#his assignments the following week make him weep

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price and Nik staying up late like a coupla teenagers every time they're together; giggling, smoking, chatting, drinking. They know they're gonna be shagged in the morning, dark rings around their eyes bigger n' the M25, fuelled primarily by caffeine and spite, but they don't care.

[fearandhatred]

What would you write for the title "Forget-me-nots in your crown"? 👀

this is kinda long so i put it on ao3 too lol. spit this out in 2 hours so there are probably mistakes. apolocheese

<3

Crowley wavers by Jesus's side as he addresses a man named Matthew, sat at a taxpayer's booth, and says "follow me". And the man gets up to do so. Crowley hears the unspoken dismissal for what he thinks it is, and turns to leave, but Jesus stops him with a gentle hand on his forearm.

"Come," he tells him, "let's have dinner together."

They go to Matthew's house that night, bustling with the chatter of the other people Jesus invited to the dinner. Crowley stands next to Jesus and looks around, past the milling disciples and the table of food, to all these strangers. Taxpayers, prostitutes, idolators. Crowley feels lumped in, but also oddly out of place.

"Am I here as a sinner too, then?" he asks Jesus, teasingly, vulnerably.

Jesus looks back at him, eyes kind. "As a friend," he says simply, and Crowley could weep.

Not even a day passes after that before Crowley gets his next assignment from Hell.

-----

Crowley follows the mob all the way from Gethsemane to Golgotha, hidden in the shadows and carrying her basket full of flowers she doesn't actually sell. She sees Jesus's skin, welted and bleeding and bruised, no part left unmarred, but she doesn't interfere. She can't. She would miracle a lighter burden on his shoulders, healed cuts or softer soles, but she knows it wouldn't go unnoticed.

And she's ashamed to face him. So she just follows at the outskirts of the crowd of guards, opposers, and curious strays, and doesn't intervene.

But then Jesus stumbles and falls, pressed down violently under the weight of his cross, and Crowley rushes out without thinking, kneeling in front of him with a hastily miracled cup of water and dropping her basket of flowers from her arm. He looks up at her, eyes unsurprised at her presence and kind, always kind even when blinded with blood. He smiles. "Friend," he says softly before accepting the water Crowley brings to his mouth, and she tenses her jaw to hold herself together.

The mob and the generals stand silently, uninterrupting and observant. A rare reprieve of kindness, maybe, or another act of cruelty.

"After what I did?" Crowley says just as softly, fragile, a statement in the form of a question, trying to still her shaking hands so none of the water goes to waste. When she'd been told of her next temptation, that she would be the one to start the chain of events that would lead to Jesus's death, she had locked herself in for a week, close to deciding to go against orders for once in her life.

But she'd been too cowardly, too weak to do so, again, always. So she'd hid from Jesus instead.

"It is my Father's will," he tells her now as a fact, but with a tone so far from impassive it makes her quiver.

"Well," she says, uncertain and still ready to flee, but content with their proximity. "Is there anything I can do?" To help, is what she means. Let me ease your burden. Just then, one of the guards pushes down on the heavy cross with his foot in warning, brutish in the way he doesn't even look when he does it. Crowley lifts a hand instinctively, whether to nudge the guard away or lighten the weight of the cross she doesn't know, but Jesus gives her a glance of knowing, and her hand falls.

"Be kind," is all he says in response to her question. At first she thinks he just means be kind to everyone, a do-unto-others jab for a demon who betrayed her only friend, or a slight towards the guard. But he says it just loudly enough for her ears to hear and no one else's. And despite it all, she knows him. He looks unwaveringly at her, face honest and open. She knows that it's not just because of the torture and exhaustion he's endured that has stripped him down to his bare bones, but also because that is who he fundamentally is. And she knows he also means be kind to yourself.

She swallows, and the silence stretches on like they have all the time in the world, before the guard finally kicks at Jesus's side and yells at him to get up. He pushes himself onto his knees weakly but without protest, cross dragging down his back and leaving layers of skin scratched raw and gaping.

Be kind, his words ring in her head like they will until the end of time. Be kind to everyone, be kind to yourself. It'll be a long time before she can even start on the latter, but the first she can do. She can be kind to the man with kind eyes, her dear friend, a son with no choice but to do their father's will, a being destined to live only for others.

"Wait!" Crowley fumbles, reaching into her robes to disguise her miracling of more water. "Wait, please."

The guard mutters curses at her under his breath, but blessedly, he lifts an impatient brow in thin acquiescence. Crowley brings the water up to Jesus's lips again, and when he's drunk it all, he tilts his head tiredly in gratefulness. Another trickle of blood makes its way down the side of his face, and Crowley winces at the thorns digging viciously into his head, hammered into his skull like nails.

Unthinkingly, she reaches out and brushes his hair gently away from his eyes, careful not to have any stray strand pull on the thorns. Then, aching, she reaches out for the basket of flowers she discarded, plucking the first small bunch of flowers within reach.

Forget-me-nots. She would laugh if the realisation didn't cause her hands to resume their shaking. Because she is a sinner, she is sin itself, and her and Jesus should not be friends. They should not even be talking. But they are, and they do, and Crowley finds deep in her core that she would kill herself for him to remember her just as they were. Not as what she is but as who she is, as the true self that she thinks he sees when she's around him. As a friend. And she doesn't ever want to forget him.

She digs her nails into her palms to steady them, then brings her hands back up to his head. She weaves the small flowers into the thorns as carefully and intricately as the crown itself was woven, with hands just as stained. Forces herself to look at the blood crusted around the stems, the matted hair. The unworthiness, the uselessness of what she's doing.

When she's done, she pulls back with a sharp inhale as if coming back to herself, and looks away almost guiltily from the superficial bandages that are her small, insignificant flowers. Hates herself immediately for thinking that she of all beings could be the slightest balm for someone paying the price of sin.

But Jesus has never judged her for anything, and when she chances a glance back at him as he struggles to his feet, he's still looking at her. Looking at her with love, and with kindness. She thinks the kindness might mean more to her than anything else.

She slinks back into the shadows as the crowd moves forward.

-----

When they reach Golgotha, Crowley has discarded her flower basket, and she spots Aziraphale instantly in the growing crowd. She contemplates leaving him be, but she wants to get closer, so the chances of him not seeing her would be slim. She pushes through the crowd, steeling herself against Jesus's cries of pain. When she slithers up to Aziraphale's side, he turns and smiles at her in acknowledgement. She doesn't try to smile back.

In any other situation, she would laugh at how the only two beings she's acquainted with are an angel and the Son of God. For now, it just hurts.

"What–" she starts, then clears her throat as her voice cracks slightly with clogged-up tears. "What was it he said that got everyone so upset?" This time, her words come out as flatly curious and uncaring as she intended.

Aziraphale huffs out a breath. "'Be kind to each other'," he quotes.

"Oh," is all Crowley can reply at first. She turns away from Aziraphale to blink a sudden onslaught of tears away. "Yeah. That'll do it."

She stays until the sky darkens, long after everyone has gone and she's the only one in this place left alive. She lets the tears fall, then, looking up at the man splayed out on the cross, as human as anyone could be. She doesn't know if she'll ever be the same again. If there'll ever be anyone to care for her like he did.

Before she turns to leave, a single forget-me-not dislodges itself from the crown of thorns atop Jesus's lolling head and drifts softly down, landing softly on her outstretched palm.

[dariaslookalike]

Needing Miller pt 5.

Summary: It's a shit hole of a world that you're living in, and it gets even shittier when you're ambushed in your sleep. It's a slippery slope that leads you from being tucked cozily in your sleeping bag to joining the raiding group lead by the most infuriating (and intimidating) man you've ever met. You need to survive, above all else- either in this group (without smacking its leader over the head), or in the world alone after somehow escaping. Easier said than done, when your mind loses all sense of focus, tactics and skills the second that Joel Miller rolls up his sleeves and shows his godforsaken forearms.

Warnings: Violence, swearing, adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: woohoo update lol. hopefully another update by end of may but im just a girl and this world (completing assignments that i was given two months to do) is too hard :'3. no beta readers so soz for any mistakes

Next Chapter:

Masterlist

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

You don’t talk to Joel for two weeks. Not one word. 

It eats him up inside, and you relish in that knowledge. He’s stubborn but you’re worse. He still makes you walk beside him as the group traverses through the city, trying to minimise whatever conspiracy he thinks might occur with Tommy. You simply nod and walk beside him like a soldier led to the firing line.

You walk along an abandoned highway, large cement dividers down the centre and overgrown shrubbery covering the furthest lanes. The lanes are cracked, and rubbles juts out from where the barriers had crumbled under the onslaught of bombing and mayhem in the outbreak. There is no movement, or the bustle of never ending traffic, or incessant honking of horns that you recall. The chime of songbirds and whistle of the wind has replaced them. Now, it is simply quiet, and still.

You walk through the empty husks of cars, feeling only the pang of your blistered feet in your shoes. The skin tears and weeps against your shoes, and you feel it split further again, staining the worn, holey material of your socks. Every so often someone from the group will run towards you, and you tense, bracing yourself for a deadly grapple. Your knife is always within reach of your hand, but like a scornful lover, each time you touch it you are reminded of its shortcomings; reminded of the blade digging into a shoulder, tearing through your cheek, useless and flimsy in your palm. Instead they veer around you, talking to Joel and pointing back to cars that hadn’t yet been picked over. The cars offer little value outside of small finds- a matchbook that hadn’t moulded yet, a first aid kit only half open next to a too-small corpse, and to your delight, a heavy winter jacket. 

Joel takes the jacket from the man who had found it, not so quite snatching but not asking either. The man doesn’t look surprised, or even offended, and his eyes flick to yours before he turns and follows his path back. 

Joel turns to you, eyes boring into yours when he raises his hand, the jacket clutched in his fingers. 

You reach forward and take it, trying not to brush against his fingers, or worse, look at the sheer size of his fucking hands in comparison to yours. You shake the jacket out before quickly putting it over your thin hoodie, which has seen better days. Dark black material and lined on the inside, it instantly breaks off the chill wind that had been ripping through you and you zip it up. This winter hadn’t started with blizzards or ice, but still your breath plumed in front of you in soft clouds.

Joel scoffs. “No ‘thank you’?”

You tilt your head at him and stare, but your mouth remains in a thin line. 

He rolls his jaw, and glares at you, stepping closer to put distance between the both of you and the rest of the group. They’re still picking over the cars, certain that this area hadn’t been combed over properly by others. You see the dark mop of Tommy’s hair poking out from a faded blue sedan, but he’s simply scavenging.

Joel leans over you and you try not to startle when you realise how close he had gotten. He glares down at you, scowling. 

“You’re not gonna be able to ignore me forever.”

Your eyebrows draw in and your gaze hardens with what you hope he reads as Bite me Miller . 

He reads you loud and clear, and scoffs, shaking his head. You try to keep your gaze angry, and stubborn, instead of taking him in now that he’s standing so close to you. You try not to memorise the way his tan jacket sits on his broad shoulders, or how his beard has grown longer, or the crease in between in brow as he glares at you, or the rise and fall of his chest as he thrums with annoyance. You try not to.

“Let it go, Dollface.” He spits, a wolfish flash of his teeth. “Get over yourself.”

You say nothing, and he stares at you for a second too long as if he really thought that pathetic attempt would break your vow of silence. He turns, storming off down the highway.

He tries again two days later, when you sit beside Tommy at the fire. The group has settled for the week in a dishevelled restaurant, and you warm your hands at a flaming pile of broken chairs and table legs. Earlier, when you had pointed at a scurrying rat, two of the men had grinned. Now, a skewer of fat rodents roasts atop the flames, and Tommy laughs at you when you scrunch your nose up. 

“Drumstick or wing?” He asks, elbowing you in the side and pointing at the rats.

You wretch, even if your mouth waters. “Surprise me. I’d rather not know what I’m eating.”

Tommy laughs, raising a hand to scratch at the stubble that was growing across his face. “Not exactly ‘finger licking good’ but damn it’ll do.”

You laugh in agreement but the moment of hunger is quickly forgotten when Joel comes to stand beside you. You look up at him, and quickly wipe off any trace of a smile. 

“Clean your knife and come to the back.” His words are gruff and short, and he doesn’t stay to tower over you, instead turning on his heel and striding out of the swinging staff door to the back of the kitchen.

You glance at Tommy, but he shrugs. “No clue. Better do as the boss says.”

You roll your eyes, but push yourself to your feet, ignoring the curious stares of the group. You untuck your knife from your jeans and wipe it down with your shirt- there’s nothing else to be done. 

The door swings behind you, and the kitchen is a lot less impressive then you’d imagined. Dusty, and very much stained, stainless steel countertops and stoves, and littered rubbish that seemed to be present everywhere in the abandoned city. 

Ryan leans against a countertop and offers you a small nod of his head. You open your mouth to speak but quickly close it when you see Joel, leaning against the large mirrored wall with his arms crossed over his chest. 

You get an unsettling feeling in your gut, twisting and rolling around within you. It tells you that the both of them are crazy and are going to stick you on a skewer to roast beside the rats, but Ryan pats the countertop beside him. “C’mon. I’ll take out your stitches.”

You only remember your cheek then. The pain and swelling were a faded noise in the background of your body, and it no longer bled or weeped through the dressing bandaged to your face. Your tongue instinctively touches the inner side of the wound, feeling the jagged flesh and thread that was sewn through. 

You nod, and walk over to Ryan, pushing yourself up to sit on the counter. Your legs dangle over the edge and looking down, you remember your knife. Oh.

You look back to Ryan, who waits expectantly and you hesitantly offer it to him. He takes it, thanking you quietly and moving closer. 

“It’ll feel weird when I pull them out, but it shouldn’t hurt.”

You nod and he reaches to you, peeling back the tape and taking off the dressing, but you can’t find it in you to watch as he works. Instead your eyes wander off.

They land on Joel, and you curse internally. He wasn’t just casually leaning against the wall, he had picked the one spot in the room that would be directly in front of you.

So, if you wouldn’t speak to him, he would force you to at least look at him. 

He looks straight at you, his dark eyes almost black in the dim kitchen. His hand grips his bicep, the fingers taut over the muscle. You almost want to laugh with how desperately he is trying to be impassive and brooding, but instead you just hold his gaze. You force yourself to not wince or flinch as Ryan brings your knife to your face and notches the tip under the knotted thread.

“Healed up well.” He murmurs beside you, but he is focused on his task at hand. You barely even register blinking as he cuts each stitch meticulously, and pulls the thread through your cheek. There’s a slight dribble of blood, but no torrential flow.

Ryan huffs out a sigh, and you flick your gaze to him. He smiles, and you can imagine him now, working in some hospital, all white coat and combed hair, as he says “Alright, all done. Just don’t mess with it, and it’ll be fine.”

Your lips tug up and you dip your head in thanks. He doesn’t wait for a flowery response, and instead claps his hands together, turning and walking out of the kitchen. You look back at Joel, and his head is tilted, still observing you.

Something coils and tightens deep within you, spurred on by the silence and tension stretching between the both of you. You grab your knife and push yourself off the countertop, standing.

“You look good without the patch, Dollface.” 

His voice is quiet, and you wouldn’t have been sure that he had even spoken if it weren’t for tighter, tenser grip on his bicep. Your traitorous eyes dip down to his lips, and like a tonne of bricks, the memory of him against you, his hands on you, his lips on yours, is slammed into you. He knows what you’re thinking about, based on the slight tilt of his head and how his own gaze drops for a fraction of a second, before coming back to your eyes.

He notices the shift in you as well, when you not only recall the memory of the kiss, but afterwards. Recalling his regret, his embarrassment. Recalling how repulsive you must be to him that only a near death experience could overload his brain with so many endorphins to make him think that kissing you even resembled a good idea. 

Your gaze breaks from his to over his shoulder, and you lock eyes with yourself. A dark jagged scar runs down your right cheek, from the apple to an inch above your jaw. Terry’s last words were a promise to make you ugly, to scar you so everyone else would see it. You flush with shame and hatred, and something makes the back of your neck burn when you think of Joel, and his stubbled beard speckled with your blood.

Joel was trying to bait you. Trying to anger you, trying to rile you up and get you to break your petty silent treatment by yelling and screaming at him. 

You stare at the scar, at the red hue, at the path it carves down your face. And you force yourself to breathe, to not curse yourself, to not cuss out Terry’s ghost in Hell, to not cry and give in to the misery that this wound had given you. 

You drag your gaze back to Joel, and his eyes are still on you. Still watching. 

“I mean it.” His voice is rumbling, echoing quietly off the steel. “You’re beautiful.”

Baiting you. Lying to you. Trying to get a rise out of you. 

Bite me Miller .

You turn and push past the kitchen doors, returning to the fire to sit beside Tommy and the charring rats. 

You don’t speak to him for another three weeks. It allows for a lot of inner contemplation as you walk beside him in silence. 

You decide to stay, for now, or at least until you figure out what else you could do, where else you could go, who else you could be. No longer were you waiting for Ryan to free you from your stitches or for your cheek to heal past the stage susceptible to infection. Now, you were here of your own accord, and this was wholly new, uncharted territory to walk through.

But… this was a good arrangement, and it benefitted you. You got food, warmth, a somewhat trusting eye over your shoulder as you slept, and all you had to do was follow whatever instructions were barked at you- and so far it was nothing. Just weeks of distancing yourself from the area of the city that had grown infected, weeks of stocking up for the winter. 

Some of the men had been sent elsewhere by Joel. He had ordered them while you were trying, and failing, to fall asleep in a corner. Even still, he had kept his voice low, his words hushed. Days later, the men returned with dried splatters of blood on their clothes, but with new supplies. They don’t leer at you, or really acknowledge your presence at all, but the sight of them, with split knuckles and worn faces sent a disturbing chill down your spine. You didn’t want to ask where, or who they were from. So far, Joel hadn’t instructed you to do anything except walk beside him.

You had to admit, to the small (or very large) petty part of you, that this situation benefitted you more than just addressing your basic needs. It gives you ample opportunities for great personal satisfaction each time you annoy Joel.

You like to believe your silence is driving him insane by the time the group moves again, never settling in one exact spot in the city. You live for it, for the stupid scowl on his face, for the roll of his eyes, for the muttering as he near-sulks beside you.

He’s clearly more annoyed after hearing you talk to Tommy for the past week. After you had gotten your stitches out and returned to the fire, Tommy had whistled, low and loud.

“Damn, Dollface.” He said, and you didn’t find the same mocking that Joel had. “Looking good.”

Not beautiful , simply good. It reminded you of the rat skewers, and shitty, long gone KFC slogans. You rolled your eyes. “That’s the best you can do? ‘Looking good’?”

He laughed, leaning in close to you again. “I’m a simple man- I say it how it is.”

You try not to compare him to his brother, who speaks even less and means even more.

Joel hadn’t returned to sit by the fire, or ominously brood right next to you like you thought he might. You don’t see him at all that night, not after what he said to you in the back kitchen or rather what you didn’t say to him. Only when you tried to sleep, doing so fitfully and waking up still tired and worn in the early morning, did you see him. He sat by Ryan on the only remaining dining table left, hunched over with his palms clasped between his knees. But he watched, dark eyes trained on you like a hunter to prey. You didn’t shake his focus even after you had sluggishly escaped your sleeping bag. 

Now, still being forced to buddy up with him as you travel, you don’t say a word. You tug the hood of your flimsy hoodie up, and zip your new jacket up all the way, shoving your hands deep in the pockets. 

You turn your head slightly, looking at him from the corner of your eye. His gaze stays trained ahead, but you can feel his attention on you once more. 

“How much longer?”

His voice is hushed, and nearly ripped away from you by the wind, but you still catch his words. You turn to him, faking confusion with furrowed brows. He steps closer, filling the space between the both of you, casting a glance behind him to the group. They’re too preoccupied by their own chattering teeth to pay attention to the two of you. 

He looks down at you, his face stony. “How much longer are you gonna keep this up?”

You look up at him with your most innocent doe eyes. Keep what up?

His jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he hisses. “How much longer are you gonna keep being a brat?”

You pout out your bottom lip just to sell it, and he scoffs, shaking his head as looks out to the street in front of you. 

“You wanna act like a brat ,” He growls, gaze dark. “Then I’ll treat you like one.”

That godforsaken feeling in your stomach, that you had fought and wrangled and just about killed with your own bare hands, teeth, and sheer willpower, comes to life at his words. You swallow at the pulse that jumps from your neck to right between your legs. 

You roll your eyes at him. 

Do your worst is what you say with a cocky tilt of your head. 

Please do your worst is what that feeling between your legs begs.

He steps closer, and you instinctively step back slightly, keeping distance. He doesn’t let you go far, stepping with you until he’s looking down his nose at you, sneering. 

“No more of this bullshit. You’re in this group. You’re in my group.”  

His tones bites, and his words sting. You weren’t dead because of him. You had food because of him. You were part of this group because of him.

You were still here, even when you could have left. Even when you could have thanked Ryan for pulling out your stitches, and waltzed off on your own. You could have pretended you didn’t owe a debt, or some level of twisted subordination and gratitude to Joel before. Now? You were stuck with this insufferably moody man, and he was your boss. Leader. Protector. Dickhead who had kissed you unforgettably and then wanted you to forget it. All of the above. 

And you were pissing him off. 

“You’re with me from now on.” He says, voice harsher than before, and your attention snaps back to him. You thought he was going to kick you out, or pull rank and tell you to respect him. Not whatever he said.

He sees your wide-blown look and scoffs, nodding his head. 

“Not just travel. Morning, day and night, you’re gonna stick with me until you can realise I’m doing you a fucking favour .” He bites. “‘M not gonna have you turning my fucking crew against me ’cause of your pissy attitude.”

You are fuming with anger. Just because you talked to Tommy and not him, just because you tried having one friend in this miserable, testosterone cluster fuck raiding group, Joel would say you’re trying to turn them against him? 

You bite your tongue. Literally. You have to clamp your teeth down, and you bite harder when he continues. 

“C’mon.” He barks, jerking his head towards the road.

You follow like a soldier, staying by his side, and keeping your head held high. You just chant to yourself silently. Boss. Leader. Protector. Dickhead. Dickhead. Dickhead.

He stays true to his word. 

He doesn’t let you slow down pace, even when your feet bleed and parts of your shoe literally give out. Instead, he just looks at you, and in response to your silence, tells you to hurry up. Behind you, the group trudges along. Tommy veers closer to you, but with one foreboding glare from Joel, he rolls his eyes and backs off. Even his own brother wasn’t willing to piss him off more when he was this moody.

The city still sprawls ahead, and as the sun begins to set you assume you’ll continue travelling through the night, and you groan to yourself silently. Joel, persistent to prove you wrong, turns into a rundown pub on a corner as night falls. 

You follow behind him wearily, and tempted to let the group trail him in first. He senses your hesitation somehow, and glares at you over his shoulder. 

“Get going, Dollface.”

Your thumb flicks over your knife and you’re tempted to stab him, and show him just how bratty you can be. You resist however, and settle for holding it in your palm as you enter the pub. Wooden bar stools, tables and chairs collapsed in a pile in the furthest corner, as if the group had been here before and tidied up. The bar itself is empty, and the back wall mirror shattered. It is, thankfully, empty and you scan around the room, settling your pack and sleeping bag down against a wall. Satisfied, you slip your knife back into your jeans.

Joel doesn’t hide the fact that he watches you. When you turn to him, he doesn’t look away, and instead raises an eyebrow. 

Tommy smiles at you across the room, and your eyes flick to him, lips involuntarily tugging up.

Your gaze flicks back to Joel, but his face remains stony. He jerks his head to a staircase, like you’re an obedient dog waiting on his command. 

You tuck your tail between your legs and follow him. 

The group’s eyes trail after you as you pass through them. Only Tommy steps into your path, and his hand grabs your elbow, stopping you. 

“You all good, Dollface?”

His eyebrows are drawn tight together, and the beard he’s been growing in the winter makes him look older, more serious. He leans in closer, aware of the ears and eyes pinned to you as his voice lowers. 

“He’s my brother, I know but…you say the word, and I’m beside you.”

You nod your head, swallowing and looking away from his eyes. “Thanks.”

Tommy opens his mouth to say something, but he closes it again and his hand retreats from your arm. You offer him a thin lipped smile, and then you step around him, to Joel who looks like he wants to murder you. 

Joel doesn’t say anything, and instead turns, striding up the rickety and splintered staircase. 

You glare daggers into his stupidly broad back, into the shoulder you want to scratch up, into the scalp you want to tug at. Dickhead, dickhead, dickhead, dickhead, dickhead. 

You barely reach the landing by the time he’s pushing open a door. He stills scans the room, ever hypervigilant of some unknown threat. 

Your eyes widen at the room. Specifically at the bedroom, where a faded, mildew smelling bed sits in the middle, surrounded by splintered, but intact drawers and a wardrobe. What the fuck?

You turn to him, nearly opening your mouth to say exactly so, but then in a split second his forearm is lodged against your throat and your back is slammed to the wall. 

You garble out some sound in shock, and he reers his head in, sneering with his canines showing. 

“What the fuck are you doing with Tommy?”

You sputter a bit more, and kick out at him, spearing your knee into his groin. He shifts his hips, and you land a blow against his sturdy thigh instead. He applies more pressure to your throat, not enough that you even get dizzy, but with enough power that you can’t break out of his hold. 

“Speak.” He growls, eyes dark. “Enough with the silent treatment bullshit, answer my question.”

Your hand grips your knife and you yank it out of your jeans, angling it into the soft part of his stomach. He feels the edge of the blade, and he seethes. 

“I fucking dare you. See what happens.”

Your other hand reaches up, and he shifts, bracing for the impact of your fist to his face. Instead you tap against his forearm, scowling at him the best you can while he nearly crushes your windpipe. 

His eyes flick back to yours and you can see he wants to keep you pinned, angry and fuming with you. A gentle reminder by the sharp tip of your knife has him growling, but he eases the pressure against you. 

“Speak. Now.”

You glare at him, but as much as you would like to gut him like a fish, you know that wouldn’t stop him from cracking your head open against the brick. You had been treading water since day one- while Tommy was your friend, Joel was everything but that. You weren’t going to push him to show you, again, just why everyone bowed their heads to him. 

“Nothing’s fucking happening with Tommy.” You spit, the first words you’ve spoken to him in weeks. 

“Yeah?” He leans in closer, mere inches away from you. “Tell me why there’s talk he wants out. Only since you’ve been here, buddying up to him.”

You don’t hide your confusion. In some part, you thought Joel was implying a relationship between you and his brother. But now, you’re completely lost. 

“I don’t know what you’re on about, Miller.”

He sneers. “You hate me. Not hard to assume you’d try and make my brother do the same.”

You try your best to look down your nose at him, even with his forearm still pinned to your throat. “I’m pissed off with you Miller. I’m not trying to turn your brother against you.”

He stares into your eyes for a moment, the dark brown hard and unyielding beneath his brow.  

“That’s it? You’re just being a fucking brat?”

You swallow, the movement painful against his forearm. You dig the tip of your blade into his gut, reminding him of its presence. He doesn't flinch, and simply stares at you, waiting for your response.

"There's no conspiring or fucking crazy conspiracy, Miller. I just didn't want to talk to you."

He clenches his jaw, his tongue running along his teeth. His eyes dart down to your cheek, and follow your scar to your lips, where his gaze lingers.

You expect it to soften him, to wipe away the brutal anger radiating off him. Instead, the pressure is back against your windpipe and he growls.

“I told you to let it go. Get over yourself. We kissed.”

"Exactly."

He rolls his eyes. "You've been ignoring me for weeks because we kissed? Jesus, Dollface you're in for a real fucking shock- that meant nothing."

You swallow, glaring at him. Willing yourself to not let tears well up. He continues.

"This isn't some fairytale- I'm not sure what kinda bedtime stories you got told growing up, but there's no happy ending out here. That died the day of the goddamn outbreak." His gaze is thunderous.  

"Fuck. You." Like you hadn’t lived through the fucking outbreak too- like you were some stupid schoolgirl, with a sickening crush on him.

"Brat. ” He spits.

Dickhead. Dickhead. Dickhead.

"Just cause you think you can walk around, doing what you want, doesn't mean you can, Miller." You seethe, anger flooding out of you. "You might not give a damn, but I do."

"Why?! It was a kiss!" He barks. "So what? It’s not like you’ve never-

Like a rabbit trying to hide its wounded paw from a lion, you flinch back. A mistake that shows your hand more than hides it. His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, all his anger and ire disappears, and it’s only your shared breathing to be heard, heavy and heaving.

“Oh.” He says.

Oh. Oh is his simple response to realising he was your first kiss. Oh is his one-worded response to realising that he had told you it was a mistake, that it shouldn’t have happened. Oh is what keeps ricocheting off the walls of your skull, over and over, as you watch in real time just how quickly he realises how much of a mistake it really was.

“Oh.” You whisper back to him.  

He stares at you, his mouth open slightly. You press your lips together, draw your eyebrows in, making sure you do not shed one goddamned tear in front of this man. 

His eyes dip down to your lips. “That was- I was your…” He trails off. 

You can’t even nod your head, afraid the movement will break the careful strain you have on yourself. You just stare back at him. 

His forearm is still at your throat. Your knife is still at his stomach. And yet, he leans in closer, breath fanning over yours, his gaze still pinned to your lips. 

“No.”

That word breaks his focus, and his gaze snaps to yours. 

“No, Miller. I’m not doing this with you. I’m not gonna be your little chew toy, waiting around until you decide to play with me again.” You shake your head, but there’s no anger or even sadness. You just find yourself hollow. “Fine. I’m over it, I’ll stop being shitty to you, whatever- but we’re not doing this. Ever.”

You draw back your knife, and in his quiet shock, you shove his arm off you, basically throwing yourself through the door. You pause on the flight of stairs, clinging to the damaged railing. He doesn’t follow you down, and you allow yourself this moment to suck in a heaving breath. 

One breath. That is all you will commit to being upset over Miller. 

You swallow, raising your head. No tears fall, and you won’t let them. Boss. Leader. Protector. Dickhead. He didn’t want to be your lover, he wanted to pick you up when he wanted and shove you to the side when he was bored. That was fine by you- like he said it was just a kiss, nothing more. You’d see where this raiding group led you, and that was it; you were not going to allow yourself to get your heart involved with him, you were not going to allow yourself to get hurt from a man who clearly didn’t want the same as you.

You don’t kick the staircase wall, as much as you want to. You set your shoulders back, and you step down each step, willing assurance into your feet.

You take your expected position, sitting beside your pack and sleeping bag. You join in a poker game, where you bet on dusty bottle caps and placemats. You observe the group, trying to memorise the faces and laughs and scowls as much as you can, rather than focus the thoughts flurrying around your mind. Tommy picks up on your mood, but he doesn’t say anything; instead, jabbing you in the ribs at certain jokes and trying to peer over your shoulder to see your deck.

You expect Joel to not come back downstairs, to instead sulk in that room all night.

Everyone else does too, because they nearly snap their necks in shock when the stairs creak. You force your gaze to stay pinned to the faded cards in your hand, to not look at him, to give him that satisfaction. 

The tension is thick in the air, and some of the men try to start conversation back up again. Their words are hushed though, letting them still give some attention to the drama unfolding in front of them. 

“Dollface.” 

You grind your teeth as you clench your draw, dragging your gaze over everyone and back towards the stairwell. 

He tilts his head to the stairs behind him, his hair messy and ruffled like he’d spent the past few hours running his hands through it. The offer isn’t as demanding as before, and something in his eyes is softer; even if his shoulders are still set back, even if he doesn’t beg in front of the group.

You pass your hand of cards to Tommy, who whistles loudly, displaying them to the group who erupts in a clamour of disbelief at how you were dealt them. You use the moment of eruption to walk up to Joel. He doesn’t lead you up the staircase, so you brush past him and walk up them.

When you get to the landing you realise you should’ve let him lead you, because now you’re unsure what door to go into. You don’t worry long however, when he catches up to you and pushes open the bedroom door once more.

You hesitate by the landing, and he looks over his shoulder at you. 

“Attacking me again, so soon?” You glare at him. 

He doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but rather seems to be looking above for something to give him strength. 

“Don’t push it.”

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest, and his eyes track the movement. “Miller, I’m doing my best to…” You lick your lips, trying to figure out how to say the words. “Respect you. As whatever boss you are to me now. But right now, I don’t want to be near you.”

“As your boss ,” He says, clearly trying to hold back anger. “Get in. Now.”

Dickhead. Dickhead. Dickhead .

Your knife was still in your jeans. This time, you were ready for any lunge or grab from him. 

You nod, stepping into the room and he closes the door behind you. You put distance between the two of you, and he notices as you walk across the room, leaning against a broken radiator and boarded up window. Now, with no light streaming in at all, the room is dark, lit only by a candle atop a dress, and he is a shadowy figure across from you. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. You think he must look a lot more intimidating, and stupidly attractive, when he does that compared to when you did. 

“So what, Miller?” You break the silence, glaring at him. “We count down from three and see who can kill the other first?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “No.”

“So…”

“I meant what I said earlier.”

“What part? That I’m a fucking brat?”

“Yeah, that part too Dollface.” His eyes darken, and the muscle in his forearm flexes. Your hands itch to throw your blade and see how far it will sink between his eyes. He sighs. “I said you were with me from now on. Mornin’, day an’ night.”

Your gaze breaks from his and you look around the room, suddenly caged. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

“You can sleep on the bed or the floor or hell, the goddamn closet. I don’t give a shit.”

“Downstairs.” You bite out. 

“No.” He shakes his head, glaring at you. “I trust you enough that I’m not throwing your ass to the curb.”

“But not enough to stay by Tommy?”

He nods. “Right on the money, sweetheart.”

You want to rip his teeth out when he calls you that, and a glimmer in his eyes tells you that he knows. 

“After everything,” You jerk your head to the side of the door, where only hours ago he had you pinned. “You wanna play BFFs?”

He rolls his eyes. “No. Partners.” He stares at you, holding you still with his gaze, his Southern accent rolling out between you. “We’re out tomorrow. You need to learn how to work in this group- I need to keep an eye on you. It’ll work for us both.”

“Highly doubt it.” You snap.

“Yeah, well if you drop the attitude you won’t have to worry about a hair on your pretty head.” He spits. 

You both stare at each other, clenching your jaws, fuming. 

“You know what you’re signing yourself up for?” You hiss. “You might think you’re punishing me- but it’s you who’s stuck with me .”

“Quit being a goddamn brat and I wouldn’t have to punish you.” He steps forward, sneering.

“Eat shit, Miller.”

His eyes dart down to your neck, and he looks like he’s contemplating strangling you or trying to throttle you. Instead, he takes three heavy breaths, and jerks his head to the bed. 

“It’s late. You wanna argue, leave it for the mornin’.”

And with that he sits on the edge of the bed, and begins unlacing his heavy boots. He kicks them off, and in a fluid motion, reaches down and tugs his shirt off. You freeze, and wonder if you actually died, and this was a state of hellish purgatory, meant to punish you on loop, for eternity. Your eyes are glued to him. His broad fucking shoulders- what kind of workout could he even do to look like that, and run on a halfarsed can of soup every few days? He’s not well defined, but his muscles flex with each movement, drawing your eyes to his biceps. His stomach is softer, a trail of hair leading down to his jeans. His jeans. His jeans, which his hands are atop right now, unzipping. 

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer, Dollface.”

“Fuck off.” You roll your eyes, snapping your gaze away to stare at a part of the cracked wall and feeling the heat radiating off your cheeks. “It’s the middle of winter, Miller. Are you some kind of pervert?”

You don’t look back to him, but you can hear his exhale as he moves, and the shuffle of fabric. “I run hot.”

If anything, you shiver. When a few more seconds of silence have passed, you feel safer in looking over and not being attacked by the sight of his bare neck. 

He’s under the thick covers of the bed, and you bite back a coo. He looks younger, softer- not a man who would hate you, swear at you, and keep you beside him because he thinks you’ll corrupt all that he loves. 

He huffs. “Like I said. Bed, floor, closet, I don’t care.”

Your sleeping back was downstair, but when was the last time you actually slept on a mattress? 

You don’t move. 

“What if I stab you in your sleep?”

“What I stab you in yours?” He rolls his eyes. 

You chew his words for a moment before you sigh. “No stabbing, from either of us. Deal?”

Joel scoffs, clearly thinking an agreement would be pointless and looks towards the ceiling but when you glare at him, he sighs. 

“Deal.”

You nod, and step closer to the bed. You shuck off your winter jacket, still keep your hoodie tight around you. You keep your knife tucked into your pants, but you’re content to not sleep with it in your hands. You kick off your boots, a lot less gracefully than he had, and you hear him cover a chuckle with a cough. You can’t look at him as you step closer, lifting up the blanket and getting into bed. You tug the blanket up to your chin, instantly warmer and sink in the mattress. It smells like mothballs and dust, but no springs jut out at you and it doesn’t collapse; at this point, it was like sleeping on a cloud.

Neither of you say anything or even move for at least three minutes. You flinch when he finally does, but he simply raises himself on his elbow to lean over, blowing the candle out and washing the room completely in darkness.

“Go near me and you’ll wish I stabbed you, Miller.”

He huffs, and you can imagine him rolling his eyes in the dark. “No worries, Dollface.”

Silence wraps around the two of you once more.

“I sleep talk.” You whisper to him.

“I know.”

Your head snaps in his direction, your eyes trying to see the shape of his face in the dark. “What do you mean, ‘you know’?”

The sheets shuffle, and you can imagine him shrugging. “Not like everyone has their own room.”

Once more, quiet falls, and once more you break it. “What about you?”

“What about me?” His voice is lower, more groggy already. 

“Do you sleep talk? Or are you just one of those serial snorers? Or-”

“This isn’t a sleepover.” He snaps. “We’re not playing 21 questions. Go to sleep.”

You stick your tongue out at him in the dark.

You’re not as restless as you thought you might be. Instead, once you’ve successfully blocked out the fact that you’ve nearly stabbed Joel, told him you wanted nothing from him, and are now sleeping in the same bed as him, it’s easier to fall asleep. 

Considering the fact that you hadn’t been in a real bed in months, and with the chilled winter air seeping throughout the shambling pub, the thick blanket and soft pillow were simply lulling you into a deep sleep. 

[daincrediblegg]

okay your turn if nobody else has asked: TOP FIVE JH CHARACTERS GO

... girl... how does one choose? how does one??? when there are so many beautiful boys??? ok. OK I'll give it a shot.

5. Captain Crow - The Sea Beast This film is just incredible on every front. One of my favorite concept artists worked on it (which I did not know until a few weeks ago but now that I know I feel like kicking myself because I REALLY SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THEIR STYLE WELL ENOUGH BY NOW). But I remember watching this, and screaming when the credits began to roll because WAIT?!?!?! THAT WAS JARED HARRIS??? OH!!! WHAT A DELIGHT!!! I LOVE THAT GUY!!!! (oh babygirl wait a few months it's gonna hit you so bad). He's great. I hope we see more of him in the sequel that would be great for me.

4. Hari Seldon Honestly. What a little shit. "But Egg," you might ask "If he's such a little shit why is he on here?" well. He's hot. Really I am not over how hot this dude is. I know I couldn't fix him not in a million years. But idk. Something about him always makes my brain go brrr. So he's on here. Also I just love how fucking atypically written this show is and I have a wee soft spot for asimov. They didn't have to cast Jared as Hari and make him unbelievably hot. But they did. And he's so enigmatic. I love that.

3. John Lennon Egg's love for Jared Harris Origins. I was a Beatles girlie, ok? I'm not ashamed to admit that. It was my introductory fandom experience at the ripe old age of baby, and I really ate it up. I remember going into this movie being like "oh it's some dumb TV movie about John and Paul how good can it be?" Very good, as it turns out. And having assigned myself a John Lennon girlie I literally could never get over this depiction. The mannerisms, the fucking tripped-out way he philosophizes in conversation, the softness, and ofc the old friends tension. Jared got it all. Of course I'd seen him in stuff here and there, but this was the one that cemented him as a beloved actor in my mind for me (I literally re-wound the kiss scene as well like 20 times don't judge me but that awakened some stuff in me). Been following him ever since.

2. Lane Pryce - Mad Men This dude broke me for real. I didn't get into Mad Men until college, and binged it all on my friend's hulu account. And lemme tell ya. Did NOT see his final episode coming. Did not. And it made me genuinely weep. He was a highlight in the show. He was one of the only guys I could actually say is a good dude in that show, and he deserved so much better than he got in the end. I look at him and I'm just like... leave ur wife. Leave your job. Lets just go out of this capitalistic hellscape. I want to make him Well. I will love him forever for how he just completely destroyed me.

1.Francis Crozier / Valery Legasov - HA! you thought I was not going to tie them? WRONG! I can't keep these bad bitches apart.

Francis really needs no explanation at this point. I am so actually genuinely in love with him I'm writing a whole ass gothic romance novel of a fic for him, as you all know (and which has summarily turned out a BANGER of a modern AU as well). I made a bloody self-insert oc for him. Gothic Cinema is literally my favorite genre and Francis is the most Gothic Hero of all time, honestly (well besides Valery obviously). The serotonin he continually gives me makes my meds redundant. He is my sweet husband who I love with my whole life and that's that.

And Valery? sorry you can't put a babygirl of a man like that in front of me and not expect that I would want to jump his bones like? Not only is the constant existential dread relatable, but as much as people tell him he's not brave, he IS without a doubt, and honestly, just by virtue of uttering the most iconic logline ever fucking created he deserves this spot on this list. Both of these dudes make my soul ascend in a certain way not just with how brilliantly they were written, but with how incredibly Jared executed them (for which I want to kill the academy for not giving him awards on either). Top Beloveds forever and ever and ever amen.

[kenjinakamuraaaaa]

Battle of Iwo Jima: Day 35

It has been five weeks of fighting and I barely escaped death, and I was one of the survivors, after I played dead on the ground trying to make it through the battle. The number of deaths and wounded soldier as not yet been determined but according to my fellow soldiers and Sir Hideki Tojo, there were more Americans wounded than dead as we the defenders had more dead than wounded. Before the battle we were reminded that it's better to fight to the death rather than giving up and not finishing what was done.

I was hiding behind a building when the last few Japanese solders were standing but soon slaughtered. During the grouping I wasn't grouped with Genkei but our assigned airfield were near and we have some how ended up together, assume that we separated from our assigned locations to continue fighting. While I was hiding Genkei was right beside me wounded weeping and whining on the ground. I told him to be quiet for a while or else we would be found by the remaining Americans on the island. The Americans started to search the island after killing most of the Japanese soldiers who fought against them. While a group of survivors were searching the island they were soon getting close to the building where Genkei and I were hiding, so I told him to be quiet but he seemed to be in so much pain because he couldn't stop weeping and complaining. I thought fast and the idea of playing dead so the American solders would walk past us crossed my mind. Since I was in such a rush and I only had one idea, I just had to do it, so I dug the ground a bit after making a small hole where i can lay in. Then I put a small amount of Genkei's blood smeared on my body, and told Genkei to be quiet and he listened but he couldn't keep a straight face so I forced him to flip where he would be face flat on the ground. His leg was shot and blood was spill out. After I saw another soldier behind a small mountain of dirt so I signaled them to duck down and be quiet. He was behind us and facing the direction the Americans were going and we were facing the same direction. I was so nervous that I would move or make the slightest noise or movement but I just started to think and calm myself down, as I laid on the ground closing my eyes day dreaming, about my future and what will happen next. I heard foot steps and they were coming! I reminded Genkei to remain quiet so we got into positions. I heard them talking as they slowly walked by, but then Genkei made sound of extreme pain and dread, then the footsteps stopped. I squinted my eyes as I saw the group of American soldiers looking around wondering what made the sound, then I quickly closed my eyes shut and I assumed they started walking to us as I hear footsteps approaching. There were two I assumed, as they started talking they were touching the bodies around me with they gun and saw us, they touched me to check if I was dead, then they saw Genkei and also checked him as it was more suspicious that there was still active blood coming out of him, but they soon turned away. They continued their search as I opened my eyes, and Genkei kept quiet for a second I thought he was dead but I checked, and he was still alive with a beating heart barely making a sound. They walked closely to the soldier who I signaled to, and I assume he moved or made a sound, I couldn't see since he was behind a mountain of dirt, but the American soldier who found him immediately shot him with no hesitation. I laid on the ground shocked to my bones, and feeling really sad for him and how they took his life. Then they continued their search.

Soon after, they gathered all the surviving American soldiers. It has already been already 36 days since the start of the battle. I closely yet quietly followed them where they stopped at Mount Suribachi. One soldier got the US flag and gave corners of the flag to his fellow soldier to hold the flag. They were all very prideful and happy that they official won the battle and won over the island of Iwo Jima. The island was important and played a big part in Japan's plans in the war. The Island was used as an emergency stop and storage since there was a total of three airfields to be used. But the battle ruined all the plans and the purpose of the island.

[biaswreckingfics]

Sunwoo 35 and 34 (but reversed if that makes sense? As in "Just please, be my best friend right now, not the girl I just confessed my love to."

Sunwoo + Fluff

(I think I'm in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me. + Just please, be my best friend right now, not the guy I just confessed my love to.)

Sunwoo and you are sitting at a picnic table in the university quad, enjoying the warmth of the sun and working on assignments when the unthinkable happens. A man, who was off to the side throwing a ball around with his friends, runs into your table at full speed. His arms go flying as he tries to stop himself from slamming into Sunwoo, and in the process, he spills your drink all over your laptop and paperwork.

At first, you stare blankly at the mess in front of you. The man immediately throws apology after apology at you, but it's like you're in a frozen state of disbelief. This can't be happening right now.

Distantly, you hear Sunwoo accepting the man's apology and telling him to go away as politely as he can, but the words barely penetrate your brain. All of your hard work is ruined, and your laptop may never work properly again. Your entire life is on this computer, and now liquid is sinking into every crevice and cranny.

Sunwoo gets up, swipes some napkins from the table, and immediately begins dabbing at the liquid that's all over… everything. Your eyes absent-mindedly follow his hands as he tries to save your belongings, but all you can do is sit there.

Sunwoo's voice eventually pierces your ears. "Hey. Everything's going to be okay. We'll fix it, alright?"

His face enters your field of vision and your eyes finally meet his. His brows are furrowed with worry while his eyes sweep over your face. Your nose starts to burn, quickly followed by gathering wetness in your eyes. Sunwoo tries to remain calm at the sight, but you can tell that the sudden tears alarm him.

He drops down onto the bench next to you and pulls you to him. You sink into his embrace and then a quiet sob comes out of you. Tears stream down your cheeks and it feels good to finally let them out. Sunwoo rocks you a little, soothing down your hair and telling you everything will be okay.

This is just the cherry on top of the cake. It seems like everything that could go wrong this week has, and you've finally reached your limit. You've had enough.

"It's not just the assignments and my now ruined laptop that I'll have to replace," you tell him when he tries to comfort you. "It's my car that's falling apart being another expense that I can't afford. It's the fight that I had with my roommate yesterday that's replaying in my head. It's the fact that I think I'm in love with you, and that scares the crap out of me."

You didn't mean to blurt out the last part, but there's no taking it back now. All you can do is let it sit there, permeating the air and hoping Sunwoo lets it go for now. However, the rigidity of his body tells you that he heard every word loud and clear.

"You're-"

"Please," you interrupt him before he can comment on it. "Just please, be my best friend right now, not the guy I just confessed my love to."

You can tell Sunwoo wants to fight against your words, but he lets them go for now, and you couldn't be more grateful.

"Okay, let's just take a moment to breathe... You have all of your work backed up onto your flash drive?" You nod and Sunwoo pulls away from you, grabbing the flash drive out of your laptop and wiping it dry.

"Good, so now we know your work is saved… Also, you can use my laptop for now while you wait for that guy to replace yours." You look sharply at him and he smiles. "Yes, he offered to replace it during his many apologies. Second, when you go home, you can talk to your roommate and work things out. I'll even come with you if that'll help."

You almost weep with relief at the problem-solving boy in front of you. You had no idea how badly you needed someone to take control for a moment, and Sunwoo was just the person to do it.

"Lastly, and this is the most important one," he says, leaning forward to make sure he has your full attention. "When you're ready for me to acknowledge that last part, just say the word. I'll be waiting."

[keisurou]

build it up

(ft. koutarou bokuto)

minors dni. 

wc: 3.2k

Warnings: semi-public sex (in the locker room?), doggy style, mirror sex, mutual masturbation, blowjob, atsumu x kiyoomi ship, atsumu being a lil’ shit and drilling ideas into bo’s head, not edited. 

So my friends and I were fangirling discussing and apparently personality-wise, I��m basically a mix of Akaashi and Kenma, and it kinda makes sense because my top two comfort characters are Kuroo and Bokuto. Anyways, this is just a lil’ thing I wanted to try out, and again, this is not edited (i did edit it, and then my laptop just DIED so now its all gone. *sobs*) - does anyone want to be a beta-reader?? Because I literally went on a road trip with my family and just typed this in the car the entire time while my brothers screamed nonsense bs next to me. Hmu if you’re actually interested :) 

“Babe,” Bokuto murmurs into your neck, drawing out the word, his hair still damp and smoothed down from his shower not too long ago. You’re trying to focus on the pile of research assignments in front of you, but the way your fiance is rubbing circles on your back has you rereading the same sentence multiple times. “I heard something I wanna try,” 

“Hmm?” You hum noncommittally, encouraging him to continue, but you don’t look away from the papers. He frowns, frustration clawing at his belly and lets out a small grunt as he paws at your thighs exposed by your silk pyjamas. When he doesn’t speak, you turn to him and run your fingers through his damp locks before ruffling them slightly. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you tired? You have practice tomorrow morning, don’t you?” 

He doesn’t respond, his gaze locked on your lips and the way your tongue peeks out ever so slightly to wet your bottom lip only for a second. Bokuto has been strung tight lately; he had just returned from a training camp after being away from you for an entire week. He had been so excited to come home to you; he missed your smiles, your soft agreements, the way you came apart and lost yourself under his touch. But instead, he came home to you fully decked out in your ‘no sex’ gear. That’s right, from the ten piles of papers you had to mark, and a brand new box of red felt tips, you were ready for five days of no sleep, no fun, and absolutely nothing frisky with Bokuto. Needless to say, he almost cried when he first stepped into the apartment. 

But now, with only ten research papers left, you were practically finished. “Babe, let’s cuddle tonight,” You give him a look, and he deflates only a little before quickly adding, “I’ll be good, I swear,” 

“Kou-kun,” you lean in and give him a soft peck on the cheek, and he’s so touch starved that he sits motionless, absorbing the way your lips brush against his skin for as long as he can. “You’re always good.” You move away, and he quickly grabs your hands, intertwining your fingers together. “But if I finish up here today, I won’t be able to see you play tomorrow,” 

He’s silent as he contemplates this and then promptly hooks a hand around your waist and pulls you to him. His lips slant over yours, and it only takes you a second to melt into the kiss, hands flying to the hem of his t-shirt to drag him closer. Your lips are warm, and he can taste the sweetness of cherries from the dizzying brush of your tongue. He leans back against the sofa, and you clamber onto his lap, your softness meeting the hard planes of his body as you kiss along the smooth column of his neck. There is nothing sexier than the way you press a kiss before nibbling along his jaw, and his hands automatically find their way under your sleep shirt to squeeze at a naked breast. 

You let out a strangled moan and immediately press your body to his chest, halting his movements. Bokuto’s eyes widen as he tentatively brushes a thumb on the underside of your breast, only for you to shudder. “Koutarou, wait,” you pant softly, grabbing at his arm to pull it from your chest. “I’m really sensitive today, and it hurts if you squeeze too roughly,” 

“Why?”

“I’m on my period,” you say simply, and he blurts out the first thing that pops into his head. 

“So, no sex?” 

You shake your head, and his erection throbs painfully in his shorts as it strains against the material, somehow understanding the situation but not exactly cooperating. You get up to clear the table, and when you stretch, he can clearly see the way your nipples poke through the flimsy fabric, almost as if begging for his attention. He’s up, wrapping his arms around your waist and breathing in the scent of your hair. “Can I massage them?” 

You pause, and when you don’t respond for a few seconds, he cups one breast through the shirt, palming it softly until you melt under his touch. “O-Okay, but no sex,” 

He murmurs out a thank you, his golden eyes sparkling, and he’s glad you don’t question his enthusiasm. Once in the shared bedroom, he strips your shirt off your body watches with hooded eyes as you crawl over to join him at the centre of the bed. 

His fingers brush against a peaked nipple before slowly pushing down on the nub, and you let out a soft whine before cupping your other breast yourself, rotating the flesh in small circles. 

Bokuto briefly wonders how long it could take to make you cum just from your tits, and he turns it into a personal mission for tonight. He pulls at the free nipple, and you gasp sharply. Your reaction brings a lazy grin on his face, and he brings you to sit on top of him, the outline of his erection pressing against your ass so he can feel at least some sort of friction. He swats your hand away and pulls a nipple into the heat of his mouth, suckling the flesh softly as your thighs tremble around his waist. The first contact of his teeth against your sensitive nipple has your breath hitching deliciously as you chant his name, and he does it again, wanting to commit the sound to memory. 

“K-Koutarou, please. I’m going to-”

He switches to the other breast and bites down on the nipple without warning. Your hands fly to the back of his head, pushing him closer to your chest as he soothes the abused skin with long strokes of his tongue. The way you pull at his hair sends sharp jolts of pain, and you realise that each time you tug at his locks, he puts his teeth to work. 

You tug at his hair again, and he smiles as he bites down for a second. He takes satisfaction in the way you tremble and grind against him when he tugs at a hardened bud with his fingers, twisting and rolling the nub until it borders on pain and pleasure. He’s going to make you come like this even if he doesn’t get any sleep.  

Minutes later, you tremble, your hands feebly pushing at Bokuto, and he leans back only slightly. He watches with wide eyes as you roll your hips, the movements unstable and shaky, almost frenzied. Your fingers squeeze at a breast and pull at the tip of the other, and you let out a breathy moan at the sharp streak of pain that quickly turns into pleasure. “K-Kou-kun. I’m s-so close. So close.” You whine out in both pleasure and frustration and reach for his hands so he can help you finish the job. “Please,” 

You don’t notice the way Bokuto’s erection grows bigger from under you. He loves it when you beg for him like this, eyes glazed with lust without a care in the world except for how quickly you’ll come. It’s so intoxicating, and you look so desperate that he can’t help but want to tease you until you’re ruined.  But tonight, there was no way; you wouldn’t be getting any help from him until he gets off on the image of you sobbing for his fingers and his tongue. 

He watches as your eyes widen when you see him take out his cock and grip himself at the base. The tip is red and weeping, and when he smears the fluid all over the head, he’s delighted to see the way you lick your lips and lean forward, entranced. “What is it, puppy?” He purrs and grips himself at the base before moving up to the tip and coming back down again. The way your eyes follow the movement is incredibly sexy, but it’s the tremble in your lower lip that has him growing harder. ��F-Fuck. Shit, you want my cock? I thought you said no sex.” 

There’s a whine of frustration, and at this point, he can’t tell if it’s from you or him, but the way you rub your thighs together and tug at your nipples has him lifting his hips, craving the friction he can’t have. There are now tears in your eyes as you sniffle.  For a fleeting moment, Bokuto considers sliding your underwear to the side; your period be damned, and fucking you into the mattress until the bedsheet is soaked with your tears. His cock twitches in agreement at the mental image, and a shudder goes down his spine. 

Instead, he gives himself a few more rough strokes and closes his eyes, listening to your moans echo in the room before he groans, loud and low, as his release lands messily on the bedsheets. 

Bokuto is restless at practice the morning after, and everyone knows this because his performance was downright terrible. On the rare occasions when he did score a point, there was no hey, hey, hey, no burst of confidence, no nothing. 

There had been days on end where the team would have done anything short of murder to shut Bokuto up, but now that he had, they had no idea what to do. Well, except Atsumu, of course. The setter sauntered over, his lips stretched into a cocky smirk. “Bokkun, what are ya mopin’ about for? Did yer girlfriend leave ya all needy?”

Bokuto grumbled sourly at the blonde before promptly turning away. “I’m not moping.” And when Atsumu raises an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue, Bokuto only sighs and leans back on his elbows. Surprisingly, that’s all the setter needs to understand the situation and begins to laugh. 

The entire situation is infuriatingly unfair, especially since it was, in fact, Atsumu who had drilled in the idea of having sex in semi-public places. Bokuto usually didn’t care to listen to the gossip of others much, unless it was related to volleyball or you. During the training camp, the blond setter had been describing how hot it was to do it in a semi-public place where there was a high chance of getting caught, much to Kiyoomi’s chagrin. Bokuto genuinely cannot bring himself to care because obviously sex feels good all the time, so why would doing it outside make it any different? Atsumu had just tutted when Bokuto explained this to him before asking him about you, and that definitely got his attention. 

“Bokkun, do ya know what kinks yer girlfriend has?” 

“She doesn’t have any,” Bokuto’s response had been immediate, and Atsumu just stared, wondering if the hyperactive male was just pulling his leg. But he wasn’t - Bokuto genuinely knew you didn’t have any because of course you would tell him as soon as you discovered one, right? 

“She seriously never told ya?” 

“Maybe she just doesn’t know.” 

Atsumu had spluttered indignantly to his excuse, equal parts horrified and insulted that Bokuto could even think about suggesting such a thing. 

Needless to say, ever since then, Bokuto has been trying to find out more of the things that make you tick in bed. He’d already found two last night, and his body was already tense, eager to find out more today. Especially since you said you’d be visiting after handing back all the papers to your students. They all wrapped up practice, with Meian giving Bokuto extra laps around the gym. By the time he had finished the required amount, Hinata and Meian were about to leave but had stopped to greet you for a few minutes. The sight of you leaning against the door, your lips pulled up into a soft smile filled him with restless energy and he took a swig of his water before making his way to you. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” His voice booms, echoing off the walls and you swivel around to grin at him. There is a collective sigh of relief from the other members as they leave the court gym and he sees the way your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He practically sprints to you and pulls you into a bear hug. He knows he’s sweating and that he probably stinks, but that all takes a back seat as your arms come around to wrap around his waist as you breathe in the feel of him. “Are you feeling better?”

You nod and lean up, puckering your lips to give him a short kiss, and his heart squeezes before he leans down to meet your lips halfway. When you pull back, your face is flushed, and you lean forward to whisper in his ear. “I’m sorry about last night. I’m all better today, we can go wherever you want and do whatever you feel like,”

His golden eyes glint dangerously under the low lighting of the hall, and you immediately know that you’re in trouble. “Now?”

He can see the way your breath hitches and throat constricts as you let out a little whimper. Your voice reaches a higher octave as you whisper out a “Now?” and he suddenly wishes that he could drag you to the locker room in front of everyone. He realises with a start that Atsumu had been right all along and expects the fact to rub him the wrong way, but the thought is pushed to the back as you let out a timid nod. 

That’s all he needs. He drags you into the locker room, too impatient to bother with the intricacies of the lock. Everyone had gone home anyway, so what did it even matter? As soon as he sits down, you push his thighs apart and situation yourself between them. Your hands fly to the hem of his gym shorts as you gaze up at him, and the whisper of friction that your fingers provide already has his cock swelling in his boxers. 

The first contact your tongue made with his cock has him hardening even further as he sinks his fingers into your hair. He can’t take his eyes off the way your hot tongue glides up the curve of his dick before swirling around the tip and- 

“Fuck. Fuck. Wait, baby-Don’t-”

You take him into your mouth, one hand softly massaging his balls, and all the protests die in his throat almost instantly. He chokes at the sight of you on your knees and your pretty, pretty mouth stretched around his fat cock. There are tears forming at the corner of your eyes as you struggle to take him in any further, and there’s nothing in the word that could make him look away. He thrusts his hips up only slightly, taking you off guard and forcing more of his length into your mouth as you gag around his size. 

You make a sound at the back of your throat as you drool around his cock, and it sends waves of vibrations throughout his length. Bokuto eases out of your mouth, and the stark coldness that hits the sensitive skin has him hardening even further. “You did so good, puppy,” he pants out his praise and comes up behind you before he pushes you forward so that you’re on your hands and knees. You’re such a pretty sight that he has to stop himself from entering you straight away. “Are you comfortable, babe? Think you can take it like this?” 

You nod vigorously and hold his gaze through the mirror. The head of his cock is leaking and angry, and he’s half tempted to bury himself balls deep inside you without warning. But the moment he pushes the tip inside your wet heat, you arch your back, and his hips jerked forward, craving the way your slick walls spammed around his length. 

“S-Shit—” Bokuto grits out, relishing the way the unmistakable sound of your arousal squelching around his cock echoes in the locker room. “God, you’re so fucking messy- baby, I can’t—” his words end on a whine and tries to push himself further inside you, his hands going to grip your hair to wrap it around his fingers. 

There’s a low guttural moan from you, and when he looks up, his gut clenches at the sight of your thoroughly fucked face. He wants to commit it all to memory - the way your tongue lolls out while your eyes roll to the back of your head as you cry out for him because he’s the only one who can make you feel like this. He pulls at your hair slightly and immediately feels you clench around him. 

He does it again, harder. 

Your whimpers thunder in his ears, and he leans forward until he has you completely underneath him, chest grazing the back of your shoulders as he braces his entire weight on his arm. His tongue and teeth are relentless on the flushed tips of your ear, laving the sensitive skin before nipping it harshly as he thrusts into you. “You’re such a pretty puppy, aren’t you? Fucked dumb and drooling on my cock,”

You sob at this, your words slurring. “K-Kou, s’close—” His thrusts become short and fast, reaching deeper as your walls dragging along his cock deliciously. The way you’re needy heat is sucking him in leaves him breathless, his hips stuttering with effort as he struggles to go faster and faster and— 

Your walls flutter around his girth, clenching down and squeezing so tightly that he can’t help but arch his back, hands gripping your hips to bring you closer, the curve of your ass flush against his abs. He ruts into you harshly, trying to fuck you through your orgasm, and it’s the loud slapping of skin on skin that mixes perfectly with your lewd keens that have his dick spasming and finally sends him over the edge. 

For a moment, all he can hear are the heavy breathing as you both try to catch your breaths, skin slick and glistening with sweat, but then his ears perk up at the telltale whisper of footsteps shuffling. Somewhere, right outside the door, a broomstick topples over something, and he swears he can hear the hushed bickering of Atsumu and Kiyoomi. 

Thank you for reading :) 

Taglist: @lukehemmingsfan101​ @the-actual-audrey @Dontmindme:) @potaytopothato @jadasz @momoraen​ (those in bold could not be tagged). 

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[blessednereid]

Pity the Living

Daniel Sharman x Reader Series

A/N: The Much Requested, and By Requested, I mean @rogershoe wanted me to write this, MY DANIEL SHARMAN FANFICTION!!!!!! The character that Y/N plays is based on my OC for FTWD and is not an actual character in FTWD. Basic Premise of the setting for this chapter is that they're in high-school/ secondary school. But for the majority of the story(minus flashbacks) it's set in 2016/17 when s3 of FTWD was filmed.

Story Summary: When (Y/N) (L/N) reunites with a high-school friend on the set of the job she's been working on for the past 2-3 years, not only is she excited to work with the guy who inspired her to go into acting, but to hear about what he's done since she's seen him. But the more they talk, the more she realizes, this reunion is not going the way she had planned.

CW: Cursing? brief mention of alcohol, anxiety, mentions of food, fake dagger, fake blood, bets,

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Career Day

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Most of the students around you were chorusing to the tune of your school anthem, but not you. You had heard the melody and sung it almost a million times. Whether you were exaggerating or not, not even you knew. Instead, you were whispering and laughing with one of your best friends, Daniel Sharman.

You met Daniel when you first came to the school. You didn't know many people. You didn't even know yourself in this place. It was a completely foreign experience, but he stuck by your side and showed you around.

Since then, you had made friends, joined the swim team, learned your way around the school without ending up in the boys' restrooms instead of the girls' ones. Despite not needing Daniel to show you around anymore, he still provided plenty of comedic support and pick-me-ups and was a great mate all around.

Your teacher had just finished introducing all the parents who were presenting at career day. The assignment being after the presentations were finished, you were supposed to think about what you wanted to be in the future. You had no idea what you wanted to be. But of course… Daniel did.

"An actor."

"An actor?" he nodded. "Like Macbeth?"

"No, Macbeth is a character. An actor is a person who plays the character."

"Why an actor?"

"Dunno. Just seems right."

You frowned. "Huh, that's nice. Knowing what you want to be."

"You could always try acting. It's worth a shot."

"Hah, if I ever tried acting, it would probably be when I'm old, senile, and look like Betty White."

"Oh, come on. You're a great actress!"

"What's that supposed to mean, Sharman?" you gasped.

"Just that you tell fibs and stories as if they were the truth. That's all acting is."

"I DO NOT!"

"How did you convince your mum that your dog jumped onto the table and ate the cake without making any noise last weekend, then?" You opened your mouth to speak before closing it.

"Cat got your tongue?" he teased.

"Shut up, Sharman."

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L/N Residence

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You and Daniel were both swimming in the pool in your backyard when Daniel asked you the question.

"Did you think about it?"

Still floating, you asked, "About what?"

"Acting."

You laughed incredulously. "You were serious?"

"Of course I was." He swam closer to you and pulled your leg down, making you flop around and splash water.

"WHAT THE HELL!"

"Was just trying to get your attention," he remarked innocently.

You coughed. "You had it."

"Picture this," he waved you off. "Us, on the red carpet-"

"Who's red carpet?"

"Does it matter? We'll be each other's dates anyways."

"Why is that?" you asked.

"Because we're best friends."

"What if one of us has a boyfriend or girlfriend?"

He shrugged. "Ok, whatever. We're on the red carpet separately. It's both of ours red carpet-"

"So, does that mean we're in a movie together?"

"Yes, Y/N," he muttered exasperatedly.

"But that's impossible?"

"Why do you say that?"

You leaned closer to his ear. "BECAUSE I'M NOT BECOMING AN ACTOR."

He jumped away from you, proceeding to splash you with water.

"Mark my words. I know talent when I see it."

You sighed. "Could this just be you not wanting to be lonely in the acting world?"

He jutted his lip and spoke in a whiny voice. "Maybe…"

You laughed before splashing a giant wave of water at him. While he still had water in his eyes, you dove under and pulled him down.

He flailed around before his head popped up, and he calmed down.

"WHAT THE HELL!"

"PAYBACK, SHARMAN!"

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Announcement

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The intercom gave a heavy buzz, and static-y noises ran amok over the building before a voice actually came through the speakers.

"Hello, Teachers, Students, and Faculty. Welcome back to school. We hope that you all enjoyed your holidays and got the rest you needed to pay attention in class today," the last part was passive. Your principal gave more announcements for clubs and sports around the school, such as upcoming games or reminders for students to buy the school yearbook.

You were nodding along interested, or looking for interest really when something caught your best friend's attention.

"The school will also be hosting its first-ever play, Romeo and Juliet. Interested people should report to the music room before the end of the week to receive information."

You saw Daniel's eyes widen only moments before he spoke up. "Hey," he waved at you. "You should audition!"

"Daniel, are you insane?"

He chuckled, "No, but I think you'd like it."

You tried arguing, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. "You're the one who said you didn't know what you wanted to do after you graduated. Doing this cannot hurt."

"Yeah, it can't hurt until I trip on my costumes and break my neck!"

"That rarely ever happens," he said exasperatedly. "Ok, how about this? You audition, and if you end up getting a role and actually doing the play, I'll give you fifty pounds."

You squinted. "Do you even have fifty pounds to give me?"

"Do you even have to ask," he feigned shock in the accusation? You gave a sour face before he truthfully answered. "Fine, I don't have it now. But I will by the time the play comes around."

"What do I get just for auditioning?"

"I'll convince my mum to make that cake you like."

"Fine."

"BUT!" he exclaimed. "You have to audition for Juliet."

"You're kidding?"

He laughed. "No, I'm not. You have to audition for Juliet."

"I hate you," you mumbled before sighing a whispered 'fine.'

He gave a toothy smile. "Then we have a deal."

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

Auditions

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You reluctantly walked onto the stage, Daniel's widening grin so visible in the audience. He said that he only put his name on the audition sheet so he could watch the auditions. He would've already been gone by the time it was his turn.

"Hello, My name is Y/n L/n, and I am auditioning for Juliet," your lips pressing into a straight line after saying the sentence.

You stammered through your first few lines. "Sh-Shall I speak ill of him— that is my husband?" You said with a laugh.

"Ah," you paused and clicked your tongue. "Poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name… When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?"

You said your following line in an accusatory manner. "But wherefore, villain... didst thou kill my cousin?" you said, though your voice squealed trying to pronounce 'didst.' "That villain cousin would have killed my husband."

"Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring!" Your voice rose and fell several octaves. "Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy." Fake tears spring to your eyes, your voice cracked, and you began slowly falling against an invisible wall.

You looked down at your paper for what to say next. "My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband. All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?" You wiped your cheeks dramatically.

"Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murd'red me. I would forget it fain;" your lips quivered, and you sucked in deep, heaving breaths before speaking your line.

"But O, it presses to my memory. Like damnèd guilty deeds to sinners' minds! 'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banishèd!" You shouted.

You stood back up in a startling jump, and with a proud smile, you said triumphantly, "And Scene!"

The directors and some students in the audience, especially Daniel, gave a round of applause before the director dismissed you.

You took the steps to the stage and sat next to Daniel as the director called the next student to audition.

"You were amazing! The director might as well have given you the role right then and there."

You laughed, "Hang on, charmer. There were a bunch of Juliet's who literally said that entire thing so… fluently. I stammered through the whole thing."

"But you showed more emotion than anyone else. You only had a week to prepare. The actual show will be like child's play."

"They want people who can memorize and recite. The emotion can be added later, but it's worth nothing if they forget their lines."

"There is such a thing called improvising for a reason," he reassured.

"Who in their right, bloody minds wants to improvise Shakespeare?"

He turned his head and chuckled before waving a five-pound note in front of your face. "Here, I got to go before they call me, but you earned this at least."

"Five pounds for being forced to audition for a stupid play so you can prove a point? Wow, you must really fancy me, huh, Sharman?" you said sarcastically.

"Goodbye, L/n," he whispered before sneaking out the back door of the auditorium.

"Alright, next up. Daniel Sharman!" The director shouted your friend's name a few more times before giving up.

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

Headmasters Office

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A week after your audition, you were called to the headmasters' office. Thus is the cause of the curious looks from your classmates. Oohs and Aahs flooded your ears as you grabbed your bag and headed out the door to the front of the school.

When you got to the front of the building and went into the headmasters' office, you saw the Theatre director, Ms Parker, standing behind the desk. "Headmaster Leo allowed me to use his office to do this. Isn't that cool?"

Ms Parker was one of the younger teachers in school. She was twenty-four, and this was her first year teaching after receiving her bachelor's degree in education and a master's degree in music production. A fact she could astoundingly ramble about for fifteen minutes. As proven at the auditions.

"I didn't want to call you to the theatre room. That would be too predictable, correct?" You'd come to realize she was a very eccentric woman. "I have called you in here to inform you that you have been selected to perform in this year's play of Romeo and Juliet."

A wave of shock coursed through your body, and you were sure it reflected on your face. "Are you sure?"

"Darling, I'm positive!- your audition was totally spectacular! So brilliant-in fact- that I am completely sure in my choice to make you our female lead- Juliet!"

"What!" Your eyes widened into a blank stare. Your thoughts were running rampant in your mind. You thought that performing on the stage would be a breeze when you weren't the lead.

"Ms Parker, I didn't actually want the part of Juliet! It's just that my friend dared me to audition for Juliet! Is there no way I can get a smaller part? I'm no Juliet. The show would be ruined," you rambled.

The directors' facial expressions softened, "Darling, you are the only choice. None of the other people who auditioned can even compare to the amount of passion you produced in that audition. I am determined to have you as our Juliet."

You whimpered out an "Ok." Professors had a strange way of convincing you to do extra credit assignments or things that aren't necessary.

"We have a chemistry read for you and a few of our other choices for Romeo after school today. Do you need to contact a parent to let them know where you'll be?"

"Uh, yes, please."

After you made your call, you walked back to your classroom with shaky hands. The class period was almost over, but you had to tell Daniel that you had gotten a part in the show. Not just any part- THE PART!

You shuffled into the classroom reluctantly. All eyes were on you as every student had assumed you'd been in trouble. Either suspended, expelled, or told your parents were going to have a sit-down with the headmaster.

You took your seat next to Daniel before taking out a piece of paper and writing out a note, encompassing the words, "I got the part!"

You slid the sheet discreetly onto his desk. When he read it, his eyes widened, and he quietly moved his hands toward yours, beckoning for a high five.

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First Rehearsal

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After the chemistry read, the role of Romeo was given to a kid named James Mercer-Allen got the part. Though it was more because the directors were starting to become tired.

The next day was the first rehearsal. Swimming season was last semester, so there was no clash in schedules with the play.

"Alright, this rehearsal is to get acquainted with the stage, your fellow actors, and directors," she insisted. "Now, let's introduce ourselves. Can our Romeo please stand up?"

James stood up and gave a brief introduction. You were called on next. You stated your name, "I was on the swim team last semester, and I'm in my thirteenth year. I hope I can do this role justice."

More students stood up to introduce themselves. The entire process took more than thirty minutes.

The next thing to happen was that the rest of the students were called to recite lines for various roles. The only parts that had been cast preliminarily were Romeo and Juliet.

You and James had sat on the wooden stools unless there was a scene going on that needed Romeo and/or Juliet.

By the end of the first rehearsal, the majority of the speaking roles were cast. You went home exhausted but not expecting the conversation that waited for you.

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

The Talk

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"We're moving?" you shouted at your parents from your seat across from them in the sitting room. "What do you mean we're moving."

"Honey, your dad got a job in the states, so we have to move," your mother argued.

"But what about school? No school will take me in the middle of the year, and it's my last year of secondary school. I don't want to spend the rest of my last year knowing nobody."

Your dad, the man of the hour, spoke up. "Dear, we're moving at the end of the year. After school ends."

"But- What about Uni?"

"You said you were taking a sabbatical year!"

"Yes, so I could intern in London!"

"Can't you intern in California?" Your mother whined.

"We're going to California? It's the furthest state?"

Your dad attempted to reassure you but failed. "Darling, it won't be that bad. Maybe you'll like it there more than you like it here!"

"I could never like anywhere more than I like it here!"

You agreed to go to your room and spent the rest of the day there. Later on, after you finished moping, you ringed up your closest friends to tell them you were moving. You did that until you were so tired you fell asleep on the phone with Sarah before you even called Daniel.

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Confrontation

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"Why am I hearing from everyone besides you that you're moving?" Daniel appeared out of thin air behind you, and the accusation was an assault on your conscience.

You could lie and tell him that you wanted to reveal that to him in person, or you could just tell him the truth- say you fell asleep. Mix-and-Match? You ended up just telling the truth. "I fell asleep when I was making some of my other calls. I was going to tell you, I swear!"

"Why didn't you call me first. I'm your best friend?"

"That's why! It was too hard. I kept putting it off and putting it off and putting it off because I didn't want to tell you, I don't want it to be true, and telling you of all people would make it feel real."

"Why can't you stay for Uni?"

"I already told my parents I was taking a gap year. I didn't apply to any colleges."

"Crap!" he sighed. "Ok, well, we're going to have to make the most of it. And! You're getting a going away party!"

"Daniel, I don't need-"

"No debate! You are getting a going away party!"

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

Opening Night

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Four months later, after all the rehearsals and memorizations of lines. After much running around the entire film department, it was finally opening night, and your nerves were shot.

You were scrambling all morning to find everything you needed. All your costumes were at the school, but you still needed to bring your black leotard, skin-coloured tights, and wear your hair in an up-do style.

You decided to do your skincare routine, but your panic got the best of you, and you forgot what every single product was used for.

Daniel came over and helped you get ready but found you practically hyperventilating.

Your parents drove you both to the theatre, and when Ms Parker told you that Daniel couldn't be backstage, you promptly told her that he was your emotional support. After much arguing, she finally let him backstage.

Around an hour before showtime, the director told Daniel that he had to go wait in the audience if he already bought his ticket or that he had to go do it now.

Before he left, he gave you a pep-talk. "Hey, so one time, I was in this play, and the idea was that I was expelled, and there was a piece of paper I had to give my 'mother,' but I lost it. So we had to improvise, but I couldn't find the paper, and I felt horrible. So just know, even if you forget your lines, you must improvise, and remember, it still probably won't compare to the embarrassment I felt that day. So you can laugh at my humiliation. "

You chuckled, "I will. Ok, go before you get in trouble."

"Ok, me, our parents and all your friends will be in the front row. I've already reserved the entire row. I brought a whole bag of jackets just for that reason!"

"You can't do that," you said in between cackles.

"For you, I'll do anything," he grinned.

A few hours later and the show was almost done. "What's here? A cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end," you wept.

"O, churl! Drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, to die with thine restorative." You leaned over James and let your hair fall to the side of your head to cover your face. You pulled back without actually kissing James.

"Thy lips are warm."

A whispery voice came from offstage, "Which way?" The cue for you to take the poison, which was actually cranberry juice.

"Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!" You grabbed the dagger and brought it near your chest. "This is thy sheath;" you drew the fake knife back three inches from your chest and stabbed it to where the bag of more cranberry juice was and punctured the bag. 'Blood' soaked through your dress. "There rust, and let me die." You fell dramatically onto the altar and waited for the scene to end as the crowd cheered.

After the show, you dashed into the crowd where your friends and family waited for you. Ovations and Applauses were passed, lauded boxes of chocolates and gorgeous roses were given.

When you got to Daniel, he practically tackled you with a hug. "I actually thought you died for a split second. The blood looked so real."

"Daniel, most people don't bleed that fast, do they?"

"I don't know but fear kicked in, and I couldn't make sense of anything."

You grinned and almost went to your parents before Daniel grabbed your arm. "You don't have a date to the Leavers ball, do you?"

"No, I don't. Why?"

He sighed. "Well, I was thinking that you could go with me. I don't have a date either."

You squinted, thinking there was some ulterior motive behind his actions. "Ok, I'll go with you if you give me the money you owe me before then."

"It's right here," he smiled.

Your face scrunched up, but you reluctantly agreed. You only had a month of school left, and you might as well spend it having fun with your friends.

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

The Leavers Ball and the Getaway Party

☆◦ 。／｜＼。◦☆

You were dressed in a light blue, pleated, Mikado prom dress that cut off at mid-thigh. You had black wedges on your feet and a black pearl-beaded bracelet on your arm.

You were wearing a half-up, half-down style that framed your face and a silver necklace with a circle-shaped diamond.

You were sitting in the parlour when Daniel rang the doorbell. He was ten minutes late.

"Sorry," he said when your dad answered it. "I know I'm late. I was picking up Kat and James."

Kat and James were your and Daniel's respective friends who'd started last year after you and Daniel introduced them.

"Hi," you popped out of the shadows. "Alright, Mom, Dad, we're late, so we're just going to get goi-"

"Wait! I have to take pictures! Go get Kat and James."

"No, Mom. No pictures!"

"It's only right. I just want a few. We can take it outside."

You sighed but reluctantly caved into your mother's will.

The four of you took pictures outside of Daniel's Jeep Wrangler. You took ones with silly faces, just girls, just boys, and ones with all four of you before your parents allowed you to leave.

You were forty minutes late, and the ball was already in full swing by the time you got there.

You got on the dance floor immediately because one of your favourite songs was playing, but the DJ switched the song as soon as you found a decent spot. It was a slow song. You chuckled, and Daniel put his hands on your waist.

"Well, this is awkward."

A few minutes later, Daniel posed an interesting question.

"Did you know that I had a crush on you when you first came to school?"

"Uh, you stammered. "No, I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I did. It was short, though. Surface-level."

"Oh," you said. "Should I take offence to that?"

"What?" His eyes widened in realization with what he said. "No, that's not what I meant. You have an amazing personality. I just meant that… I just meant I like you more as a friend than to ruin that with any of those feelings."

"Oh, ok. You wouldn't have, though."

"I wouldn't?"

"No, everyone needs an ego boost every once in a while."

"Haha!"

"And besides, I've had feelings for you at one point too. But it was very cliche, so I tried to shake it as hard as I could."

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows. "And did you?"

"Like I said, as hard as I could. If it's still there somewhere, it's buried very deep, so much so that I was embarrassed."

"Embarrassed to like me?"

"I mean embarrassed to try and make my life seem like some movie."

"Oh, well, if you did, it would've just made you that much better as an actress. Speaking of that, would you consider acting in the least?"

"Maybe, now that I'm leaving, it's basically the last thing I have to connect me to you."

"No," he said, pointing to your bracelet. "You have that."

You had forgotten that it was Daniel who gave it to you, but the realization brought a smile to your face. "Oh yeah, I'll never take it off."

Later on, long before the ball ended, you saw many of your friends leaving.

"Hey, are you ready to go?" Daniel approached you.

"Where is everyone going?"

He wriggled his eyebrows. "Afterparty!"

"But it's not over?"

"Quit being a party popper and just come with us, L/N!"

You gave in, something you did a lot, and you all started driving. When you got there, you realized you were at Daniel's house.

"The afterparty is at your house?" you asked.

"Well…" James answered.

Kat joined in. "It's really an afterparty!"

"This is your going away party!" Daniel finished.

"But I'm not going away for another month."

"Well, now you have an entire month for people to give you gifts and stuff, and you don't have to worry about the party!" He reasoned.

"But why did it have to be after the Leavers ball?"

"Because you're already in a dress, and it has to be a surprise! Surprise!" Kat exclaimed.

"Alright, fine!"

The entire night you partied and danced, and though you didn't drink alcohol, plentiful amounts of pop and mocktails were passed around. The music was a delight to your ears with all your favourite songs. There were chips and pizza with all your favourite toppings.

"This party is awesome!"

Daniel grinned. "Well, I am an amazing party planner if I do say so myself."

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

Airport

☆◦ 。／｜＼。◦☆

Daniel's parents drove your family to the airport. Your parents had sold the car. Your dad would return in a week to close a deal on the house. Everything was official, and now you were leaving.

You got out of the car, and the tears forcefully began to fall.

"I'm really gonna miss you, jerk," you said disdainfully to Daniel.

He chuckled. "I'm going to miss you more."

"Impossible!"

He wiped the fallen tear from your eye, and for a moment, you could see every single multi-coloured speck in his eyes and noticed how sometimes they looked blue, and at others, they looked grey or green.

You noticed the curvature of his smile and the chisel of his jawline.You saw the hurt in his eyes that said, 'why do you have to go? You're killing me,' and wanted to never move from that position.

He continued to rub the tears that fell onto your cheek, and the sad moment was as sheltered as it could be. You felt safe with him, in his arms, just looking at his face and being reminded of how he comforted you in a place that felt as familiar as Oz felt to Dorothy.

"What am I gonna do without you?" you whispered.

"Get at least one acting job, get an assistant and an agent, I'll do the same thing, and then either one of us has our assistants reach out to our agents, so we get back in touch in case we ever lose touch."

He sounded so grave that you couldn't help but laugh. "That's assuming I do become an actress, Daniel."

"You're right," he whined. "But don't forget me."

"I promise."

And you tried to keep that promise. Throughout your first year, you interned at UCLA, working in the lab. You then applied to go to school there, and you still tried to keep Daniel in your mind. Maintaining a social life on campus combined with schoolwork already wasn't easy. However, you still wouldn't let yourself forget your best friend.

It wasn't until you entered your senior year and you were about to graduate that he started to wane in your memories. The things you did together became obsolete as new friends and memories replaced the old. The things he taught you were thrown out to make space for the new lessons you learned each day.

Even when you did become an actress, you never really remembered why you decided to. You remembered that your friend pushed you to do that play, but it was almost ten years ago, and for the life of you, you couldn't remember his name.

But you did do it, first as an extra, then a body double, and then you started getting l roles on smaller shows. But your big break was getting a quasi-lead role on the spin-off of a big television show, The Walking Dead. For two years, you enjoyed going to conventions and playing the complex character, Valeria Bishop, and you thought you had it all figured out.

But life has a funny way of coming full circle and throwing you a curveball that knows you off course and changes your life.

[wkemeup]

Little Lion Man

summary: Sent on an assignment back to 1943, you encounter a drastically different version of the man you know pairing: bucky x reader warnings: time travel, a charming af 40s!bucky 😉, a sad af present!bucky 😔 a/n: I used the time travel logic from Endgame except fixed points exist. This was also written for @buckysknifecollection​‘s 1k challenge! I had the song prompt of Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons! Congrats on 1k hun!!

Weep little lion man, You're not as brave as you were at the start

You found blue eyes lighting up across the crowded courtyard, beaming smile touched on the dirt freckled glow of his face, and it startled you; stilled you right in your tracks and set a stone deep into your chest, made it hard to breathe, because that wasn’t the man you knew.

No—he wore a weightlessness about him, even as he stepped away from the crowd erupting in celebration and shied to the outskirts of the commotion, he was smiling. It wrinkled up by his eyes, left behind dimples in his cheeks, a slight shake of his head as small wisps of hair fell down to his forehead. 

He didn’t seem to be counting each moment of joy on his fingers, calculating how much relief he allowed for himself before the shadows came rushing back in to take it away. He was... happy.

Dark army green was torn like rags as his shirt barely hung off his shoulder, exposing the blood and grime covering his skin beneath. Silver dog tags hung at his sternum; muted in their color, lacking the shine they once possessed, though they chimed against one another with each of his steps. He settled outside the Colonel’s tent and as he slouched to the wooden post, they fell behind his shirt. The last remaining tie to his identity nestled by his heart.

You could spot the trail of blood from his left ear, a light scruff covering his cheeks and jawline, bruising under his eyes from a lack of sleep and over exhaustion, but it was his hair that drew your attention; short, swept over his forehead and parted to the right. Its messy strands that did nothing to cover his eyes even as he dropped his chin to his chest and lit the cigarette he’d nestled between his lips.

You knew who he was, heard stories from Steve and read the articles hung in the Smithsonian; stories of what he was like in his youth, before the fall, before Hydra twisted and warped his mind and mutilated his body. And yet, none of it prepared for the laugh that echoed through the courtyard as he waved at an old friend at the center of the crowd surrounded by men who once mocked him, now lifting him on their shoulders for bringing hundreds of their men home alive.

It was him, and it wasn't.

Your Bucky.

You almost forgot why you were standing on a military base in a newly Allied Italian war front in 1943 as Bucky shook the hand of a soldier as he passed by. You recognized him from the drawings on Steve’s desk and the old faded photo album shoved into Bucky’s nightstand drawer.

Dum Dum Dugan.

He was taller than you pictured, rougher around the edges too, but he had a kind smile and a laughter that bolstered through the camp.

It was like a scene from the film clips they used to show you in school; ones of soldiers huddled around campfires in the middle of a war zone, reminding you how incredibly human these men were, that they weren’t just numbers in a fatalities list. They were real and significant in their entirety. They had hopes and dreams, fears and families.

Focus! This isn’t a field trip, you reminded yourself sharply, the words of Director Fury echoing in your head.

There was a file located in the Colonel’s office, the contents of which well above your clearance level, though it wasn’t your business to know what it contained or why Fury decided to risk sending an agent back to a war two of the Avengers’ current members barely survived. You were a part of SHIELD long before you were an Avenger, so you knew how to follow the chain of command. You didn’t ask questions.

Get the file. Get the hell home.

But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Bucky.

He was laughing again, taking another drag of a cigarette you’d never once seen him smoke in your time as he talked with another one of the Commandos. Jim Morita, you thought. He seemed happy, relieved even, and as Jim made his way to the nurses’ tent, Bucky pushed the lighter into his pocket, pulled the cigarette from his lips with a puff of smoke, and paused.

He narrowed his eyes in your direction, a slight tilt of his head, and you realized your mistake when ocean blue caught you staring from across the open green. A smile slowly curved up broken lips and your stomach plummeted because suddenly he was jogging towards you, dog tags bouncing against his chest with every step he took and there was nowhere for you to escape.

You shoved your gun to the waistband of your pencil skirt and draped the back of your jacket to conceal it. It wouldn’t be surprising for you to be carrying a weapon, not with the uniform you wore indicating you were on rank with the likes of Peggy Carter, but it wasn’t a gun Bucky would recognize. It was from your time, one you did not ever travel without, and the technological advancements wouldn’t be easy to explain.

When Bucky reached you, he pulled to a slow stop and casually ran his fingers through the short mess of hair, pushing it back to expose his eyes, the dirt lining the creases in his forehead, and the bruising above his brow. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth as he looked you over, eyes trailing down to your shoes before returning to your face, a heavy sigh on his breath and he leaned on the wall beside you.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around, doll,” he said and even the tone of his voice seemed different from the man you knew. Lighter, maybe. Confident. Flirtatious.

He smirked, a whistle on his tongue and he seemed a little winded as he shook his head. You wondered if he felt your connection to him, knew the depths of your care for one another before he’d even met you, but you pushed the thought aside quickly.

Wistful thinking.

“Don’t think you’ve been around for a while, Sergeant,” you replied steadily, because even though your heart was racing and your stomach was twisted to knots, you were still an agent and you knew how to manage your emotions and keep your panic hidden behind the surface.  

“I guess you saw the welcome wagon, huh?” he chuckled, turning back to the crowd as they continued to gather around Steve.

It was almost as strange to see Steve from this time as it was Bucky. He had the same kind of innocence that the Bucky standing before you carried now. He hadn’t lost his best friend yet, hadn’t made the decision to trade his life for the people of New York and bury himself in the Atlantic, hadn’t missed out on a lifetime with a woman he cared so deeply for, could even grow to love.

Bucky faced you again and you saw it in his eyes, too.

It was hope, you realized. They were still holding onto it.

“Just glad you made it home safe, Sergeant Barnes,” you said evenly, trying not to focus on his left hand as it raked it through his hair. There was a scar on his palm that ran along his lifeline, red and angry and in need of treatment. There was dirt caked under his nails, in his knuckles, dried blood on his wrist, and you resisted every urge to reach out and grab it just to feel the pulse of his heart in his fingertips or maybe even the warmth of his skin.

You were used to cold and metal and you let yourself wonder what it would be like to be held by these hands, hands that were completely and entirely Bucky’s, hands that he didn’t despise and held away from you like it was something outside of himself, like it could act of its own accord and hurt the woman he wanted so desperately to touch with nothing but a tenderness he hadn’t known in decades.

“Please doll, it’s Bucky,” he requested cheekily. He waited for a response, though when he didn’t get one, he was unbothered by the silence.

He twisted the cigarette in his hand, twirling it like a baton and you were mesmerized by the way it danced through the fingertips of his left hand. It dropped ash as it flipped between his middle and index finger.

“So...” he drawled, amused by your trance, “do I have the honor of your name as well?”

You snapped your eyes away from his hand to find that smirk across his face again. It was one that felt strange to you, foreign almost, from the Bucky you knew. It was confident, charming, but there wasn’t a trace of arrogance or presumption. It was the smirk of a man who could still manage to flirt with a woman moments after returning to a camp he was captured from weeks prior. He was quite proud of himself and it read on his face.

“Y/n,” you finally admitted, watching him carefully as he repeated your name, testing it on his lips, and it still sounded like honey and silk. It seemed to be one of the few things that felt constant between these versions of Bucky; your name on his lips, in his voice, as he smiled at you. It was still as sweet.

“Y/n is a lovely name,” he said, “suiting for a lovely woman.”

Steve had mentioned this Bucky was a charmer in stories of their youth. Each time it was brought up, your Bucky would shake his head, roll his eyes, maybe even blush a little as he sank down into the couch as Steve recounted the dates he used to go on, the women he’d bring to Coney Island, the dance moves that could make any woman swoon.

You’d ask him about it, tease him as to why he didn’t take you dancing and win you comically large stuffed animals with his unparalleled marksmanship. He’d brush it off and say it was all luck of the draw but you know better than that. He was a flirt in these days and as handsome as ever, even with blood dripping from his ear and scars on his face. You couldn’t imagine a woman who would turn down a man as charming and beautiful as he was.

You wondered how much Bucky remembered of these days, if he could still recall the one-liners and the flirty comments, or if it felt distant, like he was watching something outside of himself, standing behind a glass wall and simply observing.

He was sweet with you, teased you behind closed doors and made your heart soar, but you couldn’t imagine a world where he would seek you out amongst a crowd, not knowing your name or face and flirt so openly like this.

Your Bucky retreated to corners of crowded rooms with a drink in his hand that did little to relieve him from the anxiety in his veins. He nursed a bourbon as he sought out open spaces away from the overstimulation of music, chatter, glasses on bar tops. 

He was quiet, reserved, and favored whispering jokes in your ear that would have you rolling with laughter over saying them aloud for the room to hear. There was an intimacy in it and you were thankful for every glimpse he gave you past the demons who had come to obstruct his heart.

But this, this Bucky, the light-hearted charmer with a world of pain ahead of him, was not a man you ever expected to encounter firsthand.

Over his shoulder, a group of men called his name. He rolled his eyes, trying to wave them off but they only yelled louder, hollering and whistling as he tried to shield you from their teasing.

“I suppose I’m being summoned,” he grunted reluctantly.

You glanced back to his friends, Dugan, Jim, and Steve among them as they waved frantically at him. A smile etched to your cheeks, knowing that this was his element, beside Steve when he didn’t have the shadows cast over him and he could live in a moment where he just might see himself as one of the good guys.

“Yes, I suppose you are,” you smiled at him, enjoying the way his brows pinched together as he shot a glare back over in his friends’ direction before he turned back to you and let his features soften again.

“Will I see you around?” he asked, hopeful and eager, and it took you by surprise.

You didn’t know what else to say so you nodded, eyes glancing to the Colonel’s office. You had a mission to complete. It was the reason you were sent back to this timeline in the first place. It had caused enough problems when Fury assigned you; Steve arguing as to the necessity of it, Bucky leaving the room abruptly without another word. You hadn’t even been able to track him down before you left and you’d never once gone on a mission without saying goodbye to him.

You supposed that for him it may only be a few seconds, but you didn’t know how long you’d be stuck in 1943. You missed him terribly, even when he was standing right in front of you.

“I’ll find you again, then,” he said with a wink. He put the cigarette between his lips again, thought he didn’t light it, and jogged back to his friends. He paused halfway, turned back to you with a simple salute, a shake of his head like he was surprised you’d gone along with his flirting, and then, his back was to you.

Tears burned in your eyes before you felt the lump in your throat.

For a moment, it was easy to forget that he was just coming off of weeks behind enemy lines, that he already had the serum running like toxins in his veins; the same Hydra concoction that would save his life when he fell from the train a few weeks later and would allow him to survive long enough to endure decades of torture.

You knew this Bucky carried demons, that he wore a mask the way everyone else did. You knew that there were times that he smiled just long enough for someone to notice before they turned away and his eyes fell downcast to the floor. You knew that he joked and flirted and laughed because how else was a man drafted to a war he never signed up for supposed to cope with the blood on his hands.

They were different masks than the ones the Bucky you knew carried, but they still shielded the pain underneath. The masks you were familiar with were overflowing and demons seeped through the cracks and broke into his soft moments of relief. They were weathered and breaking in your time but he still tried to wear them, still tried to put on a brave face despite the monsters in his dreams and swarming in his past.

This Bucky could still hide his demons.

This Bucky, who smiled so easily, was almost nothing like the man you knew.

But he will be.

Your heart broke for the time in between.

***

Seventy-two hours. That’s how long Fury said you’d need to obtain the file. Seventy-two hours maximum. A load of bullshit that turned out to be because two weeks later you were still trapped in the heart of a world war.

You’d managed to avoid Bucky as much as possible, though that proved rather easy as he’d gone off with Steve and the rest of the Howling Commandos liberating Europe and punching Nazis. But the times in between, when they returned home and regrouped for a day or two, he’d spend his first hour at camp seeking you out while the rest of his team was catching up on sleep.

He was persistent, you’d give him that, but he was never forceful. He’d simply talk with you as you tended to the tasks assigned to the cover you were portraying. He’d lounge out on the grass while you cleaned weapons or follow you through the bunker as you alphabetized personnel files, asking you questions about your day, trying to convince you to get dinner with him at the mess hall, telling you dramatically inflated stories of his heroism on the battlefield that made your stomach ache with laughter.

You understood why Steve was so determined to help Bucky get back to how he was before Hydra. He was incredibly endearing, outgoing, witty. Your Bucky still had those things but they were in pieces, strung together with scotch tape and staples. They were muted a little, but they were still there, scratching at the surface.

It had been a few days since you saw Bucky last and you found him again as you walked right into the square of his chest on your way out of the Colonel’s office, file absent in your hand because yet another day had gone by without any sign of the document.

Hands quickly dart out to grab onto your forearms and he chuckled lightly under his breath, steadying you on heels you were entirely not used to wearing; an era appropriate necessity, Tony told you. You would have like to throw one at his head right about then.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” Bucky grinned, stepping back to give you space. 

He had a few new scrapes and marks on his face, but otherwise he looked unharmed. His smile was enough to tell you he hadn’t been injured enough to require medical attention. There wasn’t a pinch in his brow indicating pain, at least.

He brushed his hands off on the thighs of his pants and judging by the mud on his boots and the rifle draped over his shoulder, he hadn’t even made it back to his tent before he came in search of you.

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes,” you replied and despite the way he was smiling so sweetly at you, teeth biting down on his lip, you swerved around him towards your own tent.

“Call me Bucky,” he reminded you, stepping aside for you to pass, though he followed your pace.

“Well, Bucky,” you said, clenching your hands, “it’s good to see you safe. You should get to the med tent, don’t you think?”

“Later,” he shrugged, waving you off, cheesy smile on his lips. “I wanted to see my best girl first.”

It punctured right to your chest and though you knew he was teasing, that he was flirting innocently and smiling when he could be giving into the harsh realities of war, it hurt. It hurt because you saw pieces of your own Bucky in him and knives embedded and broken through skin with every laugh, every smile, every word he said, because you knew how quickly it will be taken away, how hard it will be just for him to find small pieces of this and let his guard down long enough to let even Steve in again, let alone you.

There was a guilt that festered and boiled deep in your stomach, that physically ached and burned. You knew too much about his future, about the things that will happen to him that would rip that sweet smile from his face and turn him inside out, until it took decades just to find the will to live again. You could hardly look at him without tears springing to your eyes.

You thought about telling him, about warning him of what would come and maybe create a new timeline where he was free from Hydra, where he might go home from the war and see his mother and sister again, maybe meet a woman he could love and have a few kids. But then you remembered Tony’s warning, that certain events were fixed and what happened to Bucky that day on the train, would never be changed. There was too much history riding on it.

Your sweet Bucky was fated to Hydra from the start.

"There’s a dance tonight, you know.”

Your heels dug into the grass and brought you to an abrupt stop, balance wavering somewhat as you held your arms out to the side. Bucky chuckled, that smile of his so bright it was almost blinding and he quickly jogged back to you. He offered a hand and you took it just long enough to pry your heels from the dirt.

You tried not to focus on the feel of it; the callouses on his palms or the grip of his fingers, the warmth in his hand or the fact that it was made of flesh and not solid metal. You let go as soon as you were able, though he didn’t seem to take any offense.

“Just a few of the guys are going,” he continued to say, pushing his hands into his pockets. He seemed nervous as he swayed in his stance and brushed his hand through his hair. “Thought it could be fun and, well, don’t know the next time I’ll get the chance to ask a pretty girl to dance with me.”

A pink rose in his cheeks, light and flushed, and it surprised you.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sergeant Barnes,” you said slowly, voice almost a whisper and his smile didn’t falter for even a moment.

“Bucky,” he reminded you again. So persistently charming.

“Bucky,” you repeated, “I don’t think it’s--”

“When was the last time you did somethin’ for fun, doll?” Bucky whined playfully, slumping his shoulders until you swatted him on the arm. He rubbed at it with a laugh in his voice. “I promise it’ll be a good time. You have my word.”

“I have work to attend to,” you argued, though your resolve was fading quickly. You never liked saying no to Bucky, even from your time, but it was the innocence, the hope, intertwined in shades of blue that made it that much harder.

“Come on, darlin’,” Bucky smiled sweetly at you, a crack in his lips and a bruising on his cheekbones, still as beautiful as he’s always been, “we’re shipping out to the Alps tomorrow and I don’t know when I’ll see you next. Just one dance, doll, and I swear I won’t ask you for anything else in my life.”

Your heart skipped. “The alps?”

Bucky nodded, pursing his lips. He lost his playful smile for only a minute as it melded into the solemn, determined expression of the soldier you’d seen memorials painted of alongside brick buildings in Brooklyn.

“We were able to confirm Zola’s on a Schnellzug traveling along the Danube River,” he said, quite proud. “We’re gonna bring the bastard in and put an end to this war.”

Your throat was dry, like sandpaper and dust, stones filling your chest, and you kept your features as blank as you could manage but everything inside you was on fire. He seemed so pleased, eager almost, and you felt your stomach lurch.

“Whaddya say?” he asked, a slight tremor in his voice for the first time and you turned to find him nervously chewing on his lip. “Fulfill a soldier’s dying wish?”

“Okay,” you blurted out hastily, biting down on the inside of your cheek because he didn’t know the gravity of what he just asked. You clenched your hands to fists at your side, nails digging into your palms until it stung, but you were well trained and you hid it from him before he could notice.

“I’ll pick you up at eight?” he asked, slowly backing up to his tent with the widest smile you’d ever seen on his face. It wrinkled up by his eyes and stretched into his cheeks. So light, so unburdened from horrors that had not yet warped and twisted their way through his mind and body.

“Okay,” you replied again, unable to say much of anything else for the lump in your throat was starting to choke you.

Bucky disappeared into the camp and you were left standing in the open; tears burning in your eyes, slipping down past your lashes and over your cheekbones, knowing that by this time the following day, he’d be in the hands of Hydra.

***

You located the file an hour before Bucky was meant to pick you up. It sat on the edge of your cot, watching you, because you weren’t signaling Tony that it was time for you to come home. No—you were adorning rouge to your lips and curling your hair the way you’d seen in the movies Bucky liked from his youth, the transmitter hidden in your bag under the mattress.

An emerald dress swung at your hips, one that you’d borrowed from one of the exceptionally kind nurses. She seemed to be the only one who wasn’t glaring at you from across the room for daring to take the attention of the famed Sergeant Barnes and insisted you wear it since she was on shift for the evening anyway.

You slipped into the heels, brushing down the skirt of the dress and caught one last look in the mirror. The sleeves hung off your shoulders, exposing collarbone and a faded scar along your clavicle from a mission in Brussels six months prior. Bouncing curls pinned up from your neck and bright red upon your lips, you looked like a painted model in the posters hanging in the bar hall.

You wondered how your Bucky would feel to see you like this, if it would make him happy to be reminded of his youth, or if it would bring back memories too painful to let stir to the surface.

A knock rang on the post outside and you quickly pushed the file into your bag at the end of your bed. Out of sight and out of mind, at least for the next few hours.

“You ready, doll?” Bucky called from outside the tent as you started to make your way to the exit. “Steve’s been breaking my back all day saying you weren’t gonna show and I really need to prove him wro— oh wow.”

You stepped out from behind the flap of the tent, ducking under the low hanging ceiling and Bucky’s words seemed to die on his tongue. He pulled a lip between his teeth and eyes glanced down over you; not with a hunger, but instead with a genuine kind of awe. His smile was aching on his cheeks as he tried to bite it back.

“You look stunning,” he exhaled, shaking his head. “You’ll be the envy of every dame at the dance.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Sergeant,” you replied.

He wore his dress greens; dark olive overcoat with golden buttons down the center, two pockets at the breast, two at his hips, golden tie around his neck and a series of military badges in bright, vibrant colors along the right side of his chest. He looked like the images you’d seen in the Smithsonian; the man he tried so desperately to emulate; the one with honor and dignity, he said.  

Bucky offered you his arm, and you took it graciously. Your hand slipped around the crook of his elbow, holding onto muscle where you once only know metal, and he guided you down to the jeep at the edge of camp. There, Steve, Dugan, Morita, and a few of the other Commandos were there waiting.

Steve stood against the door of the jeep, a woman you easily recognized in a dark red dress at his side; Peggy Carter. Steve seemed surprised to see you on Bucky’s arm, but when he hung his head, he was smiling, like maybe he was pleased to lose his own bet.  

Bucky grinned, nudging your side before he turned to his friend. “Pay up Rogers!”

***

People were laughing, smiling, amongst the backdrop of a war that would almost certainly take the lives of half the men in this room. It was something of beauty to witness until it started to break your heart.

You’d spent nearly an hour on the dance floor with Bucky; letting him spin you around, lead you through dances you should have known if you had grown up in this era, though he paid it no mind. He liked teaching you, liked it when you stepped on his toes and grimaced apologetically at him. He liked seeing you flustered because you were not a woman who easily blushed. He enjoyed the twinge of embarrassment in your ears when you’d bump into a couple beside you and he’d quickly yank you back to his arms in a protective cage, the light rumble of his laugh in vibrations through his chest.

“I tried to tell you I’m no good at this, Bucky,” you said after a young couple on your left sent another glare in your direction for turning the wrong way in the middle of a Charleston Stroll.

“I don’t need you to be a good dancer, doll,” he smirked, pulling you impossibly close so that your chest was flush against his, the slow sway of your bodies in contrast to the fast-paced jives surrounding you. “All I wanted was an excuse to hold you like this.”

The music faded into long, melodic notes as your breath stilled in your lungs. The chaos around you fell into gentle motions as couples hung off of one another and the world seemed to come to a stop. You expected to find a teasing grin on his face, maybe even a hint of laughter, but there was sincerity in the blue of his eyes, a slight trace of longing because he knew what he was facing the next day on a train running through the ravines of a snowy mountain.

He smiled sweetly at you, carefully slipping your hand into his and guiding your other up to his shoulder. He set his right hand at the base of your back, fingers pressing into the soft curves like the keys of a piano, just feeling, and it reminded you of how your Bucky grounded himself in the worst of his nightmares; how he’d hold onto you, grip you so tightly he’d leave marks by the mornings that would ultimately add to his guilt, though they were colors on your skin you cherished. A physical symbol of his fight towards recovery.

You found yourself doing the same as you clasped at his left hand. With every dip of the beat and every sway of his body to yours, you squeezed at his hand; feeling for the slight give in the muscle, the warmth of flesh, the hard callouses on his palm. It was so real, so him, so tangible right in front of you and you felt tears prickle in your eyes.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he asked quietly, noticing the trail of your gaze on his hand and the glossiness consuming your eyes.

You shook your head, brushing away the wetness on your cheeks and setting your hand back to his shoulder, though this time you curled up closer to him, focusing on the steady beat of his heart under his fingertips. “Nothing, honey.”

“’Honey’?” he repeated, chuckling a little under his breath. “You getting sweet on me, doll?”

You smiled, letting your head rest onto his shoulder, cheek brushing his collarbone. His hand started to run in smooth circles on your back, his nails traces shivering into your spine. It was something your Bucky did for you, to help ease the tension from your muscles.

“’Course not,” you replied in a breathy sigh, “I’ve got a fella, you know.”

"You don’t dance with me like you’ve got a man waiting on you,” Bucky retorted cheekily, though there was no jealousy in his voice, no resentment. He didn’t seem surprised, but he didn’t pull away either. He sighed, a heat of his breath brushing over your exposed neckline. “Tell me about him?”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, just long enough to caught sight of the tenderness with which he watched you. The corners of his lips curved up, only a little, before they fell again.

On some level, you wondered if he knew that he would never find even a semblance of normalcy in returning home from war, that he’d never settle down in the time that he knew and grow old and have children running around at his feet; that instead of showing up on his mother’s doorstep with bags in hand and a smile of relief, it would be two men dressed in uniform even he didn’t know, carrying an envelope that would break his mother’s heart.

You squeezed his left hand again, letting your right trace up along his jawline and cup the side of his face. He sighed, leaning into the touch. Clean shaven and smooth on his cheeks, decades younger.

“He’s a good man, even on his worst days,” you said tenderly. “He’s been through... so much, things that no one should ever have to experience. Anyone else might have crumbled under all that pain, but he’s still kind, still loving and impossibly sweet. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me though he argues against that most days.”

Bucky nodded, listening quietly as you continued.

“He’s handsome, like you, though his hair is longer, his shoulders a little broader with muscle,” you teased lightly and Bucky scoffed, feigning an offense, though he was smiling. “He’s quiet, different than he used to be, and there are always setbacks, always days where the pain outweighs all the good in his life, but doesn’t give into it. He’s a fighter, a survivor. He’s my best friend.”

“He take you dancing?” Bucky asked with a grin and you shook your head.

“No, not like this. Crowds aren’t easy for him.”

“He one of ours?”

A military man. He knew exactly what you were alluding to, so you nodded.

“Parts of him never came back from the war,” you confirmed, a frown pushing at your lips, “but he’s not broken. He’ll dance with me in the living room if I ask, let me hold him like this even when he feels like a stranger in his own skin. He tries, he heals. I know how hard it is for him to open up and I’m grateful for every moment he can let his walls down, if even for a second, and he shows me pieces of who he used to be, pieces of who he still is.”

A silence passed over the two of you, the music and the sight shuffling of feet around you taking over as you curled into Bucky’s side.

Bucky, but not your Bucky.

“You love him?”

Your relationship with Bucky was messy and complicated. You slept in the same bed most nights, pressed against one another to fight off the demons in his sleep, but you’d never touched him intimately, never so much as kissed his lips no matter how many times you’d wanted to. You met him in the ring and sparred until you were both aching and sweating, until you collapsed to the mat and talked for hours just staring up at the rafters. You were the first person he sought out when returning from a mission and it was his name you shouted for when you were surrounded behind enemy lines.

But there were darker forces between you; ones that kept him from letting himself open up completely, that kept him on the edge from you because Hydra was still in his mind, still convincing him he wasn’t worth the good in his life and he didn’t deserve to be treated with the affection and care with which you showed him.

Even when he kept you at a distance, he still held pieces of your heart, exposed and vulnerable in the palm of his hand.

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes darting to the collar of his shirt because you couldn’t dare to look him in the eye. You felt him squeeze at your hand, patterns on your back, and he pressed you closer to his chest; so perceptive of the heartache in your voice.

“Sounds like you might want to get home to him, huh?”

You shook your head, feeling embarrassed. “What? No, of course not. I’m-- I’m here to dance with you, right? You’re shipping out tomorrow for the alps and I—I owe you a dance, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled. “Sweetheart, we’ve been dancing for hours. Look around, everyone’s practically gone home for the night.”

You narrowed your eyes, surprised, until you scanned the room to find that he was right; the dance floor was near empty and the staff had already begun cleaning up the refreshments table. Only the pianist remained on the stage, playing gentle melodies while his bandmates placed their instruments in their cases. He smiled at you, a short wink before he turned back to the pages of his sheet music.

Steve and Peggy were sitting by the bar, talking quietly with one another, unbothered by the lateness or the lack of party guests and the absence of alcohol beside them. Jim and Dum Dum must have hitched their own rides home because they were nowhere in sight, though a few stray men swaying on unbalances legs stumbled by the door.

“I’d say this was a pretty nice last go of it all,” Bucky sighed, a genuine smile on his face. “Zola’s not a threat physically. Can’t imagine we’ll have too much trouble bringing him in, but you never know, right? I couldn’t pass up an excuse to bring a beautiful woman to a dance.”

You bit down on your cheek until blood pooled in your mouth. You swallowed it back, tasting of copper and it burned on the way down.

“Certainly can’t blame you for that,” you replied, forcing your voice as steady as you could manage.

The pianist slowly brought the song to an end, chiming on the high end of the keys before closing the lid and stepping away. Bucky sighed, a nod the indicated that the magic of the night had ended and he moved to step away, but your hands darted out to the sides of his face.

“You’ll get through this,” you said sternly, adamantly, because he needed to hear it. The confusion read on his face though he didn’t question you. “You’re strong, Bucky. You’re brave. Please remember that.”

He narrowed his eyes, brow furrowed, though he nodded slowly.

You stepped back suddenly, letting your hands fall away from his face. It was a gesture too intimate for the man standing in front of you, one you’d done countless times for the man he’d ultimately become, and while he didn’t flinch at the touch, it surprised him. Perhaps it was the heartbreak on your face, the guilt, that confused him most.

“I--I should go,” you said quietly. “Thank you for the dance, Sergeant Barnes.”

“The pleasure was all mine, doll,” he replied, a soft smile etching up onto his features.

He was so young, so untouched by the damages that would be inflicted upon him; even after he’d already been captured and held by the same men who would break him from the inside out, he still carried a hope about him. He was different at the start of it all.

You loaded into the back of the jeep and Bucky slid in beside you. He kept his hand at his side, didn’t try to push into your space because, after all, you had someone waiting on you, but you could see the twinge in his fingertips, how he ached to hold your hand. It broke your heart.

At the end of the night, he walked you back to your tent. Hands shoved deep into his pockets and a tight smile on his face, he asked, “will I see you again?”

You thought again about telling him the truth, warning him that he wouldn’t find his way home for nearly seven decades and when he did, he’d be a changed man in a time he didn’t know. It wouldn’t change anything. Your Bucky had always gone through the horrors of what Hydra inflicted on him and what you did in this time wouldn’t affect that.

“Of course,” you replied with a smile light on your lips though you forced it into your cheeks. He sighed of relief. “I’ll be here waiting when you get back.”

“What about your man?” he inquired, a teasing grin and a raise of his eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you don’t believe in friendship, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Whatever you’ll give me, sweetheart,” he replied, smiling so wide it much have ached, and you tried to memorize the way it wrinkled up by the blue of his eyes. You wondered if you’d ever see him smile like that again, like the very act of it didn’t rip him to pieces.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, light and short, a feather’s touch, and you watched as a light pink flushed his face. A thumb brushed along his cheekbone to rid him of the lipstick staining on his skin, but he gently pushed your hand away.

“Let me brag a little to the guys, won’t you?” he laughed. It was a sound so sweet it threatened to tear you in two.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you said slowly, stepping back to the tent.

He sighed, shaking his head as he took one final look at you, the last one he’d know for nearly seventy years. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

***

There were still tears in your eyes as you were pulled from between the cracks of space and time to land on the platform of the Avengers’ hanger in update New York.

Tony was down on your left, adjusting the buttons and levers on a massive computer board, slamming his hand against a faulty monitor until it shifted from a grainy static to a sharp input of bright green data. Steve was rushing up to you, already starting to remove the gear from your back and help you out of the suit. The file had slipped easily from your hand into Natasha’s and she was gone from the room before you even noticed, racing it off to Fury.

"Where is he?” you choked out, lump burning in your throat.

Steve paused for a moment, eyes flickering down to the floor because he must have seen the tears in your eyes. There was no need to specify. Steve knew exactly who you were looking for.

"The training room, I think.”

“Training room?” you repeated, surprised, eyes narrowed as Steve helped you slip your arm from the sleeve of the suit.

"He’s, um, he’s not coming, Y/n.”

“He always comes,” you insisted, peering up and over Steve’s shoulder to get a better look at the door, but they were still closed shut. There wasn’t a time since you’d joined the Avengers that Bucky wasn’t the last person you saw before you left and the first person you ran to when you came home.

Steve swallowed, continuing to work on your suit. “Y/n, the—the idea of you going back there, it wasn’t easy for him. You saw how he stormed out of the debriefing when Fury assigned you to this mission."

“He’s never not been here, Steve. Why would he--”

“Well for one,” Tony piped up, eyes still glued to the computer board, “he wasn’t entirely keen on shipping you back to the time where he was walking around with a brain that had yet to be thrown in a blender and a personality with a range wider than a pet rock."

You gritted your teeth, hands clenched to fists. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Tony shrugged, powering down the platform as Steve removed the last remaining panel from your suit, “just means that he’s probably sulking somewhere because only that idiot could be jealous of his own damn self.”

You looked to Steve who only bowed his head, lips pressed to an apologetic line, and suddenly, you took off running; sprinting across the room and shoulder shoved to the double doors at the exit. Neither Tony nor Steve were foolish enough to call after you, to believe that you’d stop for anything when it was Bucky you were running towards.

You passed by Sam in the living room, who pointed a finger to the gym, not even lifting his head from his cereal bowl. Clint waved from the couch, cheesy grin and all, before Wanda threw a pillow at him, hushing him as he tried to ask you how the mission went. It was all noise; nothing that you could hear when your focus was on Bucky.

When you made it to the gym, you found it to be empty, save for the distinct grunts in the far back corner, the slamming of fists against a sandbag, the labored breaths of a man in pain. 

Bucky stood with his back to you, muscles evident under the thin layer of his navy t-shirt, sweat soaking through the fabric and clinging against him. His whole body utilized in every punch and you stood back and watched until he ultimately hit it too hard and the bag dislodged from the ceiling, falling to the ground and rolling next to two of the same. Sand poured from the hole he’d created.

Bucky groaned, brushing his hand over his forehead to rinse the sweat from his eyes. As he turned around to hang another bag, his eyes landed on you, a flinch flexing throughout his body, a catch in his breath, because it wasn’t often you could sneak up on him. He swallowed, trying to find his bearings.

“You forget something?” he asked, voice low, tired. He didn’t realize you’d already gone and come back.

“No,” you replied, trying to mask your hurt though it did little use, “did you?”

He clenched his jaw, eyes darting down to the floor as he bent to grab another sandbag from the line. There was guilt etched into his features as he hung the bag on the chain as if it weighed nothing. It was then you noticed his bare hand, how it was beaten raw and bloodied.

“Jesus, Buck,” you gasped, reaching out for his hand and for the first time in nearly a year, he pulled away from you. He held his hands close to his chest, crossing his arms when he’d realized what he’d done, having seen the hurt on your face. You stepped forward to comfort him, but he flinched away.

“Talk to me,” you pleaded, tears in your eyes because you’d just left him to face 70 years in hell and all you wanted was to hold him again. Your agony for him ached deep in your bones, but he was keeping you at a distance, walls up, protecting himself from a threat you couldn’t see. “Did I—Did I do something?”

“No,” he said quickly, sternly, because it was one of the few things he was absolutely certain of. “No, sweetheart. It’s never you. It’s never anything you’ve done.”

“Then what is it?” You took in a shaky breath, one that barely took in air for the stone lodged in your throat. He glanced up at you and winced at the tears burning in your eyes.

“You saw him, didn’t you?” he asked slowly. He swallowed. “Me. You saw—me.”

“Yes.”

“But is wasn’t me,” he said, almost in a question. “It was some parallel version of me, right? That’s why I don’t remember... not because of what Hydra did to my head?”

You nodded, taking a cautious step forward. When he didn’t retreat from you, you took another. He kept his stare on the ground by your feet; appearing small, as if he didn’t tower over you, as if the strength of his body couldn’t snap a cement brick in half. Your hands slipped into his and you felt his whole body sigh of relief as you brought them closer to you.

Even the cold metal of his left hand was a familiar comfort for you; cool and solid, tangible. It was a piece of the man you knew. His right hand was swollen, skin broken at the knuckles, raw and bleeding. You winced as you quietly examined the wounds, carefully turning his hand in yours to get a better look.

“Will you let me wrap this?” you asked gently and after a few moments, he nodded. 

You led him carefully to the edge of the ring and sat him down on the raised edges; a kiss to his forehead as you backed away and you quickly grabbed the first aid kit from the latch under the ring.

Box in hand, you sat down beside him and pulled out the bandages, disinfectant wipes, and soothing gel. You set the kit on the floor and gestured for his right hand. It was quiet as you worked, applying the disinfectant and cleaning the damage he’d inflicted. You felt his gaze on you, studying you as a crease furrowed in your brow in concentration.

Several moments of silence passed before he spoke again.

“Do you see it now?”

You narrowed your eyes, confused by his sudden question. It was something he did often, let his mind wonder and spin until finally something stumbled out, whether it made much sense or not, but you were exceptionally patient with him. You sighed, gently easing the cooling gel onto his knuckles. He hissed at the sting of it.

“See what, honey?”

“Why you shouldn’t be with me.”

You closed your eyes, jaw aching from how tightly you clenched it. You could feel your lower lip trembling, tears burning in your eyes when you looked at him again.

He was better than he was when you’d first met. He didn’t wear the dark circles under his eyes in permeant stains anymore, didn’t leave grease caked into his roots, or wasted away closed off in his room without food for days at a time. But he still carried guilt in his eyes, still hung a heavy shame over his shoulders, still found himself unworthy and irredeemable, even on his best days, no matter how hard he tried to believe you otherwise.

“Bucky,” you sighed, his name aching in your voice, “why would you say such a thing?”

“You know now,” he replied flatly, like it was what he’d been waiting for, like he was so sure that his worst nightmares were already true, “you know what I was like then and how—and how broken I am now. I can’t be him, Y/n. I won’t ever be like that again and I-- I can’t give you the things he could. I won't be enou--”

“Stop, please,” you whispered, holding tightly to his hand as you wrapped the bandages. A tear slipped past your nose and fell to the white fabric along his knuckles, soaking into the cloth. “It broke my heart to see who you used to be, what you were like before Hydra, before all the pain they’d inflicted on you. You were... light and sweet and so impossibly charming.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes to the ground ahead of him as he listened, nodding along. You could tell he was preparing for the worst, like you might tell him that he was right, that this past version of himself opened your eyes to how empty he’d become, how weak and burdensome, how he was only a shell of the man he used to be and he’d never be enough for you.

His hands were shaking in your own and you swiftly lifted them to your lips and kissed at his knuckles, first upon flesh and then to the cold metal of his left. It pulled a gasp from him, an involuntary sigh of relief.

“I saw pieces of you in him, Buck. In the way he’d watch from a careful distance, how he smiled to himself when he thought no one was watching, the kindness in his eyes, the way he said my name,” you continued, letting his left hand sit on your leg so you could reach up to cup the side of his face, gently drawing his attention back to you. His eyes were red, strained, and you smiled sweetly at him. “It’s the same way I see pieces of him in you. You still tease and joke, even if it’s quieter, more intimate. You still make me feel like my hearts going to beat out of my chest when you look at me. You’re still impossibly charming, Buck. You are to me, anyway.”

He shook his head, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Sweetheart, you’re not broken,” you soothed, sweeping your thumb along his cheekbone. You grazed bristles of hair along his face, scruff from a few days without a razor. “You’re not less than who you were then. Just different. The things that happened to you changed you, Bucky. They’d change anyone. I don’t ever expect you to be the man you were before the fall.”

Bucky took in a shaken breath. “I thought—I thought you might prefer him. The way Steve does.”

“Oh honey,” you exhaled, pulling him into your arms, his head resting on your collar and you stroked your hand along his back to ease the tremors away as he clung to you, “Steve doesn’t--”

“He wants me to be how I was,” Bucky mumbled, his lips muffled by the sleeve of your shirt. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling himself closer. “He doesn't think I can see the disappointment on his face, but I can. I know he misses how things were.”

“Steve just worries about you, Buck,” you said gently, rubbing circles along his back. “He just wants you to be happy. He wants you to be okay.”

It was like he didn’t even hear you, so caught up in the rush of consuming thoughts in his mind, threatening to do him in.

“I’m scared you’re going to start looking at me like that.”

You sucked in a harsh breath, though you willed your voice as steady as you could manage. “Like what, sweetheart?”

“Like I’ve disappointed you,” he admitted simply, like he’d thought about it a dozen times over. “I always thought I had nowhere to go but up with you. You’d only seen me at my worst but… but now you’ve seen me then and—and I don’t know if I can take you wishin’ I was him, doll, because I’ve tried and I—I can’t and I don’t want to lose you because I think it might ki—”

“Look at me,” you requested sternly, pulling him from your embrace and guiding his eyes to you. His cheeks were red, ocean blue of his eyes wet with tears as the words died on his tongue. “I will never ask you be someone you’re not. I would never want you to.”

He shook his head against your hands. “But I’m—”

“You are the man I’ve always known you to be,” you insisted. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, one that you felt his breath leave him as you pulled away. His eyes were glossy but they were vibrant blue as they met yours. “You are the man I fell in love with, Bucky. You, as you are right now. Not some idealized version of who you think you should be. Not the man you were in the forties. You.”

His entire body was rigid in your arms; solid, like stone and steel, and when he finally pulled back, there was an ocean of disbelief in his eyes. Lips slightly parted, brows pinched at the center and a flush of red in his cheeks. An imprint of your sleeve was prominent along his temple as his eyes searched yours, seeking out a deception he would never find.

“You love me?” he whispered, voice barely audible, but you watched as his lips mimed the words; the way he licked at the dryness and tried to swallow back the sandpaper in his throat.

“With everything I have, honey.”

When he finally did let himself exhale again, the breath carried a world of relief in its release. A smile hung on his lips, curving up into his cheeks, and wrinkled into his eyes. A vision of a man decades younger, lighter, where the blue was brighter and the stones were lifted from his shoulders.

“You love me,” he said again, though this time it wasn’t a question but simply a statement of fact. He repeated it again, like he was engraving it into his mind, into his memories where Hydra couldn’t touch it, where it would be protected and entirely his.

“I do,” you giggled, playing with the ends of his hair. “Any chance you might--”

Lips were suddenly on yours, melded and perfectly warm, soft, eager, and you wondered why you ever thought he was any different from the man he used to be. His hands snaked up into your hair, curling delicately into your scalp as a sigh left his breath and touched your cheek. He kissed at your jawline, your cheekbones, the tip of your nose, and returned to your lips where he was wanted most.

When he finally pulled back, you let him go reluctantly, and he set his forehead to yours; the brightest smile on his face you’d ever witnessed and you were almost certain it must have ached in his cheeks from lack of use, but god, was he beautiful.

“I love you, too.”

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[rngknsk]

The Aftermath

Chapter 2: Dinner

Sanemi Shinazugawa/Reader (F)

Three months have passed since you woke up at the Butterfly Estate beside your good friend Sanemi Shinazugawa. You have healed physically, but not emotionally. You take up an offer to spend some time by yourself at the Shinazugawa residence, hoping to finally find peace with yourself.

**THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE DEMON SLAYER MANGA. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED THE MANGA.**

Tags/warnings: Shared trauma, angst, survivors guilt, slight tw, comfort, slight fluff, reader is a Hashira

Chapter 1 can be read here.

You can also read Chapter 2 here on Ao3. 

Enjoy! :)

A little over three months had passed since defeating Muzan Kibutsuji and the remaining Upper Moons. Your injuries, along with the others who had survived the fight, were just about fully healed. One week prior to today, the demon slayer corps had been disbanded. Sanemi Shinazugawa, Giyuu Tomioka, and yourself had attended the final meeting called by the late Kagaya Ubuyashiki’s only son and successor, Kiriya Ubuyashiki. The remaining Ubuyashiki children were very grateful to you three. As the only remaining Hashira, they were only able to verbally express their appreciation for your support, to that you three slayers returned as well. If it wasn’t for the Ubuyashiki family, Muzan would have never been defeated in the first place. It was due to their clever organizational skills that any of you were even alive.

Concluding the meeting, Kiriya went on to inform the three of you now-retired Hashira that they had planned for a glorious celebration dedicated to the demon slayers to celebrate humanity’s victory. The celebration would be held at the Ubuyashiki estate since the grounds were substantial enough to hold all sorts of people and activities. Crows were sent to villages and towns across the land to inform of the festival, welcoming those who wished to show their appreciation to the remaining retired demon slayers for risking their lives for such a noble cause, and to pay their respects to those who committed the ultimate sacrifice. Every single village that was visited by a crow had accepted the invitation, many planning to bring dishes, drinks, and desserts of all kinds. Another large town had offered to bring fireworks to light up the skies at dusk.

After you were released from the Butterfly Estate’s infirmary, Sanemi had allowed you to stay at his residence while he remained. You had grown up living at the Rengoku residence after Shinjuro Rengoku saved you after your family perished at the hands of demons. Even after you became a Hashira, you would return to their home after long missions; however, part of you wanted time to yourself after losing so many people in such a short time. You loved Shinjuro and Senjuro Rengoku like family, but a feeling deep down in your heart persuaded you to accept Sanemi’s kind offer. After spending three whole months at the Butterfly Estate, constantly being woken by the voices of others you shared your hospital room with, you thought this would be a perfect opportunity to allow yourself to mourn in a healthy fashion. You spent a week at the Shinazugawa residence, taking time to heal your mental state in solitude. Sanemi Shinazugawa was a very secluded man and claimed he did not need the aid of the Kakushi throughout his time as a Hashira, so his residence remained empty until you arrived. There, you took time strolling through his gardens, tending to his flowers and various plants he owned and raised. You were surprised he didn’t show you his gardens after spending so much time training with him in his courtyard. The idea of Sanemi watering flowers made you laugh to yourself; this tough, vicious man taking the time out of his violent days of slaying demons to water some plants. Through the garden ran a small creek surrounded by neatly placed stones on either side, depositing into a pond with koi fish which seemed to be rather well behaved. At the center of his garden was a great, majestic weeping willow tree. The leaves of the tree draped down magnificently, just several feet from the ground. Most of your week was spent meditating underneath this tree. You felt safe underneath it, almost as if it was protecting you from anything outside of its weeping branches. The faint running water of the stream aided your meditation, allowing yourself to find peace at last. You also made sure to frequently check on his rhinoceros beetle that he kept in a quaint tank. You had seen him once or twice when you had visited Sanemi in the past, the memory of his name resting at the tip of your tongue. Taichi? That sounded right. You had to admit though, he was pretty adorable for a bug, and quiet too. You didn’t exactly know what to feed him, so you tried giving him a mix of greens and fruit you had harvested from the garden outside. He seemed pretty happy with what you gave him because he just about finished whatever you gave him.

It was evening when Sanemi had returned to his home, as promised by the nurses of the Butterfly Estate. In honesty, Sanemi had recovered almost two weeks ago, however the nurses insisted he remain in their care until they knew for sure his injuries wouldn’t reopen. To your surprise, Sanemi didn’t argue like he typically would. Instead, he simply agreed to stay, while on the other hand, you were able to leave just a week later. He had sent his crow the day before, informing you of his anticipated arrival, so that morning you were sure to stop in a town nearby to purchase some ingredients for a hearty meal that you figured you two could share. He wasn’t a picky eater by no means. You picked out many ingredients, green onions, mushrooms, tomatoes, napa cabbage, fresh beef, and wheat flour for the noodles you planned to knead and cook yourself. You also made sure to purchase the ingredients you needed to make his favorite sweet, ohagi. The villagers had recognized you as one of the former Hashira, insisting that you did not need to pay them for your pickings, however you persuaded them to accept your money regardless of your status. It was a strange feeling; you didn’t like being treated as someone of such importance. After all, you weren’t a Hashira anymore since the demons were defeated.

Once you returned back to the Shinazugawa residence, you spent the entirety of the day preparing your dough for the sukiyaki dish that you planned to make and bounced back and forth between making that and the ohagi as well. You imagined how Sanemi would react to making such a large meal, although you were sure he would enjoy it just as much as he enjoyed the meals prepared at the Butterfly Estate. Admittedly, the Kakushi who prepared your meals were very talented with cooking, and you were pleased that they provided such a wide range of dishes during your stay. It was a nice change to be provided with a warm meal that you didn’t have to make yourself. While living with the Rengoku family, you were typically the one to cook the meals during your days off from slayer assignments, and while on the clock, you were the one to provide for yourself. However, out of all the years you knew Sanemi, you never cooked for him before, and that made you anxious. What if he didn’t like your cooking? What if the noodles were too tough, or the vegetables were undercooked? You took a deep inhale in through your nose for a moment, then exhaled through your mouth. There was no time for worrying. If you wanted to make these dishes perfect, then you needed complete concentration.

Just a few hours before the sun set, Sanemi arrived at home. You had finished setting the table, just gathering up the leftover dishes that you used to cook. The door slid open and you jumped at the sound, reflexively whipping your frame around to face where he stood. He no longer was covered in bandages; only extra scars added to the previous ones littered his exposed skin. His face held an expression of disbelief at the sight of the prepared table; he certainly wasn’t expecting a home cooked meal.

“Welcome home, Shinazugawa-san,” you chirped. “I made dinner for us, so I hope you’re hungry.”

“You made all of this?” He questioned, taking a few steps inside before sliding the door close behind him. “I smelled it a mile away, of course I’m hungry. It smells great, L/N-san.”

You let out a quiet sigh of relief. That was a good sign, he thought it smelled good! You removed your apron and neatly folded it, setting it down on the ground beside the table. Sanemi made his way towards the table, kneeling down in front of it before scooting himself forward. You followed, clapping your hands together in thanks.

“Thank you for the meal!” You said, drool practically leaking from the corners of your mouth as you hovered over the hot, steaming bowl of sukiyaki. Sanemi smiled at your gesture, putting his hands together as well.

“Yeah, thanks for the meal,” he agreed. “I really appreciate it.”

You only gawked at the man sitting across from you. Was this really the same guy you’ve spent the last few years training with? He’s always been so brash, even towards you. The Sanemi you know would have scoffed at you without even voicing any thanks and dug right into his meal. You didn’t really know how to feel about his recent alter in personality. To be honest, you started to notice the drastic change as soon as you woke up in the Butterfly Estate just a few months prior to today. Sure, he’s always has his moments when he was tired, or even for an hour or so on a day off that you both shared sparring, but ever since the day you woke up, ever since you saw him cry, he’s been incredibly passive and compliant towards everyone. You told yourself that it was most likely due to the defeat of Kibutsuji and all demons. He didn’t have to hold such an aggressive persona anymore now that humanity’s biggest threat was eliminated. He could let his guard down a bit and try to enjoy the new chance of life that he was given. You couldn’t complain though, as amusing as it was whenever he would yell at you or call you names while you two trained or were assigned on missions together, it was nice to be friends with somebody who treated you as their equal rather than their inferior. Somewhere deep down, you thought, Sanemi never meant the things he said that might have hurt your feelings in the past.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to start eating?” he mumbled through a mouth full of noodles and meat. His pale lavender eyes darted downwards toward the faintly steaming ohagi resting on a dish in the center of the table. “I see you also made ohagi. Hopefully you made it right.”

Your cheeks puffed up in a pout, swiping the chopsticks from beside your sukiyaki dish. “Of course I made it right, red bean, just how you like them!”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sanemi chuckled after he swallowed.

After you both finished your sukiyaki, you sat and chatted for a little bit while munching on your ohagi. He told you about how he was one of the last patients to leave the Butterfly Estate, and how annoying he thought this one Kakushi worker was.

“She would check up on me almost every thirty minutes, always asking if I was hungry or thirsty, or if I was in any pain,” Sanemi groaned, visibly becoming more irritated as he explained. He was certainly picky when it came to people. That certainly did sound annoying, however you knew that the Kakushi girl was most likely only doing her job to make sure Sanemi was as comfortable as possible. “It got to the point where I had to start telling her to screw off, but she never got the hint. It was almost like she kept bothering me on purpose.”

“It seems to me that she was just doing what she was told,” you reasoned as you picked up your tan ceramic mug of warm green tea, taking a sip before continuing. “I’m sure she wasn’t doing it on purpose, she probably had orders to keep an eye on you.”

“Well, I’m sure she didn’t have orders to check in on me that often, nobody else was checked on that much at the Estate, not even you or Giyuu. I bet if I had been more aggressive towards her then maybe she would have left me alone.”

You rolled your eyes at his last comment. That sounded more like the Sanemi you knew, trying to scare people away, especially people who tried to help him. You knew that all too well. He was the same way towards you when you both met for the first time. You became a Hashira after he did, so he initially saw you as his inferior. He tried to intimidate you before every Hashira meeting began, to which you will admit, you did end up becoming nervous around him during those gatherings.

A few years ago, shortly after you were just promoted to a Hashira, you both were assigned on a mission together. It was a several day-long mission, most of it consisting of travel time. He was very hostile towards you in the beginning of your journey, snapping at you over any small question you asked. You had always made the first move to question what he wanted for dinners, but it ended up becoming a chore to agree on meals with him. Whenever you suggested something, he would always shoot down your proposal before eventually insisting on what his tastebuds craved. You imagined that you both could have saved so much time on that mission if he had just answered you appropriately the first time. After several days of sticking together, you could tell he was starting to calm down around you. Sanemi could never be perfectly calm, so when you say he “calmed down,” he was just slightly less hostile towards you whenever you spoke to him. Regardless, you tried your best to stand your ground and remain friendly towards him after contemplating if this was just the way he was always going to be. Sanemi was your partner on this mission after all, so to make sure the mission was completed correctly you figured you’d at least stay on good terms until then.

Following the completion of that mission, Sanemi’s taunting seemed to die down during Hashira meetings, and you found yourself having neutral conversations with him from time to time. It wasn’t until after Kyojuro Rengoku’s untimely death that you found him approaching you outside of Hashira meetings.

You were truly heartbroken over the death of your closest friend, and you took it very hard. Admittedly, you were on the verge of giving up as a Hashira because of it. You stopped showing up to Hashira meetings and received many letters from the other Hashira and even Kagaya Ubuyashiki himself, but you ignored them all. The first person to approach you was Sanemi, who had traveled to the Rengoku residence where you lived. He had come to offer you a meal and some company, which was quite astonishing to you. The last time you had seen him was during Kyojuro’s funeral, but he had not interacted with you at all; none of the Hashira did, except Mitsuri Kanroji for a brief moment of mutual comfort.

Sanemi apologized that he didn’t offer his sympathies earlier. He also informed you that everyone was worried over your lack of participation, to which you scoffed.

“If they’re so worried, then maybe they should check up on me themselves,” you said.

“That’s why I came instead.”

You were taken aback by his quick response. That was the first day that you recalled his change in personality, at least towards you. He was easily able to persuade you to begin attending meetings again, and even went as far as to invite you to train with him at his residence. Slowly, you started to notice yourself becoming more and more comfortable around him, enjoying the time that you spent in his company. There were certainly still times that he insulted you for not being able to knock him down in a spar, but he didn’t come off as purposefully aggressive like he used to. Kagaya Ubuyashiki recognized how well you two regarded each other and sent you on many missions together. You eventually became confused over how you truly felt towards Sanemi.

You never wanted to admit it, but it was certain that you deeply admired your fellow Hashira. In any other case, you would have believed that you were in love with him, but there was no way that you would ever admit to something so ridiculous. Sanemi was the complete opposite of you, so self-assured and violent, he was discourteous to everyone he met, which would frankly only harm your reputation if you were to commit to him. But the biggest reason of all was that you were both demon slayers, Hashira particularly. Neither of you had time to devote to such a thing as a relationship, because any mission you could take on may well possibly be your last. Being a Hashira was a considerable obligation, to which you were entrusted to protecting the lives of those weaker than you.

For the time being, you pushed away your feelings for Sanemi. You figured that he was too focused on his work and didn’t have time for a romantic relationship anyway. That was, until you woke up after defeating the demons.

“L/N-san? What are you looking at? You’ve been staring at my shoulder for a while. Is there a bug or something?” You were pulled out of your reminiscing, focusing on the silver-haired man you were recalling from your memories once again. He dorkily brushed his shoulder with his hand. “Nothing’s there,” he murmured.

“Sorry, Shinazugawa-san, I guess I zoned out for a second there,” you stammered.

He raised a faint eyebrow towards you, almost as if in question. You tapped your fingernails on your cup of tea that was now room temperature before quickly pulling it up to your mouth to chug the rest of the herbal liquid in hopes to break this awkward tension. When you returned the cup to the table in front of you, Sanemi spoke up to change the subject.

“I received a letter from the Ubuyashiki family’s crow yesterday, it was a reminder about the celebration tomorrow night.”

You softly gasped, remembering the same letter you received the previous day as well. You were so focused on seeing Sanemi again today that you totally forgot that tomorrow was the celebration that was dedicated to the former demon slayers.

“Oh, yeah,” you began. “It is tomorrow, isn’t it? How time flies,” you chuckled to hide your uneasiness. It was no matter, Sanemi effortlessly picked up on the way your body tensed up.

“Did you have something in mind that you were going to wear?”

You pondered for a moment, trying to imagine the inside of your closet back at the Rengoku residence. You owned a few pretty kimonos, however you received them as gifts when you were still an early teenager. Now that you were almost a decade older, you had no doubt that they didn’t fit you anymore.

“Well, not exactly,” you started off. “I have some kimonos, but I don’t think they really fit me anymore. After I became a demon slayer, I typically only wore my uniforms while I outgrew the other clothes I had.”

Sanemi hummed at your response. He leaned forward onto the table, propping himself up with a forearm while grinning strangely at you. His gesture sent a chill up your spine, and you noticed your face feeling rather warm. “Huh, is that so? I guess that means that we’ll have to go to town tomorrow to find you something nice to wear. I’m not letting you go to the festival looking like a fool.”

You gaped at him, unable to articulate a response right away. Your heart fluttered at his words, feeling flattered, almost honored, to be his concern. He wanted you to look nice tomorrow is what he was trying to convey. Such a trivial thing to be concerned about, you thought, but he did have a point. You would be meeting many people the least you could do was try to look presentable. After all, this was a celebration in honor of your victory.

“You’ll go with me, Shinazugawa-san?” you questioned with wide eyes, just to be sure you heard him correctly.

“Of course I’m gonna go with you, did you even hear what I just said? You can spend the night here and we can leave at dawn, I have an extra futon you can use. We’ll have a while before the festival starts tomorrow afternoon, so maybe we can stop for lunch when we get there. My treat, since you made such a good dinner tonight,” Sanemi avoided eye contact when he complimented your cooking skills, almost as if he was too shy to actually admit it to your face.

Your face broke out in a wide smile, a wave of encouragement washing over you. He actually liked your cooking! After worrying all day over it, you actually succeeded in making a meal that Sanemi would enjoy! Not one bit of his meal was left you noticed, and he even finished two or three cups of the tea you brewed. That was a huge accomplishment in your book.

“That sounds like a great idea, thank you for coming along with me!” You bowed your head in appreciation. “I suppose it’s smart to have a second opinion on whatever I decide to wear.”

Sanemi scoffed, standing from the table and gathering your empty dishes and cups and walking away with both hands full. “I’m sure you’ll look fine in whatever you put on,” he mumbled as he strode off to the kitchen.

You were left alone at the table, looking down as you twiddled your fingers nervously. It was one thing after another that made your heart rate speed up, it seemed. You didn’t exactly know how to handle this new Sanemi, you figured he wouldn’t care what you intended to wear, or to even go as far to take you out to find a nice outfit. Typically, he would mock anything you wore that wasn’t your corps uniform, so that final compliment was what threw you off the most. You exhaled loudly and clapped your palms against your reddened cheeks, hoping to scare away the tingles that ran throughout your body. The only thing you could focus on right now was figuring out what Sanemi’s intentions were with you. Sure, they were harmless compliments and kind gestures, but it was a whole other level for this man. He didn’t regularly give out compliments. In fact, he didn’t give them out at all. But now…? No, you thought. He’s just your friend, he just has a funny way of showing it. There was no way that he felt anything romantic for you. Even if he did, you would know it by now. Sanemi was a very blunt person, and he was always honest with you… sometimes a little too honest. You bit your nail as scenarios raced through your mind. Being Sanemi’s friend was like being on a rollercoaster, sometimes you didn’t know what to expect. Sometimes it was disappointing, while other times it was a thrill.

Footsteps approached you again, tearing you from your ruminations. “It’s getting pretty late now; we’ve been talking for almost two hours. If we’re gonna be up early then we should at least get some decent sleep.”

Sanemi showed you to his room where he laid an extra futon just a few feet away from his own. You had been using his futon since you arrived at his residence a week ago and made sure to wash it before you first used it and after you last used it. He fluffed his extra futon up, asking you how you preferred to sleep, to which you insisted that you were pleased with any way your futon felt. You were just grateful that he even offered to have you spend another night.

He blew out the candle that sat between your futons that he originally lit to illuminate the room until you were both situated in your mattresses. You turned to your side to face away from his direction, taking a bundle of your heavy blanket into your embrace. You wondered to yourself if you should tell him good night or not. Would that be weird? You always said good night to Kyojuro and Senjuro. After a minute, you took in a deep breath and worked up the courage to speak, but were alas disrupted by a deep snore. Sanemi must be one of those people who fall asleep easily, you thought. It wasn’t very long before you followed, feeling an unfamiliar sense of comfort just before you fell into the unconscious world of sleep.

[sincerelychifuyu]

cat! (a whisker away au)

kazutora x gn!reader

– 1681 words

– hurt/comfort

– not proofread

note: i didn't exactly follow the whole plot and scenes of the movie and the ending was rushed

story belows the cut! hope you enjoy!

“you like him, right?”

“huh?” you stopped walking and turned you head only to meet a cat who was sitting upright, you titlted your head as you pointed your index finger towards the cat and asked, “where y-you talking to me...?”

to simply answer your question, the cat nods, “mhm! you like him, kazutora, right? and you know he likes–no, loves cats, am i right?”

you didn't wanna question any further so you wouldn't complicate the situation more and simply said, “yeah! he has told me multiple stories about the cats he's taking care of... yeah...” your voice slowly getting lower at the end of your sentence, you didn't even know why you were telling a literal cat about your liking towards kazutora. but it wouldn't hurt, right?

“well, [name], would you kindly accept my offer–you give me your mask and i'll grant you the power to be able to transform into a cat anytime you want?” the cat grins, showing its sharp teeth, its eyes held a mysterious glint for a short amount of time and you would've missed it if you blinked.

you were willing to accept the cat's offer because you already have a plan in mind with what you were going to do first in your ˝cat form˝, but you were confused about one thing, “m... mask? what kind of mask exactly?”

the cat was well aware of your tone, it knows you were willing to accept the offer but still cautious, “i'd say it's similar to a human body,”

“h-ha–?!” you shrieked loudly which resulted in accidentally cutting off the cat's answer, “vessel for vessel, get it? if i offer a cat vessel, you offer me your human vessel. it's only a fair trade, do you not agree?”

“you have a point there...” you scratch your head and the cat explains more thoroughly, “simply shake my paw and that'll mean you accept my offer, if you need more time to think–”

“i need a week! give me a week to think!” you intertwine your hands together while show a pleading look towards the cat and it sighs, “...fine, just repeat the word ˝milk˝ three times and i will appear once your mind is made up,”

the cat was already preparing to leave before it stops and tells you, “if you do agree, you have five months before your human vessel is completely stripped away from you, there's no turning back and you'll be a cat for the rest of your life.”

you shivered at the thought of not being able to be a human again, “i see... i'll go now! bye...?”

“yam, you can call me yam. looking forward to our meeting again, [name]” the cat grins once again and dissapears out of thin air, as if it wasn't there in the beginning.

you continued your way back home and immediately laid down on your bed. you looked at your window to see the sun was setting down, you sighed and closed your eyes thinking about kazutora for the nth time that day.

‘would kazutora pay attention to me more if i was a cat?’ you didn't tell yam earlier that you had countlessly thought about turning into a cat just to get noticed by kazutora, but yam could have possibly knew about it hence why the feline offered you a cat vessel.

‘will it be worth it?’ you asked no one in particular and slept.

you woke up in a messy state. realizing you were late for the second time that week, you rushed with no second thoughts. quickly getting on your bike to get faster to school.

you saw your friends by the school gate and approached them full of sweat because of the exercise you recieved from your bike. you greeted them nonetheless and pretended you didn't hear them scolding you for being late.

you opened the door to your first class and saw kazutora sitting while doodling something. you went to your assigned seat which was next to his and asked, “oh! you're drawing a cat? as expected from you, kazutora.” you smile at him and your classmates cheer for you.

“thank you, [name].” he smiled back at you and you felt butterflies in your stomach. you were gonna do everything for kazutora even if it meant you had to give up your human vessel.

your week went smoothly. you thought about yam's offer for a few more days, five days to be exact. finally making up your mind, you repeated the word ˝milk˝ three times.

“oh? you finally made up your mind? it's not even a week yet.” the cat asks you, eager to hear your answer.

“yeah... i didn't think it'd take me just four days to make up my mind, too,” you looked away from yam.

“mhm, continue, don't keep me waiting for too long!”

“fine, fine! um, i'll accept your offer but...!” the cat extends its paw and grins.

you groaned and just told yam, “ok, i'm really, a hundred percent, completely sure that i will accept your offer!” you shook his paw and the next thing you new was that you passed out.

you woke up the next day, to eat breakfast and saw yuzuha at your table. “yuzuha? what are you doing here?” you neared the table and sat down. “i just wanted to visit you and since your door wasn't locked i went in!” she replied with a mouthful of cereal.

“hm, yeah but swallow before talking!” you giggled at her behavior and continued talking, “also, what day is it?”

“don't worry, today is saturday, i would have woke you up if we had school today.” you were thankful for yuzuha, you truly are.

you almost forgot about the agreement you and yam had yesterday and excused yourself, “wait! i'll go outside real quick i just need to do something!” yuzuha just nodded.

yam didn't tell you how to turn into a cat and you mentally cursed yourself for not asking.

you closed your eyes and pictured yourself as a cat, opening your eyes, you realized your vision look funny, you looked down and saw your paw.

you celebrated in your mind and ran to kazutora's house, he has invited you numerous times already. you went to the second floor, it was a little tricky but you were now face to face with kazutora's room window. you slid it open and was met with him drawing something once again.

you meowed so he could notice you, it looked like it worked because now kazutora was playing with you. you had lots of fun but you didn't forget you told yuzuha you'd be out ‘real quick’, you looked at kazutora's clock and went for a run to your house.

you opened the door and saw yuzuha watching a show, “i'm back!” you shout with the largest grin on your face.

“why do you look so giddy? where did you go to?” yuzuha raises a brow suspiciously and you just waved her off, “hmmm, nowhere in particular! by the way, you can leave anytime, just tell me! i'm going to my room.”

you went upstairs and squealed, you haven't even confessed to kazutora and yet you're already acting like he accepted your feelings.

it went on for months, you visited kazutora in your cat form and always spent time with him, cherishing the moments you spent with him even if you're just a cat.

you'll never forget the smile he sends your way, the sweet words that left his mouth, the way he takes care of you–you wonder if he'd do this if you were in your human form, you hope he would then you wouldn't have to visit him and rely on your cat form.

it didn't go unnoticed by you when you realized it was getting harder to transform back to your human form.

you didn't even realize that the five months you had before your human vessel was taken away from you was already over.

your friends put up missing person posters, you saw that they were grieving over you. you thought in that moment that you were so selfish, you didn't even think about the people around you and just accepted yam's offer just to get noticed by a person.

you didn't know what to do now and just weeped in the middle of a street. kazutora heard a cat meowing and walked towards it. it was raining that night but kazutora dropped everything just to cradle you in his arms.

kazutora's always like this, caring and kind, he may look like he doesn't care about anything at all but he's the opposite. that's what made you fall for him.

tears continued to fall at your eyes,

more,

more,

and more.

you were now crying over kazutora, you were such a hopeless romantic, you were so stupid, so reckless, so careless.

“[name]...?” kazutora questioned.

your sobbing stopped and you slowly understood the situation you were in.

you have turned back into your human form–but how?

you could see from your peripheral vision the cat that offered you your cat form. you could see its grin but before you could ask something to the cat, you felt kazutora's hold on you go tighter than before.

heat went up to your face upon the realization that kazutora hanemiya, the person who you have the biggest crush on, is hugging you like there's no tomorrow.

“i thought i lost you.” kazutora whispered.

“i'm... sorry, kazutora. i shouldn't have done that.” you said as you hugged him back just as tight.

“it's alright, [name]. you don't have to apologize for anything.” kazutora suddenly backed away after he said that but both of your hands are still entwined, he continued, “well, now that's settled, do you wanna go anywhere?” kazutora grins and tilted his head, his earring jingling at the action.

“are you... asking me out?” you teased him and laughed. “you could say that.” kazutora replies and you froze.

“how could i say no when you're the one asking me that?”

[highladyofink]

A while ago, for  my creative writing class, we were given an assignment of explaining memes (yes, I know it’s unbelievable to the point of being surreal but very boomer-ish, and I had a similar reaction when I found out about it).

So I spent a couple of hours scouring the internet for memes about content I adore, because I write best when it’s about something that makes my heart go ka-thunk or has had a deep impact on me. But partly because I’ve too many NSFW memes of a nature that will have me locked up in a nunnery, lobotomized.

Finally, I found two and wrote a long ass explanation as opposed to the paragraph we had been asked to because moderation is for losers.

Here goes nothing:

The phrase "When in Rome, do as the Romans do" means that it is advisable to follow the conventions of the area in which one is residing or visiting. This Tumblr text post takes quite a literal meaning to the saying and alludes to the long morally ambiguous history of assassinating one's opponents, political or otherwise.

It particularly refers to the assassination of Julius Caesar, the celebrated Roman general and military veteran, statesman, praetor (the second highest of the Republic's elected magistracies), Pontifex Maximus (the priest of the highest order presiding above all in the Roman religion), and dictator of Rome. Understandably, such an impressive and extensive military and political portfolio led to Caesar having numerous enemies, especially with some of his political allies turning into conspirators of his assassination.

Hence, the meme talks about eliminating one's opposition in what is now considered a historically accurate and hilarious Roman characteristic.

So that was the first meme. Caesar should be the patron saint of victims of backstabbing. Lame? Okay, moving on to the second meme.

This one is about Patrochilles. The meme talks about Horatio and Hamlet too but it's been over a decade since I read Hamlet so I just wrote about my favourite mythical gay babies instead.

If you get easily offended, stop reading beyond this point. Also, no offense intended to any of the parties I accuse in the following text.

Due to retrograde notions of purity and chastity imposed in Europe by the Church, anything that differed in the slightest from the draconian claustrophobic moulds of cisgender heterosexuality, many allusions and canonical content regarding the spectrum of gender and sexuality were obliterated for millennia.

For instance, the Greek hero Achilles from Homer's Illiad, famed as Aristos Achaion ("the best of the Greeks") and one of the finest warriors to the west of the Aegean Sea, is noted for his role in the destruction of the impenetrable city of Troy by killing the eldest Trojan prince, Hector. This is the aftermath of the accidental killing of Achilles' philatos ("most beloved"), childhood companion and closest friend, Patroclus, by Hector who mistakes him for Achilles.

Upon discovering the murder of his beloved, Achilles sinks into a spiralling abyss of grief, refusing to move a muscle or do anything other than weep over the body of Patroclus for over a week. His heartbroken sobs could be heard over the clashes of battle and the deafening din of an army ten thousand strong, right down to the bottom of the ocean.

He laments his bereavement in words very much similar to the ones Hector's wife Andromache later uses at the death of her husband. Achilles collects Patroclus' ashes (traditionally considered a woman's job) after the latter appears to him in a dream begging for his funerary rights to be conducted so he can traverse down to Erebos for a peaceful afterlife.

He also cuts off locks of his golden hair to place over Patroclus' body as a sign of respect and love along with many other of his fellow soldiers. In a most touching act of love, he requests the army to mingle his ashes upon his own death with those of Patroclus' in the same funerary urn so that they can be one spiritually and physically for eternity.

Secondly, Achilles vows to avenge Patroclus' death before following his beloved down to the afterlife. This is the renowned "Rage of Achilles" which is referred to in the very opening lines of the Illiad ("Sing, goddess, sing of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus"). He overpowers and kills Hector, who was the finest Trojan warrior, as revenge for snuffing out the life of the one Achilles loved the most.

He does not consider death as retribution enough and drags Hector's corpse tied behind his chariot around the walls of Troy thrice, and proceeds to deny him funerary rights. The gods had to restrain Achilles from destroying Troy before the appointed timing which is proof that his rage could defy even the Fates.

Achilles' brutal actions arise from a place of overwhelming grief and understandably righteous rage. They originate not from hubris and cruelty but from heartbreak which shreds his humanity to pieces. Achilles was the offspring of a mortal king and a sea goddess; he was a god because his mother was one, he was human because Patroclus made him so. Once he lost his philatos, he lost hold of his humanity.

To anybody with a basic reading comprehension, this is an extremely touching story about a lifelong love, a story so central to the plot of the Illiad that the climax would not have existed had Achilles and Patroclus not loved each other as legendarily and devastatingly as they did. However, many vacuous scholars and historians refused to see it that way and decided to relegate it to simple platonic love.

This tragic young couple, dubbed Patrochilles as a portmanteau of their names by adoring fans, is emblematic of how LGBTQ history is strategically ignored and even rewritten. Patrochilles has regrettably been cast as sharing filial or storgic affection in order to deviously deceive the audience that their all-consuming love never crossed the bounds of 'decency' and strict dichotomous gender norms.

So... that's it. I got told off for making it too long but I simply told the lecturer that what I wrote is no compensation for how Patrochilles were rewritten as everything but the lovers they so clearly are.

Edit: Yes, I know that Thetis was more sea nymph than goddess (one of Poseidon's Nereids, I think) but calling her a goddess is far more dramatic which is precisely the effect I was going for.

[lupinsfavslytherin]

Protective Professor Snape: Part 1

Imagine you entering your 5th year at Hogwarts and rumor has it that there is a new Potions Professor. (You're a Slytherin) On your first day in Professor Snape’s Potion class, you learn quickly that he is very professional and strict when it comes to his job. Most other students think of him as a complete arse. Then again you're not like most students. While they criticize and bully you, you are at the top of your class. That is until Snape assigns loads of ridiculous assignments. The one class, where you are unexceptionally failing.

One month in and you’re studying in the Library. You can’t figure out why your Draught of Death hasn’t been working. A group of Gryffindors barge into the quiet Library, causing a loud ruckus. The librarian tells them to quiet it down. They do only the slightest bit, and sit at the table next to yours. You hear them start judging you; your weight, your hair, and glasses. Anything they find different, they’ll criticize you about it.

Tears start brimming in your eyes, so you gather your materials and head to your bedroom. Shutting your eyes to hold the tears back until you're out of sight, you bump into somebody on your way out. You choke a sobbing apology out to the person, not caring about looking at them. Hearing laughter behind you now, you hurry up. You try to ignore everyone in the halls, just focusing on getting to your bed, safely.

Finally, you reach the dungeons. You turn into the Slytherin common room, and rush through a group of first-years, into your room. Throwing your bag and books aside, you jump under your large-black bed covers. You sob until your throat and eyes are too sore anymore. Just feeling numb you pull your covers down just enough to grab the firewhiskey in your bedside table. You take a couple of swigs, and start collecting all your books again. You begin to study, but on your bed, this time.

Hoping your dorm-mates don’t return anytime soon, you keep out the bottle, finishing it off into the rest of the afternoon. You fall asleep on your work, sleeping through supper. Your dorm-mates, wake you after returning from supper, telling you to go to bed. Following their advice, you clear off your bed, not caring of the mess now laying beside it. You change into your pajamas. You couldn't fall back to sleep, though. You laid awake, seeing everyone else asleep, and you start to feel hungry.

Slipping on some shoes, you stumble your way through the castle and to the Kitchens. You don't see anyone around, so you start snacking on cookies, and a glass of pumpkin juice. Little did you know the new Potions Professor was walking the halls nearby for any students out of bed. You trip as you walk back into the halls, holding more snacks, including some chocolate and more juice. You walk around the corner, coming face to face to Snape. He looks at you and the state you're in. Your running mascara was now dried under your swollen-red eyes.

Now looking at your arms, Professor sees the snacks you’ve taken, pressed against your almost bare chest. Taking his eyes off of you, he only gives you a warning, and that next time there will be punishment. Apologizing and now embarrassed, you continued back to your dorm. You pick up the mess next to your bed to start studying, but can’t get Professor Snape out of your head. He was quite young and handsome enough to be teaching at Hogwarts.

Waking up with all your materials spread out, you look at the time. Crap! Your about to be late to your first lesson. You shove everything into your now overflowing bag, and run down to your Charms class. You don’t see someone stick out their leg, and trip over it, all your things scattering across the floor in front of you. Looking back, you see it was one of the Gryffindors from yesterday. He mumbles something about saying it was your fault he got detention, now. But, you barely register anything else going on, except for gathering your materials. You can cry about it later. Right now, you need to get to class.

Finding yourself in front of the charms classroom, your eyes are blurry from the unshed tears, you keep trying to hold back. Wondering if you even wanted to attend class, anymore. You don’t. Turning around you wander into the girls laboratory. Closing a stall, you allow the tears to fall. Sobbing into your robes, you hear steps coming into the room. You quiet down listening to the girls coming in.

The girls start talking about you, and how they think you're going to end up a hermit; all alone, drinking, with loads of cats, and books. Your sadness turns into anger as you open up the stall, seeing your dorm-mates. They look at you, shocked, seeing you lifting your wand at them. You hex two of them, the last one running off, to probably tell a professor. You couldn’t care less. No one cares about you, why should you care about anyone else? Picking up your stuffed bag, you start to head outside the castle, and down to a willow tree.

You throw your bag to the ground, some of your books falling out. You start practicing non-verbal magic, as you lay down and watch leaves rise and dry out quicker than they’re supposed to. You grab onto one crumbling it into your palm. You then start practicing your patronus. Imagining your parents' faces when you told them you were invited to Hogwarts popped up in your head, but merged when you were placed into Slytherin. They were both so proud of you. Your eyes start blurring, thinking about the muggle car crash that they were in.

You jump forward, waking up to a darker sky. You start to shiver, it being cold outside. You look around, and find that the willow tree is now moving around more than it should. Realizing what tree this was, you petrify it, and notice a hollow at it’s trunk. You know you should head back to the castle but you’re too curious, and use your wand as a light. You crawl into the hole, and fall in deeper. Seeing a complete tunnel, you follow it, surprised to find yourself in the shrieking shack.

You shine your wand towards a piano, and see it’s not too broken. You look around more, and find a king-size bed with drapes hanging around it. Everything is dusty, but still amazing, so you clean up the place as much as you can, and Accio’d new sheets and pillows from your dorm, and fix up the bed. You reach towards your bag around your side, finding it’s not there. Remembering its place under the weeping willow you walk back down the tunnel, and climb up the steps to the hallow. You step out of the hole, and grab your bag and books, taking it back to the shack with you. You open a book on repairing spells and find one for musical instruments. You fix the piano and tune it the best you can, before practicing some songs you remember.

You spent hours in the shack playing piano and repairing lots of furniture that was scattered around the building. You found candles, and placed them around your favorite room. The one with the bed and piano. You discovered a grand bookshelf in the downstairs and cleaned up around that, as well. There were so many books; romance, travel, cooking, old spells, etc. You brought a large chair in between it and a window. Checking the time on your watch, you find it to be three o’clock in the morning. You didn’t feel exhausted at all, though, but did decide to head back to the castle. You blew out the candles, before leaving.

You snuck into the castle, barely making it past filch. You made it to the dungeons but noticed that there was someone in front of the Slytherin door. They turned at the sound of your footsteps. Snape. You blushed at the sight of him, now keeping your eyes on the stone floor. Before he could get any words out, you started apologizing. You lied saying you were in the library studying but lost track of time. You looked at his face to gage his reaction. His face was kinder than usual, but he cocked his left eyebrow up. You looked back down.

Snape excused that but didn’t let me leave, yet. He said that two girls were hexed in the girls laboratory, earlier. You started explaining to him that they were harassing you, but he quickly shut it down. He said that you could have controlled yourself, and not lashed out. He gave you a week of detention after classes everyday, and assigned an essay on emotional responsibility. He didn't yell or say any snide remarks, like he does with most students, though. He walked towards his classroom, as you looked back at him, before heading to your dorm room. Your room was locked. You used the unlocking charm, and quietly made your way to your side of the room. You grabbed all your clothes, and everything that was yours, packing it into a charmed suitcase. This included all your personal books, school papers, shoes, toiletries, etc.

You walked to the nearest girls laboratory, and showered, before heading out of the school again. Walking down to the weeping willow, suitcase-in-hand, you petrified it again. I felt like you were being watched however, and looked around before jumping in the hallow and making your way to the shrieking shack. This would be your new home until you graduated from Hogwarts. Lighting only one candle you unpacked all your clothes into a dresser that you cleaned beforehand. You hopped onto the bed,once finished, and blew out the candle. You fell asleep to the sound of the wind against your newfound home, finally a little happier.

[fic-request-blog]

Making a Life Together (In More Ways Than One)

This was a request by an anonymous here on Tumblr, who has been incredibly patient! The request was essentially “a timeline of Justin and Clifford finding out that Justin is pregnant up to the birth but focusing on coming to terms with being parents.” It turned into a series of vignettes. I tried to make each vignette about the same length for consistency’s sake, but they vary a bit.  ~3K.

An up-front note, this is a gen fic that is almost entirely pure fluff with a sprinkle of angst, but heavily revolves around mpreg. Also, this is RPF of the actors for Bakugo and Deku from My Hero Academia. 

Making a Life Together (In More Ways Than One)

Week 3

Justin stares. He was having headaches and felt so tired all the time. So, he had… thought, just maybe… just to check…

He drops onto the closed toilet seat, silent. The two little lines stare back at him, just as silent.

The apartment is quiet. He’s woken up early to do this, and the surrounding city is only barely awake. He can hear the neighbor shuffling around her kitchen through the thin walls, can hear the pitter-patter of her cat following for breakfast. The sun is a soft yellow through the curtains, and everything feels a little unreal.

He’ll need to start getting ready for work soon. He should probably get some coffee brewing, so Clifford and he can get going.

Instead, Justin continues to sit quietly, elbows resting heavily on his knees, staring into the middle distance. How does he tell Clifford? What if Clifford doesn’t want the baby? Does he even want the baby? What if he doesn’t want the baby? What if he does? He doesn’t have any answers yet. So much is going to change either way.

The sun continues to rise. He takes a deep breath and buries the test in the trashcan under the sink. He’ll tell Clifford once he’s made up his mind. He needs to figure this out, figure out what he wants.

God, they’re not even married yet. Should they get married first? Does he want to marry Clifford? Does Clifford want to marry him?

Placing both hands on either side of the sink, Justin closes his eyes and breathes. His thoughts are whirling too fast to keep up with and the knot of anxiety in his stomach only grows.

  Week 6

What is he going to do?

Shivering, Justin rests his head in his hands, closing his eyes against the roiling nausea. The bathroom tiles are cold through his boxers, and he wishes he’d grabbed a pair of sweats, or heck, even a towel, before he’d sunk to the floor. It’s the second morning he’s woken with the need to throw up and he feels terrible.

He needs to tell Clifford soon. He can blame the headaches and fatigue on their demanding recording schedule, but this?

He wants the baby. He’s decided. He’s going to keep the baby, even if Clifford doesn’t want to keep it. Them.

The nausea rises again, and tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t want to do this alone. He can’t do this alone. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Clifford doesn’t want the baby. Will Clifford leave him? Or would he stay at least to see this out? Clifford is a good man, but Justin wouldn’t blame him for leaving. A baby is a lot. They haven’t ever talked about the possibility yet.

Tears spill over as he tries to stay quiet. He’s not ready for this. He’s not ready for any of this.

A sleep muzzy “Babe?” drifts into the room as Justin hears the door creak all the way open and a sob breaks free from him before he can choke it back. It’s loud enough that there’s no way Clifford didn’t hear it, not while he’s standing in the doorway. He should have locked the door.

“Aw, shit, babe,” Clifford whispers, shuffling in to rub a hand over Justin’s back, “you don’t feel good? Why didn’t you get me up? Woulda gotten up with ya.”

The hand on his back is warm and the relief at Clifford’s words is so heavy that Justin curls into himself and weeps. Warm hands turn into warm arms and Justin can’t quite hear what Clifford is saying as he sits right on the floor next to him, pressing his chest to Justin’s back and leaning his head on Justin’s shoulder. Whatever he’s saying, it’s soft and soothing.

  Week 7

Justin cries there, on the bathroom floor, with Clifford wrapped around him, warm hands rubbing gently up and down his arms, for a long while.

Clifford opens the door with a sigh, hands going to Justin’s shoulders on autopilot, “You’re not sick, are you?”

Justin doesn’t move, only breathes in shakily as he lets his head hang, pressed against the cool wall beside the toilet, “No.”

It’s quiet. The day is still early. Over the past week, most of their days have started like this. It’s certainly given Justin time to think, to decide.

“I’m pregnant.”

He wants the baby, he’s certain now. He wants Clifford, the man who has woken up and draped blankets over him each morning, murmured soothing words and rubbed his back. There’s no one else. Justin can’t imagine anyone else, can’t imagine doing this with anyone else, can’t imagine growing old with anyone else. He wants to marry Clifford, wants this to be permanent.

One step at a time.

There’s no gasp behind him. No exclamation of surprise or worry. Just the reassuring hands rubbing circles over his shoulders, pressing gently into his back.

“Okay.”

Justin frowns, eyes closed against the wall, “That…that’s it?”

He could practically see the way Clifford shrugged, the familiar motion playing behind his eyelids, “I mean, it was a little obvious. What…what do you want to do?”

“I want to keep the baby.” I want to stay with you. I want you to stay with me. Marry me. The list goes on, but Justin keeps that to himself. Now…now’s not the time.

“Okay.”

Unable to stand the tension, Justin cracks his eyes open, peering at Clifford, “What do…what do you want?”

This time he watches the shrug in real time.

“I don’t know. I want to stay with you.”

For the first time in weeks, Justin feels light. He feels a smile spread across his face, eyes closing again against the nausea, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

  Week 12

“Okay.”

Morning sun streams through their window, warming Justin’s bare belly. He hums, still drifting between sleep and wakefulness. It’s a good morning.

“Oh my god Justin,” Clifford startles up, slapping a hand onto Justin’s arm, “oh my god, we should have taken you to a doctor by now. Oh my god, what are we doing?”

Pure terror rests on Clifford’s face and Justin can’t help but laugh, “I have no idea what we’re doing. But, yeah, we should probably start figuring things out soon.”

If Justin thinks things were busy before, things become absolutely insane over the next few weeks. There are doctor visits, planning for what they need for the baby, and shit, do they need to get a house? Is this apartment enough space for a baby? Can they even afford a house? What if their jobs require them to continue to move around? Should they just get a new apartment that’s bigger?

There are so many questions to answer and so many appointments, neither of them has the time to think much about anything but now and the immediate future.  

They make lists. They find lists online. They get lists assigned to them by doctors.

They tell their friends. They tell their families. There are a lot of tears, mostly happy, on the part of everyone involved. Clifford’s grin, his warm hand spread across the small of Justin’s back, his pride in their baby, get Justin teary-eyed faster than any of the warm wishes.

  Week 18

They’re definitely happy tears.

He’s been wearing baggy shirts for the past few weeks, but the bump is getting harder to hide. There’s a full-length mirror in their bedroom, a remnant of a past tenant, and Justin has never spent more time in front of it.

Happiness bubbles up, unbidden. Clifford is making pasta in the kitchen, singing along badly to the radio. Water drips from Justin’s hair, still wet from the shower, as he hikes his sweats up, eyes drawn yet again to the mirror. It won’t be that long before he’ll need new clothes.  He hopes the rest of the cast takes this as well as Clifford has.

He sees motion in the mirror, then hands circle around his waist and Justin leans back, threading his fingers through Clifford’s as they rest on his belly, “Hey babe, dinner?”

“Mmm, yeah, thanks.”

They don’t move immediately, standing together in their bedroom, the setting sun painting the room in orange and red. They sway a little.

“Hey.”

Justin hums, raising one of his brows in question, eyes closed as he relaxes more firmly against Clifford’s chest.

“Marry me.”

Justin gasps, eyes flying open to find Clifford’s in the mirror. He looks…serious. Determined in a way he rarely shows.

“What?”

The mouth pressed to his shoulder frowns, “Marry me?”

It’s clearly a question this time, and Justin realizes Clifford thinks he’s hesitating, not that he’s caught off guard, caught by surprise in his reflection. Tears pool at the edges of his vision and he watches Clifford’s face go tight with worry, feels the man start to pull away.

“Yes,” he nearly sobs, “yes.”

He twists in Clifford’s arms and kisses him until the tears stop coming. Clifford is going to stay. They’re going to do this together. He’s not sure why he ever doubted.

  Week 22

If dinner is cold when they get to it, neither of them notice.

Between planning for the baby, continuing work, and now deciding their wedding plans, Justin is exhausted. Resting on the couch, he sighs, pouting slightly at his phone. Clifford is running the last of the day’s errands, and Justin just wants him home to fall asleep on. He texts Clifford to buy ice cream and tosses his phone onto the couch, scrolling through movie options. Nothing much is on.

He wriggles to adjust the pillow behind him and sighs again, closing his eyes. Maybe he can nap until Clifford gets back…

Something…flutters? against his stomach, but from the inside. Like a tap. It happens again and Justin sits up fully, eyes wide, hands pressing to his stomach.

The baby. It’s the baby! He can feel his baby kicking!

Gently, Justin slides his hands across his belly, heart jumping each time he feels the fluttering. He’s never felt anything like it. Closing his eyes again, Justin sits back.

The doctors have assured him the baby is healthy, that there’s been no complications, but this… This proof that his baby is alive and well comforts him more than any words.

It hits home, how real this is. He’s going to have a baby; he’s going to be a father. Maybe he’s not sure if he’s ready yet, but here he sits, making a new life right inside him. There have been few moments in his life that have felt more awe-inspiring, more humbling.

When Clifford returns, kicking off his sneakers and dropping the groceries in the kitchen, Justin is smiling up from the couch, hands still holding his belly softly. Clifford kisses him quietly, frowning as he wipes at the tears at the corners of Justin’s eyes.

“You okay, babe?”

  Week 26

Justin reaches up to kiss him on the cheek, “Yeah.  Yeah, I think I am.”

Things are starting to fall together. Well, more like be carefully put together with a lot of sweat, tears, and even blood when Clifford managed to cut himself while putting together an IKEA crib. (Justin’s not sure he’s ever heard Clifford swear that much at once. The cut was so small, Justin laughed the whole time. He still held Clifford’s hand through the outburst though.) They’ve worked hard for this and as Justin snuggles into Clifford’s side a bit more, head pillowed on his chest, pride swells.

He didn’t think…he didn’t think Clifford would be like this. Clifford is a good man, a wonderful partner, a brilliant fiancé, but Justin couldn’t have hoped for how good of a father he seems like he’ll be.

Clifford is doting, kind and caring even if he wouldn’t admit it to anyone himself. He rubs Justin’s feet when they ache, holds Justin when everything feels like too much after a long day, and grows more and more boastful about their baby by the day. Trying not to wake Clifford, Justin stifles a giggle. The poor barista at the coffee shop down the road probably knows more about their baby than she wants. Just yesterday, Justin had overheard Clifford bragging to him mom, of all people, about all the good news from the doctors, about all the preparations to the apartment and the

Justin’s smitten.

His musings are interrupted by a warm hand clumsily stroking down his chest to rub soothingly at his belly, “M’rnin.”

Justin plants a kiss to Clifford’s shoulder, smile widening, “Morning.”

They lay there, basking in each other’s company, until Justin jolts. His hands fly to his belly as the baby kicks again, his smile turning into something a little more akin to a grimace. They certainly don’t have to worry about the health of their baby. The kicks have only grown stronger over the last few weeks and the doctor had assured them they’d get stronger still.

He huffs a laugh as the tantrum abates, twisting his neck to look up at Clifford, a funny remark about the baby already being more like Clifford poised on his lips. The thought dies at the look of awe in Clifford’s eyes, his open-mouthed shock.

“That’s the first time I’ve felt the baby move, Justin.”

He says it quietly, reverently, and Justin’s face crumbles into a fond smile.

Yes, he’s truly smitten.

  Week 30

He’s so smitten he doesn’t even mention the call Clifford makes to his mom later that day, or about how long it lasts.

Justin had always thought the idea of child birthing classes was strange, but he’s thankful for them now. There’s so much he didn’t know, so many questions he has. When another person in the class raises her hand to ask about something he had just experienced last week, he feels so much better. It’s reassuring.

Though, he’s pretty sure these classes aren’t just for the people who are actually giving birth. Most everyone’s partner attends as well, and at every opportunity, they’re comparing and boasting.

And to Justin’s mortification, Clifford is the worst of them. He tells the class all about the renovations to their apartment to make the best nursery possible, the good news from the doctor, the strong kicks they can feel from the baby, even the cravings Justin has been getting for tacos. Clifford describes it as a constant battle to show who are the best parents. Justin describes it as ridiculous.

If Justin weren’t so charmed, he’d melt into his chair out of embarrassment. Luckily, their instructor is good at getting them all back on track during class.

He can’t believe he’s already in the third trimester. It feels like all of this is flying by. The doctor said he only had ten more weeks before the baby, barely three months! He feels like all of this just started, like only yesterday he was sitting in the apartment bathroom hoping Clifford might at least stay with him for the pregnancy.

  Week 36

Now, watching idly as Clifford continues a story about how they got the best baby monitor on the market, all his fears seem so far away, almost silly.

They decide on a small officiation, just a few friends and their parents, for now. With the baby coming soon and still more planning to be done, the big wedding will have to wait. He’d like to invite far more people, to have as many flowers as Clifford will allow adorning the venue.

All of this has happened so fast. They both want it to be official though, before the baby arrives. It’s not like their families will care (it’s pretty clear neither he nor Clifford is going anywhere, after all), but it just feels…right. The permanence, the promise, is comforting.

On a Tuesday afternoon, they cram themselves into the local clerk’s office. The clerk is kind and makes the paperwork easy for them. Even though their vows are short versions of what they plan for the big wedding, Justin is crying by the time they exchange rings. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so happy, if Clifford wasn’t smiling at him like he hung the moon, if his parents weren’t crying just as much behind them.

It’s a sunny Tuesday afternoon and Justin is in love with his husband. And his husband loves him back!

It’s official. They’re married.

And in just a few weeks they’ll be parents.

  Week 39

He couldn’t imagine being here only a year ago. He thinks now, with Clifford’s hand in his, with the warmth of the ring on his finger, he might just be ready, too.

“Clifford! The baby is coming!”

There’s a clatter from the kitchen. Breathing slowly, Justin wraps a hand protectively over his belly as he stands from the couch. Clifford appears in the doorway only a second later, face a picture of shock, “But, the doctor said you still have another two weeks!”

Justin looks him dead in the eye, “Get in the car.”

Clifford doesn’t argue.

The drive to the hospital feels as though it happens in the blink of an eye and simultaneously like the longest ride Justin has ever taken. They arrive and Justin loses track of what the people bustling around him are doing. There are too many lights and too many people talking. The only constant is Clifford’s hand, big and warm, holding fast to his own.

They tell him to breathe. He breathes.

He’s not sure how much time passes, but the baby comes, and Justin is so tired he can’t protest when the doctor tells him to sleep.

It’s light out when Justin wakes, sluggishly sitting up in the hospital bed. Clifford sits beside him, tired but grinning. In his arms is a little bundle. He motions to hand Justin their baby without a word. Justin nods, too overcome to finds any himself.

The blanket wrapped around their baby is soft and warm. He stares down with wonder. Their baby. He looks up to find Clifford close, smiling softly at them. It’s a perfect moment and Justin lets himself cry into Clifford’s shoulder.

They’re going to be fine. All three of them. Everything is going to be fine. They’re together, they’ll do this together, and that’s what matters.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Day 1: “You took all the pillows so i’m using you as one.”

It is herrrreee!!! I hope you enjoy and let me know all your thoughts.

Non-descript, non-canon-compliant AU

Jason Grace smiles as he ends the call with his sister, promising her he’ll call before she gets on her flight to another obscure place. One would think after an entire year of living, mostly, alone she wouldn’t be so worried, yet each time she goes off she has to send him a hundred messages and call him a hundred more times to make sure he’s okay. The day is dawning bright and chilly and he has every intention of snuggling up in his bed with a good book and copious amounts of hot cocoa. University has finally shut down for winter which means he has absolutely nothing to do. It is pure bliss.

He hops onto the counter, scrolling through his phone while the kettle boils. His instagram is filled with people in various tropical places, or places much colder than his little London apartment. Snow and skis, and beaches and cocktails scatter across his feed and he is equal parts jealous and excited. The kettle clicks and he sets to making his chocolatey drink, adding an obscene amount of marshmallows and some extra chocolate chips just for fun. Might as well indulge. Tomorrow he would have to make an effort to dress in something more than a ratty t-shirt and fading boxers, and interact with other people. The few of them that are still here are planning a holiday movie night complete with blanket forts and popcorn and terrible romance plots. But today, with the sky grey and weeping gently, and the world as quiet as he’s ever heard it he can just be unexciting, unworried Jason.

He launches himself onto the bed, after carefully placing his mug on the side table and snuggles deep into his duvets, sighing contentedly. There is almost nothing that could make this better. Except one person. But he has no energy to dwell on that. Because that person is gone to Montauk with their family and even if they weren’t they wouldn’t be here with him.  He shakes the thoughts from his head and opens his book, ready to get lost in a world far away from this one. But just as he starts reading, a knock sounds at his door. Every bone in his body groans, like the worst thing that could have happened to them has just occurred. He agrees wholly and debates ignoring the unexpected visitor. But then he thinks about his elderly neighbour who’s always losing her keys or needing help with something on the top shelf and he sighs as he resigns himself to getting up. His book, and heart, cry when he tumbles out of bed and slips his feet into fluffy pink slippers. The knocking sounds again and he all but rolls his eyes, before flinging open the door.

As he expects Mrs Tremblay is on the other side, a kind smile on her face. “Hello Jason dear,”

“Hello Mrs Tremblay, how are you?”

“Oh just peachy dear. My wife isn’t home yet and I can't seem to locate the butter. Would you mind coming to have a look. I am sorry to be a bother on such a day that requires everything but bothering.”

He holds in a snort and closes his door behind him, “No worries ma’am. I’m happy to help.”

“Yes, well you’re very kind dear. The last tenant who lived there was a rowdy unfriendly man who smelled disgustingly of bleach and cigarette smoke.” Her nose scunches so that the wrinkles in her face deepen considerably.

He doesn’t give a response, mostly because he doesn’t really know how to reply, so instead he ushers her into her apartment and makes his way to the kitchen. After a quick squiz in the fridge he sees the butter all the way at the back of the top shelf. Getting it out, he places it on the counter with a smile.

“Here you are Mrs Tremblay.”

“Oh you are a darling! I’ll be sure to save some snickerdoodles for you.” She claps her hands, already pulling her apron over her head.

“Is there anything else you need me to help with?”

“That’s alright dear.” Distracted with her scale she waves his question away, “You’ll see yourself out, won't you?”

“Sure ma’am, have a good day.” He waves. She doesn't catch it. “Say hi to Precious for me.”

“Bye now.” Is her distant reply before she’s scaling chunks of butter and losing herself to her baking.

With a huffed laugh he escapes back to his own apartment and settles into his bed once more. This time he does get swooped into his book, travelling over mountains and sleeping in rocky valleys. Every word produces a new kind of feeling, like he is a well of all the most wonderful emotions. Sometime later, and a good portion of the book gone, he drains the last of his now-cold cocoa and decides it’s time for a bathroom break. As he finishes up another knock sounds at his door. Must be Mrs Tremblay with the cookies she’d promised.

He jogs to the door, pulling a hoodie over his head, as the wind seeps in through the cracked windows. He opens the door and the hood flops over his face.

“Mrs Tremblay, the snickers finished already?” He fiddles with the fabric and pushes his now messy hair out of his eyes.

“Uh- I did not bring cookies?” A voice that Jason hears in his dreams washes over him.

He freezes, blue eyes as wide as planets, as he takes in who stands at his front door. “You’re not Mrs Tremblay.” He blurts out.

A twinkle enters those emerald eyes, a smirk slowly takes over that beautiful, angular face. “I am not. As far as I know i’m still Percy Jackson.”

“Yes you are.” He replies breathlessly, and then cringes so hard he sees black dancing in his vision. That smirk only grows wider. “Please come in.”

“Thanks. It’s freezing out there. I’m sure all the nerves in my fingers have burned to nothing.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in Montauk? Is everything okay with your family? With you? Here let me take your jacket.” He eases the dark denim from his friend’s hands and slings it over the chair in their little dining room.

Percy laughs at all his questions, "Everything is fine with everyone. Paul has family in Brighton, and I asked mom if I could visit you while we’re here.”

“Oh.”

That twinkle only brightens as they make their way to his room. “Yes oh.” He winks, and then sobers as he takes in the rumpled sheets on Jason’s bed. “Am I interrupting something? I can totally come back another day. We’re here for two weeks so…”

The blonde’s cheeks go crimson as he realises what his friend thought was going on. “No, no, no. I was just reading. I’ve been in bed, uh, all day.”

Percy’s eyebrows touch his hairline in surprise. “You? You’ve been in bed all day?”

He blushes harder but nods all the same. “It’s cold and I have a book. I finally have the time to read.”

A brown hand reaches up to touch his forehead, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? The Jason Grace I know would have had his morning run, started on assignments due in two months time and volunteered to go grocery shopping for all his neighbours.”

He makes a face, shoving the black-haired boy, “I’m not such a goody-two-shoes.”

A laugh as pretty and devastating as the ocean echoes through his body. “Alright Jase,” He collapses onto the bed, waggling his dark eyebrows. “If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

That laugh catches between his butterflies and the whole world slows down. He stares at his friend, who looks so completely at home that his heart clenches a little. Black hair a stark contrast against his white covers, and earth brown skin glowing under the yellow light above their heads. He takes a deep breath in.

“Do you want to finish your book and then we can talk?” Percy asks, eyes still stuck on the ceiling, tracing the constellation of stars stuck up there.

And with that question Jason melts into the floor and thanks the powers that be that he has found home.

“If you don’t mind?” He moves to lie on the bed, already snatching up the book and paging through it to find his way.

Percy scoffs, “Of course i don’t mind.” He shuffles, eyes darting around before a gleam enters them. He promptly moves further up, and places his head on Jason’s stomach.

“What- what are you doing?”

“You took all the pillows so i’m using you as one.”

And indeed the two pillows that are usually on the bed are shoved behind his back, for the extra comfort. “Oh, uh, okay.”

“Are you uncomfortable? Should I move somewhere else?”

“No, no!” He cries, ‘I’m fine.” Even though his heart is beating a hundred miles a minute and the butterflies in his stomach had been released into a zoo.

A beautiful smile takes over Percy’s face as he settles into his pillow and closes his eyes. Jason reminds himself to breathe, as he stares at the serene face right under his nose.

“Are you going to keep staring at me or actually read Grace?” His friend’s lips twitch but those ocean eyes stay closed.

“Shut up.” He grumbles, wondering how he knew.

“Make me.”

His golden cheeks go bright red, again, and he is grateful the black-haired boy is still closed to the world. Finally his heart calms enough, and his mind goes quiet and he can get lost in his book. Percy’s soft, unhurried breathing deepens as he drifts to sleep, and Jason follows not long after. They are content. They are peaceful. They are happy.

They wake up as they had gone to sleep: Percy’s head resting against his stomach, and him propped up on pillows. Jason’s eyes open first and after he glances out the window to see the grey sky darkening he takes the quiet moment to stare, unobstructed at the boy before him. Long eyelashes brush sharp cheekbones, and a strong nose, slightly skewed from being broken one too many times, twitches. He really is one of the most beautiful people.

“Are you still staring at me?” A raspy, playful voice rings out.

The blonde about has a heart attack right there. “You’re awake?”

“Just barely.” He groans, pulling himself up, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Jason almost groans at the loss of contact but stifles it under a laugh. “You wanna make some cocoa and we can tell each other secrets?”

“I only have one secret,” Percy winks, hauling himself off the bed and holding out a hand for him.

He takes it, but is unprepared to be launched halfway to the sun, or to topple into a hard chest. The black-haired boy catches him before they fall to the floor, and every nerve in his body narrows to the warm hands on his hips.

“What’s your secret?” He whispers.

“Take a wild guess.”

He narrows his eyes, racking his brain for any ideas, but every thought is discarded because all of them involve something he knows is impossible.

“Got nothing?” He grins.

“Not a clue.” Disappointment floods through him fast and sharp.

“My mother secretly calls me pineapples.” His friend mutters and in the second it takes him to process the words the black-haired boy is already shaking. His forehead presses into the blonde’s shoulder as he laughs and he can’t help but join in; the absurdity of the statement breaks his confusion, and disappointment.

Finally they sober up and Percy, whose hands are still on him, stares directly into his eyes. “I lied. I have one more secret.”

“Oh?”

And then Percy Jackson smiles as bright as the stars and kisses Jason Grace. What a lovely secret indeed.

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Tags:

@nishlicious-01​

[rohondra]

Firsts || Izuku Midoriya

a/n: this is for another bnharem discord collab!! the prompt was “Pen Pals”. I’m pretty content with how this came out and I’m super excited to write a bit more considering I got a computer!! I’m hoping to do a pt2 hehe. god bless the people in my haikyuu server who swooped in and saved the day every time I had a brain far. 

rating: n*fw 18+

word count: just over 2k

warnings: virgin!Reader, daddy kink yes again ok I have a problem, FaceTime sex, mutual masturbation, big buff Izuku

all characters are aged up when I write and I take no credit for the images I post w said writings unless stated otherwise.

PLEASE CHECK OUT EVERYONES AMAZING FICS FOR THIS COLLAB!!!

A notification from the S.H.I.E.L.D. Field Office Discord server you were a part of popped up on your phone. It was an announcement that they would be randomly selecting pen pals as an event to get people more connected during this pandemic, of course you had the option to opt out, but the idea of doing something so “risky” excited you. You held your breath and reacted with a thumbs up, butterflies instantly flooding your stomach.

Just under an hour later one of the admins sent you a pm;

-Hey! Thanks so much for joining our penpals event. Social distancing is a pain in the ass, but hopefully this will lighten your spirits! We paired you with @/izuku#2485. Xx

Being the nosy son of a bitch you were, you immediately typed his user into the server and checked his activity within it- specifically the “#pictures” channel, but found nothing. Just as you were about to send him a friend request, you got a notification of another pm.. Oddly enough from him;

-Hi, we got paired for the penpal event! It’s okay if you don’t want to send your address to a complete stranger, I get it haha.

The butterflies returned as you pressed the request button, and immediately saw it change from “pending” to “send message”.

~Hi! If I’m honest it’s just my college address lol, nothing too risky.

-College huh? Me too. I was afraid you were going to end up being a minor and then I’d feel kind of weird ha. What school?

~Do not fear, I am in fact legal. Even if it is by 8 months lol. ASU! Yourself?

-Arizona huh? Interesting, I’m actually finishing my senior year at Iowa State.

Your stomach flipped, anxiety coursing through your veins at the last message. Senior?! What if this guy was like, 40?? No, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be living on campus at that age.. But he never specified he was living in a dorm. You closed Discord and moved onto what seemed to be the never ending flood of assignments, two of which were due that night.

A notification popped up on your computer mid essay;

-Don’t wanna be pushy. Here’s my address if you decide to write me.(:

You chewed at your bottom lip, weighing the consequences. It couldn’t be that bad of an idea right? He seemed nice, not pervy at all.. Fuck it.

“Hello! It’s your good old pal from the Marvel server. If I'm honest I'm not that good at these things, haha. This letter will be pretty short, but tell me- who’s your favorite Marvel character? Feel free to gush! I’m looking forward to hearing back from you.

From,

Y/N”

-

Two weeks later your RA slipped the envelope under your door, “MAIL!!!” she yelled before hurrying to the next room to deliver. Your heart fluttered as you opened it, admiring his clean handwriting;

“Hi. Alls good, I’m pretty awkward myself ha. My name is Izuku Midoriya! My friends call me Deku. Y/N is a nice name.

Honestly, it’s kind of cliche but Captain America has to be my favorite. I’m a bit of a Marvel junkie. I’ve seen every movie, have the entire Captain America comic series, own a Marvel Encyclopedia, plus almost every Marvel funko pop they’ve released.. Now that I think of it I’m definitely more than “a bit” obsessed ha. How about you? If it’s easier for you, you could just message me on discord.

-Izuku”

You giggled as you opened the app on your phone.

~Hi! I just got your letter. Seems to me you’re DEFINITELY obsessed lol but that’s okay, me too. I’m obsessed with Captain America. Chris Evans? *cheff kiss*”

-Hey. That’s so funny! I aspire to look like him one day haha. Taking it one day at a time, but this pandemic is making it difficult rip. You wanna add me on snapchat? I probably came off as some creepy perv ha. @/deku_zuku.”

From that point on, you two became OBSESSED with each other. Deku was an extremely gorgeous, freckled man with colored, fluffy green hair. You thought your sleep schedule was already fucked because of the pandemic? Sike, now it really was. You were staying up until 5am snapchatting him, interacting with him on discord, texting him, etc. You just couldn’t get enough of each other.

Your favorite snapchats from him were his post workout selfies. You loved the way his skin glistened, his muscular body littered in scars and freckles. More often than not you screenshot them and definitely got off to them, but you could never tell him that. It was embarassing to think about how most nights you laid in bed pumping a dildo inside of yourself desperately calling his name, imagining it was him fucking your tight virgin pussy.

As you were getting lost in imagining scenarios your phone began ringing, oh fuck he was FaceTimeing you.

You quickly sat up, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and setting your phone against a book for support before answering.

“H-hi! Sorry I wasn’t expecting you to FaceTime me ha.”

Izuku grinned ear to ear, “No I’m sorry! I should’ve asked first, but you look great so I mean.. No complaints from me with how you look.”

Red tinted your cheeks, “A-ah thank you. You’re pretty good looking yourself.”

Izuku’s eyes narrowed, “Did I catch you at uh- a bad time?”

You tilted your head in confusion, “No? I mean I was trying to catch up on some stuff but other than I wasn’t doing anything important.”

“Ha, that looks pretty important. You also look a little flushed.”

When your eyes followed his on your screen your cheeks immediately lit on fire and you shifted to cover the dildo you carelessly left on the parallel night stand.

“So that’s why you’ve been screenshotting my pictures huh? I never would’ve taken Y/n to be such a slut.” he smirked.

He could feel his cock begin weep at the sight, he couldn’t help but palm himself. What if you got off to him? Thinking about how your little moans might sound when they slip out of your mouth made his cock pulse, he wanted to make you moan. He wanted to be the reason you came undone.

You tried to defend yourself, slightly annoyed by the derogatory term he referred to you as, “I- no. It isn’t like th-”

He cut you off, his voice having dropped an octave, “It’s okay baby, tell me what you think about.. I wanna hear what gets you off with those pictures.”

Hands came up to cover your face, you felt like you were going to puke- this was too embarrassing. His screen went to “paused” and you heard shuffling from his end. Within seconds you received a picture of Izuku in the mirror, his large hand barely covering his erect penis and his shirt between his teeth. He chuckled, “How about now princess? What makes that pretty pussy tighten around your toy?”

Slick slipped from your previously abused cunt, he sounded so delicious and looked even more delicious. When you spoke, your voice came out as a squeak, “I-I uh, I can’t tell you! It’s embarrassing.” If you could light on fire, it would’ve already happened. In fact, you wish you could. If you’re lucky the entire dorm might catch ablaze as well so all evidence is ruined.

A deep chuckle echoed from your phone speaker, “Embarrassed? It’s not like you’re a blushing virgin baby.”

There was a pause as you lowered your hands, your nose scrunched from the humility and one eye shut, “.. And if I told you I was?”

Izuku felt his member pulse yet again, precum gliding from his slit. That almost sent him over the edge, there was no way someone as breathtaking as you hadn’t been with anyone. Fuck, he could take your innocence and ruin you for any other man. He could make you his own and have you milking his thick cock every night, screaming his name and begging for more.

A meak sigh pulled him from his fantasies as you spoke up, “Sorry if that makes me less appealing.” He was quick to follow up, “N-no. God no. That,” he sighed,” fuck that’s honestly hot.”

Boldness coursed through him as his hand lazily pumped his shaft, “That just means I can be all your firsts.. Here, give me a minute.”

Your heart sank for a minute when the FaceTime ended, but fluttered once again when another call from him came through. This time though, it was from his laptop. He smirked before rolling back in his computer chair, his cock twitching against his stomach anxious for attention.

Desire burnt within him at the sight of you, eyebrows raised and eyes enlarged with pupils blown while you licked your lips. Izuku couldn’t help as his hand encircled his shaft once again, “What is it you think about baby? Me kissing and licking all over your body? My fingers pumping in and out of you while my tongue plays with your nipple?” He began a generous pace of pumping himself before his next taunt, “Maybe my tongue playing with your clit?”

A soft moan fell from your lips as you nodded, “A-all of that. ‘Zuku c-can I please touch myself?” You gasped as you watched precum flow from his tip at your words. He nodded, “Please do.”

You sat back, lifting your hips just enough to slip your panties off, nervously looking at him. All caution was thrown to the wind when Izuku groaned, “Ah, be a good girl for me baby.”

You made sure your full body was in view before grabbing the toy and lowering it between your thighs, which were now covered in a thin layer of your arousal. Squeezing your eyes shut you opened your legs and gently pushed until the dildo was fully sheathed inside of you.

Opening your eyes you were greeted with the most sinful sight, Izuku Midoriya quickly gliding his hand up and down his cock with his chest heaving, his body sheen with sweat.  You let a high pitched moan, your name resonating slowly from his chest. With every thrust your wrist made, a coil began to form inside your belly, it all seemed so familiar but was far more exhilarating knowing that someone else was watching.

“Just think about when that’ll be my cock splitting you in half. Shit- close your eyes for me, start playing with your clit and imagine it's me.” You nodded in response, unable to form words.

Obeying his command, it felt like electricity struck you when your finger made contact. The coil was now fully formed and threatened to burst with every movement.

“I need to cum, p-please.”

“Yeah? Only if you beg for daddy to let you.” He smirked as he watched your thighs tense for a moment.

“A-ah.. please! Please let me finish. Please d-daddy, need to so bad.”

Izuku felt his orgasm quickly approaching with each shaky word spilling from your beautiful lips, “Yeah baby, you can cum now. Let me see the pretty faces you make.”

SNAP

You were gone, your body lost to the ocean of ecstacy ripping through you as you rode the waves of your release.

He sat forward, studying the way your face contorted and how your cunt sucked the toy in as far as possible. The thought of you milking the absolute hell out of his cock sent him over the edge, head thrown back with spurts of cum covering his beautifully toned chest and stomach.

Eyes twitched trying to focus from the intensity of your orgasm as you came down from euphoria.

As Izuku  began cleaning himself off he spoke up, “So you’ve genuinely never done that kind of stuff before?” You shook your head before sitting up to sling a large t-shirt over your body, “Nope, when I said I was a virgin I mean like V I R G I N.”

He shook his head and chuckled, “Crazy. I have some assignments I need to do, if you want you could keep me company?”

You pulled a pillow under your chin and hugged it.  “I have some work to do too, so I guess that’ll work.” You giggled. He twirled a pen between his fingers before bringing it up to chew on, “And once we call it quits for the evening, how about we check off some more ‘firsts’ for you?”