#he lightened like half of my hair doing strands and did those blue

[just-slightly-chayotic]

i know i decided to grow out my hair and it's been months and the progress is really good but every day i fight the demons telling me to just get jeff's haircut

[mcyt-imagines]

hi! love your writing! could you possibly do dating headcannons for technoblade?! possibly including some kissing/cuddling :)

I’m so sorry this took so long!! I’m finally on break so I’ll be posting a little more frequently for now! Also I got very carried away with this one,,,, um,,, it’s almost 4,000 words long,,, can you tell Techno is my comfort streamer?? And gender-neutral pronouns as usual! (Edit: This is C!Techno btw, didn’t think I needed to point that out seeing as we all know the actual streamer is not a bloodthirsty half-piglin man but I just got an angry anon in my ask box, so I’m specifying.))

Dating C!Technoblade HCs

Techno being half piglin shares their obsession with gold, and in turn, likes to gift you gold as often as he can. Usually, in the form of jewellery that matches his own, he even gifts you a ‘friendship’ emerald, embedded in a choker you wear most days. And of course, if you ask for it, he makes sure to acquire a crown for you to match his own. As a man who forges his own weapons, he is aware of the process of smelting and sure, he could make the jewellery himself but he’s not very crafty with his hands. Dealing with the small potion vials he uses to brew is difficult enough for his large hands, let alone something as finicky and delicate as jewellery. But when he’d asked you to make your relationship ‘official’ per se, he did persevere and make a ring for you, he ended up making several and scrapping too many he didn’t think were good enough. This continued until Phil had to intervene telling him that if he wasn’t gonna hurry up and ask you he was gonna do it for him, mortified at the thought Techno buckled down and despite the ring’s faults, which were only obvious to him, he gave it to you. You adored it of course, and then he told you he had made it, and it only made you love it more. Techno had underestimated how he would feel when he finally saw you wearing it, he almost killed Phil. The two had been sparring outside in the snow when you had come riding up from the nearby forest, the ring on your finger glinting against the early morning sun and stunning him. Him blindly thrusting his sword forward, head completely turned to you as you approached. Only turning away when he noticed your horrified expression. Thankfully Phil was fine, but you were banned from flashing anything too shiny whenever you came to visit. Techno never heard the end of it from Phil and yourself, however, teasing him for it whenever you had the time.

Techno is a man of few words, for the most part. His love language leans closer to physical touch and acts of service. This man craves your touch, you can hold him so gently in your small hands and he can hardly describe the feeling that washes over him. He wonders if he feels contentment, or if he just feels whole for once. The latter terrifies him because he has no idea what he’s going to do if he ever loses you. That’s a lie. He knows what will happen. The voices will finally win, and it’ll be over. He’ll be lost in the consciousness of a mind that was never truly his own, to begin with. But when you hold him he forgets about all of it, his mind feels clear and quiet. Even if it's just for a few minutes he cherishes those moments, holding you tightly to his chest and simply letting himself breathe. You are his rock, undoubtedly. And now that he’s lived without you for so long, he never intends on letting you go.

Techno’s favourite way to cuddle with you is when you’re both lying on the couch, you draped over him, head on his chest. Sometimes he’ll read to you and sometimes you’ll lie with him for hours, begging him to take a break for once. Even Phil can’t pull him away from his work on his worst days, but you never fail to tempt him with warm cuddles by the fire. Another one of his favourites has to be when every blue moon you wake up before him, he’s quite a light sleeper so once you stir, he’ll wake too. But if you manage to remain undetected and get downstairs he will groggily trudge down the ladder, shirtless and hair an absolute tangled mess. Without a word he will simply wrap his arms around you, pulling your back tightly against his chest and nuzzle his face into your neck all whilst grumbling that you left him alone to wake up. You will always giggle and apologise with soft kisses and a steaming cup of coffee, of course, he begrudgingly forgives you. Those slow morning cuddles as you cook are some of his favourites. When you desperately try to scoot around the small kitchen to stop the eggs from burning and he merely holds you tighter, strength easily holding you back as you whine out complaints as he chuckles against your neck.

Techno is such a sucker for you whenever you kiss his scars. He has a few on his hands that you will always target if you ever feel if he is getting quiet or distant. Your lips on his skin always pull his spiralling thoughts back to the present, back to you. Whenever he starts to feel less than human you practically drag the man to your shared bedroom to remind him of how human he is. Sometimes Techno will tell you the tales behind the scars you pay particular attention to, others he won’t, you focus on those the most. Doing your best to lighten the dark clouds that plague him on his worst days.

Techno isn’t one for a lot of PDA, content to hold your hand and occasionally kiss your forehead. However, if he ever feels threatened by any of the other members of the SMP he is likely to hold you close and glare down anyone who dares look your way. But Techno isn’t intimidated by anyone at the moment, meaning he has no reason to act particularly possessive whilst you’re out. This man adores your hands, he loves watching how small they look in his own. He’ll kiss along your knuckles, especially if you’re wearing the ring he gave you, he’ll murmur a soft, ‘Looking gorgeous your majesty.’ Just to watch the way you smile brightly at him when he does, almost always leaning forward to meet his lips with your own.

Techno is plagued by the memories of his past, the voices a constant reminder of this. He can handle them during the day, but it’s at night when he’s most vulnerable to them. The first time Techno wakes from a night terror you are practically thrown out of the bed as he violently jerks around. Which instantly sets you on alert, Techno sleeps like a rock usually. It’s only when you manage to stand up that you can see him, his body is caked in sweat, strands of his long hair sticking to his skin, the sheets are even damp from it. ‘Techno.’ You try to wake him, knowing he’s a light sleeper. But that doesn’t work. Eventually, you cautiously climb back into bed, tenderly holding his face in your hands, noticing tears slipping down his cheeks as he practically trembles. ‘Techno.’ You call his name again, nothing. ‘Techno!’ He shoots up, sending you flying backwards again in case he threw a punch with him. His eyes are wide, pupils blown out. You’ve never seen him look so terrified before, he scans the room, eyes darting every which way until his eyes finally land on you. ‘A-Are you okay?’ You probe, the tears start again, but they are silent and run quick down his cheeks. His breathing is shallow and quick as his eyes seem to lose focus, looking straight through you. You move closer to him, ‘Hey, hey.’ You coo, unsure what the hell is going on because of course, Techno wasn’t going to tell you he has night terrors. You take his face in your hands again, wiping at the tears on his skin. ‘Techno you’re safe, you’re okay.’ You speak clearly before he pulls you closer, shoving his face into your chest, his arms tight around your middle. You wrap your arms around him as best you can, repeating comforting phrases until his grip loosens, and eventually, he pulls you back down to lie with him. You don’t ask him about it until he mentions it the next morning over breakfast. You hold him close as he talks, face emotionless and eyes blank, trying to distance himself from the events even as he retells them. You deserve to know the atrocious things he’s done. And yet you still choose to stay. Even after everything he tells you, you don’t budge from his side. That speaks louder to Techno than any confession of your undying love could.

Techno is a wanted individual and just by interacting with him, you’re put in danger. But being his partner doubles that danger by tenfold. His enemies will see you as his weakness and desire to use you against him. So, he takes it upon himself to train you, he knows the last thing you want to do is be the cause for his capture or untimely death. As much as Technoblade claims he never dies, if it were your life or his he would not hesitate to sacrifice himself for you. This terrifies you beyond belief of course, so you agree to let him train you. No matter if you already are somewhat skilled Techno’s paranoia surrounding your safety will always encourage him to push your skills further. Most early mornings the two of you spend together, sparring for hours until the sun is high in the sky or until you grow too exhausted to continue. Which in the early days, was often. But there comes a day when you finally best him. He doesn’t remember if he was going easy on you or was distracted by his surroundings, scanning the perimeter. He only remembers the moment you knocked him down onto his back, you look down at him panting with such a shocked expression. Techno looks up to you and holds out an arm, you take it ready to pull him back up only for him to pull you down with him. Techno holds you tight to his chest, the sun warm on both of your faces as it reflects upon the surrounding snow. Neither of you speak but you both understand what this means, you’re ready.

Techno isn’t one for grand gestures to prove his love to you. The man is dramatic, sure. But he finds himself yearning for simplicity, and you provide it. He doesn’t tell you he loves you very often, he is a man of few words, you’ve always known this so you never expected it. However, his actions scream it to you. Countless times you have mentioned small complaints about little things in your life and Techno takes them on as if the draft in your window had a personal vendetta against him. As if it had threatened your very life. You’d never seen a man fix a window frame so aggressively before. It was funnier to watch than you’d admit to him if given the chance. On one particular occasion, you mentioned his absence from the cabin, his explanation of the importance of the Syndicate and the new room Phil and himself had constructed. You understood and didn’t mention it again, not thinking anything of it but a necessary and temporary inconvenience. Only for Phil and Techno to be set up at the kitchen table when you came downstairs the next morning, the table covered in tattered books and coffee spill-stained scrolls. You were confused for a moment, spotting the Syndicate plans, codenames, etc sprawled out in Phil’s chicken scratch. Until it clicked. Hauling all of the stuff up from the Syndicate room had been a bit of a pain but the way your eyes lit up in realisation was more than enough for Techno to know it was the right choice.  

This man cannot keep a secret from you. Most may think he isn’t very talkative, but you can hardly get him to shut up sometimes. Not that you’d ever want him to, eager to listen to whatever he has to say. He will always come to you when he feels he needs advice, knowing you will offer a fresh perspective that may give him the breakthrough he needs to make an informed decision. You are his rock and he never wants you to forget that. He may be more talkative with you but that doesn’t stop him from being a fantastic listener. Sometimes he can get zoned out when the voices become too much. In the beginning, you found it difficult to tell when he wasn’t able to listen, but after being around him for so long you’ve got a better knack for it. And sometimes you can’t and you keep talking, he’ll just silently press a hand to whatever part of you is easiest to reach. And that usually gets the message across. Sometimes you can pull him out of his own head, and other times you can’t. So you just sit with him in comfortable silence, usually, you’ll place your smaller hand in his and lean into him. The two of you have fallen asleep countless times like that.

However, sometimes the fact he can’t keep a secret from you leads to some comical miscommunication neither of the two of you foresaw. Phil, Techno and Ranboo had left for around a week in search of a new woodland mansion to raid, following one of Ranboo’s countless maps. Upon their return, Techno seemed visibly, off. He wasn’t being distant or getting lost in his own head, it was more as if he were actively avoiding you. Which was something very un-Techno. What made your worry increase tenfold was when you asked Phil if he had noticed any kind of difference the blonde merely shook his head. “He seems normal to me, mate.” Because there’s no way Phil didn’t notice Techno’s change in behaviour, which means they’re both hiding something from you. Knowing the two men quite well, you knew they wouldn’t break. But Ranboo would. So with your head held high, you sought out to find the boy, only to find out he was staying in Snowchester for the time being but would be returning in the morning. That night thoughts of self-doubt plagued you, wondering if it was something you had said or done that made Techno act strangely. But just as the moon was reaching its zenith, Techno came into your shared bedroom. He beckoned for you to follow him, after putting on some snow appropriate outerwear the two of you were on the back of Carl headed towards the forest’s tree line that faced the cabin. You asked Techno where you were going his only response, “It’s a surprise.” And to say your heart soared would be a slight understatement when the two of you finally reached the forest clearing. A small candlelit dinner for two inside of a dark oak gazebo. One that looked as if it had only been finished recently, the veneer on the wood still in impeccable condition as Techno led you over to it. You were truly floored by this display, stars illuminated in your bright eyes. “Phil and Ranboo helped. We brainstormed on our way back from the woodland mansion. And I, I knew I’d spill the secret the moment you asked. Sorry.” His apology and explanation are curt, much like the man himself.  You hold him tight then, arms wrapped around him for as long as he’ll let you. He chuckles after a while, “C’mon, the food’s getting cold.” He pulls away after pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, pulling your chair out for you because Phil told him to. The blush you provide lets him know he should do it more often. As the two of you begin to finish your food you hear the soft strumming of a guitar and an equally soft voice to match. Floating atop one of the branches in a nearby tree, as if he were trying to sit on it, is Ghostbur. He sends a small and quick wave when you spot him before his hand drops back down to his guitar. “Wow, you really pulled out all the stops for this, huh?” You look back to Techno to find him now stood up, offering his hand to you. “For you. Anything.” You take his hand and he leads you into the middle of the gazebo with a grace you always knew he had. Ghostbur continues to serenade, the two of you dancing in your own private world until the moon was low on the horizon once again.

Whenever Techno leaves to go and fight he knows you worry about him. You do not doubt his skills but his luck is bound to run out eventually. Skill and resources only account for so much of the outcome, luck and fate determine the rest. Techno worries when he leaves to fight as well. He worries about what will happen if he ever loses. When his enemies will come for you, his past now liable to catch up with you as well as himself. He can’t have that happen. That’s why he keeps fighting, he won’t stop until he knows that if he ever falls in battle you will be safe from his enemies past or present. When Techno eventually does get back from the battle, without fail you will swear up and down that he cannot keep doing this and that next time you’re going to leave him to bleed out in the snow on the porch. You never do. But some days Techno thinks you’d be better off if you did. But those are the kind of thoughts you happily kiss away with a soft smile and a few gently spoken words. You are always the one to patch him up when he’s injured, which isn’t often but you remain swift with sutures and bandages despite that. No matter how badly he’s been injured you will always hold him so reverently, with such a gentle expression that it never fails to floor him. Most sessions in which you patch him up devolve into soft gasps and warm hands on your body to repay you for your ‘services’.  

Techno knew you were different from the moment he met you. He acknowledges how stupidly cliché that is, but it’s true. The constant chatter of the voices in his head drowned out the first time he saw you, even if it was just for a moment. They stuttered and stammered, just as he did. You floored them as much as you floored him. When you were with him, they would quieten. As if they wanted to concentrate on what you were saying as much as he did. Not even Phil made the voices act in such a way. Only you. Nowadays they only bother him on certain bad days that grow more and more infrequent the longer you are in his life. You drown them out in a way nothing else in his life ever has. He doesn’t know how he can ever repay you for that but vowing to be by your side for the rest of his life seems to be a good enough start for the two of you.

The first time Techno tells you he loves you is when you’re in battle together. Techno, Phil and yourself had decided to raid a woodland mansion, something all three of you had done before with no trouble. But upon arriving, everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong. This led to the three of you becoming separated within the confines of the thick wooden walls. You were managing to keep a level head but fear was growing in the pit of your stomach. With every vindicator you took down another only seemed to replace it, leaving you tired and heaving for air. You were in good shape all things considered but you were getting tired and soon you would get careless, you needed to find Techno and Phil and get the hell out of here before things got worse. Your totem of undying tied tightly to your waist glints against the setting sun pouring through the large floor to ceiling windows as you charge past, enemies remain at your back as you plough forward heading for the set of stairs you know are here somewhere. As you spot the sacred stairs you hear a shout of pain followed by a deep snarl. You look over the stairs balcony to see Techno swarmed by a group of stubborn Vex. He looks exhausted. Bloodstains him, you’re unsure whether it’s his, the enemies, or a combination of the two. Techno fails to notice the Ravager charging towards him from behind, the axe raised high above its head. The half-piglin far too distracted by the Vex and the aiming of his crossbow at their stupid little bodies. It takes only a moment for you to vault over the second-floor railing and plummet towards the Ravager. You land on its shoulders and it stumbles, your hand shoots out to restrain its axe-wielding arm. The other hand desperately clawing at you as it grumbles and groans grow high pitched and panicked. Your legs wrap tightly around its throat until you hear a sickening pop and you fall to the ground along with the now very dead Ravager. You don’t manage to catch yourself, despite the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You let out a soft groan as a hand comes into view, Techno following it. You take his hand and he hauls you back up and onto your feet. Now that you’re closer to him you can tell that some of the blood staining his clothing is his, but you’re sure you mirror his look. He doesn’t let go of your hand now that you’re stood up and neither do you. You look up from your entwined hands to his face, he’s staring at you with an expression you can’t quite determine. “Tech-“ His lips plant firmly onto your own, swallowing your words instantly. He grips the small of your back, trying to pull you closer into him as if the two of you could fuse into one single being. When he finally pulls away to let you breathe your lungs are burning, soft gasps heaving in air. “I love you-” He mumbles the phrase repeatedly against your lips like a prayer, a mantra, only to capture your lips again before you can even respond to his confession in kind. Eventually, the two of you break apart long enough for you to be able to tell him you love him as well. You knew he loved you before that moment, but in reality, he finally realised how much he loved you. And for the first time, it didn’t scare him.

~Requests are still open! But it’s a little full so please be patient!~

[when-i-was-your-angel]

A Favor

James “Bucky” Barnes x Reader

5,584 words

Y/N, the Avengers resident seamstress, tailors a suit for Bucky. She cashes in her favor.

NSFW: Virginity Loss, Virginity Loss as a favor, Minor Alcohol Use, Lingerie, Fingering, Oral female receiving, oral male receiving, facefucking, deepthroating, praise kink, missionary, Bucky’s metal arm, curvy reader, minor insecure reader, body worship, hickeys, angst, fluff, smut, hurt comfort ending.

   Six months ago Bucky Barnes needed help. He couldn’t find a suit that fit right around his arm and having one tailored by a stranger was too uncomfortable. So, he approached Y/N. As the team’s resident seamstress, he had grown used to Y/N’s gentle hands and soft touches while she worked on various aspects of his tactical gear. This was different, though. This wasn’t work. This was a favor. Friends do favors. Bucky didn’t have friends. Especially not really pretty soft-spoken friends. But, Stark insisted he have a nice suit for some gala, so he asked.     

     Y/N had immediately accepted, saying it was no problem. It really wasn’t. Tailoring was her job after all. His suit ended up looking phenomenal and Bucky got quite a few compliments, making sure to tell everyone who designed his sleek black suit. Bucky offered to pay her but she refused. Bucky insisted on doing something to pay her back. They ended up agreeing that he owed her a favor.

       Over the time she was tailoring him, they grew close. Y/N and Bucky were unlikely friends, but they quickly became the best of them. Bucky would bring her lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when he had nightmares he’d call her and they’d talk for hours, he brought her coffee in the mornings, and she brought him freshly made gloves every time he tore his open. They were just perfect for each other. Best friends and nothing more.

    Now, six months past the gala, Y/N has decided to cash in her favor. She’s pacing her small apartment. Her faded blue jeans hugged her hips as she walked and her blouse was unbuttoned slightly more than what would be considered professional. It was seven in the evening, Y/N had just arrived home from work. She had made plans with Bucky a week ago and he would be arriving any minute. She was in the middle of pouring herself a glass of wine when a knock came at the door. Y/N rushed over to it, smoothed her hair down, and opened the door.

    Bucky looked amazing. Dressed in dark jeans and that black fucking tee shirt. He had on his leather jacket and glove, but she knew he would take those off once inside.

    “Come in.” Y/N moved aside to allow him access and he smiled, taking his jacket off and putting it on her coat rack. His hair had grown out slightly, no longer trimmed close to the scalp. The realization made Y/N squeeze her thighs together in anticipation.

    “You want anything to drink?” Y/N asked, retreating to her kitchen to fetch her abandoned glass of white wine.

    “Water would be nice.” Bucky sat on her couch, waiting for her to return. Y/N made him a glass of water just how he liked it. Cool water from the fridge with no ice. He always said the cold hurt his teeth, but she knew he hated the way the cold glass felt on his metal hand.

    Y/N returned to the couch, sitting on the opposite end and tucking her legs underneath herself. She offered him his glass of water which he took with a muttered thank you.

    “So, what’s this about?” Bucky asked, taking a sip of his water. His left arm was draped around the back of the couch, his right arm in his lap holding his water. He had his left leg half-crossed over his right. He looked good. Casual. Like he belonged in the space.

    “I wanted to cash in my favor.” Y/N couldn’t look at him. Her eyes were glued to her hands in her lap. “For tailoring your suit.”

    “What, six months of the pleasure of my company wasn’t enough?” Bucky gave her a smile to try and lighten the mood but when he saw the look on her face he quickly grew serious.

    “What’s up, doll? Talk to me.” Bucky leaned forward and set a hand on her knee. Y/N looked down at his hand, then at his stark blue eyes, and took a large gulp of her wine.

    “Ok. So uh… the thing is... “ Y/N mumbled and trailed off, nervous beyond all belief.

    “Do you need money? Is Stark not paying you enough?” After she shook her head, Bucky spoke again. “What is it then?”

    “I- I need you to have sex with me.” Y/N said, looking up to meet his eyes. Bucky’s face was completely neutral. Not neutral- frozen, Y/N realized.

    “I know it’s totally unfair to ask this of you but please, just listen.” Bucky gave her a barely perceptible nod.

    “When I was in high school, I did everything right. I didn’t date, I didn’t party, I studied. That’s it. Then college came around and I couldn’t let loose like I wanted to. Studying and working was just too ingrained in me. So, I’ve never…” She trailed off, hoping Bucky would understand.

     “Never what?” With anyone else, Y/N would’ve thought they were messing with her. But Bucky had said it himself, he couldn’t lie to her. His face was genuine.

     “Never had sex, Buck.” Y/N looked down at her hands, picking at her fingernails.

     “You mean you’re a-”

     “Yeah.”

     “And you want me to-”

     “There’s no one I trust more than you.” Y/N met his eyes and saw the internal battle in them. He wanted to be there for her, but he didn’t trust himself. He eventually broke the thick silence to ask her a question.

     “But, you’re twenty-two. How have you never had sex?” Bucky brought a hand to rest on his jaw, looking like he was solving a puzzle.

     “I’ve gotten close. My ex-boyfriend he uh- he tried a few times. But it never felt right. It felt gross and I was so nervous I wanted to puke. After I wouldn’t put out, he dumped me.” Y/N tucked her knees under his chin, curling into herself.

     “Matt?” She nodded. “I knew he was a scumbag.” Bucky sat forward and took his head in his hands, running his hands through his hair.

     “Why does it have to be me, again?” Bucky asked, still staring at the floor.

     “Because I trust you more than anyone else. Because I know you won’t let things get weird between us.” Bucky looked up at her and smirked.

     “I hoped my charming nature might’ve played into it a bit.” He gave Y/N his signature shit-talking grin. She rolled her eyes and kicked him lightly. After a few seconds the air turned heavy between them.

     “You don’t have to. I won’t be mad or anything. I just-” She sighed. “I don’t want it to be some one night stand with a guy I’ve never met. I know it’s stupid but I-”

     “It’s not stupid. I understand.” Bucky turned to face her and took her hand in his.

     “You trust me?” He asked, his blue eyes piercing her hazel ones.

     “Yes.” She answered honestly.

     “Ok.”

     “Ok? Does that mean yes?” Bucky laughed softly at that.

     “Yeah, yeah. You’ve convinced me. Let me go freshen up, hm?” Y/N gave him a smile and a nod. “Be right back, doll.” Bucky stood up with a disbelieving shake of his head and walked to Y/N’s bathroom.

     Y/N took a deep breath and threw her hand to her face. She could feel the heat on her cheeks, searing her hand. She reached for her wine, forgotten on the coffee table, and downed the rest of the glass. God knows she needed liquid courage.

    Bucky returned and Y/N only stared at him as he approached. Her eyes wide in anticipation. Bucky stopped inches in front of her and offered his hand.

    “I ain’t taking you on the couch, doll.” Bucky said in his smooth voice. The words combined with the tone had her clenching her thighs, something that didn’t go unnoticed. He gave a small smirk as she took his hand and let him lead her to her bedroom. Once inside the room, he motioned for her to sit on the bed and she did so. He kneeled in front of her and took her hands in his.

    “You sure about this, sweetheart?” Bucky was incredibly kind in his words, making sure she was positive.

    “You’re only making me more sure, Buck.” Y/N smiled at him and couldn’t help her eyes glancing down at his lips. They were so close to hers. She looked back to his eyes and saw that they were on her lips.

    “Can I kiss you?” His voice was quiet and low as his breath fanned across her lips. She nodded and brought a hand to his jaw as he leaned in. The first kiss they shared was short. Barely three seconds. But when Bucky pulled away and saw her eyes half-closed and pupils blown wide, he went back for more. Their lips crashed together and all Y/N could think about was how soft he was. The pink lips on hers felt like pillows, the hands on her knees felt like clouds. His hands travelled her denim-clad thighs and reached her round hips. Bucky gave an experimental squeeze, eliciting a moan from Y/N. Bucky smiled into the kiss.

    Y/N ran her hands into his hair, tugging lightly on the strands. Bucky groaned and pulled away slightly, only to move his lips to her neck. He left small love bites, soothing the bruised flesh with his tongue. Y/N whimpered and gasped as he worked.

    “Sensitive there, doll?” Bucky whispered against her skin. She could only nod, lost in him. He chuckled and pulled away, tugging at her shirt in silent question. She leaned back and pulled her shirt over her head, revealing baby blue lingerie. A laced corset accentuated her full breasts. There were lacy straps descending into her jeans, leaving just enough to the imagination. Bucky’s eyes travelled her form greedily. His hands came to rest on her waist, thumbs caressing the thin fabric.

    “Christ, Y/N. You’re gonna kill me.” Bucky pushed his lips into hers again letting his hands roam her figure freely now.

    “You next.” Y/N said between kisses as she pulled on his shirt. Bucky separated from her to pull his black tee shirt off.

    “Don’t expect anything lacy, doll.” Bucky gave her a minute to catch a breath. Her eyes roamed his form. She brought her hands to his chest and let her fingernails scratch over his abs gently. Bucky gave a low groan in his throat and covered her hands with his.

    “Baby… Don’t start something you’re not going to finish.” Bucky met her eyes to gauge her reaction.

    “Who says I’m not going to finish? I fully plan on finishing.” Y/N gave him a smirk and scratched her hands on his chest again.

    “Fuck, you asked for it.” Bucky groaned and pounced on her. Her back hit the bed and he leaned over her, caging her between his arms. She arched her hips into his and felt his erection even through both of their jeans.

    “Too many layers. Need to- need to feel you.” Y/N spoke between kisses. Bucky nodded and started kissing her neck again, trailing his tongue down the exposed skin. He left open mouthed kisses on her stomach through the lace of her lingerie. He popped the button on her jeans and pulled the zipper down, slowly dragging the denim down her thighs. Once they were off her long legs, he saw the continuance of her lingerie.

   Baby blue garters were strapped to her thighs, connected to crotchless panties. Glistening folds peaked out from behind the lacy material. He let out a sigh at the sight. Bucky tripped trying to rid himself of his own jeans, making Y/N giggle. His eyes snapped back to hers, amusement dancing in the blue.

   “What’s so funny, babydoll?” He crawled over her again, his black boxers the only thing left restraining his aching cock. She looked up at him with a ditzy smile on her face.

   “You’re a super soldier and you’re a-” Her words were cut off by a moan as Bucky’s right hand swiped through her folds, gathering her wetness on his fingers.

   “What was that, doll? You were saying?” He smirked at her as his fingers toyed with her clit. She only whined and moved her hips, rutting against his hand. Bucky looked down at her heat then back to her face, lost in pleasure.

   “Shit, baby. You fucking my hand?” Y/N nodded as a red blush came to her cheeks. Bucky leaned in to kiss her neck some more, letting her get herself off on his hand. She whimpered something he couldn’t quite hear.

   “Hm?” He pulled away from her neck, a goofy smile on his face, feeling drunk on her skin.

   “Said more, Buck. Please.” Her eyes opened to meet his, pleading want showing in the hazel hue. Bucky smiled and nodded, kissing down her body once again. Seeing where he was going, Y/N spoke.

   “You don’t have to- oh. Oh.” Her hands flew to the sheets as Bucky’s tongue slipped through her folds. Bucky sat up and pulled her hands to his hair, encouraging her to pull on it. He returned to her cunt and lapped at her clit. Y/N shivered underneath his touch. All the things he was doing were new experiences for her and Bucky was making sure they were all amazing. His tongue moved down to her hole, prodding at the entrance gently. He hooked her thighs over his shoulders and brought a thumb to her clit, rubbing small circles.

   “Bucky…” Various expletives and combinations of his name fell from Y/N’s lips as Bucky worked. “Bucky, your fingers. Please.” Y/N’s light gasp filled the air. Bucky nodded against her and brought his flesh hand up to tease her slit. Y/N caught the hand in her own and shook her head.

   “I want…” She trailed off, the embarrassment too much.

   “Want what, doll?” Bucky left small kisses on her thighs in reassurance.

   “I want the metal one.” Bucky’s eyes went wide at her words.

   “You- you want this? This turns you on?” He held up his hand, black and gold shimmering in the dull light of her bedroom. He had a look of pure confusion on his face. His hand was not something to be used here, with her. It was hard and cold and unforgiving, all things she was not. “Are you sure-”

   Bucky’s words were cut off as Y/N took his metal hand and lifted his index finger to her mouth, wrapping her swollen lips around it. She took the finger into the base, letting the tip hit the back of her throat. She coated it with her saliva and as she pulled it away there was a trail of wetness leading to her mouth.

   “Fuck… Christ, Y/N. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.” He pulled his metal finger from her grip and brought it to her heat, teasing the entrance with the first knuckle. She shivered and arched her back into his touch, trying to get more of him inside her. He slowly pushed the black and gold finger in, curling it experimentally. Y/N let out a pornographic moan when his finger brushed one particular spot. Bucky smirked.

    “Found you.”

    He brought his lips back to her clit, alternating between short licks and sucking the bud into his mouth. His finger maintained a steady pulse, hitting her G-spot with every movement. He could feel her clenching around his finger, her pussy pulling him in further.

   “You gonna cum, baby?” Bucky asked quickly, not wanting to take his mouth from her sweetness for any elongated time.

   “Yes, Bucky, Please, I’m so close.” She gripped his hair, pulling on it as she had imagined doing earlier.

   “Cum for me, doll. Cum all over my fucking metal hand.” The gentle vibrations of Bucky’s voice and the reminder of what exactly was making her feel so good sent her careening over the edge, holding onto his hair to keep her grounded in her body.

   “Bucky! Fuck, yes. Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” Her hips moved against his face, prolonging her orgasm. Bucky moaned into her center, enjoying the view of a beautiful girl in blue lingerie riding his face. When her hips stilled and her breath slowed, Bucky pulled away, his face covered in her slick. A blush came over her face at the sight.

   “You embarrassed?” Bucky asked her, coming to crawl over her again. She nodded briefly.

  “Don’t be. C’mere, baby. Taste yourself. Fucking delicious.” He pulled her to him by the neckline of her corset, crashing their lips together. She licked at his lips and he moaned at the feeling. Y/N pulled away and looked up at him with her swollen lips and darkened eyes. Bucky knew she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He pulled the straps of the garters away from her body and let them snap back against her soft skin.

   “This needs to go.” Y/N hummed in agreement and looked at him mischievously. She hooked her leg under his and flipped them so he was on his back. His eyes widened in wonder and confusion, silently asking for an explanation.

   “Nat.”

   “Of course.”

   Y/N climbed off him and began pulling the various straps off her body. Slowly and teasingly, she became more exposed to him. Bucky palmed himself through his boxers as he watched, letting out small gasps every time a new segment of skin was unveiled. When she had taken the garters off, the only thing left was the corset. She reached behind her to unclip the buttons and let the garment fall to the ground. Bucky’s mouth dropped open as her breasts were finally revealed. She brought her arms to cover her chest, embarrassed. His gaze darkened and he reached his hands out, beckoning her to him. She climbed into his lap and his hands came to rest on the small of her back. He took her hands and guided them away from her chest.

   “Baby, shit, why’re you hiding these?” Bucky’s hands ghosted around the sides of her heavy breasts.

   “I don’t like them.” Y/N admitted honestly. Bucky’s eyes went wide and his mouth dropped in disbelief.

   “Y/N, believe me when I say, these are the best damn tits I’ve ever seen. Fucking beautiful.” Bucky leaned forward and captured a nipple in his mouth, circling his tongue around the nub. Y/N gasped as his metal hand came up to the other nipple, the contrast between his hot, soft, wet, mouth and his cold, hard, hand making her head spin.

  He pulled away from her to admire his handiwork. Red bruises on and surrounding her nipples.

  “Why don’t you like them?” He looked up to meet her eyes, a softness in them she didn’t get to see often.

  “The stretch marks…” Y/N looked down at her hands. Bucky pulled her chin up with his finger, forcing her to meet his eyes.

  “Baby. Do you realize who you’re talking to? Look.” He guided her hand to his left shoulder, shivering as her fingers ran over the scarred flesh.

  “I could give a shit less what scars you have. It just proves you’re strong. That you fought a battle and came out the other side. You’re beautiful.” Bucky raised himself up to press a kiss to her lips. Y/N smiled and shook her head, a blush covering her face. Bucky didn’t know how to convince her.

  “Let me prove it to you.” Y/N looked down at him. Bucky looked at her with earnest eyes. “Let me show you how beautiful you are.” Y/N was shocked at his gentleness. She had expected him to just have sex with her. She hadn’t predicted this level of intimacy. It was surprisingly… nice.

   “Ok.” Y/N said simply.

   “Ok? Gonna need something a little more enthusiastic than that, sweetheart.” Bucky’s words were teasing but she knew he was yet again making sure she was okay with this.

   Y/N threw her head back dramatically and exclaimed: “Take me! Take me and have your savage way with me!” Bucky roared with laughter and flipped her onto her back, kissing her lips gently.

   “That’ll do, doll.” Bucky kissed her neck gently and stood up.

   “Wait- what’re you doing?” Y/N asked. Bucky turned back to look at her, a bashful expression on his face.

   “I uh- I need a condom, doll. Unless you want a little me running around here.” Y/N let out a light laugh at the image. But something about the idea of a kid with Bucky’s eyes and her smile made her heart ache.

   “I mean, I’m on birth control. And I’m clean…” Bucky looks down at his hands. There was something more intimate about what she was asking him to do.

   “Yeah, me too. The serum it uh, keeps us from getting any diseases. STDs included. Lucky me, right?” Bucky gave a dry laugh and started walking back towards the bed. They were both suddenly a bit nervous. Y/N stood and took his hand, turning him so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. When she got on her knees in front of him, Bucky held out a hand to stop her.

   “You don’t need to-” Y/N gripped him through his boxers.

   “This is a learning experience right? Teach me how to do this too. For-” She took an uneasy pause. “For whoever comes next. Can’t be giving my first BJ to a stranger.” Bucky looked saddened by that. Whatever glimmer of emotion she thought she saw disappeared and he quickly reverted back to his normal self.

   “Yeah. Wouldn’t want that, hm?” Y/N looked up at him expectantly. Her eyes went from his boxers and back to his eyes.

   “Oh- right.” Bucky lifted his hips off the bed and slid his boxers off. His cock was at half-mast but was still shockingly large. Y/N’s eyes went wide. Gone were the nerves of a second ago. This was no longer present day Bucky, this was 40’s Bucky with all the swagger and charisma of a dashing young military sergeant.

    “Like what you see, doll?” Y/N rolled her eyes and looked up at him, awaiting instruction.

    “Ok, first, you’re gonna spit on your hand. Then start stroking.” Y/N obeyed. Bucky let out a loud hiss when her lubed hand touched his bare cock for the first time. She moved her hand up and down his shaft, twisting it slightly like she had seen in porn.

    “Fuck, sweetie. Just like that. Now, uh, lick the tip.” Bucky was already out of breath and Y/N decided she loved this. Loved seeing him come apart for her. Y/N leaned forward and placed an open mouthed kiss on the red tip. Bucky’s hips jutted into her mouth as he moaned.

    “Shit, sorry. Dunno what’s gotten into me.” Bucky looked down at her. Her eyes were half-closed, her lips were red and swollen, her neck was covered in marks that he had left… He knew exactly what had gotten into him. He just didn’t have the nerve to say it. It was times like these that Bucky Barnes really wished he could get drunk.

    Y/N kept stroking his cock as she pulled away to speak.

   “It’s okay. It was kind of hot.” She looked at him from under her thick eyelashes.

   “Yeah? You want me to do it again?” Bucky asked hesitantly.

   “Please.” Y/N replied.

   Bucky groaned and brought his hips a little closer to the edge of the bed.

   “You’re going to let me know if it gets too much at any time, alright?” Y/N nodded.

   “Open your mouth, doll.” Y/N did, opening as wide as she could to prepare for his girth. Bucky slid his cock into her mouth. “Breathe through- shit. Breathe through your nose, sweetheart. Relax your throat.” Y/N tried her best to obey his commands, sitting back on her heels to allow him to take full control. Bucky brought a hand to the back of her head, gathering her hair before starting to gently thrust into her mouth.

   “Fuck, baby. Feels so fucking good.” He looked down to see her staring up at him but the biggest shock was her hand between her thighs.

   “Are you- shit, are you touching yourself, doll?” She batted her eyelashes as if to say “What does it look like?” and he chuckled.

   “You look so good like this, baby. On your knees for me. Sucking- shit- sucking my cock like you were born to do it.” Bucky’s filthy words drew a moan from Y/N, sending vibrations through his cock. “Fuck! Oh- baby. Oh, god. This is gonna end a lot sooner than I’d like if we don’t stop.” Y/N made no move to pull away from him, continuing to let him fuck her throat.

   “Oh, is that what you want, hm? Want me to cum down that pretty throat of yours?” Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed as another moan escaped her. A shiver ran through Bucky’s body but he tapped her on the cheek. “Nuh-uh, babydoll. Wanna see those eyes. Those fucking eyes.” Y/N batted her eyelashes and moaned again. Bucky pulled out of her mouth suddenly. She pouted at him.

   “Doll- if I hadn’t stopped, I wouldn’t get to fuck you. That’s the whole point, right?” Bucky took her hand and pulled her to standing so he could kiss her. He pulled away so he could see her eyes flutter open, dizzy on him. “Those fucking eyes.” Bucky said with a smirk before picking her up and setting on the bed. She wrapped her legs around his waist and shivered when she felt his hot length on her thigh. Bucky looked at her one last time.

   “You sure, doll? I want this too, but I’ll go home with some major fucking blue balls if you’ve changed your mind.” Y/N threw her head back and laughed. Bucky only watched her, a soft smile coming across his face. How had he never noticed how beautiful her laugh was before?

   “I’m sure, Buck.” Y/N arched upwards to press a kiss to his lips.

   “Alright, then. What the lady wants…” Bucky reached between them and gripped his cock. He slid it through her folds a few times, gathering her wetness. Then he slowly pushed inside her with a loud groan from each of them. Bucky watched her face to gauge her reaction. A mix of pain and discomfort was painted on her features and it killed him. He hated hurting her but this is what she asked for. He continued pushing into her, inch by inch, trying to control his hips and keep from rutting into her. After a minute of tortuously slow moving, he bottomed out. A few tears had escaped Y/N’s eyes and he leaned down to kiss them off her cheek. Slowly, the look of pain disappeared from Y/N’s face.

   “Bucky-”

   “Yeah, doll?”

   “Please, move.”

   That was all it took to shatter his resolve. Bucky pulled out as much as she allowed him to, her pussy gripping him like a vice. He thrusted back into her warm depths, sighing at how well she took him.

   “So fucking tight, doll. Feels fucking heavenly.” Bucky’s fists tensed in the sheets beside her when she clenched around him.

   “Shit- oh. Someone has a praise kink.” Bucky muttered under his breath. Y/N nodded in desperation to hear him talk again.

   “You want me to keep talking? You like it when I talk to you, baby? Tell you how good you feel? How well you’re taking my cock?” Y/N shivered and her walls tightened around him.

   “Fuck, baby. You keep that up I’m not gonna last long.” Bucky propped himself up on his metal arm and reached his flesh one between their bodies, sticky with sweat. He rubbed gently at her clit as he thrusted, trying to time the rhythms together. Y/N cried out in pleasure, the sound music to Bucky’s ears.

   “Are you gonna cum, doll? Be a good girl and cum on my cock, yeah? Bet you look so fucking pretty when you cum for me.” Bucky kissed her neck sloppily, biting slightly on her pulse point. Bucky’s words and the new sensation sent her over the edge. Y/N’s hands gripped her pillow as Bucky sat back to look at her. She was beautiful as she came undone on his cock. She looked majestic. Holy. Like a goddess he’d get on his knees and pray to or a queen he’d serve until his dying breath.

   “Bucky, oh- baby. Just like- Oh-” Y/N shivered as her orgasm wrecked her, every thrust of Bucky’s hips prolonging the sensation. Bucky took in her post-orgasmic state.

   She was a mess. Her tits were sweaty and shiny as they bounced in the dull light of her bedroom. Her neck was covered in a smattering or bruises. She seemed to notice his gaze because she reached for him, pulling his face down to hers and kissing him roughly. She looked down to where their bodies met. Bucky’s eyes followed her own and he moaned in absolute delight at the scene. He closed his eyes quickly out of reflex. Protect himself. Protect Y/N. Don’t lose control. Y/N placed a gentle kiss on his nose and his eyes snapped open to meet hers.

   “Let go.” That simple sentence gave Bucky a gentle push over the edge and then he was falling. Not a hard fall with an ending that would leave him mentally unstable and minus an arm, but more of a pleasant roller coaster drop. He felt safe in her arms as he let go, shooting ropes of white cum inside her.

   “Y/N- fucking hell. Baby- So fucking good.” Bucky was very vocal as his hips slowed to a stop. His cock twitched from the oversensitivity. He knew he’d have to pull out eventually, but he wasn’t in any hurry. She was wet and warm and inviting and the world outside her bedroom was cold and cruel and unforgiving. Bucky knew he’d stay there forever if she let him.

   But that’s not what he was here for. Not for life, not even for the night. Just for an hour. Just until she’d had her cherry popped and she’d send him on his way like some kind of sick business deal. With great effort, Bucky convinced his body to pull from her soft depths, smearing cum and slick down her thighs. He stood and began gathering his clothes.

   “What- what’re you doing?” Bucky looked back at Y/N. She had her knees tucked into her chest and was staring up at him with those fucking eyes.

   “I’m leaving.” Y/N’s eyes drooped at his words.

   “Oh.”

   Bucky pulled on his boxers and elected to get changed out of her view- the harsh stare on his back was getting to be too much. He had his hand on the doorknob when she spoke.

   “Please- please don’t go.” This time when Bucky looked at Y/N, her eyes were rimmed with tears. He dropped his clothes and ran to her, cradling her face.

   “Why’re you crying, babydoll? What’s wrong?” His eyes sought hers, trying to understand what was happening behind them.

   “You were going to leave.” Y/N’s tears hadn’t fallen yet. She was always so strong. Bucky wished he knew how to make her feel safe enough to be weak.

   “I figured you’d want me to.” His thumb stroked her cheek.

   “No. I- I want you to stay. Please stay.” Y/N’s hands reached up and wrapped around his wrists, keeping them in place.

   “Then I’ll stay. I’ll stay, doll. Just please- don’t cry.” Bucky kissed her forehead and pulled her into his chest. If he felt a small wet spot growing where her head lay, he didn’t say anything.

   Eventually she pulled away from him. Y/N’s eyes met his and Bucky knew then- he was wrecked. Utterly, completely, wrecked.

   “Will you sleep with me?” She asked. He understood she meant sleep next to her in bed. Keep her warm with his touch and keep her mind calm with his presence. He nodded and she unravelled herself from his arms. She stood and tucked herself into her warm covers, beckoning for him to join her. Her body was naked still, but he didn’t care. Preferred it, actually. Not for any perverted reason. He had missed the feeling of warm flesh on his own. A body that wasn’t about to die underneath him. It was...nice.

  Bucky crawled into bed beside her, exposing his right side for her to cuddle into if she wished. She did. She laid her head on his shoulder and ran a hand up and down his stomach, tracing invisible patterns.

   “Thank you.” She said.

   “Anytime.”

   After a while, her breath evened out. He watched her back rise and fall. He knew he had to leave in the morning- but for now he’d allow himself to indulge in the simple pleasures of the smell of her shampoo and the way her heart beat in time with his.  

[queenoftheworldisdead]

The Cult

Summary: A few years after the return of the stones Steve leaves S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers for good. He starts a religious movement. Newly wed James and his wife (reader) visit his old friend at his compound.

Warning: oral sex and sex Bucky x Reader, Dark Steve x Reader Cult AU

This one got away from me its super long. Sorry

The small prosthetics shop you owned normally catered to low income families and people that had little to no insurance. So it was quite the surprise seeing the brunette Avenger waltzing through your doors.

"Don't you army guys get the Stark industry discount?" You teased the sullen soldier as he ignored you completely.

So that's why they call him the winter soldier.

"Or are you spying on me for the competition?" You say as you watch him examine the different prosthetics throughout the store. When he finally stopped in front of a display case that contained a very popular prosthetic. You had to stop yourself from giggling at the irony of it all.

"That one is called 'The Hero'" you could practically feel his eyes roll as you rounded the counter to open up the display case. " It's my most popular and affordable multi-grip bionic arm for folks that have below elbow and upper-limb differences. Would you like to try it on?"

"Yea sure"

"Oh Ok..." you hand him the arm and scurry over to the door to lockup and put on your 'Be right back sign' with the estimated time of your return.

Walking to the back to your workshop you wave him over to follow you. Stopping at your workshop table you pat the top and motion for him to come closer.

"Aren't you friends with Tony or something? I mean I love my stuff, but compared to his my stuff is trash"

He only scoffed in response. Taking off his jacket as he enter the room that's when you saw it. His left shirt sleeve knotted at the top.

As he placed the garment on your table you sensed his apprehension when it came time to remove the shirt.

"Honey you don't have anything I haven't seen or haven't not seen before" you joke trying to lighten the mood.

By the look on his face you could tell he didn't find you the least bit amusing. With his right arm he grabbed the shirt at the hem and pulled it up and over. The sculpt of his body was amazing. Suddenly it felt as if the heat in your little back room shot through the roof.

"Take a picture it will last longer" he joked with a half smile and with that the mood shifted in the room. You tried to think of a retort, but your brain was fried. Instead you opted to examine his left side tracing your finger around lazily before going to grab your notepad.

"Well you will need something customized for sure. Come back in a week and I should have something ready for you."

As he redressed while you stole glances at his exposed muscles. When he looked back at you, you pretended to write down more notes on your note pad.

"They don't let you take that kind of stuff with you when you retire" Bucky could tell it was a question you had wanted to ask the moment he walked in. He was referring to his now missing infamous vibranium arm.

It had been over a year since the Winter Soldier first entered your shop. Your prosthetics were durable, but were no match for his super strength. It was almost a bi-weekly occurrence that he would enter your shop in need of repairs or a new prosthetic.

"OOOOOH! Looking sharp." You call out to Bucky as he enters your shop for the third time this month. His hair was freshly cut and his face clean shaven. Showing off a jawline that could definitely cut glass. "Got a hot date tonight?"

"That depends on if you say yes" He frankly as he pulled a bushel of flowers from behind his back.

You were dumbfounded as he smiled down at you with those gorgeous blue eyes. The only thing you could do to reply was nod your head like an idiot.

Waking up with your husbands head between your legs was the best way to start your three year anniversary. Looking down at the tuft of brown hair tickling your thighs you were tempted to pull on them, but decided against it.

Bucky's hot breath on your folds made you involuntarily squirm alerting him that you were now awake. You could feel the grin on his mouth feathering over your clit. The anticipation of his touch had you grasping the bed sheets beneath you.

"Good morning Bucky" you say with a squeeze of your thigh.

He didn't answer only flattening his tongue to finally make contact. Bucky pressed it down your center, separating your folds and the sensation had your head falling back onto the pillow. You had to fight the urge to flip him over and ride his face.

His tongue going over every inch of your sex. You reach down and thread your fingers through his hair almost tempted to take the strands and pull him closer.

When you began to grip too tightly though he bit your inner thigh. Hissing you released it and Bucky rewarded you by kissing the area. Grinning to himself as he trailed kisses back down to your soaking pussy.

Before you knew it he took your left leg and swung it over his shoulder. Locking you in with his arm around your thigh, Bucky swiftly brought your mound flush to his face.

You gasp on impact feeling the devilish smile on him. Taking your clit in his teeth gently holding it there as his tongue flickered over it. Your back arched up from the bed as he sucked it completely into his mouth.

Releasing your leg his arm moved down your inner thigh. His thick finger spreading your lips apart. You sucked in a breath when one finger sank into you.

"Look at me baby" the vibrations of his voice on your clit had you buzzing.

His eyes waiting for you to rest on him. You couldn't do it the sight of him like that would make you cum immediately.

"Look at me" his voice became more demanding. Whimpering a soft no in defiance.

When his second digit joined in the fray you cursed out. "Fuck! James" you cry as you look down at him.

Bucky was making you uncontrollably wet. Flattening his tongue he licked and nipped on your folds. Cleaning your thoroughly whilst his finger pumped deeper and faster into you. You lost control of your thighs and squeeze his head, grinding your pussy on his face while you clutch the sheets.

"James...I-I can't take it" you could feel the pressure build in you. Your breathing became heavy as you rode out your orgasm on his face.

"Shit James" you moan as your head falls back on to the pillow.

"Happy anniversary" he said pulling back to sit on his haunches.

"Happy anniversary to you too" you pant out. You wanted to sit up on your elbows but you just felt too weak. The bed dipped as Bucky climbed out of it. "Where are you going?"

"I had planned on making you breakfast" he walked over to place a kiss on your head.

"Oh. I thought women from your time did the cooking while the men brought home the bacon" you tease him. Rolling over on your side you watch him grab a pair of grey sweat pants from the dresser.

"Seeing as though you work and I'm retired some might say the rolls have reversed."

You weren't going to argue with getting breakfast made after a great orgasm. If this man wanted to pamper you, you wouldn't fight it.

"I like my bacon crispy" you call out as he walked out of the bedroom. Your legs were still a bit weak, but you managed to pull yourself out of bed. Stretching as you walk to the bathroom.

After you brushed and showered you got dress to go to the mailbox. You were expecting a package that you wanted to surprise James with, but with all the pandemic madness it was arriving later than excepted. Through the mail slot you picked up the papers and huffed disappointingly at the lack of parcel. Shuffling through the pile of mail you head into the kitchen to check on James.

"Smells good." The aroma was making you hungrier.

"Sounds like you were doubting me" he said with his bare back to you.

"Never of course not" you lied. He had burnt more than one meal throughout your relationship so you always tried to monitor him on the sly. "You got a letter, no stamp which is super weird" trying to change the subject you slap it on the counter behind him. "Ooooh is it some secret spy stuff"

You expected him to huff and brush you off, but he didn't. He looked as if he was frozen in place.

"James?" You became concerned and started walking towards him.

He turned to the letter, dropping the spatula to grab the letter. Opening it he started to read, his face contouring throughout the process.

You moved passed him to start on the coffee until you smelled it. The bacon was starting to quickly burn. James was so lost in thought that he didn't smell the smoke coming off the now very over cooked bacon.

Spinning around you rush to turn off the stove. The blackening bacon emitted more smoke as you ran it under the sink. The smoke detector shrieked out and you dropped the pan to open the kitchen window to air out the room. As you started to cough Bucky was unmoved.

"Bucky what the hell!" you scold him.

Clutching the letter in his hand you couldn't tell if it were the smoke or the letter but his eyes were red and watery.

"It's Steve" you looked at him confused until it hit you. Steve was a buddy from his past. Another man lost out of time.

*Flash back

When they realized Steve wasn't coming back after returning the infinity stones a decision was made. They didn't want to cause more damage to the time line than what they had already done and Bucky knew exactly where to look.

Steve was dragged back to the proper time line by his Avenger buddies. He did not take his friends intervening into his second chance with the love of his life too well. The chance to not be the man out of time.

The frustration and the feeling of betrayal ate away at him. Bucky had taken the brunt of his ire. He began seeing himself as a soldier stuck in a constant war and of all the people that could understood Bucky should have. Steve's mental state was breaking down and a festering hatred for S.H.E.I.L.D. and the Avengers grew. The super soldier was turning into something his friends could not recognize.

Then one day Captain America vanished. S.H.E.I.L.D. and The Avengers scoured the four corners of the earth looking for him. Despite their combined resources  

James took Steve's disappearance the hardest. He blamed himself for the deterioration of Steve's mental state. Steve saved him, but it seemed he could not return the favor.

The guilt and pain of losing and betraying Steve took its toll on him as well. S.H.E.I.L.D. did not want to risk harming Bucky's mental state. With his history with brainwashing they thought it wise to relieve him of his duties. So within a year after Steve's disappearance Bucky was forced into a mandatory retirement.

*Present

In the letter Steve told Bucky he had started a settlement and invited him to visit. He left instructions on how to contact and find it. When he asked you to come with him you said yes without hesitation. He didn't think to question how a letter with no postage found its way to the house. It nagged you a bit, but you brushed it off as Avenger/spy stuff. It also nagged you that Bucky had searched for Steve a long time just for him to randomly make himself known on your anniversary.

You hated flying, but you did it for Bucky. The journey out of the country took several hours to complete. Once you two landed you were dismayed to find you had to immediately board a helicopter. When the propellers started up you fastened your seat belt and held on to Bucky's arm for dear life. Your never were completely shot and you were exhausted. As the small plane travel over the tree tops you couldn't bring yourself to look.

This was your first time out of the states and you cursed Bucky for taking you to god knows where instead of Hawaii.

As the chopper started its descent your were able to calm down. When you felt it hit the earth you looked out the window. This wasn't an airport. This was a makeshift tarmac in the middle of the tallest trees you had ever seen.

Scanning around you spot a Jeep. "James do you know those guys" pointing to the man standing outside their vehicle.

"No, but I'm sure he must be a transport to the town"

"Who builds a "town" way out here?"

When the propellers slow to a stop James unbuckled and you followed suit. Grabbing some luggage he exits the chopper.

"Your taking me to Hawaii when this is all over, you know what scratch that Paris" you huffed out as you struggled with your bags.

A tall man pushes off the jeep and walks over. Looking up at James, his face ferociously serious.

"Mr. Barnes I presume" he extended his hand to shake, but Bucky only looked at it.

"Well I'm sure your not Captain America so who are you" you tried to break the tension.

The tall man eyed you as if you had offended him for speaking out of turn.

"Right this way we will take you to him"

Rude

He turns from you two to walk to the jeep. "Are you sure about this James" you ask softly so that the man can't hear. Bucky looks down at your nervous face and softens his gaze, placing a hand on your lower back.

"It's alright I got you" he reassures you then kisses the top of your head.

Despite his effort that did little to comfort you. When you reached the Jeep Bucky tossed the bags in the trunk then you piled into the back seat first followed by your husband.

The vehicle started up and headed towards a dirt road. Each side of it aligned with trees. The hum of the ride lulled you to sleep and you passed out on his shoulder.

The halting of the jeep woke you. From the back seat you could see a massive wooden gate.

The compound was amazing, encased by a tall log fence surrounding the premises. As you passed through it the site wasn't what you expected. Once inside you could see plowed fields on one side and cattle, sheep and the odd chicken enclosed in its own gate on the other.

It stretched out for a while before you saw cute little wooden houses, some with flowers or little gardens of their own and laundry lines some with or without clothes hanging to dry. You had assumed you would see tents or some kinda shabby twig shack.

Further down the road you saw a much larger structure. As you approached the jeep decreased in speed. There were groups of children playing care free. Some running along the vehicle to beat it to its destination before giving up and turning back.

When the jeep slowed you saw him. There he was, Captain America, standing in front of a massive wooden church. It was the biggest structure out of all the houses you passed along the way.

You could feel Bucky's muscle tense in your arms. Stroking his arm you try and sooth him.

After parking the car the driver walked around to your door and opened it. Helping you out much to your surprise. Bucky filed out after you. Moving past you to walk straight up to Steve.

Captain America out stretched his arms and engulfed Bucky in a bear hug. It took a moment before Bucky lifted his own arms to hug him back.

You watched from the sideline, both men fighting back tears. The reunion had long sense been over due.

"Punk who is this?" Steve broke the hug and looked at you.

Stepping back to put your hand over your shoulder bringing you into a side hug. "This is my wife Y/N"

Steve eyed you and smiled. You felt so small all of a sudden.

"Welcome Y/N" his hand out stretched to receive yours. His smile blindingly bright.

"I've heard so much about you. I mean not just because your Captain America." If you would've blinked you would have missed  it. There was a slight twitch in his eye. You reach to shake his hand and he clasps his hands over your own.

His grip was firm but not too much. Slipping your hand out it felt as if his hands resisted the break for just a moment. Almost as if his fingers tips linger to tickle atop your skin.

"No one calls me that any more. Here... Here I'm just Steve."

"Well, Steve this place is very impressive" you smile at him. "I must say I expected little grass huts not actual houses." You didn't miss the smirk on Steve's face.

"Every building was built by hand. We teach all the men how to do carpentry" he boasted. "And we run everything on solar energy."

"But no running water I'm afraid, but we are working on  it"

"Wait, just the men?" You corked a brow.

"Ha... the women are welcome to learn too, but they tended to gravitate else where"

You had an assumption of what he might have meant, but you didn't want to press him on it. James was reuniting with his dear friend after such a long time. You didn't want to ruffle any feathers.

"After a long trip like that I'm sure you two must be hungry"

He was right. You hadn't eaten since you left the US. The plane ride had your stomach in knots so you couldn't eat there either.

Leading the way Steve rounded the opposite side of the church with Bucky right on his side. Both chatting about past missions or the war you weren't quite sure. Bucky looked so happy, the smile on his face made your heart ache. You were happy for him, but Steve would glance back at you as he spoke to Bucky. There was a smile on his face all the while but his eyes looked as if they hid something.

The aroma of the food hit your nose taking your attention away from him. As you looked about for the location of the food your stomach to growl.

You weren't sure if it was a special occasion or if this was a nightly occurrence. In the distance you saw women setting the tables with food and plates. Each table aligned next to each other. When the bell rang you were startled. It must've signaled that dinner was ready because people where gravitating to the tables taking a seat.

Steve of course sat at the head of one of the largest tables. Bucky sat next to him while you sat across from your husband. As people filled in the people sat and talked amongst themselves. The food look great, but you wondered if it would be bland. As you looked around the room you could feel eyes on you when you turned to look at Bucky he wasn't looking at you, but when you looked at Steve you saw him as he just looked away.

When Steve rose from his chair the room grew quite. All eyes looked at him.

"Let us say grace" his voice boomed. The woman next to you nudged your arm, her hand turned up right ready to receive yours. Awkwardly you take her hand.

"Steve's too" she whispered into your ear before she lowered her head. You turned your head and found Steve's hand waiting expectedly. His head down with one eyes open looking towards you to take his hand. Timidly you take his too the then he closes his eyes. You look around the room and even Bucky was bowing his head, so as to not be rude you did the same.

This was very awkward for you. As your hand rested in Steve’s you felt his thumb trace slowly around your palm. It took everything in you not to snatch your hand away. You didn't want to cause a scene in this peaceful moment, but you sure as hell would tell your husband what just happened.

When he finished the prayer you pulled your hand away swiftly. Rubbing against the fabric of your jeans as to scrub him off. Bucky was once again in deep conversation with Steve and everyone else resumed talking. Leaving you to feel lonely and out of place.

A little girl not older than 10 you thought came with a pitcher to refill your glass. The poor thing poured too much spilling on to your lap.

"Shit!"  You looked around and every one had paused. The little girl was almost in tears. "Oh no it's okay sweetie" you took a napkin and blotted your wet blouse.

She looked passed you for only a second before she cried and ran off.

"Shit fuck" you sighed out.

"You shouldn't be cursing like that" the woman that sat next to you admonished. For a moment you forgot where you were. Of course a place like this would look down at that kinda language."

"Sorry my bad" Looking at Bucky he only smiled knowing how you were, but you caught Steve’s expression before he changed it. Unpleased.

Oh great

Your clothes weren't getting drier and your body was running on E.

"Um Steve" you reluctantly turned to talk to him as you dabbed yourself. "Where are we going to be staying I think I would like to change out of this and call it a day." Yawning as you spoke to him. The effects of the long day was taking its toll.

"You will be guest at my home." Steve waved over to one of the women at the table. You go up and walk over to Bucky. Wrapping your arms around his neck you lean down to give him a kiss. "Have fun" he kisses you again before you depart.

The woman Steve called older was a bit elderly. Smiling at you she wordlessly guided you to Steve's house. Walking through the grassy knoll you could see a house just past the church. It was larger than the houses you saw along the road. Facing opposite the church she walked up the stairs through the back door. The door lead to the kitchen. You continue following her until she stops in front of the guest rooms door. Your bags already waiting for you.

"Thank you Mrs." you say to her as she smiles back at you before gingerly walking off and out of the house.

Closing the door you strip down. You wanted to take a bath, but  you remembered there was no running water. The queen bed called out to you. Flopping on it you drift off to sleep.

You awoke to a faint sound. Through your tired state you listened intently. Someone was crying. Your heart fell when you realized it was Bucky.

"James?" you groggily call out. Getting off the bed you walk over to him.

"Are you alright?"

Clearing his throat he assured you he was fine. Hugging tightly you rub his back and you could feel his tears fall on your shoulder.

You couldn't imagine how he must've felt to loose a friend and find them again in the ways they have. The emotional toll it must be taking on them both.

This was the worst time to talk about this, but you were never much for holding your tongue. Stepping back from the hug you took a deep breath and blurted it out.

"James I don't think I like Steve"

Bucky looked at you quizzically, you felt like shit.

"What do you mean" he looked a little upset but still listened.

"I feel like he lingers. His touches, his eyes on me. He just makes me.." You say as you sat down heavily on the mattress.

He swooped down on the bed to get close to you. Placing his hands on your shoulders rubbing you.

"Steve and I are from a different time. The Punk has always been awkward around beautiful women"

Dipping down his head to be level with yours he began kissing you. The salty taste of his tears fell on your tongue as he   passionately kissed you.

Pulling back you thought that maybe he was right. Maybe all of this was making you paranoid or weird. Steve was from a different time and this place felt like it was from a different world.

"Your right its just a little different here. I'm sorry" you try and back track.

Pushing you backwards you hit the rough mattress. Bucky stripped himself of his clothes. His hands reached for your knees spreading them apart so that he could position himself between your thighs.

Wrapping your legs around his waist you press him to your sex, grinding on him with a desperate need. He dived to your lips kissing you again rougher than before. This time with a hunger that you both shared.

"Fuck Bucky... Fuck me" you pant in-between breaths. His cock growing harder as it slicks with your juices. Lining himself up he pushed into your need and you claw into his back as his cock stretches you.

"Y/N" he moaned into your mouth as he began pumping harder and harder. His pelvis slamming into you and despite the pain of the fullness you could feel a damn of pleasure waiting to break.

"Bucky baby" you moaned as he kissed down your chin to your neck.

The modest home walls were thin, Steve stood out side his guest room. Stroking himself to the music of your love making unbeknownst to you. Sweat beaded off his forehead as he imagined you. Placing a palm on the door-frame he grunts as he feels himself reaching his peak. As Bucky shouts your name Steve whispers it in the empty hall.

*Ding Dong

The sound of the church bells could not be ignored. Your eyes opened with annoyance at the noise. The light of dawn had not even begun to crack the sky.

Patting the mattress you discovered your husband gone. He had been know not to sleep well some nights and would walk around your house, but you felt uneasy and worried this time. Something felt off.

*Ding Dong

Throwing your feet off the bed you stand to get up. In the darkened room you feel around for the dresser to find a long shirt and your cell, but it was missing. Feeling along the wall you search for the light switch, but when you find and flick it nothing happens. From what you could see, he wasn't anywhere in the room. You bit your bottom lip and pushed yourself forward toward the door.

Opening the door you peer out the area was darkened too.

"James" you whisper into the hall. Leaving the room you begin to walk down the tiny hall of the unfamiliar house.

*Ding Dong

Feeling around the wall you search for your husband. At the end of the hall you could make out the large living room window. Despite its size the light that came from it did little to illuminate the room.

"Shit!" You cursed as you bumped into some corner table. The panic building in you helped dull the pain.

"James" you call out a bit louder as your eyes scanned the room.

*He wasn't here.

Off to the right you could see the entry to the kitchen. You gingerly walk into it hoping to find him, but your stomach tightened when you saw the back door wide open.

*Ding Dong

The bells of the church was louder here. Building up the nerve you slowly walk to it.

Before the bell could chime again you felt something impale you hard from behind. The pain from it was so immense your vision went from blurred dizziness to black in an instant.

Your back ached in discomfort as your eyes fluttered open. Laying on the floor you turn, but your shoulder hit a ceiling. When the smell of cedar hit your nose the panic really set in. There was very little light that broke through the seams of the  wall, but you couldn't see through it. It felt like you were running out of air as your heart picked up speed.

Your finger tips felt around and you filled with dread. You were surrounded by four walls.

"Bucky!" You screamed. You bang your hands on the wooden ceiling. "James! Help me please!"

Your were hysterical you needed out. If this was a nightmare you needed to awake. You shouted and screamed for your husband, but he didn't answer.

"Buckyyyyyy!" You screamed.

You beat the ceiling even as you felt blood trickle down on your face from your bloodied fist. The air felt thinner and thinner as you whaled.

"Bucky" your voice fainter now as you felt yourself slipping away. You couldn't catch a breath, your hands too heavy to hold up. Falling limp on your chest as you try and call for him again, but the darkness consumed you once more.

tag list: @shadowcatsworld @sllooney @tinystudentfirepurse

[deiliamedlini]

Whumptober 2021- The Darkness I Know

Chapter 1

Note: So, I decided to do the same thing I did last year, which is to turn the whumptober prompts into one continuous fic! This first chapter heading info up here is a mess! I’ll fix the next post!  Also will be posted on Ao3 (the link will only be on the chapter index page so I don’t keep forgetting to do that). These chapters are typically on the shorter side just because I am writing a chapter daily and haven’t written ahead more than the first two chapters! 

Fic Summary: After the world as she knew it was destroyed by the corruption of Malice, Zelda allies herself with her saviors from captivity: a disgruntled former governor, an alert paramedic, a cocky pilot, an excessively overt optimist, and a blind strategist. While the corrupted, malice-filled Yiga Clan looks for revenge on them, Zelda has to learn how important it is to find family in others... and how much more dangerous the stakes become if she fails to protect them.

No. 1 - ALL TRUSSED UP AND STILL NOWHERE TO GO

“You have to let go” | barbed wire | bound

Chapter Index/ Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What do you mean you don’t have a ruler?”

“I don’t need one.”

“What are you doing—… no!”

Never had there been a more malicious offence in Zelda’s eyes. Rulers were the key to life: they kept things straight, and they made things balanced. There was equality in every precise and calculated movement, and a delicate hand was required to hold the simple mechanism steady.

So, watching Dorian take the scissors and cut three strands of paper was like cutting straight through the muscle of Zelda’s heart.

“Why would you do that!” she screeched, more an accusation than a question. “Now they’re uneven, and they’re crooked! You’re insane!”

“It’s just a stencil, Zelda. If you want to cut the wood with a ruler, go ahead, but now we have an idea of how much we need.”

“We need to redo that. It’s not accurate.”

“I’ve been doing this since before you were born. It’s accurate enough. I can eyeball it. Do you want to fix the fence today, or no?”

Zelda grabbed their tools off the table and sulked behind Dorian as he left without waiting for her answer.

There were some battles Zelda knew she had to lose to win the war. This was one of them,

The fence was a priority to keep out anything that might have been affected with Malice from entering Mabe Village. There were so few survivors as it was.

Before the Malice had invaded Hyrule, Zelda had thought that her student loans were the biggest problem she’d have to tackle. She’d thought the money she’d spent on an apartment outside Castle Town was worth it, despite being far from her family back in Akkala. She thought there was a bright future waiting for her behind the years she’d spent in academia, trapped behind computers writing term papers and researching and experimenting and playing by others’ rules with the dream of one day making her own.

Then, the Malice spread: a thick purple substance that oozed from a seemingly endless source; a vile smell that reeked of rotting food in a broken refrigerator, and a gaseous haze that followed that made it near impossible to breathe. Worse, it corrupted any who came into direct physical contact with it for too long, and most of those affected were now dead for one reason or another.

She remembered when her car stopped working on the highway as the purple smoke filled the air on that first day four years ago. She’d stayed inside the metal hull, watching in awed horror as it engulfed her in an endless stream of fog. She ducked down below the steering wheel and listened to the crashes of other cars on the road that didn’t manage to slow down before their sight was stolen by it all. The constant ring of a jammed horn had her blocking her ears after too long.

Three days in the car, officially parched and hungry, no one had come for her. No phones worked; no drivers dared leave their vehicles. But it had become too much, and Zelda decided it was worth risking a venture outside, even amidst the lingering smoke. Her tongue was dried out and every breath of air came out in a wheezing hiss. But she’d done it.

The haze had been unpleasant and burned her eyes a fair bit, but when she stumbled into a water cooler that had fallen from a shattered car’s backseat and chugged every drink inside, she found other survivors along the side of the highway doing the same, and they all stayed together until they could reach safety.

Enter Mabe Village, four years later.

Zelda and her group had scavenged on the side of the road for almost a full year before they’d found the refuge. It was safe from the crazed bokoblins who once lived peacefully in their own territories. It had walls to prevent any of the fast-but-grounded lizalfos from scaling over. And each creature came at them with a vengeance, each fueled by contact with the Malice.

For a while, Zelda was the only engineer who could fix the solar panel garden and keep the power running. She developed as many mechanical skills as she could, fixing tools and maintaining the plumbing. She even began to learn carpentry to keep the houses upright.

Then, Dorian came in: someone with far more experience than her to help lighten her load. She slept more with him around, and he was full of energy to work through the nights when Zelda couldn’t.

“Would your mom ever let you do this?” Dorian joked as they made it to the wall and set their tools down.

Zelda, now in her mid-twenties, hadn’t seen her mom in years, but she’d learned everything from her. She thought about the blonde woman with blue eyes who used to sneak Zelda dangerous tools when she was too young to comprehend the danger. The woman who had her daughter assist her with live wires because she needed a third hand. Zelda knew how to hold a soldering pen before holding a real one.

“No,” Zelda snorted, always careful about her mother’s carelessness. “She’d let me watch, but she’d definitely be too worried about my hands.”

“Always the hands,” Dorian repeated with a joking smile.

“Always the hands.”

The two set out to fix a gaping hole in their fence, and while Dorian took the outside, the barbed wire that was laid over the wood planks to discourage any creatures from ramming into it, Zelda took the wooden boards inside.

When they were all in place, Zelda examined some of the old wood, intrigued by a perfect set of bite marks.

“Dorian! Was this Ms. Maple’s dog who did all this damage?”

She turned it over in her hand and set it down with half a mind to stride right over to the only dog owner in Mabe Village, but when she heard silence from the other side of the fence, Zelda stopped herself.

“Dorian?” When it was still silent, Zelda turned and grabbed the closest tool she could reach: a screwdriver. She glanced down to see if there was anything better, but there was only her ruler, a hammer, nails, and a second flathead.

Looking behind her, she tucked the flathead into her belt and gripped the hammer as tightly as she could before heading around the gate to check on Dorian.

He wasn’t there.

There was barely a moment to think that something might have happened to him before she was face first in the grass with a heavy pressure holding her down.

Zelda tried to buck them off of her, but they were too heavy. There was a sound of metal scraping against something, and Zelda let out a muffled scream into the grass, still trying to free herself.

“No, wait! Wait!”

Zelda’s head whipped up and she saw a large group walking towards her, each dressed in red bodysuits with a strange mask concealing their faces. The voice though… the voice was…

“Dorian!” she screamed, trying to move again. “Get help!”

His face contorted, and he bent down in front of her, but his words were addressed to whoever was behind her. “She’s useful. She’s smart, handy, talented. We need her. And she’ll understand why we did this. She smart,” he said again, nodding to her.

The man behind her hesitated. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Positive. I’ve seen her work. I know her.”

A chill shot down Zelda’s spine, and she felt herself tugged upwards until she was sitting on her knees, face-to-face with Dorian in his red suit and a white mask atop his grey hair.

“Fine. Bring her with us. Tie her up.”

“Don’t fight, Zelda. I promise, this is just a precaution.”

She couldn’t help her body from struggling a bit, and she watched Dorian slide his mask into place.

“What’s happening? What’s happening?” Her wrists were tugged hard behind her back, and the rope was frayed enough to cut into her skin a bit.  

Dorian held out his hand, and Zelda, now bound, was handed off. “You’re with the Yiga Clan now.”

And with that, every other member of the group drew out their weapons and headed into Mabe Village while Dorian held Zelda still through her sobs for all the friends she’d never see again.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 24

first time reader click here

TWs/Summary: The party, finally. Nerds be nerds. They're all dorks tbh. Booze and partying. Clint is a disaster. Natasha is a queen. I beg for comments from y'all cuz I'm short on serotonin 🥺🥺🥺💚✨

This is a Spotify playlist I made for the first half of the party. Sets the mood 😌

The party was booming, the room was flooded with a large amount of people dressed in various extravagant outfits. It was enough to sweep my eyes over the crowd only once to take notice of the thought and money people had put into their outfits. I hardly noticed any cheesy "angel/devil" or "sexy cat" ensembles, my eyes caught on gemstones and feathers and floor-length gowns instead.

First Avenger to catch my eye was Thor - only because the people surrounding him barely held back from drooling. Hell, I did a spit-take: the usually graceless giant stood casually posted at one of the snack tables, wearing silver robes embroidered with tiny sparkling gemstones; a sleek, angular crown rested atop his head, his blonde hair was longer, lighter and straight. One look at his ears and the realisation struck me: Thor was Thranduil, the Elven king. It made sense since Peter had the thunderer hooked on the Lord of the Rings movies a couple of weeks ago...

Both Loki and Wanda cleaned up no less nicely. The Witch was wearing a midi dress, airy and soft, in pastel tones that brought out the natural rosiness of her cheeks and the scarlet undertones glimmering in the strands of her hair. Unlike me, she chose to wear a sparkling tiara, which Loki had created after a short debate - it was an intricate material illusion meant to last for at least ten hours.

Loki himself was a work of art: dark and macabre fantasy painting. I could barely tear my eyes away from the pale, tall man clad in dark green silks and brocade. The candlelight threw shadows on his angular face and his sharp cheekbones stood out more than ever: twenty minutes I spent on convincing him to let me put make-up on his face paid off spectacularly. Flickering lights toyed with the emeralds and forest greens of the shiny silk of his vest, giving Loki an ethereal glow. His eyes shone crimson red, making nearby people throw equally startled and appreciative looks.

As for myself, the stares I got were no more and no less than I expected. The dress I'd been aching to wear fit me perfectly, earthen tones, hand-embroidered blossoms and delicate golden threading. The layers of my skirt were just voluminous enough to give me the extra airy, floating walk, the medium-height platforms of my shoes lightening my step. The ropes securing them to my legs were decorated with flowers so delicate they looked real.

The peak of my outfit took an arm and a leg in bribery of the resident sorcerer-turned-vampire, but in the end, even Loki himself could hardly look away from his creation. An hour of research and some serious magic voodoo shit was what it took for the fluttering fairy wings to sit between my shoulder blades. I felt them as an extension of my own body, and whilst flying was definitely out of the question, I could flicker them and felt the delicate brush of Wanda's fingers as she admired the translucent, blue-green, marble-patterned sheen of pure, concentrated magic.

In hindsight, I should have simply bought a set of pre-made wings and asked Loki to enchant them to move on their own. Hindsight... I wasn't good at that. So, in this moment, with the wings syncing up with my jittery nerves, the shiny traitors shook with the force of stares directed at our little trio. There was an absurd amount of gorgeous people and breathtaking costumes, yet even then, we stood out like Mona Lisa in an indie art gallery. Muted 'woah's and 'oh-my-gods' traveled across the room, turning even more heads towards us.

"And you wanted to wear Walmart," I weakly chuckled in Wanda's direction, seeing her wide eyes and Loki's arm rapidly wrapping around her waist, catching her a brief moment before she stumbled. The trickster looked unimpressed and bored for all the world to see, but to me, the slight twitching of his eyebrow told me he wasn't feeling that much different from us girls either.

"Brother!" Thor gestured us over with a drink in each hand, parting the crowd of people easily.

Noah, et tu? I had no choice but to swallow my unease, hoping my concealer and highlighter did their job and my face hadn't lost the sublime glow I was aiming for. For a girl like me, the Fae aesthetic wasn't easily achieved: naturally, I wasn't innocent, I wasn't playful... However, I was mischievous. Plenty of that.

Spotting a semi-familiar face in the crowd of partygoers, I gave the man a lopsided grin and a wink without actually taking note of who he was. Tonight, I would be a fairy. I would play.

"King," Wanda mock-bowed with a laugh, carefully embracing Thor. Even Loki did a brief, composite left-handed tilt with a slight smirk.

"Where's the rest of the gang?" I giggled, immediately making grabby hands for the nearest brightly coloured, fruity concoction that fell into my eyesight. Being sober at a party was not something I had planned to be: first drink went down like water as Thor explained the whereabouts of our various friends.

"Steven and James are with Lady Natasha, there is a knife-throwing contest outside on the patio," As soon as those words left his mouth, Loki immediately perked up, not-so-subtly turning his torso towards the large open area.

"Go," I ushered him. "Win us something, good sir," With a chuckle of my own, I grabbed Wanda by the hand for both of us to give a chaste good luck kiss to each of Loki's cheeks. He smiled as I threw a tiny amount of sparkles at him, shouting "GOOD LUCK!" to his retreating back.

"Princess?" I heard a curious voice pipe up behind me, an arm carefully wrapping itself under my wings. Said arm jerked as the sensitive matter of my wings fluttered away from the touch, shivers running down my spine and making me shuffle in place awkwardly.

"Tickles," I breathed out, voice pitched.

Tony's utterly perplexed face came into view as he gave me an open-mouthed once-over. "Darling..." He cleared his throat. I had managed to rob Tony Stark of his words! "You look... Exquisite." His eyes critically surveyed the amount of make-up and glitter on my face before he lifted the inside of my wrist, touching his lips to the pulse point for two long seconds, stealing my breath away with the simple, intimate gesture. It was by far more powerful than having to get glitter out of his beard if he'd kissed me on the lips, or even on the cheek.

"Congratulations, you've caught a Fae," I grinned mischievously, my own eyes widening at the amount of tiny little details on Tony's costume. Delicate, moving clockwork gears and metals interwoven with dark brown, harsh leather; he wore a tophat decorated with a pair of glasses and both his arms and harnesses had moving details of polished, dull-grey chrome. It was unreal, like Tony had stepped out of a Steampunk graphic novel, like he'd just got done filming the Wild West movie. "Nerd," I affectionately brushed my fingers - glitter-free hand - along the handlebar mustache he'd grown out.

Tony spoke over Thor's laughter, pressing himself closer to me, this time careful around my wings. "Do I get to make a wish?"

"Don't be rude, Tony. The Fair Folk should be treated with politeness and respect," Bruce's amused voice signaled his arrival before I even saw him. His costume and Tony's complimented each other: whereas Tony the wngiy obviously was some sort of inventor, Bruce was a doctor, or perhaps, a chemist. Instead of moving gears, he had an array of brightly coloured vials attached to a gold-and-green embroidered belt, and a single monocle replaced his usual rectangular glasses. The scientist gallantly raised my palm to his lips, fighting a smile of his own. Utter nerds! "You're the most beautiful thing in this room, Princess. Everyone can't take their eyes off you," With that, a brief, bright flash of green blinked in his eyes and then I knew, Bruce and Hulk would be on my back, watching out for me wherever I would decide to go.

The knots in my back, in my stomach, slowly began to unwind, the feeling accelerated by the warmth of alcohol sitting low in my belly. I was happily sandwiched between my two men, chatting with Wanda and Thor, nibbling on the spooky treats that Tony's catering services had provided. They were delicious.

Sam appeared, dragging a flushed Clint in tow. The archer had evidently gotten well into his drinks, seeing as he was holding a horn in one hand whilst the other still barely held onto his head. Despite the costume fail, he seemed to be having the time of his life.

"We need glue," Sam announced, smiling in our direction. "Well, hello, ladies," Briefly, abandoning his bird bro, Sam kissed a giggling Wanda on the cheek and wrestled one of my hands from Tony to peck it, too. "My, my eyes have been so blessed!"

"What are you?" Wanda asked the man curiously, pointing at his... a sort of toga, brown leather shoes that looked more like hooves and a crown of... grapevine?

"Dionysus," Sam mock-bowed, "And this is my Pan. Who happens to be a lightweight and enjoys annoying witches that can throw knives with scary precision!" The man announced, annoyed, whilst Clint just drunkenly giggled as he was helped by Thor - the Asgardian-Elf was doing something to the archer's headdress and putting the wonky horn back in its place, hands steady despite Clint's swaying and squirming.

"Classy," I toasted Sam. "Who's the knife-throwing witch?"

"Natasha," He grabbed a drink of his own. "She went as Yennefer, both fossils are Witchers and Pietro is Jaskier. He looks like a proper court jester in that purple... Thing," The dark man was giggling, too, somewhat tipsy.

"The Ass of America could fit his sizeable rear end in leather pants? How much KY jelly did they use?" Tony snorted mockingly as all of us laughed. I remembered seeing an interview with Henry Cavill and his troubles regarding the leather pants - Tony's question was valid and you can fuckin' quote me on that.

"Man, don't ask me. I've already seen more than enough of him and Barnes in the supply closet," Sam winced, downing the remainder of his drink in one go.

"And what were you doing in the supply closet, Wilson?" Natasha was absolutely breathtaking in the black mesh dress. Pietro next to her looked like a masquerade attendee - in a good way. He had gone with the video game version of Jaskiers outfit and was a bright addition to or our mostly black and pastel coloured party.

Sam grumbled something unintelligible, striking a conversation with Pietro and Clint, pulling the rest of us into it one by one. People came by and went, saying their hellos and asking to take pictures - the party was attended by mostly SI and trusted SHIELD employees with the exception of a few B-level celebrities Tony knew personally, no press was allowed beyond their designated area so all of us could afford some degree of frivolity.

Steve and Bucky - oh my God their costumes were tight - shared kisses and heated glances over the tops of our heads. Bruce's hand snuck under the highest part of my skirt, caressing my legs and Tony's soft pecks on the top of my head filled me with the warmest sense of adoration. Loki, being the gentleman he was, had won both me and Wanda each a stuffed spider which we gracefully accepted, thanking the trickster with a dance.

Or three. Wanda went first, eyes sparkling and smile ten miles wide as she soaked up the admiration, the envious stares of the people in the room. The witch looked simply stunning, she was glowing, and Loki next to her shared the sentiment wholeheartedly - a small grin decorated his face, eyes kindest I'd ever seen them. In that moment, Wanda truly was a princess.

Three and a half drinks in, I swayed gently to the music, unbothered by the smile creeping on my face as I watched the two magical people dance and mingle. "You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey..." Singing along was a pesky habit of mine that manifested itself after a certain amount of liquor circulated through my system. It wasn't like I was a bad singer - my parents had made me take music classes until I was sixteen - but it was generally an embarrassing moment nonetheless. In that moment, I didn't give a damn. "You're as sweet as strawberry wine..." Trust Tony to pick the kind of music I actually knew and liked.

A flash of purple and my glass was snatched out of my hand and promptly downed. Shamelessly grinning, Pietro gave me a look with that cocky tilt of his lips, blonde hair in utter disarray. "That your work?" He nodded towards the dancing couple, giving the empty glass to Bruce who was now watching my swaying with a careful eye.

"My and Loki's," I replied dryly."Thank you," Pietro replied sincerely. "Wanda needed this," Briefly looking me over (fuckin' glitter! I was missing out on so many hugs!), the blonde settled on squeezing my hand between his own. "May I steal your lady for a dance?" He addressed Bruce, seeing as Tony was immersed in a conversation with some dude dressed as Marty from Back to The Future. IT department, maybe?

"You may, but no funny business," Bruce looked godly in his outfit with the stern expression: eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed and irises having just a tinge of green. Hulk watching me added an unexpected sort of spice to our interactions. It made me feel...

"Let's go, Printsesa," Pietro unceremoniously dragged me to the dancefloor, all but stomping over other people's feet, shoes, tails and various other accessories. Boys will be boys... And we danced, and we laughed - until Loki and Wanda floated over to us, promptly swapping partners with fluidity I didn't expect from either of the twins. I watched Pietro spin Wanda with a smile as the Witch shrieked and cursed at her overenthusiastic brother.

"How's it going, Lokes?" I addressed the resident vampire, placing an arm on his shoulders. Tall ass bastard.

"Better than I expected," He admitted. "Although I cannot say I appreciate intoxicated Midgardian males."

"Nobody likes drunk dudes," I rolled my eyes. "I've lost count how many faces I've punched and balls busted at parties. They just don't learn."

"Oh, indeed, you're a fighter, little one. How could have I forgotten?" Loki teased me, doing an elaborate twirl to narrowly avoid the slap I was aiming at his chest. Tall, cheeky bastard.

I definitely should have put salt in his tea sugar.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

[zawasscarf]

Library dates- Student!Aizawa × Student!reader

Warnings: none! aizawa and the reader are the same age and are both students of u.a!

Genre: fluff!

Syponsis: Doubting that you could go longer without blurting out your feelings to your bestfriend, Aizawa just takes a shortcut to cut to the chase.

Prespective: 2nd person! The reader is gender neutral

Additional note: Unedited//Requests are now open!

The infamous U.A library was one of the most revered places in the highschool of rising pro heroes. It was eerily tranquil, calm. Being in its presence was almost unnatural, as a wash of warmth and stillness fell upon whoever entered. Some say that its inhabited by some friendly supernatural being, some say that it's the librarian's quirk that makes the library so serene.

"I just think it's like that because Yamada isn't allowed inside." Shota chuckled at your slightly-mean joke, his eyes twinkling. "What did he even do inside to get banned?" Shota looked up, looking surprised at your --honestly, foolish-- question. "You can't guess?" He asked, adjusting the bags on his shoulder so they don't slip off. You smooth down your shirt and smile, then shake your head to answer his question. "Nevermind. You're right." You spread your arms forward and opened the door for the both of you. "Oh. Thanks."

"You're very welcome, Sho."

"I told you to not call me that."

"Why? I used to call you that all the time when we were kids."

"Yes, were. Were kids. You wouldn't want to call me to—"

"Okay! Okay! Sorry!"

The truth about Shota and you, is that you go way back. When you moved to Musutafu, he was your first friend. You were not thrilled to be moving to another place again, but your parents assured you that it's the last time you move, and that there are alot of kids in the neighbourhood your age. So, you were looking up to befriend a few, but when you headed to the playground just a few blocks away from your house, they completely pretended that you are invisible. Trying to get their attention did nothing, they were purposefully singling you out. You sat on the swing, and experimented with your newly-manifested quirk. That's when a shabby, black haired boy in an ugly blue 'Genirou Neko' sweater approached you. He was watching you silently, his eyes fixed on the palm your hand, where tiny wind-whirles were rotating. "Cool quirk.." was the first thing Aizawa had said to you. It was the first thing anyone had ever said to you since you moved into this part of town. You could never forget that warmth you felt in your chest when he complimented you. That day on the playground, you had made your first friend.

"What are you smiling at?" His calm, tired voice popped your bubble and made you snap out of your daze. You could feel your cheeks reddening, and your smile disappearing. "Nothing."

Shota looked at you for a very long minute, that you almost felt that time had stopped. He hummed, and put both your bags on a table beside the window. A perfectly secluded place between two bookshelves, just wonderful for studying, the sun always shone through, illuminating the books for you. "If you say so.." He mumbled, now making his way to your side. You rummaged the bookshelf with your fingers, searching for a book that could help you with your 'Quirk's Ups and Downs' essay. Trying to distract yourself from how close he was to you. You had no idea why he came. Shota was already done with his draft, but he insisted he should come incase he finds something he wants to add. You told him he was welcome, you already vowed to yourself that you won't let him distract you.

Yet you couldn't concentrate on finding the book. Your eyes involuntarily snuck glimpses at him, as he looked up on the higher shelves. Shota wouldn't call himself the most charming, handsome person in your school. He wasn't as charismatic and casual as Oboro, wasn't as loud and eccentric as Yamada, so it was never on his mind that someone would have a crush on him. But thats because he can't see what you can right now. The sunrays reflected across his pale glistening skin. Across his black eyes, making it seem like there was an endless unieverse of stars and planets that you could only see if you looked. Those strands of raven hair that couldn't be tucked back in his pontail, that framed his face so well. His heavy lidded eyes that were similar to a feline's, that scanned the books with sharp concentration. Even if he thinks he looks worn out and everything for from perfect, Shota would always be that boy you can never get over. You tried, you did. You tried to bury the feelings away, suppress them, move on. Because you would never tell him. With him, you never knew. You never knew how he would react, how he would act, what he would say. You were terrified to your core of losing him, so it was better off like this. And for the most part, suppressing your feelings worked. But it was days like this, moments like this, that made you realise that you're only lying to yourself.

"Is this it?" Shota's voice, once again, pushed you away from your daze. His eyes were boring into yours, catching you off gaurd so you couldn't even look away. You felt held in place, that even if you wanted to move a muscle it wouldn't cooperate. His pupils dilated, and his pale cheeks turned a pale red. He looked away at once, then pushed the book onto your chest. You shook your head and cleared your throat. "Uh...yeah. Yeah it is! Thanks."

His voice far more queit, he managed to mumble out a "You're welcome.." before you made your way back to your table with him. Instantly, you unzipped your bag and started working. You could hear Shota unzipling his bag and rustling before taking out his notebook. 'Don't look at him' You told yourself, keeping your eyes glued to your books and pages and papers. 'He'll know. He always knows when something is up..and you can't-'

"Hey, do you have a spare pen?" You glanced up at him, he was rummaging through his bag, looking for a pen. "You know I do. Did you lose the pen I gave you this morning?" Shota smiled sheepishly, and nodded. "Yeah..I think gave to Hizashi. Sorry–" You giggled, already offering him another pen. "No need to apologise, Shota. I always carry spare pens for you anyway." He chuckled and took the pen from you, his slender fingers brushing lightly against your own hand. Falling into another frenzy, you -quickly- put your hand on your cheek and went back to scanning the worn-out, yellow pages. Shota cleared his throat and hummed a muffled 'thank you', and got to writing.

Silence filled the air around you. The occasional buzzing of the fan and the loud laughter and gibberish conversation in the halls made you lose focus a few times, but you tried your best to keep your concentration on the paper. Shota was queit too, you could feel his eyes on you every few minutes, but he didn't say anything. You knew that he felt like something was off, but why wasn't he saying anything about it? Did he know what you were hiding and did not want to mention it? Was he already thinking of a way to reject you gently?

You looked up, hoping that he wasn't looking, and the sight infront of you made your heart soften. Shota's head was resting on the table, using his arms as pillows by putting them across each other. His essay was under his arm, he was tracing the words already written with the pen you gave him, but he was only halfway through. His eyes were closed and his hair was out of the ponytail, covering his eyes. Steady breaths came out of his slightly open mouth, moving a strand of hair that fell onto his face. You could see the dust particles in the sunlight that shone on him, making his nose sniff uncomfortably. A part of you wanted to capture this moment, but you knew him well. He didn't like having his pictures taken. But you could swear that in these times where he couldn't see himself, he looked far more ethereal than anyone or anything on this earth.

You slowly wrote the last few words in your essay, then pulled his paper towards you to complete two paragraphs he had left for him. It wasn't the first time you ever finished his homework for him, but you owed him alot, so you truly didn't mind. A few minutes later you were done, and before you knew it you were making Aizawa's bag for him, making sure to take out his jacket first. After zipping the black backbag, you moved behind him, and draped the grey jacket around his shoulders. You feet didn't take you away too far, and you felt a hand hold your sleeve and tug at it. When you looked back, Shota was sleepily glacing at you, his eyes half open, covered with his black hair.

"What?" You asked, a chuckle escaping your lips, trying to lighten the mood. His eyes were pericing yours, you could see a glimmer of red in them. "Why.." He asked, his voice quieter, his hand holding onto your wrist. "Why what, Shota? God are you having that dream again? I promise you all the cats are fine–"

"Why do you do all these things for me?"

The question hit you hard in the face, as though someone had thrown a brick at a glass window. Before you could register the question, he was already talking again. "Always having spare pens for me, completing my essays and my homework, making my bag..looking out for me when I'm asleep.." His eyes glazed over from his bag, to the pens, then to you.

"It just makes me like you even more than I already do."

Your eyes widened, you could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks and ears. A stutter was all you uttered, you couldn't speak. He was still half asleep, he was still tired, but his words held so much genuinity. The words felt heavy with emotions, yet they were blunt and to the point.

"Shota, I–"

He straightened up against the chair and stretched, like what he just said wasn't everything you've ever wanted to hear from him. "I don't blame you if you don't share those feelings by the way. Don't feel inclined to say anything if you don't. It's just something I wanted to get out of my che–mmph!"

Your lips collided against his, making him almost lose balance and fall off his chair. He clung tightly onto the table, and when he felt stable, no longer surprised, he kissed back. You interlaced your fingers with his, and pulled away for breath. Both of you were heaving, chests puffing out then retracting back in. Shota still looked shocked, so shocked that he activated his quirk. His hair stood up and his eyes were bright red, so were his cheeks. You breath out a giggle, and flick his forehead with your free fingers. "Sorry. You were being blunt so I thought I should be too."

"Yeah..I..I see that." He touched his lips, then turned to look at you with a smile. Not one of his troll-like smiles, not a teasing smirk, not a menacing grin, but a sweet smile. One that you only saw when he was around you, or Oboro and Yamada.

A minute passed, maybe two, maybe three. You were not sure. Your eyes were still looking in his, his thumb drew circles on your hand, your goofy smiles unfading.

"So.."

"Do you want to grab something on our way back home? You know, as a thank you..for doing my homework for me."

"Are you asking me out, Shota Aizawa?"

"Yeah, I am."

"No, Sho, you've got to be more slick about it."

"Why? That's confusing. Now give me your bag, and for the last time, don't call me Sho!"

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Family Matters More

Keanu Reeves x reader. Requested. (A/n- So, because I’m terrible at staying organized, I have all of my requests, but not who they were requested by, so, when I write and post and you aren’t tagged even if you didn’t request on anon, I am very, very sorry, it’s no one’s fault but my own.)

Masterlist

Warnings- Pregnancy, Angst (it’s fine at the end though.)

Dropping the phone to the dark veined, marble kitchen counter, Y/n sighed heavily, raking her nails through her hair. Tears prickled at her eyes, making them glassy and ready to overflow. It had been coming, her entire family knew it, but Y/n still couldn’t believe the news she’d just heard from her mother; her uncle, who she’d grown up extremely close to, had died, from lung cancer. He’d been suffering for almost two years, aggressive chemo had only worked the first time, but when another cluster of tumors had shown up in a follow up PET scan, nothing had worked and her family’s only option had been to make his last days comfortable. Unfortunately, his ‘last days’ had turned out to be thirteen grueling months. 

Uncle Kenny had wilted away like flowers at the beginning of winter, growing duller as the days dragged on. The last time Y/n had seen him was months ago, she’d wanted to visit him at the hospice, but collectively, her parents and husband had urged her to keep their interactions restricted to over the phone, not wanting to stress her out too much. It had frustrated her at first, Uncle Kenny was her favorite uncle, always able to put a smile on her face when she was a kid and had taught her so much about the great outdoors while her parents were too busy climbing the corporate ladder to do it themselves. But though it was hard, eventually, Y/n had relented, but only after her uncle had personally requested that she stay away. That had come after she’d told him that she and Keanu were expecting. He loved her, and his unborn grand niece, which was why he couldn't risk something happening to Y/n or the baby because of added stress.

Hanging her head in her hands, Y/n tried to quell the stinging in her eyes, but her efforts were fruitless and before long, hot tears were falling freely, punctuated by soft sobs racking her body. It wasn’t supposed to hurt that much, Y/n knew that it was inevitable, and it should have comforted her that he’d gone in his sleep, but really, it didn’t. If only he hadn’t been such an avid smoker, then maybe he’d still be there, hopefully to teach her daughter the things he’d taught Y/n when she was a kid.

“So, babe I-” Keanu cut himself off as he entered the kitchen. Worry immediately swelling in his chest at the sight of his wife in tears, “Hey,” he cooed, immediately going over to where she sat at the counter, pulling her flush against his chest and smoothing his hands over her hair, “Shh,” he kissed the top of her head, “What’s wrong baby?”

It took a while, Y/n was blubbering so intense that she couldn’t speak, but after about fifteen minutes spent in Keanu’s comforting embrace, she settled enough to form words, “He’s gone Ke,” she sobbed, burrowing into his chest, “Uncle Kenny’s gone.”

Right there, Keanu’s heart broke for her. Of course, everyone knew that the moment was coming, but still his wife had lost someone dear to her, and in such a painful way. All he wanted was to take the hurt away, she was supposed to be enjoying the path to motherhood, not breaking down because she’d lost a loved one. “I’m sorry baby,” Keanu kissed the top of Y/n’s head again. “Come on,” he eventually urged her off of the barstool, hugging her close as he led them to the living room, cuddling her as they sank onto the sofa. “Can I get you anything? Water or tea?” Even if he couldn’t fix her heartbreak, Keanu could still take care of her, and their baby.

“No,” she shook her head, staring forward blankly, her fingers absently tracing circles on her growing bump, too upset to notice the fluttering kicks against her stomach. Why couldn’t he have just stuck around for three more months? If not to see her grow up, just to meet her, at least once. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keanu probed, wishing that he could offer more than just a listening ear and a hug.

Y/n shook her head again, “Not really,” her words were soft and broken, “Can we just sit here for a bit?” 

“Of course sweetheart.”

Funerals were always emotionally draining, but it was especially so when you were six months pregnant and your emotions were working in overtime. Huffing as she entered their bedroom, Y/n winced as she stationed a weary hand at her aching back. The lengthy service had been held at a church in the city, Uncle Kenny just had to be a devout Catholic in his final days, and the old, worn, wooden pews hadn’t been very kind. Worse yet, the kitten heels she’d opted to wear didn’t provide much support when she’d had to spend nearly two hours on her feet, standing at the entrance with her parents as they thanked everyone as they trickled out of the cathedral. 

With a pained groan, half from her back, half from the headache she’d acquired at some point throughout the day, Y/n slowly sank into the armchair, intent on starting to remove her shoes. Just as Y/n had lifted one swollen ankle onto her other knee, Keanu came into the bedroom, tugging at the neck of his black tie, his longish dark strands brushing his shoulders, the salt in his beard signalling that he hadn’t gone for a trim in a while. “Let me do that,” he offered, coming to kneel in front of her. 

“No,” Y/n flinched away, “I’ll do it.” She was upset with him, though, she hadn’t let him know yet. Y/n had spent the last week or so in deep, deep thought; her uncle had been a smoker, which had led to lung cancer and, ultimately, death. Keanu was a smoker too, and Y/n couldn’t help but worry that she’d lose him like that or to some other type of ill health. 

Furrowing his brows, Keanu tilted his head to the side. Y/n had been cold with him all day, holding his hand, but only reluctantly so, and barely saying a word to him on the drive back to their house. He understood that she was hurting, but he didn’t want her to shut him out because of it. “What’s wrong?”

“We just came back from a funeral, what do you think’s wrong?” Y/n grumbled, struggling to take her shoes off, eventually submitting to his help. “Excuse me,” she pushed off the arm chair, shrugging off the black blazer that she’d worn over her smock dress, letting her hair down afterwards. 

“Y/n,” Keanu sighed her name quietly, “Please, just talk to me. I know this is hard for you but-”

“I want you to stop smoking,” the admission just tumbled out of her mouth, with barely any warning. She’d had it; watching her uncle wither away was hard enough, Y/n was sure that she couldn’t survive watching Keanu being broken down like that. And worse yet, raise their child on her own, what was she supposed to tell their daughter? That her father puffed his life away even though he knew she’d need him?

“What?” Keanu slipped his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, taken aback by her harsh request.

“I want you to stop smoking,” Y/n repeated firmly, “I don’t want to lose you like that. And even if its not cancer, there’s a whole bunch of other stuff that it could cause. I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you, you know that.”

Keanu chuckled humorlessly, hoping to lighten the moment. Y/n had never had a problem with his nasty vice before, they’d been together for years, and now, out of the blue she wanted him to stop? “Honey,” he chuckled again, “Don’t be ridiculous.” In retrospect, accusing his pregnant wife of being ridiculous may not have been his best move.

“Ridiculous?” Y/n repeated incredulously, “You think I’m being ridiculous for wanting you to be healthy? Well maybe I’m being ridiculous for having a baby with a man who’s not taking care of himself, who probably doesn’t even care if he lives long enough to walk his daughter down the aisle one day.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He scoffed, already exasperated, “I’m fine Y/n, healthy and right here.” He loved his wife, but like almost every other husband in the world Keanu didn’t want to be wrong. Besides, he was stuck in his ways; old habits die hard. And above all, he was scared, Keanu didn’t want to think about missing one of the most important days of his daughter’s life, no father did. Unfortunately though, instead of his inner turmoil encouraging him to be sympathetic to Y/n's cause, it just fanned Keanu’s flame, rousing the worst reaction, “And you know what? If having a baby with me is so fucking ridiculous, maybe we shouldn’t have kept it! Hell, I’m older than you anyway, maybe I’ll just die, have you thought of that?” 

Y/n’s lips quivered, frightened at his tone and at a complete loss for words. How could he say those things? “I…..” Nothing would come, and suddenly, Y/n wanted to be far away from Keanu. That wasn’t the gentle, sweet man she married. Her husband was loving and sensitive, he was overjoyed when they’d found out that they were having a baby and ordinarily would have never said something so cruel. Y/n didn’t know what had prompted the seemingly overnight change, but she did know that if Keanu was going to be like that, she didn’t want to be in the same house with him.

Seeing the tears in her eyes and the slight shake in her form, Keanu swore under his breath, “Fuck.” He couldn’t believe that he’d let fear and anger get the better of him like that. He stood; wooden and glued to the floor as Y/n suddenly started moving around in as much of a haste as her condition would afford her, grabbing a large bag from their closet and packing some of her stuff into it, “I’m- shit,” he mumbled when she wouldn’t stop to hear him, “Y/n,” he pleaded, reached out to grab her arm, huffing in defeat when she pulled away, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yeah, well you did.” Zipping the top up, Y/n swung her bag over her shoulders, too enraged to take the time to put her shoes back on, so instead shoving her tired feet into the nearest pair of flip flops, a fluffy set that she usually wore after getting into her pajamas. Without another word, she was leaving the bedroom, headed towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Keanu followed Y/n down the steps, and able to move a little faster than her, he easily blocked her way at the bottom.

Her cheeks were tear stained and Y/n’s eyes were already red, one hand gripped the strap of the bag tightly while the other was placed protectively over her bump. Keanu hated seeing her cry, yet, that night, he’d been the one bringing tears to her eyes. “Home,” was all she offered, trying to squeeze through the space between his larger body and the railing.

“You are home,” he countered, folding his arms.

“I meant home, to my parents,” she clarified, not even sure why she’d bothered to tell him. At the side door to the garage, Y/n grabbed her car keys off the little brass hook, singling out the remote for her car alarm and then hitting the button at the top to unlock it.

“At least let me drive you,” he didn’t want Y/n to leave like that, distraught and past dark. Even in the security of her car, anything could happen, and above all, her safety came first, triumphing any amount of anger over their spat.

“No,” Y/n was getting into her car, clumsily sliding into the driver’s seat, “I just…...I don’t want to be around you right now, okay?” 

The harshness in her tone coupled with her actual words stung like a snake bite to the chest, though Keanu was well aware that he’d said much worse not too long ago. He should have been reasonable instead of acting like an insensitive jerk. He should have heard her out and talked things through with Y/n instead of spewing battery acid.

The garage door reeled open and Y/n started backing her car out, not paying Keanu any mind as he called after her. Desperately, he followed on his feet for as far as he could, though, as usual, he was reminded that his knees weren't what they used to be and before long, Y/n's car was far beyond his reach, his wife and child, who he was  absolutely terrified to lose, gone, and he'd had no clue when, or if, they'd ever be back.

Sleep had been hard to come by that night, so hard that it never really came. Keanu's mind was constantly bombarded with anxious thoughts of Y/n. She hadn't answered her phone when he called, probably two dozen times, and when he'd tried her parents place, they'd both rattled off cheap, continuous excuses; she wasn't there yet, she was sleeping or even the age old "she's busy." 

All night, he'd worried about her, even between his fruitless phone calls. Was she sleeping okay? Was she well? How was the baby? For a brief moment, at around two am, Keanu had all but actually made it to his car, still dressed from the funeral, ready to head to his in-laws and mend things with his love, but in the end, fear and reason had stopped him. Y/n needed time to cool off, especially after what he'd said, a mere few hours definitely weren't going to cut it.

And then, slumping into one of the sitting room's sofas, Keanu finally took a minute to think about exactly what had gone down. Her plea had been reasonable; if it had been the other way around, he'd have wanted her to stop a lifetime ago, expect her to do anything that would prolong their time together. But there he'd stood, trying to make Y/n the fool for asking the same of him. 

Maybe I'll just die. Those were his words.

Keanu had never been one to let himself be preoccupied with thoughts of his own death, it was frivolous after all, it wasn't like he could change it. One day, it was going to happen, one day, he was going to leave people behind. And it never bothered him, that was, until he met her. So innocently, not looking to fall in love, but just a month later, doing it anyway. Almost four years ago, Y/n had brought a new vibrancy to his life, and now, they were creating one together. And with every cell in his being, Keanu didn't want to miss a moment of it.

Quitting was hard, he'd tried before. But arguably, before, there wasn't so much at stake. Just like that, with reinvigorated energy, Keanu pushed off the couch, fishing a half empty pack of smokes from his pocket, tossing it to the kitchen counter, only to head to the little draw in the kitchen where he usually kept some more on hand. Even if it wasn't going to be easy, even if the stories he'd heard about withdrawal and the side effects of going cold turkey were terrifying, Keanu knew that he had to. For his wife, for his child. For himself. 

For the rest of the night, knowing full and well that sleeping with her spot vacant would be a daunting task, Keanu disregarded the need for rest, instead opting to sweep the house for any trace of a cigarette; getting rid of everything from stray smokes and glass ashtrays to expensive cigars. If he was going to do it, he was going to do it right. 

By dawn, everything indicating that a smoker resided at their cushy house in the hills had been tossed; dumped in the appropriate bin at the curb, and then, unable to hold out any longer, Keanu finally got in his car, started it up and backed out into the street, headed to bring his family home.

Her eyes burned, half from crying all night and half from just not sleeping at all. Though she'd tried, pillows tucked around her, Y/n still hadn't managed to catch a wink all night, and as the light of dawn split the darkness, she'd found herself queasy with homesickness. It wasn't like she hadn't ever spent a night away from her place with Keanu, but the feeling of being at odds with him like that, knowing she'd actively left so abruptly and so distraught, had made her literally sick. 

Needless to say, things had gone far awry from what Y/n had expected. Of course, he was allowed to be upset, she was asking him to give up something he'd been doing for more than twenty years, smoking, as terrible as it was, was ingrained in his routine. Habitual. And trying to take it away so sudden would be like ripping away someone's security blanket. So really, she had no intention of hurting him.

Yet still, he'd hurt her  

That morning, and the painful memory continued to rack her frame with soft sobs, eventually interrupted by her mother, features pinched with worry, knocking on her ajar door as she poked her head in, "Y/n," she probed tentatively, "Sweetheart, Keanu wants to know if you'd be okay with talking to him now. Please, he's worried about you."

"I don't wanna talk to him," Y/n shifted beneath the mass of covers, swiping away some tears from her reddened cheeks, "Just tell him to leave me alone." She knew, full and well, that she sounded like a melodramatic teenager going through a lover's spat with her high school boyfriend, but Y/n didn't care. 

"Dear," her mother sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose, "I know you two had a fight last night, but he's your husband. Besides, he's already downstairs."

Struggling to turn towards the door and sit up, Y/n couldn't decide if she was infuriated or touched, "What?" Sniffing loudly, she reached for a tissue from the box at her bedside, "Why?"

"Because, he's worried and he loves you," when Y/n didn't look particularly moved, her mother, as adamant on having them resolve their issues as she was, continued, "And he know he's said some stupid things, but he doesn't want to keep things this way. Everyone makes mistakes Y/n. Please just talk to him, he's here and he's as much of a mess as you are. And we both know that all this stress isn't good for the baby, I'm sure she misses her daddy."

Hesitating for a moment, Y/n eventually nodded, absently caressing her bump as she finally permitted, "Okay, fine. Tell him I'll be right down."

Smiling faintly, Y/n's mother thought on it for a minute, before suggesting; "Even better; why don't I ask him up here? That way you two can shut the door and have some privacy."

"Yeah, okay," wiping her reddened nose with the crumpled tissue, trying not to cry again, "He can come up." Mouthing an okay, Y/n’s mother pushed the door back in, walking off without another word, and just as she did, Y/n shoved off the covers, scooting to the edge of the bed and slowly standing. Taking a minute to go over to the full length mirror, passing a brush from the top of the dresser through her bed head and then attempting to straighten her mismatched pajamas, she was just about to go over to the window, to see if Keanu's car was really parked out front, when her door creaked open, the sudden sound making her jump and gasp. 

"Hey," Keanu didn't hold her gaze for longer than a minute handful of seconds before letting his whiskey orbs fall to the hardwood floor, strands from his untamed mane curtaining his tired features. Cautiously, as if he were afraid of upsetting her, Keanu inched into Y/n's childhood bedroom. They both knew the room well, and she remembered the first time she'd brought him to it, the night he'd met her parents for the first time. They'd been skeptical at first, he was older, and Hollywood had given most of their men a bad rep, but by the end of dinner, her mother was smitten and her father…...well, he could tolerate him. They'd brought their desert up there and had it by the window, just before Y/n had showed him around. Their current situation felt far different; void of the warmth of new love replaced by the stifling fear that their marriage was hanging in the balance. 

"Hi," meekly, Y/n replied, swallowing thickly and not knowing how they should have continued. She didn't like how it felt; to be so flustered in his company. They were each other's safe places, refuge after a long, hard day, their first phone calls when something good happened and everything in between. Around Keanu, silence was comfortable and usually, breaking long stretches without words exchanged was easy. But that morning, she didn't have the slightest clue on what to say, on how to begin to bridge the gap that had grown overnight. 

Putting a fist to his lips, Keanu raised his head again, tentatively looking around first to the unmade bed and then to Y/n standing near the closed window as he cleared his throat, primarily to break the tense silence. "I'm sorry," just as she had the night before, Y/n flinched when Keanu reached for her, that time though, it was more out of hurt than anger. She could see that her actions had stung him by the pained look that crossed his face, but he'd done his own share  of damage the night before, and even if she could be talked into forgiving, Y/n wasn't just yet ready to forget. "What I said-"

"Was pretty damn fucked up," the break in her voice brought with it a new wave of quiet tears and Y/n could swear she felt her heart start breaking at his words replaying in her mind. Maybe we shouldn’t have kept it. Maybe I’ll just die. “You talked about aborting our child Keanu! What, were you just lying every time you said you wanted a family with me?”

“No, no, of course not,” scouring his brain for the right words, Keanu’s chest felt tight. He really had messed things up, with the best person in his life, and he wasn’t sure he could fix it. But he had to give it his best. He didn’t think he could stand to leave without his wife. “I just,” hitting his thigh with his fist and shaking his head, Y/n could see him fighting tears, “I got defensive, I don't want to think about not being there for the both of you, it’s scary.”

“Then talk to me about it, try to understand where I’m coming from when I ask you to try to quit,” Y/n’s arms fell to her sides in defeat, “Don’t…..” When she couldn’t finish, Keanu approached her again, and that time, she let him wrap her in his strong arms. It had just been one night, but she’d missed their comfort dearly, there was absolutely nothing that could compare to his embrace.

“I’m so, so sorry sweetheart,” his husky, pained voice was barely a whisper and he followed up his words with a chaste kiss on the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. It felt so good to have her tucked against his chest again, their heartbeats in sync. “I never, ever want to hurt you like this again,” Keanu rubbed her back soothingly, one hand toying with the ends of her freed tresses, “And I want to be with you, both of you, for as long as I can be. So I’m quitting, I’m done with that.”

With tear stained cheeks and glassy eyes, Y/n reared back slightly to meet his equally blurry gaze, “I’m sorry I picked a fight about that,” Y/n sighed quietly, and as much as she’d wanted him to quit smoking, she didn’t want to push him too hard, “And you know, if its too hard then-”

“No,” Keanu swallowed thickly, “It’s not. I don’t care about that, our family matters more to me, and you two are gonna be stuck with me for a very, very long time.”

Through her tears, a glimmer of a smile broke through, brightening her sorrow, and without warning Y/n’s arms around Keanu’s middle tightened and she laid her head on his chest, “Good,” she grinned softly, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him sweetly, “Cause we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana   @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx​  @danceoftwowolves​

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Your Move (Chibs x fem!Reader)

A/N: Unsuprisingly, I’m writing for SoA. It was just a matter of time until this new obsession caught up with me. This is my first attempt to write an accent phonetically, so I apologize in advance for the mess.

I also wanna thank @toomanystoriessolittletime​ and @penwieldingdreamer​ for beta’ing this for me and @ly--canthrope​ @wishuhadstayed​ and @chibsytelford​ for welcoming me to the SoA fam and encouraging me to write for it.

Summary: When you returned to Charming after your father passed away, you planned to only stay long enough to settle his affairs, but memories of the past and the prospect of a certain Scot in your future made you stay longer than planned.

Wordcount: 4,5K

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and inebriation and that’s it.

You knew the Sons of course.

There was no way to live in Charming your entire life and not know about them or at least some of them. You went to school with Jax and Opie and you remembered having such a crush on them, like most girls your age. They were the cool guys with their air of danger and the prospect leather cuts they wore every single day.

Your father warned you to stay away from them, as most parents would. The thing about the Sons was that they were a necessary evil to your small town, but it didn’t make them any less dangerous. Your father made sure to steer clear of them unless he absolutely needed it. You watched him seek out Clay Morrow once in a while if there was a problem in the diner, but it always pained him so much to do so.

You could see in his eyes, the exhaustion and barely contained shame whenever he had to have a sit down with the President of the MC. Always at the diner because he refused to go anywhere near the Teller-Morrow Garage.

He invested every cent he had to make sure you had a good education and could leave Charming for good. Do something he could never do in his own life and you appreciated that with all your heart but once he passed away and you had to come back to settle his affairs, sell the diner and the house and everything else, you found yourself caught up in the memories and the charms of the small town.

Everyone seemed to know you. Sometimes by name, most times as Allan’s kid. They paid their respects at the funeral, even the MC. You saw Gemma and Jax at the back and when your eyes caught the bright blue of the man Jackson had become, his lips tilting into a small, sympathetic smile in your direction, you didn’t feel the same butterflies as you used to when you were a teen.

He and his mother came closer after everyone else was gone. He still had that same sad smile placed in his face as Gemma pulled you into a hug that you didn’t really feel comfortable with, but didn’t know how to refuse.

“Allan was such a good man,” she said, pressing a kiss to your cheek and you could feel the lipstick imprint Gemma left behind. “Anything you need, sweetheart, just give us a call.” She handed you a Teller-Morrow business card, her number scribbled on the back.

“Thank you.” You nodded as they stepped away letting you go back to your grieving.

The diner was quick to sell. Your father, once he got sick, already found a buyer on call, you just needed to finalize the deal. The house was harder to do so. Not because you didn’t have people interested in it but because you couldn’t bring yourself to put it on the market. Not when there were so many childhood memories in it. This was the house you grew up in, where your father raised you to be the woman you were now. It was hard to let go of that, so you found yourself searching for reasons to delay your departure.

Separating possessions that would stay, be donated, sold, or thrown away. You started doing small repairs around the house, just like your father taught you because he wanted you to be as independent as possible. Taking off old, worn-out carpets and wallpapers, fixing the yard and clogged pipes, and closing off holes in the plaster walls.

Before long, a month had passed and you were still in Charming, only making weekend trips back to your apartment to bring more of the essentials with you. Even your cat had found residence in your father’s house, taking long naps in the porch bench, apparently much more comfortable with the small-town life than you expected.

Still, you had a hard time admitting that you didn’t intend to leave any time soon. Being in the house was a constant reminder that your father never wanted this life for you but at the same time, after spending the last 10 and something years in a big city, you had never felt more at home than when you got back here.

You were even painting again, something you haven’t done since you settled for a career as an art teacher. You were even more surprised when you opened up the yard sale and a couple of people ventured into the garage while you were distracted and asked about your paintings.

“They’re not really for sale,” you replied to a woman around your age, her dark hair falling over her shoulders in waves and she was so familiar, but you couldn’t place her in your memory.

“You should really think about selling them. Maybe even opening a gallery? They’re gorgeous.”

Her words stayed with you after the sale was done because it had always been your dream but in a big city, renting space was expensive and there were tons of small art galleries other there. It was hard to compete. In a town like Charming? It would be a place one of a kind.

The next morning, you found a small store for rent in the main street as you walked through the wide-open space, the morning bright light filtering through the half-closed blinds from the window, you could already see your works hanging around, the small counter with the cash register to the left and the backspace for your studio so you could work during slow days.

“I’ll take it.” The words were out before you could even think it through but once they passed your lips, you knew they were the right thing to do. You just needed officially move back to your hometown after so long away.

You took a week to go back to the city, pack up your belongings, and put in the moving truck. A few boxes of more personal stuff you loaded in your own battered old Chevy to bring with you on the drive back.

The car gave out in the middle of the night, still on the highway, miles away from Charming. The engine coughing and spluttering but refusing to start, no matter how many times you spun the key in the ignition. You had to settle for your fate and call a toll truck.

It was almost like destiny that when you pull out your phone from your pocket, the TM card fell out too and you didn’t even realize it had been there all this time. Gemma’s number in pen was washed out but the printed one for the garage was still visible so you dialed it. It wasn’t like you had another garage’s number on speed dial.

You waited at the side of the road for about 50 minutes until the headlights of the toll truck lightened up the night before pulling by your car and you couldn’t help the nervous flips of your stomach as the man stepped out of the car, in tight jeans and leather cut. His longish dark hair combed back, peppered with grey strands at his forehead and the goatee gave him such a distinguished look that you had a hard time not staring. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this attracted to someone at first sight.

“Ye called for a toll, lass?” he asked in a smooth drawl and thick accent that made shivers run down your spine, and for a second you couldn’t find your words.

“Uh… yeah, yes. I did,” you finally managed, glancing back to your car. Seemed to be the safest thing to do. “The old piece of junk died on me. Sorry for the hour.”

“No problem,” he waved off your apology, setting up to get your car secured in the back of the truck, before opening the door for you. “Come on, I give ye a lift.”

He helped you into the truck’s cabin, taking your hand in his gloved one like a perfect gentleman and closing the door behind you before he got behind the wheel and started the engine.

“Thank you so much, mister…”

“Nah, lassie. No mister required,” he offered you a soft smile and from this close, you could see the pale line of the scar in his cheek. “Chibs is fine.”

“Alright. thank you, Chibs,” you replied smiling too as he pulled into the road and turned the radio into a classic rock station.

You remained in silence for most of the ride, sneaking glances at the man next to you. Had he been in Charming all those years ago? Before you left? Why didn’t you remember him? How many times had you seen the Sons riding through the main street in their Harleys and leather cuts? You would probably have seen him before. Then again, back then your eyes tended to seek out Jax’s slender form due to your stupid teen crush. Maybe that was why you missed him.

“Mind if I smoke?” Chibs asked, startling you out of your thoughts.

You shook your head, feeling the heat of embarrassment burning your face as you tried to ignore the way his lips closed around the cigarette and how his long fingers operated the lighter.

The flame lit up his face for a brief second, reflected in his deep, dark eyes and you had to look away, clearing your throat. You never felt this awkward and uncertain in the presence of man, so you raked your brain for something to break the tense silence.

“Why Chibs?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself and he chuckled, the sound low and husky and it went straight to your center, making you press your legs together as discreetly as you could.

“It a Scottish slang,” he started, glancing your way as he took a deep drag of his cigarette. “For knife.”

“Oh,” you replied dumbly, mulling over his words. “Because of…?” Unconsciously, you reached for your cheek and froze in shock at your own insensitive action. “Oh shit! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright, love,” he chuckled again as he slowed down the truck and you didn’t even notice he was dropping you off at home until you recognized the construction in front of you. “I dinna mind. And yes, that’s why. Bu’ Filip works too.”

“Thank you, Filip,” you spoke softly, meeting his eyes and he smiled around his smoke and nodded. “I’ll drop by TM tomorrow morning to settle everything?”

“Aye. I’ll let Gem know.”

You hesitated to step out of the truck, and you didn’t even know why. You just didn’t want to leave. Not yet, but there was no reason to stay. So you resigned with doing what needed to be done and watching as he drove away before finally getting inside the house.

Next morning, you took your dad’s old Jeep – and how lucky it was that you hadn’t sold it just yet – and headed to TM to settle payment for the toll and get the cost for the work.

While Gemma was ruffling through some papers trying to find your invoice, you let your gaze wander through the open side door towards the garage, noticing the men in overalls talking and joking while working.

“He’s not here,” Gemma said, startling you to turn back and meet her narrowed eyes. You wondered how she could possibly know. “Jax.”

“Oh!” Relief washed over you and you managed a timid smile. “I wasn’t…”

“And he’s back with Tara.”

There was a clear warning in her tone, almost as if saying you shouldn’t dare to try and intervene between the couple, not that you would want to. She finally handed you the paper so you could sign it, authorizing the service.

“How soon can I expect the car?”

“Maybe a week? Might be more,” Gemma replied, pulling the paper back and giving you a long look. “There were some boxes in the truck… You’re uh, staying in Charming, then?”

“Yeah…” it was the first time you said it out loud and it felt almost like a confession. “I am. The moving truck should be arriving soon so can I drop by later to pick them up?”

“I’ll get one of the prospects to bring them to you,” the older woman declared after an assessing look. Like she was measuring you up, making sure if you were worthy of her town.

You just offered a quick thanks and headed off, resisting the urge to glance behind your shoulder at the men working on the cars or the side building that housed the club. Even if you could feel the baby hairs in your nape prickling due to an intense gaze at your back. If it was Gemma or someone else, you didn’t find out.

The entire thing slipped from your mind by the time you got home and found the moving truck already waiting for you. The rest of your day was spent moving boxes and furniture to their designated spaces, making sure the movers didn’t break anything with their careless demeanors.

It was late afternoon when they finally brought everything in and took off, leaving you to sort out the mess. Just the sight of scattered boxes all through the wooden floor of the two-store house was enough to make you regret your decision. It would take you days to get everything in order and that on top of making sure your gallery was up and running too.

“Better get to it,” you whispered to yourself, tuning in the radio and letting the melodic beats of Pat Benatar set the tone for your work. And if you sang along and danced around the house through it all, well there wasn’t anyone around to see it, even if no curtains were covering the windows just yet.

The knock on the door made you jump midway through setting the cutlery in place and you lowered the radio before making your way through the maze of boxes, your lips tugging into a surprised smile when you found Chibs standing outside, cigarette in his mouth, sunglasses covering his eyes.

“Hia, lass. Gem asked me to deliver some boxes?” he explained, and you smirked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest as you examined the biker in front of you.

“Gemma asked you?” you repeated, brow arched. “Sounds more like a prospect job…”

“Might ‘ave volunteered,” Chibs admitted, his smirk matching yours. “Memory’s a little fuzzy on the details.”

With a chuckle, you stepped aside to let him in offering quick instructions of where to put the boxes while you watch him move around. This time, there was no leather jacket below his cut, only a sleeveless shirt, and you could appreciate the flexing of his muscles and the ink adorning his skin as Chibs worked.

“That’s the last one,” he said, setting the box down by the door and meeting your gaze.

“Thank you. I really appreciate the help.”

He waved off your gratitude and silence fell over the two of you, thick and heavy like a blanket of all the things unsaid. In your brightly lid living room, you could properly see Chibs’ face and his dark eyes watching you as if waiting for something, a sign maybe, but you didn’t know what to do. Had you always been so bad at this? Or was just his presence that seemed to strip you from all functional reasoning?

“I, uh…” you looked around, searching for what to say or do. “Wanna drink?”

“Sure.”

Chibs followed you into the kitchen and you were very aware of his presence behind you like a shadow as you stopped by the fridge, pulling out two beers and offering him one. You drank in silence, watching one another and you wished you could explain why this felt so strange. You wished you could make the tension and awkwardness fade away, but you didn’t really know how and Chibs didn’t seem inclined to help.

Then again, he did take the first step, coming all the way here with your boxes to see you and he wasn’t even trying to hide or deny it. It was your move but just his mere presence made you freeze and you didn’t know what to do, how to show him you were glad he came and wanted him to stay a little longer.

All you could do was watch him, the way his lips fit around the tan glass of the bottle as he took a gulp of the drink, his throat working as he swallowed. You wondered if Chibs knew how effortlessly sexy he was. How just having him leaning against the counter watching you with that heavy-lidded gaze was enough to make your knees weak and your breath speed up.

“I should head off,” he finally broke the silence, setting his empty bottle on the counter and you felt your heart sink. “Get out of yer hair…”

“Right…” you followed him to the door, hands in your pockets. “Thanks again.”

“No problem, love.” Chibs paused outside, his eyes lingering on you. “Ye know, the clubhouse has a bar. Ye could stop by some time.”

“Yeah,” you hurried to say with a nervous smile. You almost thought he had given up on you but here he was, throwing you a line. “Sure.”

“Good,” he smiled too. “‘Night, love.”

You watched once again Chibs driving off from your place until he disappeared around the corner before you stepped back inside, leaning against the closed door. It was your move and knew. You just had to figure out a way to actually take that step.

A week passed since Chibs’ invitation and you had yet to find the courage to meet him at the clubhouse. At first, you told yourself it was because of the move. You were busy getting the house in shape and then your gallery but you knew you were lying to yourself.

You were just afraid. Torn between wanting to learn a little more about the mysterious Scot that didn’t seem to leave your mind and knowing that going there, getting mixed with the Sons was getting yourself involved with a crowd your father worked so hard to keep you away from. Those two sides seemed to be at war, and you didn’t know what do to.

You knew, however, that the longer you waited, the more you made it clear to Chibs that you might not be interested, even if you were definitely were. So you needed to make a decision. Soon.

When you finally worked up the nerve to go to the clubhouse, you spent hours deliberating on an outfit. You wanted to look good but not like you were trying too hard because you knew what you were going to find there.

Several of your high school friends had sneaked in at some point to check out the Sons’ official hangout and report back. You knew there would be the club members, of course, and other friends, but most importantly, there would be other women, croweaters.

The expression always made you grimace in distaste, the implications clear in the pejorative tone used and it made you stop and consider if you weren’t exactly like them, chasing away a biker you knew nothing about.

The thought was almost enough to make you give up, turn around and go back to your car but you were already there at the garage, might as well bite the bullet and do this. With a deep breath, you crossed the parking lot, the heel of your boots crunching the cement as you walked toward the clubhouse, hands in the pockets of your jacket, out of sight so no one could see them tremble with your apprehension.

When you walked into the smoky room, you were almost expecting to see all eyes on you, the outsider in their territory, but no one paid you any attention as you surveyed the space, searching for Chibs. He was nowhere in sight and the longer you stood there, awkward and afraid, the urge to flee grew in your chest. You shouldn’t even have come.

Turning around to walk out, you ran straight into the solid chest of the man you came here to find. Chibs held you steady with a hand on your elbow, watching you with curious eyes.

“Leavin’ so soon, lass?” he asked, his voice a smooth drawl and it set your body on edge, in a good way.

“Yeah, I, uh,” you glanced around at people dancing and drinking and making out in front of everyone, verging on indecent exposure. “Didn’t really seem like I belonged.”

“Give it a chance, love,” he said with a smirk and offering you a hand. “Ye might actually enjoy yerself. How ‘bout a drink?”

“Ok,” you accepted after a moment’s hesitation, taking Chibs’ hand and letting him lead you to the bar.

A drink turned into several and before you knew it, you were playing pool against a guy named Tig, barely being able to stay upright but still managing to be the better player of the two of you to Chibs’ great amusement and loud heckling.

“You’re sure he’s not just letting me win?” You asked Chibs as he brought you another shot of whiskey, chuckling as you winced and pulled a face after downing it the shot. You had just won yet another round against Tig and his annoyed, barely conscious face was very amusing.

“‘M surprised he managin’ to hold on to his cue,” he commented as he took your cue and handed it over to the first person around. “How ‘bout some air? Sober ye up a bit?”

Chibs led you into the cold night air of the yard and to the picnic tables outside. Out there, you two were completely alone except for the stars and the random passing car but it was late enough that the town was mostly silent, the only sounds coming from inside the clubhouse, the music leaking out muffled due to the soundproof walls.

There were just the two of you, sitting side by side as Chibs lid a cigarette, and before he could even take a drag, you snatched out of his lips, bringing it to your own, making him smirk. The alcohol had dissolved most of your reservations, leaving only you desire for the man next to you.

“Bigge’ men 'ave lost fingers stealin’ ma smoke, lass,” Chibs commented, turning his body towards you.

“Good thing, I’m just a little lass, then,” you teased, trying to mimic his Scottish drawl as you shifted your position until you were straddling the bench and facing him.

“Wee lassie,” he corrected, watching intently as you took a drag of his cigarette and puffed out the smoke.

You liked this, being alone with Chibs. Having his dark eyes focused on you and only you. Being close enough that you could smell the whiskey, leather, and the heady sweat of his skin. Feel the heat of his body. You reached over to trail the black Reaper etched on his biceps, daring to touch without asking permission first.

As Chibs allowed the touch, you grew bolder and moved closer, letting your fingers travel higher, over his shoulder and on his neck, until your thumb brushed his jaw and cheek, touching the rough stubble beginning to grow there.

His own palm had settled over your clothed thigh, large and hot, making you acutely aware of how close you two were and how it would barely take a move for your lips to find his. You wanted that more than anything. Chibs had to know that, right? He had to see it in your eyes.

“Ye should head home, lass,” he said instead, pulling away from you and you felt the loss of his heat. “'t’s gettin’ late.” Then you felt the burning shame as he refused to look at you.

“Yes,” you croaked, eyes darting around at anything other than him. “You’re right.”

You had put yourself out there for this man and he was shipping you off like unwanted cargo. You didn’t even know why.

“I’ll get one of the prospects to drive ye, just…”

“It’s fine,” you didn’t let Chibs finish, getting to your feet and stepping back. “I brought my Jeep. I can drive myself.”

You walked away before he could say anything else because you could feel the familiar lump in your throat and the burning behind your lids. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of him. You already made a fool out of yourself enough for one night.

You were almost at the car when you stumbled on your own feet. Fortunately, you never met the ground as a strong arm surrounded your waist, keeping you upright and pressed against his strong chest. You could feel his breath tickling your nape as both of you stood there, neither daring to move.

“If I ‘ere a good man, I’d let ye walk away,” Chibs sighed and you sagged against his warmth, letting him inhale your scent on your neck before you turned around to face him, hands resting against his chest.

“Maybe I don’t want you to be a good man,” you whispered, looking up at him. “Maybe I just want you to kiss me.”

His lips were softer than you expected, just a gentle press against yours the whiskers of his goatee tickling your skin. It was almost as if Chibs weren’t really sure if he should do this. Like he was giving you the chance to pull away and change your mind.

Your fisted his vest, pushing closer to him, pressing harder against his lips in search of more. Letting your own lips part in invitation and soon enough, his tongue was exploring your mouth, tangling with yours, bringing forth the taste of whiskey, nicotine, and something dark and addictive that you could have for the rest of your life.

One hand on your hip, the other on your nape, adjusting the angle of your head so he could better deepen the kiss, Chibs pressed you against the cool metal of your Jeep, his body crowding yours, one of his thighs between your legs as he devoured your mouth.

Everything seemed to fade away then but the taste of his lips and the touch of his hands on your skin, burning a bright fire within you as his calloused hand sneaked under your shirt, exploring your back, his rings catching lightly on your skin, making you shiver as he nipped at your bottom lip and allowed you a second for breath.

“Go home,” Chibs grumbled, his lids even heavier than usual as he peered at you with what you could only describe as bedroom eyes. “Before ye do somethin’ ye might regret at the light of day and without the haze of alcohol.”

You paused, considering his words, licking your lips as if to chase the aftertaste of his kiss.

“And if come tomorrow morning, stone-cold sober, I still want this?”

“Ye know where to find me.” Chibs let his lips brushed over yours one last time, just a small temptation of what he could offer before he took a step back and pulled the car door open for you. “‘Night, lass.”

“Good night, Filip.”

xxx

[myfeetkeepdancing]

Summer Breeze | Peter Parker x Male!Reader

Summary: Reader takes care of Peter who is stressed and tired from his superhero duties.

Words: 1880

Requested by: @marvelgbt-posts​ ​

The sun set high above Queens. The warmth of its rays shining down onto your face. You shift in your seat of the bus, Peter's backpack on your lap. Making sure to catch as much sunlight as you possibly can. Just observing people from your seat was relaxing. Simply watch and observe. See as the world goes by. Once in a while, you glance up, peaking past the vast lengthy skyscrapers. Hoping to catch a glimpse of Spider-Man swinging in-between. The thought of him only stretched your smile further.

The summer was as good as ever. Long sunny days. College was almost at an end. So you got to spend nearly every day with Peter. Your lovely boyfriend. The kindest person you would ever meet. Someone who'd bring up the best in you. The bus zoomed past several stops before coming to your halt. Stepping out onto the street, you feel the summer breeze welcome you. The smell of salty water and flowers in full bloom. A little music coming from the balcony above you.

It’s such a beautiful place. Down at the docks, with that small stretch of boulevard, littered with small shops and terraces. Ice-cream trucks on every corner.

You continue to walk further up the road. By now, you know the location like the back of your hand. The alleyway. You double-check your surroundings before treading further. Putting Peter's backpack at the usual spot. Hiding it from sight. To top it off, you put on a small post-it note. One on the zipper, revealing your location. The other on his clothing. A little love letter. Peter lived for them. Small notes of encouragement. The cutest of it all, he collected each and every one of them. Neatly collected in a notebook, pictures of you adorned. It couldn’t get more wholesome.

You make your way back to the boulevard. Texting Peter that his backpack is in place. Finding a good spot to sit wasn’t difficult. The half concrete wall down the docks was perfect. It ran for several meters, separating the terraces of the walkway from the boulevard. Your legs dangling free as you take place. Looking over the water and the small strip of sand. The soothing sound of the waves washing ashore. Before you sat down, you made sure to pick up a drink for the two of you. The anticipation of Peter on his way made your stomach flutter of excitement. Waiting there, not a care in the world.

You feel arms reach around your chest. Strong arms. Closing tightly. His face pressed against your neck. It didn’t make you jump. His lips connecting with the skin of your neck. Peter loved to cuddle. Hours on end. Listening to music, or just chatting. No matter the time. Cuddles where Peter’s thing.

You can’t help but chuckle as you try to pry him free from you. Helping him climb up the half wall. His face lightens up the moment your eyes meet. Leaning in towards each other. Your lips meet in the softest possible way. But not without bumping into each other’s noses. Sharing a silly giggle. “I got you this.” Passing him his drink, still ice-cold to the touch.

“You’re the best.” He beams, taking the straw between his lips. Taking in the sweet drink. “I loved your little note.” Pressing a kiss on your cheek with his cold lips from the drink. Making you jump a little. “Thank you.”

His legs swayed back and forth, slow and relaxed. While you both sat there, overlooking the sea. Watching the tide roll away. And the sun slowly sinking to the horizon. "How was your day?" Putting an arm around him. Pulling him closer against you. Peter giving in, letting his head rest on your shoulder. Making himself comfortable.

"It was tough (Y/N)."  Letting out a long sigh. "Really tough." Peter was someone who kept a lot to himself. The responsibilities he felt pressing down on his shoulders. Not only as Spider-Man but also as an Avenger. The need to prove himself. And things that happened because of him. He struggled to put it to words. Making it difficult for him to open up. It took time. Trust and confidence. But eventually, he opened up. Beneath those layers of Spider-Man and Avenger's worries, there was a sweet, caring, and, most of all, loving personality. With a heart too great for this world.

“What’s troubling you, sweetheart?” Swaying him to and through by his shoulder. With your other hand, you push a little strand of hair from his forehead. "Something bad happened?"

"I'm doing everything I can, yet… bad things keep happening. I just… I can't be everywhere at the same time." He sighed defeated. "Even now, I feel like I need to be out there." You refrain yourself from asking any more. He looked tired, eyelids heavy with sleep. And body weak of will. "But I can’t… I'm so tired."

“That’s alright. I get it.” You whisper to him. "Relax."

"I...I... just can't." He said with sadness in his voice. "I should have gone home instead of burden you with my troubles."

"Peter… I can’t take away that feeling. But I’m always there for you.” You slowly rest his head back on your shoulder again. “Wherever you go... I'll be there." Pressing a gentle kiss on the top of his hair. “Just lay your head to rest… It’s going to be fine. I mean… look at that stunning view.” Circling your fingers on his shoulder. “Isn’t it lovely…”

You notice a small smile curving his lips. A long sigh followed, feeling the tension in his body subside. Leaning against you. “Yes, but so are you.”

Watching the sun setting on the horizon. People slowly retreating from the beach. Making place for the seagulls and other birds. Scavenging the leftovers. The beautiful blue sky slowly turning yellow and into orange as the sun sank down further and further. All the while, Peter had sunken in a state of sleep. Snoring quietly against your shoulder.

Eventually, you need to start moving. With the sun sinking towards the horizon, so was the temperature. Determined not to disturb his well-deserved rest, you manage to get him on your back. Carrying most of his weight by holding onto his legs, you prop him up against your back. His arms slung around your neck. And head cradled on the side of your neck. Quietly snoring into your ear. Your backpack slung forward on your belly. Packed and ready to go, you make way for the bus stop. Luckily, it wasn't that far.

But nonetheless, Peter was becoming quite heavy to carry. The muscles in your arms burned and ached. Legs heavy, feet hurting ever more with each step. Your back was hurting. Yet Peter heaved so softly into your ear. It was worth it.

You seat him carefully into the seat of the bus. His arms falling loosely from your neck. You chuckle as you see his somewhat lifeless body propped against the window. Snoring peacefully.  Bringing a smile to your face.

Arriving at your stop, you muster all your strength. It takes a few tries to get Peter on your back. The bus driver wishing you good luck. And you needed that. You stood before the building were Peter and his aunt May lived. From memory, you recall eleven or twelve flights of stairs. No elevator. You’re determined to do this. With a steady pace, you take the first four. Momentum was everything you keep telling yourself. But your muscles told you otherwise. Your arms burn from the strain. Legs shaking slightly. But you keep your gaze to the steps. Not focusing on counting down the flight of stairs…

One by one, you steadily climb the stairs. One two three. Breath in, and out. And again. Your body was starting to give in. It couldn't do this. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage. Breathing heavily as you brave the last one. Your legs tremble, dragging your feet forward. Legs like stone.

Until you manage to lay Peter to rest. Comfortable in his bed.

With your last bit of strength left, you undress and slip into the shower. Soaking in sweat. The only thing you wanted more was to sleep. Crawl beside Peter. All comfy and cozy. The thought alone made you soft. Sneaking back into the room, you spot movement between the blankets. Soft moans and exhausted wheezes.

“We’re… back... home?” Peter groaned as he rubbed in his eyes. “B-But… How?”  Looking around the room. “Uughh… I’m such a wreck.” Falling back into his cushion with a sigh.

“Well, you’re my little wreck.” Pressing a kiss on his forehead. Followed by his nose. “Did I wake you while showering?” Ending on his soft lips. His lips curving into a sweet smile.

“Not at all.” Hearing a slight chuckle coming from him. “You are staying… right?” Throwing his sheets open beside him.

“I’d love to…” Releasing a long drawn yawn. “First have to find me some pj’s.” Searching his drawers.

“Uhm… Well...” He mutters slightly, rubbing the crook of his neck, trying to get your attention. “I… Ehm… wouldn’t mind… if you came… to bed like that…” His little cheeks burning up.

“Alright, but isn’t it a bit too warm for cuddles.” Crawling onto the sheets. Peter’s bed wasn’t that big. You could fit with two, but it meant spooning one way or the other. Something you don’t mind.

“Never with you.” He smiles, pulling his shirt off. “I sleep best when you’re around…” Releasing a soft hum, crawling up against you. Pulling your arm over his waist. Peter adored being the smaller spoon. Loved being played with his hair. Those brown curls, twirling between the tips of your fingers.

“Is that how you got me home?!” Peter beamed with adoration. As he looks onto your phone, lying onto the floor. A notification lighting up the screen and the background with it. The background being the selfie from earlier today on your way to the bus stop. Peter’s arms slung around your neck, and his head cradled on the side of your neck.

“You looked so cute.”

But Peter’s smile was disrupted by the faint sound of sirens in the distance. Peter’s eyes shoot wide open, sitting straight up in bed. “Should… I…?”

“I certainly won’t stop you.” Slowly trailing a finger down his spine. Peter releasing a shuddering breath. “But what does your gut tell you?”

“I dunno…” He mutters, doubt setting on his face. “You think they got this?”

“I can’t speak for Spider-Man.” Pressing a few gentle kisses down his spine. "But, I do know you need your time off."  

“You’re right...” Falling back into your embrace. A genuine smile curving his lips. Curling up onto your chest. Snuggling close to you. His head moving along with the heaving of your chest. Followed by his breath fanning across your skin. His legs intertwining with yours. Arms wrapping around your neck. “My gut tells me, I want to be with you.” He whispers softly, kissing you along your jawline. Up to your lips. “You’re too good for me.”

“I got that from you.” Slowly raking your fingers through his curls. Returning the kiss. “It’s infectious.”

"I love you (Y/N)…"

[varianfortunate]

Blinding Tears (Jostonio Angst)

Highschool teacher Hanahaki Star tear AU! the whole story is from Joseph’s POV

   I see him again. Antonio, his long black locks fluttering behind him. He has them tied in a ponytail today. Probably to keep them out of his face, though that’s pointless, because he has a long strand in front of his face. I glance at him for a moment. He’s smiling as usual. I continue down the hall of our college. We’re both teachers here, and I head to my dorm. I put in the key when I hear someone speeding down the dorm halls towards me. 

   “JOSEPH DID YOU TAKE MY ROUGE LIPSTICK AGAIN?! I ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT COLOR LOOKS BAD ON YOU!” Mary yells, running toward me. 

   “Mary, I already told you, IT’S MINE NOW!” I yell. Suddenly, Michiko enters from the elevator. Me and Michiko are neighbors, and Mary instantly cleans herself up and smiles. 

   “Hi Michiko!” Mary waves.

   “Hello Mary, hello Joseph. The lipstick is Mary’s Joseph, give it back.” Michiko says. 

   “Fine Michiko…” I say. I open the door to my room, walk in, and lock it. There’s no way in hell I’m giving it back it looks a m a z i n g on me. After about five minutes I hear Mary yell through my door. 

   “HOESEPH YOU BRING ME MY LIPSTICK! IT WAS A SPECIAL EDITION!” She shouts while banging on my door with her fists. I hum with a smile and make some tea. 

   “Hmm, I wonder what that was, must’ve been the wind!” I exclaim, accidentally spilling hot water on myself. 

   “FUCK!” I yell, clutching my burnt arm. 

   “KARMA!” Mary yells through the door. I hear her walk away and I hear Michiko enter her dorm. I sigh and run some cold water over my red arm. I don’t know why- but at that moment, the rainbow tears that plague me fall from my eyes. 

   “Shit-” I start, trying to wipe them off. I hold one in my hand and let it drift in my palm. I must’ve started crying from the pain. The more I move the tear the more hues it becomes, shifting from pinks to blues to pastel oranges. And then I let it fall into the sink, and as it falls, it glimmers into other colors. I sigh again and finish making my tea once I stop crying. My vision is always really blurry after I cry, but it tends to lighten up. My eyesight isn’t as good as it was prior though. I pour my tea into the cup and put in an earl gray tea bag. I used to use the leaves when I lived with my parents, but I can’t afford them anymore, so I don’t buy them. I remember drinking Earl Gray with Claude… No. I shouldn’t think of- Shit. His death anniversary is next month. 

   I walk out of my dorm. It’s time for study hall. I told Mike he needed to study, as with Naib, and Norton and Ganji and Aesop. Those stupid children. As I’m lost in my thoughts, I run into Antonio. 

   “Oh, Joseph, I apologize, I didn’t see where I was going,” He says in his Italian accent. I look down and notice him holding his violin case. 

   “It’s alright, I was lost in thought and didn’t see you” I smile. 

   “Oh, Joseph, I was wondering-” Antonio starts before he quickly grabs a handkerchief and puts it to his mouth and starts coughing. 

   “Antonio?” I ask. 

   “It’s nothing,” He shoves the cloth into his pocket. 

   “Would you like to hear me play Violin?” he asks. 

   “Uh sure! Let me just cancel study hall first,” I say. 

   “Alright,” He says. I pull out my phone and send out a remind to my students. 

   Alright everyone! Study hall is cancelled today! 

   I only receive a response from Aesop, he just thanked me. I follow Antonio to the woods behind the school. I know there’s benches set up around here, I have an assignment for my photography elective that has them take pictures here. We stop at a bench. Most of the fall leaves are gone, leaving a cold chilly wind and bare branches. I sit on the bench, and Antonio puts his case next to me. He opens the case and pulls out his Violin. It has a weaving vine design on the side. He takes out his bow and starts getting into position. 

   He lifts his bow to the strings and starts to play 24 Caprices by Niccolo Paganini, whom Antonio just happens to share a last name with. His fingers fly on the neck of the Violin as he plays the complicated tune. I pull out my camera from my bag, which I had brought for study hall. I snap a picture of Antonio playing the Violin. I notice he’s only playing the last part, as the entirety of the song is about an hour and a half long. I start to cry. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I know… at some point, maybe soon, I won’t be able to see him play the violin like this. I won’t be able to see… Him. 

   “Joseph?! Are you alright?!” Antonio quickly rushes over to me. 

   “I-I’m fine, I was just- It’s nothing…” I say quickly rubbing away the tears so he can’t see. I look up at him and I can’t even make him out. I blink a few times and he comes into a slightly blurry focus. He’s frowning. The first time I’ve see him and he wasn’t smiling. 

   “Joseph… Do you want to go back?” Antonio asks me. 

   “O-Okay,” I say. We head back to the teacher dorms. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Today was like any other day. Mike threw a paper plane at Norton, but hit Naib and Naib grabbed it and started yelling at Mike. A regular Math and photography class. 

   I walk into my dorm. Mary always kind of backs off during this week. The week Claude died. She knew him too, but she doesn’t like thinking about him. Because he died tragically. I look at the face down picture frame on the table at the entrance to my room. The place I put my keys, my bags, shoes, things like that. I pick up the picture. I have to squint to make it out. I’ve been fearing this week. Ever since I contracted this disease about five months ago, I was fearing this week, because I knew I would cry a lot. The picture is of two boys, at their high school graduation. They look the same. Both with fluffy white hair. Though, one boy has it in a side ponytail. That was Claude. We looked virtually the same. However when he contracted tuberculosis, he coughed all the time, unlike me, and so you could always tell us apart for those many months. 

   I put the picture down. They said it was tuberculosis, but I know the real reason, and the real reason he didn’t get better. It was Hanahaki, and he didn’t want the surgery. He wanted to continue loving the one who had rejected him. His flower was the daffodil. I put them at his grave each year, and I cry. I sob at his headstone. I’m startled by the blur of my vision. No, not now, I don’t want to cry now. No… If I start I’m not going to stop, and I just want to see him… I want to see Antonio again before my vision disappears forever. 

   I wipe the tears away in a frantic rush and search for the picture I took of Antonio a week ago. I find it, and start crying again because I know that one day I won’t be able to see him. I just wish I could see him forever. Ever since I started my job here a few years ago, he’s taken my breath away. I imagined myself as Joseph Paganini, but I know that it’ll never happen. I’ll be Joseph Desaulniers till the day I die. 

   I cry myself into a restless sleep, and when I wake up photos are scattered around me. Old pictures of me and Claude, pictures of Antonio from the few times we hung out together, and pictures of me and Mary and then, the picture. The picture of me, Mary, and Claude. The one where we’re ten, and I just learned how to use a camera. The first picture I took. I get up from my bed and look at the day. It’s Sunday, and Claude's death anniversary. 

   I grab my coat and walk out of the building, my camera bag at my side. I buy some Daffodils and take the bus to the Cemetery Claude is buried at. I get off the bus and head in. I go down the rows, and rows, and rows of graves, until I reach one of the gated areas. I insert the key. This is the section that all my family is buried in. I pass by quite a few graves until I reach Claude’s. I place down the Daffodils, and I feel the tears brimming my eyes. Claude… Why didn’t you just get the surgery? Why did you keep on loving someone who rejected you?! Why… Why did this happen to you?! 

   The tears flow down my face like rivers, the crystalline shimmer of their numerous hues falling on the ground below me. I cry there for about an hour before heading back, knowing Antonio wouldn’t be at the dorms for he had taken leave for two weeks for his family. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   I cried too much that week, and I cried the next week for fear of not being able to see Antonio when he returned. I can barely see. 

   I’m standing in front of my bathroom mirror. My vision is so blurry I can’t see myself no matter how much I squint, and there’s dark patches in the corners of my vision, as if I’ve put a vignette on my vision. I poke and prod at my face trying to feel what it looks like.

   “I just… wanted to see him… one more time, one more time in reality see him properly, one last time,” I say. I bang my hand on my sink and it bleeds. I must have bent it weird. The text to speech turns plays on my phone.  

   “Antonio Paganini heart said, Hey, I’m back, can I come visit you in your room?” Siri says with her British voice. 

   “Hey Siri, reply with, Sure, I’ll open the door for you,” I say. Siri replies for me, and I clean up my hand before heading to the door. I open it, and Antonio is already there. 

   “Hello Joseph,” he says. 

   “Hi Antonio,” I smile. 

   “Come on in,” I say, moving out of the way to make way for him. 

   “Joseph your room-” He starts. 

   “Ah- sorry about the mess, It was my twin brother’s death anniversary last week and I got caught up in grading,” I try to cover up the mess which is actually due to my blindness. 

   “It’s alright,” He says. 

   We hang out for several hours before he heads back to his dorm. When he goes back I cry again because I wanted to see him clearly. My vision doesn’t un-blur this time. I lay on my bed and look up at the ceiling. Antonio’s dorm is above mine. I wonder what he’s doing… 

   Before I know it, I drift off to sleep, not knowing what would await me in the morning. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   “JOSEPH, JOSEPH WAKE UP!” Mary yells, shaking me awake. She used her spare key. 

   “H..Huh..?” I ask groggily, opening my eyes to a blurry Mary. 

   “Joseph, Antonio… Antonio is dead!” She says. 

   “What..?” I ask. There’s no way… Antonio isn’t- 

   “I just saw him yesterday! How could- how-” I feel my tears welling up in my eyes. 

   “Mary… You’re joking aren’t you?” I say. 

   “No. I would never be that cruel Joseph. You know that. He wrote you a note…” She says handing it to me. 

   “Mary… Can you read it for me… I… I won’t be able to see it…” I say. She doesn’t question it, and takes it from my hands. 

   She inhales, and starts reading. 

   “This letter is meant for Joseph Desaulniers eyes only,

Dear Joseph,

                    I’m sorry this is how you had to find out, but I have Hanahaki disease. It has spread through my whole lungs which means it will impair my breathing, and I will soon pass away. I know you have Star Tear disease, and I hope it wasn’t for me, because your vision is not worth losing for me. Joseph, you are a beautiful, the most beautiful person I have ever seen, and I wish I could spend the rest of our lives experiencing that beauty with you. Though as of now, that won’t happen. My flowers are red roses meaning love and passion. I hope that you are not  too distressed by this news. I hope that you can make it through this, and that you’ll forget about me. I hope that  we meet again. I love you Joseph Desaulniers. 

                                                                                Love, 

                                                                                       Antonio Paganini”

   That’s the end of the letter, and I cry again, but, I notice, my tears don’t shimmer with their many hues, they’re just… tears, no glimmer of the stars, no crystalline clear shimmer. Just… water. 

   “I’m sorry Joseph… I’ll give you space…” Mary says, leaving the letter next to me and leaving. I grab the letter and clutch it to my chest. I cry for what seems like hours, and then I draft a response. 

Dear Antonio, 

                        I love you too. I’m sorry I didn’t confess sooner. If I had just been faster, I would have been able to save you in time, and I wouldn’t have lost my vision. I do not even know if I am writing this properly for I cannot see my words. If by some miracle you were to come back to life, I would hug you, and hope to see you clearly through my own two eyes. I wish to tell you how much I yearned and loved you. I can never forget you Antonio. You are my love, you are the breath that fills my lungs, you are my will to get up in the morning, you, Antonio, are my world. My everything. And I love you more than I could express with words. My tears are regular, but they now burn me, as my tears are for you, in mourning for the love we could’ve had, mourning, you. I love you Antonio Paganini, and I miss you. 

                                                                                Love, 

                                                                                          Joseph Desaulniers

Word Count; 2432

Written by: Basketoffrogs on wattpad (Aka me) (Can find the fully edited detailed with bold and italics for more drama tomorrow)

[noocturnalchild]

2. LUMINOUS 

He spent all day outside. He spent all day in coffee shops and diners and parks, like a homeless lost guy. Cursing between his teeth, glaring at strangers and walking aimlessly.

How the hell was he going to return home and look you in the eyes again?

How the hell did he manage to fuck things up?

How did he ….how did things whirl in a huge black vortex all of a sudden?

Why didn’t he keep his big mouth shut? What a loser, a loser and a weirdo.

That’s what he thought of himself, all the way wandering in the street.

Now he might go back home and you won’t talk to him again.

Or worse,

He might go back and find you packing your things to fuck off, away from a whack like him.

Or even worse,

He may return and find you already gone, and will never see you again.

He groaned loudly out of frustration, shooting randomly an empty dented can as he walked an avenue bathed in the setting sun warm light. The can went rolling and hit the feet of a passerby.

“Freak!”

He shouted in Adam’s direction and Adam muttered a confused sorry, big frame glued to a wall to avoid the angry man.

The little incident aggravated his gloomy mood and ended his street journey for the day. He still didn’t want to go home though.

A coward.  

When Adam thought he had his share of self-deprecation, he headed directly to work and decided to spend the night there. That was the best thing he could do, or that’s what he convinced himself was best to do.

*

Tucked in your sofa, mouth full of cherry pie, you threw away the tv remote control moodily.

The sun disappeared under the buildings of your neighborhood and you knew that Adam wasn’t going to show up till late night, and maybe not at all.

you waited for him to return home all day. You worked from home and you had nothing to do outside. You tried to busy yourself with anything that crossed your mind. You cleaned the apartment, you brewed cups after cups of tea, you took a bath, thinking and rethinking what you were going to tell him, writing and erasing speeches in your head, fancy dramatic ones and simple, heartfelt confessions.

All morning, you were buzzing with excitement, unexplainable striking feeling of warmth, recalling his awkward blush and silly excuses, his reddened ears as he struggled with his words.

Those were the signs, weren’t they? So obvious, he likes you.

But as the afternoon progressed, you weren’t sure anymore.

Was it just a misunderstanding? Have you projected your own feelings and hopes on him?

You even prepared a cherry pie and took your time to decorate it, expecting him to share it with you after you’ve confessed to him. You waited for it to cool watching the wall clock, sitting in the little kitchen and gasping every time you heard footsteps echoes in the building corridors, thinking it might be Adam, disappointment flooding you because it wasn’t him, every single time.  

And here you were now, like a loser, zapping over Netflix series, eating your pie alone.

You felt like an idiot, you couldn’t just stay and wait anymore, so you jumped to grab your cellphone and call him. It rang and rang but he didn’t answer. He might be wanting to be alone, you thought, you really hoped that was it, and nothing else.

And what if something happened to him? What if a truck hit him, what if he got assaulted? What if… The what ifs were increasing your anxiety but you couldn’t bring yourself to call again. In the ocean of uncertainty you were rapidly drowning in, you were certain of one thing : It took just one little incident to make you realize you were already so into him. And now doubting his intentions and emotional state was unbearable once you came to acknowledge your own feelings. Love is tricky. That was a sure thing too.

*

Adam arrived at work earlier than usual. As he emptied his bag in the changing room he noticed that his phone was dead. Shit. No charger in sight, he forgot it at home. Of course. Shit again.

Did you call? He couldn’t help but think about this possibility. Are you worried about him? Or are you mad at him? What are you thinking of him now? A fucking perv? A crazy needy perv?

“ You wearing you blue pajama”

Genius.

Fuck.

Damn it Adam, stop it for a while. Give it a break.

He reached for a small box he was hiding in his personal locker. He exhaled a deep sigh but he smiled. Its content shone glowingly under the bright recessed lights, it was still beautiful and he was still wanting to give it to you. He didn’t know how for now, or if what was he doing was worth the try anymore so he tucked it in his pocket and let the comforting presence warm his heart as he proceeded to clean in autopilot mode. Numbing his worries for the night.  

*

11 PM

You fidgeted in your sheets. Impossible to close your eyes or get your brain to shut down. Even your book that was thrilling yesterday felt bland tonight. What you were about to do was crazy, maybe, but the idea had been trotting in your mind for some time now. You wanted to be sure nothing happened to Adam, you didn’t have his work number, but you were familiar with his work place cause he asked you (sheepishly) several times to bring him something he forgot at home, a habit of his. Even his annoying habits weren’t annoying, and it wasn’t because he always treated you to dinner afterward.

You had to find him.

You jumped into your leggings and put a hoodie on, called an uber and in the span of 20 minutes you were facing the big illuminated building. You inhaled deeply before going in, trying to focus and not let the fear seep in you.

As you pushed the entry door and the vast cold space unfurled before you, your heart beats raced in your throat, your dread came to embrace you again. You saw the receptionist looking strangely at you, half expectant, half annoyed, and you cleared your throat.

“ Hi, um.. I’m looking for Adam”

please say you know who I’m talking about.

“ Adam who?”

“ The guy… the tall guy who cleans stuff here”

Please, say he is here.

“ I haven’t seen him come in today, sorry” he snorted. It was obvious from his tone that he didn’t want you there.

Damn, this couldn’t be possible, come on people.

“ Please, it’s urgent, I’m his roommate and I can’t reach him on his phone, can you please ask anyone in the offices, anyone who can help me find him?” you talked so fast and your voice was shaking, tears menacing to spill over.

The receptionist eyed you displeasingly then with a huff he told you to wait and started dialing.

With every second you hoped someone would pick up on the other side of the wire but nothing. For long seconds you looked around you, the hall silent, the buzz of air conditioners, the lightening, white and blinding recessed damned lights.

Then

“ Y/N !”

You gasped, and turned your body to the source of the voice, the one and only voice you wanted to hear now.

“What are you doing here” He stopped, eyes of a deer in the headlights, beautiful, wide, luminous, your favorite.

He was a little out of breath, in his work clothes and holding bottles of detergents, his strands of hair a bit sweaty, a bit messy, but he looked more glorious and glowing than any prince you read about in fairy tales. Love is what it is.

“ Adam …I..” You started but he cut you off.

“Come upstairs?” he simply asked, still out of breath. He nodded to the receptionist and he nodded back. Implicit consent.

You followed and struggled to keep silent, mesmerized by his large shoulders as his long legs climbed the stairs. You could feel the electricity buzzing between you two, heavy silence, sexual tension ?

You reached the floor he was cleaning and you were about to lose it when his hand pushed you gently in one of the open spaces  and your turned your heels to face him, at last.

You both breathed deep in unison.

“hi”

“hi”

You looked like two idiots, for sure.

“ so…” he started.

His eyes, you needed to stop staring.

“ yeah..”

“ I think that at some point someone should start to really …talk” you laughed.

“ yeah. Sure, sure” he paused. “ I’m sorry. If that makes any sense” his voice was reaching its deepest lowest levels. It sent shivers through all your body.

“ I’m sorry, I acted like an idiot the previous night and this morning…. And during all the day, actually …eugh” He winced, looking at his feet.

“ No…Adam ..”

“ No, you don’t have to act like it’s ok, I really crossed a line and I’m truly sorry y/n” he was about to put his large hands on your shoulders but he changed his mind and fisted them on his chest, another thing he did a lot, and that you found endearing.

“ Adam, just listen !” you blurted out, reaching a peak of nervousness because of  all the things you were holding in.

“ Adam it was ok, it was really ok… it ..was, it felt good.” You gulped, watching him under your lashes, you couldn’t believe you said this, you watched as his pretty lips parted to form a perfect O. Then what seemed like a sunny smile reaching his eyes.

“ And I was worried about you all day, I tried to call but you didn’t-“

“ Fuck, my fucking…sorry, my stupid phone was dead.. that’s ..that’s why”

You sighed out of relief.

“ So you called me? Jesus, I thought you will be like … purifying your bed from my presence and invoking… dunno… a divinity to take your revenge or something..”

“ Shut up” you laughed heartily, all nervousness starting to fade away as a blush spread over your face and warmth in your gut.

“You are pretty” he blurted, blushing the tiniest bit.

You looked down to your worn leggings and tennis shoes, suddenly self- conscious. Your face must be just as pity looking, but as you looked up you saw him staring at you, eyes searching for something, then stilling on your lips.

You reached for a damp strand of hair and tucked it behind his ear, all words failing you.

He took a step forward, and leaned down, hesitant. You met his movement, and as you closed your eyes, you felt the gentle push of his lips on yours, and the world ceased to exist.

He kissed you with all the tenderness he got, all the delicacy and sweetness you needed. It felt nice, it felt pure and just like him. It felt kind and caring.

Your heart swelled and swelled, head span, you lost every sense of time and place. You didn’t even mind the white, cold blinding lights above your heads. All you could feel was his warmth, invading you from everywhere. Then he stopped.

“ I wanted to do it somewhere else” he whispered, out of breath again.

“ where” you hushed, eyes shut, still lost in the moment.

“ Your room”

“ let’s go then”  you beamed at him “ I even made a pie for you… well, it’s half a pie now” you laughed gently.

And he kissed you again. He couldn’t believe this was happening. You were perfect for him. He never considered himself lucky, but what was happening now made him reconsider everything. Maybe it was his time, to be happy, to share all that he could give with someone willing to receive and to give back, abundantly. You.

When your lips parted again, he took your hand and led you outside.

“Let’s go finish this at home before I got fired”

You shared laughs and kisses and light chit chat all the way home and as soon as the door closed behind you your lips crashed again, with much more vigor and passion this time. He lifted you in his arms, so swiftly and easily you felt like a feather. Flush to his body you shuddered under his caring touch. It was mind blowing, so mind blowing he stumbled on the chair leg and lost balance, luckily he could put you down in time and avoided crashing on the floor with all his weight on you.

“Aouch” You laughed loud.

“ Fuck me!”

“We should eat my pie first”  

Your eyes were glowing with mischief.

“ I have something for you, too”  he scratched his neck.

And he took the box out of his pocket.

“ Sorry, I’m so impatient, I should have wrapped it at least, I know, and I should have waited till your birthday”

“ no more “sorrys” ! Adam that’s … that’s so kind of you”

“ it’s not just kindness, you know it now”

And you blushed some more, he made of you a hot mess.

“ open it, come on” he urged.

And you did.

It was wonderful.

A book mark. Shaped as a beautifully sculpted dragonfly, decorated with glowing stones in all shades of green. It was fairy. That’s all what you could think of it.

“ matches the fantasy books you like to read” he said sheepishly as words refused to leave your mouth. You were bewildered .

So you just jumped on him, hugging him and kissing him randomly, everywhere you mouth could reach. He seemed delighted, euphoric, eyes glassy as if he was drunk, and when you recovered, a detail stroke you. His gift must had cost a little much.

“ Adam, it’s expensive, isn’t it?”

“ No ! at all” he protested a bit aggressively and you knew you were right.

“ Adam is that why …” it hit you now.

“ What?” he laughed

“ Adam is that why you are working extra hours?”

“ nooooo” he sang awkwardly.

“ yes, please tell me “

“ NO!”

But you knew the truth. Adam couldn’t lie, it was that simple. It showed. Too pure for that.

You wanted to treat him right too. You just wanted to show him how much you felt love blooming in your chest for him. it always was there. When he asked gently if you wanted to be his roommate, in the way he refused to take money from you to pay rent because he knew you were jobless at the time. How he cared for you all the two and half years you were living together, the little details, the gentle words, the beautiful little, simple gestures, the occasional long talks. How he was being protective and nervous everytime he saw lame guys hitting on you, at the rare parties you went to together. It was always there, the love, growing silently, little things wired, linked, spreading roots in your hearts and now the time finally came for it to bloom and sprout, in the bright light.

“ Won’t we eat your pie now?”  he asked, playful. 

“Of course we will” and in your eyes sparkled the promises of much more.

[fang-wolfsbane]

Transformers Animated: Morning After: Chapter 03: Breathe

“Tyla, table five has been waiting for half an hour already!”

Lie.

“Be right there! Just take care of my table for me!”

Lie.

“Hey, you, you got my order wrong.”

Lie.

“I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to give you a pay cut.”

Lie.

“Hey Tyla, snap out of it.”

Tyla blinked, her attention snapping to the thumb and index finger that appeared out of nowhere, clicking against each other repeatedly. They belonged to one of her co-workers, one whose name she couldn’t bring herself to remember. They remembered hers, so she supposed that she should at least return the courtesy, but their name plate was missing and she didn’t feel like raking her brain until their name popped back into her head.

“Huh? What is it?” Tyla asked, looking to the figure beside her, watching their long fingers popping open the top of a cigarette carton and pulling out one of the small white sticks residing inside of it. Personally, she never understood the reasoning behind smoking, but she didn’t care to find out either. She took a broad step to the side, wanting to limit the disgusting smoke smell sticking to her clothes and invading her lungs without her consent.

She could have stood somewhere else, but she had been standing there first, plus the smoker’s area was inside the building, not outside. Her co-worker must have thought that no one would mind the air being poisoned. She minded though she kept her mouth shut about it. The last thing she needed was to start something and end up getting another pay cut simply because her co-worker was too inconsiderate to take her health into consideration whilst throwing their own away.

“Oh nothing. You just seemed like you were off somewhere better than this,” they smirked, putting the cancer stick to their lips, lighting it up a second later, the smoke curling its corruption against the air, off to poison something in its path. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

Tyla forced herself to smile at the depressive comment, albeit a weak one. If only they were right on their assumption. A daydream would have been nice, if only providing a temporary escape from her workplace. She tilted her head back against the wall of the local Burger Bot, blonde hair sweeping in front of her eyes. She didn’t feel up to moving them out of her eyes, so she let them stay there, blinding her for a couple of seconds of pure sight deprivation.

She wanted to reply with a cocky ‘if only’, but instead she shrugged her shoulders, a meagre gesture, but one her co-worker understood well enough to concentrate on what they were busy with instead. She had taken her fifteen minute lunch break in the hopes of spending some time alone with her thoughts, but that hadn’t gone as planned.

She could have chosen to hide behind the dumpster, but the smell would have chased her away faster than her co-worker’s. Although she had thought of spending the time alone, she supposed that it wasn’t really all that bad if she tolerated the other’s presence for the remainder of her break. Even if the two of them didn’t talk, she found some form of comfort in knowing that someone at least wanted to be within her company. They could have easily avoided her without a care, yet they had chosen to stand beside her instead. Maybe they needed the interaction just as much as she did.

Tyla glanced over towards them, breathing out through her nose to try and keep the smoke’s smell from drifting up through her nostrils. Her own hands were resting in the pockets on her jeans, the only place she could think of to put them instead of having them hanging at her sides with nothing to do.

Her lips parted, then closed. She didn’t know what to say, much less what to do, so she looked ahead of herself once more, brushing the stray strands of hair out of her eyes this time.

“Hey, Tyla?”

Well, it seemed that she wasn’t the only one that had been thinking of striking up a conversation for the sake of drowning out the silence. She looked to her co-worker once more. “Yeah?”

“Do you think we finally did it?” they asked, their blue eyes looking down to the gravel pavement pushed against the side of the building. Tyla’s gaze followed theirs, watching a tiny ant skittering off on its own with a bread crumb someone dropped when they were eating one of the burgers on their way out. She almost smiled at how happy the ant seemed to have found something for its colony. A true provider with nothing more than a simple wish to make those it lived with happy. It was cute, if not a little sad.

“Did what?”

“Reached the pique of humanity?”

Ah, that question. The question everyone living in Detroit seemed to have on their minds at one point or another. The most advanced city in the world, what with its robotic helpers taking over all the roles humans no longer wished to participate in. Window washers, refuge cleaners, even dogwalkers were replaced by those ‘automated helpers’ that the world-renowned Isaac Sumdac earned his fortune from. How he had originally come up with his idea for his robotics company, she didn’t know. She only knew his name because of the TV in the corner of the fast food restaurant she was leaning against like some kind of loiterer.

When she first moved to the city, she’d had to jump out of the way to avoid quite a few of those automated helpers. When it came to applying for the job she had right now, she had been worried about being turned down for not having some kind of robotic part inside her body.

What amused her was the fact that there were still a few humans that worked inside the building, doing the cooking and grilling, and even taking the orders of the customers all too happy to complain when their order took too long despite being prepared beforehand for their waiting convenience to be cut in half. If they had to make it themselves, they would have taken twice as long. She didn’t work behind the griller, but she noticed how stressed the cooks became when the table waiters and waitresses put pressure on them to hurry up before a customer decided they wasted their time simply waiting to be served, have their meal brought to them simply because they had the status and money to afford eating out once in a while.

She wanted to shrug again, not really knowing what her own personal thoughts were on the topic but found herself answering instead. “Probably not. All things considered, humanity could be doing worse.”

“Worse than we already are?” they asked, tilting their head as the ash at the end of their cigarette dribbled to the ground, leaving it for a refuge bot to clean up at a later point. Tyla felt her stomach churn at the sight but tried to ignore it. All things considered, she was surprised that she herself hadn’t turned to smoking as a way to cope with all the thoughts running rampant in her mind at times. That was their usual excuse, wasn’t it? That smoking helped them breathe. She would have laughed at the irony, considering that they wanted to ‘breathe’, yet were more than willing to ignore the obvious fact that they were busy poisoning themselves and those within their current vicinity. Still, she kept her mouth shut about it. If they wanted to rot their lungs, then so be it. Everyone had their coping mechanisms, some were simply more destructive than others.

“We’re humans, aren’t we? There’s always more ways we can screw up,” Tyla said, the unease in her chest lightening some. When was the last time that she had been so honest with her own opinions? She didn’t know, but she was glad to voice that at least.

Her co-worker nodded, seemingly agreeing with her, or at least pretending to. A short while later they dropped the end of their cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, stretching their arms high above their head, the soft snap of bones releasing tension from their shoulders.

“Well, guess it’s time to head back in and earn that money. Gotta make a living somehow right?”

With that, they turned and headed back inside, leaving the smoked butt on the ground to become someone else’s problem later down the road. Tyla found herself frowning, looking to the dumpster barely a few feet away, not to mention the ashtrays that were inside the restaurant for those who found it too inconvenient to dispose of the remains properly.

Tyla sighed, swooped down to pick up what remained of the burnt out stick and tossed it into the nearest ashtray when she walked past the smoker’s area. Luckily, she had gotten the choice of whether she wanted to work within that area or not. Her lungs thanked her for taking the choice to avoid it.

Looking out to the gathered crowd of waiting customers, Tyla took a breath, steadied herself and went back to work. That much needed money wasn’t going to go earning itself, not with her luck.

[little-miss-dumpsterfire]

I think I made you up in my head - chapter two

Ah, yes, here it is. Part two of the total drama horror anthology no-one asked for. This chapter has already been posted on Wattpad (as have two others) but fuck it, I like it here. 

Fair warning, it does get pretty deep pretty quickly. So, let’s get into it. 

Chapter Two - I stared at my mirror; the mirror stared back

Trigger warning - eating disorders, self-harm (mentioned briefly) and blood/gore.

If you're not comfortable, please skip. 💛

******************************************

Axel's complexion lightened as his eyes bulged from his head. His head was spinning, and the confined basement he was in was not making the situation any better.

"Someone... someone else's turn? What are you going to do to me? Fuck, I didn't tell anyone I was coming out here. Oh god, oh god. No-one's gonna find me..." Axel panted, his body aflame with anxiety as he felt his heart pounding in his head. The slight weight of a dainty hand on his shoulder broke his haze and brought him back into reality. He shook her hand off, backing away from Izzy slowly with his hands held up in surrender.

"Don't touch me! Please... wha- what do you mean? What do you want from me?!" he pleaded, his earlier arrogant façade cracking to reveal a vulnerable, scared young man.

Izzy looked at him, the flicker of the flame reflected brightly in her dull green eyes. She sighed before backing up to the brick wall, sliding down before falling in a lump on the cold floor. Her thin index finger traced over the scars on her wrist she had hidden behind her jacket and whimpered.

Izzy spoke softly, barely audible to her frightened guest. "They never stop screaming. I try to close all the doors in my brain to silence them but they still haunt me. Slowly creeping... like a dense cloud blocking out the sun. Nothing will stop them, at least nothing I do will stop them."

She raised her head again, eyes obscured by dishevelled strands of copper hair. Axel stared at her quizzically as if he had wandered into the psych ward accidentally. Clearly, he was standing in the basement of a schizophrenic hoarder who couldn't let the past die, and he wasn't going to stand for it.

"Listen, lady," he started, regaining his air of arrogance, "I've about had it up to here. I make a podcast about cursed movies and conspiracies to earn money, not to end up in a knock-off Warren's Occult Museum."

"You don't understand. You don't feel the darkness we felt," Izzy replied, staring over at the shelves. "The paranoia, the pain, the conviction that we lived in a sick man's simulation. But everything in here was bathed in the depravity of Total Drama, and like a cancerous tumour it infected us all."

Their eyes met - soulless against suspicious - and Axel took a step towards Izzy, crushing a fragment of broken glass in his wake. Kneeling to her level, he roughly took her chin in his hands and raised her face to look at him.

"You killed them," he accused Izzy, malice dripping from his voice.

Weakly, she responded, her voice getting caught in her throat. "N-no. I didn't. But I know what did."

She lifted her slim arm and gestured towards the shelves. "Those relics are tombstones. Go and pick your poison, if you really want to know what happened."

Axel stood up, wiping the glass fragments from his knees and cautiously wandered over to the winding labyrinth of shelves. His fingertips barely grazed the aged wood of the shelves, tracing the grooves and divots with his index finger. In the corner of his eye, a dark shadow passed him by, and he quickly whipped his head around to investigate. Turning to the shelf in front of him is when he saw the imposing dark figure: himself. Situated in his eye line was a sparkly pink hand mirror intricately embellished with golden sculpted roses. He leant in closer to the mirror; his reflection was a shell of himself, with black pits for eyes and a pitiful smile.

"You ought to be careful with that one, kid," Izzy warned him, rising to her feet and dusting the grime from her pants. "If you look too long, the darkness grows eyes. This I know all too well now."

Izzy walked up to Axel, slightly caressing the edge of the mirror. She sighed deeply.

"We all knew she was the prettiest from the moment she stepped onto that dock... But in a world of lions, you didn't want to be fresh meat."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was no secret to anyone that Chris didn't cast Lindsay for her personality. The shark had smelt blood when he saw her audition tape. Looking back on it now, her fate was sealed in those fleeting seconds.

Lindsay sat atop her bed cross-legged, her dog perched in her lap. Her hair had been brushed to be its silkiest, and the photos on her dresser cemented the point she was making.

"I have bikinis for every season, even the ones not listed on the calendar," she chirped, reflecting her archetype of the dumb blonde.

She was the dream girl for any man: honey blonde and curvy. Her 'assets' warranted attention from creeps shrouded in anonymity behind their computer screens and TV executives alike. Unsolicited strokes and caresses were handed to her regularly, and she lavished in the attention that her looks had bestowed onto her. The early bloomer with the IQ of a thumbtack was a thirst trap for the reality TV crowd, yet the elephant in the room was never addressed.

No one seemed to care that she was sixteen.

For those of us in her different teams, we witnessed these infidelities and stood idly by, our mouths wired shut by clauses, contracts and never-ending fine print. Lindsay may not have been the brightest bulb in the bunch, but the correlation between her body and the positive attention she was receiving was crystal clear to her. She felt the pressure of public scrutiny if she gained weight, had a pimple or even covered up her chest. It was during Action that the red flags appeared... I'd give anything to go back and change it all.

Half-empty bottles of lip gloss were scattered on the bunk bed as Lindsay struggled to find a colour that brought out the highlights in her hair. In her left hand, firmly grasped, was an antique hand mirror that she had repainted herself to match her personality. She applied a liberal layer of rosy-pink gloss onto her lips and puckered them together, staring at the shine in the mirror. A sharp gasp escaped from her lips as her blue eyes widened like saucers. Her gaze was transfixed on her mirror as she moved it around, attempting to shake what she saw away.

"Um, guys..." Lindsay started, a slight panic present in her voice. "There's someone in my mirror."

A bald girl scoffed and rolled her eyes, resettling her focus onto her nails. "No shit, Sherlock. It's supposed to be there. That's a reflection."

A faint, obnoxious voice could be heard from out the open window of the trailer.

"Actually, the presence of a reflection is due to photons coming off of an object to strike the smooth surface of the mirror, which subsequently causes them to bounce back at the same angle, ergo creating a person's reflection." Harold corrected from afar.

"Shut it, dweeb!" Heather called out, throwing a hairbrush at the boy.

"That hurt, GOSH!"

Lindsay became visibly more and more terrified by what she was seeing. Small tears began to pool in the outer corner of her eyes as her lips trembled fiercely. The mirror slipped between her fingers and landed with a muted thud on the orange carpeted floor as the blonde held onto her face protectively. A hairline fracture snaked its way across the glass, briefly eclipsing a dark smudge that quickly disappeared.

None of us girls took Lindsay's claims to heart. She always said that someone was looking at her through her mirror; hardly a surprise from the girl who couldn't remember her boyfriend's name. Something in Lindsay changed that day, and all of us were in the dark. She still fell victim to the paedophilic adoration of Chris McLean and his lackeys - submitting to every squeeze and fondle - but something in her eyes showed that her comfort in her own skin had dwindled.

The water tap squeaked as a thin stream of water dripped out, moistening her toothbrush. She brushed violently, minty foam spilling from her mouth as she desperately washed the taste away. It had consumed her waking thoughts; her mind constantly flashing back to what she had seen. Fear enveloped her in its heavy blackness, picking at her deepest insecurities. Her throat burned from the acid and the bitterness of the bile seemed to stain her tongue.

She stared at her mirror and shook her head, lightly tracing the crack on its surface.

"I can't become fat like Hannah. I'll never win my trip to Paris that way."

In the mirror, her reflection began to warp and distort, but Lindsay placed it back on the counter face down. Her hand wavered over the handle for what seemed like hours, and when she tentatively picked it up again, etched in what looked like blood spelt out an ominous message: EYE OF THE BEHOLDER.

In the weeks following Action's conclusion, images of Lindsay in her Wonder Woman costume were plastered on every tabloid site, every fan page and in every pervert's special photo folder. Her next two seasons played out very much the same, with sideways glances from the production crew eye-raping her on every occasion and her appearance being flaunted for more ratings. Gone was the girl with the backbone of steel who had stood up against Heather in a passionate act of defiance. In her place was an airhead overcome with fear and self resentment.

The click-clacking of her boots against the pavement was all Lindsay could focus on as the world went by around her. Wolf-whistles and cat-calls plagued her at every corner she walked past. She would usually stare into every shop window she passed by, gazing dreamily at purses on sale or new makeup products, but nowadays she scarcely looked twice. Not because she wasn't still obsessed with fashion, as she would always be. She never looked at her reflection because 'it' would be there. Every mirror, every window stared back at her.

She sat anxiously in the waiting room, fiddling with the hem of her skirt as she avoided the stares from the man next to her who was blatantly looking down her top. Her chest, whilst still well endowed, had shrunk, as had the rest of her body and it was starting to become obvious to those closest to her.

"Lindsay Marriott?"

Lindsay rose from her chair silently and followed, being lead down a short hallway into a room. Posters of the food pyramid and anatomical models were plastered on the walls as the strong scent of sanitiser attacked her nostrils. She sat down lightly, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and forehead. The usual small talk took place before the woman placed the cold diaphragm of the stethoscope onto Lindsay's back. Her vertebrae were prominent through her skin, sticking up tall like mountain peaks. The doctor breathed out a small sigh before sitting down across from her.

"Lindsay, would you mind standing on the scale for me?"

She timidly nodded her head, rising and walking towards the scale. Lindsay removed her shoes and stepped onto the scales, the doctor over her shoulder writing down the number. Settling back into their seats, the doctor stared into the eyes of her patient and how their bright blue hue was a stark contrast to her fatigued, gaunt face.

"Honey, you've lost five kilograms since your last visit. You're bordering on becoming dangerously underweight. I think it's time we seek psychological intervention. When was the last time you ate a proper meal without purging?" the doctor asked, an air of concern apparent in her voice.

Tears began to drip down Lindsay's cheeks as she spoke between sobs. "Months... I can't eat... it won't let me eat."

"Who won't let you eat?" the doctor looked quizzically at the young girl who was averting her eyes now.

"The person in my mirror," Lindsay answered matter-of-factly before lifting her head. Behind the doctor's head was a wall-mounted mirror, where she could visibly see herself and the back of the physician. A slow ripping sound filled Lindsay's head as the back of the doctor's shirt split into letters written by an unknown force.

"Lindsay, are you okay? You've gone quite pale. I'll take your blood pressure."

As the doctor turned around, red, pointed letters were emblazoned on the doctor's back.

EYE OF THE BEHOLDER.

Lindsay jumped from her chair with a yelp and ran for the exit, bypassing the crowd of people in the waiting area.

That was the last anyone saw of Lindsay in public before... well... it's hard to put a word to what happened. Text messages to her phone went unread as she slowly slipped into her own self-imposed isolation. Her sister Paula would visit weekly and give us updates, but they were never anything to ignite our hopes or positive outlooks. On her last visit, she recalled that the stench of vomit would follow you around as plates of fly-blown, half-eaten meals were stacked up on the benches. Any mirrors in the apartment had been covered with blankets or covered with masking tape and the windows were blacked out with newspapers. Something had gotten its claws into Lindsay's head, and it was not going to let go.

The porcelain was cold against Lindsay's exposed thighs as she sat on the edge of her bathtub. Her pink mirror sat just within reach on the edge of the counter. The abyss. She had been holding in her hands the view into the abyss. Slowly, her skeletal fingers reached for the mirror, clumsily grabbing it before raising it to her face. Time seemingly stopped as she stared into the mirror, analysing her face; the sunken eyes and teeth slowly yellowing and corroding from the years she had spent purging. Before her eyes, the mirror once again warped until it showed what years ago her peers thought she had falsely identified as her own reflection.

Staring back at her was a decrepit woman with a face as bloated and waxy as a waterlogged corpse. Brown matted hair was plastered onto its face, slightly obscuring its eyes. Two large white orbs with pinpoint black pupils bore into Lindsay's soul as a grotesque smile crept upon its face, stretching its width from ear to ear. A silent scream left Lindsay's lips as black liquid began to seep from its eyes, nose and mouth, pooling at the base of its chin. In front of her was the shadow that had haunted her since she was sixteen, staring at her endlessly in every reflection, punctuating how ugly she perceived herself to be. Edging closer and closer towards the mirror, Lindsay couldn't tear her eyes away, paralysed in terror as faint whines wafted from under her bathroom door.

Paula found her three days later. The poor thing, I don't think the sight has ever left her, and in God's graces, I don't think it ever will. There's not enough therapy on this fucking planet that can erase that from the human psyche.

Paula walked into the apartment, distracted by a low buzzing sound. As she walked towards her sister's bedroom, calling out her name, the sound began to crescendo and a singular fly flew past her head. A distinct smell of rot and decomposition filled the air as she advanced slowly to the closed door of the bathroom. Her perfectly manicured hand gripped the knob strongly as she turned it, opening the door slightly. A swarm of flies buzzed through the open door, obscuring Paula's vision in a haze of black. As her eyes settled, they landed on what the flies had been inhabiting: Lindsay's corpse. Paula tried and failed to suppress gags as she saw her sister's dead body, eyes gouged out by her own hand in an attempt to stop what she had seen. A tacky layer of old blood surrounded Lindsay's head as hundreds of squirming bugs wriggled around in her empty eye sockets. Laying ornamentally atop the pink hand mirror were two eyeballs; their blue sparkle dulled and glazed over.

Scrawled in lipstick all over the walls of the room was one simple phrase.

EYE OF THE BEHOLDER. EYE OF THE BEHOLDER. EYE OF THE BEHOLDER.

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"In my head, Lindsay didn't fall victim to herself," Izzy concluded, staring at her appalled guest, "she fell victim to the industry. The sharks in suits who groomed her and fed her insecurities until the societal norms of beauty ate her from the inside."

Axel stepped wearily away from the shelf, in way over his head now. What had started as a cash-grab to use as a clickbait-eqsue podcast had now escalated to a trip to hell... and once you're in hell, only the devil can help you out.

[nekojitachan]

I am desprate need of a fic from Stuarts POV! send help. I have a weak spot for people calling Neil, Abram. >¬

Uhm, okay, not sure if this fits exactly, but this is what happened when I took up this prompt.

It’s Armies fic, so fair warning. Hatford stuff, so a tiny bit dark (gang stuff going on, bad guys tied up and questioned under force, but not graphic)

Stuart being his usual gruff, doting uncle self.

Set after the end of Armies.

*******

Stuart sighed as Abram and Andrew arrived at one of thefamily’s warehouses in Harringay in a sleek, storm grey McLaren 720S Spider.“Someone couldn’t resist getting a new toy?” he called out as he tossed asidethe filter of his clove cigarette.

“A belated birthday present,” Andrew explained as hesmoothed out the front of his black dress shirt. “I took my babe up onhis ‘anything’.”

Stuart felt a muscle twitch in the left side of his jaw atthe mocking way Andrew said that one word, which stopped when he noticed thepleased smile on his nephew’s face. “Well, you agreed to the holiday break inAbisko, so I thought it was only fair,” Abram said while he tucked back a waywardstrand of wavy, auburn hair.

Any remaining annoyance Stuart felt over the expensive ashell car faded at the reminder of the two weeks’ holiday that he, Davis, Jamie,Sean, Abram and Andrew had spent in northern Sweden in a luxury cabin, cut offfrom most of the world during a rare break from work. Andrew had obviously notbeen pleased with the cold weather, yet had suffered it without any complaintwhile Abram and Jamie had spent most of the nights (wrapped in multiple layersby their respective partners) oohing and aahing over the Northern Lights.Stuart had joined them once or twice, a sense of contentment filling him uponseeing his nephew’s and niece’s faces bright with joy over something so simpleand pure.

Then he’d gotten his ass inside where it was warm and hecould drink from an always filled pot of mulled wine.

He shook the memory aside as he motioned to the warehousebehind him. “Well, even if you showed up in a flashy as hell piece of metal,I’m glad you’re here, Ram.” Andrew’s hazel eyes narrowed at the jabwhile Abram continued to smile. “As I said during our call, all you need to dois stand around, this isn’t anything that should affect our agreement withLloyd when it comes to you.” He wouldn’t risk getting Abram into any trouble.

He supposed the same could be said for Andrew, since theAmerican runt was doing a semi-decent job of looking after Stuart’s nephew.

“What, you mean we don’t get to have any ‘fun’,” Andrewdrawled as he tugged at the cuffs of his black overcoat, which were looseenough to allow him access at his armbands. “Why are we here, then?”

Abram placed a light hand on his husband’s left shoulder.“We get to help train the new MI5 recruits on Monday, save it until then?”

Andrew appeared to consider that offer for a moment thenclicked his tongue as if in agreement; Stuart felt a rare bit of pity for thepoor bastards.

Abram directed his attention at Stuart and smiled. “I assumewe’re to stand around and look menacing, then? Redirect questions as well?”

He’d always been such a clever little shit; pride swelled inStuart’s chest as he nodded. “With your reputations? Just be yourselves whileDavis and I do the hard work.”

“Okay.” Abram nodded in understanding while Andrew appearedbored, but Stuart knew better than to take his nephew-in-law at face value,even when the runt complained to Abram about stopping for fish and frieson the way home.

If he didn’t know that Andrew truly cared for Abram, woulddie for him rather than let him be hurt at all… he’d accepted that Abram hadchosen well in the end, but some days he had to wonder if maybe the boyshouldn’t have given Camilo and the others a chance after all.

Ah well, what was done was done, and Abram would have hishead for doubting Andrew.

Such a stubborn little shit, just like Mary.

Well, not entirely like Mary, as Andrew would neverhurt him, would gut the first person who tried to harm Abram with his barehands, if need be, so Stuart would only grumble a little about the newMcLaren.

(At least the American runt had the sense to keep buyingBritish cars.)

He jerked his head toward the rusted metal door of the oldtextile warehouse, which opened before the three of them were within a meter ofit; Davis grinned at them, the sleeves of his light blue dress shirt rolled upin anticipation of work, and stepped aside while Abram murmured ‘hello’.

Bren was quick to hand Abram and Andrew paper cups filledwith coffee while Donny took their coats; Stuart caught something about ‘overfeedingthe damn fish again’ from Andrew while he followed Davis over to the threeyoung men tied to wooden chairs by the numerous plastic ties around their forearmsand ankles. One of them, the blond with a blackened left eye, tried to spit athim, but that was a bit difficult to do when one hadn’t anything to drink in awhile.

All three of them tensed up when they noticed Abram andAndrew approach, dressed in dark suits (Andrew had left his jacket open, whichexposed the holstered gun at his side – someone certainly enjoyed havingthat fancy license to bear arms) and radiating a palpable menace between Abram’schilling smile and Andrew’s emotionless, scarred face.

These dumb Albanian fucks might think that the Hatfords weresome pissant gang they could mess with, but there were enough horror stories onthe Continent about the supposedly untouchable gang lords and worse that Abramand Andrew had taken down (all for Queen and country, of course).

The one with the dark hair shorn close to his scalp mutteredsomething in a quivering voice as he gazed at Abram as if he was some nightmarebrought to life, which made Abram tilt his head to the side.

“Albanian? Northeastern, from the sound of it.”

Andrew grunted while Stuart shook his head at his nephew’s linguisticability and Bren beamed with pride. “Most likely the Djajtë e Uritur gang; they’resupposedly fighting for a new foothold since the Turks threw them out of southernFrance.”

Of course Andrew knew shit like that; between Bren hangingout at their house all the time and the man’s nights’ out with Liz and Liliya,he was more than up to date on what went on in London, underground-wise. “Well,they’re not gonna get that foothold,” Stuart declared as he shed his jacket,then held out his right hand for Davis to hand him a knife.

He’d start with the one who’d spoke upon seeing Abram.

It went the way it usually did, with a lot of curses andmess and the damn ache in Stuart’s lower back which reminded him that he wasn’ttwenty-five anymore (he wasn’t thirty-five anymore). Andrew would pull aknife now and then and take a deliberate step forward while saying something toAbram in German, or Abram would ask something in Turkish when the unluckybastards were proving to be tightlipped, which got them past stubborn bouts ofsilence without either the two (technically) breaking their word to Lloyd.

Eventually, they got enough information on the gang out ofthe men, so Stuart left the remaining two to Davis while he went to clean up;Andrew led Abram to the back office, probably so they could say they didn’tknow what happened to them if pressed for answers. Once he finished washing offand changing his clothes, he went to the office as well and grunted inappreciation when Abram handed him a tumbler of gin (of course Andrew had foundthe bottle of whisky which Will favored stashed away).

“Sounds like someone’s gonna have their hands full, rootingout those assholes,” Ram commented as he leaned against the desk near Andrew,who of course had chosen to sit behind it. Stuart was pleased to note that heappeared well-rested for once, not too worn down from work (from running allover Europe for MI6), a slight, true smile on his face as he sipped his own tumblerof gin and rested his right hand on top of his husband’s, which curled around hiship.

Stuart grunted softly as he eased his tired body into theempty chair in front of the desk and sipped his drink before he answered (andheld up two fingers to Andrew, whose hazel eyes sparkled with mirth over him ‘showinghis age’). “It’s not too bad since we caught on to them so early. Jamie’stalking about setting Marcela on them, it’ll be good experience for her.”

“Hmm.” Abram seemed to consider that while Andrew pouredmore Glenfiddich 1937 in his empty glass. “She’s a good choice, has done excellentwork for Jamie and Marcus lately, and speaks Albanian which will help. I’msurprised she wasn’t here for today.”

“She’s busy following up a few leads.” Stuart felt a warmthin his chest that didn’t have anything to do with the alcohol at the way Abramstill kept tabs on the family and their people. “Besides, I figured that youtwo needed something to do other than feed fish and play with the cats.”

Abram’s smile strengthened as he came over to the front ofthe desk and pulled out his phone so he could show Stuart the latest picturesof the cats while Andrew clicked his tongue and muttered about ‘spoiledfurballs’. Stuart gave him another rude gesture then told Abram to send him thepictures.

He spent about half an hour with his nephew andnephew-in-law, trading verbal jabs with Andrew and chiding Abram to eat enoughduring the short break from field work, and arranged for a night out for thethree of them. When it was time for them to leave, he gave Abram a hug inparting, a sense of peace filling him at the way that Abram hugged him backwithout any hesitation.

“Call Will,” he reminded his nephew. “I don’t wanna listento him whinge over how I’m your favorite uncle.”

Abram’s blue eyes lightened with humor as Andrew tugged himtoward the door. “I guess I better, then. Take care.”

Stuart watched him leave until Davis came over and handedhim his coat. “They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

He rolled his eyes at the man’s mournful expression. “Let’sgo, I need a drink after the thought of you producing offspring.”

Davis trailed him out of the warehouse arguing about how Rambelonged to all of them (wait until Andrew heard that bit of nonsense).

********

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “ What Death Tastes Like” Part 5

Scarecrow’s daughter might be only 22, yet the terminal lung cancer she was diagnosed with six months ago didn’t discriminate against her age; the young woman didn’t show worrisome symptoms until it was too late. Y/N always had a fascination for the much older King of Gotham and despite the consequences, maybe it’s finally time to do something about it.

Part 1    Part 2   Part 3     Part 4

The Joker feels his face covered in soft kisses and although generally speaking he loves being pampered, this particular instance awakens his self-defense mechanism.

“What time is it?” J mutters.

“Let me see,” you stretch for your phone. “12:03 am.”

“I should go,” he lifts his head up from the pillow and you pull him back in your arms, yawning.

“Stay for a little bit longer, ok?”

“Why?”

“I wish to hold on to my birthday present for a few more minutes,” Y/N pleads with the man she senses doesn’t want to be there anymore. “Don’t worry, I’m aware it was a casual affair,” your sad smile prompts a completely out of context answer:

“If you noticed I fell asleep, you should have woken me up!” The King of Gotham complains.

“I fell asleep also,” you snuggle to him and since J is suddenly quiet you whisper. “It was amazing.”

He keeps staring which makes you wonder what the hell is going on in his mind right now.

“At least for me,” you underline after you grasp he won’t comment on the subject; you didn’t have a clue he’ll convert the night you spent together into awkwardness for no reason. “Get out of my tent!” you snap at his behavior, irritated. “Get out!” you shove him and The Clown Prince of Crime doesn’t budge.

“Why are you mad?” he finally addresses the annoyed Y/N.

“Because you’re a jerk!”

“Come again?!” The Joker frowns and Scarecrow’s daughter has a clever response; she doesn’t share his genes for nothing.

“I would but I guess you’re not a big fan of us having sex a second time!!!”

“Wow!” J bitterly scoffs. “You sure can twist a guy’s words, huh? If you really must pry into my personal life, I’ll have you know that I’m not used with small talk afterwards, understand?”

While you wonder if he’s bluffing, you can’t help offer the benefit of doubt served with a side of insolence.

“Well, maybe if you would give it a try with someone that actually cares, you’d have stuff to discuss.”

“Miss Crane, what makes you think Mara doesn’t like me?”

The Joker expects a feisty reply to his audacious remark yet he receives a piece of sturdy logic instead:

“If she was crazy in love, she wouldn’t agree and with this on and off relationship you two have.”

J is obviously displeased at your statement thus Y/N has to unleash her creativity in order to push him comprehend what she’s aiming at.

“The problem is you don’t approach anything important, you only shut down everyone. Even Emma believes she’s not yours.”

The King of Gotham was preparing to lash out but your latest sentence totally catches him off guard.

“What do you mean?!”

“You never talk about her mother granted she keeps asking so Emma presumes you probably stole her from an individual you consider your enemy and raised her as revenge.”

“Huh?!” The Joker gets on his elbow, appalled. “She is my daughter!”

“I say that to her when she panics, unfortunately random people do look similar…,” you twirl a strand of his green hair around your fingers. “Steering clear from issues we’re uncomfortable with doesn’t necessarily result in a positive outcome,” Y/N concludes and her partner is not excited at all.

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?!”

“I’m a Crane,” you peck his lips. “It’s in our blood.”

A lot of thoughts rushing behind those blue eyes and you’re confident his patience is running low; add a short fuse to the combo and according to your flawless instinct J will bite soon.

“Take me for example,” you attempt to cram in the main point of your dialogue before it happens. “I don’t care you’re older, I fancy your company nevertheless: you’re super handsome plus emotionally unattractive…”

“I’m what?!” The Joker interrupts.

“Umm… emotionally unattractive?” you hesitantly repeat while watching him jump off the pillows and start to collect his clothes in the semi darkness.

“Serves me right for sleeping with somebody half my age!” he growls at the young woman realizing she upset him with her rant.

“So you’re 46?” you struggle to joke at his affirmation.

“Listen here, Miss Crane!” J dresses in a hurry, angry at your stunt. “If you imagine you figured me out, you didn’t!! Nobody fucks with me!” he violently kicks the mattress and you can’t avoid it:

“I think I just did. Literally.”

The hate in his demeanor makes you regret opening up; your goal was to imply you like him no matter what yet the aftermath is way off what you intended.

“I apologize, OK?” you sigh and reach your hand for his.

“I hope you perish!” he strikes your fingers with such brutality it stings. “You’re dying anyway but hopefully the Cromyxillium kills you faster!” The Joker unzips the tent and leaves a shocked Y/N breathless at his hurtful tirade.

“That’s all you got? Stupid old man…” you whimper and cuddle under the thin blanket with his cushion.

Grief is not the correct term to describe what you experience for the moment: a perfect birthday turned into exactly the opposite in a blink of an eye simply because The Joker proved once more he has no concept on how to handle dynamite; fire suits him better.

***************

Next morning, 10:14am

“Are you hot or cold?” your father inquires since your intravenous therapy commenced 10 minutes ago.

“No,” you gaze at the IV bag and Jonathan lingers by your bed, reminding his offspring about their plan.

“We’ll do 3 hours on, 3 hours off; I’ll monitor your vitals and if you feel strange alert me immediately, deal?”

You nod a yes and his perseverance in aiding you with your terminal cancer evokes a sincere confession:

“Daddy…Thank you for trying to save me…I’m sorry I’m a burden…”

“A burden?!” Scarecrow mumbles.

There are a million facts you should evoke, yet the predominant one keeps hunting you.

“You buried yourself in the lab because of me…and Evelyn left…”

“Evelyn and I broke up for various motives,” your parent grumbles. “Saying I immersed myself into working because of you hints that I was forced into it against my will which is not true. I did everything out of love… I can’t bear the idea of losing you,” he kisses your temple; you wrap your free arm around his neck, squeezing him tight.

“You’re the best dad; I’m lucky you’re my father. If I die… you think mom is waiting for me?...”

Jonathan Crane has the weird sensation he’s choking; his wife died after you were born due to leukemia, now their daughter is fighting for survival: she’s plainly the last fortress separating him from utter madness.

“I couldn’t save your mother, but I’ll be damned if I let you die kid,” he caresses your cheek. “She can wait; I bet she’s not eager to take you with her,” Scarecrow reassures his daughter. “Rest honey.”

“I will…” you consent and Emma barging in the bedroom with her duffle bag switches your attention.

“I’m here, I’m here!” she exclaims. “Traffic was horrible, bad accident on the freeway!”

**************

11 am

“Are you comfortable?” Emma checks with her friend, not entirely certain how to bring up a very delicate topic clouding her usually bubbly disposition.

“Of course,” you smile and she wiggles in her recliner. “Are you?” you wink at her visible restlessness as you attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

“Y/N…,” she taps the fluffy carpet with her feet. “Mmmm… last night after we returned from the river I dropped by to see how you’re doing and… I came to your tent…,” Emma pauses seeing the stupefied expression on your face. “I…I found my father sleeping in there with you…”

You lick your lips and strain to keep your calm even if your heart is pounding out of your chest.

“Did my dad take advantage of you?” she lowers her voice and you can tell she’s torn apart by the horrible notion.

“He didn’t,” you shake your head.

“Dumb girl…” Emma admonishes without any trace of resentment; what else can she articulate in these circumstances regardless?  

“I can’t believe I’m inquiring… Did you use protection?”

“No…It just happened…”

“Oh my God!” the concerned judgement pressures you to continue:

“It didn’t end well so it’s fair to assume we’re not in any danger of me becoming your stepmom,” your tone diminishes and she leans over to scold when The Joker passes by the opened door without bothering to peek inside your bedroom; you didn’t spot him but Emma did.

“I’ll be back!” she hisses and you’re confused at her desire to leave you.

“Hey, where are you going?”

She ignores your question and races after The King of Gotham, catching up with him at the end of the long corridor.

“Dad!” Emma shouts and he turns around.

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing?!” she interrogates the clueless Joker.

“I’m meeting Crane. Is he downstairs?”

“In his lab compounding the next batch of Cromyxillium for Y/N,” she fumes at J’s impertinence. “Didn’t you forget something?”

He seems puzzled and Emma is not tricked by his deceiving performance.

“My best friend is in her quarters, uncertain if she’ll survive the cancer treatment. Are you pretending she doesn’t exist?”

“Meaning?” The Joker sneers.

“I know you slept with her!” the accusation follows instantly. “Don’t deny it! How could you take advantage of her?!”

The Clown Prince of Crime straightens his shoulders, aware he can’t negotiate his innocence out of this complicated riddle.

“I did not take advantage of her! How dare you accuse me of such low move?”

“You didn’t?” Emma closes the gap between them. “You know she has a crush on you and she’s vulnerable; what type of man would prey on that?!”

J is not thrilled with the innuendos and cuts her off:

“She basically begged for some and I obliged out of pity!”

Emma slaps him and The Joker gasps, enraged she had the audacity:

“Do that again and I’ll neglect you’re my daughter!” he growls and the serious threat doesn’t faze her.

“Hurt her more and I’ll forget you’re my father! If you are indeed my father,” she emphasizes while stomping away towards the kitchen.

“I am your father!” J simmers at her impeccable strategy: Emma is retreating to a different corner of the house giving him the opportunity to choose.

Who the heck knows if she’s actually his?

One thing is undeniable though: they share the same despicable temper.

****************

You discern The Joker in the doorway and your body stiffens; you stare at the TV screen wishing he’ll disappear.

“Where’s Crane?” J analyzes Y/N’s IV pole.

You don’t engage so his crankiness emerges.

“I suppose you didn’t flatlined yet!”

“Nope,” you grunt at the provocative declaration that served its goal: you did reply to The Clown’s rubbish.

“Where’s Crane?”

“I heard you the first time and I’m not sure why you focus your energy on a useless interrogation. You know where my father is!”

“Where?” The Joker’s vile attitude can’t compromise for less than instigating his fling.

“Please take your stuff that’s firm now but will get saggy in maximum 20 years and vanish!” the poisonous remark makes him groan.

“What stuff?!”

You check him out glaring at his mid-section before dismissing his presence.

“That’s the rudest fucking criticism ever!” The Joker barks and Y/N crabbily indicates:

“It’s not criticism, it’s reality! Gravity’s a bitch! Mara won’t mind, won’t she? After all, you two share a very special bond: on today, off tomorrow, hookup next week, take a break next month. Such dreamy relationship!”

“Do you have more derogatory references to my private life?!” J grinds his teeth ready to unleash several atrocities your way.

“No, too busy dying…” you show him the needle in your arm. “I don’t feel the pain from the medication burning my veins; I’m used with my sickness, with the ups and downs. What I do feel is the pain of being taken for granted.”

The Joker is not a fan of the insinuated context.  

“You said no strings attached!” he stresses the lack of commitment consented the previous evening.

“You’re the one that came to me; I thought it meant you were accepting to be the center of my universe.”

J ogles the ceiling of Y/N’s bedroom and assembles a couple of harsh disclosures in his brain when her entitled smirk halts the project.

“You’re buying it, aren’t you?” you chuckle at his astonishment. “I’m just messing with you Mister Joker; who in their right mind would make you the center of their universe?! You have 10 seconds to leave, otherwise I’ll scream and security will come!” you shelter your head with the quilt so you don’t have to see his mug anymore.

No outpour of vexation from his part which is cool: means he bailed.

The blanket is slowly pulled until your eyes emerge; J hovers your face, pissed at the unwelcomed clash.

“I’m checking if you kicked the bucket; corpses are usually covered thus my dilemma.”

“Go away!” you advise. “Or I’ll scream!”

You inhale preparing to yell: The Joker didn’t predict you’d defy him and he swiftly kisses you in order to stop the sounds.

The door is cracked and Emma witnesses the scene, reckoning bizarre elements:

Her father holds grudges and was mad at Y/N earlier due to whatever happened yesterday; nevertheless he still kissed her.

On the other hand, you were definitely miserable after your escapade, yet you didn’t reject him.

Emma may not be informed about the entire story, but one detail is crystal clear: the future is far from being simple.

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