#i litterally wanna sleep for a thousand years but fuck that

[tw33k-tucker]

I'm so tired rn, but sleeps a bitch and I'm not givin up that easliy

[blueeyedgeorgie]

Cancelled-Dream Was Taken

A/N: Surprise bitch. Weren’t we expecting for me to release mcyt fanfics soon? If I didn’t tag my usual @‘s it’s because idk if you’d like to be tagged for mcyt content.

Pronouns: she/her

Word Count: 2.3k+

_________________

"You're so harsh on him!" Her hands sat on the keyboard, staring at the green human that stood on Y/n's computer screen.

She needed to be careful. While this was a heated moment, she couldn't let herself get too loud for multiple reasons. If she got too loud, Dream's stream viewers would be able to tell she was in the next room or they would just receive noise complaints from their neighbors.

"No Y/n! You're too soft on him! He needs to learn that he can't get away with everything. You're setting him up for failure." As the h/c girl listened to her roommate speak, she had to remind herself over and over again; 'This wasn't real.' Dream was mad, not Clay.

This had all been arranged as roleplay. Y/n would be leaving in a few days to go visit some of her family for a reunion, so Wilbur had been the one to think up the brilliant idea of what was playing out now; an argument between Y/n and Dream. The plan was to have Y/n get so upset she didn't log onto the SMP for the next few days, only to come back with a master plan to backstab Dream.

At first, Clay wasn't really on board with the thought of him getting angry at Y/n. They had been together for a little over a year, there wasn't a single moment they had gotten upset with one another. But surprisingly, Y/n had been the one to convince Clay it was a good idea.

The fans knew Dream and Y/n had a close friendship, Dream had always been so protective of her. But when this was going down, they didn't know how to act.

Every time Y/n would glance at her chat, she'd see thousands of comments rising up as new ones appeared. Comment after comment, it looked like the fans were shocked by the way this stream was turning out.

"I'm not setting him up for anything! He's a kid, Dream!" Y/n glanced from the chat,  back at the screen showing her PC game. Standing on her screen was Dream and Tommyinnit, she had accompanied Dream to visit Tommy.

"You're just babying him! 'He's a kid!' Well, he needs to learn to grow up eventually," his voice had been filled with such spite. It felt weird to hear Clay speaking to her like this in such a tone.

For a moment, she stared at the green man before a short scoff escaped her lips. "I can't believe you." With that, Y/n had pressed a few keys, turning her character towards the nether portal a couple of yards away. Before Dream had gotten the chance to speak again, Y/n began to move away.

"Y/n! Come back here!"

She flicked a few buttons, taking a moment to look behind her character to see Dream following. Good, everything was going according to plan. Within the next few minutes, she'd be able to log off and she'd be on vacation for the next few days.

The h/c girl ignored the green man as she stepped through the portal, taking her to Minecraft's version of hell. Almost done, she just needed to find a good spot to stop as she listened to Dream continue to speak.

"You can't keep ignoring me! You know I'm right in this. You know you can't keep defending Tommy. You know Tommy is driving a wedge between us-"

Perfect. Y/n had stopped just on the edge of a bridge, molten lava sat feet below them. If she fell, she'd surely die. "No."

"No?" Dream was a bit surprised to hear Y/n cut him off, but he stayed silent as he was prepared to listen to what she had to say.

"No. No more. I don't wanna hear you blame Tommy for us breaking apart. I want you to listen to me. You've been acting like much more of a dick than usual and I hate it. I despise it. You've changed for the worst because you think you can step on everyone. At this point, everyone fears to tell you the truth-except me. I'll be a hundred percent honest with you, you've been so egotistical, it's really pissed me off. This is your fault, Dream. Not Tommy's. You exiled a child for pulling a prank on a vacation house! Not even George's real house!"

"But-"

"Shut the fuck up. I'm done, but I don't wanna hear you bullshit me. So shut the fuck up."

A moment of silence passed between them as Y/n stared at her screen. Just a few more steps.

And within seconds, Dream had pulled out his netherite sword. With one hit, she was falling back into lava. Y/n glanced at her chat, a look of shock on her face as she read over what a few comments said. A moment of silent tension had passed before Y/n had finally spoken up, removing her from the voice chat she was in.

"Alright guys, I guess that's enough for the day. I'll see you all... later." With that, she had clicked a few buttons, raiding Dream's live-stream as she ended hers.

For the next 20 to 30 minutes, Y/n knew Clay would be busy streaming. So she had decided to take a bit of time to wind down and think to herself.

Get a glass of water.

'Are the fans harassing him in his twitch chat?'

Sit down on the living room couch.

'The SMP fans were always so protective of me.'

Pet Patches.

'Was I too much when I snapped at him?'

It didn't seem like 30 minutes had passed when Clay had walked out of his streaming room, only to find Y/n on the couch with Patches in her lap. "Hey, N/n." "Oh, your stream is already over?" Y/n smiled, pulling herself out of her thoughts as she scoot over, giving Clay room to take a seat right by her.

"Yeah, did you lose track of time or something?"

"I must've. How did the chat react after I 'died'?" She smiled up at her boyfriend as he wrapped an arm over her shoulders, pulling her closer into his embrace.

"Everyone was filled with joy that you died."-Y/n playfully swatted at him. "Okay, okay! I got a few chat messages of people bashing me for it, but it's fine."

"Well, it's a good thing the chat wasn't completely littered with hate. How was it after my raid?"

"Honestly, not that bad as you expect. Like I said, just a few comments. Nothing bad, I just ignored it." Clay placed a hand on Patches's head, gently scratching her, followed by the animal beginning to purr.

"Good to hear, anyways... I'm not ready to pack. Do you think we can procrastinate?" The h/c girl let out a huff leaning against her boyfriend. "How?"

"I was thinking a bit of movie binging, cuddling, and ordering dinner?" A cheeky smile spread on her face as she spoke.

"It's like you read my mind."

The couple had made it through three movies, by now it was later at night. The sun had set and they had already door dashed some food. By now they were in the middle of watching 'The Empire Strikes Back.'

'I love you.' 'I know.'

The iconic moment between Hans and Leia had been interrupted by the sound of Clay's phone buzzing. "Why is George calling?"

"What?" Y/n was a bit curious herself. Considering the timezones, George should be asleep right now. Pausing the TV, she turned her attention to her boyfriend's phone.

"Hey Clay."

"What's up, George? Isn't it like early in the morning for you?" Clay raised a brow, moving his phone so Y/n would be able to see George as well.

"Yeah, I had to stay up to fix a YouTube video I need to get out today. I was about to go to bed and I checked Twitter-"

"Oh no." Clay made a short joke, only to be cut off by his friend.

"I don't know if it's trending for you in America, but you might as well look."

"What's going on?" He swiped up, taking him to his home screen so he could click on the little blue bird app. Y/n had grabbed her phone from the coffee table, opening up the app as well. "#Cancel Dream... #Y/n... #Dream SMP"

"Is... is Clay getting canceled for killing me in Minecraft?" Y/n scrolled through the tweets involving the hashtag 'Y/n.' She could see plenty of people defending her, but making it much bigger of a problem than it actually was.

"Oh, hey Y/n. But yeah, he is." George chuckled awkwardly, scrolling through his Twitter app as well.

"This is so fucking stupid."

"It really is. So we might as well get this cleared up with the fans as soon as possible. Do you want me to tweet something, or do you want to?" Y/n looked up at her boyfriend, it looked like he was thinking.

"Yeah, I'll tweet it. Don't worry about this, Y/n."

"Alright, whatever you say," she replied, pulling a blanket over her as she waited for Clay to finish typing his response.

"Here's what I'm gonna say: 'I can't believe you guys actually think me and @(y/n) are in an actual fight in real life. We have been good friends since forever, the fight was only roleplay. I love that you guys are so protective of Y/n, but no one's actually upset.' How's that sound?"

"I think that's good," George hummed softly.

"Yeah, I doubt you'll stay 'canceled' once you've explained to them it was all part of the SMP lore." The h/c girl smiled up at her boyfriend with a small nod.

"Alright, I'm gonna post it. George, I think you should go to bed because you're half asleep already."

Y/n turned, looking at her boyfriend's iPhone. "Go to sleep, Gogy!"

"Alright, alright... I'll talk to you guys later." The call had ended with Clay and Y/n saying goodbye to their friend while George simply yawned to them as a response.

As soon as the call was over, Clay looked at the response to his tweet. It didn't seem to be going too well. There had been a few fans who understood what was going on and responded with a paragraph as an apology for the misunderstanding. But most replies had been telling Clay he was bullshitting the fans or that he wasn't being honest.

"I'm sorry, Clay," his girlfriend had huffed as she read through the responses to his tweet.

"Honestly I'm just a bit pissed off. Literally, any time someone tries to 'cancel' me, it's over something stupid. I'm not a bad guy, it just feels like some people just don't want to see me succeed." Clay had excused himself to grab a glass of water from the kitchen.

It hurt Y/n to hear how upset her boyfriend was. He never got too upset over things, but seemed to take a small toll on him. "Hold on. Let me say something." The h/c girl couldn't be asked to post multiple tweets of her response to hate sent towards Clay over the internet. So what was better than a short video that could be posted to the blue bird app?

"Um, hey guys. I'd just like to make this quick. Stop sending hate towards Dream. The fight was roleplay and nothing more. I'm gonna be busy for the next couple of days so Wilbur thought of a good idea to help build SMP lore with me and Dream and we both agreed to the argument. Now stop sending the green man hate, or I'll commit war crimes or something-"

Y/n had been interrupted by the sound of Clay letting out a small giggle. "What? What did I say?"

"Nothing, just keep going with your video."

"Whatever, I'm cool. No matter what Dream says. Anyways, I'll speak to you all later." Y/n had hit the red button again, ending her video. Within seconds, the video had been uploaded to her Twitter account.

Placing her phone back down on the table, Y/n approached her boyfriend, wrapping her arms around his torso. "I'm really sorry about the hate, Clay. I love you."

"Don't apologize for something you can't control. I love you more." The brunette held his partner close, accepting her hug. Y/n always loved his hugs, she always felt so safe in his embrace.

The rest of the night had been spent with more cuddling and more Star Wars movies. Hours had passed before Y/n had even thought about the Twitter situation again. But for some reason, she had decided to look at the app again tonight.

It was 2 in the morning by now, Clay was half asleep. His head laid in the h/c girl's lap as she brushed a hand through his hair, her free hand opening up her Twitter app once again.

It had been a bit of a surprise to see a couple of trending hashtags had changed so quickly. What was trending now was #Dream, #Y/n,#(ship name), and #Dream's Laugh. This had to be about Y/n's short clip she posted. And by the looks of it, people had stopped acting so harsh towards Clay. But instead, they had decided to focus on the fact Dream and Y/n were hanging out together. Not to mention the fact Dream and let out a stupid little giggle because of Y/n. People had been apologizing to him through Twitter for being so hard on him.

"Babe."

"Hm?" Clay mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Pretty much everyone is apologizing to you over Twitter for being hardasses."

"Hm, that's good to hear."

"You're really tired, huh?" Y/n paused her scrolling to look down at her boyfriend.

"Yeah," He continued to mumble, followed by a short yawn.

"Alright, time for bed, babe." Y/n smiled to herself, beginning to carefully move away from Clay. "I can pack tomorrow and we can laugh over the stupid bird app tomorrow after you've gotten a good amount of sleep."

"I still can't believe Twitter tried canceling me over roleplay."

"I can't believe you got uncancelled by shippers."

Taglist: @notphilosopherstudentblog

[dearrrabbit]

harringsmith word prompt uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. dreamwalk. cause quentins powers drive me fuckin insane

oh dude i have no idea how to write dreamwalkin. or dreams. i’m one od those people that doesn’t have dreams unless they are nightmares so uhhh.. angsty shit ahead! but i hope u enjoy nonetheless!!! also slight emeto tw

he notices it when steve’s nightmares get bad. he’s used to being the only one up, for large swaths of time in the night, while steve’s pretty constant with his sleep, always sleeping until red indents spanned his face and there was just a bit of drool on the pillowcase (or quentin’s shirt, whichever was unluckiest).

but one night, on the rare occasion that they sleep at the same time, his head pressed into steve’s neck, he dreams.

it’s a party quentin dreams about, which gives him the first clue that maybe this isn’t a normal dream, this isn’t a nightmare he’s had before. he stiffens, when he hears shrieking, and begins to make his way to the back of the house, where he’d heard it.

his breath curls out in front of him, and he balks at what he sees. steve. and nancy, and two more that he’s never met, and his eyes flit to the last person, and he stiffens even further. barb.

quentin’s only heard her name in hushed reference and steve’s late-night anxiety-ridden confessions. she wears red coke-bottle glasses, and swings her feet on the diving board. oh, no. this must be.. this looks like when she was taken.

sure enough, everyone except steve flits away, and steve himself looks queasy looking up at her. smoke clouds everything, and from the other side of the pool, he wants to scream out to his boyfriend, tell him to just look away, but he’s also so fucking confused about why he’s having this dream. he doesn’t know what’s going on, and can only root himself by tugging his necklace.

a voice sounds, and cold fear trickles down quentin’s spine. it’s not.. his.. voice but it’s still horrifyingly creaky.

“this time, watch.” it commands, and barb’s flung to the bottom of the suddenly-drained pool.

steve rushed to the edge, quentin mimicking his movements. bile rises in his throat at the sight, at how mangled she appears. flower-shaped teethmarks with thousands of needle-like teeth litter her, consume her.

“like we didn’t kill barb.” nancy’s voice sounds from somewhere, and sounds again, insistent, “kill barb.”

“stop, please.” steve begs, sounding broken. “i don’t… please.”

that’s when quentin realizes. this isn’t his dream. it’s steve’s, he’s in steve’s nightmare, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing there. was he.. causing it?

just as suddenly as the thought, and it’s train of half-formed thoughts had begun, they are tucked away, when he blinks awake, the smoke, the pool, and barb’s body whisked away in a manner of blinks.

the light’s on in their bathroom, and a miserable wrenching sound emanates, and quentin’s nothing if not a caring boyfriend. so he pads into the room, and crouches by steve, something fiercely protective in him just, constricting at the admittedly pathetic lump on the ground.

“hey.” steve croaks, “sorry, i woke you up.”

“would’ve woken up anyway.” he responds, and shifts to fill a glass from the side of the sink, they manuver around eachother like it’s second nature, steve rising to brush his teeth and flush the toilet while quentin retrieves water and some dusty crackers from possibly years ago for him.

steve presses his face into quentin’s head, after he drinks some and eats a cracker, clearly exhausted, and desperate to reassure himself of quentin’s presence. quentin lets him, thumbing the divot of his hip where the pajama pants ride down.

“do you wanna talk about it?” he asks. because he knows what happened. he knows what steve saw, he’s not sure why, or how that happened and maybe that’s a worry for later, when they can both think without feeling panic verging.

steve nods his head. “don’t wanna sleep.” he mumbles, “i… saw barb. and my pool.”

quentin hums, and somehow they end up sitting again, still tangled together impossibly, like puppies piling for warmth. steve stiffens so slightly under him, and quentin just continues to rub meaningless circles into his skin.

“i feel like i did it.” steve croaks finally. “it’s my fault. she died in my pool.”

his voice breaks, and quentin stops to look at him, not letting him hide his face anymore. “you didn’t kill her, steve. there was nothing you could have done, the demogorgon got her.”

“i could have stayed with her, not taken up nancy,” steve responds, instantly, because he’s thought about this, “she died in my pool.”

it’s a soft repetition. he barely gets pool out, and his impossibly big eyes are shiny with unshed tears. quentin sighs, something deep, and something painful squeezes at him again.

“you couldn’t have known.” he says, instead of ‘there was nothing you could do’, “steve, you can’t hold yourself accountable for.. everything. for shit that you didn’t even really have a part in.”

steve opens his mouth to say something, before closing it. he shakes his head, mullet sticking every which way, while quentin tries desperately to not find it endearing because, jesus, steve has a full on mullet now.

“i can try.” steve sniffles, finally. “‘s my fuckin’ god-given right to try.”

stubborn. quentin sighs, and kisses him, softly, tasting mint and saltines, which shouldn’t taste good by any stretch, but does, somehow, when he’s kissing his boyfriend. “when you’re done, i’m here to be your little voice of reason, that tells you it was not your fault.”

“thanks.” steve says, so sincere and relieved. aforementioned mullet-haired man lays his head in quentin’s lap, blinking tiredly. quentin lets one hand come up and tangle in the longer locks. “thank you.”

he manages to knock himself out again, this time, dreamless if his smooth, expressionless face was any indicator. and quentin pulled out his phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard before eventually, tapping out ‘dreamwalking.’

he’s figure this out eventually.

[samwrights]

➳  » 𝕞𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕙 𝕚𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤 «

⤷ ℂℍ𝔸ℙ𝕋𝔼ℝ 𝟞.𝟝𝟘—missed calls

» warnings and stuff

Language, written portion and the moment you’ve all been waiting for

» playlist is here

              »»————-　    ✿     ♡    ✿    　————-««

              »»————-　    ✿     ♡    ✿    　————-««

As carefully as you can, you tiptoe past a sleeping Matsukawa in the living room and make your way down the hall directly in front of you. Dim lights from the city streets illuminate the walls of the apartment, allowing you to see the door that you perceive to lead to Hanamaki’s room—the only room with a light still on. Still trying to keep quiet, you rap on the door with a nail, hopefully loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough not to disturb the sleeping patrons.

With equal caution, the knob turns before the door is pulled slightly ajar, just enough for Hanamaki to grab you by the wrist and drag you in.

“What’s that face for?” He grimaces when he sees the stupefied look you’re wearing. “Did you really think I was just gonna let you sleep on the floor?” Grumbling to yourself, you toss your overnight bag onto the floor near the doorway, hoping you didn’t have anything in there that was particularly fragile.

The strawberry-brunette resumes what you assume was his previous position—resting on his queen-sized mattress that had the covers made up while you stood on edge before him. The fuck were you supposed to do? You didn’t know—it was the reason you had even called Terushima in the first place.

Listen to what your heart tells you.

Taking a moment to come to terms with the fact that you were standing in Hanamaki Takahiro’s bedroom, you glance all around the stylized space. You could faintly make out that the walls were a rich navy blue and he had an affinity for gold accents, but most of that was hidden underneath what was probably thousands of drawings. From the first Christmas gift he had given you, you knew art had been a hobby of his, but this?

This was far beyond your imagination.

The wall to your right was littered with flash sheets of various themes, large paintings that echoed to his neo-traditional style, quick sketches and doodles, as well as a large, weekly calendar that served as a planner for his work schedule. Flowers, as it seemed, was one of his specialities. Every work of art had a floral accent that screamed of his signature, regardless of how rugged the piece might have been.

To your left was a simple white desk that housed his laptop, tablet, and a few floating shelves that held various sentimental knickknacks. Your hands reach over to grab the dusty golden pocket watch you’d given him for secret Santa in your third year, not even needing to search for it on the shelf—it screamed its presence all on its own. Albeit hesitantly, you gather the courage to sit next to him on the empty space in his bed, mimicking his posture with your back resting against the grey, tufted headboard. “You really couldn’t open this fucking thing?” You ask, holding it up between the two of you before letting it lay flat in your palm, offering it towards the former wing spiker.

“The clasp didn’t work and I didn’t wanna break it.” His nimble fingers take the pocket watch, clicking the clasp that made repeated noises to signify it should open. However, the lid remained shut. Hanamaki shrugs before handing it back to you, turning away so he can hide the overwhelming bubble of emotions boiling in his chest.

You were here.

In Sendai.

In his apartment.

In his bed.

Right next to him.

And the thought that he couldn’t do anything about it was killing him.

Abruptly, you get up from his bed and carefully step towards your overnight bag. Unzipping it, you pull out a small, thin pocket knife that Daichi made sure went with you everywhere before sitting back down next to Makki. Maybe it was you feeding off the anxiety he was putting into the air, but you hesitated on prying the watch open for the first time. “The guy I sent it to for engraving must have ruined the clasp,” you muttered as you forced the tip of the knife at the seam of the watch. Your mind was relentlessly speeding at several hundred miles an hour, unsure of what was to unfold.

Once you opened this watch, everything was laid out on the table.

The pocket watch was meant to be a symbolic confession of the love you held for this man in your younger years—held?

The past tense didn’t seem to be accurate.

Your nail holds down the clasp as you gingerly twist the knife, breaking the inner mechanisms of it and allowing the golden pocket watch to show the custom engraving you had gotten for it. Hanamaki reaches for it, but you yank it away before he can read the inscription.

“Makki...” you whimper out, unsure of how to proceed, “Hiro, what comes after this?” From the corner of your eye, you can see one of his large hands tugging at his slightly longer locks in frustration.

“I dunno, yn. We won’t know until we move forward.” The trembling watch in your shaky hands like an unsteady rhythm of a snare drum as you cautiously place the slightly ajar watch in his hand. Much to his chagrin, the pocket watch no longer worked, the ticking dying down after a couple years. Not that Hanamaki had even noticed in the first place, his own wallowing drowning out the noise back when it had still moved. “‘After all this time, it’s still you’,” he reads aloud, calloused pads of his fingers tracing the inscription and stopping when they reached your initials.

Then he laughs.

He laughs so hard that he all but falls off his bed, not slightest bit concerned at the volume of it, as he clutches the gift to his chest.

“H-hey, don’t laugh!” The tips of your fingers snap against his bare arm as you back hand him, though there’s no real force to your playful strike.

“I’m not laughing at the gift. I’m laughing because...” Makki pauses, fixing himself up so he could face you. “Because it hurts that this is how this all comes out.” There’s a deep cloud that settles over his grey eyes, the pain in them swirling black into the stone. Meeting his eyes, you gnash on your lip, subconsciously grabbing at your sunflower necklace. “You kept it...”

“I’d never get rid of it.” There’s a thick silence much denser than what’s hanging in the air, though neither of you are unsure if you should break it, or even how to. Steely grey eyes drop to where your hand cradles the necklace, reaching out to run his fingers over the back of your hand. Your muscles tense at the touch, dropping the pendant and allows him to hold the golden sunflower.

“So what now?” Takahiro’s voice barely comes out as a whisper, the pads of his fingers still tracing every ridge in the pendant. He won’t look at you—not right now; he can’t. His control is wearing thin and it takes every ounce of him to not be selfish, just this once. But at the end of the day...

At the end of the day, he loved you.

And he would never do a single thing to intentionally upset you, regardless of how much he wanted to close the gap between you and finally feel your lips on his.

“I-I don’t know, Hiro. I’ve never given this particular scenario much thought.”

“I have,” he says immediately. Despite the self-control he’s exercising at the moment, his mouth moves faster than his brain. Hanamaki pulls his hand away from your necklace, finally, opting to rest it on his belly before the thin threads of his self-control snapped.

“Yeah? And how do you see this playing out?”

“Honestly? You rolling over and going to sleep and nothing changing.”

Huh?

You turn to your side, removing yourself from the headboard to rest on your elbow while you face him. What was that supposed to mean? That he had moved on and that you were reading too much into the moment? Shit, wait why were you reading into it in the first place? The feelings you once had—past tense—were exactly that: of the past.

Right?

“Yn,” Makki mirrors your position, resting on his own elbow while his free hand gingerly cradles the space between your shoulder and neck, “we can’t move forward if we’re stuck dwelling on the past. So...” the strawberry-brunette closes his narrow eyes slowly, long lashes dancing along the tops of his cheekbones as he does so. Rather than opening his eyes, however, he leans forward until his forehead rests against yours. You’re vaguely aware of the various spots in his body pulsating, drumming with blaring volume that you swear will wake the whole apartment. “I love you, and I will always love you. But, I came to terms with it a long time ago, that you aren’t mine to love. And I can’t ask you to just up and leave your life just because I’m no longer afraid to tell you I love you, that’s not fair.”

It feels like nails are piercing your throat, your own heavy heartbeat the hammer pushing them deeper and deeper into your chords. Nearly a decade you had waited to hear that this man returned your feelings, and here he was with his forehead pressed against yours doing just that. All while you were engaged to someone else.

Someone you’d fallen so hard and so fast for—a complete one-eighty from the way you’d slowly cultivated your affection for Hanamaki Takahiro.

“None of this is fair.” Before you had time to process the scenario, warm, silent streams of tears clump at your mascara-clad lower lashes before spilling past the dam. You inhale a shaky breath, closing your eyes to match Makki, exhaling forcefully because you can’t fucking breathe.

Perhaps it’s the trepidation in your breath or the rattling of your bones against his that causes Takahiro to pull away, opening his eyes. It almost felt like looking towards the sun, he muses, until he sees your crying form just below him. Instinctually, he wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you closer until your smaller frame is tucked underneath his chin. “Hey, hey. No crying,” he attempts to soothe, his large hand roaming the cloth covering your side, “there’s no reason to cry, yn. As long as you’re happy.”

Maybe that was why you were crying?

Were you happy with Daichi? And if you were, why was that the second time of the night that you were questioning it?

“W-what do you want, Makki?” You ask quietly, hoping his answer will offer some sort of solace or guidance. Instead, he squeezes just a little bit tighter before relaxing his arm to hold you like a fragile China doll.

“Nuh uh,” he tuts, “this is about you and what you want. I will not let anything I have to say about what I want be any sort of influence.”

Part of you is grateful for that because maybe you don’t have to be the one to wonder what would happen if you left Daichi. Or if you got up and just drove to your parents right now. Or if you decided to indulge yourself for one night. There was no pressure, no hidden agenda to force you into a precarious situation. But if there’s anything you want to do at all in this moment, it’s the fact that you want to tell him for real, so that he can hear it from your lips. “I love you,” you whisper out, curling deeper into his chest so maybe—just maybe—he won’t actually hear you, “and I’m so sorry I waited too long to say it.”

“I’m glad to hear it, even now.”

The two of you remained entangled with one another, your tears and hiccups finally subsiding enough for you to be aware of your current state. You’d probably stained his pillow covers with clumps of black mascara or had it hoarding together in blobs down your face. Even so, neither of you dared to move, enjoying the feeling of being in one another’s company while being enveloped in your own thoughts. Or rather, thought, as in the singular. While you’d pondered the question long before your current state, you took the time to bask in his certainty to wonder what the fuck you did want. Clearly, you hadn’t the faintest clue.

You love Daichi, that’s a fact. He’s passionate and compassionate, he’s the pressure you need to keep you grounded and level-headed. Daichi isn’t afraid to tell you when you’re stepping out of line whether it be going out one too many nights in a row with Terushima or when you’d fallen into a depressive episode and can’t find motivation to do little things like bathe or clean. He keeps you together, despite the broken and dismantled soul you felt you were sometimes. Sawamura Daichi is the present and the future—the matured love you gladly welcomed.

Right?

So why did being in the arms of Hanamaki Takahiro, even in a rather platonic way considering the confessions, feel like a catharsis? Like you’d been drowning further and further into a sea only to finally break the surface and breathe fresh air? Like he was the reason your lungs had been able to inflate and take in oxygen. And the warmth he was bringing to you on a crisp spring evening echoed the comfort of a homemade hot chocolate in front of a fireplace after playing in the snow. Yet, all he had was his arms around you and his head caressing the crown of your scalp, restraining himself from speaking his truth so as to respect your reality. Hanamaki Takahiro was the past—the love of your youth belonging entirely to him.

Maybe you didn’t have to come to a decision right then and there—perhaps thinking it over would be a smarter decision. If anything, your focus should shift to the fact that if you move away from his chest that you’ve precariously buried yourself into, your resolve will crumble.

It’ll crumble, because the only thing you’re certain about in this moment is how much you want to kiss him right now.

But you have to swallow that thought like a bitter, too-big pill and wash it down with limbs wrapped around you carefully as you fall asleep.

              »»————-　    ✿     ♡    ✿    　————-««

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

@levinneheart​ @hoe4hq​ @veelafyre​ @its-the-aerieljeane​ @disgvste @sunflow3rbab3​​ @kiyoojima​​ @urdads​ @kuroos-babie​ @more-stuff-of-pi​ @dabi-hates-fish​ @chao01248​ @kuroos-roosterhead​ @cremepuffingwaldio​

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣'𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖:

THEY FINALLY CONFESSED. SOUND THE ALARM Y’ALL. also, i don’t know why I totally see Mattsun looking for a cougar. But in all seriousness, I KNOW. You guys want them to live happily ever after already, BUT I really like showing how Makki’s grown up over the years without ya. 

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Smut, Half-awake and goofy Reader, Daddy Kink, Soft Sex, Unprotected Sex, Language, Fluffff

Word Count: 2.5K+

Summary: After many sleepless nights (and one missed text), Bucky is finally home.

A/N: Reposting because Tumblr hates meeeeee. I know I’ve been IA off and on here but I promise I’m working on my series as much as I can. It’s been one hell of an year, huh? My inbox is always open for you lovelies. Love you all.

***

The bed feels too big without him.

It’s normal to feel this way on most lonely nights, when Bucky has to be away on a mission—not like he isn’t saving the world or anything, but after two years of sleeping next to his heavy but familiar weight, it’s hard to fall asleep without it. What’s worse is that you can’t rest your head over his heartbeat or crawl into his warm, open arms, or kiss that little pout on his lips.

You even begin to miss the array of clothes spread out on a pile in the corner of the room that he always claims he’ll get to when they start to smell—as much as you want to kill him for it, you sincerely miss it now.

The blocky red numbers glare at you from where it sits on your nightstand, reminding you for the hundredth time that this is the fifth night in a row of tossing and turning and it’s four in the morning. Your body is fatigued but your mind anxious and relentless; he hasn’t texted like he promised he would, like how it’s been on nearly every mission, and maybe it’s because of the fact that he’ll be home tomorrow, not because he’s—

“Stop,” you whisper to yourself.

You let out a deep sigh and flop onto your back—the ceiling still has the same color and the small crack that keeps you fixated for a decent amount of time. Not even the running box fan or the low volume of your tv is doing anything to appease your unsettling thoughts. At this point, you don’t want to get up at all, not even to pee… no, you really need to go.

The bathroom is just as cold as the bedroom feels and it makes you want to cry; you won’t, but it’s close. The slight chilly air stings your bare feet as they paddle across the floor, sitting up this time on your bed and snatching the remote with a huff. You flip through the channels mindlessly, barely paying attention to the titles—titles that you’ve already seen a thousand times—while slumping against the pillows with the hope that SpongeBob SquarePants will be the final solution to your sleeping problem.

You become so engrossed in the cartoon that you don’t notice the creak of your house door, or the soft plop of a bag on the floor, nor the light steps making their towards your room until the handle jiggles rather loudly for someone who’s trying to sneak around; Bucky still underestimates his own strength on some days, like this one.

When the door starts to slowly open you curse yourself for not being more attentive, and try to remember with stiff muscles where that stupid knife Bucky gave you is…

“Shit,” the intruder curses. “Sorry, doll. Did I wake ya?”

The gruff whisper—twinged with a light Brooklyn accent—echoes across the room and straight to your chest, your heart stuttering a beat at the realization; the ocean gray eyes meets yours with a tired but exciting glint that equally matches the one in yours and that beautiful, beautiful full smile greets you like home.

“Bucky!” You squeal quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace, opening your arms out wide for him. “You’re home.”

He chuckles and closes the door behind him, slipping his gloves off, the two or maybe three shirts (armor, padding, whatever it is) he easily shrugs off, then his socks and pants, leaving him in a tank top and boxers. You wait patiently, all the while checking for any new scrapes and bruises or any signs of injury in his expression; so far so good.

The mattress dips under his fists as he leans over to give you a kiss; it’s short, just a quick peck that leaves you whining for more. Instead, he smiles again and rubs the tip of his nose affectionately against yours.

“I missed you,” his breath ghosts over your lips.

You cup his face, his light stubble scratching your skin, and pull him towards a longer, deeper kiss. He moans faintly into the kiss and dips the rest of his weight on the bed, curling into you instinctively; he fits against you like your puzzle piece, and when you lie down he follows fluently, careful of not laying all of his weight on you—as much you really want him to squish you.

“I missed you more,” you say in between kisses, wrapping your legs around his waist. “So—” the loud smack of your lips against his cheek raises a lovely chorus of giggles from the both of you. “—so much! But how?”

Bucky understands. “Caught the guy earlier than expected. Got back at the compound, took a shower—”

“And you didn’t text me, asshole!”

“Aw,” he drawls in a pitch, teasing your ribs with feather-like caresses. “I’m sorry baby. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

He seals his promise with a kiss, not wasting any time in slipping his tongue along the seams of your lips; you grant him access, swirling his tongue with yours. You moan and, without even realizing what you’re doing, slant your hips up, arching yourself into his touch. His hands slide down your body, memorizing every detail of your curves while continuing the dirty, sensual kiss; you then feel the half-hard bulge grinding steadily against your core, but you nor Bucky comment on it.  

He’s the first one to pull back. Bucky doesn’t say a word, and so neither do you, just taking in each breath that leaves his lungs through an exhale, every inch of muscle that rests and moves against yours, and suddenly it feels like you can actually sleep now.  

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, using the tip of his pointer finger to trace the circles under your eye. “Having trouble sleeping again?”

“I always do when you’re gone,” you mumble back, closing your eyes since he mentioned it.

He starts to move but you latch onto him before he can fully sit himself up, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying his face in your neck.

“Baby,” he giggles, moving his hands to your hips.

“I still have to welcome you home, soldier,” you purr and run your fingers through his soft, short hair.

You grind back at his still hips, grinning goofily at the sigh that escapes his lips. “C’mon, I want to.” Another slow grind, harder than before. “I wanna feel that thick cock fill me up so good, been too long, daddy.”

The breath hitches audibly in his throat, his eyes growing dark and glazed. “You sure?” He asks, because he’s the perfect gentleman as always. “It looks like you can barely keep your eyes open, sweetheart.”

“Not uh.” To prove your point, you open your eyes as wide as they can go. Bucky laughs with a shake of his head that tells you, ‘I love you, you fucking goofball’.

You lean up to catch his slightly chapped lips, and reach down to pull your shorts and panties off; Bucky breaks the kiss to look, groaning at the sight of your glistening pussy. You palm him through the thin fabric of his boxers, giving him a light squeeze.

He buckles against your hand. “Fuck,” he hisses, then chuckles. “It really has been too long.”

“So,” you quickly slip your shirt over your head, reveling in the way his eyes immediately latch on your breasts. “Fuck me.”

Bucky finally gives in with a moan, bumping his forehead against yours for a rushed but heated kiss that leaves goosebumps on your skin. You waste no time in pulling his boxers down, licking your lips at the sight of his twitching cock.

“Oof!”

His entire weight topples on you in his haste to pull his shirt off, crushing the air out of your lungs; he mumbles an unintelligent apology against your open mouth.

Metal rests against the slope of your ass as the other lines himself at your entrance, looking in your eyes for your approval. You nod, too excited and trembling with anticipation. His lips are once again back on yours, the bulbous tip of him nudging through your folds and circling your clit, teasing you with a knowing smirk as you kiss.

Before you can scold him he pushes in, stretching you slowly to the brim until his balls rest at the slope of your backside; it’s a little painful, but the burn is a bonus to the increasing pleasure you feel by him just being inside you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp through gritted teeth, clutching his biceps with a tight grip. He answers with a nip to your breast, circling his tongue around the perk nipple before completely latching his mouth onto the sensitive mold; his teeth lightly scrapes you, making your body jolt and pussy flutter around him—shit, it really has been too long for the both of you.    

You tighten your legs around him, enveloping yourself in his heat, not wanting to bear the coldness that plagued you in his absence.

“Good?” He croaks from your chest, already sounding breathless.

“Please.”

He settles himself more comfortably between your legs and pulls back until only the tip is inside, plunging back in with a hard, punctuated thrust that heaves your body upwards. A choked sigh scrapes your throat, your hands splayed out on his back, feeling every muscle continue to move and slither; chaste kisses litter your neck with every thrust, hard and steady and deep.

“Buck.”

“I know,” he says. His metal hand cups your cheek, holding your gaze—you’re doing your best to keep your eyes open, but you don’t know how much longer that’ll last. “You feel so good, princess. So good, so fucking good.”

You lift your hips to meet his, feeling the coil in your lower stomach building and tightening and getting hotter and hotter—

“Fuck Bucky right there!” You moan wantonly, shifting your body so he can hit your sweet spot again.

“I got ya,” he rubs your back before pushing your lower half up so he can keep you exactly where he wants you, not once breaking the rhythm you can now so easily create.

His cock continues to bring you undeniable euphoria, scratching against every little itch you have and angling his pelvis so that it grinds against your aching clit, giving you the extra stimulation you need. He kisses you until you have no more air to give, nips and bites at you until there’s marks, caresses your body with a touch only a lover can understand, fucks you so right and smooth that you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock; thank fuck he’s home.

His hips move a little faster, no doubt starting to feel the edge of his climax. As if to prove your point, his hand—the one that was one your cheek—reaches up to grip the top of the headboard, using the pull to push himself somehow deeper into you; like he’s trying to crawl into your body and take shelter where he knows he’s safe.

“Y-yeah, shit B-Buck keep going!” You stammer in between thrusts. Your pussy flutters harder around him, making him squeeze his eyes tightly shut and curse under his breath.

“Me too, pretty girl,” he growls, looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful piece of art he’s ever seen, and in his eyes you are. “Gonna cum with me?” Your cunt clenches around him. “Goddamn baby—” (holyfuckingshit the way he just whimpered has your entire back arching and more juices gushing from your core). “—forgot how tight you are.”

It’s too much now, the friction heating your entire core until it feels like your whole body is on fire, about to implode at any second. Your moans and whimpers spur him on even more, now slamming his hips until the sound of skin against skin—and the sloshes of his dick pounding into you—echoes loudly in the room.

“Bucky I’m gonna come.”

“I feel you,” he grunts. “Come around my cock, babygirl. C’mon, I wanna feel it, sweet girl.”

Your legs tremble and shake as your orgasm approaches you, clouding your mind with a fog and filling your vision with white; you’re so lost in the spasm of your pussy, the thumb now rubbing your clit in tight circles, and the growls and whimpers that he’s doing nothing to hide, that when your cunt squeezes him like a vice, the scream that follows does no shame to the gruff grunts and groans lapping with your vocals.  

Bucky fucks you through your orgasm, your sensitive pussy continuing to flutter around him. It’s like you’re being shocked by bolts with the way your body spasms beneath him, taking everything he’s giving you and more until you’re nothing but a puddle at his bidding; every nerve feels shot and abused, but it’s not complete until he fills you up.

“Christ doll I’m coming,” he growls from his chest, sending shivers through you. You clench your pussy around him and… and he gasps like you just punched him in the gut and suddenly hot spurts of cum fill your pussy in thick, hot ropes.

With one final, hard thrust he collapses on top of you. The air is thick and slick with the air of sex, skin glistening in the soft light of the tv that’s still playing the same cartoon. His chest rises and falls with yours as you catch your breaths, holding each other.

Bucky is usually the first to recover. He raises his head and gives you a tired, goofy smile before kissing you; he uses the distraction to carefully pull out of you, the chill of the air brushing against the combined juices covering your pussy and inner thighs. You grumble with a scrunch to your eyebrows that makes him giggle.

“Hang on.”

He gets out of the bed with a heavy sigh that comes with age—you like to tease him about it every now and then—and flicks the light to the bathroom on, leaving the door ajar. The sound of running water is faint to your ears, the exhaustion of the week settling in on you heavily. The rattles from the bathroom fade with the stress, into comfortable white noise...

The cold, wet cloth makes you jump with a whine (did you actually fall asleep for a minute there?). Bucky shushes you gently from where he sits, gently cleaning you up before throwing the washcloth towards the corner of the room—yes, his corner.

Your arms blindly reach for him, your eyes still closed. You hear him turn the tv off and shuffle around until the covers are being pulled back and he slides in, making sure you’re both completely covered. He crawls into your embrace, laying his head in the crook of your neck and tangling his legs with yours.

“I love you,” you whisper groggily.

“I love you, too,” he says back with ease.

A few moments of silence pass, and just before you reach the land of dreams, one silly little thought brings you back.

“Bucky?”

A minute.

“What?”

“Welcome home.” 

[iron--spider]

you save everybody, but who saves you?

It’s been.

 It’s been—

 It hasn’t been long enough, because Tony’s brain is still scrambled, and his body is still broken. The scarring still crawls across his right side in smoky tendrils, and he doesn’t like anyone touching it, not even Pepper when they’re alone, not even Helen when she’s checking him out, not even Peter when he’s holding his hand. They still don’t know if he’ll lose the arm, and they talk about that in hushed tones behind his back, like he can’t handle it, like they know he can’t handle it. 

 What can he fucking handle?

 It’s been—two months. Two months, since Tony dropped to his knees and made a decision that he thought would result in his death. There were so many times in his life before that moment where he did the same—thought he was dying for something that was worth it, and he’d wanted it, he could deal with it, his own death. He’d been rolling towards death his whole life, with all his poor choices, and he was lucky to die for people he loved—

 —but this time he didn’t want to go. He felt selfish. He was willing, he was...he was willing, because his love was bigger than it ever had been before, but that made it worse. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave them. He’d finally found what he wanted, what he needed. All the elements had finally come together like a completed puzzle.

 He didn’t want to die, but he knew he was going to.

 But he didn’t. And now he’s here and he’s someone else. He can barely fucking walk, he can barely fucking move, and Helen keeps using the word unprecedented. She’s got no idea how to track his progress. They don’t have any examples to follow. They don’t have shit. They’ve got his wasted, useless body, taking up space. 

 Tony doesn’t wanna be this guy. He doesn’t want to be this fucking guy. 

 “And this one is on a big billboard facing I4 in Orlando,” Pepper says, leaning her head on his good shoulder, laying on the bed beside him. She’s flipping through photos on her tablet, each one showing yet another Iron Man tribute. There are hundreds of them now, thousands in different places all over the world. He gets tons and tons of letters each day.

 “So kids can pay their respects on the way to Disney World,” Tony says. 

 “Disney World is probably gonna do a meet and greet with Iron Man,” Pepper says. “You know. Costumed guy, like Chip and Dale.”

 “Oh. Cute.” Tony sighs, and he reaches up, pinching the bridge of his nose. His arm shakes and he could barely get through his walking exercises earlier, and he just feels like crumbling into nothing.

 He was supposed to die. He didn’t want to, but he was supposed to, and now he’s a shell of what he once was. He’s glad he’s here, he’s glad he’s with them, but he’s not the goddamn type to lay around and watch the world move on without him. He did that once and it was a mistake, a result of severe depression and a mark of his failure, and he doesn’t want to do it again. Morgan, for all her love and attachment to him, is best friends with every remaining Avenger, and Tony has never been so angry about a puzzle being completed without him than when he heard she and Sam finished off the Eiffel Tower one while he was taking one of his long naps.

 And Peter. Peter is out there helping anybody and everybody, and coming back here bloody and beaten more often than not. Everything irritates Tony nowadays, from the way the water comes out of the faucet to the irregular beat of his heart, but that gets him most of all. And the kid refuses help, actively avoids Rhodey and everybody else who says they’ll help him, because he and Tony are cosmically linked in the way that they both have people who love them but they both go off on their own, like dumbasses, to keep everyone else safe. Seeing his own reflection in someone he values as much as Peter makes Tony feel insane, throws up walls and roadblocks and all kinds of confusing shit in his head, because he wants to be mad at him, wants to scream and throw tantrums and work in tandem with May to tell the kid never to leave the facility again, but he knows he’d do all the same things Peter is doing. Make all the same choices.

 It’s his karmic justice, watching Peter step into the line of fire. That’s what Rhodey always says. But in the end, after everything, Peter is just better than Tony.

 And Peter was dead. Peter was dust, Peter was a shining memory floating around Tony’s head every moment of every day, present in every fleck of sunlight, silent, silent, gone—and now he’s back and Tony is aching with the fear that he’ll die again. Die in a way that they can’t get him back, because Tony himself is torn, laid up, miles and miles from being worth anything to anyone. 

 “Where are you going?” Pepper asks, brushing Tony’s hair back now.

 “What?” Tony asks, his neck hurting when he looks at her. “Did I move?”

 “You’re far away in your eyes,” she says.

 “Don’t go getting all metaphorical on me,” Tony says. “I never had the brain capacity for that shit, and now—”

 “What are you thinking about?” Pepper asks, laying it out plain.

 Tony sighs. He tries to shift on the bed a little bit without her help, but she offers it anyway, latching onto his arm. He grits his teeth and moves so he’s sitting up more, and his whole right side still feels like it’s on fire. Burning up, from the inside. His right arm isn’t worth shit anymore, he can’t put any weight on it without it threatening to collapse.

 “Where are the kids?” he asks. He knows it’s late—well, late for him, considering he falls asleep at like eight now.

 “Morgan’s watching TV with Cassie and Hope, but she’s got bedtime in like half an hour, and Peter...Peter…” 

 She looks like she’s trying to think on her feet for a lie, and Tony sighs, leaning back on the pillows. 

 “He’s gonna check in with me and Rhodey when he gets back,” Pepper says. 

 “Uh huh,” Tony says, trying not to imagine what the hell the kid is getting into now. The world is putting itself back together but it’s still a goddamn mess, and things aren’t like they were when Peter first disappeared. They never will be again. Is he even adapted to all that? Are these new, shithead villains allowing him to adapt? Tony knows the Raft lost a bunch in both snaps, in all the insane confusion. Where are they? Are they going after Peter?

 He clears his throat. “Just remind Helen that I’m tired of being down here and I need to occupy the room you’re occupying before I have an entire fucking meltdown.” He knows he sounds petulant, but he doesn’t care. Pepper’s heard it plenty of times before.

 She smiles, and leans in, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll let her know.”

 ~

 Tony doesn’t sleep, because he can’t, because too many things are plaguing him, most of all where Peter is and what he’s doing. Tony has a good view of the hallway through the windows to his room, and he stares and stares until his eyes cross, until he hallucinates, until he knows he’s going insane. 

 He sees Peter sneaking into the med bay at about four in the morning.

 The kid’s mask is off and he’s got two short, harsh slashes across his cheek, and he’s bleeding from a slice across his neck. His suit is ripped in a few places and he’s holding onto his middle, and Tony can see his hands are shaking.

 It’s like something splinters in Tony’s already broken brain, like his world narrows and there are hazy edges, both weakness and strength entwining in his veins when he sees Peter struggle up onto one of the beds in the main atrium, starting to tend his wounds without calling anybody to help.

 Tony pulls his IV out with a wince, unhooks the heart monitor, and swings his legs over the side of the bed with every ounce of determination inside him. His cane is beside the door from where he left it earlier, and he’s counted the steps from his room to the main atrium a thousand times, and he can definitely make it. 

 He struggles over to the cane and grips it with his good hand like he wants it to break, and he doesn’t want to be an old man anymore. He called himself an old man years and years up until he actually became one, in a small, earth-shattering moment that changed him and everything else. 

 He hones in on Peter when he gets out into the hallway. 

 “What are you doing?” he calls.

 Peter immediately looks up from his work on his side, and his brows furrow. He jumps off the bed with a little groan and rushes over to him. “Tony, what are you doing, you’re not supposed to be just wandering around—”

 “It’s my facility,” Tony says, leaning into Peter when he comes over to support him. “I own it. I’ll wander. I can wander.”

 Peter scoffs and moves him over to the closest chair, and Tony’s stupid cane clangs on the ground every time they take a step. Peter helps him sit and Tony can hear him wheezing.

 “What happened to you?” Tony asks, leaning his cane against the wall. “What the hell are you doing out there, Pete? Shit, you keep coming back all fucked up and it’s...it’s making me nervous, kid. Recall, you were recently...very much not around—”

 “I’m okay,” Peter says, patting Tony’s shoulder. He pulls up another chair and sits right next to him. “It’s just—a couple flesh wounds, you know? They’ll heal fast. I heal fast.”

 “What about emotional scars?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows, his heart still hammering from his brief stint on his feet. “Those stick, bud, and I know. I’ve got lots of ‘em. They’re littered all over me.”

 Peter stares down at the ground for a second, bleeding. Tony sighs and reaches back up behind him, grabbing a box of Band-Aids from the shelf. It hurts to reach, it hurts to walk, it hurts to breathe, but it hurts worse to see the kid messed up like this. He takes one of the Band-Aids out and hands it over, replacing the box on a lower shelf. “Please put that on your face.”

 Peter sighs and opens it up, looking at Tony as he sticks it there, trying to keep out the bubbles. Tony knows they have to clean it out, too, and the other one across Peter’s neck, let alone whatever’s going on with his ribcage.

 Tony’s mind races.

 “Why aren’t you giving yourself a break?” he asks. “Huh? Sam is laying around here like he’s on vacation. Clint’s whole family is staying in the west wing and nobody’s left for a week, we check on them to make sure they’re all still goddamn alive. Even Bruce is just sitting around playing video games with Thor, and me, I’m the biggest bag of bones there is, Pete, I’m just—”

 “You’ve done enough,” Peter says, fast, and Tony sees that his eyes are red. 

 “You’ve done enough,” Tony repeats. “You’re busting your ass every night, doing God knows what, along with trying to adapt back into school—”

 “You save everybody, but who saves you?” Peter asks, loud. His jaw is set, his brows furrowed. “You saved the whole entire world, no, universe, sorry, universe—you risked your life, you almost—you almost died, and most people are rightfully thankful and paying tribute but there are still assholes out there who want to—who want to try and hurt you, threaten you while you’re—while you’re recovering, and I found them and I—I’m just—I’m the one that saves you, okay? It’s me. I’m doing it, my job, you saved me, you’ve saved me—more than one time, multiple times, and I just—you’re—you’re too important to me to allow these guys to skulk around and make plans against you and I just—I gotta take care of it, my wounds heal and you’re safer and it’s...it’s fine.”

 It’s quiet, after that. The kid’s rambling used to irritate him, in the beginning. Then he started to find himself endeared by it, and then he went looking for it, and then he missed it so desperately it was like he was missing a limb.

 But this is like…this is…

 He reaches out and takes Peter’s hands. He squeezes them, puts all of his might into his right. He doesn’t think about the scarring or being embarrassed about it, not right now. It doesn’t matter. “Peter.”

 “Don’t tell me not to do it, because I’m—”

 “I love you, kid,” Tony says, his voice breaking. “I love you. Okay? Just...it’s important to me that you know that. I don’t say it to a lot of people, but you’re—you—”

 “I love you too,” Peter says. He squeezes Tony’s hands back, and looks miserable. 

 Tony wonders what the hell he’s found. He wonders if he’s even willing to share. He doesn’t think he has the strength to push him on it, not right now. “I know, after hearing all that, that there’s no way I can tell you to stop, like, not even if I special ordered those churros you like from Coney Island—”

 “Nope, but it’s tempting,” Peter says, laughing a little bit.

 “Just…please let Rhodey help you,” Tony says. “Please, Pete. Rhodey, Sam, Clint, Strange—please, please, Jesus, kid, let them help you. Let them help you with this, however the hell you’re going about it, let them help you with bank robberies and ATM holdups and stolen bikes and bodega brawls. Okay? Okay? You want me safe, I want you safe too, and that’s the way it’s gonna happen until I can suit back up and fly out there with you.”

 Peter looks at him a particular way, when he says that. Like new hope dawns in his eyes. Tony hasn’t said anything about suiting up since—well, he hasn’t. Not at all. He hasn’t really considered it, since even the smallest things have felt insurmountable. But Peter, his loyalty, his love and dedication, shit, that’s...Tony doesn’t know how he’s earned that. If he’ll ever be truly deserving of it. But he wants to repay it. 

 “Please,” Tony says, squeezing the kid’s hands again. “I know I’m stubborn. I know May is stubborn. Don’t be stubborn like us. Not about this. Let us be stubborn, you be safe.”

 Peter swallows hard and nods. “Okay,” he says, gently. “Fine. I’ll—I’ll give Rhodey the information and—have him go along with me, next time.”

 “Good,” Tony says, relief in his shoulders. 

 “You gotta get back to bed,” Peter says, letting go of Tony’s hands and wincing to his feet. “For real. Pepper and Morgan would knock me into next Tuesday if they knew I was the reason you were running around.”

 “Running around, please,” Tony says, watching him move over to the stock cabinet. “I’ll be doing marathons around this place if you don’t call Helen right this instant. Then she’ll have to deal with me on the ground and whatever the hell is going on with you.”

 “I feel bad for her, dealing with us,” Peter says, looking over at him. 

 “Don’t worry,” Tony says. “I’m gonna give her as much money as she wants and a spa weekend, once her favorite spa reopens.”

 “Good,” Peter says. “Okay, I’ll call her, lemme just—get some things ready for her, make it easy—”

 The moment strikes Tony, suddenly. So unbearably real. Peter’s alive again. Alive. He’s really here, and he cares so goddamn much. “Pete,” Tony says. 

 “Yeah?” Peter asks, glancing over at him again. 

 Tony has been overwhelmed for two months now. Longer than that, if he thinks about it—five years, really, since Titan, since an empty grave and so much crying he nearly drowned in it—but the past two months he’s been a different person. But Peter still wants to protect that person. Peter still wants to stand by him, and for some reason, the others do too. Pepper, Morgan, Happy, Rhodey—his family, and the others, his team. Were they ever really a team before? Well, they are now. And the kid is the best of them.

 If Peter thinks he’s worth protecting, worth saving, maybe that means all this turmoil is worth it. That all these little steps, despite how tedious and tiresome, might lead to him becoming...himself, again. And Peter is making sure there’s a place for him to come back to.

 “Thank you,” Tony says, nodding to himself, a lump in his throat. 

 Peter smiles broadly, and holds his head high. “No. Thank you,” he says, right back. 

[missjanjie]

Conscious, Deliberate Mistakes | Jankie

this is a commission for @moniapossenti99 which is actually a sequel to this jankie drabble i wrote the other day

Ship: Jankie (Jan Sport x Jackie Cox) Word Count: 1.8k Rating: E

comission info | ko-fi

“Just this once.”

“Nobody needs to know.”

Those were the last words spoken between them before they raced back to Jan’s hotel room, haphazard as they threw off their clothes. Their kisses were hot and messy, filled with the lust that had been bubbling over since their dressing room kiss.

Jackie pushed Jan onto the bed, fingers grabbing his hair and yanking it, making him bare his neck and littering the expanse of skin with kisses and bites - stopping just short of leaving actual marks. They were professionals, they knew better. But the temptation grew every time Jan let out another little whimper. “Do you know how fucking badly I’ve wanted you?” he exhaled, breath hot against his skin.

“Hopefully as badly as I’ve wanted you,” Jan answered, his eyes fluttering shut and his hand resting on the back of Jackie’s head. “Every goddamn day on this tour, been trying so hard to be good…” His voice trailed off as Jackie’s hands moved down his chest and shifted to a moan when Jackie pinched and teased his nipples.

Jackie kissed back up to Jan’s lips, teasingly biting his bottom lip as he slowly pulled back. “But you’re gonna be a good boy for me now, aren’t you?” he cooed, cupping Jan’s face and stroking his thumb across his bottom lip.

Jan shuddered in pleasure. He didn’t know what to expect from Jackie in bed, but the cockiness, the way he took charge, it made him absolutely melt and he couldn’t do anything but agree. “Yes, Daddy,” the term slipped out without his conscious awareness.

But Jackie was very aware, smirking and lightly patting Jan’s cheek. “That’s what I thought, baby,” he cooed, kissing him once more. “You have lube and condoms, right?” he asked, momentarily switching to his ‘regular’ voice.

It took a moment for Jan’s brain to reconnect with his mouth. “Yeah, yeah I got it,” he nodded, crawling across the bed and rifling through the drawer.

Jackie laid back on the bed, lazily stroking himself as he watched Jan crawl across the bed, appreciating the view. “Take your time,” he teased.

Jan turned to face him once he had what he needed, sitting back on his legs. “I didn’t realize you were such a pervert.”

“Don’t you play innocent,” Jackie retorted, grabbing Jan by the arm and pulling him close. “You’re just as dirty, even more I bet.” He let go of him and laid back down with his hands casually behind his head. “Go on and prep for me. Show Daddy how badly you want it.”

And who was Jan to disobey? He propped himself up with his legs apart and slicked up two fingers with the lube. He worked them in steadily, doing his best to maintain eye contact with Jackie as he did.

Of course, Jackie loved what he saw. He watched comfortably, going back to jerking off as well. “Just tell me when you’re ready, baby,” he told him.

As impatient as Jan was, he made sure to be thorough - once he saw what Jackie was packing, he realized he had to. When he did deem himself ready, he tore open the condom with his teeth and handed it over, then waited readily to be told what to do next.

After he rolled the condom down his length, Jackie looked at Jan with a wicked grin. “On your back,” he told him, only to push him onto his back instead when he didn’t move fast enough. He had one hand gripping Jan’s hip, the other guiding his shaft in, letting go and grabbing his other hip once he bottomed out.

“Fuck…” Jan let out a breathy moan, his eyes closing and his head pushing back into the pillows as Jackie began thrusting.

Jackie clicked his tongue in disapproval, gripping Jan’s face and moving his head forward. “Look at me,” he ordered. “Wanna see your face, wanna see how good Daddy’s cock makes you feel.”

Part of Jan wanted to know what daddy dom possessed his friend’s body, but the rest of him couldn’t have cared less - it felt far too good. With Jackie holding him in place, he kept their gazes locked, moaning out wantonly. His body rocked in tandem with Jackie’s thrusts, urging him on.

Jackie moved his hand from Jan’s jaw to his neck. He was careful not to get too rough when he choked him - Jan’s voice was pretty necessary to the success of their tour.

Not that Jan was treating it like it was. He started moaning even louder with Jackie’s hand around his throat, fervently writhing against him, needing the friction to get close to an orgasm.

Jackie frowned when he noticed. “Don’t even think about coming before Daddy,” he warned sternly. He thrust faster and harder, and, to Jan’s relief, hit his orgasm not long after.

“Fuck, fuck… Can I…”

“Go ahead.”

Jan let out a guttural moan as he rode out his orgasm, reaching up to grab onto Jackie as he did.

Jackie let him, resting his hand on Jan’s back and holding him until he was fully spent. He slowly eased out of him, making quick work with the cleanup so he could get under the covers with Jan and hold him close.

Jan cuddled up to Jackie, resting his head on his chest, letting the rising and falling of Jackie’s chest sooth him. He was going to make the most out of that moment. After all, it was a one time deal.

-

As it turned out, it was definitely not a one time deal. For Jan and Jackie, having sex opened a whole new can of worms. All the energy they had invested into keeping their hands to themselves was now used to take any and every excuse to sneak away and fool around. Every hotel room, dressing room, and even a hotel pool was defiled while they were at it like rabbits.

But it wasn’t just sex. No, that would be too simple. There was more emotional bonding as well, that was just the type of lovers they were, whether it was with others or together. Every time they had sex in bed, they cuddled after. They held hands everywhere, cuddled up to each other on whatever bus or van they were travelling on. It was an open secret with everyone who worked on the tour, and ‘secret’ was used very loosely.

It was on a perfectly innocent ice cream date when a harsh realization dawned on Jan. He hadn’t felt this way in a while. Of course he loved his boyfriend, but they had long passed their honeymoon phase. But even that phase didn’t hold a candle to what he felt with Jackie. He felt alive, like a new part of himself had been awakened. He felt free even though they were both tied down.

“I can’t believe tomorrow’s our last show,” Jackie remarked as they took a stroll down the street, holding their cones in one hand and the others held each other. “I’ve gotten so used to tour life in such a short time.”

Jan nodded. “It’s gonna be weird, going back home, back to… normal…” He looked out in front of him, not wanting to look at Jackie as he was hit with a sharp pang of sadness. They hadn’t talked about what would happen between them when they returned to Manhattan, other than there was no way their partners would find out what they did.

“We haven’t done ‘normal’ in a while,” Jackie agreed. “We’ve had our own, new normal,” he mused. That was what made it so complicated - being with Jan just felt right, like they were supposed to be together. And that wracked him with a hefty amount of guilt.

So, they did all they could - make the most out of what time they had left. The rest of their day off was spent in bed - alternating between sex and cuddling. They didn’t want to fall asleep, because it meant they would wake up to the end.

In the morning, everything was normal. They got up, had breakfast, got handsy in the shower. But by the time they got to the venue, Jan seemed different, withdrawn. It wasn’t like him to not be the life of the party, so of course Jackie was concerned.

The concern had to wait until after the show which, despite Jan’s mood, went off without a hitch. But Jackie went right to Jan the second they were finished. “Hey, is something wrong? You’ve been acting kind of… aloof.”

Jan opened his mouth to lie, or to make an excuse, but instead a sob came out, and he hid his head in his hands. “Shit…” he muttered through tears.

Jackie rushed to his side, wrapping an arm around him. “Jan, baby, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is we’re gonna get on a fucking plane tomorrow and the second it lands in JFK we’re gonna have to go back to being just friends, to acting like we’ve never touched each other, that we feel nothing for each other,” he grabbed a tissue and wiped his eyes, makeup already ruined. “How am I supposed to be okay with losing you?”

“Is that what we decided?” Jackie asked quietly. “It’s just… I mean… we failed the ‘one time only’ thing a long time ago.”

Jan shook his head. “I know you don’t believe that, you know as well as I do that sleeping together while they’re ten thousand miles away is different than going directly behind their backs.”

“It’s the object permanence,” Jackie agreed. “But we could always-”

“We can’t!” Jan jerked away from him and started to pace around. “Don’t you get it? We can’t have our cake and eat it too.”

“I know it’s wrong, but you can’t tell me you’re ready to just throw this away!” It was a rare sight for Jackie to get angry, to see his face flushed red and his fists clenched, but even then, maybe that wasn’t the right word, but he was overwhelmed with emotion and it just made him frustrated.

Jan sighed. “Of course I don’t want to, but I know you don’t want to throw your relationship away either, and neither do I. We can’t toss out years for a week of amazing sex and deep emotional bonding!”

“Fine!” Jackie snapped. “Fine, we’ll go back to normal,” he sighed as he calmed down and rationality reentered his mind. “You’re right, I don’t want to hurt him, and I really don’t want to lose him.”

Jan nodded, sniffling quietly. “So this is it then.” He looked out the window, chewing on his lip. “At least we’ll always have Australia, right?”

Jackie let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Yeah, we’ll always have Australia.”

[dazzlingfantasiesblogs]

You Walked Away

Hey loves here is another story I am working on. 

I have so many going, ideas just keep flowling. 

Warning: 18+ ONLY. VIOLENCE,smut talk.

Please do not post my wok anywhere else.

Gifs are not mine.

Italics - Flash backs

Bold- Your thoughts

Regular - Deans thoughts

Strike-through - Lyrics

“Nothings that bad, if it feels good..” Dean woke up out a cold sweat. “Dean, you ok?” looking over at his younger brother, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Ye… Yeah..” He had a dream. About her. Again. Three nights in a row. His only true one. She was a leader. She was a force. She was….you.

Taking a shower Dean thought about your face smirking at him as the two of you sprinted out of the dinner without paying. Both running until your lungs hurt, laughing as you hid behind the trees in the forest. He grabbed your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your lips. The sheer force causing your lips to slightly bruise. “Hey! There they are!” The owner shouted seeing you two from the flashlight that shone in the forest. “RUN!” You Hollard grabbing his hand tightly. Sure to not let go.

“Dean?” Sam asked as he drove baby, going with the curves of the road. “You look like you seen a monster.” “Not a monster..” Dean mumbled. “One of the only two women I ever loved.” Sam knew who he was talking about. Not Lisa. The one who was his ride or die. The one who held Sammy’s hand tightly as they crossed the road to the ice cream shop. The one who pulled a gun on a werewolf who chased him when he was eight.

“Thanks Bobby, This fuckin Wendigo sent me through the fuckin ringer.” You laughed a bit, holding the phone with your chin and shoulder as you changed your oil. “Yeah, I am good. Couple cuts. Nothing huge. Chaz is with me.” You finished tightening the bolt. “Yeah, he is a good dog.” Looking over, you smiled at your white German Shepard who slept on the hay barrel. “Yeah, I will stop by soon. Love you too.” Hanging up the phone, you whistled. Chaz stretched and walked to the side of the car. Lowering the jack to the charger, you opened the door for him. Jumping in the front, he laid back down sleeping. Starting the car, you headed to the next destination.

“Sam, is it Washington?” “Oregon Dean.” Sam shook his head annoyed slightly. His mind was obviously preoccupied. “Well, Imma catch some z’s. We got about seven hours.” Dean nodded staring at the road ahead of him thinking of you.

His lip was caught between his teeth as you danced on the stage in the empty bar you two broke into. Watching as you swayed your hips to the music. A thousand demons could crash in here and he would kill them all if meant you to continue your dance. It was his 20th birthday and you wanted to give him a gift. Walking down the stage you grabbed a bottle of bourbon. Putting it in a shot and gave it to him. Dancing on his lap, he almost choked on the shot feeling you rub against him.

Dean looked down at his jeans. “Fuck..” he gritted his teeth seeing a full on boner. The remember those thick curved that made his mouth water. You where a pistol in the bedroom and had him craving you seven years later. There was always a power force when it came to you. When hell was at its worst, and he was in chains… he thought of you.

Pulling into the hotel parking lot, you grabbed your leash for Chaz. “Sorry boy, regulations.”  Jumping out of the car, the dog snorted half asleep. Walking into the hotel, you checked in with ease. After all, no asked questions to a Federal Agent. Opening the door, it was beautiful. Getting situated you open your laptop for a little research. As you looked up the case you where certain it was a djinn.

The next morning you woke up, grabbed your cup of coffee. Your FBI suite was a little more out there than most. It was fitted to well to your body, it caused looks where ever you went. The blue suite with black heels. A crisp white shirt with small blue tie to match. As you opened the door the police station, the young man watched as you walked in. He was handsome, tall and had black hair. He took off his hat nodding to you. “How.. How can I help you mam?” He stuttered slightly. “Hello. Agent Stone with the FBI. I need to see the two bodies that where recently murdered.” Shaking his head he walked you to the morgues office.

“Come on Dean.” Sam hollered as they walked out the door. As they drove, they parked. “Hmm nice car..” Dean looked at the black and red Challenger that sat out of the police station.  They walked in to see a young man sitting there. “I am with..” “The FBI?” The man asked confused. “Umm, yes. Agent Smith and Agent Jones.” He nodded. “Your partner is in the morgues office. I’ll walk you back.” Dean looked to Sam confused on who it could be. “Cass?” Dean whispered to Sam. “Not sure.. Maybe Garth?” Shrugging their shoulders, they looked in the office. Dean looked at his phone sending a text to Garth seeing if it was him. Sam patted his arm, stopping out around the door. Dean watched Sam’s jaw drop looking at you. Dean followed his eyes and dropped his phone “Shit..” He whispered. Both men kneeled so they couldn’t be seen through the windows. “Perfect, yeah I would love to take you up on that drink. Hey, I love Karoke!” Dean peered over the window, watching your smile to the corner. You looked so different. Your hair short in a Pixie. He seen your suit and took a deep breath. Your cleavage showing through the white shirt. “We gotta go…” Dean whispered. “NO! you owe her!” Sam growled. “I miss her! She was the only one who rooted me on for Stanford!” Sam went to stand up. Opening the door to the office, you stared at the files, walked passed the men without seeing them. Slipping through the files. Sam couldn’t believe how you had grown. The same confident walk you always had; the rings littered your fingers. He noticed a hand tattoo.

Getting in your car, you peered at the phone number you got. You could afford to let loose a little bit and enjoy your time. After hanging out with Chaz, you took a shower and got ready for your night out. Putting on your dark burgundy lipstick, smokey eye shadow. Wearing tight black jeans that had rips all over. Sliding on your bright red thigh high heeled boots. While most thought they where impractical, you killed more monsters with them than you cared to admit. Sharping the heel, just in case. Wearing a black sequined bra and a white loose shirt hanging over it. Heading to the car, you blasted your music, leaving Chaz with a new bone.

Dean paced back and forth. “We should leave.” “NO!” sam hollered. “We know there is at least 2 or more Djinn that is effecting this place.” Dean nodded sighing. Seeing you shook him to his very core. “Lets go get you some drinks, women,  whatever to calm you down.” Sam spoke with a sigh. He knew his brothers vices, one of them used to be you.

“If she leaves I leave!” Dean growled at John. “Wow, you love her.” John laughed a bit shaking his head. “Be careful, they all leave eventually..” Snarling John walked away from his eldest. “I do love her, more than breathing.” “Than… NEVER LET HER GO!” John spoke thinking of Mary. How he missed her, still years later.

Walking into the bar, you went straight to the bar. Three shots of tequila down and whiskey for a chaser. “Love a woman who can handle her whiskey.” The corner spoke smiling at her. “Hey Jesse!” You smiled at the handsome man. “I spoke with your partners after you left. I gave them case files too.” Looking at him slightly confused, your ran through all the hunters you knew. Bobby? No. Garth? Maybe it was Garth. However he implied more than one. Ignoring the thought you started to get on the dance floor. “Are you going to sing?” Jesse asked with a smile on his face. “Sure..” You nodded. “Oh there are your partners!” You looked at the door seeing two men walk in. Your heart beating irregularly. You felt the bar in close on you slightly. “I.. I am going on stage!” “Sure, I will go say hi!” You walked to the stage, grabbing the mic picking the song. “Perfect!” You grabbed the microphone and took the stage. You always seemed to know how to command an audience. “This is to someone who needs to fucking hear this song.” You spoke on the mic. Watching you seen the elder Winchester look at you grabbing the drink he got and walked towards the stage. The music started and you seen two dancers next to you. “We get paid to dance with the karoke singers” the young woman said. Her blonde hair in a pony tail. “Get ready for one hell of a performance.” She smiled annoyed. They probably all said that. “I wanna start this out and say . I gotta get it off my chest . Got no anger, got no malice. Just a little bit of regret . Know nobody else will tell you .So there's some things I gotta say Gonna jot it down and then get it out. And then I'll be on my way” You sang the song by Halsey. This song always making you think of Dean. You swung your hips holding onto the microphone.  “No, you're not half the man you think that you are. And you can't fill the hole inside of you with money, drugs and cars. I'm so glad I never ever had a baby with you. 'Cause you can't love nothin' unless there's somethin' in it for you”  Dean listened to the lyrics. His heart was turning at the lyrics. He watched as you took off your white shirt, twirling it over your head. Jumping off the stage in front of him, landing perfectly. You stood toe to toe with him.  “Oh, I feel so sorry I feel so sad. I tried to help you. It just made you mad. And I had no warnin'. About who you are. I'm just glad I made it out without breakin' down. And then ran so fuckin' far. That you would never ever touch me again. Won't see your alligator tears. 'Cause, no, I've had enough of them” You shoved his shoulder slightly to have him sit on the stool. Walking away, your ass jiggled as you walked. You grabbed Jesses tie, pushing him against the Colom winking at him to relax him. “Let me start this off by sayin'. I really meant well from the start Take a broken man right in my hands. And then put back all his parts. But you're not half the man you think that you are. And you can't fill the hole inside of you with money, girls and cars. I'm so glad I never ever had a baby with you. 'Cause you can't love nothin' unless there's somethin' in it for you” Jesse put his hands on your hips as your sang. He looked at your tattoos and licked his lips unintentionally. You turned around, swinging your hips against his. The whole bar watching intently as you put on a show for them. Walking to the table Dean had his drink on, You jumped up on the cherry wood table, kicking his drink off of it. “Oh, I feel so sorry (I feel so sorry). I feel so sad (I feel so sad). I tried to help you (I tried to help you) It just made you mad. And I had no warnin' (I had no warnin'). About who you are ('bout who you) Just glad I made it out without breakin' down. Oh, I feel so sorry (I feel so sorry). I feel so sad (I feel so sad). I tried to help you (I tried to help you). It just made you mad. And I had no warnin' (I had no) About who you are ('bout who you). 'Bout who you are” A wild child at heart was your call, especially when it came to the man who crushed you more than any god could. As you danced on the table, Dean looked up at you shocked. You pointed at him slightly as you sang. Looking him straight in the eyes.  “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. 'Cause you're not half the man you think that you are And you can't fill the hole inside of you with money, drugs and cars. I'm so glad I never ever had a baby with you. 'Cause you can't love nothin' unless there's somethin' in it for you. I feel so sad. You should be sad. You should be. You should be sad. You should be. You should be. You should be” When the song ended a roar of an applause happened. “Encore” was yelled over and over. Walking to the bar you looked at the bartender pleading. “Bottle. Patron. Glass, ice.” The man nodded you put your card down. Feeling hands on your hips you seen Jesse behind you. “Who the hell are you? A Rockstar/FBI” Laughing slightly you took a shot. You felt HIS gaze on you. It was burning you into the wood slab you stood on.  

Dean sat frozen in his seat. Everyone dancing to the music that played after your performance. The whole time he couldn’t believe every word you spoke. He seen you sing Karaoke millions of times. Your voice was that of an angel, well.. better than that. The way you took your shirt off, the outfit you wore. The tattoos that covered your body. You had changed, you had grown. He looked over to see you talking to him. The corner. He seen red, getting up. Sam grabbed his shoulder pushing back down on the seat. “No! We talk to her tomorrow Dean.” He said in Deans ear so he could ear. “Bullshit.. She is about to go home with this fucker!” “And? You fucked that up!” Sam yelled back.

Walking out with Jesse out the back he grabbed your hand tightly. “Sorry love.. your beautiful but I don’t shack up with hunters” Your grabbed the sharpened branch in your boot. Jesse went to inject you with sleeping medicine. Easily evading him “Man.. I was hoping it wasn’t you… It is always the corner.. you where cute..” you spoke grabbing the branch pushing into the Djinn. Hearing a large door close you seen Dean and Sam walk out. Grabbing the Djinn body you held him up, making it look like you where walking to your car. Grabbing your keys you needed to burn his body. Opening the back seat you pushed the man in. Turning around you seen Dean, he trapped you against the car. “Get away from me asshole.. Sam talk sense into your idiot brother..” You looked at the taller, but younger Winchester. “We miss you.. Both of us.” Sammy walked towards you. Your beef was not with him. You loved Sammy, as much as you loved Dean. “Wow Sammy, you got tall..” You looked up at the now man in front of you. His smile took up his face, scooping you into a huge hug. Feeling him secure you tight against his chest, you sighed slightly and hugged  him back tightly. He pressed a kiss on the top of your hair, pulling away slightly. “I love your hair like this.” He spoke pulling a small clump of the short hair. “Remember I am still your elder Sam.” You shot a smile back to him. “Well it was pleasant seeing you SAM. I gotta head out, there is more than one Djinn. I got it covered fellas.”

Dean watched as you interacted with his brother. So gentle and sweet like you had done years before. Age had been kind to you, that is for sure. The way you smiled at Sam and hugged him, was like when you where kids. Only difference was that Sam towered over you now. Like he did everyone else. “We can help you Y/N.” Sam spoke pleading with you to spend more time near you. It broke Deans heart, seeing how much Sammy missed her too. “Sam..” She sighed a bit, stepping away, putting her fingers through her short hair. “You know.. I can’t be here if HE is here..” Dean seen you nodded towards him. Holding up your white shirt Dean looked at you. “You forgot your shirt..” He grumbled walking towards you. He seen as you held out your hand for the shirt. “Put it on before you get cold.” Dean hated seeing men passing by staring at you. The same hunger and lust he always had for you. “No. I am warm. Thanks for the fake worry thought.”  Your voice was venom when it came to him. He knew he fucked up. He deserved anything you threw his way.

“Anyways boys, I gotta go check on Chaz. He probably needs to eat.” “You have kid?” Deans word left his mouth before he could stop them. You could tell by the shock on his face. “No, my dog. Guess he is like a son though. You two choose. Take care of the Djinn or let me. Either way I need to smoke this bitch before he stinks up my beautiful.” You nodded towards your challenger. “Please Y/N. I never got to hunt with you fully..” You watched the puppy dog eyes Sam gave you. Everything in your head was screaming for you to get the fuck out of there. Your heart on the other hand missed the Winchesters. “Fine. Dean doesn’t get to speak to me. I am staying at The Wolf Hotel. Room 125. Here is a spare key Sam. Also, don’t come tonight. I gotta go find another lay since this one, well was a Djinn..” you sighed stretching your arms. Your turned to get your keys out of your pocket once again. Dean and Sam seen a huge scar from your lower back to the top of your shoulder. The diagonal cut looked like the same width of an angel blade. You felt fingers pressed to your back. You knew those hands. The rough pads of Deans fingers out lined the scar. The feeling burned your skin, letting out a slight gasp. “What is that from?” Dean asked angrily. “None of your fucking business. Now gotta go.” “No.” Dean stopped the door before you closed it. “I am not going to let you go sleep with someone random to get back at me. What is that scar from?” “Dean..” Sam grabbed his arms stopping his brother from making any other move. “That is from an angel blade.. From when I was protecting another angel by the name of Castiel.” You seen Deans eyes grow wide. “You.. you’re the huntress Castiel talked about.” Deans voice was dark, something was off about him. “ For some reason he calls me that.” “NO! For some reason all hunters call you that! I had no clue it was you.. No one knew  you real name..” “I never told them. No need too. If I died in a hunt, no one would look for me anyways. No reason to know my fucking name.”

That hit Dean like a pile of bricks. “Y/N..” He whispered looking into y/c eyes. “Truth is what it is. Like I said we can meet up tomorrow.” Shutting the door on the boys, you started the car and drove off. Dean watched as you raced down the street. “She.. is” “Lost.” Dean spoke before Sammy could.” “No Dean, she is hardened.” Sam knew that would bother his brother. “Let’s get back to the Motel.”

It was two in the morning. The idea of you laying with another man drove him nuts. He knew you said it twice to piss him off. Another man between those thick, sexy thighs of yours. He tossed and turned in the bed. The image kept burning into his brain was not pleasant. He looked over to see Sam knocked out for the night. Going into Sams wallet he grabbed the room card to your hotel room. He needed to talk to you. Sneaking out the motels door, he got into Baby and sped off.

Sleep was something you rarely got. Mostly because of your back pain and nightmares that every hunter had to deal with. Afterall it was part of the job. Chaz woke up to someone opening the door. A loud howl was hurd, stopping Dean in his tracks. Soon he seen a white dog rushing towards him. He braced himself for impact getting thrown to the ground by the large dog. Chaz going to bite down on his exposed neck. “Heel Chaz..” you spoke tiredly sliding your gun behind your pajama pants. Chaz growled at Dean, looking him dead in the eyes. “That dog could have..” “Killed you?” you cut him off before he could speak. “More than likely. He has taken down larger prey than you.” Rubbing Chaz head the dog walked back to the bed and laid on it. His eyes still fixated on Dean. “ I would be careful if I were you. Any sudden move and he will go after you.” You spoke sitting in the comfortable chair that stretched out. “Can we talk?” Dean asked sitting across from you. Chaz getting up, sitting between you and Dean. He sat facing Dean, sitting like a statue. “He REALLY does not like you.” You laughed a bit. “What do you want? Where is Sammy? I gave him the key card.” Glancing over at the card on the floor that he dropped. “I wanted to talk about.. our past.”

That dog did a number on Deans back. He sat slightly twisted trying to ease the pinched nerve. He looked at your face, wondering what you would say to him. “No.” His face fell at your reply. “There is no us. I try and forget about that part of my life. THANK. YOU. VERY. MUCH.” The attitude that dripped of your lips caused Dean to stir a bit. God did he love that venom tongue that could eat anyone alive. “Y/N.. I have thought about you everyday since I left..” “Sure Dean. Like you thought about Lisa? At least she lasted longer. From what I can tell, she wasn’t a whore. However how did all those one night stands go?” “How did you know about Lisa… and others..?” Dean asked confused. “Well, Bobby told me about Lisa. However, I didn’t know about the one night stands till now.” You sighed a bit. You head falling into your left hand. “Dean go back to the motel and sleep.. I am exhausted and as you know, I don’t sleep well in general. Especially after being thrown around and tortured by an angel..” Groaning you stood up. Chaz quickly going close to you. “Y/N L.N. Enough.” Dean spoke, harshly. “Dean now is not the fucking time! I am running on no sleep, I didn’t get to fuck the cute guy and I am emotionally exhausted. If you don’t wanna drive back to the motel, take the damn pull out couch!”

[iwillsinkwithmyships]

Beautiful Boy, Bathed in Disaster

As he laid dying in a Siberian bunker Tony Stark thinks about betrayals and broken promises. Left behind and half-dead he is faced with his worst nightmare.

Notes: This was literally written in hours, which is insane because usually I take forever to finish even a one shot. But this just flowed! The title comes from the song "In Loving Memory" by Chester Lockhart which played in repeat while I wrote this. I recommend you listen to it as you read it as well lol

There is a slight canon divergence as in my story, Pepper and Tony broke up after Iron Man 3 and Tony and Steve get together a little after Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

Borrowed some quotes from other Avengers works, such as comics and AA

AO3 Link

"Mr. Stark."

"Captain."

-

"Is everything a joke to you?"

"Funny things are."

-

"Big man in a suit of armor... take that off, what are you?"

"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist."

"I know guys with none of that worth ten of you. I've seen the footage, the only thing you really fight for is yourself. You are not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you."

"I think I would just cut the wire."

"Always a way out. You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero."

"A hero? Like you? You're a laboratory experiment Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle."

-

"What the hell! What just happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me."

"We won."

"Oh, alright, yay! Alright, good job guys! Uh, let's just not come in tomorrow. Let's just take a day. You ever try shawarma? There is a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don't know what it is, but I wanna try it."

"We are not finished yet."

"And then shawarma after?"

-

"Oh really you two knew each other? He never mentioned that...maybe only a thousand times. God, I hated you."

-

"Sometimes I wanna punch you in your perfect teeth, but I don't want to see you gone. We need you Cap."

-

"Winghead"

"Shellhead"

-

"You are walking a little funny Steve, next time you should establish a safe word." . . . "You are walking a little funny Tony, what was that you were saying about a safe word?"

"Hilarious."

-

"Wait a second, no one else gonna deal with the fact that Cap just said 'language'?"

"I know...It just slipped out."

-

"We'll lose."

"Then we'll do that together too."

-

"Sometimes my teammates don't tell me things."

-

"I don't trust a guy without a dark side. Call me old fashioned."

"Well let's just say you haven't seen it yet."

-

"How can you possibly hope to stop me?"

"Well, like the old man said: together."

-

"No way we all make it through this."

"I got no plans tomorrow night."

-

"I will miss you Tony"

-

"Tony, when I woke up on this era, I had no one. Nothing. You gave me a purpose, somewhere to belong...You gave me a home."

-

"You wanna survive you gotta change with the times."

"Spend a few decades frozen in ice, then we can talk about survival."

"Just say it, say 'Tony I'm afraid of new tech!' admitting you have a problem is always the first step."

"Gosh Mr. Big Brain, your modern tech is so gol-darn confusing. How does this contraption turn water into coffee? Is it coal power or is it a miracle?"

"Hmm, sarcasm must be a modern invention, because when you do it, it just sounds wrong."

-

"But, with my armor gone, all I can do is improvise. Steve, even without your shield, you're still captain America. Without my armor I'm just ..."

"Tony Stark, THE Tony Stark, billionaire, genius, you are probably one of the three smartest men in the entire world. You are as tough as they come, you invented hardcore. The avengers are lucky you are on our side."

"Really? you know two people smarter than me?"

"Can't you just take a compliment."

-

"I am not half as good at - at anything as I am when I'm doing it next to you. And that's the truth."

-

"I love you."

"I love you too."

-

"Good morning Beloved. Did anyone check the dumpster for Clint yet?"

"Funny you should ask that..."

-

"I love you."

"I love you too."

-

"I'm worried about you, if you don't get some sleep..."

"I slept for 70 years - "

"Yeah, you've used that line before."

"Leave me alone. I am a senior citizen."

-

"I love you."

"I love you too."

-

"He's my friend."

"So was I."

-

"Did you know?"

"I wasn't sure it was him--"

"Don't bullshit me Rogers! Did. You. Know?"

"Yes."

-

Images and memories flashed through Tony's mind as he laid on the cold floor of the abandoned Hydra base. The Siberian cold penetrating his suit as his mind raced.

Steve had known the truth about his parents' death for years. He'd known when they fought Ultron. He'd known when he gave Tony shit about keeping secrets, the fucking hypocrite. He'd known over a year ago, he'd known when he leaned over the table to kiss Tony. He'd known when they tumbled into bed that same night. He'd known for the rest of their relationship, even when he whispered "I love you" late at night and when Tony had said it right back.

He'd known.

And now all Tony was left with was a broken suit and an abandoned shield.

Tears fell out of his eyes as he fell back to the floor. Steve had left. He'd taken Barnes and walked right out, without sparing a second thought for Tony. After he and Pepper had broken up Tony had resigned himself to being alone for the rest of his life. Then Steve had kissed him and all of the sudden Tony had been in love again. They'd still fought but Tony had learned to see Steve's side of things and to explain his side of things to Steve. Tony had been sure that this was it. He'd fallen hard and fast for Steve.

"Well that shows you, huh Stark."

-----

Some time later, Tony's eyes startled open as he realized that he had no way out of that bunker.

-----

The temperature kept dropping, and Tony had long given up hope of a rescue.

"Well Yinsen, it looks like I did waste my life after all... I'm sorry."

Tony closed his eyes.

-----

When Tony came to again, everything was still cold and painful. He tried to move, but the suit was frozen and still dead, quiet honestly, Tony didn't know how he was still alive.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the bunker, and Tony blinked trying to place the sound. Had FRIDAY alerted Vision?

A few minutes later two slender figures walked towards him.

"Father," he didn't recognize the breathy feminine voice that rang out, "We've found him. We've got Stark."

"He looks half dead. Should we put him out of his misery?" Another woman said, her voice a lot more confident. The two figures walked closer, and Tony struggle to keep his eyes open. There was no way he could defend himself.

"Patience daughter, I have plans for Stark." A deep voice responded. The two women walked into the sliver of light that managed to get into his cold dark tomb. He finally laid eyes on them and his breathing grew harsher. The two women were not...human. They were humanoid, but one of them was blue, and her body was littered with mechanic enhancements, the other was completely green with deep burgundy hair. The two of them exuded murderous vibes. The kind that Tony usually only got from Natasha and Pepper. He drew in a harsh breath and tried once more to get up from the cold floor he'd been planing to die in.

"Such fighting spirit. It's a pity that humanity does not appreciate you Anthony Stark." An imposing figure approached from the shadows. He was huge, probably bigger than the hulk himself. "I have waited a long time to meet you Stark."

"Yo...u..... kno...w....m...e?" he managed to croak out.

"I do, you are not the only one cursed with knowledge."

"..w- wh..who...?" Tony could barely keep conscious. He was still on the verge of death, and aliens invading earth was literally his worst nightmare. A new voice rang out and a squid looking figure joined the others.

"Rejoice, you will have the privilege of being saved by The Great Titan, Thanos."

"Wh...wh.." Tony gasped for breath, "...why...?"

"I have come for you Stark. Earth's Greatest Defender. When I first enslaved the Asgardian, I thought his task a simple one. After all this planet is quite primitive compared to others we've conquered before. Yet, you and your team managed to defeat my army." The titan walked closer to him, "Imagine my surprise at realizing that it hadn't been your Asgardian ally who'd laid waste to my ships and army, but a simple human. Fascinating. After that it was difficult not to pay attention. Time and time again, you defend it, and this is your reward" The titan waved a hand towards the pathetic picture Tony painted.

"G..go..f..fuh..Fuck...yo...yours...self." Thanos smiled and waved a hand to those behind him.

"Give him a blood transfusion, The Accuser should have provided enough, and make sure he survives. Once he's no longer on the brink of death, bring him to me."

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

Tony had passed out after his encounter with Thanos and when he'd woken up he was being moved. The pain had dulled down, most likely a result of the forced blood transfusion. He'd shuddered as he thought about it. Once more a victim of nonconsensual body modifications.

This nightmare just kept getting worse.

He was laid on a hard surface and bound. The genius took a moment to analyze his current situation, he seemed to be in some sort of medical room, there were holograms displaying what he assumed to be his own vitals. The technology seemed advanced and otherworldly so he took this to mean that he'd somehow made it into the ship. What was this Thanos actually doing here? Where they still on Earth? Was Earth under attack?

That final thought made him pull at his restrains, he immediately slumped back in the bed his body still felt like he'd been run over by a bus.

'or two super-soldiers'

Tony closed his eyes as the entire fight replayed in his mind. God he'd been so fucking stupid. And now here he was trapped by some crazy alien bent on conquering earth. Who would protect Earth now? Rogers and Barnes were definitely on the wind now. About half of the team were sitting in Ross's super secret prison. He hoped Vision runs and hides that damn stone. God knows were Natasha was hiding.

And Rhodey. Rhodey was in no condition to fight.

The door to the room he was currently trapped in opened and in walked the mad titan himself, accompanied by his two daughters? Who looked nothing like him.

"Stark, you are awake."

"Where am I? What do you want? You better stay away from Earth or I swe-"

"Don't worry, the time will come but there is much to do before I return for Earth's salvation." Tony's jaw clenched as he watched the purple maniac approach him. "Like I said, I am here for you Stark."

"What do you want from me? From the looks of this ship, you have no need for my tech much less my money, so what do you want? Weapons? I'll die before I ever create another weapon of mass destruction!" The titan simply smiled and sat beside him. His two deadly looking daughters stood guard by the door.

"I am here to offer you a place in my order, as my son and perhaps my heir." Tony stared incredulously and glanced at the other two in the room and saw their shocked expressions. So he hadn't shared his plans for Tony with them.

"Excuse me?!"

"I admire your bravery and tenacity Anthony, you would do well in my order and when I have achieved perfect balance in this entire universe I wish to retire, but I must leave someone in charge. I think you would do well."

"You are out of your mind." the brunette gritted out.

"You could help me save this entire universe from itself, and then you would be the most powerful man in the universe. Join us Stark"

"Never. I can't believe you thought that I'd say yes to this."

"You and I are quite similar you know. I too was called mad for trying to protect my planet. I tried to save my planet and our people, I was ignored, and the entire planet perished. Are you not tired Anthony? Of trying to save a planet that doesn't want to be saved?" The ache in Tony's chest grew and he continued to glare at Thanos.

"Never." Thanos let out a disappointed sigh and got back on his feet.

"I had hoped you would see reason," he walked towards the medical equipment in the room, "perhaps a little reminder of what Earth has repaid your loyalty with will help."

Tony couldn't help his scream at the pain his head was under. As he trashed he thought he saw pitying looks come from the two women by the door.

Everything went dark.

-

His father sitting him down at 8 years-old and handing him a glass of whiskey. The start of his alcohol problems.

-

His father handing him hot tools despite his bare hands. The reason he doesn't like being handed things.

-

Tiberius Stone.

-

The Cave. The open hear surgery without anesthesia. The waterboarding. Yinsen.

-

"When I ordered the hit on you, I worried that I was killing the golden goose. But you see, it was just fate that you survived that, you had one last golden egg to give."

-

The Palladium poisoning. The fight with Rhodey. Rhodey taking off with his suit.

-

The helicarrier fight.

-

Extremis. Maya. Aldrich. AIM.

-

His break up with Pepper.

-

Ultron. Thor lifting him by the neck, as everyone watched and did nothing to stop him.

-

A video of the winter soldier killing his parents. Steve's betrayal.

-

Steve walking out on him with Barnes in his arms and dropping the shield.

-

"Tell me my child, do you wish to forget? To bury all this pain and suffering. All the betrayal and abandonment?" . . . . . . . .

"Yes."

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA AU Ideas: Zookeeper’s Son

Also on AO3!

TL;DR: 

An iconic personality in the animal conservation scene has a popular zoo that people flock to from all over the world. But this isn't about him, it's about his son. And his son's massive crush. (Cheesy ShinDeku Crush) 

steve irwin inspired au, aka if you didnt know hamlet was australian, you do now

Ok but All Might is basically Steve Irwin in this au, Izuku is a huuuuuge animal fan

Allmight is Izuku’s dad and Inko is his wife and izu hung around animals loads when he was young, 1A are the zoo volunteers

is he like, steve irwin with crocodiles? or something like big cats or wolves. Honestly let's just stick with crocodiles

aizawa is the sleepy big cat handler

mic yells with the birds, mostly his job is actually the PA system but he teaches the birds to talk during his lunch hour, And he runs birds of prey shows

Shinsou comes to the zoo a lot cause he likes watching the tigers and their babies. shinsou giving a bottle of milk to a baby tiger because aizawa needed an extra pair of hands and our boy is crying actual tears because its So Cute

Todoroki was never allowed pets or to go outside much because he has to be a respectable rich boi tm, but he's always loved watching all mights ridiculous nature shows

w a  it

this means

,,,

allmight dies. Damn ok I guess this is getting sad now.

Todoroki goes to the zoo for the first time ever and sees a mural to Allmight and just starts crying

so aizawa has been working at the zoo since izuku was born and was honestly his babysitter a lot with mic and tensei because tensei, the onsite vet, had a little brother the same age. and when the news came in? aizawa's heart sank because this little 6-year-old ball of sunshine didn't have a dad anymore

inko is the badass but soft mum but shes not at home, shes actually on a shoot at the time

izuku is running around the zoo and aizawa just scoops him up and gets him icecream because the kid doesn't know yet and he wants izuku to have 5 more minutes before his world collapses. aizawa lets out a single sob because izuku picked the allmight themed icecream thanks

Aizawa helps Inko around the house as much as possible and drives Izu to school when Inko is having a rough day

All mights animals being depressed cause he's gone and blessed 6-year-old Izu sneaking into a fucking lion enclosure because 'dad would want to cheer them up'

there was a lion cub litter born really close to izuku and allmight dotted on these cubs because he was all soft because his wife was pregnant, there are photos of toddler izuku with these lions. izuku burying his face into one of their manes and crying while the lions lay around him

Aizawa has been interning at the zoo since he was 15 and is 22 when allmight dies. its his first year really "working" there because he just finished uni and hes on fulltime

aizawa thought allmight was going to be kinda snobby but allmight said hi to him every day, remembered his name and attended his uni graduation, told him he was proud and told him he'd never seen anyone as good with the cats as he was

aizawa babysat his kid, saw this man almost every day since he was 15

Ok but what if Inko wakes up in the middle of the night hearing All mights voice. She's freaking out, but then finds Izu rewatching old footage of his dad. Crying but also using them to learn how to be as good with the animals as him

animals a d o r e izuku, all of them

like, even the crows at the park will sit on his shoulders and give him little shiny things the wolves like to lick him and crowd him when he walks in, the crocodiles like head scratches

allmight was so proud of his son, because even he couldnt get animals to like him instinctually

1A are all the little highschool interns

Shinsou crushes on the cute zookeeper boy and Izu gets him an internship eventually, he just sees izuku hugging a lion and falls in love instantly

aizawa is his uncle and is complaining about this "kid that doesnt listen to safety protocol" and shinso is like ",, h im"

Aizawa thought that shinsou hated outdoors and animals, but is confused when suddenly Shinsou starts going to the zoo after school everyday

the way this family works

aizawa was a foster kid bc his family wasnt trusted with him but he still had contact, shinso's family was falling apart and aizawa didnt want his cousin to go through the same thing so he takes shinsou in age 10

they say uncle bc aizawa is so much older than shinsou

izuku like, doesn't tell shinso hes allmights kid and izuku wears a facemask and dyes his hair all the time so its fair that shinso doesnt guess

so izuku is on messenger and tells shinso to open his window izuku is sitting on his balcony. hes got a torch in his mouth and a swipecard in the other. he just kinda, grabs shinso and hauls him over the balcony. shinso is in pyjamas and all he has is a phone

izuku grabs his hand and they run down the street and shinso is just??? so lost. aizawa lives su p er close to the zoo and they get to the gate and shinso is like?? why are we here its midnight

and izuku o p e n s th e g a t e

shinso is crying bc he has every reason to think he'll go to jail

(izuku turned off the alarms and warned his mum he was doing this but didnt warn shinso because thats not fun)

so izuku takes shinso to the farmyard, wakes up the horse, which is his horse, a pulls shinso up on it too the horse has little lights on it

so its midnight and shinso is hugging izuku on this horse because its cold and hes in pyjama's and hes cold and its dark and he doesnt wanna fall off this massive horse

so izuku takes him around the zoo at night on this horse and its honestly great? bc loads of the animals are awake and the zoo is empty. izuku whispers that hes not really supposed to do this but hes going to do it anyway and shinso is like??? please dont im too young for jail

but izuku just giggles

izuku lets them into the back deer enclosure and its m a s s i v e

so its 2am by now, all the deer are awake so izuku ties up the horse and leads shinso over to his fave deer

"ok so, dad used to do this to me when i was litte, but i figure youre still light enough”

and izuku just hefts shinso onto this deer. shinso is laughing and clinging to this deer for his life and so izuku gets on another and they run around the paddock

shinso is yelling and cheering as izuku laughs, the other deer are running beside them because deer do that and its honestly the coolest thing that shinso has ever done

4am and the deer have all fallen back asleep and shinso and izuku are on the roof of the vet clinic because the vet-clinic is still heated at night so the roof is warm and they kinda,, fall asleep on the roof. izuku wakes up at 6, but doesnt wake shinso up for 20 minutes because hes smiling even in his sleep

they have to sprint back to shinso's house

izuku helps shinso climb back up his balcony and waves goodbye and shinso just watches him run back to the zoo and hes blushing and messy and cold but hes just so happy

aizawa walks into his room a minute later and asks shinso if he slept outside for some ungodly reason because his lips are blue and there are leaves in his hair

izuku doesnt like people knowing hes allmights kid when hes just out and about or working or honestly doing anything that isnt a show or interview so the only people that know are tenya, bakugo, tensei, mic and aizawa

Every year at the anniversary of all mights death they all bring Izu and Inko to his shrine and thousands of people come from all around to pay their respects and Shinsou finds a crying Izu after and takes him back to the zoo after hours so Izu can be with the animals

shinso still doesnt know izuku is allmights kid and izuku just sobbing and shinso doesnt know what happened

izuku just talks about his dad vaguely, shinso knows aizawa used to babysit izuku too

aizawa makes a tradition of getting icecream for izuku on the date every year, they both get the allmight themed one

bakugo isnt a massive dick in this au but hes still not a soft friend. he will roast you every 24 seconds but the 2 weeks around allmights death? he looks out for izuku, makes extra sure no one works out izuku from school is "allmights son" izuku, makes sure he eats lunch, helps inko make dinner

bakugo threatens to rip off shinso's dick and shove it down his throat and shinsou is like???? WHat dID i DO???

Izu is being bullied for crying in school around the date, Bakugo fIGHTS

bakugo gets suspended for a day and aizawa picks him up bc his parents are busy. bakugo looks angry but also kinda, embarrassed for being caught and for getting that mad. aizawa just parks on the side of the road just out of school and lets out a massive sigh

"you shouldn't have done that-"

"You dont think i fucking know that??"

"shut up and listen kid. you shouldn't have done that. and im not giving you a pat on the head for breaking the rules like that. but you did a good thing. hes got enough on his plate. youre a good friend"

aizawa lets bakugo stay at his place so mitsuki doesn't have to find out bakugo got suspended, izuku takes bakugo to pat the wolves as a "thank you for throwing down for me" present

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (7)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. A bit of fluff. Angst city.

A/N: We’re headed back to 1944! War really sucks and Bucky Barnes is a hopeless romantic. Their last night together in the village turns up something beautiful, but ultimately sad. The angsty stuff kicks off here...  

Tags are open, if you want on the list please send me a DM or ASK, it’s easier for me to track. Otherwise you can find the new updates each weekend!

MASTERLIST ALTNL MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Previously...

Instead, her mind weaves through their love story, pulling forward a memory she’s replayed a thousand times before. The memory of his one other visit to the village, right before their world went pear-shaped. She was hesitant to tell him about that night, about the question he asked, because she knows he’s not the same. They’re not the same and she doesn’t want him to think -

But her heart beats faster.

Twisting a lock of his hair around her finger, she gropes for the right words, his fingers stroking lightly down her arm.

I wanna know it all.

In the middle of the night, watching the stars wink through the window of her bedroom, she takes a deep breath.

*****

Late December, 1944 Somewhere in France

The sky is a deep, leaden grey when she hurries from the back door. Stepping carefully over slick paving stones, she heads to the tiny chicken coop, where one scraggly chicken remains. Every day, she expects she’ll arrive to find the poor thing dead, but against all odds, the hen has persevered.

As she walks, she picks at the fraying threads at her wrist. The moss green coat is looking worse for wear these days. Where the elbows have worn through, she’s patched with mismatched cloth from one of her old dresses. It’s not ideal, but still serviceable.

It doesn’t matter, not really, she tells herself.

After five long years, the war rages on. Ravaging the countryside, turning the world to ash, leaving nothing but death in its wake. Nearly all the men who left the village remain on the front; those who returned, are buried under weathered gravestones in the little cemetery.

Letters are less frequent, but far too often, telegrams arrive. Their messengers clutch their hats in sweaty fists when they hand it over, and that tenuous grip on sanity is ripped from a family's fingers.

But here, through everything and against the odds - she survives.

And every day, she holds her breath, waiting for him to come home.

Sleep, wake, work, sleep. Every day a dogged routine. But even though the world is on fire, sometimes when she’s sliding into that sweet headspace between dreaming and awake, she starts to think about the future.

It’s an indulgence, but she has this daydream. About wearing a pretty dress that twirls when she dances. About painting her lips with bright red lipstick and dabbing a bit of perfume behind her ears. About holding a glass of deliciously fizzy champagne and seeing Bucky in a sharp black suit, the collar of his crisp white shirt open, a bowtie loose around his neck. About him pulling her onto the dance floor while the band begins a slow song, something full of nostalgia, because they made it through, the soldier and his girl. About how in the middle of the dance floor, in front of god and everyone, Bucky picks her up and kisses her breathless, his breath like honeyed whiskey. About that little bead of sweat rolling down his temple and her kissing it away.

It’s a nice daydream.

“Good morning, little lady,” she says under her breath, reaching the busted down chicken coop. Searching beneath the warm feathers, she finds a single egg and pulls it away. Stroking the bird lightly, she receives a sleepy cluck in return. “Thank you,” she murmurs, clutching the warm egg in her palm.

Standing straight, she shivers when an icy breeze cuts through the thin dress and wool stockings. Latching the door shut, she trudges back to her house.

She pulls up short.

A soldier sits on the back step, staring at his boots, his hands folded patiently while he waits.

Bucky’s hair is shaggier than her memories and a thick beard covers his face, but he looks like everything she’s missed.

When the sound of her steps reaches him, he looks up and scrambles quickly to his feet. Standing in silence, he watches her nervously, strangely unsure of his reception, despite months of sweet words and declarations of love. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he swallows hard before he finally speaks.

“Hey darlin’. You look real pretty.”

His voice is raspy, exhausted and broken, and she closes her eyes, because she’s had this dream before. It was soul crushing when she woke up.

She counts to three.

When she opens her eyes, thank god, he’s still there. She places the lone egg in the small basket she carries and sets it carefully on the ground. Bucky watches her, longing clear in his face.

And she runs to him.

Throwing herself in his arms, he catches her and lifts her up, pulling her legs around his waist and wrapping his arms around her. With no preamble, she finds his lips and kisses him with everything she has. It’s sloppy and messy and frantic and Bucky savors it. Responding with a low groan, his mouth moves against hers, desperation in every twist of his lips.

“Oh god, I missed you,” he breathes, when they finally come up for air. “I missed you – Jesus Christ, fuck, I missed you so god damn much. I’m not leaving again, not ever,” he swears.

It’s a lie, they both know it. But like her daydream, it’s so pretty, they let themselves believe it. Just for a little while.

*****

“How long do we have?” she asks, pouring him a cup of weak coffee. It’s the last bit she’s been hoarding, but he looks so tired, so utterly obliterated, this seems like a good time. When she moves to sit in the chair across from him, Bucky makes a noise of dissent and scoots away from the table. Motioning to his lap, he gives her an imploring look and she can’t help but smile. She sits gingerly on his knees and he rolls his eyes and tugs her close. So, she throws an arm across his chest, tucks her face into his neck. Bucky sighs happily, keeping one arm curled around her, the other gripping the hot mug.

“Just a couple days, then we’re back out. Had to do a fair bit of sweet talking to get them to stop here,” he says and presses dry, chapped lips to her temple. “Convinced command back in London this was a strategic stopover before we pick up the chase.”

“What are you chasing?” She wraps the chain of his dog tags tight around her finger. It leaves an impressive ring of round indentions in her skin.

“Been searching for this guy, this sci – scientist.”

He trips over the last word, body tensing at the statement and she tightens in response. She still doesn’t know what happened to him as a POW, but this type of anxiety is all too familiar.

Scientists. Yes. She knows about scientists.

Sometimes he says things like this, about his job, and the confident mask falls. His breath comes fast and shallow for a moment, but then she squeezes him hard and kisses his neck. He remains rigid, but the soothing press of lips seems to help. Clearing his throat, he keeps talking. “Running after him for months now. He keeps slipping away.”

“You’re being careful out there?”

Bucky doesn’t respond. He wipes the rim of the coffee mug with his thumb.

“Course I am,” he finally answers.

There’s a lie.

She wants to argue. Make him promise to put himself first, to be careful and cautious, to steer clear of danger in every way possible, because he’s all that she has. But it would make no difference. War is what he does. A job he never wanted but one he picked up with horrifying ease.

Instead, she simply hugs him and changes the subject. Bit by bit, she coaxes him out of his head. Bit by bit, she brings him back to himself.

Himself. Someone he hasn’t known in a long time.

*****

The next morning finds Bucky and Steve jammed shoulder-to-shoulder into a small room off the nave of the village church. Piles of hand-drawn maps litter the polished surface of the priest’s desk and Steve sifts through the mess, setting aside the most relevant, while Bucky marks notes in the margins with a fat red pencil.

Dismantling Hydra across Europe has been swift and successful, but to keep going, they need more intel. And to get more intel, they need to find Arnim Zola. The game of cat and mouse between them gets trickier every day, as he slips through their traps, infuriating Bucky and sending Steve into fits of anger.

Hours pass as they add details from the local maps, using the roads and paths and markers unaccounted for in the debriefs from London to flesh out their search strategy. This has to work. This has to help.

They hope, anyway.

“You’re sure it’s okay?” Steve asks for the third time, looking up at the priest. Folding the maps, he clears the desk while Bucky tucks the pencil behind his ear.

“Take whatever you need,” the priest confirms. “Anything to help.”

Steve nods gratefully, stuffing the pile inside his jacket.

Leaving the stuffy air of the little office, the two men follow the priest down the familiar church aisle. As they pass the pew, Bucky automatically looks to where he saw her sitting that sunny Sunday. Clear as day, he recalls her pretty dress and her pretty smile and the way she peeked at him during prayers.

God, he loves that image. His dragging steps find a renewed bounce at the thought of heading back to her.

Coming into the dreary afternoon light, all three men pause on the front steps of the small church and Bucky hears the priest utter a nearly inaudible sigh. His white collar sits askew at his neck and he scratches at it absently, looking out over the dead grass in the small cemetery next to the church.

“Have you lost very many?” Bucky asks quietly. The town seems different than the first time they visited, the crushing fatigue of war bearing down harder than ever.

“Yes. We had a few boys come back last week from – from Italy. Had a hard frost a week earlier and couldn’t get them buried, there’s no way to dig through the frozen ground. Been tough on the families, having them wrapped up in the vaults below the church. They’ll have to stay there, until the ground thaws.”

This is not uncommon. This is how things work. Death in the winter is a grim affair.

Lips drawn in a tight line, Steve rubs exhausted blue eyes and looks over to Bucky; he raises an eyebrow in question.

Bucky considers him for a moment. He wants nothing more than to walk back to her home and crawl into the safety of her arms. But in war, and in life, it’s common courtesy to repay those who’ve helped you. He thinks about the maps that will hopefully lead them closer to Zola, closer to ending this madness, closer to coming back to her for good.

He swallows hard and nods.

“We’ll dig the graves for you. Least we can do for the help.”

The priest hesitates with his response. “That’s very kind of you boys, but the ground really is frozen. I don’t think you can dig through.”

Steve gives him a kind smile. “It’s alright. We’ll manage.”

*****

Bucky drives the sharp shovel into the mound of black earth. Leaning heavily on the handle, he swipes a shaking hand over the line of cold sweat on his forehead.

“M’done,” he says hoarsely to Steve. Four freshly dug graves line the edge of the little graveyard, waiting patiently for their occupants to arrive.

It took some doing, but between the two of them, they managed. Once they broke through the frozen layer, the rest was easy. Of course, it helps that Steve is stronger than the normal soldier and that Bucky is – well, that Bucky’s strong as well.

Steve tosses one final heap of dirt and stretches with a low groan.

“Go on,” Bucky urges, tugging the shovel from his hands. He needs Steve to sleep, because he hasn’t in days. “Get some sleep. You know we gotta leave first thing.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. He claps his hands, brushing away the dry feel of dust. “Guess you're staying with your girl tonight?”

“Course,” Bucky says with a tired smile. He toys with the button on his blue jacket. “Got something to ask her.”

Steve squeezes his shoulder affectionately. “Really gonna do it, huh? Nervous?”

Bucky squints up at the pinpricks of starlight peppering the dark sky and gives voice to the doubt in his mind. “Yeah. I don’t know. I’ve been thinking...about all the shit I’ve done, and I’m - fuck, Steve. You’ve seen me out there. I’m not exactly a good person. Not anymore.�� He looks over, weary confusion in his face. “Am I selfish? Wantin’ her this way? Doesn’t she deserve better?”

Steve just looks at him. That same penetrating gaze he’s had since the day he found Bucky back in Azzano. Bucky still hasn’t told him everything and Steve keeps waiting, but he knows it’s in vain. Bucky Barnes is a master at stomping down his feelings.

So, Steve gets philosophical instead.

“You know, it seems like the world wants to romanticize this. The war. They write songs and poetry and tell all these grand stories, but we all know it’s fuckin’ bullshit. There’s nothing romantic here. I smell like actual shit and all Dugan’s toenails fell off last week and you got someone’s fuckin’ brains on your coat the other day.” He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “None of us are getting out of this war without changing. That includes her. Don’t go using that as an excuse. You love her and she loves you, and this world’s so god damn fucked up, but you have that. Don’t forget it.”

Bucky tips his head back up, gazing at the stars. He thinks for a moment, then looks back at Steve and gives him a serious nod.

“Every now and then you’re not a total asshole. Smell like one maybe, but - ”

He ducks when Steve tries to cuff him.

“God you’re a jerk,” Steve states fervently.

“Damn straight,” Bucky says. “Now go on. It’s your dumb ass wanting to leave at dawn.”

Giving him a mocking salute, Steve trudges back toward the make-shift camp the team set up on the edge of town. Bucky watches him walk, until the outline of Captain Steve Rogers is swallowed up in the encroaching night.

All he wants is to head back to her, but he needs a minute. Needs to clear out the dark thoughts vying for space in his head, because he sure as hell doesn’t want to bring those within a mile of her.

Setting the shovels against the bullet riddled wall of the church, he drops to the frozen dirt and leans back. Digging inside his jacket, he fishes out the last smoke from the battered pack he keeps hidden inside. Holding it between his teeth, he pats his pockets, feeling for his lucky lighter.

“God fuckin’ dammit,” he swears softly, realizing the damn thing is still in his pack. Frustrated, he bangs his head against the wall and shuts his eyes.

Someone drops beside him. Bucky hears the metal rasp and a flame appears. Looking over, he finds the tired face of the priest giving him a wry smile. He leans over, tips the cigarette into the fire and inhales.

“Thanks Padre,” he grunts in greeting.

“Sure thing,” the priest says, snapping it shut. He leans against the stone next to Bucky and gets comfortable. “You know, the last time you were here, you were pretty intent on interrupting my service.”

“Ah yeah. Sorry about that,” Bucky says with a weak smile. He takes another slow drag. “Was awful interested in someone else that day.”

“Yes, that much was clear,” the priest says with a chuckle. Stretching out his long legs, he crosses the ankles, fiddling with his lighter. “So. How is it out there?”

What a loaded question.

How is it out there?

Hell. Black, bloody, brutal. The very worst parts of his nightmares magnified by a thousand. Humans are terrible and people are suffering in ways he never imagined, because war is fucking hell on earth. He wants to pack up his shit, break his rifle across his knee, get his girl and go home.

How is it out there?

It’s motherfucking awful out there.

“It’s - fine,” Bucky says instead. He examines the bright red cherry on the tip of his smoke. Takes another long drag, blows the thin stream into the icy air. “Just gettin’ tired. Trying to find a reason to keep fighting, I guess. I know it’s the right thing to do. These rumors you’re hearing. Camps and babies and…experiments. All of it’s true. Every fuckin’ word,” he grimaces at the effortless swear and looks apologetically at the priest. “Sorry.”

The priest just shrugs. “S’okay Sergeant. I’ve heard worse. Said worse, in fact.”

Bucky gives a humorless laugh. “Sure, sure.” He tugs at a loose string on his jacket and thinks. “Guess I’m having trouble finding something to follow, you know?”

“What do you believe in?”

Staring off into space, Bucky wonders. What does he believe in? A long time ago, he thought he knew. Life, liberty. Freedom. Fighting the good fight. But now? His morals are shot to shit and he has no idea which way is up. He’s drifting along, half human while he chips away at his humanity a little more with each bullet from his gun. Each slice of his knife. What the hell does he believe in?

He can think of nothing, until he can. Until the one word that makes it all right rises to his lips.

“Love,” Bucky answers honestly. He cocks his head to the side and considers to the priest. “I believe in love. Making the world better for other people. For my family. For Steve.” His eyes drift the familiar path toward her house and he smiles without realizing. “For her.”

“Then that’s what you follow.”

“You’re telling me to follow my heart? Little corny, ain’t it?”

The priest smiles faintly. “Maybe,” he agrees. “Up to you to find out.”

Renewed, Bucky drops the cigarette and grinds it with the heel of his boot. He climbs to his feet and offers a silent hand to the priest, hauling him off the ground.

“Thanks, Padre.”

“Good luck Sergeant.”

*****

Lugging the boiling water into the bathroom, she splashes it into the old porcelain tub. It’s taken close to an hour now, of heating water over the fireplace and transferring it to the bath.

She’s in the bathroom, adding the final bucket, when the backdoor opens. There’s a rustling and she hears Bucky shrugging out of the blue coat, taking off his boots and lining them up in a military straight line. When he pads into the kitchen calling her name, the bucket slips and she hisses a frustrated curse.

“Wha – are you okay?”

She comes out of the bathroom off the kitchen and huffs out a breath. Sweat drips down her face and her arms are shaking from the effort, but she gives him a broad smile.

“You interested in a hot bath, Sergeant?”

Eyes going wide, Bucky hesitates for the briefest moment, before he’s suddenly slipping over the cold stone floor of her kitchen, stripping as he goes. His shirt goes flying, he hops on one foot to remove each sock, his fingers scrabble furiously at his worn leather belt. By the time he reaches the tub, he’s down to his drab, olive colored military issue boxers and an ecstatic smile.

“I hope you’re serious, or this is gonna be real awkward,” he jokes and she laughs. Motioning to the water, she turns around and gives him privacy, busying herself while he removes the boxers. It seems silly, considering what they’ve shared, but she doesn’t want to presume.

There’s a splash and then Bucky is stuttering out a long, satisfied moan. The sound makes her stomach somersault.

“Can I look?” she teases, her throat suddenly and intensely dry. He chuckles.

“Please do. Ain’t much fun otherwise.”

She turns to see him slouched in the water, and then Bucky takes a deep breath and ducks under, immersing himself completely. Under the film of water, eyes closed and dark hair floating around him, he looks like an angel. He holds his breath for so long, she starts to worry, until he breaks the surface with a gasping laugh. Water cascades in rivers of bright sparkles down his face and spiky clumps of black eyelashes frame his blue eyes.

“Like trying to bathe a child,” she says, a mock stern note in her voice and Bucky gives her a crooked grin.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll be good, cross my heart.”

Poking him in the ribs, he shies away and laughs again and my god, she missed that sound. It sings through her blood, a drug she never realized she craved.

Wetting her hands in the hot water, she lathers up a small chunk of soap. Bucky hunches forward and she lathers his hair, scratching her nails deep to rub away the sweat and dirt caked at his hairline, relishing his soft little moans. Scooping up the hot water, she douses his head over and over, rinsing soap from the dark tangle of hair, until the water runs clear. Pressing against his chest, she pushes him back against the tub and he goes easily, but when she tries to move her hand away, he catches it. She feels the rough bristles of hair beneath her palm and she meets his eyes.

“Will you get in here with me?”

Those blue eyes pleading with her, the hitch in his voice, it stirs a fierce protectiveness in her. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t refuse. Nodding cautiously, she steps behind him and he leans back in the bath, closing his eyes with a sigh.

She sheds her clothes quickly and observes him for another moment. He looks thinner, the lean muscle trending toward a gauntness she doesn’t like to see. Dark circles are smeared below his eyes, the kind no amount of scrubbing will wash away, and there are new scars littering his body. Thick lines of raised tissue speaking of blades and bullets, and she feels a wave of ice sweep through her at the thought of him courting death on so many occasions. His plush lips, before so quick to quirk up into an easy smile, are curved down.

He looks ravaged, by this war.

In that moment, she decides – if they make it through this thing, if Fate gives them a chance to be together, to make a life together, then she will fix this for him. It doesn’t matter that she gave it up, that she vowed to never do it again. Seeing him like this, she can’t stand it. She can help him and she will.

So many thoughts flood her brain in the blink of an eye, but then she’s stepping into the hot water and sinking down between his spread legs. Leaning against him, she pulls his arms to wrap around her and Bucky sighs blissfully. Bracketing her with his legs, he holds onto her so tightly she can barely breath, but she welcomes the pressure.

It’s nice to be needed.

Water sloshes over the edge while he resettles. Steam rises in spirals around them, blanketing her skin with an instant layer of dampness. It should be a little cool, but it is the exact opposite; everything feels scorching hot. The water, the thick porcelain tub, Bucky’s hard body, Bucky’s lips at her shoulder, Bucky’s tongue licking up her neck. Everything is full of heat, Bucky is fire and she’s melting.

“You taste like heaven,” he whispers, sucking gently at the skin along her shoulder. “Better’n anything I’ve ever had.”

Nothing goes any further. Bucky holds her tight, his hands skimming reverently up and down her arms, his fingers occasionally brushing across her breasts. His touch leaves a deep-seated ache, one she grows increasingly desperate to slack. But he seems content with this, with simply holding her.

An hour passes and the water grows cool. When she lifts her toes from the water, she laughs quietly.

“I’m very wrinkly.”

Huffing a laugh into her ear, Bucky rises from the tub, dripping across the floor to search for towels. Finding two, he gives himself a quick rub down and then slips back into his boxers. They cling to his still-damp skin and she drinks her fill of him, before raising her eyes to his face.

The laughter fades at his expression, at the lust tightening his mouth; she rises quickly from the water.

“No, wait,” he urges when she goes to step out. “Lemme help.”

Helping her from the tub, he takes a towel and carefully pats every inch of her body dry. She wonders if she should feel self-conscious at his eyes roaming over her, but there’s such clear worship in his face, her nudity is nothing. Instead, she feels a warmth in her belly that grows, spidering into the tips of her fingers as she reaches for him.

Catching his face between her hands, she lifts it to hers, gently pressing her thumb into the cleft of his chin. “You’re really beautiful, you know that?”

There it is. The slow smile she’s been waiting for. It’s almost like watching the sun rise, the way it arrives, nothing and then everything. He rubs the tip of his nose against hers and hums appreciatively.

“No one’s ever called me that before. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I assume, that was your way of talkin’ me into bed?” he whispers and her heart skips at the playful glint in his eyes.

“Did it work?” she whispers back and Bucky tips his head back and laughs. It bounces around the small bathroom and fills her up, happiness spreading like molten lava through her veins.

“It definitely worked,” he confirms. Wrapping the towel snugly around her, he sweeps her off her feet. Carrying her through the dark house and up the stairs, they sink together into the softness of her bed.

*****

Neither one wants to sleep. If they sleep, the night will pass and when the darkness leaves, so will he.

Instead, they lay tangled together on her bed. Even now, she still feels the aftershocks of pleasure shivering through her body, settling into her bones. Face to face, they lay sharing a pillow, silently watching each other in the dying light of the fire. She twines her fingers with his, brings them to her mouth and rubs her lips over the long, thin white scar on his right hand.

It was what brought them together, after all.

“I wish we could stay here like this,” she murmurs, her wistful voice melting into the black silk of the room. “I wish the world would come back to its senses.”

Bucky hooks his leg around hers and brings her even closer. The comforting curve of his warm body feels like a protective shield against the world beyond her windows.

“It can’t last forever,” he says and he strokes his fingers down her bare arm. There’s an edge of bitterness riding his tongue when he speaks again. “It’s gotta end someday. They’ll run out of soldiers eventually.”

All she’s every wanted in this wretched world, was to find someone like him. Someone full of passion and life, someone who could make her feel again, make her want to live again. Here in this little village, she’s found exactly what she needs, but their life is so fragile. She’s terrified it will fall apart.

Sensing the swirl in her head, Bucky rests his thumb in the hollow dip at the base of her throat, rubbing small, soothing circles.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

“Of course you can.” He doesn’t respond right away. There’s a longing in his face, one she recognizes - it’s a perfect reflection of her own heart. She waits expectantly, but nothing happens. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. A deep red flush is working up his neck, spreading over the apples of his cheeks. He looks nervous. “I love you,” he finally says.

“I love you too.”

“Okay, good. Okay. I want to – would you do something for me?”

“Bucky, I’d do anything for you,” she says encouragingly.

He nods at her words, absorbing them. She would do anything for him. He takes a deep breath.

“Would you marry me?”

Since the moment she knew she loved him, she’s dreamt of these words. Of Bucky asking her to stay with him forever. To wake up with him every morning and fall asleep wrapped in his arms. To fight and love and live and grow old together.

She wants to reply, but shocked hope steals her breath and the words won’t come.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers quickly, his eyes flicking rapidly between hers, sudden shyness in his voice. “I know we haven’t known each other long, it’s all mostly letters really, and I don’t know, maybe it’s too soon and we still have so much to learn about each other, but – you’re it for me. I really believe that. It’s just - every day I walk out there and I swear to god, death’s riding my ass so fuckin’ hard, and I don’t know if I’m gonna make it home again and I just – didn’t want to lose the chance.”

His words bleed together, punched fast and frantic from his lungs, like he needs to release them or he’ll choke. When he tries to keep speaking, she puts her fingers against his lips, shushing him.

“Bucky. You had my heart from the moment we met. You’re it for me,” she echoes and Bucky’s face lights up at her words. “I’ll be here waiting, as long as it takes. Come back when you can and I’ll marry you.”

Burrowing into his chest, she clings to him. Tears slip fat and hot down her cheek and when he feels the steady stream wetting his skin, he rolls her onto her back and hovers above her, leaning down to kiss each one away, one by one until every drop is gone and the taste of salt burns his tongue.

Salt and sadness. Is there a more defining feature of war than these two things?

The dog tags around his neck clink softly when he shifts, sitting up on his knees. The words come effortlessly, the ones every soldier presents his love, knowing full well it could be no more than another pretty lie. He takes her hand and holds it against his heart. Beneath his hot skin, she feels the steady thump against her palm. His low voice rings with promise when he speaks.

“I swear to god, on everything I have, I will come back for you.” He squeezes her hand, his eyes burning. “What we have – I’m always gonna fight for it. Down to my dying breath. You and me, this kind of love, it lasts forever, okay? It’ll never leave. I’ll never leave. Not ever.”

Out of nowhere, the nameless fear that sits dormant in her chest perks to life at his words. Terror seeps into the marrow of her bones, at the haunting phrase from her past.

But this is different, she thinks. It’s different, and she holds tight to his vow, desperate to believe that history won’t repeat, and she won’t be left alone again.

“It never leaves,” she echoes. Like opposing commas, they curl together, drawing comfort from the other.

*****

Just like before, Bucky rises before dawn. He dresses quickly, buttoning and buckling the uniform in the dark, a repetitious memory his hands have been trained to complete.

Just like before, he stokes the smoldering fire. Adds more kindling to send it blazing, filling the room with heat.

Just like before, he kneels beside the bed and lays his head next to her.

“Good morning,” she whispers. Cool fingers smooth his hair back and he leans into her touch.

“Good morning,” he breathes. She moves to get up, but Bucky gently holds her down. “No, don’t get up. It’s too cold.”

She shakes her head no and tries to rise again, but his arm is like iron, a silent rebuke.

“Bucky, let me go downstairs. See if I can find you any coffee, I might…” her voice fades at the sadness in his eyes.

“Darlin, I’d really – I’d rather you don’t watch me leave. I’m not sure I can go, if I know you’re watching.” He brushes his lips along her cheek and hums. “This here, you all soft and warm,” he kisses her other cheek, his lips lingering, a smile in his voice, “completely naked,” another kiss on her nose, his mouth a breath from hers. “This is what I want to remember.”

In the firelight, his eyes are so breathtakingly blue. It’s her favorite color, she sees it everywhere.

He could convince her to do anything with those eyes.

“If that’s what you want,” she murmurs reluctantly.

“You’re what I want. You’re what I’m always gonna want,” he whispers. His mouth slants over hers, the dry, cracked skin of his fingertips cradling her face and she leans into the rough touch.

“Good. Because I’m always going to be yours,” she answers and Bucky swims happily in her reply.

Unwilling as ever, he rises slowly to his feet.

“When I come back, I’m bringing you a ring.” A sweet, crooked smile pulls up his lips.

She plucks up the shiny medal he gave her from the chain around his neck, the outline of St. Michael clear on the spinning chain. “This is enough. I don’t need anything else, just bring me you.”

He watches her for a moment more, and then he’s stumbling back for one last heated embrace. Crushing her into the blankets, Bucky pours every last drop of love into the kiss, trying desperately to brand himself into the meat of her heart, so she never, ever forgets him.

It works, she thinks hazily, his mouth feverish against hers. Where he ends and where she begins, it’s impossible to define.

He ends the kiss abruptly and tears himself away.

And just like before, at the grey break of dawn, Bucky Barnes slips from the warmth of home and disappears back into the cold march of war.

*****

Two months later, a telegram arrives from Captain Steve Rogers.

The innocent piece of paper sits on her kitchen table, resting against the chipped white jug that was once full of the bright holly berries Bucky brought her. Hours tick by as she sits in silence, waiting. Night has fallen, before numb fingers find the courage to open it.

I lost him. A mission in the Alps. I’m not stopping until all of Hydra is dead. I’ll come find you when this is over. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.

G.

Steve Rogers never comes. She hears the news later, that his plane went down. No survivors.

*****

The poets say when your heart breaks, the world will grind to a halt.

The poets are wrong, she thinks.

When your heart breaks, the world will in fact keep moving. The stars will still shine, the sun will still rise. You will go on living, despite having nothing to live for. The world doesn’t stop for trivial things like grief. It lumbers on, drags you forward kicking and screaming, forcing you to keep breathing, until you’re nothing more than a ghost of who you were.

*****

Next Chapter

*****

[trenchcoatkitten]

So I’ve been reading Temperature of the Heart, and you’ve mentioned how you have the whole thing written already. Can you describe what that’s like? What’s your writing process? How long does it take for you to write everything start to finish? Do you plan it all out or just kind of wing it? How long do you sit in an idea before you start?? Sorry about all the questions, I’m just so curious >_

bro!!! are you sure i will scream about writing for days omg

first of all THANK YOU its so freaking cool that you came to ask your questions and that you like my writing, im still sort of getting used to my writing not just being garbage that i read in the dark at 2am and never share with anybody, and i am always excited to answer questions waaaah 

(THIS IS GOING TO BE LONG I APOLOGIZE IM PUTTING A READING BREAK IN CAUSE I WENT OFF BRO, IM THE WOOOOORST) 

my process is pretty weird, it’s kind of all over the place? I’m kind of a halfway planner halfway pantser. I have an idea and usually make some disjointed notes about character and the main idea, in my phone or maybe on a google doc, and then a pinterest board maybe? Something to get excited about, a visualization. I ALWAYS tell myself im going to make an outline first and then i ALWAYS just jump right into writing because I’m too excited/impatient to wait. give me words on a page. give me dialogue. 

Usually when I’m a little bit into the project, when i know that I’m not going to abandon it to the depths off where my WIPs go to die (rip like literally over 300 individual and unique works, this is NOT an exaggeration, you should see my document bank its gross) Ill say “ok fuck you sami its time to actually know where you’re going” and I’ll sit down and make the grossest outline you have EVER seen. like im talking, my outlines are littered with memes, me yelling at myself, actual stuff thats going to end up in the final project, and just general random garbage? its so gross. Ive literally only showed one of my outlines to one person ever (hi akira!) bc im super self conscious of them and hate the way that i write them. making an outline usually sucks up an entire day of writing. they’re pages and pages because some parts will be INCREDIBLY specific and other parts will be so vague you dont even know

From there, when im done with my garbage outline, (after going back through what I’ve written and fixing the shit that was just me going off like a psycho) I usually start writing in earnest. I’ll highlight the parts of the outline that I’ve done and I’ll go back and check it often to make sure im following through on my plans and the character arcs and such, making sure that everything ties in and such. This section is me like. every day getting home from work or whatever and sitting down at the computer and not moving until 2am, this is the section where i forget to eat and I dont sleep enough and i forget to drink water or take my vitamins and I do word sprints with myself and have days where I write 10 thousand words in one sitting. (very not healthy and also terrible i do NOT recommend) this is the section where I’ll handwrite anything i can in the back of classes and at rehearsals because im pouring out words.

during this section I go back and edit ENDLESSLY. i cannot write something and just let it be. I go back to the section I wrote the night before, I go back to the section I just wrote, i go back to the very beginning. I generally dont have to do 1st 2nd 3rd draft this way, but it is much more time consuming as Im just writing. i dont know if i reccommend this its a MESS

THeN once i finish writing the whole thing, i sit down and reread/edit the whole thing once through. this makes sure i have good flow, the paragraphs go together well, the prose feels right to me, timelines make sense. during this time i make ENDLESS paper notes with calendars, section notes, additions, drabbles, thoughts about my own shit. i have notebooks full of just garbage. im not kidding. full notebooks. 

Once I finish that read/edit through I’m usually happy. only once something is completely finished will I consider posting. I go back too much, I add shit, I can’t let go of shit, not until it’s done. While I’m posting - I go through the chapter I’m going to post with a fine tooth comb, try to catch any tiny little mistake, add words here and there, but never change anything large if I can help it. Then i format it on Ao3 (this is literal hell, fuck the HTML editor it wants me to die) and then post it. Deciding to post a chapter to actually hitting ‘post’ usually takes me 1-4 hours, depending on the length, the difficulty of formatting, and how many goddamn links i wanna put in the chapter notes cause im the worst~ (insert jean ralphio voice) 

~~~

LISTEN im probably super extra but I’ve been writing since I was in sixth grade (thats twelve years! time is an enigma and i hate it!) and so I have a bit of practice, i have a bit of experience and while I’m not the best me that I can be, I KNOW myself, and this is just what works best for me. 

As for timing - it depends on the length of the project and how motivated I am. It took me about a month to write Royal (~50k), just a little over a month to write All Might’s All Night Shop Stop (~75k), and just about two months to write Temperature of the Heart (~115k). I try to post every few days, because as a person I hate waiting and I don’t want to do that to my readers! 

~~~

As for the ‘how long do i sit on an idea before writing it’ it really depends. Some things I will receive inspiration or a sliver of an idea and start writing it in the next ten minutes, even if I have to stop working on something I’m already working on, because that was Brain Has Decided. Sometimes I will consider an idea for like. months before actually doing it. I’ve had the idea for FBoW (the newest thing im working on oops? have i told anybody about this NO cause that will make it REAL) since before I started Royal, which was like. Last november. But I just couldnt quite do it for some reason, and it wasn’t pressing. My brain is super broken, and a lot of times I get sick over ideas. I can’t sleep or eat until I’ve written, and I will repeat phrases to myself until i can get them out of my head by writing them down. (Sometimes this is something nice or poetic - “The golden hour lights up the whole world, wiggling its fingers into every nook and cranny, lighting up two people lounging on a bench-swing, someone leaned onto porch stairs with a mug of tea, the space between those walking down a dirt road, a couple of dogs laid out on the deck.” and other times its literally “Ranch Fiddlesticks.” I’m not kidding. i have a note in my phone that says ranch fiddlesticks because I was actually going to Die if i didnt write it down.)

I do wish my brain didn’t do this - but I guess it makes some fun art, doesn’t it? 

WOW OKAY THIS WAS SO LONG im so sorry jesus christ. SOrry i will ALWAYS go off about my process and what it’s like to write. Writing is so so important to me, I LOVE it with every tiny atom of my weak, alcohol-infused, overworked heart. Despite how scary it is sometimes I am very glad to be sharing my work with the world, seeing peoples’ reactions and hearing things about my words, hearing how this little picture in my mind has gone into yours. 

okay jfc im done now im so sorry. thank you again and again and again, a thousand times over, for reading my work and enjoying the worlds that i enjoy building. It makes me feel like I’m worth it. It makes me feel like I’m doing something good. 

ily :’)

[frekydeki]

Cupid Can’t Fall in Love

Part 1

Summary: (AU) Eternal and true love is a business transaction for you. Soulmates are simply two file folders tied together with a golden bow. But when eight folders come across your desk, your job gets a little bit stickier with each passing day. Being a Cupid isn’t so easy as it sounds...

Pairing: (Jihyun x Reader) 

| Part 1 | Part 2: Upcoming 

It’d be beautiful. The golden grass, the falling sun, the gentle and warm wind, the serene silence… It would all be so beautiful if he wasn’t staring into your eyes so tearfully. You trace your eyes over his blue hair and follow the line of his jaw, then his neck, over his collar bone and to his heart. Your e/c eyes widen to the size of the moon; a glowing arrow burns frantically in his chest. You harshly draw in a breath and smack your hand over your own arrow, hammering in your heart.

         You can’t process the tear trailing down your cheek as you turn your eyes away and up to the scattered clouds in the sky. Why? How did this happen? It’s got to be a mistake…

         It’d all be so beautiful… If only you could fall in love.

         How… Did it come to this?

Working for Aphrodite isn’t the most exciting employment option. When you were first born, you took a little bit more to your father’s side, preferring to kick ass here and there. But after a run-in with a seething Achille’s, – you told Zeus to just kill the guy but he insisted you talk it out – you got your butt kicked so bad that even Ares himself worried over you. Your mom said your warrior days were over that day. Nobody defies the word of Aphrodite, after all, and that’s why you’re holed up in this stupid office. Battle armor feels much more natural than the pencil skirt and blouse you’re wearing, but this is what you have now; platform heels, scrunchies, paper cuts, and the sound of typing like chinese water torture to your ears. Lucky you, though! You’ve put in your two millennia to get a personal office, away from all the typing and scratching on parchment; its maybe one of your greatest achievements in the past two thousand years since Aphrodite and Ares put you on the bench.

         This tiny little office is your hell a little bit away from hell, you like to say. You still have mental break downs and panic attack under your desk, and you’ve forgotten what wood your desk is made out of; but at least you get some damn silence. Except for the obnoxious banging on your door that’s happening right now. Is it eight already? The dread of a thousand punished souls in the underworld escapes from your lips in a groan; you barely even filed the cases you finished yesterday. Nevertheless, you roll in your rock hard chair – Hera was kind enough to make you a small cushion, even if it looks like a grandma’s afgan turned cushion, you and your butt love it – to swing your door open at a dangerous speed.

         The young blonde before you smiles and points towards the soft close door.

         “Isn’t it great Ares installed those personally for you?” Her raspy voice sputters to you quickly. Her scrawny finger then points to the coffee mug in your hand, “Hey, is that coffee.”

         “Yeah, what el-“ Your hand becomes lighter as she snatches it from you and takes a long swig.

         “I haven’t slept in like three days,” She babbles to you as she puts the coffee back into your hand and turns to the cart littered with folders, “Finals are next week and I haven’t studied all semester.” You’ve grown used to the incessant mumbling that Angelia lets loose every morning while handing in your cases… She’s like this every week, even without finals. “Becoming a god sure isn’t easy work!” She loudly laughs before continuing on about offerings and the rules of appearing to humans.

         “You know, Angelia, if you didn’t spend all of your time programming social media sites for humans, you’d be able to get your work done.”

         “How else is a messenger god supposed to stay relevant? Dad already does all the messaging between gods, so there’s no work for a dumb college god like me.”

         “You’re in college… That’s your job right now.” Your lidded eyes meet hers as she blows a loose strand of curly hair from her face and drops two folders onto your lap.

         “Yeah but I’ll disappear if I loose followers.”

         “No. You won’t. You’re a god born of two gods, not a god born of need. There’s a clear difference. We survive whether or not humans worship us individually. Plus there’s other jobs for gods to do other than meddling and fucking around.”

         “Yeah but I wanna be a messenger god!” She whines as she drops four more folders onto your lap. “Only eight new assignments today. Lucky you.”

         “L… Lucky me?” You screech at her. “I already have two hundred and eighty- eight active cases!” She surrenders her hands and pursues her lips at you.

         “I don’t decide who gets what cases.”

         “Yeah but you could also maybe throw in a word to Aphrodite and be like, ‘Yeah, boss, don’t you think MC already has enough assignments right now?’ You know, maybe stick your neck out for a friend once in a while?” Angelia continues to stack cases on your lap, unphased by the explosive temper you let loose every morning, and you keep on crying up to her, “Are you listening to me Angelia? I’m drowning in stress right now! If I were a nymph I would’ve shriveled up and died three hundred years ago.” With your pouting expression and whiney voice, you can be compared to a kid whose mom put her favorite cereal back on the shelf.

         “But you’re not a nymph. Yay! You won’t shrivel up and die.”

         “But if I were a nymph I would have. Doesn’t that concern you? I could die!”

         “Gods don’t die.”

         “Yes we do!” You snap up to her grinning face, “And the leading cause is stress!” The over caffeinated girl isn’t moved by your whining, so you switch to a bargaining strategy quickly.

          “Okay, hear me out,” You begin with a lowered voice, “Maybe if you just slip these onto someone else’s desk, and then pretend that you didn’t notice when Aphrodite asks you “What the hell?” By then that Cupid would have already started the assignment so there’d be no point in bothering me to do it.” Angelia drops the last heavy file folder on your lap and shakes her head. You blink as the weight of your coffee is lifted from your hand again.

         “No can do, my friend.” She begins as she sips loudly from your coffee mug, before her face scrunches, “Too much creamer.” Angelia puts the mug back in your hand, all the while you watch her with eyes the size of the moon; is she serious right now? Of course you know there’s too much creamer in there; you just had a late morning so for all you care she can take her scrutiny and shove it. “Anyways, Aphrodite and Eros both said - very strictly, I might add - that these files are meant for your hands only. Anyways, I’m only part time, here. That all is way above my pay grade.”

         “Angelia,” You suck in a heavy breath through your nose to try and curb your frustrations with the shrugging girl before you say, “You suck.” At that, she laughs heartily. She giggles her good-bye to you over the sound of her clicking heels as she moves to give the next guy his shackles for the day. “Hey!” She turns over her shoulder to acknowledge your head poking out of your office, “You tell Aphrodite that if I get any more cases this week I’m going to go ahead and fall in love, ya hear?”

“Yeah, right. Someone like you, fall in love?” She snorts, “Not even Eros would take that assignment.” You lift your lip, eyebrows pinching together, and shout back to her:

“Go bother someone else… I’m gonna be here all night because of you.” She waves and smiles pleasantly, which you return half-heartedly. The door shuts gently, and you groan back over to your desk.

         Eight files don’t sound like much to the human ear, but these files hold every single aspect of the subject’s life, so it looks like the holy bible. It’s not that you mind the read all that much – it’s like a nice little short story – but it’s the paperwork and scheming that you hate with every fiber of your explosive being. You look to the mirror hanging on your wall after glancing through one of the files – these were all a little bit bigger than the normal case – and decide to put your work order in for their vial’s early; it’s going to take a while to gather their life essence. You grab a drachma and turn it about in your hand as you scribble the eight names onto separate blue ribbons.

         “Ánoixe.” You cough, watching the solid mirrors surface begin rippling like water after a stone is thrown into it. “Eudorus.” The rippling increases before orange begins to reflect in the mirror; it slowly stops to reveal the freckled and smiling face of your good buddy. “How are you this fine morning?”

         “Don’t play coy with me, MC. I know you’re only here to give me more work.” Your lips snap shut before you laugh lightly.

         “I’m sorry. I usually wouldn’t bother you about it until tomorrow but… I just got eight new assignments and they’re really big files. I thought I’d give you a head start on getting their essence for me.”

         “Eight!” He cries at you, his freckled cheeks becoming red and eyes watering. “You’re already drowning in work already!” He purses his lips and puffs his cheeks as he mumbles under his breath, “Mom really has to stop giving you so much work. You’ll keel over soon because of lack of sleep.”

         “Can you do this for me? I’ll buy you dinner tonight?” He smiles at you.

         “I’d do it even if you didn’t offer food, but since you did you can’t take it back now. Give me the ribbons and I’ll give ‘em to you at dinner.” You push your hand through the mirror, flinching as the humid air of his workplace gathers to your hand.

         “How do you even breathe in there Eudorus? It’s so humid.”

         “You get used to it after a little.” He stops as he eyes you, his lips parted and brows slack in what you can only dreadfully identify as one thing; concern. “Are you getting enough sleep, MC?”

         “With all these cases on my desk, I can’t afford sleep.”

         “We might be gods and all, but we need our sleep just like the humans.” You grin as you roll your eyes playfully.

         “You’re starting to sound like Apollo.”

         “If he sees you like this MC he’s going to tear you a new one about taking care of yourself, and you know he’s going to crack down on your eating habits! You’re worse than Hades sometimes…”

         “I know, I know… I’ll just avoid him at all costs.” Your half-brother grins at you before he waves the ribbons held lightly in his smooth hands.

         “I better get to work on theses. And you better to, if you want to cut down on those piles on your desk.”

         “You’re right. Have a good one, Eudorus.”

         “Yeah, you too.” You watch as your red-headed brother disappears, and the mirror hardens again. Staring at your reflection, you realize you really do look like you’re on your deathbed. Your skin is a shade or two lighter from its usual hue, hair messily tossed into a bun, your bags much more prominent, and lips pulled down in a frown much more than usual. You look away quickly, recalling Angelia’s words from earlier…

         “Yeah, right! Someone like you, fall in love?” You stare critically at the stack of finished reports you need to put in their rightful files; you will never have one of these for yourself… It’s strictly off limits for you as a Cupid. If you fall in love, you lose your job. Sometimes it makes you mad, other times sad, and some rare times, you’re glad.

         Filing cases is the easy part of your job; all the hard work’s done, now all that’s left is topping off the paired folders with golden ribbons and filing them into your large bookshelf for review and approval by Eros. Eros, that sleaze. It’s been at least a millennium since you went through the trouble of pairing him with Psyche and he still has the nerve to waltz into your office and flirt with you shamelessly. Plus, he gets to keep his job despite being head over heels for his wife; who cares if he’s a primordial? He should be held to the same standards as everyone else!

         That’s not what matters at the moment though, you guess. Getting these cases off of your desk is the priority! You managed to close thirty cases last night, so you just need to focus on getting them all patched up nicely. You glance to the new files on your desk; once this is done you can stick your nose into the new assignments. 

         “Is this a joke, mom?” Saying you sounded as loud as Zeus when he and Hades butted heads would almost do a disservice to your anger. You are livid, fuming, downright insane with rage. Her beautiful violet eyes snap up to your own as she gracefully pushes her blonde hair from her face and folds her hands in front of her.

         “Is what a joke, MC?” Most of the time, her voice would’ve calmed you down to the point of rational thought, but not today. You’re ready to body slam her into Tartarus. You wave the files frantically in front of you and drop them onto her desk, eyes on fire and steam running out of your ears. You’re an Ares level threat right now.

         “What the hell are these assignments?” You screech. Opening the top folder you drop the picture of the blonde on her neat, tidy desk. “Yoosung Kim, 21, college student. He’s fucked up right now, mom. He recently lost his cousin, who, might I add, is also one of these files. How the fuck am I supposed to make a dead woman fall in love? And how the hell am I supposed to make someone like Yoosung fall in love while he is like this?” She opens her mouth to respond but you slap another picture in front of her. “Jumin Han, 26, an executive who doesn’t know the half of relationships and trusting another person. I can’t work with this yet! And don’t you even get me started on Saeran and Saeyong, have you even looked through these files? And Jihyun? What the fuck is going on with this guy?” You feel a large hand plop down on your shoulder. A growl nearly comes from you as you look up to your father, his yellow eyes telling you to try and calm down. “Well when the hell did you get here?”

         “I was here the whole time MC. You just marched in, ready for the kill.”

         “Well if she wouldn’t hand me such bullshit cases on top of all my other cases I wouldn’t feel like murdering everyone on this damn mountain!” Ares chuckles as he shakes his head in amusement.

         “You sure are my daughter, but you’re almost worse than me. What have I always told you, little soldier?” Your mouth draws into a thin line, before you mumble your response so lowly that no one could understand you. “No matter how hard it gets, it is your duty, and so you shall finish it.”

         “It could also be Eros’ duty. Or Agata! She only has like, ten assignments right now.”

         “Yes, my dear. But Agata is also very new to working as a Cupid.”

         “She’s been in the department for two hundred years!”

         “These cases require experience and power greater than that of a two hundred-year-old nymph.” You draw your lips into a thin line and eye your mother critically. What the hell does she expect you to do with this? You’re originally a war goddess. You were meant to fight, not shoot people with metaphorical arrows and make sure they fall head over heels with each other!

         “This is the life you have now, MC.” Ares begins, for like, the millionth time this month. You grind your teeth and step away from him. You know that you have to content yourself with working in a quiet office, watching others fall in love, constantly typing on a computer, wearing these stupid pencil skirts and bows…

         “But I hate wearing these damn heels!” Is all you can screech, childishly. Aphrodite giggles as she stands and walks to you.

         “But they make you look so beautiful.” You send a harsh glare up to her; of course, she doesn’t even flinch cause your glares are as harmless to her as a feather is to a rock. “I trust you to handle these assignments better than anyone working here… Even myself. I wouldn’t have given them to you otherwise.”

         “How do you suggest I start these, then?”

         “Drink their essence and see what they need.”

         “I’m not a damned therapist.”

         “Hear, hear!” Ares uselessly calls as he resumes his seat on the couch. He shrinks a little when Aphrodite sends him a harsh, menacing glare; if there’s one thing all the gods have learned, it’s that Aphrodite – and possibly Persephone – are the scariest when they get mad.

         “Yes, but you will know where to go. I can assure you.” You puff out your cheeks and cross your arms.

         “Fine, but you owe me three weeks of vacation since I can’t go next week anymore!” You hiss as you take the files she’d gathered in her hands before you even simmered down – it’s like she knew she’d win you over – and stomp to the door. “I had tickets to the premier of the new marvel movie! Do you know how expensive those are?” You cry, ready to slam the door shut, but giving your mom one more, half-hearted stare.

         “You’re a goddess, sweetheart. You have an endless supply of money.”

         “That doesn’t mean I want to waste it!” And you move to slam the door shut, but it slows just at the end. You swear your eyeballs set on fire as you realize that your father installed yet another soft close door because of you.

         What’s your plan? Dive in head-first and get blind-sided at every corner like Zeus? No way, just thinking about that has you ready to start another war. You need a plan, a good plan, and as much information as you can get. Meaning you’re going to have to work with their guardians. Pompous, inconsiderate, above the law shit heads is what guardians are. In your millenniums, you’ve avoided most, if not all, contact with them. You don’t work well with big heads; they always mess things up because they’re always right, narrow-sighted, and rash. Add to that the state that these wards are in, you can’t imagine these guardians will be the best help… But you’ve got to take whatever you can get.

         And that’s why you’re sitting at a large table of seven guardians, enjoying a measly meal of chicken tenders and fries; ambrosia is too damn expensive these days. But you suppose that as the times have changed, your offerings and followers have fallen to a measly, absolute zero. No worshippers? No ambrosia. It’s a good way to stir up some envy here on Olympus.

         “So, what do you need, Cupid?”

         “I need to know about your wards.” You sigh as you plant a folder in front of each guardian. You point to the empty chair and raise your brow, “Where’s Mina’s guardian?”

         “Uh, she’s out on sick leave.”

         “I thought you guys were invincible?”

         “Well, after all the times she’s worked, I’m sure she needs a break for a little.” Aeneas snaps at you. You roll your eyes; guardians were specifically designed to do everything but need a break. You’d have to check in with Zeus later to see what the hell is going on with her.

         “Okay, whatever.” Continuing, you decide to get straight to the point, “Tell me everything you know about your wards. Why are they in the state they’re in?”

         “Some wards are harder to guide than others.” Jac gently speaks. You look to the soft-featured man, nodding your head. You know that… You’ve always treasured Jac as a guardian, he’s one of the few to look at you on equal grounds.

         “I know. I’m sorry if it felt like I jabbed at you. Could you all maybe explain to me what you’ve learned does or doesn’t work with these wards?”

         “Of course… We’ll do as much as we can to help…”

[crue-sixx]

For Family

Title: For Family

Author: tiddly-winx

Fandom: The Dirt

Summary:  The reader is a hit-man for the mob.  The boys get into more trouble than they can handle.

Warnings: Swearing, descriptive violence, making a murder look like a suicide

Note: Italics mean it was in the past

It all started when you were ten years old, the sweltering heat of an Arizona summer sun was hot enough, but you being left in the car with the windows up and doors locked while your mother, Darla was trying to score more drugs for her and her moron boyfriend  Lucas.  Said moron was waiting outside the car, making sure you couldn't get out and ruin the deal was laughing at you.  Sweat was pouring down your face and you could feel yourself grow weaker every passing second. You eventually passed out, sounds of a skirmish reverberating in the back of your mind.

It was the sound of shattering glass that momentarily woke you from your heat stroke induced stupor, a big fat man with greying hair carrying you to a cool place.  "To the hospital, Henri" the man said to the driver and the smooth motion of the car eased you back into a deep sleep.  When you awoke, you were in the hospital getting fluids and the fat, aging man sitting beside you with all the love of a father in his eyes.

"Hello, Little One" he greeted in accented English  "I am Enrico Gatto.  From this day, I will be your father" he kissed your hand and you nodded in respect and accepted his hospitality with grace.  "What is your name, Little One?"

"Y/N, L/N" you answered weakly.

"No" the old man shook his head "From this day, you will be Gatto.  My daughter" you didn't argue with him even if you could.  You had heard of the Gatto crime family and what they'd do to anyone who disrespected them.  You'd much rather live by their rules than end up in a filthy, battered orphanage with the thousands of other parent-less bastards the family left in their wake.

Your eyes were getting heavy again, and when you felt the gentle caress of his hand on your forehead, he said "Rest now, when you are well again, your training begins..."

In the world of 1981 at twenty years of age you were already the most successful hit-man in the Gatto family.  Your father had ordered you to go to Los Angeles and keep an eye on his biological son there, and if he acted against the family to take him out. For the past ten years of your life, you were trained in business practices, hand-to-hand combat and all the different ways you could fuck with people's minds and lives.  Only a select few of The Old Man's men knew your real purpose there, and they reported directly to you the goings on of the son, Gino.  The only person you answered to was Don Enrico himself.

But to keep up appearances of being a shy, weak damsel in distress, you were told to dress modestly, keep your head down and your nose out of drugs, and use your former name when people asked about it.  Other than that, you could do whatever you want.  But if you ever saw a crow with a messenger pouch on its leg, you had to drop everything and do exactly as the note said, then send the bird back with a white rose petal stuffed in the pouch to tell The Old Man that the job was done.

In your spare time, you rented out a shitty apartment in a filthy building where the renters directly below you were always loud and rehearsing their rock music.  To be completely honest, you knew next to nothing about rock music at all-the only music the Old Man would allow was opera.  The first time you heard them play, you had an epiphany-you actually liked their kind and went down to ask if you could listen to them.

The drummer leaped over his drum set and ran up to you, with a big grin on his face "Fuck yeah you can!"

The bassist and guitarist looked at each other in utter annoyance, the consternation clear on their faces.  Finally the bassist said "Okay, just be quiet and sit on the couch.  You're so lucky you're cute" the guitarist just rolled his eyes.

"Fuckin' teenagers and their fuckin' hormones..." he grunted.

The singer eased his way over and sat down on the couch next to you and said "Hey, cutie!  I'm Vince what's your name?"

You internally rolled your eyes at the word "cutie", you hated pet names like that and if you ever got the chance you would teach this blonde surfer punk some manners.  "I'm Y/N, L/N.  I live right above you!" you added the most annoying valley girl giggle you could muster, to which you saw the guitarist's eye twitch in rage.

When the other three heard where you lived, they kind of looked down in mock shame.  "Sorry" the drummer said "our rehearsals and parties must be so loud it's hard to think up there..." he extended his hand and said "I'm Tommy!  Nice to meet ya!" you shook his hand firmly.

"Nikki" the bassist said, raising his hand and a weak smile.  He seemed to be warming up to you slightly.

In a barely audible voice the guitarist added "Mick" without as much as looking up.

"We're playing at the Whiskey A Go Go tonight!  You should come!" Tommy said and added "we always have parties afterward!  Come to that too!"  It was as if the tall young man was one of those 'Love at first sight' assholes.

"That sounds great!" you said in excitement "What time do you go on?"

"10:30" Nikki said, not at all perturbed at the addition of another fan. 

"Cool!" you then saw a crow with a message pouch in the window, not skipping a beat you checked your watch and said "Shit I'm going to be late for work!  See you later!"

They all waved good bye, some more enthusiastic than others.  You went back to your apartment and opened the message.  Only a single word was written on it "Gino".  You swallowed it right away,  and prepared for a fun time.   You hated that prick ever since The Old Man bought you back to his house.

You knew by now, the few men who knew of your whereabouts had their orders to subdue Gino and wait for you to get there.  They would chloroform him during breakfast and keep him drugged until nighttime. 

When he woke up, you were the first person he saw.  "You have been a bad boy, Gino" you said in a condescending tone "Prostitution and drug trafficking?  Really?"

"Hey!  I'm bringing in cash for the family!" he protested, but with great satisfaction you swing the butt of your handgun across his face, blood spurting from his nose and mouth.

"You know the Old Man's rules" you said "No hookers, no drugs and no kiddies" you cocked the gun, rolling the bullet in the chamber and placing the gun to his temple "When you get to Hell, Gino tell em Y/N sent you" and pulled the trigger.  A reddish pink cloud erupted from his skull, brain matter and bone littered the floor of the warehouse.

You were wearing latex gloves of course, and put it in Gino's dominant hand.  You then placed a typed suicide note at his feet.  When you called it into the police you stripped from your work clothes and tossed them into a burning trashcan along with the gloves.  Underneath you were wearing a tank top and Daisy Duke shorts, waking towards the Whiskey.  One of the other guys had already sent the crow back to The Old Man with the white rose petal.

You came in the middle of a song, the whole place was rocking out and you were genuinely having a good time when the song ended and Tommy saw you front and center. Apparently it was the last song of the night and he ran up and hugged you like you were old friends.  You were taken aback but you returned the gesture, saying "Sorry I was so late!  I was stuck at work!"

"What do you do that takes more than eight hours?" Mick asked suspiciously.

"I work at a nursing home as a house keeping lady" you said, having procured a name tag from Sunnyside Nursing and Retirement Home, complete with your name, picture and job title.

"That's cool, sweetheart" Vince said, another tack on your tally for utterly beating the shit out of this blonde bimbo.

"It's a job" Mick smiled softly, finally taking a liking to you.

"So let's go to that party you were talking about" you winked at them, and they all smirked with knowledge of what they were about to partake in.

When morning came, you were crashed on their couch wearing one of their shirts.  The smell of burning eggs wafted to you and made you cough.  "Who taught you how to cook?!" you shouted as you opened the widow to get the smoke out.

"Julia Child" Mick answered sarcastically, as the toast began burning as well.  "Eat, I wanna talk to you" he slowly sat down across from you.

"It's black" you said "I'm not eating that" you pushed the plate away in disgust.

"Fine" he scoffed but then got serious "Your last name, my sister married a man with that same name" your stomach dropped from its place into your feet.

"What are you getting at, dude?" you asked.

"What are you're parents names?"

You wouldn't answer him, feeling yourself getting tense "I don't like talking about them"  the one thing that got under your skin quicker than anything else was talking about HER.

Mick did his best to try and stop you physically but his physical limitations stopped him from doing more.  "I might be your uncle" he said quickly.  A million thoughts came flooding your head, clouding your judgement.  You were about to say something, but the training you received from the Old Man kicked in so you just walked out in a huff.

You still hung out with the younger members all the time but Mick kept his distance, though from his facial expression it was rather painful for him to see you.  A few weeks went by without hearing from the Old Man, but one day a crow with a message tapped on your window.  You let it in, petting it's head.  The message was some random druggie business associate of the Old Man's, who apparently didn't pay his monthly protection fee and narc'd on the Old Man.

You sighed and got his address from the note where you were also instructed to make him suffer.  But imagine your surprise when you opened the door to find some of the Old Man's fingermen with the dude right here in the apartment.  One of the Old Man's most important lessons was to never bring your work home with you.  Its like shitting where you eat.  You don't do it.

It was late on a Saturday night, the party was raging downstairs with its loud music, people so fucked up that they could barely walk so nobody would notice.  You immediately knew what was going on.  Some men loyal to Gino wanted revenge, but if you were to die today, you wouldn't go without a fight.  You reached for your handgun but shot were fired before you could even get a round off.

Bits of plaster went flying through the air, the impact making the paper thin walls crack and see into the apartments next door.  You dove behind your couch for cover, praying that it was thick enough to stop the bullets.  Sounds of people running and screaming from the whole floor flooded your hearing and you were bought back to your training-imagine an aria.  Soon you couldn't hear anything but said aria, and your focus was reached. 

Almost as if you were a robot, you pulled your gun and fired five shots, three hitting the targets and two missing.  Now that the playing field was more evenly matched, you saw that the remaining two were trying to re-load.  You took the opportunity to push forward the heel of your palm and break a nose, then you grabbed the elbow and immobilized the whole arm.  The man cursed as you performed a perfect hip throw and locked his arm in an arm bar.  With a swift jerking of your hips, you heard a sickening snap as bone went through the skin.

The other guy had re-loaded and a slug went into your hand.  You let out a scream of rage as you rolled the guy with the broken arm on top of you so he could take the bullets meant for you.  You then heard a shotgun blast and everything went quiet.  You pushed the man off you to see Nikki, Vince and Tommy in stunned silence while Mick was expertly holding the smoking shotgun.

"What the fuck..." Nikki started but you shut him up.

"Quiet asshole" you barked, all of your false sweetness now gone.  You peeked out of your window and saw three more cars with armed mobsters pull up and run into the building.

You pushed past them yelling "If you dipshits have enough sense, you'd hightail it out like I am!" you hauled ass down the back stairs and into the alley.  You knew that if they found you here, that your other hideouts were likely compromised as well.  You were about to dash to a manhole and into a sewer when someone pulled you back.  On instinct you ducked and threw the person over your back and rolled into a camel clutch, stretching the person's back beyond what is humanly possible and grasping the head.  The mixture of blonde hair and incoherent screeching of cuss words let you know it was Vince. 

You let him go and said "If you're gonna follow me then hurry up!" you easily lifted the manhole cover and slid it aside, climbing down.

Tommy grabbed your hand and pulled you up "Not without a fucking explanation!" the footsteps were getting closer, shouts of :FIND HER!" were heard.

"If you REALLY want to get blown to hell today then by all means, stay here but I have no intention of dying!  Let me go!" you roared to him.

"NO!" he yelled back, pulling you up.  You pulled a bowie knife from your belt and slashed his hand with it, he reflexively let go and you dropped into the most foul smelling liquid you'd ever inhaled.  You took a few limping steps and vomited.  You heard splashes when more people came down the ladder, and you honestly thought you were done for.

You were shocked when Nikki and Tommy hoisted you in between them and began walking.  You were soon on the very edge of town when you three emerged from the sewer, all smelling like a fucking toilet.  "We're here..." Nikki said, letting his side down and knocking on the door "Marty!  Get the iron ready!  I got a gunshot victim!"

Marty was a pimple faced teenage medical master, having graduated as a doctor at age 12.  He was also a stoner who would take people who didn't have insurance and treat them in his little shack.  He was 18 now so it was his very own home, one that his parents couldn't leech off of.  "Got it!" he helped the others bring you in and laid you down on the floor.

"Jesus what happened?!" Marty said as he was applying some ointment to your scratches you got when bullets whizzed by your head.

"Fuck if I know!" Nikki said "We were having a party when we heard her" he pointed to you "fighting with a bunch of guys then gunshots and people running" when the iron was good and hot, Marty sat you up and handed a dirty dish rag to Tommy.  The tallest young man in the room knew what he had to do, he got behind you and gagged you.

The pain of burning flesh was something you felt before as part of your training but it was always so painful.  As soon as the hot iron came down on the raw, bleeding meat of your hand, you let out a muffled scream and for the first time in years, you l"et tears fall down your face.  Tommy kissed your hair and said softly "It's okay, Y/N...only a little longer..."  when they let you up, your good hand swung out and punched Marty right in the face.  He fell back and cursed you, his eye already swelling.

Nikki turned you so he could look directly at you and said "What the ever loving fuck is going on Y/N?"

"I'm a hitman for the Gatto crime family" you told them plainly.  "The Old Man adopted me when I was ten after he killed my mother and her boyfriend" you were beyond pissed now and looking for blood.  You got up, but a jolt of pain from your legs prevented you from moving.

Nikki and Tommy pushed you back down and said "You're not going anywhere.  You need to heal up and get better before you get revenge" Marty was now icing his eye and about ready to wrap your burnt hand.

"Why are you admitting this freely?" Nikki asked.

"My fuckin' cover's been blown, my apartment's shot to shit and if I cant get in touch with the Old Man, he'll come up here and look for me.  That puts you all in danger too" you said.  "Get me the phone..."

Marty was hesitant, but after looks from the others he relented,  You called and explained the situation to the Old Man, and he promised to come get you the next morning.  He did as he promised and got you in the car, looking as disappointed as a father scolding a wayward child.  "What's the matter?" you asked, taking out a cigarette.

"You've failed me, Little One" he said as he pulled out a revolver and handed it to you.  "Take your own life to atone for your transgressions, or I will torture you when we get back to Arizona..." his voice was full of malice and you simply put the gun beside you and looked directly at him.

"You dishonor your family by refusing a direct order?" he was growing incredulous as you stared him down.

"Family? No" the driver turned around and put a bullet in Enrico's head without a word "You? You bet your ass I would"  the blood pouring out of his nose and mouth was like a fountain, staining his upholstery an ugly burgundy

"Nice shot, Uncle Mick" you smirked as you admired his handiwork.

"That's Pumpkin" he replied.  "You get your love of firearms from your mother's side of the family" you laughed at that.  You knew when you talked to the Old Man on the phone the day before, from the sound of shock in his voice that he was the ones who sent those men to kill you, not people avenging Gino. 

The others met up with them back at the apartment and you apologized for playing them like cheap banjos, to Vince and Tommy for injuring them.  "So how did you change drivers without the Old Man noticing?" you asked them.

Nikki chuckled "I've got some buddies in the mob too.  I called in a few favors people owe me" that was all that he'd say about the subject and you knew better than to ask.

You turned to Mick and said "It seem like we have A LOT of catching up to do..." you decided that you'd let him in your life if he wanted it.

"That we do Pumpkin" he smiled warmly "That we do"

[melchixr]

P.S. We Should Get A Dog

Anon Said: A one shot where Hans and Ernst have been dating and they want to get a pet but Ernst is a cat person and Hans is a dog person? (i’m saying Hanschen is the cat person because.... come on.... it’s obvious....pussy cat...)

Words: 1960

It started slowly, of course. At first, it was cute. Little post-its that Ernst put on the fridge before he left for work. Hanschen was so happy to see it when he woke up an hour after his boyfriend left. His vision was blurry, as he had hadn’t put in his contacts yet. (The only reason he had remembered to take them out to sleep was because of a post-it Ernst left on his bedside table)

But he noticed the bright yellow as he was making his morning tea. He extended his hand and by some miracle of depth perception, he pulled it off of their fridge, already littered with Ernst’s doodles and a thousand wedding invitations.

‘Dear Hansi-

Please pick up ice cream, we’re all out. Have a wonderful day off.

Love-Ernst

P.S. We should get a dog!’

Hanschen looked around the kitchen in his blurred vision. But he knew it so well already. He had practically been breathing down their Martha’s neck when he hired her to decorate their new house. It was the compromise he and Ernst found, between Ernst wanting to decorate it himself with fun paintings he had found at flea markets and mismatched rugs from yard sales, and Hanschen wanting to hire one of the high-end interior designer twinks that rolled in his stuck up scene.

So he knew every one of the 1,100 square feet of their penthouse. From the plush polyester-blend living room set, to their king size memory foam, to the print of The Great Wave off Kanagawa in their hallway.

Then, he thought of this precious penthouse becoming the giant litter box to some mutt. Dirty paws on his Indian rugs. Slobber all over his one hundred percent genuine leather ottoman. And fur. Fur EVERYWHERE.

The thought almost made him retch. So he grabbed the nearest pen and scribbled on the back of Ernst’s adorable note.

‘Dear Ernst-

Hell no. I’ll get you the ice cream, but not the dog. I’m going out to lunch with Melchior so there will be come carne asada tacos in the fridge for you.

Begrudgingly- Hanschen ‘

But Ernst wasn’t having it. That Wednesday, when he came home from afternoon bible study, he was happy to see Hanschen reading in their living room. He tossed his notebooks to onto the kitchen table, kicked off his shoes and approached the young blond man.

“Hey there, Handsome,” He murmured. “How was work?”

He looked up from behind his old man reading glasses. “Heya Ernst. It was fine. How were the kiddos?”

“They’re great, Hansi.” He sat beside the man he loved and slowly wrapped his arms around Hanschen’s shoulders. “God, those kids are so smart. I didn’t expect a bunch of sixteen year olds to be able to analyze 1 John so deeply! You should really come one of these days.”

He was quick to shake his head and set down his copy of some boring book about World War One or something. “Ernst, I told you a million times. You can’t make me believe with your little study groups or your big, fancy church.”

“I don’t want you to believe. I gave up on that a while ago. I just want you to meet these brilliant kids,” He leaned over to rest his head on Hanschen’s shoulder, placing a gentle kiss over his thin dress shirt.

Hanschen nodded and pecked Ernst’s temple with his chapped lips. He then leaned back to rub his boyfriend's back. Even after three years, he still got a kick out of just laying around with Ernst. Just like when they first started dating in Hanschen’s junior year of college, all they did was lay around and cuddle.

Of course, they couldn’t go on dates at the time. Ernst was just finishing up getting his theology degree and there were already whispers around his cohorts that he might have been homosexual.

Some supported it, saying that God loved all his children and that God made Ernst this way. Other glanced at Ernst with judgemental eyes and whispered sinner under his breath. So he was quick to be sure that no one knew that he was not only gay, but madly in love with young finance major with Wall Street in his eyes and in his blood.

Now, they were safe. Safe to go out for coffee and hold each other’s hand. Safe to kiss on the subway. Safe to go on bad bowling dates where neither of them ever got higher than a seven. It had taken Ernst some time, but he did finally realize that the person who looks down on him and disrespects him because of his sexuality was not the person he wanted the respect of.

And they were safe to sit together in their home, wrapped up in each other with soft smiles. Ernst continued eagerly. “You really oughta meet Angie. She’s this chess whiz. Like I had to stop playing her because she kept beating me,” His face lit up as he remembered all the kids in his youth group. “Oh! And Ella! Ella is the funniest person you’ll ever meet! She and her boyfriend Eric are so sweet and so dedicated too. It’s really heartwarming to see them together.”

“Are we not heartwarming enough?” Hanschen asked with a laugh, rubbing his hand up and down Ernst's spine.  Not only did it send literal tingles up his spine, but it made Ernst sink further into his seat and closer to Hanschen

He nodded in response and left a quick kiss on his boyfriend’s temple. “We’re plenty heartwarming, Hanschen. But those kids are cuter. Cause they’re not old like us.”

Ernst ignored Hanschen’s faux-offended gasp and stood up.  His voice became very soft, almost curious. “Ella’s also got the cutest dog. I think her name is Phoebe. And she’s pregnant so they’ll be trying to give away her puppies in a few week-”

“God fucking no, Ernst,” Hanschen almost shouted to cut him off. Even though Ernst put on an innocent false, he could see the cogs in his brain working. And he was about to twist the hell out of Hanschen’s arm to get that puppy.

If there was one thing he knew about Ernst Robel, it was that when he wanted something, he’d do anything to get it. “I didn’t say anything!” He acted so soft and naive. “I’m just saying, do you want all those puppies homeless and sad and-”

“I don’t want the puppies homeless, but I want them in a home that isn't mine.”

“Ours,” Ernst corrected him as the shorter man stood up from his seat and aimless wanderer towards him.

“Of course it’s ours,” Hanschen assured and slowly wrapped his arms around Ernst from behind, letting his fingers fall over Ernst’s small waist and protruding hip bones. Finally, they found a home resting over his shallow stomach, feeling the slow movement of his breathing. “Dear, how about we get a cat instead? A cute little cat.”

Ernst turned his head a bit to cast a glare at the man holding him. “I thought you didn’t want a dog because they’re too messy. But cats are just as messy! If not worse. They piss in a box and get litter-”

“Maybe I’m just not a dog person, Ernst,” He replied and left a soft kiss on the side of Ernst’s neck. Ernst sighed and pressed back into his touch, already planning his next step.

Hanschen thought, after about a month had passed, that Ernst had dropped the subject. He prayed that there wouldn't be anymore “Dog Talk" as long as he lived.

Maybe cat talk. He could live with a cat in his life. He could imagine a pretty Siamese wandering around his hallway, joining him on the balcony for the orange he ate every morning. Or a gorgeous,slim black cat sticking it's paws under the door when he went to take a shower. Or a fat little tortoise shell crawling into his lap as he read the morning paper.

So when he came home from work that evening, he was ready too announce to Ernst that their family was about to grow by one. He was ready to scoop Ernst up in his arms and tell him that he was going to take the morning off tomorrow so that they could go adopt a cat and bring him home and pamper him

“Babe! Get out here! I wanna tell you something!” He called out to the vastness of their home. Almost immediately after opening the door, he heard Ernst’s footsteps sprinting down the hallway towards the living room. Barely a second later, another pair of footsteps followed him. They were fast and quick,  accompanied by the click-clack of nails on their hardwood floor.

Ernst got the hall doorway a moment before the other feet. He had a sort of nervous smile on his face as he squeaked out. “Hi, Hans-"

Then the footsteps sprinted out from the the hallway and into the living room. Specifically, through Ernst’s long legs. The footsteps were those of a small mutt, with a light brown  and white coat and two big blue eyes. It looked like a beagle, maybe mixed some spaniel. And she was absolutely adorable. But even that didn’t outweigh the shock Hanschen felt.

And Ernst could tell as he watched his boyfriend stare down at the puppy sniffing at him and barking his high pitched little yap. “Ernst, dear,” He said, slowly. His eyes never once left the dog. “What the HELL is this?

Ernst almost immediately sprinted to Hanschen’s side, scooping up the puppy in his arms, who immediately began licking Ernst’s face.  It definitely liked Ernst a whole lot. “Babe, listen. She was practically homeless when I picked her up! Her parents couldn’t afford to keep her. Please, baby. We have to keep her.” He immediately spurted out. Like he had been planning to say this all day.

For a few moments, there was silence. Hanschen stared at the dog in Ernst’s arms, her dumb wagging tail and her long, lolling tongue. “Ernst, you should have told me,” His voice came out stern and tired. Even though he could feel his heart soften at the puppy’s warm gaze, he couldn’t show Ernst. “We need to communicate before we make the commitment of a dog.”

“Baby, please,” Ernst pleaded, his eyes as wide as the dog’s. “Pleas, she needs a home. She-”

“I’m not heartless, Ernst.  I’m not going to make you give her back.”

Upon hearing this, Ernst’s face lit up. It was like he was just told he had won the lottery. He began to smile the biggest, sweetest smile and began kissing the top of her head. Hanschen couldn’t help but smile back as he continued. “What’s her name then, Ernst. If she’s going to be in our family, she needs a name.”

“Hanschen, meet Igor,” He stated, holding the dog out to Hanschen as if offering the him all the love in the world. “Igor, this is Hanschen, your new dad.”

Hanschen slowly reached out, his hand hesitant before it landed on Igor’s soft fur. She began to wag her tail, almost like she was as nervous about Hanschen as he was about her. A moment later, he began rubbing behind her ears and all around her neck. Igor was already yapping with joy. “Hello there, Princess,” He sighed. He couldn’t help but coo lovingly at her big blue eyes. “And welcome home, you little vomit eating monster.”

“Wow. Good to know you’ve already bonded with her,” Ernst replied and pecked Hanschen’s cheek abruptly. “Because she’s gonna be sleeping in our bed.”

Hanschen’s hand froze on Igor’s head. “On my 950 thread-count cotton sheets?”

[ellana-ravenwood]

Skin deep - Wolverine x Abused!Reader (Erotica)

Summary : Your body is littered with scars from years of abuse and torture...And you feel very self-conscious about it, highly insecure. Your boyfriend (and also savior), Logan, tries to convince you there’s nothing to be ashamed of.

IMPORTANT WARNING : THIS IS EROTICA ! THIS IS NOT FOR YOU IF YOU ARE UNDERAGED, I GODDAMN MEAN IT. Like there’s cute and sweet feelings in the mix, but also...smut, so if you’re not 18 or more, or if you’re not comfortable with that sort of things etc etc, this story ain’t for you. I have tons of other very SFW story, for averyone to read, and if you wanna check those out instead, it’s right here, on My masterlist blog : @ella-ravenwood-archives.

PART 1

_______________________________________________________________________

It was always the same nightmare. 

You were back in the laboratories, and the people that killed your family were torturing you again. Logan’s lifeless body was pinned on the wall in front of you.

They’d done it again. They killed the one you loved the most...your only chance of salvation, of escape. The one that mended your broken body and soul back together. The one that saved you all those years ago, the one you fell deeply in love with...You wake up with a start and a scream, sweat running down your body. 

A hand laying softly on your bare thigh startles you, and you jump out of the bed, ready to fight...when you realize it’s Logan. 

He’s used to it by now, just like you were used to soothe him back to sleep after one of his nightmare. You were both quite fucked up...He was used to it by now, and yet...

The look on his face is nothing but worries, and he doesn’t dare making another movement. He just stares at you, waiting for you to come back...if you want to. A lot of times, when you wake up from a nightmare, you just leave for a walk alone, to clear your mind...But not tonight. 

Tonight, you need to feel him, to be in his arms...protected, and to make sure he’s still there, alive, safe.

You slip back into bed, and his feature softens a bit, loosing just a small amount of worries. One of your arm snake around his waist, the other goes around his neck, your hand tangling itself in his thick black hair. His own arms wrap around your body, pulling you as close as he can, on of his legs fits itself under yours, while the other one spayed across your thigh...You’re trapped in his embrace, just like you love. 

Your head goes to rest where his heart beats, and you sigh, tickling him lightly as your breath moves his chest hair. 

-You’re here to stay, right Logan ? 

-I don’t intend on leaving you again sweetheart. 

-Promised ? 

-Promised. I couldn’t anyway. 

-...Why ? 

-Because I fucking love you and I can’t live without you, that’s why. 

-Cheesy. 

-That’s me. 

You chuckle, snuggling into him even more, and kiss his chest. 

-I love you. 

-I love you too (Y/N), now, sleep. 

You don’t have any dreams the rest of the night, and that’s how you like it. 

*******************

You always wore long clothes, that covered your skin as much as possible. So that no one would see the disgusting scars littering your body. The burn marks and cuts you had from neck to toes. For some reasons, your torturers never touched your face, and if someone didn’t know your history, they’d never guess how messed up your body was by just looking at you in your everyday clothes. 

When the seasons changed, especially from summer to autumn, and autumn to Winter, your skin, joints and bones would hurt, affected by the change in atmospheric pressure, and temperature. But you would never complain, this pain was nothing compare to what you endured. And you weren’t one to pity yourself anyway. 

Today was a warm summer day, and you opted for a long sleeved blouse, and light cotton pants. Logan got you those, knowing how you hated people to see your scars, but also didn't handle the heat very well...You’d hang out naked in your shared bedroom, to his great pleasure. But outside ? There was no way you’d even wear a short short or a t-shirt, let alone a dress. 

Your hand in your boyfriend’s, fingers intwined with him, you were both taking a walk around the school’s park, smiling stupidly at each other, kissing the other’s lips from time to time, when you heard Kurt calling out to the both of you : 

-Hey ! Meine freunde ! Do you want to join my team for a game of baseball ! It’d be a shame to pass on the occasion to play while the day is so beautiful, and we all have free time ! Sunday is fun day ! 

You smile at him, and nods. You fucking loved baseball. Logan agrees too, because those moments with his friends, he cherishes above all. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Moments with just you and him, he cherished above all, with baseball playing with the other X-Men coming a close second. 

*****************

The game was going great, your team was winning, and many laughs were shared between you and your friends...Until you ran to the third base, ready to run home, when Bobby grabs you a bit too roughly and tears your blouse away. 

You freeze, as everyone stares at you. 

If you were anyone else, all of your friends including yourself would have laughed your asses off. 

If you were anyone else, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. 

But you were you, and your body was gross, littered with disgusting scars...and they were all staring at you, shocked. Ororo’s hands were covering her mouth to muffle her gasp, Jean and Piotr were looking away, probably disgusted by your back, chest and belly...Thanks god you still had your bra on, covering one of your worst scars that was across your left boob. Scott was wide eyed, Bobby tried to apologize but you could see his orbs being attracted to all your scars...Hell, even Hank and Kurt, who already saw your back, seemed repulsed by you, as they were looking down...

When Kitty let out a “Oh God...(Y/N)...”, you lost it. 

You couldn’t take it, and you ran away back to your room. You ignored Logan’s calls, and he didn’t seem to follow you. He knew you too damn well. He knew you needed time on your own right now. 

You heard him yell at Bobby though, before disappearing in the X-Mansion. Many students crossed your path, and they all gave you the same shocked, stunned look your friends had. 

You couldn’t take it. Not anymore. You knew your body was gross with all its scars and shit, did they really have to stare at you like that ?! 

******************

Logan waited hours before coming back to your shared room, and when he entered without a noise in it, he was afraid you’d be gone. Sometimes, you just left without any words for days, weeks...But he thought he got it coming. He used to do that a lot to people. You’d always come back though, thanks god. And the longer your relationship was, the least and least you left without a words.

He sighed with relief when he saw you there, laying in your shared bed, enveloped in the blanket even though it was crazy hot outside. You were fast asleep, and he slipped in the bed, embracing you through the sheets. You didn’t stir, stuck in another one of your nightmares...

Always the same. 

The torture. Logan gone. All of your friends gone. And people looking at you through a window, like an animal in a zoo, throwing up at the mere sight of your emaciated and scarred body. 

You woke up with a start again, a scream you weren’t able to muffle escaping your mouth, sweat covering your body. It was still day outside, and you almost didn’t jump when Logan laid his hand on your bare thigh. 

You took him in, your room, the laughs and discussion you could hear through your open window...You weren’t back in the laboratories. 

You sat up, and the blanket slip from you, revealing your scars...You quickly covered yourself again. It was silly. It was Logan next to you, he saw you naked a thousand times...but right now, you were more self-conscious than ever, reminiscing your friends’ face at the view of your gross body. 

Logan shook his head, and sat up too. 

-What are you doing (Y/N) ? 

-Whatever do you mean ? 

-You know exactly what I mean. 

-...How can you be with me ? 

-How can you ask me that ? 

-I’m serious Logan. 

-I am too. 

-I mean, have you seen me ? 

You throw the blanket off of you, and he’s face with your naked scarred chest. 

-I have. Many times. So what ? 

-Are you seriously telling me you’re not grossed out by me ? By my body ? 

-You have a lot of effect on me darlin’, you definitely never grossed me out though. And I explored you body enough time that I thought you’d know...

-...how ? 

-Simple : I love you. 

-But I’m disgusting...

-You’re an idiot. 

-Thanks. 

-Let me finish will ya ? 

Your knees up to your chin, you look away from him...but he won’t have it. He forces your head up, and turns you to face him. 

-People are not grossed out when they see your body. They’re sad, shocked at what you had to endure. They pity you, no matter how you hate it. They don’t think you’re disgusting, anyone who’d think that would be a fool, as you’re the most beautiful woman I ever met. Don’t shake your head, I’m not just saying that becauseI love you. I mean it. Your scars don’t mean shit. They’re just a...Symbol of your past. Of your struggle. If you left to people the time to get over their initial shock, you’d realize...They admire you. They admire you for still being there even though you went through Hell. They can only find you attractive, because damn, someone as brave, courageous, and with a will stronger than most people like you can be nothing but attractive. 

Tears are welling up in your eyes. Happy tears. No one ever told you anything that nice...With a calloused thumb, he softly dry your eyes and the tears who were already falling down your cheeks. 

-What can I do to show you how much I love you ? How much your body is perfect ? How you’re the only one that can turn me on with a simple look ? 

You chuckle at his last words. Of course he would. You come closer to him, and whisper in his ear : 

-Make love to me. That’s how you can show me. 

His eyes go dark, and, kneeling in front of him, you can see his pants are getting tighter. Only you could get him hard that fast. Only you. 

He grabs you behind your neck, and crashes his lips on yours, his tongue demanding access to your mouth by licking your bottom lip. You give it to him, not even fighting for dominance as you love his way of massaging your tongue. 

He lays you down on the bed once again, and straddle you softly. Your hands go to his belt, and in a second, it’s off. You became quite the expert in getting his cow-boy belts off of him. With deft finger, you open his pants, pulling down the zipper, and those are off too in a shake of his waist. Next things you know, his shirt flies through the room, landing somewhere on your desk. 

His lips leave yours to trail kisses down your jaw, to your neck, collar bones, to finally reach your breast. He makes sure to kiss every single scar with great care, whispering to you how much he loved all of them, how he worshipped every single imperfections on your body.You were already naked, and he appreciated not having to do any effort to tear your clothes away. He takes your damaged tit in his mouth, and suck lightly on it, making you moan lowly. With one hand, he flicks the nipple of the other breast, and then change and vice versa. He makes sure to leave his marks on your tits, before continuing down to your stomach, sucking, licking, kissing and biting softly. You know that the next day, you’ll have to wear long clothes, not only to hide your scars, but also to hide his damn love bites. 

As he arrives to your thigh, kissing all the way down to your calf to go back up to your inner thigh, your hands tangle in his hair in anticipation. He doesn’t make you wait, he doesn’t tease you, he knows you just need him right now. 

Two fingers go to your core to rub you gently, playing around your pussy, flicking your clit’ with his thumb. As he keeps kissing your thighs, and after making sure you were ready by rubbing your sex, he gently inserts a finger inside you, pumping it in and out slowly. It’s almost agonizing how slow he goes, and he quickly inserts another finger, going faster, twisting his fingers inside you to find the right spot...He knows you by heart, and he finds it fast. With his thumb, he massages your clit, and you feel yourself getting closer as he moves his fingers inside you, faster, rubbing your clit furiously...but before you can orgasm, he pulls away, and you whine.

He brings his fingers to his mouth, licking your juice off of him, and you moan a bit. Damn he’s hot. Locking his eyes with yours, his head bent down to your entrance and...He spreads your sex with two finger, and licks all around your entrance. When he sticks his tongue as far as he can in you, you cry out, unable to stop yourself. His eyes are still fucking locked with yours, and it’s just too damn sexy. He swirls his tongue around, nudging your clit with his nose, and you start to lose yourself. He nibbles on your pussy’s lips, and relishes in your moans and soft cries of pleasure. You come in his mouth, hard, and licking his lips clean off of you, he crawls back up, kissing all of your scars on his way up, licking on the worst one. 

He stops you from grabbing his cock, shaking his head. 

-No. Another time maybe. Right it’s all about you, and trusting that your body is making me wild. 

-But...

-No buts. I’m sure there will be other occasions where you can give back to me, right now, I just need to be inside you, to feel you. To show you you’re perfect. 

You nod shyly, almost surprised at the effect that man has on you...How he made your heart beat wildly, and, on another note, how drenched you could be for him. 

He takes off his boxers slowly, and you smirk at him. Again, he knows you too well, he knows how much you like the undressing part usually, and how you enjoy him stripping for you...you almost regret tearing his clothes away so fast earlier. 

His thumbs hook in the waistband of his boxers, and slowly tug them down, his erection sprung free, and you can’t help but squirm under him. You want him. Now. 

He smiles slyly at you, aware of the effect he has on you, and you raise one leg to softly stroke his member, making it twitch, to show him that you also know the effect you have on him. His smile falter, and with dark eyes full of want, he lines himself up with your entrance. 

He pushes inside you bit by bit, slowly, and it stings slightly. As usual. Because his cock is thick, and always pulsates like crazy as he enters you. But the sting is almost always immediately replaced with that amazing feeling he gives you, of being stretched out completely and perfectly for him. 

He kisses the tip of your nose lovingly, and you can’t help but smile stupidly at him. Even when he fucked you roughly, he had little attentions like that that made your heart melt for him. He gave you an eskimo kiss, before licking lightly your lips for you to open your mouth to him, and he ravages your mouth, massaging his tongue with yours expertly. 

Damn he was a good kisser. The best. His kisses only could make you dizzy with pleasure...He pulls away, and in a breath you tell him to “move”.  You don’t need to ask twice. 

He slowly takes himself almost entirely out of you, before pushing back in at a slow and sweet pace. Your nails leave scratches across his back, which unfortunately almost instantly heal. He smiles down at you, caressing your scars as he moves inside you. 

You can feel his warmth irradiating to you, his love. You wrap your legs around him, and you push him a bit further deep inside you with your heels on his ass. 

From there, it’s kind of all a blur, as often when he makes love to you. It’s just always so damn good, that you lose yourself in him (or rather, him in you), completely, utterly, and you transform in just one being, linked by pleasure and love.

He thrusts harder and faster now, and you’re almost sure it’s because you just told him to...He kneels in front of you, still inside you, and it seems your ankle are made to hang on his shoulder as he keeps pounding in you relentlessly. 

At some point, your on your hands and knees...you think ? 

But it always end the same way, with him above you, slowly hammering hard in and out of you, kissing your neck, sucking on your pulsing point, with you becoming undone under him, screaming his name in a frenzy. You always come first, but he can’t ever go on much longer after that as he feels you clenching around him, and, buried to the hilt inside you, he comes with a loud groan, and your name on his lips, repeating “I love you” while his seeds drip deep inside you. 

Then, as you come down from your highs, still in a daze, he cleans you, and pulls you to his chest. You play with his coarse chest hair as he caresses your scalp, and stroke soothingly up and down your back, until you fall asleep, exhausted. 

He would always look at you before falling himself in a deep slumber, and feel some kind of masculine pride at the sight of how fucked out you always look. So beautiful. His Aphrodite. 

He would tells you this in your sleep, how much you were amazing and all, hoping it would stick in your head subconsciously, and then he would fall asleep too, holding you tight against his chest. 

That day, he succeeded in showing you how much he didn’t care about your “disgusting gross scarred body”...and if the love of your life didn’t care, why would you ? Right ? 

********************

For the first time in years, your sleep wasn’t plagued with nightmares and despair, but with some ass kicking dreams filled of adventures, and love. 

You dreamt that you and Logan were having the best time of your life, traveling around the World...

Logan always been a light sleeper, and when you shift in his arms to face him, his eyes shoot open. Your smile makes his heart melt, and by instinct, the hand that was now resting on the small of your back gently caressed you lovingly...

-No nightmares tonight...?

-No. None. 

-That’s good. 

His hands strokes the scars on your back tenderly, his fingers brushing over each old wounds softly. 

-It’s all thanks to you Lo’...

-You’re giving me too much credit. 

-I don’t. Your...support, and...just everything. You’re the best. I wish I was better with words to explain how much I fucking love you. 

He stays silent for a few minutes, bringing you closer to him, and kiss the crown of your head. 

-You are really giving me too much credit. And I should thank you. 

-What ? Why ? 

-For giving me a reason to live. Wait no, let me finish (Y/N), don’t speak. I should be the one thanking you. You saved me, not the other way around. There’s always a cause to die for, but to live for ? That’s rare. And your my cause (Y/N), you’re the one I’d go to the Moon and back, Hell, even further, just because you asked me to. I don’t need reasons, I’ll just do it. Because I love you, and making you happy is my damn goal. And don’t repeat I ever said that to anyone, because I’ll loose my reputation of being nothing but an angry old man. 

You don’t answer right away, but your hands on his skin are enough to make him understand the feelings are mutual. Instead of a big speech, you simply say : 

-I love you Logan. You’re the reason I live. 

-I love you too. So much it hurts. You’re...you’re everything to me. And even that seems insufficient to describe what I feel toward you.

********************

When he sees getting out of the bathroom in a dress the next day, a dress that is quite revealing of your long beautiful legs (no matter the scars), of your damn good looking and slender waist, and of your sexy and feminine back, he’s more than surprised. 

You turn around and give him your sultriest look, winking at him with a smile that makes him melt into a puddle of want and need. His stunned expression amuses you. He’s still laying down in the bed, naked, and you go to him to give him a kiss...That quickly turn hungry. He pulls at your dress, eager to get it off. 

-You know Lo’, if you tear away one of the only dress I own, I won’t be able to be proud of my past, proud I made it through and all the things you said...

-Don’t care, want you. 

And with a laugh as his beard tickles your neck, the fabric of your dress rip under his eager hands, and you’re back in bed with him before you have time to say “well, then take me”.