison for the Egg if he has to. He wants to find a way to destroy it, but for now they need to lock it away where it can’t be accessed.

- Quackity makes sure everyone is alright. They then exit the room through the whole in the wall. Quackity tells Techno to come with him and Sam to talk. They leave the others to escape the rest of the way.

- They make it to the surface, relieved. HBomb hands them all soup to remember the event by.

- Puffy goes off on her own down the Prime Path. While she talks to herself, Ranboo walks down the path with potion particles coming off of him.

Puffy: “What did I do? What -- I...My son died! And I killed my best friend! I...I need to find Foolish. I...I don’t even know who I am anymore. The life I swore to protect, I didn’t at all, and then I took one myself! I don’t even...I...I can’t do this anymore. I just...can’t.”

- Eret mourns Foolish after the events of the Banquet. Foolish sacrificed his life for Eret, so at the very least he should be commemorated.

Eret: “I don’t even feel like I knew him that well...which makes things even harder. He’s helped me out with so many things, just from the kindness of his heart. He claimed to know me. He claimed to know a me which I don’t even remember... And he sacrificed himself for me.”

“At the very least, I need to commemorate his sacrifice, I...I should’ve been the one to die, not him.”

- Eret builds a Totem statue in his fortress. 

RIP Foolish I’ll miss you, old friend.

- Eret builds a replica of the Egg in their museum.

- Ranboo logs on in his house. He decides to go around the main area today and fix some stuff. His inventory is quite empty, so he grabs stacks of grass blocks from a chest and heads out.

- He heads over to the main area and remarks that the server is beginning to look okay now that the Blood Vines are gone.

- He notices some posters for the Red Banquet.

Ranboo: “Oh, that was today! ...Cool!”

- He carries on and runs into Sam near the Community House. They exchange some steak. Sam says he’s collecting materials for the bank, as people need it now more than ever. 

- Sam suggests Ranboo invest money and charge cash for his hotel. Ranboo points out that they already have currency in the form of emeralds and diamonds. Sam explains his waiver idea for the bank.

- Also, Sam needs to build a vault. People can come and rent a spot to lock away important items. 

- Ranboo asks if you can lock away people in the vault. Sam says that’s what Pandora’s Vault is for already.

- Sam mentions that they’ll put the Egg in there. Ranboo asks what makes this different from regular storage. Sam says it’s more secure.

- Sam and his associates will be there day and night to actively defend everyone’s belongings. Ranboo asks how many guards Sam has under his command. Sam says quite a few.

- Why now? Sam says there’s no time like right now and quotes Oogway.

- Sam doesn’t plan on charging interest. He just wants to establish a better system of trade on the server.

- Ranboo explains to chat that he can use this system to make infinite money by trading emeralds and diamond armor.

- What if someone is, say, already quite rich on the server? Sam says the trade and the guard of supplies is most important. 

- Ranboo asks how fragile the system would be. What would it take to bring it down?

- Sam says a whole nuke. Ranboo replies that he was thinking systematically. He asks how the Great Depression happened and Sam explains inflation and the circumstances for economic crises. 

- Sam gives Ranboo a “prototype Sam dollar.” (One iron ingot)

- They go to Hannah’s house to steal and then find an anvil in the spider spawner to name the ingot “Smollar.” They go down the tunnel and Sam says that Ranboo shouldn’t go down to the Egg Room. It’s under quarantine.

- He’s planning on moving the Egg and asks if Ranboo heard what happened. Ranboo didn’t. Sam fills him in in the Egg Room. Ranboo is curious about the Egg turning into obsidian and picks up a piece of the Blood Vines, suggesting Sam do some experiments.

- They exit the Egg Room and find some strange llamas. Ranboo shoves a chest in Drip Llama.

- Ranboo, Sam, and Foolish breed a ton of llamas to begin the Industrial Revolution.

- Bad comes over and becomes one with the llamas to cope. Foolish turns into a L’manburg Llama and is promptly slaughtered by Ranboo.

- Ranboo, Bad and Foolish create a gigantic llama train.

Upcoming Events:

- Quackity’s business opening

- Tommy’s plan

- Tales From the SMP: “Space Race”

- Dream’s lore video

- The Banquet aftermath

---

END OF WEEK RECAP:

4/19 - Nothing much happens.

4/20 - Nothing much happens.

4/21 - HBomb makes a diamond game, Jack plans to open a pub sidechain for his hotel business

4/22 - Tubbo shows Tommy how to make TNT cannons

4/23 - Puffy, Foolish, Hannah and Sam meet on Cloud Prime to discuss the Banquet, Ranboo’s Enderwalk Saga: “The Lessons”

4/24 - HBomb’s diamond game, George’s anniversary dream, Bad hands out invitations

4/25 - THE RED BANQUET.

[helaintoloki]

Everybody Loves Somebody

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: slight language, themes of insecurity, angst, pining, slow burn (kinda?), eventual fluff, over 5k words in length

notes: it’s finally finished! this took forever but I swear I put my entire soul into making this as perfect as it could be. I’ve never used this format before in my writing and it was challenging but also super fun so hopefully you guys like it :) (also yes the title and the fic somewhat is inspired by the Dean Martin song)

summary: Thrown into a blind date against his will, Bucky does his best to prepare in the days leading up to Saturday night, a feat that proves to be much more difficult than expected thanks to his neighbor across the hall.

Sunday

Three quick raps on the apartment door force Bucky to kick back the covers and sluggishly rise from his spot on the floor. He’s exhausted, but his recognition of the evenly spaced knocks on the wooden frame has him feeling compelled to answer, and so he does. Too tired to notice the television is still droning on in the background, Bucky idly wraps his discarded blanket around his form to shield his vibranium arm before opening the door to greet the old man standing on the other side.

“Rough night, huh?” Yori greets with a knowing smile.

“Something like that,” he replies with a tired, lopsided grin. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I set you up on a date,” the man says casually, as if setting Bucky up on dates without his knowledge and against his will is a common every day occurrence, and it is. “Saturday evening at six.”

“What— A date? Yori—“

“She’s a nice girl, very pretty. I think you’ll like her.”

“Now hang on a minute,” Bucky tries to interject, but Yori is already halfway down the hall before the super soldier can get another word in.

“You’re meeting her at the Italian place down the street!” Yori calls behind him. “She likes sunflowers!”

The old man’s shouts are sure to have woken up the entire fourth floor by now, but Bucky is too busy trying to process the jumble of information that has been thrust upon him so suddenly and so early in the morning to care. The last date Yori had sent him on had ended in disaster; Bucky wasn’t ready to get back out on the field, a stable relationship wasn’t in the cards for him. Surely no one in their right mind would stick around once they found out the truth about the man, and if they did it would only be a matter of time before the constant nightmares and extra baggage that came with dating the ex-Hydra assassin sent them running for the hills. But Yori meant well, Bucky knew that, and he also knew he owed the man more than he could ever give him in return, so if sitting through another painfully uncomfortable date would make him happy, then Bucky would just have to suck it up, put on the nicest shirt he owned, and charm his way through another awkward dinner.

“Sunflowers,” he grumbles to himself, quietly shutting the door before returning to his spot on the cold hardwood floor.

Monday

Monday mornings are gym mornings, early workouts that start at five and end at seven. He promptly returns to the apartment building at seven thirty, eight if he stops for breakfast, then goes to check the mail before heading back to the comfort of his sheltered apartment. He doesn’t receive much other than grocery coupons and an odd letter from the government every now and then, but he’s been told that a routine is good, it’s healthy, so on Monday mornings at seven thirty—or eight— Bucky pulls out his keys and opens his assigned metal box with a sense of indifference.

It’s eight o’clock on this particular morning, and with a half finished cup of coffee in hand the soldier opens the little metal compartment to find nothing other than stray specks of dust and the tiniest of spiderwebs in the top right corner of the box. It’s a familiar sight, but Bucky has learned not to let it bother him by now. Remember James, it has nothing to do with you, his therapist always said. You have to learn not to take things personally.

“It has nothing to do with me,” Bucky murmurs quietly before finally shutting his mailbox with a sigh. Coffee cup discarded in the nearby trash can, Bucky turns to make his trek towards the elevator only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of a beautifully familiar face.

Your name is y/n, you live on the fourth floor, and for someone reason you’re always covered in glitter. You’re on your way out the door, art supplies held clumsily in your grasp just begging to jump free from your hold, and despite the rush you seem to be in you still greet the man with a polite smile.

“Good morning,” you chime, honey coated voice filled with warmth and kindness for the stranger. Bucky simply gives you a halfhearted smile in return, watching you walk out the door and wishing he could just muster up the courage to speak to you.

You won the soldier’s heart the day you knocked on his door to drop off a “welcome to the neighborhood” casserole. It had only been his second day in his new apartment, and while he knew some of the other tenants were weary of the mysterious man with the thousand yard stare who had decided to call the building a home, you never once seemed to bat an eye at Bucky or his closed off nature. He had been a little short with you upon your first meeting, his anxiety coming off as annoyance, but still you wore that same kind smile of yours and assured him that if he ever needed anything you’d be happy to help. You were a kind person with a big heart, and Bucky didn’t want to chance snuffing out one of the few lights left in the world, so he let you be. Admiring you from afar was all he let himself have of you, and that was it.

Though, Bucky would be lying if he said you didn’t come across his mind every once in a while. He wondered what you were like, what music you listened to, how you liked your eggs in the morning, if you were an old soul or young at heart, if you’d ever let yourself fall into in the arms of a broken man and help pick up the pieces. It was a pipe dream, but sometimes a friendly smile from you in the morning was enough to get Bucky through an entire day. He hadn’t been with anyone in years, and while he didn’t think he was ready to get back out on the dating scene just yet he knew that if you asked him to he’d take the plunge in a heartbeat. You were an angel, and Bucky would never be able to bring himself to taint you with his touch.

Monday mornings are workout mornings, but they’re also mornings with you.

Tuesday

On Tuesday afternoons Bucky often finds himself in the company of Yori, ensuring the old man stays out of trouble and going out of his way to make sure his newest friend has a nice day out on the town. It isn’t much, and it never will be, but it’s enough for now, at least until Bucky can find the courage to tell the father just what exactly happened to his son on that fateful night. But until then, sushi for lunch will have to do.

He makes his usual trek to the man’s apartment, stomach already beginning to rumble at the prospect of a nice crunch roll, but Bucky’s hunger is soon replaced with nerves at the sight of the woman standing in Yori’s doorway.

You look pretty today, hair haphazardly styled in your rush out the door this morning, colorful stains of dry paint adoring your hands that clutch a bundle of books close to your chest, and a dangly pair of earrings that glint underneath the sunlight pouring through the hallway windows. There’s a smile on your face as you nod along to something Yori says that doesn’t quite register in the soldier’s jumbled thoughts, and the two of you are both too engrossed to notice his lingering presence standing just a few feet away.

“Thank you so much for lending me these. The kids keep me on my toes and I haven’t had any time to settle down with a good book so these were perfect,” you utter gratefully, handing off the pile of poetry books to Yori’s awaiting hands. Names of authors that Bucky doesn’t recognize catch his eye, just as his friend finally catches his presence.

“Of course. I have more if you’re ever interested,” he says before finally addressing the elephant in the hallway. “James, there you are. I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

Bucky stiffens at the sound of his name, heat immediately crawling up his neck as you turn to him with a friendly smile. Clearing his throat, he steps forward and musters up a meager grin in return.

“Like I’d ever miss Tuesday lunch,” he jokes, a nervous chuckle falling past his lips.

“I guess I better get going. Thank you again, Yori,” you chime with a grateful smile. Then, with your attention turned to Bucky, “Have a nice lunch, James.”

“Thank you...” he trails quietly, mentally kicking himself for his stiff demeanor and wishing he could be less pathetic in your presence just once. Just once and he’d die a happy man.

You leave with a polite smile, turning down the hallway and out of Bucky’s grasp once again. Yori elbows his side.

“She’s single, you know.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Bucky replies with a wry chuckle. “You have me set up with one girl already.”

“Right,” Yori notes thoughtfully with a knowing smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes that Bucky can’t quite decipher. “I think you’re going to have a nice time on your date.”

“We’ll see,” is all he says in reply, your smile the only thing on his mind as the two men head out for the day.

Wednesday

Bucky has grown to love rainy days, days in which he can remain tucked away in the warmth and comfort of his own home with a relaxing mug of hot chocolate in one hand and some piece of pop culture media he has yet to catch up with in the other. Today’s pick is a book titled The Outsiders, and Bucky chooses to sit upon the windowsill to read the novel.

Gentle drops of rain trail down the glass window, pattering soothingly in a way that makes Bucky fear he may fall asleep. He sets the book aside with a tired sigh and glances out the window with his warm cheek pressed against the cool surface; the city is quiet and the streets nearly empty, and this makes it easier to spot you.

It’s almost as if you’ve been popping up out of nowhere lately, but Bucky never seems to mind. Watch from afar, that was the deal he made with himself, so who was he to complain if you made the task easier for him? He could never have you the way he wanted to because he doubted you’d ever want an unstable old man like him, and even if you did he’d be no good for you. He knew girls like you back in his day, girls with stars in their eyes and hearts on their sleeves, girls who’d melt in his arms whenever he so much as smiled at them. And yet you weren’t like any girl he’d ever seen; you were an enigma and he wanted nothing more than to spend all of eternity deciphering the mystery of you. But he couldn’t, because he shouldn’t, so he didn’t.

Despite the gloomy gray skies hanging above you there’s a serene smile on your face as you stop to admire the pots of sunflowers outside the building, reminding Bucky he has to buy some for his date on Saturday. God, he was dreading it. Bucky was sure whatever girl Yori picked for him would be nice enough, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes wish it were you he’d be taking out for a night on the town. A guy can dream, right?

You retreat into a nearby coffee shop when the rain begins to fall harder, and as Bucky turns to his own warm drink he finds that the mug is now cold. Book discarded, he rises from his spot on the windowsill and drowsily drags himself into the kitchen for another cup.

For a moment he thinks sunflowers might surely bring about his demise, and the passing thought brings the smallest of smiles to his face. Only time will tell.

Thursday

“How are you feeling about your date on Saturday?”

The woman stares at him expectantly, pristine notepad resting casually in her lap, pen in hand as a warning, eyebrows raised at the man as he stares down contemplatively at the stitching of his leather gloves. What should be a comforting environment instead only seems to put him on edge, and as the seconds tick by on the clock hung crookedly above the doorway her pen only seems to get closer to the blank page below her. Shoulders sagging, Bucky can only offer a small sigh in response.

“I can’t say I feel too great about it,” he finally says, the tension in his shoulders alleviating slightly as she finally puts the pen down.

“And why’s that?” Doctor Raynor prods curiously.

“I just don’t really think I’m all that ready for a relationship. What person wants to be with someone as screwed up as me?”

“The right person will,” Christina comforts. Your smiling face flashes briefly in his mind in response and he shifts in discomfort— the doctor notices. “But I don’t think you’re telling me the full story here, James. I suspect there’s something else that’s holding you back. Or maybe someone.”

“That obvious, huh?” Bucky retorts with a wry smile.

“Who’s the lucky person?”

“Her name’s y/n,” he says, your name falling past his lips in the softest tone Dr. Raynor has ever heard from him before. “I don’t know her all that well, but she lives in my apartment building so I see her around a lot. She’s... she’s really pretty.”

“Well, what is it about y/n that you like?”

Geez, where do I even begin?

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugs, picking absently at a loose seam on the end of his shirt, “I guess I like how friendly she is. Every time I see her she’s always smiling, she always says good morning to everyone and lends a hand wherever she can. It’s like she goes out of her way to be nice to me, and I’m not really used to that but it’s a nice feeling. The first time I met her she never even flinched, she wasn’t scared like other people usually are, and even when I blew her off she still made it clear that I was welcome and if I needed a friend she’d be there. That’s the kind of person she is.”

“Did you take her up on that offer?” The woman asks, but by the look on her face Bucky is sure she already knows the answer.

“No...”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” Christina says firmly, “you have to stop closing yourself off from the people around you. Making a friend could really help you, especially if this girl is truly as nice as you say she is.”

“She is,” he reiterates firmly, “and that’s why I can’t be her friend.”

The doctor’s brows furrow with piqued interest at his admission, legs shifting underneath her as she gets comfortable in preparation for what will most likely be a heavy confession. “Can you elaborate for me?” She says. Bucky sighs.

“After everything that’s happened, and everything the world has been through, it just gets harder and harder to find some sort of light in the dark. So when you finally do find it, it’s like you have to do everything in your power to make sure it never goes out.”

“So y/n is a light?” Raynor reaffirms.

“For so many people,” Bucky nods, “and if I try to put myself in the picture I’ll only bring her down. There’s no future with me, and she deserves better than that.”

“How do you know that if you never put yourself out there?” The doctor asks softly, silently stunned by the heavy confession Bucky has entrusted her with; it’s the most he’s ever opened up before.

Pieces of the past dart through his mind, and in the midst of all the heartache and the chaos he sees Yori, the one friendship he’s been able to successfully maintain since his period of healing. The memory of the man is pleasant for a moment, until Bucky is reminded of the basis of their friendship and how one single confession will tear down everything they’ve built together. It doesn’t matter what kind of man he is now or how much control he has over his own life, the Winter Soldier will always have the final say, and nothing will ever change that. Finally, he speaks.

“I just do.”

Friday

“Crap.”

The softly uttered curse sounds from across the hallway and alerts Bucky of his struggling neighbor’s presence. Purse slipping off your shoulder and heavy groceries spilling from your arms, you struggle to maneuver your key into the lock of your front door all while the heat of embarrassment engulfs your body in a suffocating hold. You’re not as put together as you usually are, your belongings in disarray and eyes full of exhaustion rivaling that of his own, your usually meticulously picked clothing replaced by joggers and an old college sweatshirt that’s three sizes too big on you, and yet Bucky still finds himself frozen in your presence.

Don’t just stand there, help her you idiot, his mind screams at him, the soldier harshly swallowing down his nerves before taking shaky steps towards you. An orange slips out of the brown paper bag and rolls towards his feet, and Bucky takes it as his in into a conversation.

“Need some help?” He asks with a crooked smile, one that softens at the look of distress clear in your eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you breathe out before offering a meager smile of your own. “Some help would be great, thank you.”

Bucky takes the heavier bags of groceries from your aching arms and returns the orange to its rightful place, allowing you the chance to take your keys and unlock the door. You don’t spare him another glance as you walk in, leaving it open as a silent invitation for him to let himself in. Bucky swallows nervously but wordlessly follows behind; he’s never been in a woman’s apartment before, and the fact that it’s yours makes the experience all the more nerve wracking.

Your apartment is small but personalized, decorated with little knickknacks and houseplants and old family portraits that Bucky does his best not to stare at in fear of being rude, and the vanilla scented candle that burns on the coffee table makes him feel all the more welcome. You drop your purse by the couch with a tired sigh before directing your attention to the man who stands awkwardly in your living room. His hulking figure makes your apartment seem tiny, oddly comforting in a way, but you hold back your giggles and merely guide him to your kitchen.

“You can set them on the counter,” you say with a passive wave before reaching into one of the cabinets for a glass cup. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” the man says politely as he settles the heavy bags down on the marble surface; as much as he’d like to sit and spend the evening with you, he can’t stay long, or more like he won’t allow himself to stay long. Your movements are clumsy as you down your glass of water, and Bucky looks away flustered as little droplets begin to escape the corners of your lips and dribble down your neck. “I hope I’m not overstepping by asking this, but are you alright? You seem a bit... flustered.”

“Is it that obvious?” You joke quietly, your smile barely reaching your eyes as you fidget with the sleeves of your sweater.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky begins to say in fear of overstepping, but you merely shake your head in response.

“I’m just a little stressed out. The kids always keep me on my toes, especially now that there’s more of them, and it’s been hard trying to get some of them to readjust.”

“Kids?” He repeats with furrowed brows. He can’t recall ever seeing you with any children, and there’s no sign of any living with you in your apartment. A genuine laugh leaves your lips this time at his response and Bucky tenses uncomfortably. Did he say something wrong?

“I’m a kindergarten teacher,” you explain with a smile, and everything clicks in Bucky’s mind then. That would explain the constant paint stains and trails of glitter left in your wake, the arts and crafts supplies and stacks of drawings you seem to carry with you everywhere. And here he thought your heart couldn’t get any bigger than it already was— were you even real?

“The effects of the blip have been really difficult for them. It’s hard having to come back to school and see that all your old friends are now five grades ahead of you. I know everyone has been impacted in some way by what happened, but it’s harder for the younger ones to understand. I’m doing my best to make the transition back to normalcy easier for them, but some days are harder than others, you know?”

“Sounds rough,” is all Bucky can manage to say, swallowing his emotions back harshly.

“Yeah,” you sigh quietly, rubbing away the clear exhaustion in your eyes, “but I’m trying my best.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

You smile then, a genuine smile, one that makes Bucky weak in the knees, and suddenly it’s as if all the weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

“I really needed to hear that,” you utter softly, “thank you.”

“What are neighbors for?” Bucky jokes lamely, but you must like his sense of humor for you let out the quietest of giggles.

“You’re sweet. I like talking with you, but I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”

“Not really,” he shrugs with a crooked smile, “I just had some errands to run before tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” You ask curiously, brows raising with interest as Bucky awkwardly looks down at your hardwood floor.

“I’ve got a date.”

“Huh, no kidding. Me too,” you smile, and in response Bucky’s heart slowly begins to sink to his stomach. Yori had said you were single, but only an idiot would believe that someone like you could stay that way for long. Maybe if he had taken the doctor’s advice sooner he could be the one you’re seeing instead of the lucky guy that beat him to it.

“I should get going... I’ll see you around.”

“Thank you again for the help, and good luck on your date,” you say with an encouraging smile. Bucky swallows harshly in response, a look of longing in his eyes that he hides well with a meager quirk of his lips.

“You too,” he murmurs in response, casting you once last glance before showing himself out. The lock clicks behind him, and Bucky trudges back to his own empty apartment.

Saturday

The dining patio of the Italian restaurant is pleasantly empty, but the quiet stillness does little to help soothe Bucky’s nerves as he waits for the arrival of his date. He probably should have asked Yori what she looked like, what her name was and what she’d be wearing so he’d know what to expect, but the old man had been adamant on keeping the identity of his date a surprise.

“It’ll be better that way,” he had said, “trust me.”

The bouquet of sunflowers sits before him on the table almost tauntingly, their bright colors and sweet scent sending his senses into overdrive. He almost resented them, but then he thought of your smiling face through the window and the tension from his shoulders began to dissipate— if you could be strong and put on a brave face despite all the bad things that had happened in the world, then so could he.

“James?” A meek voice calls quietly, pulling the man from his thoughts. His blue eyes widen in surprise at the sight of the woman standing before him and he swallows anxiously.

“Y/n?” Bucky replies, quickly rising from his seat and cringing at the way in which the legs of the chair scrape harshly across the floor with his sudden movements. Here he thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful, and here you were proving him wrong with your cute little outfit and styled hair and charming smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my date,” you explain with a sheepish smile. Bucky deflates— not only would he have to suffer through his own painfully awkward date, but he’d also have to sit and watch you get swept off your feet by someone else all in the same night.

“Oh... well, who’s the lucky guy?”

“That’s the thing,” you say with a nervous laugh, “I think you are.”

“Me?” Bucky repeats flabbergasted. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Yori was the one who said I should try dating again. He thought it would be good for me to spend some time with other adults since I’m always with my students, and when I said I didn’t really know anyone he told me he’d take care of it for me. All he told me was to come to this restaurant Saturday at six and look for the man with sunflowers,” you summarize before gesturing to the bouquet on the table, “and you’re the only one here with sunflowers so...”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Bucky then at the realization, and he isn’t sure whether he should jump for joy or wait for the ground below to swallow him whole. Finally he had a chance to spend time with the girl who had taken over his thoughts and occupied every available space in his heart, and yet he couldn’t help but feel terrified. A date was a big step up from neighborly conversation in your apartment, and all of Bucky’s hopes of developing something more with you were riding on this one date. Yori knew exactly what he was doing by setting the two of you up, and Bucky had no choice but to be grateful for the man who had bestowed upon him the chance to finally win you over.

“If this is too awkward for you we can just skip this whole date—“

“No, it’s not awkward at all,” Bucky is quick to interject. “I mean, this whole thing is certainly a surprise but it’s a good one. It’s an honor to be your blind date.”

He flashes a charming smile that makes you weak in the knees, and he knows then that he’s back in the game— who would have guessed he’d be able to dust off his old moves with such ease? He had to if he wanted any kind of chance at winning you over.

“In that case, why don’t we get out of here? This restaurant is a little stuffy,” you note with a small chuckle, your nerves slowly beginning to dwindle.

“Alright, what do you have in mind?”

The nightlife atmosphere of the plaza square is surprisingly much more comfortable compared to the dining patio, and Bucky considers himself the luckiest man alive to be able to witness firsthand the way your eyes seem to sparkle with the light of the starry sky. A nighttime stroll is right up Bucky’s alley, and you both fall into a comfortable step as you talk about whatever topic seems to come to mind. You speak of your students, about how much their smiling little faces have helped you get through the toughest times, how there’s a stray cat who calls the dumpsters behind your apartment building a home and waits for your arrival on trash days because you always bring the feline a special treat. Alpine, you had named it, and Bucky adored that greatly.

The details are vague but you enjoy the stories he tells you of his childhood and the way his whole face seems to light up at the mere mention of his mother and sister; that look dwindles slightly when he speaks of his old best friend, but you pretend not to notice. As a younger man Bucky worked at the docks before serving time in the army, though he fails to mention where he’d been stationed, and now he works for the government. You feel almost giddy to be learning so much about the man you once believed would rather prefer solitude over your company, and as the night drags on and the conversation begins to dwindle you almost wish you could reverse the clock and do it all over again.

“Thank you,” Bucky says after a moment of silence, prompting you to halt your steps and raise a brow curiously at your counterpart.

"What for?"

“Taking a chance on a guy like me,” he smiles faintly while offering you a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “I haven’t really done anything like this in a while, and the idea of putting myself back out there scared me shitless, but you just make things so much easier. I guess what I’m trying to say is when I’m with you everything comes naturally, and I really appreciate that.”

“Oh,” you utter softly, a sheepish smile of your own gracing your lips as you turn away to admire the scenery around you. It isn’t until now that you notice you’ve stopped before the fountain, the arches of water flowing overhead illuminated by the fluorescent lights below them. A nervous fluttering occupies your stomach and when you finally meet Bucky’s gaze you feel as if nothing else in the entire world mattress other than the two of you in this moment. “Well, if it makes you feel any better I’m kind of in the same boat, so that just means we can figure this out as we go. Together.”

“I like that,” Bucky affirms with a nod, a look that can only be described as lovestruck taking over his features. Nerves overcome you then as you clutch your bouquet of flowers to your chest, heart thrumming rapidly in your rib cage as Bucky steps closer. The glove that had once shielded his right hand from the cold is now missing as he gently cups your cheek and encompasses you with his warmth. His palm is calloused and rough but comforting all the same, and it takes everything in your power not to melt like putty in his grasp.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs quietly as if raising his voice any higher will ruin the moment.

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily, swallowing back your nerves, “it’s okay.”

Your softly uttered words of confirmation are all Bucky needs to hear before dipping down and gently brushing his lips against your own. His movements are hesitant for only a moment, and it is only once he’s sure you are comfortable and secure that he moves in for more. Your lips are soft against his own, plush and warm and so sweet, and as your eyes begin to flutter shut and the forgotten sunflowers slip out of your grasp you drape your arms securely across his shoulders at the same moment in which his left hand joins his right in cupping your face as if you were a precious jewel in need of the upmost care.

Nothing exists when you are in each other’s arms, you are safe and sound in your own little world, and as you part to take a breath Bucky realizes then that one kiss is all he needs to know that you are the one he’s been waiting for all his life.

And by god, if you aren’t more than worth the wait.

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Dating is still only about love

Summary: Based on the prompt received in AO3 "Reader is a lot like Bucky. Bucky saves Reader, and recruits him to the Avengers team. Reader and Wanda begin to develop a relationship, but it is shy and awkward because Reader is from 1940."  ///////////// Read on AO3 too

Words:  3.914k (one) //  

Warnings: 13+ Fluff and a bit of language, mentions of torture.

Notes: I think this turned out to be more about the 1940 reader in love than anything else, but I hope you enjoy it.

Part II (Special Smut request)

////////////

You are dancing to Glenn Miller in a bar in Brooklyn. Your parents would kill you if they saw you now, spinning in the arms of a stranger. But you laugh, and move your body to the music. 

And then you see Bucky and Steve, entering the place, and you let go of your partner and run to hug them.

- Hi, boys! - You greet them with a smile that they respond to.

- Someone is cheerful. - Bucky jokes looking at your slightly alcoholic state. 

You fake a serious expression. 

- Are you implying that your superior is drunk, Sergeant Barnes?

Bucky laughs at your imitation of an authoritative voice, and you turn to Steve, who looks mildly annoyed. 

- Hey, Rogers. Why the long face? - you ask, and he shrugs. You can tell by Bucky's expression. He had been rejected from the army again, and you let out a sigh and decide to cheer him up. - Come on, Steve! Let's dance!

You pull him by the hand before he can refuse. And eventually, he laughs. Bucky joins you next, and the three of you spin around the room, your steps out of sync as you laugh.

/-/

You try to move but there is something holding you to the surface where you are lying. And then you try to scream for help, but there is something in your mouth that prevents you from doing so. 

You widen your eyes with surprise when a man dressed in white appears in your field of vision, and he fits something cold to your head.

You grumble against the tightness in your mouth, but he just gives you a mocking smile.

- Vital signs? - He speaks in German. You close your eyes tightly when a light goes on in front of you.

- Stable. - Says a second voice in the room that you don't know where it comes from.

- Good. You can apply now.

And then you feel your veins burn, and you scream, but your scream is muffled by the object in your mouth. The pain chokes you until you can't see anything anymore.

/-/

Someone is pulling you. You blink to regain consciousness, but it takes a long time. You are tired, but there is a feeling that is in your body that you don't know.

- Hey, Y/N. - You hear someone calling, and then you take a breath trying to remember. - Can you hear me? Can you walk?

- Bucky... - You grumble and accept the arm he offers you to get up. - Where the...?

- We don't have time, we need to get out of here.

And then you are running out of the compound where you were being held prisoner. Bucky is wearing the same clothes as you. And then you see Steve, but he looks nothing like the Steve you knew. This Steve is tall, and muscular, but still has the same gentle look as your friend. But you don't have time to ask.

-/-/ 

You haven't rested for a long time. But that's okay, you want to help your country win the war. You want to help Steve, and you believe in him. And so you and Bucky jump on a train for him.

- Watch out! - You warn your friends, and they just shrug as they smile.

And things go well for about five minutes, and then one of the Hydra soldiers has a gun pointed at Bucky, and the next second you are jumping on the man. 

When Bucky goes to help you, a second man appears. A grenade explodes ripping out half the compartment and you hear a whistle in your ear. You manage to knock out the man who pinned you down, but then someone kicks you in the back out of the train. You grab the metal bar, and when Bucky is thrown out, you hold him fast. 

You see Steve run up to you two, his hand outstretched in the air to reach you. And then the iron breaks and you both fall.

-/-/

You wake up in a jolt, in a cold sweat. And there are chains on your wrists. You let out an angry grunt.

No one tells you who these men who test you are. And every time you scream or try to free yourself, they inject something that makes you lethargic, and vulnerable. And then they electrocute your mind, and you forget any flash of memory that might appear.

As long as you don't remember who you are, you accept every command they give you.

-/-/

You use a pillar of the building next to you to protect yourself from gunfire. You are starting to get annoyed. 

Your mission is to eliminate the Winter Soldier, or divergent soldier, as your leader has begun to call him.

But he is being particularly difficult to eliminate, especially since there is a man with a shield and a woman with a machine gun protecting him. 

And then you use bombs, and disarm them. The men who came with you keep them busy while you run towards your target, and throw him to the ground with a blow to his ribs.

You arm your knife, but he gets up quickly, fending off every attack as skillfully as you do.

And then he hits you in the face, and your mask falls off. You have a gun pointed at his face next, but the completely shocked look on his face makes you hesitate.

- Y/N? 

- I don't... - You find yourself talking, but then there is a second explosion that distracts you, and then the man disarms you.

You strike back, knocking him to the ground. But you run away, and on your way back to the Hydra establishments, you say that you have lost sight of him.

-/-/

You are being punished. Again. You've been failing a lot in your tests, and you've been unstable for weeks. You don't want to obey any of those people, you want to go back to the man on the road who knew you and ask him about your life.

And then there are shocks in your head, but you don't forget. And then they throw you into a cell, saying that the madness from hunger will take away any memory from you.

But then there are loud noises that you think are coming from bombs. And then the man in the road is in front of your cell, and he rips the door off with a metal arm, and reaches out to help you up.

-/-/

It takes time to get your memories back. But it happens. And you cry a lot when you remember everything.

You remember your hometown, your parents, your pet dog. You remember jogging down the street from your house, and playing ball with the kids. You remember punching a boy in the face because he pushed Steve Rogers off a swing. You remember delivering a frog you found on the sidewalk into Bucky Barnes' hand. You remember finding Bucky and Steve kissing in the alley behind your house and remember promising to keep it a secret when they cry. 

You remember entering the US Army before Bucky. You remember the training, and the battles, and most of all the war. And then you feel your heart fill with warmth and longing when you remember the dances. So many parties where you went jazz dancing, most of them with Bucky and Steve.

You lose your breath when you remember Hydra. When you remember the experiments, and the murders. But Bucky holds your hand, and assures you that you are the same girl who danced with your two best friends at the prom even when the most handsome young man in high school asked for a dance, and assures you that you are not what Hydra wanted you to become. You repeat the same words to him, and you hold each other for a while.

-/-/

Bucky wants you to join the Avengers. He has been a member for a few months, and then he rescued you, and he doesn't want you to just hang around like him. He wants to help you, and he wants you to have a home.

When you nod in agreement, he hugs you.

-/-/

- Here is your room. - Said Bucky as he led you down a long hallway in the Avengers compound. He held your bag, even though you said there was no need for it.

You entered the space, and you let out an impressed hiss. It was definitely better than the motels and well, any place you had actually been sleeping in all these years.

- When you're ready, come meet the rest of the team. - He said as he left his suitcase on the bed. He flashes you a smile before leaving.

You look around, still impressed. It would be strange to call this place a home, but you were willing to give it a try. Besides this, your best friends were here. There was nothing to be scared of.

-/-/

You were wrong. 

Everything was perfectly under control, you smiled and waved politely to all the Avengers, and even laughed at Tony Stark's jokes. And then you met Wanda Maximoff, leaving training and arriving late for your introduction to the team and looking absolutely stunning.

- Hi, sorry I'm late everybody. - She said as she entered the room. And then her gaze fell on you, and she gave an embarrassed smile as she held out her hand. - I'm Wanda, I think we're going to be door-mates.

Unable to form a coherent sentence, you just smiled awkwardly, shaking Wanda's hand, and hoping that she didn't think you were a complete idiot. 

And then Bucky and Steve finished introducing you to the team, and everyone went back to their activities.

You let your gaze linger on Wanda, before quickly turning away, blushing. It was amazing how unlucky you were. You had barely arrived, and already you had a crush.

-/-/

Things are going well, you think. You got along with everyone on the team, you did well in practice, and you had a secret crush on Wanda. Maybe the last part wasn't so good, but you are optimistic.

You eventually realized that Wanda was quite anti-social, and didn't talk much with the other team members.

That might have made things difficult, because if she had a close friend, you could ask this friend to speak well of you.

You grumbled to yourself as you cooked your dinner. You were used to preparing your meals, and almost always the other avengers joined you. When the food started to smell, they appeared. 

- Great! Y/N food. - Tony said as soon as he entered the room, and you giggled. You were stirring the sauce when Wanda came into the kitchen. She smiled at you as she walked towards you and you tried to hide your nervousness.

- Wow, this looks tasty. - She said, looking at the contents of the pot. You smiled, handing her the spoon in your hand. She then tasted some of the sauce, and let out a satisfied groan. You tried not to stare so hard at her lips. - This is delicious.

You just nodded with flushed cheeks, and Wanda gave you a curious look before turning toward the table.

You decided that you had better do something soon or she would think you were completely crazy. 

And then that night, after dinner, you called Bucky up to your room.

- You have to help me with something! - you told him as you walked in. You slumped in your chair, tapping your feet on the floor in nervousness, and he sat down across from you.

- What was it? Did something happen? - he asked worriedly.

- I need to ask a girl out!

You look surprised. And then you laugh.

- I thought it was something bad. - He grumbles, leaning back in his chair.

- It's not bad, it's terrible! - You replied, running your hands through your hair. - I have no idea how to ask a girl out! In fact, I never knew how to ask anyone out. The boys did it in '36s.

Bucky laughs at your desperation, and you bury your face in your hands.

- Hey, calm down. - He says, straightening his posture and looking at you tenderly. - I swear dating is still as hard as it was in the 40s. 

- Was that supposed to make me feel better? - You grumble as you take your face out of his hands and look at him. Bucky laughs.

- I was going to say that, regardless of the era, dating is still about liking someone. - He replies. - It's scary, but you can do it. Why don't you try inviting her over as a friend?

You stand thoughtfully for a moment.

- I don't understand. - You say. - How does the date work between friends?

Bucky laughed again.

- It's not a date, Y/N. - he says. - It's just a hangout among friends.

You frown.

- But I like her. 

- Wow, you're difficult. - Bucky scoffs lightly. - People in this century go on unromantic walks together all the time.

- That sounds like a lie. - You retort with a smile, Bucky laughs. - And how will she know that I like her?

- You tell her. 

You let out a nervous laugh.

- Worst possible idea. - You grumble as you throw your back into your chair. - Besides, I haven't seen you date anyone since '35. I think I'll ask someone else for advice. - You mock lightly, and Bucky rolls his eyes humorously.

- I've been busy. - he says. - By the way, have you ever seen what they call dating apps? It's creepy.

You laugh and nod, and Bucky moves to reach for his cell phone. He spends the rest of the day showing you how dating works in this century, and you laugh a lot.

-/-/

You made too much hot chocolate. Maybe it was on purpose.

What is relevant is that you are walking toward Wanda's room, carrying a mug for her. 

Bucky was in the kitchen with you, and when he got some of the drink, he said that the opportunity for you to make conversation with Wanda was right in front of you.

So here you were, trying not to look so anxious as you knocked on the door.

When Wanda opened the door, she was wearing a sweatshirt and looked comfortable and very pretty. You thought you were staring, so you hurried to say:

- H-hi. I brought you some chocolate. - You say and Wanda looks surprised, but smiles.

- That's very sweet, thank you. - She says to you as she accepts the drink. You feel your cheeks heat up as your hands rub together for a brief moment.

And then a noise you knew well can be heard, and you let out a surprised exclamation.

- Wow, you like Sweet American Family? - you asked excitedly when you noticed the old sitcom you used to watch playing on the in-room television. 

Wanda raised her eyebrow slightly in surprise, and then gave you space to enter the room, and your body just followed the cue automatically, too excited about the show, without really thinking that you were walking into Wanda's room.

- Do you know it? - She replies with surprise and you laugh as you approach the television.

- Of course I do! - you reply excitedly. - I used to watch it with my parents.

Wanda takes a sip of her drink while you stare at the television.

- Watch it with me, then.

It takes a second for you to register the invitation, and your heart races, but you nod with a smile, and watch Wanda sit on her own bed, and pat the duvet for you to join her. Trying not to look like a complete mess, you follow her.

You watch in silence for a few minutes, and a joke later you are used to Wanda's presence.

- So how accurate is this show? - She asks with a smile, leaving her mug on the small table. You sigh thoughtfully.

- Well, we didn't used to eat in our rooms. - You comment, watching the scene on television, and Wanda nods looking interested. - But they got the bad food right, and the tight clothes and weird social rules.

Wanda giggles and goes back to watching. And then the episode switches to a romantic scene, two teenagers talking at school.

- Wow, that was scary. - You comment watching the boy try to invite the girl for a walk.

Wanda looks at you curiously, wanting to know more. You smile.

- The kids used to wait for us in between classes. - You tell her. - And they were very obvious about it. Usually the whole school knew that you were going on a date with someone. 

- Have you been on many dates?

You giggle.

- I didn't like the boys at my high school very much. - You confess. - But I liked to dance. And so they called me to dances, and I said yes. And then I was enlisted, and I started hanging out with the soldiers. It was fun.

- Sounds like great. - She comments with a smile. - In a way, it seems like it was easier.

You let out a surprised exclamation, laughing lightly.

- Wanda, no way! - You respond with humor. - It was horrible! Scary! And all the dates were ultra official, and people expected you to be engaged! Bucky told me that nowadays people go out as friends? That is impressive.

Wanda laughs, and leans on the bed crossing her legs and turning completely toward you.

- But people aren't as romantic as they used to be! - she smiles back. You imitate her position, while you ignore the TV show to talk. - No one seems anxious or shy about going out anymore. There are no flowers, or requests to hold your hand. People just text you to get laid.

You feel your cheeks heat up a little, but laugh at the comment. And then you have an idea.

- I would like to invite you to something. - You say, surprising Wanda suddenly. You swallow your nervousness. - A proper evening out, like the one you saw on TV.

-W-what?

- A date, Wanda. - You clarify with a blush. - But it's okay if you don't want to...

- I do. - She interrupts with a shy smile. - I'd love to go for on a date with you.

You smile, looking away. And the credits music for the episode begins to rise.

- When do you want to go? - you ask her, twiddling your fingers nervously.

- As soon as possible, I'm excited. - She says with a smile, and you let out a giggle. Then you get out of bed.

- Okay, then, Miss Maximoff. - you say with a smile. - I need time to organize this, so I'll pick you up here in your room tomorrow at seven?

- Sounds great. - Wanda agrees with a smile. 

You nod slightly before leaving the room. When you are walking down the hallway, you can't stop smiling.

-/-/

Wanda was wearing a simple, blue dress in the same 40s style when you picked her up. You choked in surprise, thinking she looked absolutely stunning. And she blushed and thanked you when you told her so.

Tony lent you one of his classic cars, and you drove to the sounds of old jazz toward the carnival that was set up in town that week. You didn't notice Wanda looking at you as you hummed the song.

The park was very busy, and they had many entertainment options, but you made sure to ask what Wanda wanted to do.

You competed in the bumper cars and laughed every time your cars hit each other. Wanda threw her head back laughing, and everything seemed to go in slow motion with the image.

And then you went on several other attractions, and then she pointed to the Ferris wheel. 

You both let out excited sighs as the cabin began to rise.

- Wow, this is amazing! - She commented excitedly, you agreed as you looked down, seeing the ground getting farther and farther away.

- The Ferris wheels were smaller. - You say, and Wanda lets out a giggle.

- Are you going to tell me you are afraid of heights now?

You laugh lightly and look at Wanda.

- If I had, and I had accepted your invitation, would I look braver? - You retort sheepishly. Wanda bites her lip thoughtfully, but still smiles.

- Why does it matter, are you trying to impress me?

You look away in surprise, and feel your cheeks heat up. Well, Bucky had told you to be honest after all.

- Only if it's working. - You retort with a slight insecurity in your voice. Wanda smiles though.

- Oh, believe me. It's working very well. - She answers finally, and then you two are on the top.

You try not to blush so much at Wanda's affirmation, and you bite back the smile on your lips. And then she asks you about the dances of your day, and you almost forget to be nervous.

And then you walked side by side off the Ferris wheel, and you took her to see the shooting games, and when you hit all the targets, she whispered that being a trained sniper should be considered cheating. You won many tickets, and you carried the big teddy bear you won for Wanda.

You take her to eat cotton candy, and you laugh as you share the flavors. And then you think you have seen all the toys and are walking back to the car, smiling.

Wanda keeps the teddy inside the back seat, but doesn't get into the vehicle. From your position, the distant light of the Ferris wheel partially illuminates the parking lot, and Wanda's green orbs catch your eye.

- Did you enjoy the evening, Wanda? - you ask her as you approach. She is leaning on the car door, and smiles at you tenderly.

- I loved it. - She confesses. - I didn't want to leave.

You chuckle shyly, looking down at your shoes.

- We can do it again. - You say. - I could take you dancing.

Wanda lets out an excited exclamation.

- Please, I'd love to. - She says, smiling. You think your heart will explode with happiness.

You are silent for a moment, and then Wanda straightens her posture, slightly shy.

- I think we missed something on our walk.

- What? - You look at her anxiously, but Wanda smiles tenderly.

- You didn't ask to hold my hand.

You let out a shy little laugh, coming closer. You stop a step away from Wanda, and hold out your hands. Wanda smiles, and raises her hands to yours. You let your hands fall together at the front of your bodies, waving them lightly as you kept they together.

- How did these walks used to end? - Wanda asks softly, you think that the closeness is preventing you from thinking correctly.

- I would lead you to your front door. - You say. - And you would decide if I deserve a kiss on the cheek.

Wanda smiles, blushing. She looks away quickly, and sighs lightly. You were going to ask if everything was okay, but her sentence makes your mind shut down.

- I want to kiss you now. - she confesses. And then she brings your faces together until your foreheads rest against each other. - Is that okay?

- Yes.

And then the distance is broken. Wanda kisses you on the mouth gently, and you sigh at the sensation. You think that maybe you shouldn't kiss like that on a first date, but your tongue asks for passage and Wanda accepts. And then you have her pressed against the car.

It feels good, and it makes your heart race, and it's the best you've felt since 1940.

[helloalycia]

The Wrong Lifetime – Eight // Wanda Maximoff

chapter seven | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter nine

author’s note: Y/C/N = your cousin’s name, also this is later than I wanted today but i’ve been super busy so sorry for that! Also, I’ll be responding to comments from the last one as soon as I’m free. Enjoy 😊

"...okay, so now use the water to dilute the colour."

I did as Wanda said, dipping my brush in the glass of water and diluting the watercolour I was using, but I must have used too much because it made the paint run and then the paper started to get too damp to hold together.

Wanda facepalmed, sighing as I smiled sheepishly.

"My bad...?"

She glared playfully before ripping a page from her sketchbook. "Try again, milaya (darling). And use less water this time."

I squinted in the sun as I glanced at her. "Can't you just accept I'm not very good at painting? Or art in general?"

She shook her head, taking the torn page from my grasp and replacing it with a new one. "No way. You're not getting out of it that easily. It's not hard, I promise!"

I groaned lightheartedly. "You said that about drawing. And about using acrylics. And about using chalk."

"And I'm saying it about this, now c'mon, try again," she encouraged with an amused smile before returning to her own painting.

We were sat in my garden, hanging out and making the most of the lovely day we were having. The Spring breeze was getting warmer as we transitioned into Summer and it was a nice change of pace from the usual bad weather we had. So nice that Wanda wanted to do some painting and also teach me how to. But art was never my strong suit and I'm sure she knew that but still proceeded to try anyway.

Sketching out the tree before us for the third time today, I attempted to provide an outline that I could eventually fill in with green watercolours. Unlike Wanda though, it wasn't fun. My eyes veered over to her and I smiled to myself as I admired the look of concentration on her face – her 'art' look, I dubbed it. It was this very specific expression she got whenever she worked on a painting or drawing, and it always reminded me of that first time I saw it, after we met in the stationary store and when she took me back to her room. Absolutely wonderful.

"I don't hear a pencil moving," she said, not looking up but beginning to smile.

"That's because I'm looking for... what did you call it?" I racked my brain, thinking back to the day in the store when she talked about inspiration. "Vdokhoventi?"

A sharp exhale escaped her lips as she finally lifted her gaze to meet mine. Attempting not to laugh, she tilted her head adorably. "Vdokhnoveniye."

I quirked a brow. "Is that not what I said?"

She giggled, shaking her head. "Definitely not."

I grinned, shrugging. "Well, that's what I meant."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "I'm not it, so eyes on your page."

"Oh, how dearly mistaken you are, love," I said quietly, leaning close and giving her a knowing smile.

She looked up, expression softening with a smile. Her eyes were heavenly, pupils dilated as she squinted in the sun, and they flickered to my lips before she settled on nudging me in the shoulder slightly. I snickered, leaning my head on her shoulder since everybody thought we were as close as best friends, so it wouldn't look suspicious. She sighed contently, letting me watch as she moved her paintbrush, painting a flower that was peeking through the grass we were sat on.

I could have stayed there forever, in that moment, sitting with Wanda and watching her paint under the sun. But of course, all good things come to an end when you don't want them to.

"Y/N, dear," I heard my father call, and when I looked up, I saw him approaching Wanda and I from the direction of our house.

Straightening up, I watched as he attempted to sit on the grass, but his legs were too long and he struggled to cross them. With a hearty chuckle, he stretched them out, slightly bent, and leaned on his hands.

"I'm getting too old for this, ladies," he said humorously, making Wanda and I smile.

"What d'you need, dad?" I asked, raising my brows.

"I just wanted to check in and see if you were ready for tonight," he said casually, making me furrow my brows. He seemed to notice my confusion, prompting, "Tonight? Your cousin's birthday party?"

"My cousin's what-now?"

He sighed, massaging the point between his brows. "Y/C/N? They organised this months ago. We're all expected to be there." His glanced to Wanda. "You, too, dear."

Wanda hummed, pulling her gaze from her painting and looking to my dad. "Yes, I'm aware. Got my dress ready and everything."

My eyes snapped to Wanda's with surprise. "You knew about this?!"

"You should be more like her," my dad muttered, as Wanda smiled with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

I looked back to my father. "I was planning on helping Y/B/N with his manuscript tonight."

My dad waved his hand. "I've already talked to him. He's agreed to work on it before the party starts so you're both on time."

I groaned, already tired at the sound of yet another party. Did it ever end?

"Don't be late," he ordered, though his voice was anything but stern. Cue another groan. He smiled before looking to Wanda's painting. "Wow, that's great, dear. Apparently you've got Y/N here attempting to do the same?"

Wanda chuckled as she handed him my several failed attempts. "Key word being 'attempting'."

He accepted the pages and stifled a smile of amusement. "Wow... maybe you should stick to writing, Y/N."

I ripped the pages from his grasp. "Cheers, dad, really."

He laughed before leaning forward and kissing my forehead. "It's all in good faith, dear. Now remember. Don't be late tonight, okay?"

I sighed, which he took as my response, before pushing himself off the grass with a grumble. Dusting his trousers, he nodded to Wanda and I before leaving us be.

"You could've told me I had yet another party to attend tonight," I told Wanda with narrowed eyes.

She shrugged, smiling helplessly. "I thought you knew."

I laid back on the grass with a dramatic sigh. "I just don't understand why our life revolves around extravagant parties, balls and dinners."

"That's just how it is, moya lyubov' (my love)," she said with a warm smile.

I looked up at the sky, raising my hand to shield the sun from my eyes, though my heart fluttered at one of the many nicknames she called me in Russian. "I'd rather live in the middle of nowhere. Where nobody expects anything of me and there's no stupid parties to attend."

She rested a hand on my leg before laying beside me, leaning her head on my shoulder. I relaxed my head on hers, appreciating how well we fit together.

"Same here," she agreed, making me gasp playfully.

"What? Don't you love the glitz and glamour?"

She laughed quietly. "I do, but I like the peace and quiet more."

I breathed out, fingertips brushing hers. "Maybe I can be a little late tonight... accidentally run over time so I don't have to stay as long."

Her fingers tugged on mine between us as a warning. "No. I'll be left alone and I'll be bored. And when I'm bored, I drink."

It was my turn to laugh. "You won't be alone, Wanda. You'll have Pietro."

She shifted so she was no longer leaning on my shoulder but instead tilting her head to look my way. "I want you."

I turned my head and gave her a small, promising smile. "I'll try to be on time."

She quirked a brow. "Try? You will."

My eyes flittered away, ready to argue otherwise, but she sat up and grabbed her paintbrush. I sat up, too, ready to tell her I would try, but I flinched when she flicked water towards me from the tip of it.

"Are you serious?" I asked, wiping the water from my eyelids with tongue-in-cheek.

She chuckled and I grabbed my paintbrush and did the same, watching her squirm when it flicked on her face.

Suppressed smile on her face, she wiped away the water and glared with dazzling eyes. "You shouldn't start what you can't finish, milaya (darling)."

Smiling from ear to ear, I quirked a brow devilishly. "Oh?"

"You're so lucky we're in front of people," she said lowly, leaning close enough to be platonic, but her hand slipped under my dress and creeped up my leg, making me involuntarily shiver. "Or you would be in serious trouble."

I stopped her hand from going any higher, the rings on her fingers cold enough for me to not melt under her touch. "I highly doubt that, love."

She held my gaze, intoxicating and mesmerising all at once. A sly smile tugged at her lips as she said, "Don't test me then. You heard your father. Don't be late."

I exhaled, licking my lips. "Fine. I won't be."

—

Later that afternoon, I found myself sat in my brother's study as the two of us worked on his latest manuscript together. It was a love story, his (my) specialty, and I was helping him to sort out his sentence structure when he decided to question me.

"Will you entertain me for a moment?" he asked randomly, making me look up from the pages.

"I'll probably regret it, but go on," I said jokingly, before looking back down and adding some notes to the paper.

His chair creaked as he leaned back, eyes watching me thoughtfully. "Are you in a secret relationship?"

I almost choked on my spit as he asked this, heart dropping to my stomach with panic. He couldn't know about Wanda, right? We'd been so careful.

Thankfully, I played it off well as I merely glanced his way before distracting myself with note-taking.

"Why would you think that, Y/B/N?" I asked like he was insane.

He shrugged in my peripheral. "I don't know... I've been wondering for a while. You've just loosened up so much more. And you're not as uptight as you usually are."

"Cheers," I said sarcastically.

He leaned forward, head resting in his palm. "This all happened right about the time I met Wanda..."

I swallowed hard, quirking a brow at him to play down my panic.

"I saw you with Pietro the other week," he continued, and I could finally breathe when I realised what he was insinuating. "I'm happy if you're happy, Y/N, but I'm not a fan of you sleeping with my publisher."

At that thought, I shuddered and proceeded to shove Y/B/N on the arm. "Don't say that. And I would never."

Just your fiancé, I thought guiltily.

"Good," he said with relief, straightening up. "Because you're not supposed to do that until you get married."

I rolled my eyes dismissively in response, but wondered if that still applied in a world where one was not allowed to marry the person they loved.

Y/B/N gave me a reassuring glance. "Look, I'm okay with it, I guess. But I'd appreciate the heads up so I can give him a stern talking to."

Realising there was a hint of mirth in his voice, I looked up and gave him a warning look. "Don't you dare."

He laughed, patting me on the back, to which I shrugged off with annoyance.

"It's the Maximoff charm," he commented knowingly. "The twins have that effect on people, don't they? Wanda sure has it on me."

A short silence fell after he said that and I chewed on my lip curiously, unable to stop myself from speaking until it was too late.

"Is her love reciprocated?"

He looked down to me from his daydream, no doubt of Wanda. "Pardon?"

Knowing there was no backing down from the conversation now, I avoided his eyes. "The engagement between you both was arranged... you're clearly in love with her, but is it returned?"

His lips twitched into a frown. "I'd hope so."

I hummed, diverting my attention away from him and to the pen in my hand.

"Why? Did she say something?" he asked, voice laden with worry.

"Of course not," I reassured him.

"But you'd tell me if she did?" he asked eagerly.

I looked his way and saw him peering down at me, hanging onto my response. I nodded lamely, which seemed to put him at ease as he sank into his chair with relief.

We spent the next few hours working on the manuscript without a hitch, but I noticed the time and realised the party was already in full swing. Wanda's words came to mind and I hoped she wouldn't be too annoyed at my lateness.

"We're wrapping it up now, don't worry," Y/B/N said, noticing me check the clock. "Thanks for the help. I'm gonna get this to my editor tomorrow. Your amendments should help make the process go a lot smoothly."

I hummed in response, feeling a heaviness settle on my shoulders as he mentioned his editor. It was always the same routine – I helped him with his manuscript, he got it edited, got his book published and got all the credit. And I was stuck in the same position, wishing I could do the same.

"What is it?" he asked with a sigh, sensing my mood.

Playing with the corner of the manuscript, I met his gaze. "I help you with your writing, but I never get anything from it."

"You get to help me," he pointed out, not seeing the issue. "Isn't that enough?"

Pietro's offer came to mind as I said, "What if I wrote my own book? And got published with my name on the cover?"

He squinted as he studied me, trying to find the humour in my words. Letting out a laugh, he shook his head.

"Y/N, that's absurd."

I raised my eyebrows hopefully. "I mean, is it? Would that be so bad?"

He pressed his lips together and breathed out through his nose. Resting a hand on my shoulder, he gave me a condescending look.

"I'm saying this because I care," he said, making me feel like crap. "But yes."

As if I didn't already know the answer, I asked, "Why?"

He motioned with his hand like it was obvious. "Because. People would look at you differently. You'd be undesirable. You know men don't like smart women. I'm just looking out for you as your brother."

I looked away, the bitterness at his words stinging more than usual. "Well, I like smart women."

Thinking I was joking, he chuckled. "Don't go saying things like that. One might misinterpret."

My teeth pressed into my lower lip hard, trying to contain my frustration.

"You can do this every now and then," he said, referring to the manuscript, "but any more isn't possible. Besides, two authors in one family? That's insane."

I forced a smile, but I wondered if his last comment was the real reason he wouldn't let me at least try to get published.

"Anyway, never mind that," he said indifferently. "We should probably head out. Dad is not going to be pleased. Especially since I promised we wouldn't be late."

I nodded, sliding my chair out and wanting to be anywhere but here right now. "Yeah, come on."

He gave me a sneaky smile. "Can't wait to see Pietro?"

I slapped him on the arm before standing up, ignoring his laughter. Nothing to make an already-depressing night worse than going to a party you didn't care for.

—

Wanda Maximoff was a very difficult drunk to be around, I'd learnt that the hard way.

As soon as Y/B/N and I rolled up to my cousin's house, a third of the guests were drunk and the rest were tipsy. A typical Y/L/N get-together. Y/B/N was instantly dragged away by some family whilst I was quick to make myself scarce, attempting to find Wanda. But the place was bustling with people and there were way too many rooms to check.

I found Pietro before I found his twin, as he was poking around party favours on a table in the corner, attempting to make out what were in the bags.

I found Pietro before I found his twin, as he was poking around party favours on a table in the corner, attempting to make out what were in the bags.

"If you're expecting a brand new fountain pen, you won't find it in there," I teased, making him jump.

He sighed when he looked my way, realising it was me. "I know that. But there's nothing better here to do, so I may as well know what freebies we'll be getting by the end of it."

I smirked. "Anything good?"

He shrugged, seeming disappointed. "Just some chocolate and perfume samples."

Holding back a smile, I said, "How tragic."

"If you're looking for my sister, she's over there," he said, nodding behind me. "You'll love this one."

"What do you mean?" I asked, brows knitted with confusion, before turning around and following his gaze.

Wanda was indeed stood on the other side of the dining room and I could just about make her out between idle guests. She was chatting to some woman, hands moving erratically and with expression, a grin on her lips.

"What is she doing?" I asked unsurely, tearing my eyes from her and looking to Pietro.

He was withholding laughter as he answered, "Sometimes, dear Y/N, my beloved twin sister gets drunk when she's–"

"Bored," I finished, remembering what she told me this morning. My face dropped as I mumbled, "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh indeed," Pietro said, grinning at his sister's dismay. "Drunk Wanda is a very truthful Wanda. So, any secrets of hers will most definitely be revealed tonight."

Pietro was too caught up in his own amusement to notice my eyes widening.

"One of our servants made me a platter a few years ago," Pietro explained, oblivious to my panic. "It was a delicious cheese platter, the cheese having been imported from France. Then, Wanda proceeded to eat it without telling me. When I asked if she did, she lied. And I only discovered she lied because she got drunk a few weeks later and bragged about how good the cheese was."

Continuing to ramble, though this time in Russian, Pietro complained about said incident, though I wasn't listening as I watched Wanda talk to the woman enthusiastically. I could only imagine what secrets she was sharing.

"Pietro!" I cut him off, earning his attention. "Shouldn't you do something? To stop Wanda?"

The cheese platter story long forgotten, his grin reappeared on his lips. "Nah, it's funny watching her make a fool of herself."

I gave him a look of disbelief before looking back to Wanda, who was laughing at something by herself. The woman she was speaking to seemed partially confused, but smiled to be polite. I gulped, before shaking my head.

"I'm not that mean," I said to Pietro before making a move to stop her.

Pietro booed me playfully, but I ignored him and approached the drunk brunette, managing to catch her conversation.

"–and they're usually such catty bitch–"

"Wanda!" I immediately cut her off, bumping into her side slightly to get her attention. "There you are!"

Green eyes widened with excitement as they met mine. "Y/N! You're here!"

Ignoring her, I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her close before looking to the guest she was talking with.

"My apologies for her behaviour," I said with an awkward smile, hoping Wanda hadn't revealed anything suspicious.

"No need to apologise, dear," the woman said with an amused smile. "Wanda here was telling me all about how lovely of a sister-in-law you are. Or will be."

Wanda grinned, looking to me and leaning in so close that her nose brushed my cheek. "Yeah, she is," she continued to the woman, though her eyes were on mine. "She's sweet, not like other people make out their sister-in-laws to be."

My face was warm as I cleared my throat and smiled once more to the woman. "If you'll excuse Wanda and I."

The woman barely got out a nod before I dragged Wanda away, trying to keep her lips away from my neck (she was also an extremely clingy drunk). Tugging her into the bathroom down the hall, I closed the door behind us and released a breath of relief, grateful for the escape from guests.

"You look very sexy when you're worried," Wanda complimented, stepping forward and smiling dazedly.

"Wanda–"

She placed her hand on my jaw, moving closer so that her lips were grazing mine as she mumbled, "You came late, milaya (darling). But I still love you."

I'd like to say that I had the willpower to push her away and scold her for acting so obvious about us before, but my lips went numb as she captured them between hers. I could taste the alcohol on her lips as she moved them against mine, making me dizzy and forgetting what I was going to say. Her thumb caressed my jaw and I relaxed under her touch, hands resting on her chest. When she tried to part my lips with her tongue, I seemed to come to my senses.

"Wanda, you're drunk," I muttered, pushing her back gently.

She chased down my mouth again, sucking on my lip and tilting my head back so she could have better access. I tried not to let her win as I kissed her briefly before pulling away. Clouded hazel eyes met mine with a matching smirk.

"You're such a tease," she whispered, her accent thicker than usual and making my stomach flip uncontrollably. Her thumb traced my lips as she continued, "You shouldn't do that when I already know how you taste, moya lyubov' (my love)."

The way she was staring at me made me flustered in place, and she seemed to notice her effect on me as she winked my way.

Shaking my head and trying not to let her win, I said, "Look, Wanda. I'm sorry for being late. But did you really have to get drunk?"

She shrugged, leaning her weight on my shoulder with her hand. "If you hadn't kept me waiting, then I wouldn't have."

I sighed, looking to her apologetically. "I didn't realise the time."

A permanent troublesome smile was fixed on her lips as she watched me.

"Your brother told me how you can be when you get drunk," I said with mild concern, hoping she'd register my seriousness. "You need to be careful, Wanda. We can't have people finding out about us."

"It seems to me," she began agonisingly slowly, lacing her arms around my shoulders, "that you'll have to watch me all night to make sure I don't do anything out of line."

Determined not to play into her teasing, I maintained her gaze with a stern stare. "It seems I'll have to."

She bit her lip, eyes flickering between mine, before leaning further into my ear. In a whispered voice, she said, "That means you can't leave my side, printsessa (princess)."

I clenched my jaw, ready to agree, but a gasp escaped my lips as hers sucked on my earlobe, teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin. Stupid Wanda and her stupid flirting and stupid attractiveness.

"Wanda!" I scolded, though my cheeks were flushed as I pushed her away gently.

She laughed adorably, the sound making my heart skip a beat. "What?"

"You have to behave," I told her, swallowing hard and trying not to let her teasing smile get to me. "You can't do this out there. Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed in a way that wasn't reassuring in the slightest.

I rolled my eyes before grabbing her hand and leading her back outside the bathroom, returning to the party. I wasn't planning on leaving her side for the rest of the evening, even if Y/B/N wanted to be with her. The last thing I wanted was for her cute drunken self to reveal something she couldn't take back.

To my relief, she kind of behaved after that. There were times when she would get a little too touchy to be platonic, but a quick stare set her straight. Y/B/N wasn't around much, as when he did join us, he was immediately pulled away by some family friends who wanted to discuss his books. For once, I was glad he was an author, afraid of what would happen if Wanda got too comfortable in his presence.

At one point though, he was able to join Wanda, Pietro and I at a standing table, relief flooding his expression when nobody called after him. His arm wrapped around Wanda's waist and he kissed the top of her head, making me look the other way with distaste. She scrunched her nose up at the action before distracting herself with a drink. I gave her a knowing look, having told her earlier to stop with the alcohol. She pretended not to see me.

"Sorry I've not been able to spend time with you tonight," he said to Wanda, oblivious to her tipsy state.

"It's almost like it's your birthday and not your cousin's," Pietro joked, smiling at him.

My brother chuckled. "I guess. They just all wanna talk about my manuscript."

"Ah, yes, the reason you were late, right?" Wanda asked, eyes falling to mine.

"I'm sorry," my brother apologised, assuming it was him she was speaking to.

"You were helping him, too, right?" Pietro asked, looking to me curiously. "Maybe I'll finally get a glance at your work."

I narrowed my eyes at him, having figured he'd put the subject to rest after last time. He merely grinned in response, finding joy in messing with me, just like his sister. Before I could say anything, my brother beat me to it.

"Don't be getting any ideas. It's just a hobby." He smiled forcefully, before glancing at me. "Isn't it, Y/N?"

"Don't be getting any ideas. It's just a hobby." He smiled forcefully, before glancing at me. "Isn't it, Y/N?"

So he was jealous. Wow.

"You don't need to hide your relationship, y'know," he continued when I didn't respond, looking to Pietro.

The silver-haired publisher choked on his drink as he looked to my brother, clearly very amused.

"I know you're together," Y/B/N said with agitation. "Everybody does. And don't get me wrong, Pietro, I respect you as a publisher."

I groaned quietly, closing my eyes with embarrassment. When I opened them, Pietro was watching my brother with an entertained smile, meanwhile, Wanda was looking between them with a twitching frown.

"But if you're going to date my sister, you should do it the right way," my brother continued stupidly. "It's not appropriate to have whatever this is." He motioned between us with his hands. "It's wrong."

I jumped when Wanda's hand slipped to my arse, squeezing it gently. Thankfully, our backs were to a wall so nobody would have noticed behind us, but I instantly glared at her and removed her hand. She gave me a cunning smile, not bothered by the consequences.

"...and if you're sleeping together like I suspect," Y/B/N was saying, making me flush with humiliation, "know that our friendship is at breaking point. I can't have that blatant disrespect in my life."

Wanda continued to attempt to grab my arse, making me slap her hand away several times, all whilst trying to manage whatever conversation was happening right now.

"I can't believe you just said that," I finally spoke up, managing to keep Wanda at bay long enough. "You're such an idiot, Y/B/N! I told you I wasn't with Pietro!"

Pietro tried not to laugh as he met my brother's intimidating stare. "I value our friendship, too, Y/B/N. Which is why I can promise you I have no... relations... with your sister. I don't like her like that, I can assure you."

Wanda snorted with amusement, before hiding behind a glass of wine when everyone looked her way.

Y/B/N seemed embarrassed as he cleared his throat. "Oh."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, oh!"

"I guess I should apologise," he said awkwardly, looking to Pietro. "I–"

"No apology necessary," Pietro cut him off, raising a hand. "I am thankful for the entertainment however."

"I'm gonna go literally anywhere else," I dismissed myself, unable to take the uncomfortable situation any longer.

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and walked away. To my surprise, Wanda trailed after, falling into step with me.

I glanced at her unhappily, quirking a brow. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, don't be mad at me because your brother's an idiot," she said with a wag of her hand.

I gave her a suggestive look. "I told you to behave."

She pressed her lips together in a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry... Y/B/N was talking about you and Pietro and I– well, I don't like sharing, remember?"

The improper glint in her eye as she stopped before me, watching with amusement, made me feel warm all of a sudden. That day when she first told me that and we proceeded to make love flashed to mind, and she seemed to know as she had a mischievous look on her face.

Clearing my throat, I pointed a finger her way. "Behave."

I should have known by the devilish look in her eyes that she wouldn't.

[rmnamjoons]

Taking Flight [KNJ Oneshot]

➳ summary: More than a decade after the alien invasion that wiped out most of the planet, you and Namjoon are both in the Pilot Cadet Corps, training for if the alien attackers ever come back. What begins as a playful rivalry between two overachievers develops into a deep friendship and emotional bond, but when the aliens suddenly return and you and Namjoon are separated, you find out just what you’re willing to do to get back to him.

➳ pairing: pilot!Namjoon x pilot!reader

➳ genre: smut, sci fi au, post apocalypse au, alien invasion au, rivals to friends to lovers

➳ word count: 15.2k

➳ read on ao3, link to my masterlist

➳ tags: smut, reunion sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, emotional loving sex, soft dom namjoon, dirty talk (no degradation), rivals to friends to lovers, sexually charged fight/sparring scene when they’re rivals, previously seemingly unrequited love/mutual pining, shower sex, multiple positions, namjoon is needy and so in love

➳ warnings: unnamed character death/death mention, blood mention, injury mention/vague description

➳ a/n: I know this is kind of a niche genre for smut fics; I primarily wrote this for myself, and I definitely had fun and like what I came up with! What’s the point of fanfiction anyway, if not to have fun? Also, this takes place over a few years, and I tried to portray how Namjoon was feral and angry when he was younger but is now a loving gentle giant. Enjoy!

I.

Everybody lost someone in the attacks that killed most of the planet. Friends. Family. Partners. You had lost everything and everyone, like most people who’d lived in the cities that no longer had names — what once had been centers of commerce, tourism, and civilization were now nothing more than craters, and with so few left who remembered them, what they’d once been were now lost to time.

You'd only survived by chance, really. You and your family had been in a tunnel leaving the city, on foot like everyone else, and when everything had turned to chaos, you’d gotten lost from your parents and sister. You still remembered the way people screamed and ran through the tunnel, their voices echoing harshly off the cement walls. You’d spotted someone hiding off to the side in a utility room in the tunnel, and when the blast hit the city center, that person had made you hide in the room too, their body shielding yours from the hellfire, melting around you.

You were five years old then. You were pretty sure your sister had been eight. You couldn’t remember what your parents or sister looked like, or your house, or where you’d gone to school, other than vague flashes and shapes of people who’d once been your whole world. All you’d had with you were the clothes on your back, and even those had been taken away once you’d gotten somewhere safe and been given something clean to change into.

After the ships fell and surviving aliens left, it had taken years to clear the rubble and start over. The attacks that changed and destroyed everything had also been a gift, or so they now preached, in which humanity was able to grow, learn, and become united. The religions and cults who now worshiped the alien attackers believed humanity had deserved extermination, but you liked the more academic approach to the alien race’s lessons: the technology humans had been able to reverse engineer from their fallen ships.

One of the many ways humanity had advanced in the last few years was flight technology. Planes were faster, turned sharper, could go farther, burned cleaner energy. The one thing everyone seemed to agree on was how important Earth’s planes had been in beating them, so that was where all the technology and progress was focused now.

You loved planes and flying, you always had, but the real reason you wanted to be a pilot, you held much closer to your chest: your entire life, you always felt like the attacks when you were young were just the beginning. Like an unhealthy obsession or open wound, it was all you could think about sometimes, what drove your every decision, what led you to the Pilot Cadet Corps. You wanted to be part of the team that took them down if they ever came back. You wanted to be ready.

You were eighteen when you’d joined the Corps. You’d jumped on that opportunity the first moment you were able, without so much as a second glance back at what you left behind. You’d been adopted fairly soon after the attacks, but your adopted parents never felt much like family.

The first full year of Corps was bootcamp. Bunk rooms were co-ed, and every moment of your lives was dictated down to the second. You woke up at six in the morning and ran laps around the track. You had as much free time as you earned between whenever you finished your laps and when breakfast started at seven: the faster you ran, the more free time you got.

Eight to noon was physical training. After lunch was different depending on the day: three days a week you had mental training for whatever field you were going into, mostly flight simulation for the pilots. Another day was more combat training, and the last was an alternate, for first aid, written tests, marksmanship, and other courses along those lines. After that you had more physical training, like sparring and hand-to-hand combat, then dinner, then free time. Lights out was strictly at ten-thirty every night, and then you’d start it all over again the next day.

Now, you stood in line with the other cadets training to be pilots, waiting to hear your class ranks. Every month, they would announce a ranking of all cadets, a score averaged in test results, simulator scores, and overall performance. The better you ranked, the better your placement once you graduated.

“Third place, Park. Eighty-nine point nine,” the sergeant read off, making a small boy a few rows away from you puff up his chest in pride. You weren’t sure why anyone would feel proud of not getting an A, but you pushed that thought away.

You swallowed hard, holding your breath. There were only two spots left, and if you’d scored higher than Park, that meant you got an A and were either in second or first place out of the whole class. You didn’t know everyone’s names yet, so you weren’t sure who you were competing with.

“Second place, Y/L/N. Ninety-five point two.”

You heard the impressed murmur of others in the class before all of them were silenced by a firm look from the sergeant. Your heart sank, your hands curling into tight fists. Second place? You’d been so sure before now that you were working harder than all the other cadets. You were smarter than them, faster, more focused. Who the fuck had beaten you?

“First place, Kim. Ninety-five point three.”

Your brow furrowed. You weren’t sure who this Kim was, but you set your jaw, becoming determined to learn everything about them so you could beat them. Whatever their weaknesses were, you’d find them and exploit them.

You snuck a glance around you, trying to figure out who Kim was, and nearly jumped out of your skin when the tall boy next to you made eye contact with you, raising one eyebrow in the most smug, cocky, asshole-ish look you’d ever seen. That one singular eyebrow quirk, the corner of his lip curling up barely noticeably, all of it made you want to seethe and strangle him.

You’d noticed this man before, but had never thought much of him. He was taller than all the other men, but he hadn’t come off as particularly smart or extraordinary. This guy was the one who’d beaten you?

Now that you looked at him, you noticed he was definitely very muscular. Had he beaten your score through his strength? You could work harder at weight lifting and beat him. Were his test scores perfect? You could make yourself study even more.

Whatever it was that made him first place, you’d find out and beat him.

II.

In the following weeks, you began to wonder how you’d ever missed Kim Namjoon.

You and Namjoon both worked harder than everyone else. You both trained longer, started earlier in the morning and kept going until you were the last ones left. You both pushed yourselves harder than all of your other classmates, academically and physically. Before he was placed first in the class, you hadn’t even noticed him, but now he was the bane of your existence, and you existed only to beat him and come out on top.

You were faster and more agile, but Namjoon was by far stronger. You almost wanted to dispute the scoring system; what use was strength for a pilot? You weren’t soldiers. He needed fast reflexes and precision, not fighting skills or the ability to deadlift two hundred pounds. Was he planning on picking up planes and throwing them at the alien ships? It was so stupid.

The second month of bootcamp, you were the top of the class, and Namjoon was second place now. You smiled smugly to yourself and kept your eyes focused forward, staying perfectly at attention like the other cadets, but you could feel his eyes on you and almost sense his focused anger, that same emotion you’d felt when he’d first beaten you.

After the ranking announcements, you went to combat training in the gym, but your instructor called out both your name and Namjoon’s before you could even get started.

“I want the two of you to spar,” the instructor said as the two of you ran up. “No rules, just fighting. You can use boxing, wrestling, martial arts, whatever you want — just don’t kill each other.”

You narrowed your eyes at Namjoon, almost expecting him to refuse to fight you, for being a girl. Besides occasional glares, the two of you had never so much as said a word to each other, but you figured smug alpha male assholes were all the same.

But instead, Namjoon smiled and said, “All right.” He almost seemed eager to get in the ring and teach you a lesson.

Now, you eyed him from across the ring, how he was watching you with a smug little smirk as he wrapped his knuckles.

“To win, pin the other person’s back to the mat for five full seconds,” your instructor said carefully. “Their back has to fully touch the ground, not just shoulders. They don’t have to be conscious to be pinned.”

You and Namjoon made eye contact at that.

“Whoever wins doesn’t have to run laps next week. Loser runs double laps before eating. You both ready?”

You and Namjoon ended up drawing a crowd of spectators.

The moment the instructor said start, you ran, jumped, and wrapped your legs around his head, twisting and throwing him to the ground so that he was on his back and you stood over his head, smirking down at his stupid surprised face.

He’d hit the mat hard, the breath completely knocked out of him. A few people in the crowd murmured quietly to themselves and quietly asked each other if the fight was already over. You let out a shaky breath, letting yourself feel proud for a split second as you glanced at the spectators, but before you could register what was happening, Namjoon grabbed you by both your legs, making you twist and fall hard on your back, too.

You tried to crawl away from him, but he just pulled you under him by your legs, climbing on top of you and trying to hold you down with his hands. You arched your back as high as you could, touching the mat only with your shoulders and ass as Namjoon fought to grab your wrists. He was on top of you, straddling your abdomen and trying to keep you down without actually touching your chest, and you watched him bite his lip and heard him growl as he focused on not getting hit while you thrashed beneath him.

You brought your leg up and kneed his kidney as hard as you could, making him groan before moving back to pin your legs down too. You could now easily keep your back fully off the mat, but he was straddling you much lower now, bending over you and still trying to grab your arms. This close, you could smell him, his sweat and masculine scent mixed with the cheap soap you all were given, and you had to push aside the fact you kind of liked the way he smelled.

You were panting hard, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each deep breath. You watched Namjoon as he glanced down at your breasts, before his eyes snapped back up at your face, his eyes wide as if he were surprised he’d let himself look.

“Having fun?” you teased, smirking up at him.

“Tons,” he growled, finally catching one of your hands and pinning it down by your wrist.

You hooked your leg up as far as you could, wrapping it around him and using his close proximity to your advantage. This seemed to catch Namjoon very off guard, and you felt more than heard him make a noise in surprise as you essentially embraced him, not giving him any space to move or do anything as you pulled your hand free and wrapped all your limbs around him, hanging off of him like a leach.

Namjoon sat back on his knees, and you held onto him, your legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders, waiting for your moment to use his weight against him and throw him on his back. He was squirming and wearing himself out, while you just squeezed him, hard enough you heard something in him crack.

“What are you doing?” he grumbled, trying to pry you off of him. Before you could answer, he grabbed you by your hair and jerked your head backwards, making you gasp and cry out. He started to force you off by getting his hands between your bodies, but you surprised him, grabbing his throat with both hands and squeezing.

Namjoon forcefully brought his hands down on your arms, bending them so that you let go of his neck, and now you were much closer to his face, nearly nose to nose as he still sat there on his knees with you hanging off of him. He held your wrists with both hands now as you tried to struggle free from him, and when you realized you couldn’t, you twisted one wrist, bringing his hand up to your mouth and biting down as hard as you could on the meat of his thumb.

He yelped and let go of you, but before you could use the moment to your advantage, he grabbed you and pushed you off of him, throwing you down away from him while he scrambled back and looked at his hand.

Your body bounced as you hit the mat, rolling a few times until you slammed against the edge of the ring. Namjoon was back on you before you could react, and you felt him behind you, trying to roll you over so he could pin you down on your back again. You brought your head back hard and connected with his nose, making him jump back again.

When you looked back at him, Namjoon was standing across the ring, holding his nose and glaring at you as you jumped to your feet too.

You circled each other for a moment, both closely watching the other’s every move like prey.

His nose was bleeding heavily, both of you out of breath and covered in sweat.  You were pretty sure you had a bruised rib from him throwing you, your lungs burning from exertion from the fight. Everyone who’d been in the gym was now watching, none of them speaking as the two of you circled each other.

You ran at each other at the same time, Namjoon throwing a swing that you easily ducked. While his momentum was off, you punched him hard in the stomach, making him bend over in pain.

He was being sloppy, maybe distracted from his pain and anger, or maybe he was just more of a big clumsy oaf who relied on strength alone than you’d thought. You knew he was smart based on his test scores, but none of that appeared to translate to agility or finesse. He was fighting clumsy and angry, but you only felt more focused now, catching yourself smiling as you almost enjoyed yourself.

When you tried to strike him again, moving to hit your elbow between his shoulders while he was bent over, he turned and reached up, grabbing your neck with both hands. You broke his hold easily, and used that moment to bring your hand up and smack his injured nose.

Namjoon groaned in pain, holding his nose again. You grabbed his free hand, twisting it until he turned around and fell to his knees, yelling in pain, his arm bent painfully behind his back. You now stood behind him, Namjoon unable to move unless he wanted you to break or dislocate his arm, you on your feet with him on his knees.

“Do you forfeit?” you said, pulling his arm up another inch and making him hiss in pain. You could see how much he was sweating and panting, and ignored the way it sent a shiver of lust through you.

“You play dirty,” he seethed. Just standing close to him, you could feel the way heat radiated off of him. You’d noticed before that he was a sweaty guy, but now he was shining with it.

“I seem to remember being told that there were no rules for this fight,” you said, smiling proudly to yourself as you held the large man in place with one hand.

Instead of responding, Namjoon threw himself backwards into you, knocking you off your feet. You were on your back now and he was on his back on top of you, pinning you there. He had to have at least pulled his arm out of socket doing that move, and his body tensed from the pain, but he didn’t stop.

Namjoon pushed down with his shoulders as hard as he could, arching his back and standing up on his feet, bending his legs to put even more weight on just his shoulders to trap you there under him. You were crushed by him, barely able to breathe, let alone keep yourself fully off the mat.

He was so big and heavy, his shoulders wide enough to pin your arms down. You did the only thing you could think to do in the moment, what you hoped would give you an advantage again. You leaned in and bit down where his shoulder met his neck, the same side his arm was dislocated, and you bit down hard.

Namjoon yelped in surprise and pain, and you wrapped your arms around him in a chokehold so that when he tried to roll away, you went with him. He twisted in your arms until he was on top of you, facing you again, and this time you brought your knee up hard between his legs, his eyes closing as he groaned in agony.

You easily pushed him off and got on top of him, straddling his chest and pinning him down. Your knees pressed your full weight down on his biceps, including his injured arm, which made him groan in pain with every harsh exhale. He arched his back and tried to push you off of him, but he could barely move or reach you, his arms both pinned outward.

“Tired of getting your ass kicked yet?” you goaded, raising an eyebrow when Namjoon glared up at you. “How were you ever the top of our class? This is a little too easy.”

“Fuck you,” he growled, seething hard, blood all over his mouth and chin from his broken nose. His back still wasn’t technically on the ground though, so you needed to think of a way to make him stay down.

You were straddling his chest, so you moved your hips forward suddenly before throwing your whole body back, slamming yourself down hard and completely knocking the wind out of him. You simultaneously knocked him down so that his back was against the mat, and purposefully hit the back of your head against his crotch, which had to still be hurting from when you’d just kneed him a minute ago, so that he wouldn’t have the strength to get himself back up for a few seconds. You heard what you thought was a crack, which you really hoped wasn’t his crotch, before you heard and felt him groaning in pain.

The instructor counted out, and you won. You immediately jumped off of him and looked down at the damage.

Blood covered Namjoon’s chin, mouth, and neck, all from his nose wound, which you’d smacked more than once. He was bleeding from the bite on his neck, and his shoulder did not look right, pulled painfully out of socket and potentially broken. He rolled onto his side away from you and moaned, the hand of his arm that wasn’t dislocated over his crotch as he curled up in a ball on the ground.

“You all right?” you asked cautiously, stepping out of the way as the instructor rushed in to help him. Namjoon held up his middle finger to you, closing his eyes as he tried to breathe steadily.

You snorted in amusement and went off to the locker room to shower.

That night, Namjoon limped into dinner.

You were sitting by yourself at a table near the back, reading a book written by a pilot from before the attacks. Namjoon sat down across from you, as if sitting together was something the two of you normally did.

His nose was badly bruised and taped up, definitely broken. Judging by the limp he’d come in with, you’d messed up something below deck. His arm seemed to have been popped back in socket, but you could see the bruising spreading over his collarbone under his t-shirt, and his arm was in a sling. He had bite marks on his neck and hand, and the one on his neck had needed stitches.

You tried not to smile to yourself.

“Y/L/N?” he asked, like he wasn’t sure of your name, like you two weren’t rivals constantly competing and you hadn’t kicked his ass a few hours ago.

“Kim,” you said, returning the formality.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, so you went back to eating, trying not to look over at him. He rested his non-injured hand on his stomach, and you wondered if you’d broken one of his ribs or if he was just hungry.

“You planning on eating?” you asked him after a moment.

Namjoon actually smiled, laughing to himself weakly.

“I don’t think I even have the energy to walk across the room to get food,” he murmured, his voice a little deeper than usual.

Without a word, you stood, walking straight across the room to get another plate of food. When you returned and placed it in front of him, he looked up at you with wide eyes, confused and shocked by your gesture.

“Do you need me to cut it up for you, too?” you teased, though glancing at his arm, you wondered if he’d actually need that.

Namjoon shook his head after a moment, glancing down at his plate.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. You saw a small, genuine smile on his lips, and you realized then for the very first time that he had dimples.

III.

The following week came, as did Namjoon’s punishment week for losing the sparring match. The first morning, you noticed him waking up earlier than everyone else to go start his laps, since he had to do double. You quickly got dressed and followed.

You ran up beside him as he slowly jogged around the track.

“What are you doing?” He looked over at you, furrowing his brow but not stopping.

“Running laps,” you answered flatly.

You ran the same number of laps as he did that morning, despite having won the right not to run this week. Namjoon, you learned, had a broken rib and pulled groin in addition to all the other stuff you’d done to him, and he’d been given an out and didn’t have to run any laps after all. Your instructor had told him that he needed to focus on healing and not accidentally hurt himself more. He didn’t have to do combat training or anything else physical until he was healed, but he still ran his punishment laps anyway, completely by choice, and so you ran them too, matching his pace the entire time, neither of you saying a word to the other.

Despite getting his ass kicked in the sparring match, the rest of the cadets viewed Namjoon as almost a superhero after that. They respected how well he’d taken a beating; he was the guy who kept fighting, even with half a dozen injuries and multiple broken bones. You were the only one who’d been able to best him, using just your speed to outwit him, and now the rest of the class respected you both even more. Namjoon was a nearly unstoppable tank, and you were the lithe fox that beat him.

As boot camp continued, you and Namjoon continued your quiet friendship, neither of you the overly gushy or warm type, both focused only on training. You studied together, and started helping each other instead of competing. Both of you only improved your scores and times.

Namjoon helped you with your physical training, helping you get stronger. You helped him with his marksmanship, precision, and speed. You regularly sparred and fought and pushed each other further. You studied together, fought together, ate together, did everything together.

The first year of Corps ended, and you entered the second year. This was more specialized, focused on specifically becoming a pilot with more time on flight training instead of physical and military training, which you still definitely had a lot of.

Your class was smaller now, but you still slept in a co-ed barrack. You and Namjoon picked spots next to each other this year.

One night during winter break, almost everyone else had gone home for the week, the two of you essentially having the base to yourselves. It was well past midnight and after lights out, but you and Namjoon laid in your beds talking quietly, both on your sides facing each other. You only had about a foot of space between your beds, and you could just barely make out his face in the dark.

Namjoon told you that he remembered the attacks, losing his family, everything. He’d had a sister too, and had lived in a suburb, not one of the cities. He didn’t explain further, but said that he remembered what happened to his family, and that he’d been found in the woods by himself weeks later. He’d only been seven years old at the time, and you wondered how the hell he’d made it on his own for so long.

You got the feeling he was used to being on his own, and didn’t let himself get attached to anything or anyone. Part of you wanted to reach out and touch him, put your hand on his shoulder and tell him he didn’t have to be alone anymore. But instead you sighed, ignoring the way his sad eyes made your heart ache.

IV.

Your second year turned into your third, and you and Namjoon only became closer. You both planned to go on to a fourth year of training, even though it wasn’t required, as it would give you higher credentials and clearance when you finished. Both of you still strived to be perfect, after all.

Halfway through your third year together, you realized Namjoon was the closest thing you had to family. You both saw each other pretty much every moment of every day. You both didn’t leave the base for holidays, so the longest you’d been apart since first meeting was a few hours, at most.

You were constantly together, even when you didn’t need to be. You woke up early and ran laps, even though you were no longer required to — only first year cadets ran laps, but you both continued because… you didn’t know why, and you didn’t question it. You loved running with him.

That first year together, Namjoon had been stoic and quiet. He didn’t talk much, unless directly questioned, and even then he kept his answers as concise as possible. You weren’t exactly talkative, but when the two of you talked to each other alone, especially in the past few years, Namjoon began coming out of his shell. When he wasn’t guarded and quiet, he was warm and funny, almost loving in his own kind of way. You got the feeling he was naturally full of love, but had pushed that part of himself down in the years he’d spent alone and in shelters.

Now, you were giving Namjoon a haircut. His hair grew weirdly fast, and there were rules about keeping everything, including hair, perfectly in uniform. Men had to have very short hair and be clean-shaven, which meant Namjoon had to get a haircut basically every other week.

When it was warm you did this outside, but now it was winter and you were in the locker room. While you worked, you talked about upcoming tests and other little things. You kept catching Namjoon looking up at you as you stood in front of him, between his spread legs, and he seemed to be getting bolder, watching your face outright instead of just stealing glances.

“Close your eyes and tilt your head back,” you mumbled, trying to hide the fact you were blushing and flustered. Namjoon listened without a word, and you let yourself look at him for just a second; your faces were close, even with him sitting and you standing, because of how tall he was. You’d been obsessed with his lips lately, finding yourself fantasizing about them at the most inopportune times, thinking about how soft and full they looked and wondering what they’d feel like against your own.

Before you could pull yourself from your thoughts and start on the front of his hair, the power suddenly cut out.

You let out a small gasp, but this wasn’t exactly surprising around here. The power went out often because of the testing they were doing with switching over completely to alien tech for larger power structures. Still, you’d gasped in surprise because you’d been so focused on Namjoon’s face, and now the two of you were alone together in a dark locker room.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asked, his hands coming up to rest on your hips.

Of course you were okay; the lights had just gone off.

“Yeah,” you answered anyway. You moved your hands from over his head to his shoulders, feeling him in the dark.

“It’ll be back on in a second, we’re okay,” he said, his thumbs moving slightly, like he was trying to comfort you.

“I know,” you said, your voice sounding small. You weren’t afraid at all, but you didn’t want him to stop what he was doing.

The lights came back on then, and you looked down at him. Namjoon smiled up at you, dimples on full display, and it nearly took your breath away. He had a little piece of cut hair on his cheek, which you gently brushed away, and he wrinkled his nose at you, making your heart ache.

You finished giving him his haircut, and afterwards he pulled off his shirt and went over to one of the showers, to wash off the pieces of hair you’d cut. You gathered up the electric razor and your other belongings while you heard him undressing behind you, turning on the shower and humming happily to himself.

You stopped yourself from looking at him as you walked out of the room and went back to the barracks, refusing to let yourself think about him showering or the way he’d looked at you.

VI.

Your last year of training was mostly just the two of you working together and with various superior officers. You’d get promotions and rank changes after some time in the field, but you’d start out as Senior Airmen, and would probably both make Staff Sergeant within a few years of graduating. There were no wars or active duty anymore, but it meant you’d both be given leadership positions, if ever the need arose.

After graduation, you and Namjoon would both receive your assignments and placements. You’d both requested to be placed together, without requesting anything else. You could be sent anywhere in the world, given any position; you didn’t care where you ended up though, as long as you were with him.

Since it was your last year, you were both given proper rooms instead of barracks. The rooms were small and minimal, but your room was right across from Namjoon’s. You spent a lot of time in each other’s rooms, even sometimes sleeping over.

Now, you laid on Namjoon’s bed in his room, while he sat at the chair by his desk with his feet propped up on the end of his bed. He was playing with a stress ball, passing it back and forth between his hands. You’d finished all your testing and training, so you were both basically just resting until graduation, anticipating your placements. It was late at night, the rest of the base quiet and sleeping.

“Dream placement,” you said, turning your head and pointing at him. “Go.”

“Oh, man…” Namjoon rolled his head back, looking at the ceiling. “Southern California.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “What’s in Southern California, besides desert?”

“That’s the closest base to where the first ship went down. They’ve got the best tech out there, the best planes.”

“Okay, true,” you sighed. “But there’s nothing out there for miles. There’d be nothing to do.”

“What else is there, besides flying?” Namjoon threw the little ball he was playing with gently so it bounced off the wall beside you and landed on your stomach.

“I like flying and being able to see something besides sand, rock, and craters for hundreds of miles,” you said, tossing the ball back to him.

“You feel like you’re going faster if you don’t have anything to look at,” he said, catching the ball with one hand and tossing it behind him onto his desk.

“You also get lost easier,” you laughed, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Not if you’re a good navigator,” Namjoon laughed too, standing up and moving onto the bed with you. He wasn’t exactly tickling you, but he was touching your body and you were both giggling as he laid down beside you.

“If you want to feel like you’re going fast, then just go fast,” you said, your hands on his shoulders now as you grinned up at him. He was partially on top of you, partially beside you as he smiled down at you, his mouth so close to yours.

“I want to go even faster,” he said, but he stilled suddenly, looking down at you with wide eyes. He seemed to have suddenly realized the position the two of you were in, and he moved so that he was just beside you, laying on his side as you laid on your back.

You sighed. It was always like this — not that you were complaining, because you loved the relationship you already had with him. But lately, you’d get so close, almost kissing, almost embracing, almost something, and then he’d back off. You still loved the moments before, where you could forget that you were just friends and pretend you were something more, as much as it ended up hurting your heart in the long run.

Even now, you loved this. Namjoon propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you as you continued talking, a different topic now. Your mouths were only a few inches apart. It would be so easy for him to just lean down and kiss you, like you wanted him to so badly.

Namjoon’s hand that wasn’t supporting his head rested on your stomach. You put your hands there too, playing with him, feeling his long fingers and how big his hand was, and Namjoon let you, pretending not to notice.

You talked about graduation plans, life plans, little nothings that made each other sadly smile. Neither of you said it, but you both worried you wouldn’t be placed together.

“What’s your dream placement?” he asked you gently, his voice soft.

“You know, I don’t even care,” you said. Because it didn’t matter where they put you as long as you were with him, but you didn’t say that.

That night the two of you fell asleep like that, in that position. It wasn’t the first time.

VII.

When you woke up, you could feel Namjoon’s gentle breathing on your neck. You turned your head and looked at him, studying his expression in the early morning calm.

He was still on his side facing you, so now you were face-to-face, your foreheads and noses only a few inches apart. His hand still rested on your stomach, and you still held his hand there with both of your hands. You felt his fingers twitch a little in his sleep and wondered what he was dreaming about. His other arm was under the pillow now, and through it you could almost feel the swell of his bicep and warmth of his skin.

You only ever let yourself really look at him like this when he was sleeping, when the two of you had sleepovers in each other’s rooms. You studied the shape of his nose, the way his big, plush lips parted, the puffiness of his cheeks as he relaxed and breathed, every freckle and mole on his face that you wanted to kiss so badly. Cuddled up with him like this, you could feel how warm he was; Namjoon was a furnace of a man, and you’d gotten so used to sharing a bed with him the past few months, you now had to layer up and sleep with an extra blanket whenever you slept alone.

Namjoon sighed then, shifting a little in his sleep. You quickly closed your eyes and turned your head back so you weren’t facing him directly, in case he opened his eyes.

You felt him moving, shifting so that his arm was hugging you instead of his hand just resting on you. His hand was now on your side, below your armpit, his thumb on the side of your breast. He sighed and seemed to fall back asleep, softly snoring again after a few moments.

You laid like that for a while, enjoying this feeling, knowing you’d never have this for real. You'd never wake up next to Namjoon in the context you wanted, but this was more than enough for you. You were so in love with him, but he didn’t see you the same way, so you’d enjoy waking up in his arms for as long as you could.

When Namjoon eventually woke up on his own, he seemed to slowly realize the position you were in, moving his hand down carefully to more platonic territory. You opened your eyes and turned your head to look at him, and were caught off guard by the way he was staring at you so openly, looking down at your mouth for a few moments before looking back at your eyes with an expression you couldn’t name.

“Y/N,” he murmured, so softly you could barely hear him, but you could feel the rumble of it in his chest. You didn’t say anything, both of you just looking at each other in the peaceful quiet stillness of early morning, the only noises both of your gentle breathing.

Namjoon moved his hand up to your shoulder, and then his hand was cupping your cheek, brushing your hair back from your face. The tips of your noses were almost touching, his warm breath on your lips. He closed his eyes and put his forehead against yours, your heart almost stopping in your chest from how close he was. He’s never done anything like this before, and you definitely were not going to stop him.

He turned his head slightly, your foreheads still connected as the tip of his nose skimmed along your cheek, by your nose. He brushed his lips against yours so lightly you could barely feel him, his eyes still closed. You could feel his eyelashes tickling your cheek, and prayed he couldn’t feel how fast your heart was racing or how you nearly whimpered at his every touch.

Namjoon moved and brushed his barely parted lips against the corner of your mouth, your chin, your jaw. His hand on your cheek, he stroked your skin with his thumb slowly, touching you, feeling you. His leg moved up slowly, hooking over yours, and you spread your legs for him. You couldn’t even think straight right now, the only things your brain were processing were the touches and sensations Namjoon was giving you.

What the hell was he doing? The thought of him seeing you romantically, the same way you saw him, had seemed so impossible before now, but now, as he brushed his lips against your skin, you wondered if he’d been longing the same way you had.

Namjoon turned your head carefully, slightly away from him, so that you were looking directly up again. He kissed your cheek closer to him while he stroked the other, pressing gentle open-mouthed kisses down your face and neck as he slowly moved himself on top of you. You, matching his slow movements, wrapped your legs loosely around him and held onto his shoulders.

Namjoon kissed your skin as lightly as he could, feeling you anywhere you’d let him, and you were lost in him. He switched to your other side, kissing your collarbone and neck and jaw, and one of his hands moved up behind your head, tangling in your hair. Every movement was slow and deliberate and gentle.

You never would’ve guessed Namjoon was the gentle type, but now that this was happening, it made sense and you craved it. He closed his lips lightly against your earlobe and you gasped loudly, trying to arch up against him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your ear. “So soft, so perfect, my angel, my love.” His voice was so warm and deep, and you quietly whimpered, holding onto his shoulders even tighter. You felt like he could make you come just from this, just from his light touches and hearing his deep voice praise you. You'd wanted him so badly for years now, you’d dreamed about him, fantasized nonstop, and now here he was, and the tension was already building up for you.

He hadn’t even fully kissed your mouth yet. Namjoon pressed his lips against your cheek, caressing the other side of your face with his hand, just holding your body so close to his. You swore you could die right now and be fine with that.

An alarm suddenly blared, and both of your bodies stilled and tensed.

Namjoon jumped off of you and sat back on his legs, looking around the room like he was expecting to see what was happening written on the walls. You sat up too, looking around. Your legs were still spread, your brain still hazy from Namjoon’s kisses, and you looked at him as you saw him working through what was happening.

“Something’s wrong,” Namjoon said, quickly jumping up. He sat back down on the side of his bed long enough to put on his shoes. “Come on,” he said, pulling you up when he stood again.

You snapped yourself out of your lust-haze. The alarm was still going off, which meant something major was happening right now. It wasn’t just a test.

You left, quickly scampering across the hall to your own room so you could get dressed.

You and Namjoon met up in between your rooms a moment later, both in uniform, and ran down together to where the rest of the base had gathered, Namjoon taking your hand in his as you ran.

VIII.

It was another attack, like when you were young.

You all stood there at attention receiving orders, none of you looking anywhere except forward blankly. This was it, everything you had trained for, the exact reason you’d trained so hard. They were back.

You and Namjoon were both assigned as squadron leaders to two different units, Namjoon to Red One and you to Blue One. Those were two of the best, most elite units of fighter jets, but you looked over at him when you got your assignments. You weren’t together, so you wouldn’t know if he was okay until after it was all over.

You were all dismissed and had fifteen minutes to get to your planes and prepare for launch. You went straight to your plane, not stopping to talk to Namjoon. You knew you wouldn’t be able to leave him once you looked at him, so it was better to just pretend this morning hadn’t happened.

You were just starting to climb the ladder up to your plane when you heard his voice.

“Not saying goodbye?”

You froze in your tracks, but didn’t turn or look at him. You couldn’t make yourself say anything, instead just staring straight in front of you with your hands on the rungs of the ladder.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice much softer now as he walked over to you. The planes were close together so you were in tight quarters, and he stood right behind you, his hands not quite touching your sides.

“What?” you said, not looking back at him.

“Please don’t leave without saying goodbye,” he said. You'd never heard his voice like this. Quiet, pleading, loving. It was like this morning in bed, but more desperate, yearning, begging you to look at him.

You started to move up the ladder without turning around, and he put his hands on your hips, stopping you. He immediately let go, not wanting to trap you there.

You sighed and turned around to face him, only partially, still a step up on the ladder so you were just slightly taller than him. You reached back and held onto the ladder with one hand as you looked at him.

When you saw the expression on his face, it took your breath away. He looked almost tearful, sick with worry, trying to be stronger than how he obviously felt.

“Goodbye,” you said softly, bringing your free hand up to his cheek.

He stood there for a moment, just looking at you. You stroked his cheek with your thumb and tried to smile weakly. His hair was getting a little long, you noticed then for some reason. He was supposed to keep it short to stay in uniform, but now it looked long enough for you to run your fingers through.

Namjoon’s eyes were wide and innocent, searching your face. Around you, the base was chaotic and busy as other pilots ran to their planes and officers barked out orders and engines started up. The two of you just stood there in your quiet moment, both a lot less excited about your first mission than you’d thought you’d be, everything happening so much sooner then you’d both thought and on such a larger scale than you ever could have anticipated. You remembered almost wanting this when you were young, promising yourself that you’d be ready if they ever came back. Maybe the universe was punishing you; whenever you loved someone, the universe immediately sought to take it from you. Your family when you were young, and now Namjoon.

He looked like he wanted to kiss you or tell you something. He parted his lips and glanced at your mouth, his brow furrowing as he breathed, and he looked back up at your eyes, his expression so worried.

“I’ll see you soon,” you said, smiling gently.

You turned and climbed up into your plane without another word.

V.

There had been twenty pilots in your squadron when you left, and four when you returned.

You didn’t really remember the aliens from when you were little, but you’d seen countless videos. You knew what they looked like, how they performed, what their technology was supposed to be like, what their weaknesses had been.

You saw so many planes go down. The alien ship had a different defense than last time, and the fight was only over when the alien ship suddenly left and moved on, seemingly just because it wanted to, not because the humans posed any kind of threat to it. When it left, it had taken out an entire city, just like last time. The town near the base had only recently gotten its infrastructure set up.

You and your three surviving pilots returned first out of all the other squadrons. You quickly climbed out of your plane and ran down to the hangar, asking about the other pilots still out there. You needed to know if Namjoon was okay.

Before you even got to the hangar, another alarm started blaring. A plane near you exploded, and you spun around, looking up at the sky.

There had to be over a hundred alien ships in the sky, all firing on the base and the planes.

“Get inside, now!” you yelled, pointing at the pilots from your squadron who’d ducked down near their planes. You knew the base had a bunker, and the number of people at the base now could easily survive down there long-term.

There was panic as people got down there as fast as they could, all climbing over each other and yelling. You stayed back where you could see the sky, ducking down in a safe spot and watching as long as you could. You only saw alien ships, none of your own.

You imagined Namjoon’s last seconds. If he hadn’t made it back to the base, there was no way he’d survive. The ships would find him. You could only see the planes you’d seen exploding earlier, hear the voices of the pilots in your squadron on your coms as their ships exploded. A cut-off shout, and then nothing.

You finally made yourself run down to the bunker. In the distance, you could hear the ships destroying every visible part of the base, every last truck and car and plane and tank exploding as the blasts hit them. The walls shook and lights flickered and dust fell from the ceiling as you made your way down the stairwell to the bunker.

Over the destruction above you, you could hear Namjoon’s voice that morning in his bed, the world frozen around you then, the only things that mattered his large, gentle hands, his slow, exploring mouth, and his soft voice.

“You’re so beautiful,” he’d breathed against your neck. You'd been able to feel his smile, the tip of his nose tracing your jaw, the warmth of his breath on your skin. You'd never felt safer than when you were laying in bed with him.

You pushed the door of the bunker shut behind you, your hands shaking and eyes welling up. You could not think about this; you had to push all of that aside for now. You had a job to do.

After about five minutes down in the bunker, the lights went out. The weak backup generator kicked on near-immediately, but now there was no connection to the outside world. If any pilots managed to survive this long, the base wouldn’t know about it or have any way of contacting them.

When you’d taken off, both you and Namjoon had been promoted to captains, to lead your squadrons. Once all of the remaining people at the base were down in the bunker and accounted for, you were promoted again, this time to major.

Almost everyone out of the thousand or so people on the base had gone out to fight. The only people who’d stayed behind were ground control officers, technicians, first years, civilians who worked on the base, and the top few people in charge. There were maybe a few hundred people down in the massive bunker now, and you ranked sixth in command out of all of them.

Namjoon would’ve been so jealous you outranked him, you thought with a small smile.

VI.

Four days passed with no news.

There was no service. There was no internet, radio, or any connection to the outside world.

You were itching to get out. There was no news from the outside world, but there also hadn’t been any explosions since the first day. The alien ships had to be gone by now. On the second day, you’d tried to suggest to the general that you could go up to the surface and see if an evacuation could be planned, but the general and other officers had all said that there was no need to evacuate, because there were plenty of supplies down here. They would continue to work on regaining communications with other bases, and nothing else immediately mattered until then.

Now, you were on your cot, staring at the ceiling above you. It was the middle of the night and just about everyone else was asleep. Most people slept on cots in what looked like an old gym, all lined up in long rows. Everyone had been given two changes of clothes, all gray jumpsuits. You felt like you were in prison.

The scratchy wool blanket was pulled up to your neck. You tried to imagine sharing the cot with Namjoon, the two of you squeezed onto the spot only meant for one and giggling when you just barely fit. You imagined him spooning you, kissing your neck and shoulder and holding you close to him. You imagined feeling his heartbeat in his chest. You imagined his face when his plane exploded.

It wasn’t fair. You’d literally just become something more than friends, maybe, kind of. Your relationship with Namjoon meant everything to you, and it had suddenly been changing in such amazing ways, and then he’d immediately been taken from you.

You refused to cry about this. You refused to even accept he was gone. There were ways he could’ve survived. There had to be. He could’ve flown low and ejected and hidden in the rubble of the city. Except he wasn’t a coward; you knew him, and you knew he was the type to win or die fighting. He could’ve led other survivors away from the city. Except there was no way these planes could’ve outrun the alien ships. They weren’t fast enough.

There had to be a way. You had to get up to the surface and find out. You had to find him.

VII.

After one week down in the bunker, you felt like you were going out of your mind.

You had a plan. You were going to go to the surface whether they let you or not. You were going to find Namjoon, or at least the remains of his plane. You were going to find him or find closure.

You needed climbing gear to get up the destroyed stairwell. You’d need to find rope and gear, a lot of water, and survival supplies. You began your plan, looking around for spare supplies nobody would notice was missing until you were gone. You knew where to find rope, but you had to figure out how to acquire and carry enough water. Plus you would need to bring medical supplies, in case Namjoon was injured. God, you could just imagine him, laying somewhere, bleeding out and barely conscious. You wondered if he’d thought of you, imagined you coming to save him.

You were seconds away from stealing rope from a supply closet when a short little man walked around the corner.

“Major?”

You froze in place. You weren’t in the room yet; you were innocent.

“Yes?” you said, smiling politely.

“The general wants to see you,” he said, and left without adding anything else.

Shit. How had they known? You hadn’t done anything yet, or told anyone or written anything down.

You made your way to the command center. Not much was going on there in the way of commanding anything, but it was where the higher ups — which now included you — met, and it was where they were attempting to reestablish communications with the outside world.

The room was busy with officers buzzing around. There were a lot of exposed wires hanging out of the walls. It looked like they were rebuilding a computer system circa 1970.

“Major,” the general said, motioning you over.

“Yes, sir?”

“You’re the highest ranking field officer, so this goes to you first,” he said, handing you a manila folder. “We’ve established communication with a base a hundred and fifty miles from here, but only briefly. They said they have seven survivors from our base. They didn’t say who.” The general quickly added the last part when he saw your face light up at the mention of survivors.

You glanced down at the folder. Before you could speak, the general continued.

“We need someone — a pilot — to go up to the surface and see if any planes are still intact, and if so, fly to Walker Base. If there aren’t any planes left, we’ll probably have you try to find a car, or hike if you have to. We need to get our relay codes to that base, and once we do, we’ll have full communication with them again. You up for it?”

You looked up at the general, smiling.

VIII.

It took you about an hour to climb the staircase. Most of it was rubble and a lot of it involved throwing up a rope and securing it on something to climb the huge gaps where the stairs had fallen out, but you eventually got to the top, pushing aside debris to get yourself outside.

The base was gone. There was no way any planes survived this. Still, you walked out onto the strip, just in case.

Some of the piles of charred metal were still smoking. A few small fires were still going, most of them out in the lot, where jet fuel must still be feeding them. You tried to see if you could spot where your and Namjoon’s rooms used to be, but it was all just rubble, ash, and charred cinderblocks.

You walked down the landing strip, looking at the piles of scorched plane parts, blasted to nothing. Pieces of metal jutted up, a plane wing here, a part of engine there. Every pile you saw, you imagined seeing Namjoon’s body among them. You knew if he was dead, he wouldn’t be here, he’d be out in the city — but seeing all of the destroyed planes wasn’t helping.

You stopped in your tracks.

At the end of the landing strip, under a broken wing of a much larger plane, was the most beautiful F-15 Eagle you had ever seen.

You ran to it, climbing on it when you reached it and pushing aside the wing of the bigger plane until it clamored to the ground. You climbed into the cockpit, dropping your backpack with supplies and the relay codes into the little compartment, feeling nearly dizzy in euphoria. You prepped the jet for takeoff, everything going smoothly, and you imagined Namjoon’s face when you showed up at the base. He’d be so happy to see you, but so surprised, and when you told him that you got promoted to major–

You stopped for a moment, your smile falling as you stared blankly at your hands on the switches and dials.

You didn’t know if he was one of the survivors at the other base. You shouldn’t get your hopes up just to show up and find out he wasn’t one of the pilots who made it. For all you knew, you’d get there and one of the pilots from Namjoon’s squadron would tell you all about how he died.

You focused on the task in front of you. You were on a mission, first and foremost, to get the relay codes to the base. That was the important thing right now, not yourself or Namjoon.

You got the plane prepped and ready to go. The center of the runway was clear, since most of the planes had been gone.

F-15s were always your favorite.

IX.

You didn’t attract any alien attention while flying, thankfully. You got there in just over twenty minutes; around the fifteen minute mark, you slowed down and the base contacted you on your descent into their airspace. You had to identify yourself and state your intentions, but the base seemed completely willing to let anyone human land.

When you landed, a few people ran out and took care of your plane for you, as you were escorted inside. You handed over the relay codes and quickly asked if you could see the survivors from your base.

“Most of them were pretty shell-shocked when they got here, but they’re soldiers. They know how it is,” the officer escorting you said as the two of you walked. “How many survivors at your base?”

“Three hundred and forty-two,” you said flatly, staring straight in front of you as you walked. “We had four pilots including myself return, the rest were non-flight officers and civilians. No casualties on the ground, but the base was destroyed in an aerial attack shortly after we landed.”

“Yeah, we heard about that. That’s why we got your other pilots,” the guy said, motioning in front of him in the direction you were walking, assumedly at the surviving pilots. “They didn’t have anywhere to land and thought the base was gone, so they came here. All from different squadrons, but led by one captain.”

You perked up when you heard that. A captain had survived.

You really did try not to get your hopes up. Your base was huge; there were so many squadrons, only one captain surviving was not good news for Namjoon. Still, you were hopeful.

You were led to a barrack where a few pilots were sitting around together, all men looking bored out of their minds. You recognized Park from your training class, and a few others as well. You scanned their faces quickly, looking from person to person, desperately searching for him, frantic and anxious and despairing when you looked and didn’t see him–

“Y/N?” a voice said from behind you, and you spun around.

Namjoon had walked in behind you from the other direction; he looked like he’d just taken a shower, from the wet hair, clean clothes, and bag over his shoulder, which he dropped as he stared at you in disbelief.

Neither of you even said anything. You were only about ten feet apart already, but you immediately met in the middle, desperately grabbing at each other, hugging tightly. Your legs were up around his waist and he held you to him as he kissed all over your face. The room was spinning or maybe Namjoon was just spinning you around, you didn’t care, you just held onto him and tried to kiss him, one hand in his hair and the other arm around his shoulder, trying to pull him closer.

As much as you wanted and tried to kiss him, Namjoon was just too much; it was like he was trying to kiss every last millimeter of your face at least twice. He was holding you so tight you almost couldn’t breathe, but you didn’t even care. His skin, his hair, his mouth, his kisses were all the most amazing things you’d ever felt. You were pressed chest-to-chest, arms wrapped around each other, and you could almost feel his heartbeat pumping along with your own.

Namjoon stopped kissing you long enough to nuzzle against you, closing his eyes as he rubbed his cheek against yours, nearly animalistic.

“I missed you so much, my love,” he breathed. You swore his face was wet with tears, his cheek still pressed against your own. “I haven’t thought about anything other than you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you this whole time, I love you so much… god, fuck, when I thought I’d lost you…” He started kissing your cheek again desperately, his hand coming up to hold your other cheek and hold you in place.

“I missed you too,” you gasped, your voice small and high-pitched as you tried and failed to hold in your tears.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. I love you, I love you, I love you,” he kept repeating, not even stopping speaking as he kissed you, so some of his words were muffled.

“I love you, too, Joon,” you managed to say before he kissed your mouth, tilting his head to kiss you so deeply it took your breath away.

“Okay, Jesus Christ,” somebody else in the room said then. “Do you guys want us to, like, leave or something?”

Namjoon stopped, catching his breath as you turned your head to look back at the six other pilots and the officer all awkwardly watching you.

“Uh, sorry,” you muttered, putting your feet back on the ground and turning around. Namjoon kept touching you, not taking his hands off you, even as you faced the others.

“I know you both outrank us, but get a room,” a different pilot laughed, his smile boxy and voice deep.

“You have a room, actually,” the officer that led you in said, perking up like that was his cue.

“We do?” Namjoon asked, confused. He stood behind you, hands on your hips, tall enough to see over your head.

“She does,” the officer gestured to you. “She’s a major. All superior officers class O4 and up get their own private room.”

“Major?” Namjoon said, tilting a little to look at your face. You smiled to yourself smugly.

“I can take you there now,” the officer said, motioning to the door behind him.

Namjoon stepped to the side and looked down at the ground shyly, glancing up at you and pouting. You wanted to roll your eyes; he actually thought you weren’t going to invite him to come with you.

“You too,” you said, holding out your hand for him.

Namjoon beamed, and quickly picked up his bag and jogged over to what must be his bed, grabbing the few belongings he had, and shuffled back over to your side, taking your hand and kissing you on the cheek before following along with you.

“Go get it, captain,” one of the pilots jeered at him, the others all snickering and wolf-whistling as Namjoon dropped your hand long enough to flip all the other pilots off while the officer led the two of you out and down the hallway.

As soon as the door was shut behind you in your room, the officer gone and the two of you alone, Namjoon dropped his belongings and picked you up again, your legs tight around him, the two of you kissing again. You felt your back against the cold metal of the old-fashioned blast door, one of Namjoon’s hands holding your face.

“How’d you get here?” he murmured against your neck after a moment, kissing your cheek between gasps. “They said the base was destroyed, no contact.”

“The attack happened right after I landed. Everyone got down in the bunker, no casualties on the ground,” you gasped, still a little short on breath. As you spoke, Namjoon kissed your neck, working his way up to your jaw. “They needed a pilot to bring relay codes here.”

“What’s this about you being a major now?” he said, smirking, his lips not leaving your cheek.

“Got an upgrade while you were gone,” you said, and then you gasped, laughing as Namjoon suddenly sucked your skin over your pulse on your neck, leaving behind a deep purple hickey.

“Well, Miss Major, that means you outrank me now,” he said, leaning back enough to smile at you, his expression a mix of mischievous and proud.

He stepped backward then, still supporting you with his arms, and walked back until he got to the bed, sitting down on it. He laid back, pulling you down on top of him gently, your mouths connected the whole way down.

He was the best thing you’d ever felt, his large, firm body contrasting his gentle touches and kisses. You couldn’t get close enough to him, but it was slow, lazy, loving, everything you’d ever wanted with him, his soft tongue in your mouth, his firm arms around you, his warm body under you.

You couldn’t get over how good he smelled. There was the soap he’d just used, but you’d known him and been close to him long enough to know his scent. He tasted so good too; he swirled his tongue with yours slowly, tracing lazy patterns on your tongue, kissing you so deeply your head spun. His hands rested on your back, his fingers spreading wider as he tried to touch more of you.

You parted for air as he rolled you both, holding your body to his with one hand as he pulled you up the bed, resting your head on the pillow as he gently laid you down. Even though you would’ve only fallen a few inches and the bed was soft, he set you down like you were made of glass, looking down at you with love and hearts in his eyes, not breaking eye contact as he gave you a small, warm smile.

His dark hair was mussed up a little from you running your fingers through it, and it looked fantastic on him. His face was flushed and his parted lips were red and a little swollen, and he looked like he’d been crying, or was about to cry, or both.

You pulled him down to you and kissed him again. He set his body against yours, lining himself up with you as you wrapped your legs around him. You were both still fully clothed, but you could feel him, pressed perfectly against you from your collars to his growing erection and your throbbing core.

“I love you,” he groaned against your neck, grinding slowly against you. “I’ve loved you for so long, I wanted to die when I thought something happened to you and I never told you. I promise I’m going to tell you now, every single day, every time I see you, every time we make love, every second of every day–” He cut himself off by kissing your neck desperately, moving down toward your breast.

“I love you, my angel. You’re the most beautiful thing in the world, I love you so much,” he said, kissing along your skin frantically by the collar of your ugly flight jumpsuit. “You’re my best friend, and I love you, I love you, I love you,” he said, kissing up the center of your chest toward your clavicle. His messy hair tickled your chin, and you rested one of your hands on the back of his head as he worked, gently stroking his hair.

“I love you too,” you managed to say, though words weren’t really coming to you right now, with all Namjoon was doing to you.

Namjoon got up then, and you watched for a moment as he started quickly stripping off his clothes. You sat up too, pulling off your jumpsuit, and Namjoon got all but his boxers off before your arms were even out. He helped you, running his hands along your skin as you peeled off the jumpsuit, leaving you in just the undershirt and shorts you’d had on underneath.

There was a moment where the two of you just sat there looking at each other. You’d both seen each other in this context — nearly naked — before, from sleeping in the same room to swimming to other random things you’d done together over the years, but this was the first time it was ever like this.

Namjoon raised his hands slowly, his fingers just barely skimming against your hips. His eyes were on your breasts, his mouth nearly watering, and you smiled at that. He looked up at you, his eyes innocent and showing every emotion he had within him; he was asking for permission.

You brought your hand up to his face and kissed him slowly, savoring every movement of his lips, the feel of his tongue, the taste of him. His hands went to your thighs and helped you wrap your legs around him, and then you were laying down again, Namjoon on top of you.

He kissed down your chest, this time simultaneously running one of his hands up your stomach under your thin undershirt. He cupped your breast with that hand, feeling you fully, while his mouth kissed back up to your neck. He got your undershirt off without either of you having to get up, though he did have to lean back a little to give you room to wiggle around, and then he unhooked your bra and threw that and your undershirt somewhere behind him.

Namjoon swirled his tongue around one of your nipples, gently squeezing your other breast with his hand, your peaked nipple hard against his palm. He rolled one nipple between his thumb and forefinger slowly while sucking the other, just barely using teeth and making you gasp, and then he switched sides, doing the same thing again.

“That feels so good, Joonie,” you sighed, closing your eyes and smiling to yourself. You stroked his hair while he worked, closing your eyes and tilting your head back. Every moment or so, you’d let out a moan for him, tightening your fingers in his hair whenever he did something that made you see stars, and he’d hum back to you, responding without taking his mouth off you.

Namjoon moved down your abdomen, kissing every rib, every freckle, every last inch of your skin. He dipped his tongue into your belly button and you gasped and giggled, feeling his grin against your skin as he kissed down your navel, his tongue tracing along the edge of the little shorts you still had on.

You reached down and tried to pull off your shorts, but Namjoon’s hands replaced your own, slowly pulling just your shorts off and leaving your panties. He tossed your shorts the same direction he’d tossed your bra, and then looked down at you, sitting back on his legs. Your legs were spread wide, your soaked panties the only thing covering you, your eyes desperate for him, your breasts rising and falling as your breath quickened in anticipation and need for him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his expression almost dazed in love and adoration. He looked like he didn’t know where to look, his eyes scanning your face, your breasts, your spread thighs, the spot on your panties where you were already wet and soaking for him. You bit your lip and whimpered, and he closed his eyes, sighing and smiling to himself, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

Namjoon bent over and kissed your ankle, slowly, chastely. He moved to the other side and repeated that, kissing your anklebone. He moved up your calf, staying on that side, kissing you over and over and moving so slowly you started to whine for him, begging him to go faster and reaching down for him. He reached up and took one of your hands, holding it and lacing your fingers together as he continued what he was doing, not at all speeding up.

He kissed your knee, the side of it, the front of it, and tilting your leg gently to kiss the back of it. He moved up, kissing your inner thigh while still holding your hand. You spread your legs further for him, whimpering and squeezing his hand as he got closer and closer to your center.

Namjoon pulled back then, a smug smile on his face as he started moving down to kiss his way up your other leg, starting again at your ankle. You let out a whiney moan, pulling his hand and looking down at him, pleading.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” he said gently, moving back to where you wanted him most.

He kissed you right over your panties, a deep, open-mouthed kiss that made you cry out. You could feel him breathing hard through his nose, smelling and inhaling you as he moved his mouth against you, letting go of your hand so he could hold your thighs with both his large, perfect hands.

He licked and sucked the fabric of your panties, tasting where you were soaked for him. It was the most amazing thing you’d ever felt, and you spread your legs even further for him, your hands holding onto the sheets of the bed, your knuckles turning white.

You gasped when you felt teeth, and then Namjoon was slowly pulling your panties down your legs with his mouth, looking up at you with playful eyes and a smirk. You wanted to roll your eyes at him, but instead just closed your legs enough for him to get your panties off of you, letting him have his fun. He let out a small growl at you, your panties still in his mouth, and you giggled, a soft noise that made his eyes light up.

Before you could think or do anything, Namjoon was back between your legs, spreading you open with his fingers and licking a slow, thick line up your folds to your clit.

You cried out, your head falling back and eyes squeezing closed. Namjoon repeated the motion, even slower this time, moaning a little too as he let the tip of his tongue enter you for just a moment. You whined, pulling his hair hard and trying to spread your legs even further, and Namjoon stopped, humming softly as he turned his head and kissed your thigh.

“I love you so fucking much,” Namjoon murmured against your skin, kissing you there again. “Your pussy’s so pretty, my love. So soft and wet for me.”

“Joonie,” you sighed, stroking his hair. You could feel his smile against your thigh, and it made you smile, too. You felt warm, like you were glowing from his love.

Namjoon turned his head back and dipped his tongue into you again, this time further, like he was trying to see how far he could go. His lips sucked at your entrance as his tongue flicked in and out, not fast enough to get you off, but not slow, either. He moved his tongue like he was trying to drink you, lapping you up, bringing your wetness into his mouth and down his throat.

You moaned loudly for him, pulling his face harder against you by his hair, and he reached up and grabbed one of your hands, lacing his fingers with yours over one of your thighs.

He moved his mouth up to your clit, drawing random shapes over it with the tip of his tongue lazily while he curled two fingers into you. He moved clumsily, like he wasn’t exactly sure of what he was doing but just wanted to make you feel good, and what he was doing was definitely working. What he lacked in experience he more than made up for in eagerness and love, and when he moaned around your clit, and you nearly screamed.

“Jesus Christ, Joon, fuck. God, your mouth is… mmm, god, you’re so fucking good, that feels so good, Joonie, Joonie–” You cut yourself off with a long, agonized cry as Namjoon sucked your clit into his mouth hard, swirling his tongue around it as he suctioned his mouth and moved his fingers inside you faster. You repeated a chorus of nothing but his name between breathy moans as you held onto his hair with your free hand, your other hand squeezing his.

You gasped when you came, your whole body tensing as you saw stars and every nerve in your body exploded in pleasure. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream as you failed to breathe, your lungs tightening and your orgasm only building and building as Namjoon kept moving his tongue and fingers. You felt like you were floating in space, millions of stars around you all bursting at once, the entire universe stopping for you and Namjoon and the love you felt for each other.

After a moment, you took in a shaky breath, trying to recover while your mind was still mush. Namjoon was still moving his mouth on you, now licking up your wetness at your entrance and moaning to himself at the taste. If he kept that up, you were going to come again, and soon.

You moaned, pulling on his hair enough for him to look up at you, not stopping what his mouth was doing. You pleaded with your eyes, whimpering and pulling his hair again, and he put his lips to your entrance one last time, this time spreading his lips as wide as possible and sucking as he slowly closed his mouth. You gasped and almost screamed at the sensation of him actually drinking you, desperate to taste you.

Your second orgasm was smaller, making you shudder and gasp for just a moment before steadily breathing deeply as you tried to recover again. You looked down at him, barely able to lift your head; Namjoon was kissing your thigh, your hips, pressing gentle kisses to your skin as he slowly worked his way up your stomach. You could see how hard he was, his precum glistening on the head of his cock as it bounced against his stomach with his movements.

You started to reach down to grasp him, but he gently stopped you, bringing your hand back up by your head and lacing his fingers with yours. He kissed your collarbone, leaving a trail of wet kiss spots all over your body, your own wetness in the shape of his lips and chin.

“Please, Joonie,” you hummed, and he came back to you, kissing your lips slowly and letting you taste yourself on him. You wrapped your legs around him tightly as he lined himself up with your entrance, moaning when you felt the head of his cock against your folds, gasping when he started slowly sliding into you, every amazing inch of him filling and stretching you.

Namjoon buried his face in your neck, the length of his nose pressed against the curve of your jaw. He turned his head enough to kiss your neck, feeling your rapid, heavy pulse with his lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your neck, not opening his eyes. “So fucking tight and wet for me, my angel, my princess, my heart, my love. I love you so fucking much.” He kissed your neck again gently before pushing all the way into you and bottoming out, the stretch so wonderfully tight and full. You cried out, spreading your legs further and higher for him, grabbing at his shoulders, scraping your fingernails down his back as he filled you up so completely.

Namjoon pulled out slowly and then pushed in again, rocking into you. You were desperate, nearly delirious and just about ready to cry if he didn’t start moving faster. He seemed to just barely be holding on by a thread, his own orgasm already one sudden movement away from overwhelming him.

“God, Jesus Christ, Joon, fuck,” you cried, close to actually in tears now. You started to say something else but it turned into a small whimper as he thrust into you again, hard.

“I love you,” he groaned against your neck, “I love you so much, Y/N…” Your name turned into a long moan as he began his slow, torturous pace, both of you so close to the edge already. You didn’t know how he was possibly going so slow still, other than the fact he must want to torture you.

“Go faster, please,” you cried out, holding onto his shoulders as tight as you could and digging in your fingernails. “I need you so bad, Joonie. God, fuck me, please…”

“I love you, angel,” he said, kissing your shoulder. He picked up the pace a little, but it wasn’t enough. “I love you, baby, I love you so much. I love you, I love you–”

“Go fucking faster, now, please…” you sobbed, pulling his hair, making him hiss in pain, but he listened, reaching down and holding your hip with one hand as he started pounding into you, the force of it making the bed creak and your breasts bounce with each quick, powerful thrust. You were long past gone, moaning loudly with each exhale, and Namjoon groaned and grunted, his head against your shoulder as the two of you moved together, you rolling your hips up to meet him thrust for thrust.

Namjoon broke first. His orgasm hit him suddenly and he tried to keep moving, his thrusts sloppy, erratic, and uneven as he spilled into you, his mouth hanging open and eyes squeezed shut. He let out a long groan until he ran out of air, and then he didn’t inhale again until he finished, suddenly and harshly gasping in again, his whole body shaking in your arms.

He reached down and rubbed your clit furiously, and you only lasted a few seconds before you gasped too, clenching around his still half-hard erection inside you, which only made him groan in overstimulation as you squeezed and spasmed around him, gasping nothing but his name and feeling nothing but him, your love, your Namjoon.

Namjoon somehow managed to keep himself from collapsing on top of you. He moved to the side enough to fall beside you, one of his legs still between your thighs as he laid on his stomach, slightly turned in toward you. His hand moved up to cup and stroke your cheek as he lazily kissed your shoulder.

“I love you too, Joonie,” you said between shaky breaths, your vision almost blurry from lust and exhaustion and a dumb happy smile on your face. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

X.

You laid there for a little while together before you eventually went another round, this time as slow as Namjoon had wanted to go the first time.

When you came this time, your orgasm had to have lasted at least five full minutes (or at least, it felt like that) as Namjoon kept moving in and out of you, keeping up his steady, slow, overwhelming movements that left you delirious with his cock inside you, his thumb on your clit, and his lips on yours, breathing in every moan of his name.

After you both laid there a while again, lazy in post coital haze, you eventually got up and went to your room’s personal little bathroom, where you turned on the tiny shower and let it warm up. You stood there feeling the water’s temperature with your hand while Namjoon stood behind you, arms wrapped around you and lips on your neck. It was like he couldn’t go more than a few minutes without saying “I love you,” not that you were complaining.

You showered together, Namjoon standing behind you the whole time and washing your body for you. He massaged your breasts, hands sudsy as the warm water fell down over them as he kissed your neck, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear. One of his hands fell down to your folds, stroking you slowly as his other hand moved to your breast, arm wrapping around you so that his forearm could also press against your nipple, stimulating and touching both of your breasts at once.

Namjoon slid two fingers into you as he kissed your temple. You could feel him hard against your ass, and that feeling made your eyes flutter.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamt of touching you, pleasing you, making love to you,” he murmured into your hair. You responded with an agonized moan, reaching back and holding onto his shoulder for support. “I’ve wanted you like this since we first met. I dreamed about eating your perfect little pussy so many times, doing exactly this to you, feeling you squeeze my cock like you did earlier when you came so prettily. You’re better than anything I ever could’ve imagined though, baby. Your pussy tastes like heaven and feels even better. You’re so fucking perfect, princess, I love you so much, more than my heart can bare.”

You felt like he had to be bending you over slightly, his firm chest against your back. You swore you could actually feel his cock throbbing.

“I need you,” you moaned, your eyes closed as you felt nothing but his hands.

“I’m here,” he said, kissing your cheek. “I’m here, angel. I love you.”

“Need you inside me,” you said, spreading your legs to stand with your feet braced wider apart. “I love you, too, Joonie. Please…”

Namjoon didn’t need to be told twice. Hooking his arm around your waist for support, he bent you both over a little more, sliding into you from behind in one smooth motion. You cried out in ecstasy, he felt so good and big and yours.

It was fast and sloppy; he hugged you against him with both arms while you braced yourself on the tile wall in front of you. The sound of skin smacking against wet skin, his hips hitting your ass coupled with both your quiet moans and the wet squelching of him moving hard and fast inside you, echoing off the tile walls with the sound of the running water. He filled you so perfectly, stretched you out so far, you felt like he was fucking up into your guts, so hard and deep and good.

You came at the same time, Namjoon groaning and squeezing you harder as your eyes rolled back in your head.

When you’d both recovered some, you stood there under the water, still in the same position. You both knew base rules about wasting water, so you needed to wrap this up, but neither of you wanted to move.

You eventually got out and dried off, both of you getting ready for bed with the toiletries provided by the base. He couldn’t keep his hands off of you the whole time though, so the whole process probably took three times longer than it should’ve.

When you both finished, he pulled you to him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he kissed you, his hands spreading out on your bare back. Namjoon’s tongue slowly swirled with yours as he let out a small, contented hum, and he wrapped your legs up around his body, supporting you with one hand on your back and the other on your thigh.

Namjoon walked to your bed, carrying you, and laid down with you on top of him. You didn’t end up going another round, but you kissed for a while until eventually you started to move off of him to sleep beside him. Namjoon, though, held you there on top of him, keeping you there.

He murmured a soft little “please,” stroking your back gently, begging you to stay where you were on top of him. You laid back down and kissed right over his heart, before turning your head and resting your cheek on his chest, nuzzling in against him to sleep as he pulled the sheets up around you both.

You were safe in his arms. The world around you didn’t matter; not the people down the hall, not anything outside the base, none of it. The whole universe was just you and Namjoon in this bed, and nothing else existed. He was yours, and you were his.

[gold-sweets]

🍓✨MP Dream Girl hobbies ✨🍓

Thinking on how to approach the MP Guide, I realized the key to become "her" (whoever she may be for you), is how to manage your time to educate and develop yourself. Here I present some ideas for your free time 💞

Reading

Going to meet a friend? Take a book! You have to wait for someone?Book! Taking the bus/subway? Booook! Books can be the greatest shield for many social situations. Alone in a restaurant? Book! Everybody uses their smartphones while waiting nowadays. But introducing reading to this situations may help you finally complete your reading bucket list (Because I know you have not made time for it). Also, having a book can help someone approach you (it can help you reject them too). I used to read my philosophy books (Wittgenstein, Lakatos, Feyerabend) while waiting for friends at the art cinema. Soooo many guys approached, and it was so easy to reject the ones I didn´t like by just continuing reading 😂. To get started and to feel you are progressing I would advise to check short stories compilations by famous authors. Reading a novel by bits can be exhausting and confusing. Also, I´d say reading empowering, self-help, comercial educational finance, books is not as welcoming if you want people approaching. I would advise to look for classical literature or maybe a best-seller. Of course, I mainly advice you to read whatever you want. Just read!

Writting and journaling

Yes, yes, yes. Write! Retelling your everyday life can be so inspiring to shape your ideal self. You don´t just write you went to dinner with your friends, you write about "how talking to them made you realize how far you´ve all come" or "how this friendship is draining" and reflect on that. Poetry or prose, doesn´t matter. Honest writting will always make your mind wider.

Painting

Yes, painting can be relaxing. But developing a skill for a specific technique is absolutely love inducing. Have you ever day dreamed about meeting the perfect person just to find out they´re also artistically talented? Become that. Love letters with watercolour detail, oil painting for a birthday present. Become a surprise box.

Playing an instrument

You don´t need to buy a Gran Piano or a violin, it can be a ukulele, a flute or a kalimba. Anything that makes you develop musically will do. If you can´t read music, you can learn. You don´t want to learn? you can search for youtube tutorials. Expand your repertoire, learning to appreciate movies', videogames' instrumental soundtracks can be a bridge to get into classical music.

I have so many ideas to continue this list! But that´s it for today. Hope you find your artistic inspiration and keep getting better and of higher value 💞

[wannabe-fic-writer]

All Over Again - Chapter 12

Summary: What was lost can be found. 

Warning: 18+ Smut, Language, Violence. 

Ch. 11

* * * * * *

Despite the curtains opening and letting in the sun’s bright light, the beauty beside you remains asleep. 

A glance at the clock tells you that you’ve woken up an hour and a half earlier than need be, but you know you won’t be falling back to sleep so you decide to get up. Said task proves a bit difficult. Every shift you make has Lena tightening her hold on you, her nose brushing your neck as she snuggles closer. 

It takes a solid five minutes to slip from the woman’s loving hold. After ensuring she doesn’t wake up, with your pillow now in her arms, you head into the bathroom.

One nice hot shower later, you’re dressed in your work uniform, and in the kitchen fixing breakfast.

Just two weeks ago you were still getting used to this new routine of yours. 

You’ve loved every morning you woke up with Lena, some you spent getting ready together and others one of you stayed in bed just a bit longer thanks to the efforts of the other. 

The first day of your new job at the DEO was a rigorous one. First finding out that Alex works there, which truly wasn’t a surprise, and then being put through the ringer to ensure you were good enough for your desired position as a field agent. 

You know despite being accepted by a decent amount of your workmates, Alex is still holding you at a judgeable distance, but your two weeks has given you some credibility with her. 

All in all it was an adjustment period. One you’re slowly breaking out of. Here at your new home things couldn’t be more perfect. 

“Good morning.” 

Looking up from the slowly cooking pastry at your hands, you smile at the, clearly, still sleepy brunette. Her mouth opens to release a silent but powerful yawn. 

You smile softly at her, eyes rolling over the dark green silk pajamas she’s wearing,“ good morning beautiful.” 

She comes over to you, resting a gentle hand on your lower back, and leaning in. Your lips meet in a short, sweet, kiss. Her lips curve up against yours and you give her one more quick peck. 

“Mmm, those crepes?” Her body nearly melds into yours as her arms wrap around your torso, head laying against your shoulder.

One thing you’ve learned and absolutely love: Lena is a clingy morning person. 

For whatever reason, the woman just had to be close to you in the morning. You’d first paid attention to it a few days after moving in.

It was shortly after you’d woken up, as you were brushing your teeth, when she came into the bathroom and practically koaled herself around you. You asked what was wrong and her answer of nothing and a cute smile did you in. 

“Coffee?” She asks, reluctantly letting you go and moving over to the coffee pot. 

“Yes please.” 

Lena chuckles at the slightly childish tone your voice takes. Just as much as you’ve loved the past few weeks Lena has as well, possibly even more. 

She’s so used to being alone that this, having someone to come home to, to wake up with, it’s an unexplainable feeling. One she knows she could quickly become addicted to. The one thing she knows is that it’s scary how much she doesn’t want to lose this. 

Your girlfriend sets your mug beside the stove as you finish the last crepe. Making quick moves, you wash the dishes you’d used, and plate up the food. 

The green eyed woman watches you expertly fill her crepes with cream and top it with strawberries and chocolate. Once bacon is on the plate you place it in front of her with an over exaggerated wave of your hand and a bright smile. 

As usual Lena literally moans at the taste of the food. Before she can lick the chocolate off the edge of her mouth, you swipe it away with your thumb. Her eyes are trained on you as you suck the sauce off your finger. 

“Good?” You ask.

She nods, still looking at you with a bit of a dazed expression.

Knowing that your simple action flustered the CEO has you fighting to suppress a smirk. 

Together, you eat your breakfast, all the while talking about the movie you’d watched last night, possible plans for dinner, and the fact that you’re working with the UN to potentially get the energy core to places that need them. 

Lena is so deep into her excitement about the core that you can’t help but smile brightly at her. 

“I love you.” You tell her, staring straight into those pools of green. 

A blush creeps up her cheeks and she looks down, piercing a strawberry with her fork,“ I love you too Y/n, so much.” 

Placing a steadying hand on her thigh, you lean closer with puckered lips and Lena meets you halfway. Her lips are soft against yours like always. 

It lasts a decent minute before she deepens it, running her tongue across your bottom lip, then eagerly exploring your mouth as you let her. 

Just needing to be closer, Lena stands and moves between your legs. The kiss breaks for all of a second so her hands can run up your shoulders into your hair. This time your lips crash together, a hungrier force driving your actions. 

Lena moans at the feeling of your hands squeezing her hips and then slipping underneath her shirt. 

She’d only experienced the feeling of your hands on her like this a few times before and it makes her melt each time. The longing to drag you back to the room winning. 

Breakfast disregarded, she tugs on your hair a bit and you’d be more than willing to take this further, if the two of you weren’t due to work in such a short time. 

“L, you know I’d love to continue this but I need to be at the DEO in an hour and you definitely have some important meetings to attend to at L-Corp.” 

She groans, forehead falling to your shoulder,“ I hate that you’re right.” 

You laugh and kiss her temple,“ well I usually am so,” Lena swats at your arm good naturedly.“ I am all for picking this up where we left it, after dinner?” 

Nodding, she lifts up,“ okay.”

The both of you separate reluctantly to finish breakfast. Afterwards Lena starts to get dressed while you wash dishes. 

Walking back down the hall, you lean against your bedroom door, eyes trained on Lena as she applies her makeup.

You check the time on your watch then look back up,“ hey I have to get going,” she looks over at you,“ I’ll pick up dinner from Little Italy and meet you back here.”

“Sounds good.” She comes over and meets you in a sweet and passionate kiss.“ I love you,” she mumbles against your lips.

“I love you too.” With another short kiss you leave out, shrugging on your black DEO jacket, and exiting the apartment. 

In the private garage you approach the motorcycle you’d purchased. Much like New York, streets tended to be crowded in NC so you got a motorcycle, so you got a motorcycle. It’s a lot easier to get through traffic in it, especially during emergencies.

Due to the maneuverability and speed, you make it to the DEO in record time, going in and walking straight to the central hub. Alex stands at the center table, eyes watching the monitors.

“Director Danvers.” You walk over to stand at her side. 

She looks over you then back to the monitors,“ Agent Y/Ln,  we’re on watch, gear up and be on standby.”

You nod,“ yes Director.”

From there, you go grab your gear, chatting with the few agents you come in contact with. The second you’re ready you go back to central command. Assisting where you can until you’re needed.

The second the alert system goes off you’re beside Alex awaiting instruction. Brainy tells you all the situation and everyone gets ready to leave.

“Y/Ln I need you on the evacuation team. You all get those buildings clear and get everyone you can as far away as possible.” Alex instructs.

Everyone gets outside and into the DEO SUVs and you get on your motorcycle, following behind them to the targeted location. 

The second you pull to a stop you head to the building that’s taken the most damage. Debris falls from the top as the glass windows shatter by the second. 

“Let’s go, everybody out! We have to clear this building!” You shout to the people there. It seems that most people may have already left, those stuck in fear left behind. Their fear stricken states means you’re physically guiding some of them out of the building.

With whatever is going on still happening, you have to dodge the debris, getting a few cuts on your arm in the process. You get the last visible person out of the building before calling for anyone who may still be inside. 

There aren’t any replies, so you make your way out, only for a piece of the concrete ceiling above to come falling down. You tuck and roll out of the way, chest heaving with deep breaths. It’s far too late to notice the second piece falling but luckily it’s not your demise. No, instead there’s a blue and red clad form above you, body and cape shielding you from the shattering concrete. 

Familiar blue eyes look down on you, sans glasses, and those blonde curls. 

“Kara?” You ask with a frown, eyes scanning the get-up she’s in. 

She’s Supergirl?

Kara is Supergirl. 

Part of you is leaning towards how it makes sense and another part of you is upset you hadn’t noticed. 

Her eyes widen,“ h-how’d you-” the next falling chunks has her grabbing you and speeding you out of the building. She sets you on your feet at the back of one of the SUVs.“ How do you know who I am?” 

Your frown deepens,“ what’d you mean?” Footsteps sound beside you and Alex appears, glancing between you and Kara. 

“The Citadel is under DEO custody,” she informs you both, then asking,“ what’s going on here?”

The blonde leans closer to her sister, the hand on your shoulder remaining, the two whispering before Alex fixes you with a glare. After another whispered conversation, Kara’s hands wrap around you and she shoots into the sky. 

Being so high up in the air completely uncovered is just barely familiar. You’d been this way in Sokovia during the Ultron situation, free falling from the floating land onto one of the platforms of the many S.H.I.E.L.D transports.

This was a lot more unsettling though. Almost like it was too much freedom, too much air. 

It didn’t last long though, you were tumbling across a wooden floor in no time. Looking around reveals Kara’s apartment to you. 

Looking back at her, you raise a brow,“ well if I had any doubts before I certainly don’t now.”

“How did you know? Who are you?”  Her face hardens as she walks closer,“ why did you come here?”

“Lot of questions um, are they rhetorical?” She shows no sign of humor.“ I came here for Lena. I joined the DEO because I want to help people and I didn’t think being a cop would be enough.”

Her eyes narrow at you. She watches you closely, trying to figure out how honest you’re being. 

The door behind you damn near bursts off its hinges, an angry Alex marching in. She wastes no time trying to swing on you but you’re far from willing to let her beat you out of fear and anger.

Ducking under her fist, you slide back across the floor, and pop up onto your feet.“ Let’s not be hasty yeah? I understand why you two are upset. Secret identities aren’t an Avengers thing but it makes sense why you’re keeping your human identity private.” 

On the seconds long flight over you thought about this. And it did in fact make perfect sense. They have people they want to protect, people who would instantly be in harms way if any baddies found out who Supergirl really is. You suppose that’s one of the few benefits of the Avenging life. All the people you cared for were just as in harm's way as you were, if not more that is.

Alex’s eyes narrow at you,“ how did you know it was Kara?”

“I mean she just took her glasses off. From far away I wouldn’t’ve been able to tell but,” you look to Kara with a slight shrug,“ I know what you look like.” You say with a chuckle.

Both women share a look, once again having a silent conversation. 

Kara sighs once it’s over, then looking at you with the soft eyes you’re still getting used to.“ Y/n do you understand how important it is that no one find out who I am?”

“I swear to you I do.” 

“And how do we know we can trust you to keep quiet about this?” Alex asks, arms still crossed defensively. 

With a shrug, you push yourself up off the floor,“ look as far as you're concerned, I’m just the new chick who happens to be in your lives now. With how little you know of me there’s no reason for you to trust me. Quite frankly you don’t know that you can.”

Kara’s hand rises, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose,“ you aren’t helping yourself Y/n.”

“My point is. . . you’ll just have to trust me or kill me or whatever.”

“We’re not going to kill you.” Kara says when Alex says,“ we will if we have to.”

Your cheeks puff up before you release a deep breath. They look at you expectantly and you just raise your hands and remain silent. 

The conversation they now have is out loud, a back and forth about what to do. Luckily it ends in them agreeing to trust you, for now.

Alex’s finger pokes your chest,“ if you so much as joke about revealing my sisters identity I will end you.” 

Seeing the fire in her eyes, the obvious love and loyalty to her sister, you nod. Soft, understanding, e/c eyes bore into Alex’s,“ I promise I won’t. If you don’t ever trust me with anything else, know that this is safe with me.”

Her eye literally twitches before she steps back. It’s barely there, but you can see that she believes you. 

“I have to ask though,” your gaze moves to Kara,“ who else knows?” 

Knowing, exactly why you’re asking, Kara tells you straight out that Lena knows, and all of the Superfriends, aside from Kelly.

With a nod, and yet another promise to keep quiet, you ask to be taken back to your motorcycle. 

Just like before, Kara gets you back in seconds.

“Um, I-” you bite your lip,“ we’re okay right? I know I could’ve done that better, even if I realized it right then. You’re my friend, albeit a new one, but you’re my friend I would never hurt you.” 

The blonde’s jaw clenches, eyes searching yours for all the honesty and sincerity that’s there. When her gaze softens your shoulders drop. Hesitantly, you open your arms.

A smile pulls at her lips and Kara quickly accepts it. Teasingly she squeezes you a little tighter and while you notice, you don’t react in the way she expected.

“Come on now, I’ve been surrounded by super soldiers I can take a little squeeze.” 

As you throw your leg over your motorcycle and pick up the helmet, you look back to her,“ back to the DEO.” 

No matter how fast you drive down the streets you can’t beat Supergirl. She’s there long before you are to help contain the Citadel. 

You go through the standard debriefing, recounting how many people you’d evacuated and all your doings. 

Once it’s over, you stick around to do all the last of your work. Training and working on weapons takes you into the night. 

With a bright smile on your face at the thought of seeing your girl, you leave the weapons testing room, and go to the locker room. Putting your gear away, you head out, stopping to see Alex who’s with Kara.

“Um, Director, Supergirl, I’m leaving but as always I’m on call,” you say, approaching cautiously, “ see you tomorrow night?” 

Alex glances at Kara who can still hear the uncertainty in your voice and truthfully it softens her heart towards you even more.“ Of course,” she finally smiles,“ long as you bring cheesecake.” 

“Will do Supergirl.” After a joking salute to her and Alex, you turn to leave, Kara flying past you before you can blink. 

It doesn’t take long to get to the Italian restaurant though it does take a minute to wait for your order. Once you have it you ride back home with great caution. 

You aren’t surprised to find the place empty, in fact you take advantage of it. If the two of you do indeed plan to pick up where you left off, you want it to be special.

The second Lena steps foot in the apartment, she’s hit with the most intoxicating aromas she could imagine. Not only does the food smell delicious, the dozens of candles and flowers add to it, leaving the place smelling incredible.

“Y/n?” She calls, setting her bag down beside the kitchen’s bar, and looking at the table setting.

At the sound of your name, you scoop up the bottle of wine, and walk into the dining room. 

Lena’s eyes widen a bit at you. With the silk black robe on your body left open, she can see your chosen loungewear. It’s definitely meant to be enticing, accentuating every part of your body that you hoped it would and leaving enough to Lena’s imagination to almost make her drool.

“Welcome home my love.” You smile at her, handing her a freshly poured glass of wine while giving her a sweet kiss.

She hums against your lips and smiles back curiously once having pulled away.“ To what do I owe all of this?” 

You shrug,“ I just wanted tonight to be special. Even if it does go that far, you still deserve every bit of pampering I have planned for you.” 

“Pampering hm?”   

With a happy nod, you proceed with the rest of the night's plans.

Lena relents control to you and she’s beyond glad about that decision. 

Dinner and dessert is perfect in every way, your shared conversation making her fall in deeper with you. That then followed by the most relaxing bath she’d ever taken. And topped off with your invitation to a massage. 

Clad in the sexiest silky green nightgown you’ve ever seen, Lena approaches you. 

Her knees press into the bed and she inches closer to you. As opposed to lying down though, she places her hands on your shoulders, smiling down at your seated form.

“As much as I’ve loved every moment of tonight and I do plan to make good on this offer,” her fingers run over your collarbone,“ I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

The tone of her voice and that look in her eyes makes you smirk,“ oh I have?” Pushing yourself up to kneel in front of her, you cup her cheek and pull her into a kiss. 

Her hands quickly find your sides underneath the robe, fingers working to find your skin.You trail your kisses down her neck, nipping at skin between her shoulder and neck. 

She revels in the feeling of your hands exploring her skin. The tips of your fingers brush her thighs and she shivers, silently begging you to go higher with a squeeze to your side.

Pulling away, you look into her hooded eyes,“ are you sure about this?” With your hands still on her, it’s hard to think straight.“ L, I need you to answer me.” 

“Yes,” her words are a breathy whisper,“ yes I’m sure.” 

“Just tell me whenever you want to stop, we won’t do anything you don’t want to.” 

The brunette nods. 

With her hand on the back of your neck, she pulls you into a kiss that’s fueled by her need for you. You bite at her lip, inciting a giggle from the woman that makes you smile amusedly. 

She wasn’t expecting the action from you, that coupled with her excitement over this pushed the sound from her lips. 

You take that moment to grasp the ends of her nightgown, an ask of permission in your eyes that she nods to. 

Inch by inch, smooth milky skin is exposed to you, until Lena kneels before you in all her naked glory. There’s no way you could stop yourself from drinking in the woman’s beauty, every curve, birthmark, and freckle. You swear she could be one of the wonders of the world. 

“God you’re breathtaking.” You tell her, making a crimson color bloom up her cheeks. 

In one swift motion, you grab the backs of her knees, and adjust her to lie down. A yelp leaves her lips at her eyebrows raise at you.

“Sorry.” You smile sheepishly, hovering over her to offer a quick apologetic kiss. 

The kiss returning to its previously heated nature when Lena cups the back of your neck. 

As your lips move lower, so does your hand. Fingers brush the woman’s chest and her gasp turned moan lets you know your actions are okay. 

Encouraged to go further, you pinch her nipple between your thumb and finger, rolling it to the perfect little peak. The sensation causes Lena to arch up into you, pressing her chest even further in your hand. 

You let that hand trail further down her body, lips finding hers again as you reach her pelvis. Her breath hitches when your hand hovers over her heat and you stop. 

Pulling away from the kiss, you ask,“ you okay?” 

She nods,“ yes.”

You wait a moment, just in case, but Lena’s far too eager for that. She kisses you roughly and raises her hips just so your hand slips down further. 

The second you feel her arousal on your fingers you both moan. You had no idea she was this ready for you. Gathering her juices on your fingers, you trail them higher to circle her clit. 

“Fuck Y/n,” she moans, fingers curling into your hair. 

Slipping a single finger into her heat, you also suck a nipple into your mouth. The timed thrusts of your finger with the swirl of your tongue builds Lena higher and higher. 

Lena has never been with a woman and she’s genuinely wondering why she’d never considered it. Here you are sending her to another reality with one goddamn finger in a matter of minutes.  But she knows, it’s not just being with a woman, it’s being with you. 

Through every curl you make against that spongy spot inside her she can feel your quiet confession of love. The kisses you trail across her hot skin are screamed praises. 

You touch her like she’s your queen and it sends her reeling. 

Her grip on your hair tightens, hips shooting off off the bed as you sink a second finger into her. A cry of your name falls from her lips and you swallow it, pressing your lips to hers and letting your tongue explore her mouth.

She can feel that coil in her stomach tightening with the way your fingers hit her g-spot. She chases the sporadic feeling, rolling her hips into your hand in hopes of getting that release sooner. 

Picking up on her need, you press your thumb against her clit, circling it in time with your thrusts. 

“Y/n,” she sighs.

“I know baby,” you kiss her neck,“ come for me L.” 

That’s her undoing. 

Her thighs shake, she pulls you closer just needing to feel you against her in this moment, as her juices spill from her against your hand. You slow your ministrations, riding her through her orgasm, with gentle thrusts and featherlight kisses. 

Maintaining eye contact with her, you remove your fingers, raising them to your lips and sucking her juices from your fingers. A moan sounds from her at the sight and you chuckle. 

“You alright?”

She nods, chest falling at a normal pace as her breath evens out.“ I’m more than alright.”

Just as you lie back, thinking the woman needs a breather, she’s straddling you.

Her hands make quick work of ridding you of your clothes. You had the privilege of seeing her in entirety and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get the same. And she’s so happy she does. 

The sight of you, completely bare beneath her, is almost enough to make her come again. 

She wastes no time, cupping one of your breasts in her hand, and rolling your nipple between her thumbs as she takes the other into her mouth.

Kissing lower, she stops just between your legs. A kiss to both your thighs and then one right against your soaked folds.

“Jesus, Lena.” You sigh out.  

The urge to smile is hard fought off. Her goal, alongside showing you how much she loves you, is to put you as high in the clouds as you’d just put her. It seems she’s doing so. 

Her tongue curiously darts out, licking over your clit. You moan at the feeling and she moans at the taste. God you taste like honey and had she known before she would’ve listed you as her favorite flavor. 

Keeping one hand busy at your chest, she brings the other down. Fingers toy at your entrance as she keeps licking at your clit. The tip of her finger catches the way you tighten around nothing and she desires more than anything to feel you grip her fingers that way. 

So she slips a digit inside of you and gets exactly that. The moans and whimpers falling from your lips tells her all she needs to know about pleasing you. 

Her fingers pick up the pace, tongue flicking against you faster. 

Your fingers grip the sheets beneath you to the point where you’re sure your nails could pierce the fabric straight through to your palms. They tighten as the feeling inside you rises.

With the curl of your girlfriend’s fingers inside you, hitting that spot that drives you mad, you come undone. 

Waves of your arousal spill out directly onto Lena’s fingers, her tongue catching the even sweeter juices. 

Just as you did her, she helps you ride out the highest point of your orgasm until it seems you’re back down on earth.

“How-” a deep breath cuts you off,“ how many women have you done that too?”

The woman crawls up your body, kisses trailing through the valley of your breasts, up your neck, and to your lips,“ none.” She whispers.

Your jaw drops,“ seriously?” She nods and you laugh, wrapping her in your arms and pulling her body flush against yours.“ You are most certainly gifted my love.” 

“As are you.” She responds, kissing you once again. 

With the warmth of your bodies surrounding both of you, plus the work of the day, you both feel how tired you truly are.

Using the last bits of your consciousness, you slip under the covers, discarded clothes pushed to the floor.

“Hey,” you tighten your hold on Lena to grab her attention,“ I love you.” You tell her.

Leaning up, she kisses you once more,“ I love you too.” 

* * * * * 

Taglist:

@username23345

@depressed-bi-bitch

@fayhar

@trikruismybitch

@marvel-wlw

@aznblossom

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@chicken-wang09

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@bitchtits15

@coxmicbabygirl

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@blackluthxr

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[nikethestatue]

Meet Me in the Silence

Elriel Month - Day 5

 Continuation of ‘Forbidden’

Honestly, tooth-rotting fluff, some Nyx, stabbing Cassian with fork, Azriel singing and relationship stuff

Azriel loved Nyx. He didn’t love him because Nyx was cute and pudgy, or because he was his nephew, or because he was a fun, if demanding baby, and not even because spending time with him was a private relief for Azriel. A time to let go, a time where he could spend rolling around on the carpet, helping Nyx with blocks, rattles and the construction of pillow forts, watching Nyx sneeze little whiffs of starry night.

Nyx, unbenounced to him, showed Azriel some truths that Azriel couldn’t face before. The thing with Nyx was that he was a baby and he didn’t care—he didn’t care about Azriel’s scars and his ugly hands, he didn’t care about Azriel’s cruel ways, or the services that he provided to the High Lord. Nyx didn’t care about how many people fell under Truth-Teller’s deadly edge, or what Azriel had to do on the battlefields or during the Blood Rite. Nyx didn’t judge. As an infant, he wanted the same thing from Azriel as he wanted from everyone—warmth and comfort, kindness and love. He wanted to be rocked to sleep, fed, changed and played with. He didn’t care that the bottle was held by the same hand that tortured the Night Court’s enemies, or that the man who held him to his chest did some unforgivable things in his life.

As the last nine months rolled by, Azriel had to do some re-evaluations of his life. He had time on his hand, to be sure. Instead of courting Elain, like he wanted to, he thought. There was nothing much else left for him to do.

He thought that perhaps, despite his internal denials, Elain was much like Nyx—she accepted Azriel for what he was. Scars and all. Her acceptance did not stem from naiveite, though, but love. The realization hit Azriel like a sledgehammer. He crawled towards it, slowly, but surely, rethinking every touch and every smile, recalling every smirk and sparkle of the caramel-brown eyes, all the jokes and jabs, and gentle touches and finger brushes. Recalled the worry on Elain’s face when she knew that he went on his missions—even if they weren’t particularly dangerous. The pain that was etched on her features, when he returned in a particularly foul mood, and she knew that it was because he did things that marred his soul. He remembered her casually handing him a whiskey, which he’d gulped down in one go. Or a cup of tea, with honey and lemon, just like he liked. The gooey caramel cakes that she made—they were his favourite—and they began making a frequent appearance on the dessert menu. The past nine months of their forbidden love—is that what it was?—were the time when Azriel finally felt loved. For the first time in his life. Mor never really loved him, not like he needed to be loved. His brothers—well, they were his brothers, so that was that. Elain loved him. Of that, he was now certain. Elain loved him without touching. Without kissing. Without romance. Without courtship. Without gifts or presents or flowers. Without promises. Without expectations. It’s like she couldn’t help herself, even if she tried. She needed to love him, as much as he needed to be loved by her. All her tiny gestures of comfort and care created a glittering mosaic of love and devotion, which he only now began to piece together. And it pained him that she was not free to express herself as she wanted to, because loving him came with a hefty, unreasonable price.

For her, he’d fight. For her, he’d be the person she deserved. When she began choosing him, it was the first time in his life when someone actively chose him, despite all his shortcoming. And he wanted her to continue choosing him, every day, making the decision to love him.

Azriel had a lot of time to think about it, in silence.

 Azriel was a good cook. One of his may hidden talents. He spent much of his time alone, or in places that were foreign and unfamiliar, or in the army, and necessity being the mother of invention, he had to learn how to cook. And then, he became quite good at it. He had to draw the line at baking, but he could make a steak like nobody’s business, and eggs every way were his specialty. Tonight though, he was tired and distracted. It was the first time in a very, very long time when he and Elain were alone, so he didn’t particularly want to waste it on cooking. What’s more, with Nyx being the raging little monster that he was today, Azriel wanted to put the kid to bed as soon as possible and just relax. For a meticulous planner, tonight, he had no plans at all…and it both excited and frightened him, because it would just be the two of them and they’ll have to figure it out.

“Breakfast for dinner?” he offered, while Elain set Nyx’s food in front of him. He was too quick for her and immediately jammed his whole fist into the vegetable mash, soliciting a groan from her, as he began licking his palm and fingers with gusto.

“Whatever you want to make,” she agreed, as she began wiping the mess that Nyx made, while Azriel smirked, shaking his head. He tossed two slices of ham in the skillet, and allowed it to crisp up and caramelize.

He came behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, burying his face in her hair. She smiled, momentarily lost in the sensation of closeness and comfort that he always offered her, so effortlessly too.

“You know,” warned Azriel, using his ‘stern’ voice, looking at Nyx, “for your behavior, you should be sent to an Illyrian training camp. Just so you know what’s what. There, there won’t be 10 people looking for Brute for you, or uncle Cassian swimming with you in the pool, or Elain feeding you lemon cakes, or aunt Nesta reading to you the same book over, and over, and over, and over again. No aunt Mor taking you on a pony, and no Varian building sandcastles with you, only to watch you destroy them.”

Elain, tucked against his chest, was laughing. Especially because Nyx was glaring at Aziel unhappily and suspiciously.

Then, she said, softly, almost to herself, “I am happy that he is happy. That we can give him the childhood that none of us had. Let him be a little bit spoilt, because he is so loved.”

There was longing in her tone. Longing for something that she probably desired for herself. Those conversations have never been had between the two of them. Gods, they’ve never even been together in public, let alone had conversations about the future, and a future that included children. It was never something Azriel even thought of, considering his ‘luck’ in love, and his line of work. But he heard her. So he gave her a little kiss on the cheek and returned to his cooking.

Elain was feeding Nyx the last of his food, when Azriel placed two plates on the table, and poured both of them a glass of ale.

“Beer with breakfast,” she giggled. “I like the way you think, shadowsinger.”

He laughed, loving how easy it all was. How easy the banter came, how relaxed they were together, how there were no pressures at all when it was just the two of them. Well, three.

“Alright, you’ve taken enough of everybody’s time today,” he decided, as he fished Nyx out of the highchair and went to wash his face and hands again. Elain remained seated, watching the two of them, with her chin propped on her hand.

Was it normal to be that enamoured with a man? When he did mundane things? She had to admit—Azriel was indescribably beautiful. That alone would attract anyone. The gargantuan wings, ticked tightly, but not tensely against his back didn’t hurt either. The span of his enormous shoulders, the movement of those thick muscles around the arms, over his back, which moved and bulged as he wrestled with Nyx, who was refusing to get his hands washed, were mesmerizing. She knew that she shouldn’t be so dazzled by his looks, but she couldn’t help herself. But it was more than just admiring the elegant cut of his body, the well-fitted trousers that did very nice things to his thighs and his long legs, or the enticing forearms that were exposed from his haphazardly rolled up sleeves. The tattoos, in fact, snaked lower than she anticipated. She’d never seen him undressed—Cassian, strong, beefy and powerful, and the leaner, thinner Rhysand—plenty of times. But not Azriel. He’s been annoyingly timid. All three were tattooed, but apparently, Azriel’s reached all the way to his scars. She smiled to herself, amazed and bemused. Who would’ve thought that she, Elain, would be so attracted to a winged and tattooed male? What a far cry from the ordinary, plain Greyson.

Azriel plopped Nyx down on the floor, tossed him Brute and some toys and then quickly threw a shield around them, so Nyx was contained and didn’t attempt to wander from the kitchen.

“You should’ve started,” he nodded to her untouched plate, as he sat down.

“Not without you,” she said. “Looks very good!”

“I try,” he said bashfully and they tucked into to the scrambled eggs, ham and vegetables.

“Oh, gods, it’s really good,” she almost moaned.

“Baby, it’s just eggs,” he reminded her, secretly very pleased with her reaction.

“Well, baby likes them!” she giggled, cutting into the ham. Azriel watched her, watched the movement of her hands and she asked, “What?”

He chuckled and said, sipping his ale,

“I recall when you were planning to kill Cassian with a fork.”

Her brow furrowed.

“What?”

“Oh, you don’t remember?” he was laughing softly.

“I don’t think it’s even possible to kill Cassian,” she noted.

“I’d agree. But you were ready and eager.”

“When was I planning to kill Cassian?” she demanded.

“First time we met—at dinner. I remember Nesta…well, being Nesta. And Cassian—Mother save me, the moment he had her eyes on her, he was just dripping with this hideous arousal,”

Elain almost choked, eyes wide.

“What?”

“It was horrible,” he gave an exaggerated shudder. “Rhys and I were traumatized. Those two were going at it, as usual, fighting, sniping…whatever they do, and all we could smell was him getting hotter and hotter. That dinner,” he shook his head at the memory. “It was something else.”

She was laughing, nodding.

“And you?” she asked, at last.

He gave her a long thoughtful look. A tender, loving look that made her throat bob, and suddenly she was hot…much like Cassian.

“Honestly?” he asked quietly, not taking his eyes off her.

“Yes.”

“I thought that I saw the most human and the most beautiful girl in the world. Utterly unattainable. Engaged to another man. But surprisingly unafraid of us,”

“I was very afraid of you!” she argued. Azriel smiled.

“You three were huge!” she cried. “With these enormous wings,”

He raised his brow suggestively and she smacked his arm,

“Oh, shut up,”

“I didn’t even say anything,” he shrugged, “but please, tell me more about our huge wings, and our generally superior size,”

“I am not telling you anything,” she snapped, her cheeks red, and he was delighted.

“But you do admit that you tried to kill Cassian?”

“I didn’t try to kill him. Just defend myself, if there was need,”

“Pretty sure Nesta would’ve unmanned him with her bare hands,”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

“And me?” he pressed, “you didn’t want to stab me with a fork?”

She gave him a cool look of nonchalance and recalled,

“You suddenly turned into a poet!”

“Did I?” it was his turn to be confused.

“Something about hearing the wind song, or something,”

“I don’t even remember that,” he confessed, a slow blush spreading over his cheeks.

“I do. I guess we remember different things about that evening.” She glanced at him from under her lashes and added, “I just remember thinking that you were the most handsome man—male—I’d ever seen. I didn’t even think that people could be that beautiful,”

Azriel’s blush deepened and Elain secretly enjoyed watching him squirm a little. She was well aware of the fact that he was always uncomfortable when people mentioned his appearance. He knew that he was handsome, almost unnaturally so, but whatever horrible words and deeds he’d experienced in his childhood warped his perception of himself. At times, she wanted to assure him that no one paid much attention to his hands…she certainly didn’t. She always found his hands, the scars on them just as attractive as the rest of him. They were simply a part of him, just as his beauty was. But he struggled. She knew it.

And as she always did, when she wanted to reassure him, she took his hand and brought it to her lips. He stilled. She kissed. Kissed the inside and outside of his palm. Watched him. Watched him tense, but not pull away his hand. Kissed each long, strong finger. Kissed the rough skin. Kissed the pain and the doubt. Not away, but at least temporarily.

Bored and tired, Nyx fell asleep on the floor, sprawled on the rug, clutching Brute.

“We have to take him upstairs,” muttered Elain, releasing Azriel’s hand.

She didn’t know how to deal with the intimacy of their relationship. Her feelings were raw and exposed, and she was painfully aware of her own inexperience. She didn’t know how to be seductive. Had no idea how to play games—wasn’t really looking to learn either. But she wasn’t dazzling or mysterious, and had no inkling of what Azriel expected, of what he wanted. He was so unbearably difficult to read, while she was stupidly, obviously in love with him. She was the Cassian to his Nesta. She was the one dripping with arousal, unable to stifle her need, or dampen her desire. He probably saw her as the fool that she was.

Frustrated, she made to get up from the table, but he caught her wrist and clasped it gently, as always reigning in his terrifying strength.

“Come here,” he murmured and pulled her to him, until she settled on his lap, feeling both awkward and happy. “Lainey,”

“I like baby,” she blurted.

He nodded, and said, “Baby, you don’t need to pretend with me…I…” he swallowed, thinking how to continue. “You might be surprised, but it’s new for me as well. I’ve had,” ugh, he really didn’t want to discuss his past lovers with her, not right now. “I am not inexperienced,” he said diplomatically. No, he wasn’t. “But this,” and he waved his hand between them, “this is new for me as well. I’ve never felt this much…for anyone. Ever,”

“What becomes of us, Az?” she asked softly.

“Whatever you want,” he stated simply.

“But,”

He shrugged, “there will always be obstacles,”

“Rhysand is more than just an ‘obstacle,’” she reminded him.

“Rhysand, frankly, can go and fuck himself,” Azriel said flatly.

The new, Fae Elain wasn’t scandalized by the coarse language. The three brothers, Nesta and Mor cursed like sailors, and Elain found herself throwing an occasional ‘shit’ and ‘dick’ in her speech. So it made her smile when the usually controlled, polite Azriel unleashed his mouth.

“He is your High Lord,” she reminded him.

“He is technically everyone’s High Lord, but it doesn’t mean that he gets free reign on doing whatever he wants. If I am not asking him to give up Feyre—remember how he snuck her out from Tamlin’s clutches—then he doesn’t get to tell us what we ought to do.”

The thing that he’s been carrying in his pocket was burning through him, a constant reminder. He shifted and then looked straight at her and tucked an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. For someone who didn’t crave or enjoy touch, the desire to touch her was constant. He didn’t even need anything sexual at this point, but feeling her skin against him, in whatever way, was beyond satisfying.

“Did you promise him anything?” she inquired, moving even closer to him, loving the heavy warmth of his arms around her.

“Absolutely not!” he spat. “He is completely overstepping, and I’ve been humouring him up until now, but it seems to be that he is a little too comfortable with the status quo,” he looked at her, his voice grave, “I hope you didn’t promise him anything either?”

She shook her head,

“No. I didn’t say anything.”

A whoosh of breath escaped him. “Thank the Cauldron.”

Elain stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers and said, sharply this time, “Everything’s been taken away from me once already. I wasn’t prepared to give you up. You are the only thing that I want, and Rhysand wasn’t going to take that away from me. From us…” she glanced at him, “if you feel the same…”

“Do you need to ask?”

She smiled.

Azriel exhaled deeply and then cupped her face between his hands. He was going to do it. He needed to do it. She devoured his gaze, the look of intent in his forest-green golden eyes, the determined set of his jaw. He left her, once, waiting…Waiting for him to take the next step, waiting for him to act and he didn’t. Not today.

“Elain,” he swallowed audibly, and she felt that he was nervous. “Will you permit me to court you?”

Azriel wanted to do this properly. Elain deserved it—deserved to be treated with kindness and respect, but he deserved it as well—he wanted to do what so many others took for granted. It never came naturally to him, the normal things, and for once, despite everything, he was going to make this one thing happen.

Nyx moved on the floor, woke up and let out a scream. Confused, he looked around and began babbling tearfully ‘ma, ma, ma’.

Elain slipped off his lap and gently cooed “Shhhh, come…come, my sweet boy,” and picked him up. Azriel watched them, not even upset at the interruption.

Nyx was crying in earnest now, and not even Brute was enough to console him.

“I am going to try to put him to bed,” she whispered, rocking the baby against her chest.

Azriel opened his arms and said, “hand him over.”

“But,”

He carefully took Nyx from her and the move did not result in silence or calm, and Nyx cried just as sadly, looking for his mom. As Azriel made his way down the hall and towards the stairway, with Elain trailing him, he began to sing. In a language that Elain did not know, but understood innately to be Illyrian. The way the sounds rolled off Azriel’s tongue was natural, the melody lulling and sweet. His voice was soothing and pleasant, with a gravelly note that came from the back of his throat. Nyx stilled, blinking at him. As they slowly went up the stairs, Azriel rocked and cuddled Nyx, stretching his wings so they covered them in a dark canopy, the words of the lullaby muffled, but just as beautiful. Elain wished that it didn’t end…There were just a words that she picked up ‘warrior’ and ‘sleep’—something she learned from Cassian, who was teaching Nesta some Illyrain phrases, now that they spent a decent amount of time in their Illyrian bungalow.

In Nyx’s nursery, Azriel put the baby down in the crib and covered him with a blanket, rocking the crib lightly, as he continued his song, quieter now, seeing that Nyx’s eyelids drooped.

Wordlessly, he lifted his arm and Elain slipped to his side, and wrapped her arm around his torso. They never needed words.

Sleep, warrior heart

Sleep and know that you are loved

Sleep, warrior heart and meet me in silence

Find dreams and peaceful slumber, my little warrior heart

 Azriel quietly translated the song, without her prompting. He knew that she’d want to know what the words meant. He, however, did not explain the history of the song and where and how he’d learned it.

“Yes.”

He looked down at her, a silent question on his face.

“The answer is ‘yes’,” she repeated. “You may court me.”

“Thank you,” was all he said.

They left the nursery and stopped in the hallway.

He put his hand on the back of her neck and stroked.

“Then I’d like for you to have this,” he said at last. He took something from his pocket and laid it in her palm. It was a key.

“We will have to meet in silence.”

[freaoscanlin]

Put It On the List

3283 words, rated PG. Clint/Laura, Laura & Natasha, Natasha & Clint.

A few months before the events of Captain America: Winter Soldier, the spy life interrupts the Barton family on a normal errand. Perhaps bringing the scary ex-Russian spy was a mistake. She thinks so, at any rate.

A/N: I wrote this as something of a prelude to an Endgame fix-it fic in progress. It predates everything in that fic and it's cute, so I'm tossing it up here for now.

“Everybody’s allowed one fun item, too. House rules.”

“Not sure they sell anything I consider fun here,” Natasha said, glancing up at the rafters dubiously, “but I’ll take it under consideration.”

“Dirty,” Clint said, walking by with a green bunch of bananas.

“Sorry we can’t provide more excitement than grocery shopping,” Laura said as she pulled out the stash of reusable bags from the trunk.

“It’s fine.”

Laura was of the opinion that a vacation should be taken somewhere exotic, or at least filled with bottomless alcoholic beverages, especially given as young and unfettered as Natasha was. But the woman who had recently become Captain America’s partner at SHIELD had apparently decided a week off merited a trip to Iowa and she had been absolutely content to tag along on family outings with no apparently sign of boredom at all.

“It’s okay,” Clint said, hopping out from the driver’s seat as Natasha unhooked Lila from her car seat. “Nat’s secretly boring at heart. It’s the best kept secret at SHIELD.”

Natasha gave him a puzzled look. “Now, that can’t be true if even you’ve figured it out.”

“Excellent burn,” Laura said, laughing. “You really should come stay more often.”

“Somebody needs to keep Cap in line, otherwise I would.” Nat easily swung Lila onto her hip, following the other three as Cooper grabbed onto his father’s hand.

Laura had already spent the entire dinner the night before peppering her with questions about working with Steve Rogers, the Captain America from the comments. Clint had mentioned him a few times after that kerfuffle in New York with the Chitauri (“Nice guy, wears khakis.”), but Natasha had the inside scoop. And more willingness to share if he was as attractive in person as he looked on TV in that ridiculous star-striped uniform (“If you like that square-jawed All-American sort of thing, sure.”). Laura had even pointed out that, hey, if he was single...

“Yes, the ex-Russian spy and the American war hero. It sounds too much like a bad eighties movie.” Natasha had helped herself to more creamed corn. “I think I’ll have to find him a girlfriend to avoid ever having to answer that question again.”

“Hey,” Laura had said, protesting.

“Fair,” Clint had agreed.

And now here was the ex-Russian spy herself tagging along at the grocery store, carrying Lila and looking like there wasn’t anyplace else she’d rather be than the big chain grocery store a few towns over because they had a better selection of gluten free snacks than the Shop A Lot back home. She trailed along as Clint took over the cart, Lila kicking her legs happily from the child’s seat atop.

“You’ve got the list?” Laura asked.

“I thought you had it?”

“Clint, I said you need to grab it off the fridge before we left. Weren’t you listening?”

“I always listen to you. But it wasn’t on the fridge, so I thought you had it.”

“That’s ridiculous, I put it there last night and—” Laura turned to see Natasha silently holding it out, eyebrows high. “Oh, that works. Thanks, Natasha.”

A half-shrug. “He would’ve forgotten it.”

“They’re impugning my honor,” Clint told Lila and Cooper, the former of whom giggled back at him. “What’s first? Edible or not edible?”

“Food first. Oh, hey, did you remember to put the popsicle sticks on here? Cooper’s day camp was asking people to donate supplies, and I put us down for those.”

“Yes, I absolutely did that. For no reason whatsoever, may I see the list?” Clint grabbed it away and underhandedly passed it to Natasha. Since Laura caught the move, she figured they weren’t actually trying to hide it.

When the list returned to her, “popsicle sticks” was written on the appropriate line in slightly loopy handwriting. “Cute,” Laura said. “Also, if there’s food you want that we don’t have at the house, make sure you put it in, Nat.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. Just keep it in mind.” Laura smirked. “Everybody’s allowed one fun item, too. House rules.”

“Not sure they sell anything I consider fun here,” Natasha said, glancing up at the rafters dubiously, “but I’ll take it under consideration.”

“Dirty,” Clint said, walking by with a green bunch of bananas.

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, but a small smile broke out when Laura laughed. Later, Laura noticed that a small bag of nectarines had been added to the cart.

Normally she did this errand without two spies in tow, which was a matter of getting the groceries as quickly as possible and especially speeding through the aisles with the brightly colored boxes that would make Cooper and now Lila whine. Clint’s paycheck was more than generous enough to cover their expenses, but she liked to keep the sugar down at least a little. Grocery trips could be a nightmare from that alone. But now she could send one of them down the danger aisles, while the other distracted the children.

She could get used to this.

Of course, she could have just sent Clint or even Natasha to do the shopping—or gone herself—and she imagined they’d have it done in less than a fifth of the time it took them to wander the aisles now. But Clint had been called on so many SHIELD missions lately that it was nice to just have some family time together.

She was about to suggest they hit up the putt putt course on the way home when Clint’s body language snapped into readiness. On the other side of the cart, Natasha turned away in what most people would deem a casual fashion, but Laura was surprised to see tension running across the line of her shoulders as well.

Instantly, she began to turn her head, to see what had set them both off.

“Don’t look,” Natasha said, Clint echoing her a split-second later.

Cold panic sprang up, but Laura froze in place. The air conditioning turned abruptly frigid. In the basket, Lila had conked out, wheezing a little, and Laura had never been so grateful for her daughter’s ability to fall asleep anywhere.

“This way,” Clint said in a murmur, scooping up Cooper. To strangers, it would never look out of the ordinary, but Laura knew her husband too well to be fooled. And his partner, too, apparently, for she could sense something amiss as Natasha fell in step behind her. At the end of the aisle, away from the registers and most of the store, Clint began shoving aside various things in the cart to deposit Cooper in there. He glanced at Laura. “It’ll be okay, honey. Nat, are they here for you or me?”

“Me.” The word was flat. “They’re scoping out women.”

“Who? Who’s here for what?”

She’d seen Clint and Natasha’s silent conversations before, usually at holiday dinners, but those were always warm and amused. Now, Laura was treated to the fact that they seemingly had their own entire language—and the ability to hold arguments with little more than a few nods and pointed looks.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Cooper asked. “Dad put the stuff back wrong.”

“I know. It’s okay, though. The store employees will know where to put it back properly.” Her pulse had begun to hammer, but Laura did her best to keep her hands steady as she petted Lila’s bent head.

“Fine, you win,” Natasha said, the first words she’d spoken aloud. “Where?”

“Northeast corner, break room.” Clint collected an oversized bucket of licorice, and as Laura and Cooper gawked at him, popped it open and dumped the individually wrapped candies into the cart.

Natasha dropped her phone into it and grabbed Laura’s purse.

“What? Hey, don’t—”

Natasha pulled out a few items, including Laura’s phone. This she dumped in the bucket. An unfamiliar black box, she tossed to Clint. Laura stared mournfully at the shimmery blue phone case bought off of Etsy only last week as the entire bucket was hidden on a shelf behind a case of gum. Clint tossed his hooded jacket to Natasha, gave Laura one brief, heart-stopping look, tousled Cooper’s hair, kissed Lila on the head, and strode off without looking back.

“We were followed,” Natasha said in an undertone, pulling the hood over her distinctive hair.

Followed could mean anything from evil assassins to space aliens at this point, and both of those options led to nauseating conclusions. But Natasha shot her a look, so Laura nodded and swallowed back any panic. And then she changed again, quicksilver just like Clint, so that she was bright and happy Auntie Natasha once more. She picked up Cooper out of the basket and held onto his hand, swinging it cheerfully. “Time to play a new fun game. It’s called ‘Let’s be invisible.’”

“How do you play?”

“Our job,” and Natasha actually hunkered down so that she was on eye level with Cooper, “is to get all the way there,” she pointed to the back of the store, “as fast as we can without running. Because if we run, we won’t be invisible anymore.”

“This is a silly game, Auntie Nat.”

“That’s half the fun, isn’t it? Shh, come with me.” Natasha rose and made brief eye contact with Laura, then headed down the aisle in the opposite direction from Clint. She walked briskly, but not fast enough to draw attention, and Laura had to follow. “Clint’s scoping things out,” she said in a low voice as Laura caught up with the sleeping Lila. “He’ll be fine. I’m taking you and the kids to hide.”

“Are you going to stay with us?”

“You’ll be safe.”

So that was a no. Because she knew her friend well enough, she knew Natasha was tense and watchful, but not a single thing about her betrayed that fact. Natasha didn’t lead them straight to wherever they were going, either. They crossed the store through random aisles, first through the art department and then sporting goods, and Laura’s heart sank as she noticed they were approaching the toy department. They were never escaping without at least one meltdown.

But Natasha surprised her by leaning down and whispering something to Cooper that had him giggling. And right on through they went without a single problem.

“Shh,” Natasha said to Cooper as she pushed open the door to a break room. She peeked inside, then jerked her head for Laura to follow.

“What are we doing, Auntie Nat?” Cooper asked as Natasha immediately climbed onto a table and reached for the ceiling.

“New part of the game,” Natasha said.

Laura looked at the human-sized trap door she’d opened and thought Oh no.

“You get to go up there,” Natasha said. “And it’ll be like hide and seek.”

Cooper’s expression suddenly shouted that he found the prospect of invisibility much less enchanting now. “It looks scary.”

“I’ll be with you,” Laura said. “The whole time. We’ll be invisible together, okay?”

“You first, and I’ll hand them up,” Natasha said.

Laura clambered gingerly onto the table, wishing she’d worn better shoes for this. She put her foot into Natasha’s cupped hands and hauled herself into a very, very dusty vent. Darkness surrounded her and she thought Oh, no. Cooper needed a nightlight on the best of nights. Her son was far cleverer than most; even with Natasha’s easy cheer, he could clearly tell something was off. And if he began crying, Lila was bound to wake as well. Keeping them both quiet would be beyond impossible.

Natasha passed Lila up first, and the toddler barely even stirred. Before she could lift Cooper, she hopped off the table and down to his level. Laura couldn’t hear what she said, but she saw Cooper nod and hold his arms up, completely trusting.

When Natasha lifted him up into the vent, he had his chubby little fist wrapped around a little flashlight. Laura hadn’t even seen Natasha pull that from the shelf, though she recognized it as being from sporting goods. Cooper waved it about, wildly.

“I couldn’t grab much,” Natasha said, hauling herself up so that she hung half off the trap door. Laura would kill for that kind of core strength. She slid over two coloring books and crayons. “Sorry about that. Stay here until Clint or I come to get you. If somebody comes in, we’re invisible, right?”

“Invisible,” Cooper agreed, scrambling for the coloring books.

“Good man.” Natasha reached up to ruffle his hair like Clint had done. She glanced about the air vent in a distinctly sardonic way. “Cozy.”

“Stay safe.”

“Will do.” She raised an eyebrow at Laura, and disappeared down the hatch. A few seconds later, the trapdoor slid back into place, leaving Laura in a dark vent with her children and no cell phone to keep them company.

She had to remind herself that they were lucky something like this hadn’t happened before, though that felt like cold comfort when everything smelled like dust. She shifted the sleeping Lila in her arms. “Here, set it here,” she said, helping Cooper open the coloring book. “What shall we color first, huh?”

* * * *

Nearly eleven minutes later, Natasha knelt down next to the man she’d cornered in Home and Garden and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Coincidence.”

“Yup.” Clint sounded close to laughter, the traitor.

“The whole thing. Coincidence.”

“Looks that way.”

Natasha sat down hard on the bottom shelf, which held giant sacks of birdseed. Slamming his head into those rather than the concrete floor was probably the only reason the thug was even still breathing. She’d need to hide the body soon, and alert SHIELD, but she had a few minutes to recover. The cell phone she’d stolen out of his pocket after their fight didn’t show an image of her, as she’d expected, but a completely random woman who looked nothing like Natasha outside of being the same height.

It had definitely been a hit, but she hadn’t been the target.

At least they’d saved some random woman, so there was that.

“We should’ve known they weren’t here for you when there were only two of them,” Clint said over the earpiece. He’d teased her about stashing them in Laura’s purse before they left, the traitor. And look who’d been correct to do so. It had kept them in contact as he’d stalked his own target back to the clearance section in the back. “Mine’s taken care of. You?”

“One minute.” She hauled the man bodily onto the shelf and tossed sacks of birdseed over him.

“I’ll get the phones and swing by to steal the surveillance. You fetch Laura and the kids.”

Natasha winced. The last thing she wanted to do was face Laura after ruining this outing for everybody. “I think they’d rather see their daddy after being stuffed in a dark place out of nowhere.”

“Nah, Auntie Nat is just as good,” Clint said. “Face it, you’re part of the family now, god help you.”

“Yeah, part of the family that can’t even let us go grocery shopping without disaster striking.”

There was a warm laugh from the other side of the comms. “Disaster? This is nothing compared to getting two small children through the cereal aisle without a tantrum, Romanoff.”

Natasha, reaching up to fix the braids that had become disordered during the scuffle, wrinkled her nose. She debated whether or not to swing by the staff restrooms on the way and clean up the lucky hit the thug had landed, but decided it was more important to get la familia Barton out of the vents quickly. The less time the children spent in a dark, scary place, the better.

She resolutely did not think of the absolute darkness of thatshipping container, which unfortunately brought the thoughts closer to the surface than she liked.

But she also didn’t want to scare the children, so she grabbed a hand towel off an endcap as she passed, and dabbed at her face.

Mercifully, the break room remained empty when she stepped in. “All clear,” she said, moving the table back under the trap door. “Invisible game’s over.”

From inside, she heard thumping. “Auntie Nat!”

“Cooper, wait—” was the only warning she had before the trap door opened and Cooper launched himself at her.

She snatched him out of the air, and absolutely did not think about what could have happened if she’d been slower to react. “Whoa, okay. Excited to get out of there, huh?” Laura’s white face appeared over the edge, eyes wide. Natasha mouthed he’s fine back at her. “Here, climb down, let me help your mom and your sister out.”

“I stayed so-o-o-o quiet,” Cooper said. “We colored in a dinosaur for you, but we didn’t know your favorite color so I picked red like your hair. What is your favorite color? There’s another dinosaur on the page, so if it’s not red, I can use that color instead.”

“I do like red a lot.” Natasha thought about it. “Purple, too, maybe.”

“You can’t have purple, that’s Dad’s favorite color.”

“Coop, more than one person can have purple as their favorite color,” Laura said, transferring Lila down to Natasha. Mercifully the baby had slept through all of it. “I like purple, too, remember?”

Cooper wrinkled his nose at that. “Okay, fine. I’ll make it purple.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Natasha promised. Once the entire family had been retrieved, she pushed the trap door back into place. Of course Clint had scouted this spot months ago. His paranoia remained legendary. “Family’s secure, Barton.”

“Got it,” Clint said. “Heading to the front.”

“Meet you there,” Natasha said. To the others with her, she tilted her head toward the door. “Ready to get out of here?”

Laura looked more or less composed, which Natasha had to credit her for. Civilians rarely handled those kinds of curveballs well, but she’d been married to Clint for a decade. It stood to reason this might not even be the first time something like this had happened. Her grip on the sleeping Lila remained tight. “Coop, hold Auntie Nat’s hand, okay? Humor me.”

“All right, I guess.”

“Everything good?” Laura asked.

“False alarm,” Natasha said.

One eyebrow went up. “A false alarm gave you a split lip?”

Natasha worked at it with her tongue, scrunching her nose at the brief spark of pain. “Just another exciting day in our line of work. It all turned out okay, if you ignore that we were unsuccessful in our primary objective.”

Laura looked blank, so Natasha prompted: “Getting the groceries, Barton.”

“Pfft, whatever. We’ll get takeout. We’ll consider it an adventure, and it won’t even be the first one today. Hopefully there will be less dust this time.” Laura leaned over, conspiratorially. “I am getting my phone back, right? I really like the case, and it’ll take forever to get another one like it.”

Years of espionage training kept Natasha from staring at her like she’d sprouted a second head. Clint had told her years before that his wife was far more pragmatic than either of them, but she’d never had a chance to witness it in action before. She almost wanted to ask if this was some kind of backwoods Midwestern thing, but it seemed better not to do that.

So she settled into a helpless laugh. “Yes, we’ll get your phone back. The case is really cute.”

“Good. I knew you’d agree.” Laura squeezed her shoulder with her free hand, and it felt more like a thank you than Natasha had ever received after years and years on the job.

“One point,” Natasha said, feeling a tiny bit shy as as she pulled out a package she’d swiped on their trip through the store earlier. “We should probably pay for the coloring books. And these.”

Laura looked down at the bag of popsicle sticks and laughed. “You really are a hero.”

FIN

(the target was a leaked witsec hit. Bad timing all around)

[buckleyirondad]

Evan Begins Again

With the help of his family, Buck learns to love himself, flaws and all - which starts with reclaiming his given name.

Read on AO3

Words: 4436

Warnings: Mentions of past Self-Hate, Brief Injury Detail (on a call)

It starts with Eddie, but these things usually do.

Buck wishes he could be like Eddie, somebody who can freely speak his mind without fearing the fall.

When Eddie has something to say, he makes Buck listen, even if it's not something he wants to hear.

Discovering that he would become Christopher's legal guardian if his best friend dies prematurely was unexpected, but Buck welcomes it. 

The lengths he is willing to go for Christopher are infinite; he loves that kid like his own.

Strangely, that part of the conversation isn't what stuck or what keeps him up at night.

Being told that he's not expendable with such certainty, after a lifetime of believing that's all he is, has put his mind in a spin.

Maddie's told him that before, so has Bobby, Athena, Hen, Chimney, Albert, Taylor - everybody he cares about has, at one point, has told him that he's worth fighting for.

That wasn't anything new, but it's the way Eddie went about saying it, "Because, Evan, you came in here the other day, and you said you thought it would have been better if it had been you who was shot. You act like you're expendable. But you're wrong."

Evan.

Buck hates when people use his given name - well, at least he thought he did.

Hate wouldn't explain the warmth that spread across his chest when Eddie spoke his name, with just the right amount of love, with an unmistakable tinge of sass.

Aside from Maddie, whenever anybody says his name, he recoils like he's been burnt. He remembers his childhood, being reprimanded by his parents for his reckless behavior or called out by his teachers.

Whenever 'Evan' is used in a sentence, it isn't usually followed by words of affirmation.

Even with Maddie, she's adapted to using 'Buck' when she's proud of him or telling him how much she loves him. Emotions are high whenever she says, 'Evan,' like when he learned about Daniel.

"Evan, please don't leave. Just talk to me."

He talks to Dr. Copeland, and it's almost too easy for her to identify the problem.

'Buck' is meant to be a nickname, but it's bigger than that; it's a shield, a smokescreen, an excuse to hide his true feelings.

He separates himself into two; Buck gets to live while Evan suffers the weight of his hardships.

He can't keep doing that.

He has to face this problem, learn to love every piece of himself, even if it hurts.

If he doesn't, it will kill him.

Because one day, and soon, he'll become tired of 'Buck.'

The same way he did with Evan, then he'll be well and truly lost.

Things need to change.

***

It's a slow day, nobody's said anything to jinx that, yet, but the night is still young.

Athena has a day off; she's popped over like most Wednesdays, having helped Bobby with dinner.

Maddie surprises them all, dropping by with an excitable Jee-Yun.

Eddie and Chimney carry the stroller up the stairs while she holds Jee-Yun on her hip.

Taking his niece into his arms, Buck asks his sister, "How are you?"

The light in her eyes is brighter than the last time he saw her, "I'm better."

Buck sports his lopsided grin, "Good."

Jee-Yun jumps from person to person, delighted to be surrounded by her favorite people.

They settle on the couches; Jee-Yun stops on Maddie's lab, hit by the tired stick.

Buck sits, sandwiched between Bobby and Athena.

Maddie relaxes into the recliner while Chim perches on the chair's arm as he converses with Hen.

Hen and Eddie share a couch but have claimed separate ends; she sits nearer Chimney, busy discussing kindergarten admissions, which Buck can't believe, Jee-Yun's barely one.

Eddie is at the other end, listening to one of Athena's work stories.

Buck knows he should be involved, but he's lost track of where they were.

Everybody's conversations reach their natural ends - Buck leans in.

"Hey," He croaks - that's odd, his throat is tight, and he didn't realize.

All eyes are on him.

He fumbles with his fingers, "Can I ask you all something?"

Chimney shuffles forward, "Of course."

"Is everything okay?" Hen asks, eyes tracing over him.

Buck dips his head, "Yeah."

Athena takes his hand, "It doesn't sound it."

He insists, "Everything's fine."

"So," Eddie speaks gently, "What's up?"

Buck wonders if Eddie will catch on and understand that everything is changing because he is the first person in years, to remind Evan that he is worthy of love.

He clears his throat, "I want you to call me 'Evan.'"

The request is met by silence and pinched expressions of confusion.

"I'm still Buck," He blurts, "That's my nickname, always gonna be, but I was hoping that we could, like, switch between the two?"

"Okay," Bobby is cautiously gentle, "We can do that."

"It might take some adjustment time," Hen adds, "But of course, we can."

A weight shifts, "Cool, thanks."

"So, what's with the change?" Chimney asks, "I thought you hated your name?"

"I thought I did," He nervously rubs the nape of his neck, and his leg begins to bounce.

"Hey," Maddie sits up, startled, "You don't have to explain-"

Buck shakes his head, "You guys need to hear this."

Bobby presses his hand to Buck's knee, attempting to ease him.

"Talking with Dr. Copeland, I realized that in becoming Buck, I was trying to forget everything that came before," Buck explains, "It should just be a nickname, but it's not - it's a coping mechanism."

He locks eyes with a tearful Maddie, but she smiles with a nod, urging him to go on.

It's once in a blue moon when Buck opens up about how he's feeling.

"I can pretend that every bad thing that happened to me as Evan never happened," He continues, "Shitty childhood, bad friends, and Daniel..."

Everybody shifts uncomfortably on that note, especially Maddie, who draws her daughter closer to her chest.

Buck lifts his shoulders in a shrug, "But it doesn't work like that."

"No, it doesn't," Maddie speaks, quiet, "Those things leave a scar, Evan."

Hen speaks up, "An open one."

"I've never hated my name," Evan's lower lip trembles, "I hated me."

He expects pity or concerned gasps, but instead, he's offered understanding nods and intense gazes filled with love.

"I separate 'Evan' and 'Buck,' but they're both me," He cries, "Like with Buck, I've grown, changed for the better, have the family I've always wanted," Tears spill down his cheeks, "But Evan is buried, and I need to find me, again."

Maddie asks, "Because you feel loved as Buck but forgotten as Evan?"

He nods, "Yeah."

"Evan," Hen cries, her eyes wet with tears, "We love you completely."

Athena's gentle fingers grasp Evan's chin, her mouth curls into a smile, as tears freely fall, "Without a single string attached."

Buck breaths, "You promise?"

"We promise," Bobby reassures fast.

With a strangled sob, Evan crumbles, his shoulders sagging.

Bobby dives, collecting him in his arms.

Athena combs her hand through his hair.

Everybody moves, crowding him, in a hug.

Eddie kneels, gripping onto Evan's knee with all his strength, wrapping his arm around Hen, crouched beside him.

Hen grips onto Buck's forearm, her stance protective.

Chimney stands behind, hands resting on Buck's trembling shoulders.

Maddie takes the space beside Hen, taking Evan's hand, while she balances a half-asleep, confused, Jee-Yun on her knee.

Eddie speaks - his tone strong, "You're going to be okay, Evan."

***

It takes a month for the change to stick without the aura of awkwardness.

It is easy to get tongue-tied - in the beginning, there were many 'Buc-vans' and 'Ev-uk's,' but, at least he knew, they were trying.

After a couple of false starts, interchanging between 'Evan' and 'Buck' is set to stay.

Evan is sure that he's never been happier.

He stops over for dinner at Bobby and Athena's on Thursday nights.

While they're washing up, he gathers his shoes, slipping them on; he tries to be quiet, considering May's already in bed.

It's nearing midnight; he doesn't want to overstay his welcome.

"I better head home," Buck whispers, "Early start tomorrow."

"We have a free bed, you know?" Athena asks, gathering empty glasses off the dinner table, "Since Harry's with Michael."

"I wouldn't wanna intrude," He bends to do his laces

"Buckaroo, we invited you, remember?" Athena tells him, "Your apartment is almost an hour away—time you could spend sleeping."

Buck stops what he is doing and sighs with a grin; he knows exactly where this is heading.

"We're heading into a twenty-four shift, Evan," Bobby speaks warmly, "We'd feel better if you stayed."

Buck slips off his shoes, "I'll stay."

Athena shoots a smile in Bobby's direction, "There should be some pajamas for you in the drawers, the second row down," She instructs, "Your toothbrush is in the medicine cabinet."

"Thank you," Evan skips up the stairs, "Goodnight."

***

The following morning, Buck is woken by his seasonal allergies.

He's survived a truck explosion, a pulmonary embolism, and a tsunami, but hayfever still sucks.

He snags an antihistamine from their medicine cabinet and creeps into the kitchen, careful not to make any noise.

May's left for work - there's a note on the table explaining that she'll be late home as she's checking out her new apartment with Michael.

Buck's downing his second glass of water when Athena steps out of her bedroom, "Buck?" She questions, "You're up early."

Evan rubs his eyes, "Allergies."

Athena rests a hand on his back as she opens the fridge door, "You need an antihistamine?" He asks, "May's a sufferer too, so we're stocked up."

"I took one," He smiles - uncertain, "Sorry, I didn't ask."

Athena fixes him with her parental glare as she tuts with a laugh, "Evan, you don't have to ask," She assures, "This is your home too."

Evan stares at her, mouth dropping open, "Thanks."

His mother's words ring in his head; You're under our roof, Evan, so you have to respect our rules.

Growing up, his parents never once referred to their house as his home.

Athena pats his arm, "Come on, you're helping me with breakfast."

"Of course," He claps his hands together, "Where do you need me?"

***

Being called 'Evan' again by those he trusts is second nature, almost like things have never been any different.

Buck struggles to see the floor as he heads into May's new apartment, box in his arms, "Hey, May," He calls, "This box isn't labeled."

She rolls her eyes, "It is, but Dad covered it with tape," She tries to peel the corners off, "Again."

Michael defends, "I'm cautious."

"And I'll be spending the next two weeks trying to cut free my possessions," May taunts; she taps the top of the box, "Bedroom."

Buck nods, "Gotcha."

She smiles, "Thanks, Ev."

Warmth spreads over Evan's chest, he smiles, hanging his head; well and truly caught up in the euphoria of acceptance.

His pseudo-sister was the first to try 'Ev.'

It works. Buck loves it.

"Buck, can you help me in the kitchen when you're done?" Athena calls, "I'm gonna your help with these latches."

"Sure!" He places the box on the floor and turns into the kitchen.

Chimney, who is in the middle of constructing a bookshelf with David, turns, "Oh no, brace yourself," He taunts, "Fire Marshall Buckley is back!"

Buck remains straight-faced, "Ha."

"Why do I need these, Mom?" May quizzes, "I'm not a kid."

"We have around ten thousand earthquakes a year," Evan explains; he grabs the latches, "Things get broken. This is an added safety," He points to the windows, "Especially this high up."

May narrows her eyes, "So, what I'm hearing is that this was your idea, not Mom's?"

Buck nods, "I suggested it."

Athena squeezes his shoulder, "I accepted the suggestion."

May bops her head, "Oh, I see."

"Buck's got an eye for safety," Bobby praises.

Eddie walks in with May's ironing board, "Which is saying something."

Buck glares, "You're so funny."

Michael walks over, "Thank you, Evan," He says, all actively ignoring Eddie and Chimney's mischievous laughter, "Earthquakes aren't a thing I considered."

"You're not gonna remember everything," Evan holds up the latches, "If you want, I could set some of these up at your place."

"That would be wonderful."

Athena sports a fond smile, "It's like having our own personal handyman."

Buck jokes, "Well, if that's the case, you can all pay me."

***

Buck lays on his front, across Maddie and Chimney's carpeted ground, his eyes fixed on his niece.

She's busy chomping down on one of her many toys, but she stares at him with her wide brown eyes, fixated on his face, much like he is on hers.

Sometimes, even thirteen months into her life, he can't believe that his sister, and one of his closest friends, came together to make a human being.

"How can somebody be this cute?"

Maddie steps over, "Oh my, God," She laughs fondly, "She's covered in drool."

"That's fine," Buck gathers a cloth, wiping it over Jee's face, "She's still adorable, aren't you?"

Jee-Yun throws her hands in the air, "Yeah!"

"Yeah," Evan repeats, bopping her nose.

"Should I be worried about you two?" Maddie asks, sitting on the couch, "You're gonna be partners in crime."

"Just wait until we join forces with Christopher," He scoops his niece onto his knee, "It will be over for all of you."

"What is it about you, Evan?" Maddie asks, "The way she looks at you - the way everybody looks at you, it's like-"

He asks, curious, "Like what?"

"I don't know," She tilts her head, "Like you're the key to the mysteries of the universe."

He barks a laugh, "Maybe, I am."

Maddie grabs her book from the coffee table, "Chim thinks you're a trained hypnotist."

"No comment."

Maddie throws her head back with a laugh.

Buck turns to Jee, "Where's my nose?"

She reaches up, grabbing his nose.

"That's right!" He praises, "You're a genius."

Jee-Yun blabbers, "Ev-an!"

Maddie sits bolt upright, "Did she just?"

Jee-Yun knows a couple of words - Ma, Dada, No, Yes, but she's hasn't ventured any further.

Jee-Yun swings her arms around, "Evan!"

Oh, and he melts, a delighted cry catching in his throat.

His teary eyes meet Maddie's.

Every time someone utters his given name, Evan is one step closer to the light.

With Jee-Yun's soft squeal, he's out - the darkness now, a distant memory.

"Yes," He holds her up, "That's me!"

***

By Halloween, Evan barely notices the change - it goes to show how fantastic his family is.

He fishes out the insides of a pumpkin, humming 'This is Halloween' under his breath.

Hen's amused look bores into him.

He shakes his hands, "This is fun."

"How?" She laughs, "I once had my hand inside a man's chest, and somehow, this is worse."

Buck reclines his head with a laugh; he grabs a cloth, drying his hands.

"Hey, Evan!" Chimney sings from downstairs, "I need you and your abnormal height!"

"Again?!" Buck hollers back, not dropping his grin, "Chim, this is borderline exploitation!"

Hen bows her head, chuckling.

Buck hears the ladder being pulled out.

Hen raises her eyebrows, "You better go, Buck, or we'll be taking him to the emergency room."

"Oh," Buck runs, "Stop it, Chim, I'm coming!"

***

Buck's definition of a perfect weekend is spending it with the Diaz Boys - teasing Eddie endlessly and sneaking treats with Christopher, even though they both know that Eddie sees what they're doing.

Evan was apprehensive when Eddie suggested they took a trip to the carnival - rollercoasters, and crowds - reminded him too much of the calm before the tsunami.

He agrees to go - 'exposure therapy,' Eddie calls it, and Buck knows he's right.

It's okay, and they have a ton of fun.

Buck wins one too many prizes for Christopher, which Eddie ends up carrying, along with Christopher's crutches, but he doesn't complain.

It's easy to understand why Christopher wants to hold Buck's hand - he remembers the day at the Pier, too.

Knowing that the ocean is an hour away helps because at least that's not a natural disaster that could stop them in their tracks.

Thanks to the pandemic restrictions, there are fewer people, which eases the pressure further.

Sunset was almost two hours ago, and Christopher keeps yawning in-between words.

Without a second thought, Buck kneels, holding out his hands, "Here we go, buddy."

Christopher shuffles forward, tucking his face against Evan's shoulder.

Buck gathers him, letting Christopher tangle his legs around his middle before getting up, "There we go, I've got you."

Eddie smiles fondly, "We should head back to the car."

"Yeah," Buck sings, patting Christopher's back, "Which way is it?"

Eddie points, "That way, I think," He darts his head around, "Hopefully."

Buck snorts a laugh, "We'll find it, eventually."

Christopher is ten, he usually doesn't like being carried around anymore, but he settles in Buck's grasp, content.

Buck fears the day that they won't be able to scoop him up - he knows that anxiety is doubled, in Eddie's case.

"You okay with him?" Eddie whispers.

"Of course," Buck grins, "I'm legal guardian material."

Eddie scoffs a laugh, shaking his head.

"He's getting taller recently," Buck comments, "It's insane."

"Usually what happens with kids, Buck," Eddie teases.

"Ha, ha," Buck replies, monotone.

"Dad, Buck...." Christopher shushes, "I'm sleeping," He mutters.

Eddie bits his lip to conceal a laugh, "Sorry, bud."

"We'll keep it down," Buck adds, tapping his back.

Christopher tightens his arms around Evan, his head lulling on his shoulder.

"You okay there, bud?" Buck asks.

"Yeah," Christopher breaths sleepily, "You're comfy."

"Well, thank you."

Christopher goes quiet, and for a moment, Buck thinks he's fallen asleep, but then he speaks, "Love you, Evan."

Evan's breath catches sharply; he tightens his grasp, "Love you too, kid."

His family, Buck can't quite believe his luck - they're perfect, in every sense of the word.

***

Unfortunately, not every use of his given name comes at a happy time, but that would be beside the point.

'Buck,' 'Evan,' and even 'Buckaroo,' - they need to be used, freely, no matter the time of the day or what is happening. It helps; it means that he can't associate any of them with a particular emotion or trauma.

Evan scouts the roof of a decrepit apartment complex - that is, according to dispatch, set for demolition, but they've received calls about somebody being trapped on the top floor.

Time hasn't been kind to the structure, narrowing their time for a search and rescue.

So, starting from the roof and working down seems like the best bet.

Buck steps towards the door, the foundation creaks, dangerously loud under his foot.

He grabs Hen's low-hanging wrist as the roof gives way below them.

He doesn't remember what happens next.

With the dangerous nature of their jobs - Evan's name and all the possible variations are often uttered in worry.

He blurts awake with desperate rapid breaths; every ache and pain catches up with his concussed mind, "Hen?"

Hen's panicked voice cautions, "Buck don't move!"

The light is low, but he can see, despite the abundance of dust particles.

His back rests against debris; he can tell by the throbbing pain in his biceps that he didn't land in the position he was in, more likely manhandled into place.

He doesn't want to consider the time that Hen spent alone, waiting for him to wake, "Hen," He repeats - desperate.

"I'm here."

He lifts his head, "Are you hurt?"

She crawls into view, hauling her gear along with her, "I'm fine," She promises.

He traces his eyes over her - she's got a couple of scratches, but nothing too worrying, "We both fell?" He asks, confused.

"Yeah," She seems guilty, "But I was lucky."

"Why?"

She presses her fingers to his pulse point, "I had a soft landing."

"Yeah?"

"You."

"Oh," He laughs at the absurdity, "I'm an excellent crash mat."

She glares, "That's not funny."

"It kind of is," He offers her his dopiest smile, "Glad I saved you."

"Thank you," She kisses his forehead, "Now, stay awake."

His eyelids are heavy, "What about the victim?"

"Dead," She sighs.

Buck changes the subject, "What's wrong with me?"

"Broken arm," She lists, "Some blunt force trauma, and—" Her throat cracks; she can't say it.

"And?"

"Ruptured spleen," She sniffles, "I think."

Buck mutters, small, "Oh, that's not good."

She grips his hand, "All you've gotta do is stay awake, okay?"

He tries, but his eyes are heavy.

"Evan," She grabs his chin, "Please don't close your eyes."

"Hen."

"You're not dying on me," She orders, "I won't let you."

He smiles, weak, "Okay."

"I'm right here," She vows, "I'm not going anywhere."

He praises, "You're gonna be a great doctor."

"I know," She tells him, "You don't need to tell me that now, though."

"I have to, just—"

"Zip it, Buckaroo," She snaps lovingly, "We're getting out of here, you hear me? You're gonna help plan my surprise party when I graduate, and then we're gonna get drunk together."

"I'd like that."

She presses their foreheads together, "Just stay awake."

"I will."

***

Buck knows he's far too comfortable in hospitals; he is familiar with the staff and can easily snag an extra pudding at mealtimes, thanks to an older nurse who first treated him following his emergency tracheotomy and had on every subsequent visit.

Still, despite the laughs he has, he can't wait to escape - back to normality.

He folds his LAFD hoodie when Eddie swings inside, hand grasping the doorframe, "You ready?"

Buck turns his head, "Did you grab my meds?" He asks.

Eddie holds up a clear bag, "Right here."

"Thanks."

Eddie steps inside to place the medication into Buck's backpack; he then takes over, zipping up the bag.

Evan hums a laugh, "I can do that, you know?"

"I know," Eddie prods Buck's shoulder, "But we wouldn't want you to throw your stitches."

Buck perches on the bed, "Hen would kill me."

"Hen would kill us," Eddie corrects, "Mainly me."

Evan snorts, "Why?"

"I'm in charge of keeping you in line, apparently," He chuckles.

Buck hangs his head as he laughs, rubbing at the nape of his neck.

Eddie's tone turns sincere, "Are you alright?"

Buck's okay - really. The pain medication is doing its job, and he barely feels the ache in his side - what's on his mind is more complicated than that.

Eddie grips his shoulder, "Buck?" He fixes him with a concerned glance, "What's going on?"

He shrugs, "It's complicated."

Eddie sits, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I almost died," Buck lets go of a breathless laugh, "Again."

Eddie holds a hand in front of his face, failing miserably to hide a grin.

Buck's eyes widen, "What's so funny?"

"Sorry," He moves his hand away, "Just déjà vu - but last time, this was the other way around."

"It was," Buck confirms - the conversation is falling in the direction he needs it to go, "When you told me about your attorney and Christopher, I was scared. I never thought that anybody would trust me as much as you do; Christopher is your life, your everything, and I'm just me."

"You're you," Eddie repeats, softly stern, "That's why I made the decision."

Buck's shoulders sag, "I know."

"You fight for what you believe in, Buck, and you've never once stopped fighting for him," Eddie starts, "You almost killed yourself trying to find him during the tsunami," He takes a breath, "Hen told me about the well collapse; how one of the only words they could get out of you was Christopher's name. Your concern for him became your priority, even when he wasn't in any danger. I knew, then, that it was you because if I had died that day, you would have been taken away from each other, and that wouldn't have been right."

Evan's world would fall apart without Eddie, so would Christopher's - at least together, they'd have somebody to cling onto.

"If I die on this job," Eddie continues, "I'll die knowing that you two have each other."

Tears glisten in Buck's eyes, "So, that's why you changed your will."

"Yeah."

Buck settles his hands on his rocking knees.

Eddie questions, "Is there something else?"

Evan nods deliberately, "When I get hurt, Maddie can get a little short with me."

"She's afraid of losing you."

"Of course," Buck fidgets, locking his fingers together, "Maddie's lost too much. She's already had to stand by, watch our brother die, and live with the fallout. The decisions my parents made when they had me."

Eddie hisses, "Buck—"

"I know, I am wanted," He assures, "By her, by you, by the team - but this isn't about that."

Eddie's expression relaxes, glad that he doesn't have to lecture Buck on his importance again.

"It's just," Buck sighs, "Maddie latches to those she loves, and she can't let go - I wouldn't want to put her in a place where that is her only option."

Eddie brow furrows, "I'm not following."

"I'm going to make an amendment to my living will," Buck concludes, the space between each breath grows shorter.

"What amendment?"

He lowers his head, "I'm going to give you power of attorney."

Eddie's face softens, "Oh."

"Maddie has it right now," Buck scratches at his cheek, "But I've spoken to her about changing it."

Eddie's eyes widen, "You have?"

Evan nods, "It was my parents before, but they don't know me, well enough, to make the right decisions, but you do - and I know that you'd be strong enough to make them."

"Evan," Eddie meets his gaze, "I can do that, for you," He vows, "And, I understand not wanting Maddie to make those decisions, but what about Bobby?"

"I thought of Bobby, but then I remember—"

Eddie realizes, "His kids." Bobby is one of the strongest men they know, but if he was ever faced with the decision to take Buck off life support, he'd crumble under the weight of it all.

"I know this is big and that these decisions would hurt you," Evan croaks, "But I have faith that you could make them."

"I could," He confirms, "Evan, if I die, you become my son's legal guardian, and I'm sure that wasn't easy for you to process because yes, I trust you, but in that scenario, I'm dead," He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, "If you could do that, I can do this."

Evan leans, gathering his friend in his arms, "Thank you," He whispers, gripping tight, "For everything."