#i only have a handful of days left at home.. gotta make em count

[sameteeth]

got my OTHER eyebrow pierced >:3c

[the-kr8tor]

Starlight and Seafoam

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 6.9k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, CW food mentions, TW death, CW injury.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 10 >>> CHAPTER 11

The street is bustling and teeming with people as you pay for the new mortar and pestle that you've been saving for a long time. The coins clink on the counter as you drop it on the wood. You hate to see your hard earned money go but you're glad that you have your very own mortar and pestle in exchange.

“Careful now it's heavy.” The old shopkeeper smiles at you.

“I've got it, thank you!” You heave the heavy stone in your small arms, waddling towards the door, struggling to open it with both arms occupied, a kind gentleman opens it for you and you smile politely, your mother didn't raise you to be rude after all. “Thank you, sir.”

“You're welcome.” The stranger says with a gruff voice, his large frame casts a shadow over you, fancy clothes making you gawk. Gold threads sewed into the finest cloth. His brown eyes only spares you a quick once over, tufts of chestnut hair flowing in the breeze, chiseled face turning towards the shopkeeper.

Walking out of the store, the door shuts closed behind you. Eyes still glued to the rich man, someone taps you on your shoulder.

“Careful, kid, that one can and will buy you if you don't stop gawking.” Sherry, an old neighbor of yours warns you. Her husband shushes her, eyes rolling at her gossiping. “Don't you shush me, Mickey, I'm right y’know!”

“The bloke's right there, love!” Mickey whisper shouts, he turns towards a customer, scowl disappearing, smiling politely over the vegetable stand.

You notice some people whisper too, from the butcher across the street to the florist on your right. Their main topic is the mysterious rich man in the store you just left.

Sherry clicks her tongue, slyly beckoning you over, whispering close in your ear. She smells of lettuce and cigars.

“Listen, girl,” you nod, trusting the adult. “you better get home ‘cause word around town is that wanker right there is a skin trader.” She says the word with malice. “See his fancy dancy clothes? He got ‘em from selling children like yourself.”

“What's a skin trader?” You ask, eyes wide and concerned. The mortar and pestle gets heavier in your arms.

“Didn't dear old mum warn you about ‘em?”

“Stop scaring the poor child, Sher.” her husband warns, busy with a line of customers while his wife gossips with a thirteen year old.

“This ‘ere is a private conversation, Mickey!” She turns back towards you, “Jus’ be careful, kiddo. I like you, you've got ‘em magic hands with them herbs. I don't want you gettin' sold off to a noble house, yeah?” you nod, “Stay away from him and you'll be good.” Shrugging, she pats your head.

“I don't think my mum would sell me.” You say with a small voice, fingers grazing over your necklace that's tucked under your blouse.

She scoffs, “tell that to little John, he was sold off for a bag of coins a few days ago.”

“Sher.” Mickey warns as your blood runs cold.

You know John, you've played with him a few times even though he runs his mouth like a sailor. Now you know why you haven't seen him around town. Nerves alight, you stay away from the shop's door.

Home calls for you, but you still have other errands to run.

“I've gotta go, thank you, Sherry.” You start to walk away with heavy strides and worry written on your face. She won't do that right? You thought. She loves me like her own, she can't— won't do that to me.

Mickey calls you back, “oh Y/N, grab a few of these for you and your mum, yeah? I know they're your favourite.” he smiles, putting a handful of cherry tomatoes inside the mortar.

“Thank you!” You smile, “It's her favourite too!”

“Aye, I know.”

His wife slaps him upside the head, “the fuck you mean ‘you know?’”

You leave before you get stuck in the middle of their argument. In your peripheral, you see the well dressed man leave the store without buying anything, he walks over to Sherry and Mickey. You don't stay long to hear their conversation.

—

Despite hurrying home, you end up walking towards the cabin with the sun already setting. Leaves crunch under your foot as you yawn, but your smile stays on your lips, happy enough that you have your newly purchased instrument in your arms, even though it's extremely heavy combined with the old canvas bags on your shoulder full of supplies you and your mother needed for the rest of the month.

Finally seeing the small cabin makes you weary, wanting to lay down in bed until she calls you for supper. Based on the smoke billowing from the chimney, you guess she already started cooking for dinner.

The heavy door creaks open as you push it open with your shoulder. “Mum, Mickey gave us cherry tomatoes! And you can't believe what I just heard—”

You freeze in the doorway, your mortar and pestle falls in your arms, clanging loudly on the wooden floor, it splits in half as the cherry tomatoes tumbles out of the mortar.

There he stands, the same well dressed man handing your guardian that you call mother, loved like your own mother, hugged like your own mother a bag of coins. They both pause in their movements.

The man cages you with his stare, an unreadable expression on his face, hazel eyes reflecting the fire in the hearth, turning it to crimson.

“Mum?” you frown, tears brimming in your eyes.

She can't, she won't but she still did it.

“Y/N, this is—”

“How could you?” You ask, broken, heart left split in half like the mortar on the floor.

She looks at you apologetically, hand reaching towards you instinctively. Your home seems to suffocate you.

The man exhales sharply like he's in pain. “I passed by her a few hours ago. She looks just like—”

You don't let him finish.

Bolting away with only the clothes on your back and the spare change in your pockets, you run as fast as you can without looking back.

“Love?” Hobie says it tenderly that you thought he was calling for someone else, again. “Love?” He calls a bit louder.

Hobie wakes you up back to reality, back to his hold. His thumb wipes the tears sliding down your cheeks, eyes glazing over. He sits on the edge of the pool, the fire next to him warming his drenched clothes whilst you float with only his hand anchoring you near him.

“I'm sorry.” He whispers.

You twist around in the water, arms placed on the ground next to him, fingers twisting around the frayed thread on his pants. Chin resting atop your elbow, you watch the fire crackle and burn timber.

Hobie's hands slide over to your nape, caressing softly, hoping it would make up for what you've lived through. He knows it doesn't, but he still wants to try.

After minutes of silence and listening to your soft sniffles, the warmth of the afternoon sun and fire illuminating your deep frown and tear stained cheeks. Hobie breaks the quiet.

“MJ—” for a second you thought he's calling you by her name again, and it shatters your heart all over again. “She…she was—”

“Don't tell me just because I told you mine.” You look up at him with sadness underneath your eyes. “Only tell me when you're ready.” He nods, squeezing you in thanks. “I told you mine because someone else has to know, just in case—”

Hobie knits his eyebrows. “In case of what?”

In case I die, in case I decide to stay on the island and you leave. In case, in case. You have a lot of them but you spare him the heartache. He'd do the same. Someone has to know your story, that's how you can live forever, you remember her old words.

You shake your head, “nothing.”

He understands, “alright, keep your secrets.” flicking his eyes down, he observes your fingers mindlessly playing with its thread. “Stop tryin’ to take my trousers off, you can just ask.”

You chuckle softly, the first time he's heard it since you sobbed in his arms a week ago.

“You wish, Hobie.”

He dramatically clasps his hands together, eyes closed like he's in prayer. “I wish Y/N would just ask me to take my trousers off.” He laughs, almost not finishing his own joke because of it.

You pinch his leg, earning a yelp from the pirate captain. “You always say something that ruins the moment.”

“You were chuffed though”

“Mm-hmm.”

He looks towards the beach right in between the trees. “It's finally low tide. C’mon, scuttlebutt, I've got somethin' to show you.” He stands up, giving you a helping hand.

“I swear if it's another pair of crabs fucking—”

“That was one time, get up or we might get stranded.”

“We're already stranded.” he frowns at your words.

You've been down since the night you cried in his arms. He's worried, properly so, used to the embers in you, used to the loud banter, it's only right that he worries. You're on your last legs, everything that has happened managed to catch up to you, and for him it's crawling up his neck like a swarm of ants, biting and nipping at him. But you're the priority, his priority, if you fall then he would tumble harder, landing on his face with a sickening crunch.

He doesn't mind, not finding it cumbersome, because you'd do the same for him too. Or he hopes you will.

Hobie has tried everything to make you feel better, caught fish the right way even though it made his blood boil with impatience and frustration. Shot at a seagull with the last of his bullets for a variety of meat that only made you sob for how tough it was. Not even chocolate can brighten your mood nowadays. He even postponed leaving the island until you're back to your usual self. But he knows you two can't stay here forever or the ants might finally reach his head, gnawing at his cheek, eating through his skin. Or worse, kill the fire inside you.

As a last resort, he has thought of a plan, although it's a gamble, a toss of a coin, whether or not it might make you feel worse or better then it all depends on how he acts. Hope is his main choice of weapon yet hope can kill you too.

Hobie huffs, crouching down to face you. His voice is soft. “We're not stranded, we're leaving tomorrow but before we do I have somethin’ to show you.” You look up at him with a frown.

You don't even want to leave anymore. What's waiting for you once you get on land? Nothing, nothing's waiting for you, just more longing for a family you might have and you might never have. And you're frightened at what awaits you.

“Do you want to really leave?” You ask forlornly.

“As much as I love our days here surviving, we have to leave eventually.” He's not sure either, he wants to stay with you but he has responsibilities to the crew and you. He knows you can't stay here or he might never see the fire blaze inside you again. “All I know is my crew might be waitin’ for us, yeah? Now get up.”

Might and Us, the words are a mind killer for you recently.

“Y/N, I know it's hard,” he cups the back of your head. “But you have to stand up, could you do that for me? I'll walk with you the entire time, I promise.”

“What if—?”

“Don't, remember what I told you? Don't let ‘em kill you for the second time.” His eyes bore into you. “Please? C’mon you even got me sayin’ please.”

With an exhale, you manage to clasp your hand in his. Hobie lifts you up to your feet. Water sloshes as you leave the pool, clothes drenched, air making you shiver.

“You hang around me too much.” Hand still in his, he leads you out to the eastern side of the island. “You've become too polite.”

“Is that supposed to be horrible?” Hobie takes his hand away for a moment to grab his vest that's hanging from a branch. “You're not even that polite.” he drapes it over your shoulders, taking your hand back in his hand.

Your heart thuds loudly in your chest, his scent clinging to you like the heat on your cheeks. You put your arms inside, wearing his vest proudly like a medal. Laying your cheek on his shoulder, he laces his fingers around yours, squeezing it tenderly.

It all seems natural to you now, all the wordless affection and care that you both act upon. You know this won't last the moment you two leave the island. So you savour it as much as you can, letting all of it linger in your mind, tucking it away until you need to relive it along the way.

“I'm polite,” you walk on soft leaves to grainy sand, the low tide providing a way towards a smaller island with rocky terrain. The sun beams just behind it, it's a beautiful sight but Hobie's eyes are on you. “If I want to.”

“Sure you are.”

He moves your intertwined hands behind him so he could exchange it with his unoccupied hand, holding you close. Like a moth to a flame, you half embrace him, hand on top of his waist, grasping softly at his skin, memorizing every indent. His warmer hand rests atop yours, while the other has managed to snake around your shoulder, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

Like broken pieces of a shattered glass, you fit together.

Hobie drowns in all of you. Your scent and touch leaving a mark on him, not like a scar that says that you've hurt him in the past, no, it's much more like a wound, a wound that he'd gladly let fester just so he can revisit you, revisit how you look like when you smile or cry, revisit how your soft palms touches his marred flesh.

He'd poke, prod and bleed the wound just to feel your touch again.

It's a lot harder to walk entangled together on the sandy bridge that connects your island to the other, but you two don't seem to mind as you leave your footprints on the sand.

“We have a couple of hours to explore before high tide or we'll get stuck here for an entire day.”

Would that be so bad?

You hum, “explore what?” Voice muffled by his shirt, he rubs softly at your upper arm, warming you.

“You'll see, I know you'll like it.”

“Great, you're gonna kill me.” You joke monotonously.

“Never,” he whispers into your hair. “I'd do it on our island instead.”

You chuckle, “how would you do it?”

“Stake to the heart.” You almost didn't understand him whilst his face is buried in your hair. “Classic.”

“Or you could choke me with the pomegranate seeds.”

“You'd like that, huh?” you can feel his smirk atop your head and you swear he kissed you faintly like a feather landing on you.

“I don't mind dying by fruit. Better yet, death by chocolate.”

“I'd mind, it would be hard to do that. Just think of the bloody logistics.” you two stop walking, finally reaching the tiny patch of land.

“For a second there I thought you didn't want me to die.” He leans away, hand still clasped in yours.

“That too.” You smile at him genuinely. Hobie enters the crevice in the wall, jagged rocks against his calloused hands. “C’mon then.” He holds his hand out to you and you don't hesitate to take it.

“Oh you're definitely gonna kill me.”

His laugh bounces around the cavern as you two shimmy towards the light at the far end of the tight alcove. Darkness soon envelops your vision. His piercings shine, acting as your guide. Like a ship to a lighthouse.

“It's a bit dark, Hobie.” Your voice echoes, concern laced in your voice. Not questioning your trust in him but concerned for what the dark could reveal to you.

“I've got you, just keep holding on to me, yeah?”

You sniff a reply, the dampness from the stone makes your nose itch from the musk.

Your feet splashes on a puddle, almost yelping at the sudden wetness. He holds on to you tighter while the rocks scratch at your back.

Hobie pauses before making way for you to pass through, making sure you don't trip on the way out.

The light almost blinds you as you finally make it to the end. Eyes adjusting, you squint at Hobie's gleeful face.

“We're here.”

Just behind Hobie is a massive ship, half of its hull is missing, mast broken, white sails fluttering aimlessly. There's something eerie about it, from how the sun's light filters through the cracks in the cavern ceiling, to the chipping golden paint that decorates the sides; barnacles have made a home on the broken bottom and crabs skittering away to its crevices. The sodden wood is inflated from the currents, wear and tear evident on its oak. It's gorgeously morbid when you think about the people who might've perished right there.

“Whose ship is this?” Your words echoes and bounces off the cave. You'd be lying if you didn't think it was the revenge for a split second, if not for its unfamiliar figure head, you'd collapse right on the spot.

“Don't know, I think It's navy but it doesn't have their flags so probably a merchant ship.” He comes closer to you, palm brushing over yours. “Look over there.” He glances behind you.

Turning around, you see several tally marks on the wall, an indication that someone survived. You glide your hands carefully over the marks, eyes curious and in disbelief.

“I counted, they were here for six months.”

You whirl around, “six? Fuck.”

“They got out though.”

You knit your brows. “How'd you know?”

“Come with me?”

“To the ship? It looks like it's about to collapse any second.”

“I tried climbing it, it's stable.” Hobie reaches for you, and again you take his hand.

“If I fall I'll blame you.”

“Thought you're good at climbin’?”

“Houses and trees, not a dilapidated ship that's more than ready to be scrapped. That thing looks older than us combined.”

“Fine, I'll climb up first and I'll help you up. Deal?”

“Christ, fine, but you owe me the rest of the chocolate.” you watch him climb a crate, effortlessly reaching the ledge of the deck, hauling himself up quicker than you thought. “Show off.” You say under your breath.

“Heard that.” Hobie peeks down, “the chocolate's all yours, now get your arse up here.” he crouches down, hands at the ready to help you up.

Copying his movements, you jump up, he immediately grabs you. Putting your foot up in a crack for leverage and with Hobie's help, you manage to get up onto the deck.

You sit next to him, stretching your wrists.

“See, not too bad, right?” The wood creaks right as he says it. “Maybe we shouldn't sit or stand on the same floor board.” He stands up but before giving you space to lessen the strain on the old wood, he helps you up once again.

“Thanks, I can stand up on my own y’know.” Yet you still take his hand.

“I know, I just don't like it when you're on the ground, you always look like you're about to bite my ankles.”

You laugh and he smiles triumphantly. The sound echoes, it reminds Hobie of the days spent together on the revenge.

“That's true, It takes every bone in my body not to.”

He smiles lopsidedly, shaking his head at you. “I have to show this to you.” He exclaims excitedly. “Just be careful of where you step.”

You pause in your movements, “shit, alright.” testing the floorboards, you slowly clamber your way towards him. “How'd you even find this place? Did you go spelunking without me?”

“Found it on our second day, thought you wouldn't like to see a broken ship like this so soon.”

You smile softly at him, heart reaching towards him and he thinks he chose right.

Hobie opens a barrel, “Look at this, found it when I actually explored the place.”

You take a peek inside, hands leaning on the barrel. “Dried pomegranates? Look at that, your murder weapon.” flicking your eyes towards him, a teasing smile on your lips.

He huffs with a grin, hands placed on his hips. “So violent. You've been hanging around me too much eh, captain?”

“Hmm, I like the sound of that, Captain Y/N. It has a nice ring to it” chuckling, your hands instinctively inch over to his. He meets you halfway on the rim of the barrel, pinky intertwined with yours. “You wanna sleep separately from now on? Since we spend too much time together and all that.”

Hobie scoffs, sucking in his teeth. “Please, you can't sleep without me now.”

It's true, you've spoiled yourself with his warmth next to you every night.

Rolling your eyes, feigning offense, you change the subject. “What's with the pomegranates?”

“They planted it, using their own supplies.”

“Cute, they left a piece of themselves on the island.”

“More than that, because of ‘em we get to eat the fruit they planted. They helped us survive.”

You shake your head, “no, you helped us survive. You did all the work, Hobie.” Taking his hand, standing toe to toe with him, you stare at his eyes for too long that you drown in his eyes. “I never got to thank you for…everything. Thank you, captain, truly.”

His breath hitches in his throat. Warmth emanating from you, eyes sparkling under the sparse light and sand clinging to your hair, he feels himself carve your name on his skin; right next to hers, right next to the scar she left.

“I rendered the great Captain Hobie Brown speechless. I think I deserve some kind of medal for that—”

Hobie cups your cheeks with both hands, leaning in, the act has you shutting up immediately.

You hear wood cracking underneath your feet. You were above deck then a second later, you're groaning on the floor, laying on his chest, facing a skeleton.

“Oh fuck!” You flinch back, Hobie holds you in place with a hand on your waist. Straddling him, you look at the decaying skeleton on the floor. “Shit—” you notice the body under you. “Oh shit!” Holding his face, you roam your eyes for any visible injuries.

“You should write poetry, you have a way with words.” He says with a wince, peeking at you through his eyelashes, he pats your thigh and you get off his aching body.

“Are you alright?” you ask frantically, checking the back of his head for blood, thankfully you find none. Panic sets in your bones, crawling on all fours, you smack his leg.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?” Hobie sits up, with his legs moving, you can finally breathe.

“I thought your legs—” the wood creaked above, eyes widening at the barrel tethering on the edge, threatening to fall.

With Hobie still shaky from the fall, you grab him quickly, dragging him away from the falling object at the last minute before it collapses on both of you.

He grips your arm, staring at the space where you two were just in a second ago. The heavy barrel now occupies it, dried pomegranates spilling out from the split wood.

“Holy fuck.” He heaves.

You drop next to him, sliding down on the rotten walls. “Holy fuck is the right word for it.” he cranes his neck to look at you. “Death by pomegranates.”

You two watch your faces morph into a smile then into a grin and then to full blown laughter.

The loud noise scares the crabs away, dust flies around and there's splintered wood laying on the floors. Despite it all, you and Hobie continue to laugh. His head laying on your chest, hand around your middle and the vibrations from his chest making you laugh harder. With your hands around his torso, fingers splayed on his back, the both of you meld together in laughter.

“Mystery solved, that's how I could die by pomegranates. Take notes, Hobie.”

He inhales before leaning away, “you saved my arse.”

“Well you saved me too, we're even.”

Hobie thumps his head on the wall just like you have. His hand searches for yours while he stares at the skeleton left next to the barrel.

You find him first before he does, immediately weaving your fingers around his, you smile despite the near death experience.

“How would you do it?” He breaks the quiet.

“Do what?” you turn your head to look at him, he's calm, face relaxed.

“Kill me.”

“Hobie—” you groan.

“Humour me, love.”

“Fine,” you sigh, “poison probably.”

“Poison? Really?” Chuckling, he clasps your hand. Your stomach somersaults at the simple act.

“Mm-hmm, I figured that I can't possibly fight you, I can't shoot you so I'd do it in a subtle way. So, poison.”

“Fuckin' hell, I'll never let you cook.” Hobie turns his head towards the skeleton again like it would suddenly stand up and attack.

“You never let me cook anyway.”

“It's because you always burn it.”

“‘It's because you always burn it’” you mock his tone, “fuck off.”

Hobie guffaws which makes you laugh too.

The laughter subsides once again, he taps your thigh, leaving his warmth embedded in you.

“He has a nice hat,” groaning, Hobie stands up, stretching his back, giving you a glimpse of his skin.

You turn away, watching the pomegranate seeds tumble down. “Who?”

“This bloke.” He bends down, taking a tricorn hat off the dirty floor. “See? There's even a bird on it. Is that silver thread?”

“Let me see.” You stretch your hand up, he lifts you up with one tug.

“There, stitched around the bird.” Hobie points at the fading design.

You can barely make out the emblem, its beak barely there and wings almost indistinguishable. The silver thread weaves around it, the only fully visible thing.

Brushing the pads of your fingers around it, you tilt your head at Hobie. “I think it is, and it's incredibly filthy. Put it back, it's been here for more than twenty years or more.”

“How would you know?” He stares at you, perplexed.

“Judging from the decay,” you gesture around the skeleton, figuring it's too rude to point at it. “and adding the fact it's exposed to the elements, it's been here a long ass time.”

Hobie’s eyes brighten, “you fuckin' bookworm.”

Sticking your tongue at him, cheeks warm, “How'd you know the survivors got out of the island then?”

He shrugs, hands still holding the musty hat. “They left a note on top of a couple of graves just behind the ship.”

“Bullshit, now you're just making shit up.”

He chuckles, the sound similar to a giggle. “‘m not lyin’, cross my heart!”

“Sure, and I'm a selkie.” Sarcasm rolls off your tongue, “I'm going outside.” You begin to walk away, finding the space stifling from all the dust and death that surrounds it.

He quickly places the hat on top of your head and you jump away, flinging it off your head then throwing it at the perpetrator.

“What?” He laughs, “It looks better on you! He clearly doesn't need it anymore!” joking, he tries to put it on you again and you push him away as a warning.

Your smile betrays your true emotion. “Don't—”

“Alright” Hobie surrenders, placing the hat back where he found it, hands next to his head, he slyly inches towards you.

“Thank you, now can we go? High tide’s coming—”

He suddenly lunges for you, picking you up as you yelp and wiggle in his arms. His arm is underneath your knees, the other is around your torso, hands placed right above your ribs. You drown in him once again. Cackling, he walks towards the hole in the wall.

“Put me down!” you bunch up his shirt in your hands, “Hobie!”

“What? I'm taking you outside, it's clearly not safe here, love!” Your squirming has him holding onto you tighter. He grins widely, carefully squeezing out of the broken hull and into the light and fresh air.

Being this close to him, you notice the small dimples on his cheeks. Restraining yourself from poking it, you can't help but stare up at him like he's the sea himself. Deep and full of secrets, secrets that you're more than willing to dive for. A terrifying force on the surface but once you're underneath the tides, you see his true self, all the love he harbors for the people, all the hate that has made him who he is.

With his waves crashing against you, he smoothens your edges with his touch, if you're not careful, he'd erode you until you're nothing but a speck of sand.

Hands atop his shoulders, Hobie stops laughing the second he sees your eyes gleam over, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving half moons on his skin. He doesn't mind, he'd let you mark him if that's what you truly want.

“You alright?” He whispers, staring down at you like the sky above, beautiful and out of reach, a cloud soft and fleeting, stars that guide him in the night. A hurricane that has sunk ships. He thinks he's one of those ships.

You wonder if he used to look at her like this too. Your hold on him loosens.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You say, voice quivering. His face goes slack, eyebrows furrowed. “Like I'm her, you know I'm not her.”

You've struck him with lightning.

You leap off his arms, wobbling on your feet. He stretches his fingers, ghosting over the shape you've left.

“What do you mean?” He asks even though he's afraid of what you're going to say.

You smile bitterly. “I remind you of her. And I'm not her, Hobie.”

“I— where is this coming from?”

Sniffing and shaking your head, “nevermind” you begin to walk towards the exit.

“Y/N,” Hobie grabs your hand, letting go immediately when you flinch like he has burned you. “Not bloody nevermind, what's wrong?”

Gwen and Hobie's arguing finally escapes its cage, their angry words thrown at each other have finally eaten through the back of your head, revealing a wound that hasn't closed. Together with the numerous times he has called her name instead of yours, you collapse under all of it.

He loves her and not you.

You avoid the swirling greys, arms crossed, head down, staring at your worn out shoes. It's better this way you think, cut it off like a lame limb before it spreads to your heart. You're letting him go, and it pains your soul to do so.

“You only like me because of the circumstances.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Hobie's not mad at you, he's angry at the conversation and the idea that you've dug up.

Does he? Does he only like you because of her? Did he only let you in at the start because of her? He only knows what he currently feels for you right now.

“You like me because of the circumstances! If we weren't stuck here together you wouldn't be.” A thunderstorm has broken through.

“After all this time together do you really think that?” He asks the question for you and for himself.

Your hands shake, tears almost spilling over. You don't let it, not in front of him. “You tolerate me.” twisting to face him, you regret the words you've thrown, but it has to be said or the relationship would've been built on lies and love for another. “You called me by her name when I fell and when you slept. I–I don't know, Hobie, I really don't know.”

There it is, the knife that was made to split skin and bleed. Instead of Hobie holding it, it's you. But he helps you bury the steel in his body, helping you twist it, helping you bleed him.

“You were there?” You nod, “I— you do remind me of her… it's uncanny sometimes.” You stifle a sob, head held up high. “And I don't fuckin' know, Y/N. All I know is I like you despite the bloody circumstances.”

Hobie closes his eyes, rubbing it with the heels of his palms. “I'll see you back at the island.” He leaves, and you just watch.

Falling to the ground, you hug your knees, letting it all crumble around you.

—

You haven't slept, bags under your eyes, headache pounding in your head, the sound of soil getting dug out behind you has become a comfort not a nuisance.

You haven't looked at the source of the sound since he started, letting his quiet curses and groans fill you with sadness and guilt. With the sun rising, and a new day coming, you sit up, palms raw from your clenched fists.

He tried to do something nice and you threw it back at him with venom.

Heading towards the shore, kneeling down, you let the salt wash over the crescent wounds. Wincing at the stinging pain, you lift your hands away from the water, lingering, watching the sun rise with heavy eyes. The humidity stifles you, choking you almost.

You clutch at your chest, imagining that your necklace is still hanging around your neck. Wishing for the comfort it brings, but the gold isn't there and the only comfort you have is now cold around you, avoiding your presence since yesterday. The closest thing you have is the pearl in your pocket, so you place your hand inside, rolling the smooth edges around your fingers, letting the cool surface ease you.

With a shaky sigh, you trudge towards the grove, grass grazing along your legs, you stand stiff at the sight.

Graves, he's digging graves.

Covered in dirt and sweat, Hobie digs a hole in the ground using a sharp stick. Lips wobbling, you let a tear fall before wiping it away.

“Hobie.” You call his name softly, voice breaking. He doesn't look up, you notice his arms shaking from fatigue. “Hobie.”

He pauses mid dig, “what?” Asking sharply, his eyes are dark, worse for wear. “Don't ask me to stop, Y/N, because I won't.”

“I was gonna ask if you needed help—want my help.”

Hobie tosses a stick at you, “this is the last one.”

Nodding, you grab the stick from the ground. Jumping down the hole, you wordlessly dig across him. The rough wood opens the scratches on your palms, dribbles of blood rolling down like the tears you've shed.

“Is this Finn's?” you ask with apprehension.

Nothing.

“Ned’s?”

Still nothing, he swallows thickly.

“Mine?”

Hobie stops, sighing, “Do you really think I can do that just because of yesterday?” Do you think he is a monster?

“No. I was trying to lift the mood, I realize now it's in poor taste.”

“I would have laughed if we weren't digging a grave.”

“Graveyard humour.” you say flatly, stabbing the ground, digging even when your palms bleed, even when your blood falls inside the grave.

Hobie exhales, eyes heavy with fatigue, dirt underneath his nails.

“You want to stay.” he says with certainty, cutting the uncomfortable silence.

“I do.”

“You won't survive here alone.”

“I know.”

“Then we'll come back here, once everything is said and done.” He looks at you, “we'll come back here.”

“Hobie—”

His eyes flicker down to your hands, the stick now red from your own hands. “You're bleedin’”

With concern he drops the makeshift shovel to cross the small distance, slowly taking your hands away from the tool. Your skin clings to it like the roots of a tree.

“It's fine.”

Hobie clutches your hands, palms above your own, trying to stop the bleeding. “No, it's not.” No, you're not fine.

“It's just from…everything. I'll clean them so they don't get infected.” you try to leave but he still holds you tight.

“I'll clean it.” Let me help, please. He screams inside his head. Just this once, let him stop the blood instead of the one bleeding you dry.

You glance at him, lines marring his face, grey eyes laid upon a bloodied field. Lips pursed into worry.

“Alright.”

—

The silence makes you squirm in your seat, watching the waves on the shore, you let him clean your hands, trust him to clean your wounds.

Hobie carefully wraps your hands with a tattered part of his shirt. He smells of the familiar herbs and soil, eyes glued to your bandaged hands, he finally speaks.

“She was killed in front of me.” His voice lacks the usual tone, grief weaved around the sentence. “When the black helion sailed next to us I knew that she was already gone.”

You look at him, it's the least you could do.

“She called for me while Mathias had his sword right next to her neck. And I cowered under the deck until she asked with a smile if she could see me.”

Listening with tears in your eyes, Hobie avoids yours.

“The second I showed myself…he cut off her head. At first I thought it was her last attempt at hurting me, seeing her dead. But after a while I… I think she wanted me to be the last thing she ever saw because she grinned like she used to when she saw me.”

He raises his head to meet your tearful eyes, “Mary Jane, that was her real name.” He chokes before inhaling deeply. “An orphan like me but she got the wrong end of the bloody stick.” He spits the words angrily. “She wanted an out, that's why she went to Mathias. We fought when she told me she was navy, but I knew…I think I just didn't want to believe it.”

Your heart breaks for him.

“I want to avenge her not just for MJ but for everyone else who got the wrong end of the bloody stick. Thirty of my men died that day, I can grieve for them everyday for the rest of my life but it wouldn't be enough. It will never be enough.”

Hobie lets your hands go softly on your lap.

“It's better to be angry than to wallow in myself. They wouldn't like that if I did so I let myself be angry for their sake.”

You reach for him, surprising himself, he welcomes your touch. Holding his face like you hold the entire world in your palms, you kiss the corner of his eyes softly, encouraging him to cry.

Laying your forehead against his, you whisper the words to him like a secret shared between two lovers.

“Let me be angry for you just this once, e–even if it's just for today, let me carry it for you. And I'll be angry for you if you ask. Just ask me, Hobie.”

“Just for a minute.” He whispers back.

“Alright, just for a minute.”

Hobie drops his head on your shoulder, hiding his face from the world, arms enclosed around your torso, you let him cry.

—

You help Hobie bury the empty graves. Pomegranates and colourful flowers on top of each one except for the three at the very back. You whisper goodbyes to each one, giving Finn's, Ned's and the crew he lost with extra attention and extra love.

You leave a bar of chocolate on top of Finn's grave, his name written on a piece of driftwood. ‘beloved friend’ you've written under his name then you realize it's not enough to describe him, so you write ‘best chef in the world’ next to it, laughing to yourself once you finish it.

“I think he'd like it” Hobie said whilst he places the folded sail on top of Ned’s empty grave. He wrote next to his name, ‘a shit lyricist but a good friend, beloved by everyone’ and you sobbed wetly at the words.

You just stare at the graves for the men you killed, imagining them rotting under it. They were once children, you thought, but you don't regret it, because you lived because of what you did, lived because of what you endured.

Just as you're leaving the thicket, giving the crew one last goodbye, you watch Hobie write her name and you leave, giving him privacy.

You wait for him patiently under the trees, right next to the raft full of supplies you've gathered. Eyes downturned, cheeks stained with tears, you hear the rustle of leaves from behind and you don't mention the missing necklace from his neck.

“Ready to go?” He asks.

No.

“Yes.”

Hobie goes around the raft to push, you copy him.

“Is that—?” He stops, hand above his eyebrows, shielding it from the sun. “Holy shit.”

You follow his line of sight, perplexed, until you see five figures waving wildly at you.

“It's them” Hobie looks at you with relief and you almost weep once again.

“It's them.”

A/N: Before you all get mad at me for Miguel, all will be revealed in the next chapter. Thank you for reading!

[marrrrss]

A different Valentine's Day?

Hank voight x Daughter! Emma

Angst (?) And fluff

summary: what happens when your boyfriend decides to follow bro code (or whatever) on valentines day?

word count: 1,310 words

authors note: (My mind has been a mess but I think that now I'm back for good.) Happy Valentines! To everyone!

-English is not my first language-

Some people spend Valentine's alone. Some go for dinner by themselves or with friends or, if they're lucky, with a special someone.

Others do long distance.

Others have a fun date.

Others have their boyfriend saying he's going on a boys' night.

As weird as it sounds, that happened to Emma. Asking Jake what he was doing for Valentine's and hearing, "I'm spending the night with my boy Toni because he got cheated on," was NOT what she expected.

Sure, okay, he broke the news over breakfast when Emma asked what they would do tonight, but hearing a whole speech about bro code? C'mon, seriously?

So what were the plans after work now? Get drunk in a bar? Go back to the apartment and stare at the wall? Overtime? Ugh, wine sounds better.

Parking the car in Voight's street felt weird. She was supposed to be having dinner or on a date with Jake, not sitting in her car, staring at the house she grew up in, questioning what the hell was happening.

Getting out of the car, closing the door with a bit too much force, she walked toward the front door of the house—the all-too-familiar house.

As she approached the door, she noticed the living room lights were on. Well, at least she hadn't come here for nothing.

She didn't even bother knocking. He gave her an extra key for a reason. Well... more like emergencies, but this counted.

As soon as the door opened, Voight looked up from the couch, where he was lying with a case file in hand and a half-empty beer on the coffee table.

"What the heck are you doing here, Em? Weren't you supposed to be out with Jake?" he asked, sitting up and tossing the file on the table as Emma closed the door behind her.

A loud sigh escaped her lips as she stood there, feeling her father's gaze on her. It was the same one he used on suspects and criminals—or on her when she ate candy right before dinner or came home really late after curfew.

"Do I gotta call in some favors?" Hank asked in the most natural tone of voice.

"No. God, no. Tempting... really tempting, but no," Emma said, walking over to the couch and sitting beside him with a sigh, sinking into the cushions. "Jake decided to have a boys' night," she added, her voice low, betraying the confusion, hurt, and everything in between.

Voight's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wait, what? The same guy who went all out last year for Valentine's?"

Yeah, that guy—the one who gave Emma flowers, cooked her a damn good meal, complete with dessert, and topped it off with an incredible night. The guy who'd been her Valentine and everything else for three years.

"Yeah... that guy," Emma replied coldly. "Jake said he was going to spend the night with Toni because he got cheated on. Literally told me over breakfast when I asked what we were doing tonight. And after he said it, I just stared at him like a complete idiot and said, 'Alright.' Then he goes, 'Alright, good. Talk to you later,' gave me a kiss, and left for work." She ran a hand down her face, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I only realized I had nothing to do when I left work, and then I asked myself, 'What the fuck is happening?' And now here I am."

Voight just stared at her blankly for a moment, processing it all. "I can make some calls to find out where he really is... or whatever you want."

"No, just stop," Emma said, shaking her head. "I'm not going down the rabbit hole of 'he's cheating on me,' not tonight at least. I just... I don't even know why I came here." Her gaze dropped to the coffee table as though it held all the answers.

"Don't move," Hank said, getting up and disappearing into the house.

"Stupid," she muttered under her breath, rubbing her eyes. How the hell had the guy who went all out last year turned into someone who'd rather spend Valentine's talking about bro code? Almost three years for this? Jake had moved into Emma's apartment, for crying out loud.

She was still spiraling when Voight returned with a brand-new bottle of bourbon and two glasses.

Her eyes narrowed. "Isn't that the special-occasion bottle?"

"Special occasion. You looking like a lost puppy? Same thing," he said with a small smile, opening the bottle and pouring generous amounts into both glasses. "Seriously, if you want me to scare the shit out of Jake, I can make a call."

Emma took a long sip before turning to him. "As tempting as it sounds—again, no." She wanted to say yes, but she knew it would make things worse.

"The offer stands, kid."

Emma swirled the bourbon in her glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light as she let out another long, heavy sigh. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion, hurt, and anger—all mixing together like a storm she couldn't calm.

"I don't know, Dad. I just... I never thought he'd pull something like this." She glanced over at Hank, his steady gaze unwavering, trying to understand. "I mean, we’ve been together for three years. I thought we had a... connection. I thought we were stronger than whatever this is."

Voight leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms. His eyes softened, but his voice was firm. "Kid, sometimes people do things you don’t expect. Doesn’t make it right, but it happens. You just gotta figure out what you’re gonna do with it." He took a sip of his own bourbon, his face hardening slightly. "Jake needs to know that what he did was a low blow, but it's on you how you handle it. No one can make that decision for you."

Emma stared at the glass in her hand, the warmth of the alcohol doing little to ease the chill settling deep inside her. "I don’t even know what to say to him. He just... dropped it on me like it was nothing. Like I didn’t even matter."

Hank’s expression softened again. "People screw up. Doesn’t mean they don’t care, even if they don’t show it right. You gotta decide if you still care enough to figure it out. If not, that’s on him."

She gave a slight nod, taking another sip. "I just don’t know if I can trust him right now. And I don’t want to be someone's backup plan when they’re done feeling sorry for themselves."

"Then don’t be," Voight replied, his voice steady but with that familiar edge that made Emma pay attention. "You don't owe him anything if he's not showing you respect. But whatever you decide, it’s gotta be for you. Not because of what anyone else says or does."

Emma leaned back into the couch, trying to process it all. Her mind was still spinning, but Hank’s words were starting to sink in. She couldn’t let this define her or make her feel small. She had to take control of her own happiness again.

After a long silence, Hank spoke again, his voice lighter now. "You’re always welcome here, Em. No matter what happens with Jake or anyone else. This house is still your home."

"Thanks, Dad," she murmured, the weight of it all pressing down on her. "I just... need time to think. And figure out what the hell comes next."

"Take all the time you need. You know where to find me," he said with a small smile, raising his glass in a quiet toast to her.

Emma clinked her glass against his and took another sip, feeling just a little bit more grounded. Whatever happened with Jake, she knew her father had her back.

That was something she didn’t need to question.

[writing-until-i-drop]

What's In A Name? Chapter Nine

Meg Harding and Kate Carter were inseparable until their friends died five ago, then she ran to New Orleans to save lives as a paramedic. But when Javi calls on his two oldest friends to help him collect data, counting on their matching natural instincts for tornadoes, Meg goes home for the first time in years. That's where she meets Tyler and the rest of the Wranglers, the YouTube storm chasers her dad likes to watch, and finds herself fitting in more with them than with Storm PAR. Meg only plans to stay for the week but will it be easy to leave when the dust settles?

If a certain cowboy has a say in it, nothing about leaving is going to be easy.

A/N: The OG chasers make a group chat and the twister shifts towards a crowded town.

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Katie and Tyler had their plans all laid out, the science behind them seemed solid enough. Cathy had practically kicked them out of her house but made them promise to come back before heading home. Meg’s heart twinged when she thought of her life in New Orleans but she didn’t dwell on the thought long, quickly falling asleep in the back seat as Meg and Tyler talked science. Nick’s ringtone is what pulled her back to the land of the living some time later.

“Hey, Hot Stuff. My cougar still purrin’?” The whole truck jerked, Meg assumed there was a pothole, her eyes barely open.

“You know it, Honey Buns. You know, since you’ve been gone so long I was thinking of getting her some training wheels, in case you forgot how to do your job.” 

“I’m better than you on your best day, I’ve got moves you ain’t ever seen,” The truck jerked again and Meg finally opened her eyes, Kate was looking back at her, eyebrows up at her hairline. She pointed at Tyler, who was blocked by the seat at the angle Meg was leaning against the window. “Hold on, babe. My boyfriend is trying to kill us.” Nick’s laughter rang in her ear.

“It’s Nick isn’t it?” Tyler sighed, chuckling to himself. “Sorry,”

“Who’s Nick?” 

“Her partner at work,” Tyler explained, Nick was still laughing his ass off.

“Nick, if you don’t stop laughing, I’m fixin’ to tell your wife,” She kicked the back of Tyler’s seat, making sure he heard that part. “About Tommy’s bachelor party.”

“And I’ll tell your man ‘bout the supply closet. Truce?” 

“Truce but it’s official, I ain’t ever lettin’ y’all meet, nuh uh, over my dead body.” Nick and Meg laughed, continuing to chat about all the workplace drama she had missed so far. 

“Can’t wait to have you back, Meg.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Meg couldn’t tell if she was lying or not. “Gotta go, Hot Stuff. Make sure you scrub that rig good tonight, you know she’s a dirty girl after a shift.” When she hung up, Meg sat up straight in the seat, catching a glimpse of Tyler’s pink cheeks in the rearview mirror.

“You always talk like that to colleagues, Mud Bug?” Meg snorted, knowing how out of place the flirting sounded to anyone who was outside of the field. Fire fighters, police, and medics all had a twisted sense of what was appropriate. Normal people had a line that they’d never cross, fearing being impolite or crude, the people in Meg’s line of work however crossed that line with glee. 

“Only the married ones,” She reached up over the seat, resting both hands on Tyler’s shoulders. “How much longer we got on the road?” 

“Not long,” He squeezed her hand, keeping the other on the wheel. “How’s Nick?” 

“He’s annoyin’ as ever, they assigned him a rookie EMT as a partner while I’m gone and let’s just say, it’s goin’ interestin’ for the both of ‘em.” 

When they pulled into the auto-garage, the rest of the Wranglers were standing there waiting for them, including the reporter.

“Ben, you stuck around,” Tyler greeted the man, hopping out of his truck. Meg rolled her eyes, heading straight for Lily, who pulled her into a hug.

“How’s everything going, darlin’?” Meg asked, “Saw y’all chased without us.” 

“Boone won’t stop moping that Tyler left him behind,” Lily snorted. “How are things with you and him?” Meg pulled away, blushing,

“Let’s just say, I’m wonderin’ what kind of rings you’re picking out for us.” Lily squealed with excitement and Meg had to clamp a hand over her mouth when everyone’s head turned her way. “Not all of Oklahoma needs to be in on this conversation.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll text you pictures later.” 

“Hey, y’all ready?” Dani called out to the group and everyone converged, Meg and Lily hanging towards the back of the group while Dani ran the salesman down the specifications of what they needed.

After settling on an aluminum trailer, the Wranglers drove out to a field and started working on preparing the barrels and rockets. 

“What are you doing over here, Meg?” Boone stuck the camera in her face, grinning like a dope.

“I’m checking all of my supplies, making sure everything’s ready to go in case there’s trouble.” 

“Y’all, meet Meg, she’s a badass paramedic that’s got T wrapped around her little finger,” Meg batted at him. Boone laughed, dancing away to go check on Lily and Cairo. She felt her phone buzz in her back pocket. 

“Oh lordy, they done made a group chat.” 

Dad: You’re on the livestream!

Rabbit: Wrapped around your finger?

Haynes: Leave her alone Rabbit

Dad: When are y’all getting married?

Lawrence: She’s never getting married out of spite at this point

Meg chuckled at Lawrence’s text, appreciating the throwback to when she looked her Grandma Harding in the eye after being admonished for not “sitting like a lady” and how “no man wants to marry a wild animal” and said with all of the conviction in the world: I ain’t ever gettin’ married. 

Dad: Don’t say that

Joey: Yeah, shut up Lawrence

Haynes: Don’t be mean to him

Preacher: Be careful out there, Meggy

Meg: Always am, Preach <3

Mama: Wear your harness!!!!

Meg tucked her phone away, going to stand by Kate who was quietly snapping pictures.

“You ready to tame a tornado?” Meg rested a hand on the middle of Kate’s back, waiting until she stopped snapping photos tto bring her in for a hug.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. I’m real glad you’re here, Meg,” 

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Not even New Orleans. The two of them stood there, hugging for a long while before breaking apart, both of them feeling the atmosphere start to change. 

“Let’s do this.” 

“Something’s not right,” Meg said just as Katie announced that the Doppler went dark. “I don’t like this.” The twisting feeling in her gut only got worse when Cairo went down. Kate was silent but Meg knew by the look on her face that she was thinking the same thing. 

The tornado came through the rain out of nowhere, flipping Javi’s StormPAR truck like a toy. 

“Javi!” Kate screamed, her hand flying back to hold Meg’s. “Tyler, we got to do something.” 

“On your left guys, it’s hitting something big!” Boone’s shout crackled over the radio and Meg let out a string of curse words that would make any sailor blush. 

“Shit,” 

“Oh my God,” They watched in horror as the storm barelled into some type of factory, becoming wrapped with fire.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” Tyler quickly put the truck in drive, trying to flip them around. Meg squeezed her eyes shut, panic coursing through her veins. Was she going to die this time? Was the tornado finally going to claim what slipped out of grasp all those years ago? She vaguely heard Kate and Tyler squabbling over what to do about Javi, feeling the panic inside of her shift to an eerie calm, her training coming back to her like the second nature it was. 

“Get us out of here, Cowboy.” Tyler’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror before he high-tailed it out of there, following Javi’s truck which had somehow flipped back onto its wheels while her eyes had been shut, shouting at them to hold on. 

When light started breaking through the storm clouds again, Tyler called out on the radio to check in with the team and Meg felt herself relax a little with each confirmation of safety. 

“What was that?” Ben shouted somewhere in the background and Meg knew the answer in her soul. Tornadoes weren’t classified until after the fact, their strength determined by how much they destroyed, but she could feel it. They were running from the finger of God. She twisted in her seat, looking at the storm.

“It’s shifting course.” 

“Shit,” Kate groaned. “It’s heading straight for a town. It’s heading for El Reno,” Kate started spouting orders over the radio and Meg undid her harness, pulling her medical bag out from under the seat, throwing the strap over her shoulder so she wouldn’t have to waste time when they stopped. 

“You okay back there?” Tyler asked, reaching one hand up over his shoulder for her to squeeze.

“I’m okay, baby. Let’s get these people to safety.” That’s all he needed to hear, picking up speed as they drove past the StormPAR truck. 

The town was in chaos, everyone running around and screaming. They started shouting instructions, pushing vendors away from their tents and towards shelter. There was debris flying all around, the wicked wind making it hard to stay on their feet. 

“Go, go to the movie theater,” Meg guided people towards the theater. Her heart stopped when she heard Tyler scream.

“Tyler! Kate, help me.” Tyler was pinned beneath large debris, and even with all of her might, Meg knew she wasn’t strong enough to move it.

“Meg, you have to go.” 

“I’m not leaving you,” She grunted, shifting her feet for better leverage. “Kate, go inside.” 

“I’m not leaving you either,” Her best friend gritted out as they tried to lift the boards together. There was another large crack that sounded through the air, the scream of warping metal shooting a bolt of panic through her. 

“Javi?” Meg spotted him running towards them with a board that he wedged beneath the debris.

“C’mon, guys, lift!” They managed to pull Tyler out just as the water tower crashed down, thousands of gallons of water knocking them off of their feet. The rushed into the theater just in time to see the ceiling start to cave in and began to check for a basement. 

“This building isn’t built to withstand what’s coming,” Javi shouted over the roaring winds. At the sound of crashing and screaming, both of the men took off back towards the theater, leaving Kate and Meg to stare at the storm. Meg felt that calm again but it was different, it wasn’t the calm she felt under pressure when working on a critical patient. It was the calm she felt before she ran into an unsecured scene, knowing that she could die.

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Meg asked, praying that she wasn’t.

“I swiped his keys,” Kate held up the keyring, offering it to her. The scrunchie Meg had lost a few days ago dangling from the jump ring.

“Then let’s go.” They ran for the truck.

If they survived, their friends and mamas were going to kill them. But if this worked, they would save a lot of people too. It had been a long time since Meg had driven anywhere near a tornado but she did her best to pretend that the shaking of the cab was nothing more than the death wobble of an ambulance going 100 mph on the freeway. 

“That way,” Kate pointed. Meg took a moment to strap into the harness, Tyler’s cologne overwhelming her senses, reminding her that this was a bad idea, then she shifted into gear. Meg didn’t need the directions Kate was shouting, she knew where the storm was going. And with a reckless kind of fearlessness, she pressed the gas pedal to the floor. 

“This truck ain’t made for this,” Meg shouted even though they both already knew it.” 

“Hope he’s got insurance,” Kate’s humor was still intact, even if her sanity wasn’t. The truck caught air going from the road to the grass, eliciting shrieks from the two women. Out of the corner of her eye, Meg saw Kate pull out her phone.

“My name’s Kate Carter and this is Meg Hardiing and today, we’re going to tame a tornado or die trying.” She locked her phone into the mount on the dash, capturing the whole cab with the camera.

“Right now there’s an EF-5 heading towards the town of El Reno,” Meg narrated. The recording was almost comforting, Jeb used to record them all the time, making them explain what they were doing. And just like when they were in the swimming pool, Meg felt like he was there with them. Kate must have felt it too, her voice shaking as she listed off the science of what they were going to do.

“If we don’t make it, we just want to say that we love you guys and mama, I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Meg shouted, swerving to avoid debris. “You know I love y’all but you know we have to do this.” She cursed, narrowly avoiding a large tree limb. “And Ty, I love you, and I really hope you’ve got full coverage on this baby.” 

“This is how you’re going to tell him you love him for the first time?” 

“Not really seeing any better options here, Katie. Shit!” She stomped the breaks, deploying the anchors as soon as they stopped. “Rockets?” 

“Rockets,” Kate fired them and they watched as the twisters sucked up the chemicals. Meg felt completely calm, watching the monster tornado moving closer.

“It’s beautiful,” She couldn’t help but whisper with childlike wonder. It was probably going to kill her but it really was beautiful.

“Let’s deploy together,” They hovered their fingers over the button. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three,” The mechanism went off without a hitch, the compound being pulled up by the storm around them.

“I love you, Katie my Lady.” 

“I love you too, Mud Bug.” They held hands and did nothing to stop what was coming because what else could they do? 

The trailer went first, lightening the weight of the truck enough for the force of the winds to move it despite the anchors. Meg’s eyes fluttered shut and her body relaxed in acceptance. Never before had the universe heard such silence in a truck being flipped like a quarter through the air, both women just waiting for the end. 

Taglist: @theforevermorereject @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @sinners-98-world @nerdgirljen @candlejuice @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @football1921 @katiemcrae @emma8895eb @itsdesiree86 @closetspngirl @lostinwonderland314 @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @winterassassin1804

Next Chapter

[alexatheris-44]

Lost Kin

(Darksiders, Against Creation AU)

-

CW: Descriptions of injury and gore, gladiatorial combat, descriptions of body horror

Summary: Long ago, a child born of half blood was given away to the Masters of Hell’s Black Pit; a means to be rid of him far from anywhere muddying the parents own hands. One brutal upbringing later he carries the title of the Dreadbearer, and whispers of his heritage find their way to the ears of the two beings in all Creation that might answer even his most ancient questions…

> New OC alert 🚨🚨 AND I get to write Anathem fighting?? Ooo this one was a treat for me to write uwu

vvvv Start Reading Below the GIF :D vvvv

“Never ‘eard of ‘em Nephilim sellin’ off one of ‘eir own. Thought the bastards just ate the bad ones or sumthin’.”

“Bah! Y’ask me, the Masters got swindled! Pipsqueak’s just a half-breed.”

The gravel-voiced brute which stalked to the child’s left gave him a harsh shove forward as it barked, jostling the hood over his head enough to catch a glimpse of his own feeble feet stumbling against the dirt.

“An ‘alf-breed of a ‘alf-breed’s still gotta count for sumthin’, ya twod! Even a young’un’s got all the fire and bloodlust in ‘im to be feared.”

The chains binding his feet and wrists dug cold into his skin despite his lesser frame, and he had to fight against the iron collar around his neck to keep his head up. While he’d been brought a far ways away from the titans he was born amongst, from the sounds of the hellborns’ earlier bickering he still had quite the distance to walk before he’d arrive at his new home… if it could be called that.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if half’a million half-bastards were out there. Don’t see what makes this’un so special.”

“Think ‘e’s from one of ‘em Firstborn? I ‘ear thems the ones ya really need t’watch out for.”

“Shut’chyur trap already! Only the Masters gotta worry ‘bout what it is or ain’t. If it’s strong enough to live, better learn fast how to be fierce.”

-

The roar of the day’s crowd deafened about the same as any other day, hundreds of guttural bellows from just about any shape or sized brute making up Hell’s diverse population calling and howling at the show of bloodshed. The crack of skull and squelch of brainmatter oddly grounded the man as he pulled his weapon —a large warpick with a serrated edge over the length of the pick— from the bludgeoned head of his fallen opponent, heaving a relieved exhale with the most casual roll of his shoulder. The Stalker —a gigantic scaled feline of a beast with dangerous paws nearly twice the size of its own head— had given him far more trouble today than it should have, even managing to clip him along the shoulderblades to decorate his back with a new jagged gash, the offending claw even shredding his shoddy tunic to hang as torn rags over his rope belt. The warmth of his blood dripping down his newly bared back stung in the arid air of the arena; the Masters of the Black Pit had designed their coliseum to be as hostile an environment as the Hells could offer, and wore their accomplishments as a badge of honour.

“ANOTHER BRUTAL SHOW BY THE DREADBEARER!” The shrill voice of the arena’s announcer declared his victory against the beast over the cacophony, signaling for him to play to the crowd before he needed to return to the pens. He hoisted the blunt end of his weapon to rest over his shoulder and punched his free fist high above his head, pointed teeth bared to air in his roar. Despite the sloppy footwork that earned him the back injury, he was actually rather proud of his performance— he only needed the one warpick to take down the three foes of today’s Beast Round. The second of a pair was still secured to his hip, unbloody. When his gruff cry ebbed out and he needed to breathe again, he returned the first pick to his belt and made for the far left towards the pens; to his turned back, the announcer began calling for the closing match. Whoever operated the thorned door of the gate from the onlook had it swung wide open for him some steps ahead of when necessary, slamming it shut so soon after he’d stepped in the iron spikes nearly kissed his wound. He didn’t startle at the sound, only rolled his citrine eyes. He dared the thought that, after a lifetime in the arena without once trying to escape the Masters, they might inform their underlings to take it easy with treating him like another animal. But alas that would require the Masters seeing him as anything more than another beast to lead to slaughter, for the dark delight and glittering coin of bloodlusting crowds. He allowed himself a single tired sigh before he straightened his back, not to be seen as easy prey to the other hunters made to wait in this hole.

“Caught ya nasty today, ey Half-Spine??” A crooked-tooth grin taunted him off the side, the being whose scarred face hosted it sitting slumped with elbows leaning forward in the twin crescents of its large axe. This was the only way he could look it straight in the eyes; if it were standing fully straight, it would tower over him by at least twice his height.

“Saw that, did you Old One?” He threw out over his shoulder without looking back, wishing he kept his warpick out so he’d have something to hold.

“Shouldn’t have troubled your old bones, it got lucky.”

The Old One’s mocking laugh bounced off the walls as he walked on, old-copper coloured eyes almost trying to cauterize the cut in his back by stare alone. When he made it clear no rise would be pulled out of him this time, the Old One’s staring relented, but the crowded funnel of the fighters’ area meant there were a plethora of stolen glances and glares to trudge through on his way to the very back— his preferred waiting spot. There was very little he could do to hide what he was; even if any number of these monsters had never personally seen a living breathing Nephilim, his half heritage clung to him like a bad smell. Many of those considered the “old guard” in here had their own nickname for him, Half-Spine being the one preferred by the Masters’ only Maker gladiator. It wasn’t very creative, considering some others; only mocking him for his shorter height —which was hardly unique to him given that Makers always tended to dwarf other races around them— and the single black devil horn piercing from the skin of his forehead. Maybe that’s what earned the old bastard some of his respect, or just by being the oldest one in here. Didn’t really matter, they all went out someday or other. While the fighters hugged the funnel by the gate to get their best shot of watching the show, or stayed close to the calling area in hopes to be the first ones out the pens when the day ended, he’d always just wait at the very back: the best seat in the house for keeping an eye on everyone. Sometimes, the day’s chosen champions were a bit too eager to taste blood, and it would start to spill in the halls farthest from cheering eyes. That would not be his end, not if he could help it. There was also the lesser known advantage of this wall being the thinnest, and right on the other side was always where the Masters’ underlings seemed especially chatty. He had to tune out any potential address to pick up what was muttered on the other side, but there seemed to be a special occasion: the Masters had a guest of honour to entertain the masses tomorrow, a certain—

“Eyes up, Dreadbaron!” The old gladiator’s voice boomed at him, somehow having snuck up close despite a Maker’s lumbering girth and wielding the double bladed axe about as wide as its own torso. He had to bite back every impulse to jump at the sudden address —actually biting his tongue in the process but waving off the pain so as to not be seen caught off guard— and met eyes with the giant, having to tilt up his head to make the distance.

“Dread bearer,” he corrected, earning a thundering laugh from the Old One.

“You're no BEAR, wee one! C’mon now, can’t be sleeping in ‘ere! S’gonna be a cull t’morrow.”

His heart plummeted at the words. Every so often, the Masters felt the need to seriously cut down the pool of fighters they could pull from, something about keeping faces fresh and blood new. Pile that on top of a special guest in attendance to impress, and it promised a veritable slaughter. He stood up slowly from his seat, seeing now that the pens had nearly emptied by the time the Maker broke him from his eavesdropping.

“Worried it’ll be your last?” He asked without challenge, returning a kindness in his own way. The Maker sneered, turning to walk off with axe over shoulder.

“If it is, better be messy! And don’t be gettin’ excited, Half-Spine; ain’t gonna be by the likes’a you.”

If that helps you sleep tonight, he thought to himself. They had an odd on-and-off camaraderie, as close as you could have when the threat of being forced to kill each other one day loomed overhead like the primed blade of a guillotine. Still, the Maker at least took much in stride and with good humour; he wondered if it was the Old One’s choice to be in here.

“Anything to know about the Masters’ guest of honour?” He asked plainly, following a step behind and to the side so both beings could keep each other in sight— a show of some respect.

“Y’ave a name?”

“The guards called them Kingslayer, I think.” He recalled the muttered name he but barely caught before the Old One had startled him.

“The Kingslayer, ye say?” There was a foreboding surprise to the Maker’s voice, as if breathing the name of a legend. Not good.

“Aye, plenty ta know bout him, none that's gonna help ye. Yer gonna want both yer picks fer this’un.”

“Are you saying he’ll be fighting in the arena himself?”

“Nay, not him. But that champion’s nothing ta scoff at. Two of ‘em came outta nowhere and took’over the old Defiler’s claim, right’out from under all those vying underlords— ‘eard nay a sound from any of ‘em folks since. Ye best mind yerself t’morrow, lad… that thing is more weapon than man.”

The Maker, usually so full of boast and flippant pride, actually sounded serious when they parted ways to their respective kennels. It did not make for a sound night’s sleep…

-

By the morning, he expected to catch sights of a veritable monster —waiting to devour them all whole— being hauled or escorted to the challengers’ area. When he and his fellow “champions of the Masters” were herded to the pens to find a new face already waiting inside, the half-Nephilim couldn’t be sure he wasn’t being messed with. Sure, this wasn’t any man he’d ever seen before; even by Hell’s peculiar standards of appearance, the way this being felt to be a carefully constructed combination of many yet still with the simple semblance of a man felt a little shy of purely grotesque. Not disgusting or repulsive, just plainly unattural— utterly wrong.

Second thing to notice was just how… small it was. The half-Nephilim was by no means the most imposing fighter in the pens, in fact —discounting the odd shadowcaster, imp, or such— he tended to be the smallest one in here any given day. And this thing —this Champion of the Kingslayer’s— maybe reached him at the clavicle, maybe; hard to say for certain with how much it slouched. Everyone that came in to settle and ready for the battles ahead caught a look of the Champion and just scoffed or sneered, going on their way near the funnel or hugging near the the gate as per usual. Unfortunately for our Dreadbearer, however, this foe shared his preference to wait at the back wall. He stood still in the center of the room for a fair few minutes, debating what to do —what was wise to do— when he felt a forceful shove square in his now closed back.

“Out of the way, Nephyl!” Barked a Demon, nearly clipping his side with that brutal hooked warhammer it carried around in one hand. The Champion seemed to have been asleep or at least meditating before, but with the commotion it now stared at the Dreadbearer rather intensely. He forced away the slight shiver he felt under the scrutiny of the four eyes unevenly distributed on its face; three which lightly glowed neon yellow on the right side— left side hosting only the one, with a golden marble of a pupil in a pool of blooded crimson. Not wanting to be perceived as looking for trouble, he faked a stretch and made for his usual seat with caution. Thankfully the guest’s Champion perched as if a gargoyle on the bench opposite his, so at least there was some distance between the two. While the Dreadbearer was trying his best to only steal subtle glances at his would-be opponent, it was not a gesture returned; the Champion made no secret of its soul-burrowing stare, to him or anything that moved. It was especially unsettling how those three yellow eyes could move completely independently of each other and the solo left one. It wasn’t foolish nor seeking to stir trouble, merely unapologetic as it sized-up its foes. The Dreadbearer caught himself staring out the corner of his eye when it met his gaze, not even seeming to mind the looks in return. Though it certainly lingered in how it observed him, as if he was a secret tome cracked half open. No doubt it heard what that disgruntled gladiator called him, and even less of doubt it already picked up on his cursed heritage. He learned young not to bring more attention to himself than was necessary; just about every being in Creation had a bone to pick with those ancient brutes —the Nephilim— and one look at him tended to spark a lot of strong reactions. Many could hardly even wait to be in the arena before making their grievances known, so if the Champion had a problem with him it certainly made no show of it. It looked curious, actually; perhaps it wouldn’t mind a chat to pass the time…?

“Names don’t mean much in the Pit, but you’ll hear them call me the Dreadbearer.” He tried his hand at approachable, leaning back in a way his hands would be further away from his warpicks. If it showed any signs of aggression he still bet he could at least have one out before it got too close. He received a long, flat look from its two largest eyes, so long in silence he began to wonder if it even understood him.

“…Picked that yourself?” Finally it spoke in a low crackle of a voice, tusked jaw-mask barely lowering with the stifled movement of its mouth. If it was giving him a tone it had spoken too quietly for it to be heard, and before he’d settled on how to answer, it chose to move on.

“…Anathem.”

“Pardon?”

“My name. Anathem.”

The Dreadbearer felt a bit stunned; not once had his introductions ever been met before! Not without being cursed or cussed out, at least. The Champion —Anathem— hummed once at his wide eyes, as if somehow he learned everything he needed to know about the Dreadbearer from the short exchange alone. He wasn’t giving the impression of being all that interested in continuing a conversation, nor did he look particularly disinterested. The half-Nephilim clung to this like the high rung of a very tall ladder.

“Are you uh… new to the Black Pit—”

“I tire of your tongue, wretch!” The same Demon that shoved him shouted hoarsely from nearer the entrance, its glare travelling the distance to land squarely on the young man. Fighters of its ilk were always in a foul mood, but this particular one especially seemed to have it out for him; now it looked like it finally had enough. The Dreadbearer moved his hands to his hips, ready to call on his weapons the moment the demon made a wrong move as it stalked over. Made sense there’d be conflict before the fights even began, tensions were always highest the day of a cull. But to his surprise, the man sitting with him at the far wall stood from his perch and stepped between him and the hellspawn brute. Now with a good view of Anathem’s back, the Dreadbearer’s eyes stuck to the iron chain-anchors firmly embedded in the Champion’s exposed shoulderblades; the way the spine links that trailed from those anchors to connect at the hefty shackle on either wrist rattled as they were disturbed like the warnings of a rattlesnake. Those odd chains… they looked to be the ghosts of bones, how did he not notice them before?

“Shove off, pissant!” The Demon had no intention of stopping its approach, readying to backhand the smallfry with its warhammer. Despite how the twin trails would phase through each other and anything else solid in their way save for the Champion’s back, one length of chain seemed to become physical as Anathem jerked up his wrist to grab it in a loose loop. As the dangerous end of the warhammer came just shy of shattering the Champion’s ribs, he dove forward of the blow and pivoted to jump off the large striking forearm, the leap arching him up and over the brute as if it had all been choreographed. The chains —previously just short of dragging in the dirt when Anathem’s arms were at rest— now extended seamlessly after him as if the tangle around the warhammer’s head was a fixed point in the Universe, only ceasing to lengthen when Anathem’s feet met soil and threw back his entire bodyweight in with the momentum. The Dreadbearer and the Demon offender barely had the moment to watch the warhammer continue its dreadful swing in the direction of the wielder’s own head, a gruesome crack punctuating the pens’ otherwise silence as if a firecracker at a funeral. The body rocked from the power behind the swing, falling backwards on its heels as the concave bowl where used to be it’s rage-filled head spilled its contents to muddy the dirt.

“Too loud,” Anathem mumbled into his shoulder while dusting himself off, the chains reeling themselves back to their resting length as if pulled by an invisible winch. The other gladiators populating the pens were about even-split between staring and going back to their own business, but only the half-Nephilim felt Anathem’s attention on him, all three right eyes firmly locked on him in a sideways glance.

“I’ll be seeing you last, Dreadbearer.”

And with that he casually made for the inside exit of the pens, the fighters standing nearest that guarded door able to attest how easily he was let out and escorted elsewhere with only a light-knuckled knock. The Dreadbearer couldn’t help his jaw from lightly hanging open as his mind very slowly processed he’d been addressed. In the sea of turned faces he found the eyes of the Maker, and both shared a knowing but indiscernible expression.

-

One by one, each fighter in the pens was called upon to face the Kingslayer’s Champion. The first few were quite boisterous and rowdy in their exit, as the beginner matchups always were. It was eerie how as more and more faces disappeared to the other side of the thorned gate -with not a single one succeeding to return- the jeering and boasts lessened, until only bitter growls and a sullen silence signaled their departure. It appeared he was appropriately warned, he now sat alone as the last of the Masters’ roster in the pens, the Maker having gone out just moments ago.

“Don’t go down easy, lad. Not fer no’un.” The Old One’s last advice was barely that, more of a half-assed ‘catch you later’ than anything. Now that the place was empty he could reasonably go all the way up to the gate and actually watch a match for once, but truth be told the sounds he’d been hearing —even at the farthest end of the pens— painted enough of a picture to churn his stomach. All things considered, the Maker’s round took longer than the others to conclude, but it did end eventually.

“Out you go, Half-Mutt! S’your turn.” The guard’s voice boomed at him without even stepping into the pens, treating the area and the lone man within as if condemned.

“What, no escort out the front door?” He called out to no reply, slow to rise to his feet. The worn leather soles of his tattered boots actually creaked underfoot, as if crying out in protest against every step forward he took. He made great effort not to think about anything, just counting the 40-odd paces to the thorned gate and making note of useless details along the way. The iron-barred door to the Arena had already been swung open; there wasn’t anyone to worry about getting loose. While this part of Hell lacked its own sun, the violent glow of the burnt sky required a minute of rapid blinks to get acclimate, and the horrors the light hid behind a painful glow off the sand were nothing short of hellish. He could smell the gore wafting while still in the pens, but out here was much worse. Not the smell of death, even in the harsh heat that particular tang wouldn’t set in until the next day if left uncleaned. The bodies of each fighter he’d ever caught glimpse of in the pens lay everywhere, scattered and opened, veritably torn apart. He was so used to the roar of the audience he was barely tuned in to it, but it sounded especially riled, as if any moment now they might jump into the Pit themselves and start tearing into each other. This level of enthusiasm was unheard of in his experience, any gladiator who’d earned such an uproar would surely be bathing in the glory as if a fresh downpour of rain in this most arid sandtrap… yet he saw no champion standing tall and proud, fist high above head to claim the acclamations of a lifetime. As he continued his approach of the Arena centre through yet another scarlet painted patch —so soaked it didn’t kick up any dust— his eyes fell on the body of the Maker, the handle of his dual-bladed axe still clutched in a severed hand some paces away from the rest of him. There was a slight comfort to seeing the much smaller arm and leg laid by it— at least it meant he didn’t go down easy. The Dreadbearer moved his eyes back to the mountain of a body, perhaps hoping to catch a last bold look or sneer of crooked teeth, but instead found a fresh horror.

Crawled on top of the Maker’s broad chest, a horrid mass of spindly limbs writhed and twitched like drying worms, having finished shredding through the gladiator’s flesh and bones as if he were made of papier mâché. It was hard to discern what was an arm or a leg or some new, other appendage; every joint twisted and flexed at whatever angle it needed, as much made in flesh as it suddenly sprouted into bone, adorned with sharp claws and jagged teeth shaped and placed as was needed for any swipe to be as lethal as could be. Some appendages weren’t even proper limbs; a bicep elongating into a bone sword, a stationary sawblade of far too many fangs folded along a spine far too long and curved for the body of the man whose back birthed this tangled nightmare of itself. The half-Nephilim watched with wide, unblinking eyes as the limbs slowly retreated back in-between split open shoulderblades, all the while the monster’s teeth buried and tore chunks of glistening flesh as it continued to consume. He didn’t remember issuing the command for his hands to brandish the warpicks, yet there they were sitting pretty and primed in his white-knuckles grip. As the flesh of Anathem’s back knit itself back together over his exposed bones —swallowing the eldritch tangle of limbs back out of sight where they rightfully belonged— he finally had the thought to regard his onlooker, the lingering fires of utter bloodlust illuminating the shadows behind the stray strands of hair falling over his face. As he raised his head from the devoured behemoth’s carcass, the tusks of his jaw-mask slid free from the flesh like raw steak off the prongs of a meat fork. The Dreadbearer felt what little colour he still had to his face drain as a sickening pop and squelch resounded from Anathem’s tiny frame, a brand new arm slinking out of the gored stub of his right bicep as his body reshaped one of those horrid appendages in his back to replace the lost limb. The same gruesome process regenerated his missing leg mere seconds after, and as Anathem dragged himself to his feet like a freshly dug up ghoul he looked to absolutely tower above the taller man— yes physically, but in spirit too.

“OUR FINAL FIGHT,” that familiar announcer finally broke his attention off the monster in the form of a man, reminding him why he was here in the first place.

“THE LAST HOPE OF THE MASTERS, THE BLACK PIT’S VERY OWN DREADBEARER — VERSUS THE DAY’S REIGNING VICTOR, AND CHAMPION OF THE KINGSLAYER; ANATHEM!”

The crowd erupted in their cheers that carnage might soon begin again, but until someone made the first move the Dreadbearer had another moment to breathe and brace himself for the fight to come. When Anathem slid himself to the ground below, landing in a low crouched as if some feral animal, the half-Nephilim took a sharp step back but found no further hostile action. Rather, Anathem slowly rose and began to walk a wide circle around him, eyes of a predator firmly fixed on his opponent as to catch even the slightest twitch. The Dreadbearer swallowed his nerves and steeled his footing, determined to stand a chance. Never go down easy, not for anyone.

He stayed his spot but followed Anathem’s prowl to keep his back from being turned. He tried to relax a little, if he started shaking now he was as good as dead already. As they both drew a circle in the sand —Anathem’s a wide outer perimeter, the Dreadbearer’s the bullseye to this lateral target— he caught something change in his foe’s attention; the topmost right eye had shifted from him to affix high into the crowd, likely to the booth hosting the Black Pit’s most special of guests. He followed that single gaze as subtly as he could, waiting until he was about a quarter turned to focus out of the corner of his eye.

He expected a demon, and in a way that is what he found. The man certainly wore the horns of a Hellborn, a matching set of crimson tusks affixed to the sides of his skull-like warmask, completely hiding all features of his face and head under a large fur hood. His carved scowl fixed his glower down on the Arena; to Anathem, but strangely onto him as well. If only he had another moment to take in the sight of this lord, but at the bored flick of his thick wrist —a most quiet beckoning to proceed— the Dreadbearer forced his attention back to his foe barely in time to escape his soundless lunge. One second Anathem was a few good yards away, and in a blink had pounced the distance as if he were but a handful of feet ahead. The gladiator sharply lurched to the side and out of the way of a striking claw, his own bones chilling under the caress of those spectral chains passing through his body. He wasn’t even spared a second to recompose himself before he felt a sharp tug against the back of his neck, the last length of bone links becoming physical to clothesline him forward— something he felt was a dirty move. Nearly twisting his ankle to duck away from another vicious swipe, he did manage to swing up the deadly point of his left warpick, only the serrated teeth -like a protruding spine atop the curve- grazing the deep indigo fabric loosely worn over Anathem’s torso. The Dreadbearer wanted nothing more than to step back and reintroduce some distance between them both —maybe even afford himself the opportunity to properly assess how his opponent moved, how he fought— but having witnessed how the lengths of his chains could extend beyond natural at what seemed to be the smallest whim of his foe, his better chance to win was keeping the conflict close and confined.

It disturbed him just how intent the creature was to shred and gore him, completely fine with wagering its limbs of flesh and bone against weapons of more solid make, not even flinching when the serrated curve cut gashes on the little flesh his picks were able to catch. To Anathem’s credit he was agile beyond reproach, completely in control of each inch of himself flung around in momentum, never any angle of himself unprepared to twist and throw himself into a new direction. If it weren’t so feral, it might almost be comparable to an aggressive dance. When the Dreadbearer finally saw his chance —a stretch of chain whipping forward to try and crack across his face— he sharply bent his angle and snagged the physical bone links in the beak of his rightmost weapon, forcing Anathem to finally lose footing as he was yanked.

He didn’t care if it made for a short show with an anticlimactic end, the half-Nephilim had to aim for the head— this could be his only chance. As he swung down his other pick with all the might he could force into his arm, his throat rattling out his roar -his warcry- he barely made note of Anathem’s rising arms, likely an instinctive attempt to shield his face from the deathblow. The gladiator really should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy…

Mismatched feet kicked against his torso as the warpick’s descent was interrupted in a dual-wielded parry, forcing the Dreadbearer to stumble backward and stagger. He hadn’t a clue how those fangblades came to be in his opponent’s wield, but by how the dark iron manacles now bore glowing runes and connected the ghost-chains to the hollowed hilts, it was safe to assume this was just another hidden trick Anathem had to pull from. He barely had the mind to shield himself from the cruel hook that came biting down across his clavicle, losing his grip on his raised left warpick as he felt the sting of his flesh breaking open under a caustic cut. Even if not very deep, the wound burned as if afflicted by a minor curse, feeling to thrash against his ability to heal and slowing it down to a near crawl. He raised his hand to clutch his injury, as if whatever infection now laced in his blood could be clawed out with a few swipes of an unwashed hand. In his disorientation he failed to sidestep the blade thrown to lash his calf, the pull of the passing hook forcing him to kneel as the chain caught on his remaining weapon and pulled it from his grasp. As the blade returned to Anathem’s hand by the reel of the phantom chains, the Abomination rushed him with arms crossed, moments away now from gouging out the Dreadbearer’s trachea with a clean sideways cleave of piercing hooks. The half-Nephilim all but saw his life flash before his eyes in the unshakable glare of his vanquisher, when all seemed to freeze at once. The bone blades pressed cold against his throat, the hooked ends lightly bit beyond the barrier of skin like a vampire’s foreplay, but all momentum to the swing had stopped dead. Confused, the Dreadbearer tore his senses from catatonic to try and find what forced this development. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Kingslayer; now stood out of his seat and towering by the front railing of the box, his left hand ever so slightly raised off the banister in a way that could easily have been missed.

“THE VICTOR IS CLEAR! WINNER BY FOE FORFEIT, THE KINGSLAYER’S CHOSEN, ANATHEM, IS CHAMPION OF THE BLACK PIT!!”

…Forfeit?

The Dreadbearer was very suddenly made to remember this fight was for an audience, one that now uproared and outraged that the final round ended so un-gruesome. The pluck of Anathem’s blades from his throat let trickle the thinnest bubble of blood, indeed having been halted at the very beginning of their puncture. The Dreadbearer watched —utterly bewildered— as his opponent pulled away from him with a stretch to his back and roll of his shoulders, a casual flick of his wrists banishing his blades back to the non-existence they spawned from. Once more the bone chains rattled as they shortened, and Anathem turned from him as casually as if they both just finished having lunch.

“Coming?” The Dreadbearer startled as Anathem tossed his rough voice over his shoulder, left crimson-and-gold eye fixed on him without any lingering malice. While nowhere near a shout, it was the loudest the half-Nephilim had heard him speak.

“Wh—what? Where?” He did not mean to stammer, but he didn’t even expect to still be alive at this point. Anathem walked the short distance to where he pulled the Dreadbearer’s chosen armaments and picked them up from the sand.

“He wants to meet you. Best not keep him waiting.” The Abomination returned the half-Nephilim his weapons with a jerk of his head towards the Masters’ booth, where the Dreadbearer caught the last few seconds of the Kingslayer’s gaze before he turned and left the box. The gladiator barely felt the weight of his warpicks back in his hands when Anathem turned to leave as well, making for the main exit out the Arena as opposed to the entrance to the pens.

His choices —if he had any, it was difficult to say for certain— were stay in his kneel where the crowd of angry Hellizens might jump down to tear him apart themselves, or follow the monster that not moments ago looked to rob him of his life. Despite the stinging of his injured calf, the Dreadbearer brought himself back to his feet and hurried after Anathem, securing his weapons to his sides.

“You… um…” He felt he should say something, this strange situation and its accompanying confusion was uncomfortable enough without the silence. But what was there to even say? “You… fought well, back there.”

Anathem stole a backwards scrutiny as he waited for the gate to open. Finding no hidden message in the taller man’s citrine eyes, he made a sound in his exhale— a chuckle without smile.

“…Likewise.”

-

Being let out of the Arena’s main gate was special occasion enough, but to then face absolutely no resistance as he and Anathem walked right out the Black Pit’s front door?? The Dreadbearer had to stop himself from asking so many questions, not even sure he wanted the answers anyhow. He hadn’t seen the outside of the arena since he’d first been brought over as a young teen, back when it had just finished construction… Centuries ago, at this point? Over half a millennium? More? There wasn’t an easy way for him to say for certain. He watched with some awe as Anathem opened a portal by simply clawing his left hand at the open air in front of them, swirls of blue magics seeping through the invisible tears his talons made in the fabric of reality.

“How did you—” He began to ask, his words falling short as he wondered if he should even be asking. Anathem tossed a look to him, then to his own dusky limb.

“Shadowcaster.” He flexed his fingers for emphasis, not all that keen to elaborate. Of course, he should’ve recognized the dark tone and spindly claw-ended fingers… The Deadbearer made a hum in his intrigue.

“Oh, I see. Have you mastered many of their spells then?”

“Nope.”

Anathem marked the end of his answer by stepping through the portal— the half-Nephilim followed, feeling the smallest twinge of disappointment. He found himself now in more of a damp and cold castle, definitely a change to the arid climate of the Black Pit. The architecture was nothing he’d ever seen before; grand and imposing, gothic and ornate, the smaller details of which were carved skulls and visages of shrieking masses. This was just one room of the Defiler’s palace, and it gave the impression of a massive cathedral to the worship of torment and suffering. The light fixtures hanging in high cages gave a nearly heavenly glow, likely a gift from being Heaven-born to begin with. The Dreadbearer nearly felt it a shame the dozen bodies which wore those radiant wings were all twisted beyond recognition, broken and reforged to live an eternal living death. But he had fought Angels who’d been captured in secret and forced into the Pit, and with the trouble they always gave him he felt it easy to brush these ones away from his worry. He did wonder how they ended up in such appearances, when he realized a new being had entered the room from the other end.

The fur hood and crimson stained horns were the Dreadbearer’s first clue, the glowering skull war-mask with matching tusks the feature that sealed his recognition. He came to expect this is who Anathem mentioned was looking to meet him, and the half-Nephilim’s very first thought was how the Kingslayer seemed… slighter here, now standing the same ground as earlier’s entertainment. But it was as he met those burning orange eyes head-on that it hit him; some cosmic recognition, the primal familiarity of having seen a face before but not being able to place it, even if there couldn’t possibly be any way… Is this how everyone felt when they first looked at him? Was he even close?

In his gaze he felt small, smaller than the existing foot of difference between himself and this slouching titan, smaller still than the Abomination who barely reached him under his defined chest. The half-Nephilim half-wondered if he should kneel, but seeing Anathem not even falter as he closed the last of the distance to the side of his lord, he figured he’d just avert his eyes and lightly bow his head.

“What do they call you?” The Kingslayer carried himself with such certainty, such power; even his voice felt to command the very air to silence as he spoke, dark and gravelly. The Dreadbearer steadied a breath.

“The Masters called me Dreadbearer.” He felt some pride that his own voice answered firm, though then felt a bit sheepish as the lord rolled his eyes.

“Your name, boy,” he clarified, a sigh rattling in his throat.

“I’m asking after a name, not a title.”

“I… don’t have one…”

Anathem shot the masked man a look the Dreadbearer couldn’t quite read, seeming to help subdue his rising growl if only a little.

“Then pick one.” The annoyance was clear in his tone, a menacing flame dawning his eyes as his glare hardened. The gladiator’s every fiber begged for him to run, to escape before he acquired the wrath of a being he’d only ever heard spoken of in terror and disgust —and the fear in all their eyes as they spoke…— but something told him that running away would only have his fate end worse. He racked his mind fast, painfully aware of each second that passed in tense, heavy silence.

“…Dreadgen, I guess?” He braced for a bad reaction, and had to stop his shoulders from dropping in his relief as the Kingslayer seemed to accept the answer.

“Very well, Dreadgen it is.” The Kingslayer finally flicked back his large hood and peeled the skull mask from his face, which removed the imposing horns and tusks off with it. The newly named Dreadgen was caught by some surprise to see the visage of another of his heritage— a full-blooded Nephilim. He had a strong square jawline despite his hollowed cheeks and sharp cheekbones, blazing eyes darkly sunken despite not a trace of exhaustion existing upon his form, mid-parted hair draping his pronounced trapezii in a black more profound than the feathers of an Abyssal raven. His appearance from head to toe was utterly ghoulish, but what drew Dreadgen’s eyes the most was the diagonal scar running over his crooked nose from temple to jaw… and how it could be described to faintly, faintly glow in the cold gloom.

“I am Death,” the elder Nephilim introduced himself in a manner void of any warmth, purely an exchange of names.

“And there is much we need to discuss.”

-

Anathem sat high on the railing of this room’s upper walkway, one with the shadows as he silently observed the younger half-blood below. He took it all rather well all things considered, only releasing the flurry of emotions brought about from learning the extent of the genocide when he had found privacy… a privacy he thought he still posessed. The palace of the old Defiler was a large keep, a necessity as to host his massive size when he was still alive to lumber its halls; but Anathem had closely familiarized himself with these rafters in the time since he and Death took up residence, and now there was not one room free of his prying eyes if he so desired. He counted his fortunes that Dreadgen chose this room to skulk in then, as the upper walkway allowed for Death to join him in private contemplation.

“Did the boy cause all this havok on his own?” The Firstborn asked with barely a lift of an eyebrow at the trashed room below, earning a hum of confirmation from Anathem.

“You’re still worse for it,” he added in a mutter, well aware Death could catch even the quietest word he breathed.

“At least he didn’t tear through any walls…”

“I much prefer an open concept to the throne room,” Death, ever unapologetic in the devastation he was capable of when lost to a moment of wrath, retorted. Anathem exhaled a sharp, single chuckle with only the vaguest hint of a smirk thinning his lips, swiftly dropped as he returned to his thoughts. But Death was not interested in staying silent.

“Your performance in the arena was most impressive,” he complimented his partner in sincerity, large hand coming to rest palm against Anathem’s ribs, his forearm feeling the slight leaning back of Anathem’s weight as the Abomination trusted him to prevent his fall. Another brief hum vibrated the smaller man’s palate.

“Tasted like shit though, ‘cept that Maker. Could get used to a few more of those…”

“I’ll have the Masters send the rest of the carcass before the next dawn.” At that, Anathem let his hand travel up to rest on Death’s encircling fingers, a show of appreciation while his mind ran elsewhere.

“Remind me why we bothered again?” His growl was weak, only vaguely annoyed, as he leaned more of himself against his Reaper, feeling Death’s thumb rub circles in his back in a small gesture of comfort.

“He may only be half, but given our options I would not say we have much of a choice. The boy will need time and extensive training, but I would sooner place trust in my line than any other.” Death repeated the reasoning he’d given every time Anathem had asked for it, though now that they succeeded in retrieving the Universe’s little secret he felt humoured enough to add on.

“He is your son as well, as you very well know.”

Anathem stiffened, his final words to the conversation delivered with a growl much more pronounced, guttural.

“Don’t remind me.”

-x-

[chiimeramanticore]

Part of the Band - Chapter 15 - No More Secrets

Chapter summary: Beach Bear finally gets to go home. Dook tells Beach Bear a secret. A/N:

these guys make me insane dude. I need them to kiss so bad but I do not control the pacing (I absolutely control the pacing, but this is a slowburn so the pace must remain at Agonizingly Slow) this one's kinda two smaller chapter ideas I had that I mushed together, but I think they work together well! id love to know y'all's thoughts- and I am now taking bets on how many chapters u guys think are left until they finally kiss ',:] enjoy the pining lol

Chapter word count: 1,963 <- Chapter 14 - Chapter 16 -> Read it on AO3!

Dook stands at the front desk of the hospital, Beach Bear sitting right next to him in a wheelchair. Dook glances over toward him– he seemed a little emasculated at the idea of being stuck in a wheelchair until his knee heals, but he didn't protest. Still, he avoids eye contact with Dook as he checks him out of the hospital.

Dook places the money they got from Mini on the counter. "This should be enough," he tells the receptionist. She counts the bills, and to his surprise, hands him back some change.

"D'you have means of getting home?" She asks.

"Shit," Beach Bear pipes up. "Oh, shit. My car."

"What about it?" Dook asks.

"Where is it?" Beach Bear asks, not to either of them in particular.

"You'd have to call your insurance," the receptionist says. "They all have their own preferred junkyards they sell to–"

"Sell?" Beach Bear nearly stands up. "They can't do that!"

"Your car was totaled," she tells him monotonously. "Insurance takes those totaled cars and sells 'em to junkyards. You can probably buy it back for cheap if you're quick."

"No, that's– That's my car," he says, "I shouldn't have to pay to have it back. That's my car."

"I can't do anything for you from here," she says. She rips a receipt from the printer by her computer and hands it to Dook, still keeping eye contact with Beach Bear. "Take it up with your insurance. Have a nice day."

"This is insane," Beach Bear says as Dook circles around the back of his wheelchair to take him out of the hospital. "This is ridiculous. I cannot believe this."

"I don't get it," Dook says as they exit onto the street. "If your car got totaled, what's the point in tryin' to get it back? It's probably gonna cost the same amount to fix it as it would to just get a new car."

"That's not the point," Beach Bear insists. "It's– that's my car."

Dook stares out into the street, watching cars pass by. He figured the car was sentimental to Beach Bear– he vaguely remembers him saying he's had it a long time– but even Dook would let something that close to him go, if it was totally destroyed.

"...Is there somethin' you're not tellin' me?" He asks slowly.

"I–" Beach Bear grows quiet for a moment. Then, finally, "That car was a gift from my dad. It was his, and he'd kinda left it to go to waste for a while. When he gave it to me, we made a thing out of fixing it together. It's... stupid, but..." He lowers his head. "It felt like the only time he respected me. Felt like the only time he saw me as his son."

"...Beach Bear, I–"

"I know," he says, then sniffs. Dook can't see his face from here. "I've been doing this touchy-feely stuff too much lately." He chuckles. "I just... we gotta get that car back."

"Even if it's totaled?"

"Even if it's totaled."

"...Might hurt to see it totaled," Dook suggests.

"Probably will," Beach Bear replies.

"You think..." Dook starts. This is a stupid idea. Beach Bear's going to say no. "You think, when we get it back, maybe you'd wanna... fix it together? Make new good memories about it?"

Beach Bear's head is still low. Then, he makes a noise– Dook isn't sure if he's laughing or crying. "Yeah," he says finally. "Yeah, that sounds really fun."

"I, uh, I don't know nothin' about cars or anything, though," Dook says, backpedaling a bit.

"That's fine," Beach Bear says. "My dad taught me everything I know about cars. I can teach you."

"...Yeah," Dook says, and he can't help the smile that forms on his face.

"...So, uh," Beach Bear says. "How are we gettin' home?"

"Oh," Dook says. "You think Fatz can drive us?"

"Probably," Beach Bear says. "You wanna go call him?"

"Oh," Dook says again. "Yeah. You got a quarter?"

"You have the money, Dook."

"Oh. Yeah. Be right back."

-–—–-

Getting home is a bit of a challenge, but they finally make it back and into Beach Bear's room. Dook helps him into bed, and Beach Bear only seems to relax then.

"Better?" Dook asks.

"Much better," he says, closing his eyes peacefully.

Dook watches him do this, unsure if he just wants to sleep now or not. He shifts awkwardly, debating if he should speak up, until: "Should I, uh, get outta your hair, or...?"

"Nah," Beach Bear says. He doesn't open his eyes, but waves his hand noncommittally at him. "I don't mind you being here. I like the company."

"Okay." Beach Bear hasn't wanted to be alone since he got hurt. Even in the few days between the accident and him being released, he seemed reluctant to let Dook go home at the end of the day. Dook isn't sure why that is. Still, he stays as he was asked, taking the time to wander around the bedroom.

He finds himself returning to Beach Bear's desk. It's unchanged since the last time either of them were here, and he finds his eye drawn again to the pictures hanging above it. An old picture of Beach Bear, laughing. Something indescribable twinges in Dook upon seeing this.

"Beach Bear?" He says, not pulling his eyes from the picture.

"Yeah?" Beach Bear says back.

"...Can we promise, no more secrets between us?"

Beach Bear pauses, then chuckles. "Wasn't I cute back then?" He says. Dook glances over finally– Beach Bear's opened his eyes now, propped up slightly as he watches Dook look at the picture of him.

"I, uh–"

"I think I was, like, seventeen in that one," Beach Bear continues. "That was when I'd just started living the guy life. I was planning on running away from home."

Dook looks back at the image. "Sounds rough..."

"It was the first time I was excited about my life," Beach Bear says. It's not clear if he's still talking to Dook. "It was the first time I felt like... I had somethin' to live for, y'know? Being myself."

When Dook looks back over, Beach Bear's returned to his relaxed position in the bed. He's tired... There's no other reason he'd be talking so plainly to him now. Dook looks to the desk once more, noticing a book he hadn't before. Not thinking much about it, he picks it up.

"Mm, that's my book," Beach Bear mutters. "You can read it if you want."

Dook eyes it, noticing a bookmark slid between its pages. "You're in the middle of it," he says.

"Start from there, then," Beach Bear tells him. "Read it to me."

Dook looks at him. "I–" What is Beach Bear getting at? Why does he want him to do it? It's not like he can't do it himself... it must be something about Dook, then. "I'm... not really a good reader," he says.

"That's fine," Beach Bear insists. "I just wanna hear your voice." A compliment. And a really sweet one, at that. Dook finds himself even more at a loss for motive now, somehow. Beach Bear's just tired, he tells himself. Tired, and maybe a bit delirious. That's the only explanation. That's the only reason he could be treating him like this.

He pulls over the chair from the desk and brings it to the side of the bed. Sitting down, he opens the book... the font is smaller than he was hoping it'd be. He really isn't good at reading aloud– he stutters enough in regular conversation, having to focus on words he wouldn't use normally just makes it worse. But this is what Beach Bear wants him to do, and... Well, he can't say no to him. He'll just try his best, and take it slow.

The book is a fantasy story, set in a world of elves and knights. The plot is about a group of adventurers on a quest to find a magical item... Dook finds himself somewhat entranced by the story, even if it takes him some time to catch up on what the plot is actually about. This kind of story is a little nerdy... it's amusing to think of Beach Bear being interested in it.

Eventually, Dook reaches the end of the chapter, and stops. "That's the end of the chapter," he says, "do you want me to keep goin'?"

Beach Bear doesn't respond.

"Beach Bear?" Dook turns to him. Beach Bear is asleep. His head is slightly turned toward Dook, as if he really was paying attention before he fell asleep. He seems peaceful.

"...Beach Bear?" Dook calls again, quieter now. He isn't sure what the goal is. He whispers hoping not to wake him, but he still calls his name in the hopes he might respond. Maybe he's just making sure he's truly alone.

Beach Bear sighs in his sleep contentedly. He seems to be much happier now that he's home. Dook's seen him at what's most likely his worst these last few days– stressed, tired, in pain– but never once did Beach Bear fully lose his ability to see the bright side of things. He was always just... happy to be alive. Grateful that it wasn't worse. Glad Dook's been there with him. He's not even upset with him about the accident. He hasn't even mentioned the money since their first conversation after it all happened... He's taking it so easily.

Some part of Dook finds that enviable. He would've caved by now, himself. He would've given in to the worst of himself and just... given up. Resigned himself to the misfortune. No point in fighting for a good mood when it feels like life itself just wants you beaten down. That's how Beach Bear found him. Given up. As the time passes, Dook just grows more and more embarrassed of that fact. Beach Bear met him at his worst. He isn't sure why he even saw anything in him that night. He's not fully convinced it wasn't pity that brought him to take Dook home. He's always been a runt, anyway.

Now, though...? Dook focuses on Beach Bear's face as he rests. If he was awake, it'd feel like a stupid topic to bring up. Beach Bear would say something about how he just wanted to do something kind, no reason past that. Maybe he means it. Maybe he's just a kind person. Maybe he just likes Dook. Of course he likes him. That's what stings. He likes him. Platonically.

Dook sighs. Beach Bear's left one hand extended slightly toward the side of the bed. It'd be so easy to hold it... it's not like they haven't held hands before, but Dook still cherishes it every time. Still, he wouldn't dare doing it now and risk waking him up. He just looks at him. Always looking. Never touching, never making a move. He could never. He would never dare. He feels cowardly.

Beach Bear wouldn't want him to feel this way, he thinks. If his feelings were toward anyone else, Dook might even confide in Beach Bear about them. He'd encourage Dook to be brave, even if the idea of something as simple as holding hands made him completely freeze up. He wants to be brave, he realizes. He wants to take some risk... especially now, in the safety of knowing nothing he does will be remembered by Beach Bear. The thought terrifies him... but it excites him too. A risk only to himself– to admit it out loud, just between him and a version of Beach Bear that will never know.

"Beach Bear," he whispers, one more confirmation that he truly is asleep. He'll never know. He can never know. "I love you."

[purple-babygirl]

you got me reading all your works from 4 AM till 6 AM today, and I have zero regrets. And I’d do it all again. I truly love all of your works, especially those that has anything to do with Bucky.

Now all I can think about is Bucky’s reaction and care to finding out that his Little got an injury—one that she been hiding from him. Omg the fluff.

Anyway, have a great day!

Pairing: Poly!SamBucky x little!f!reader

Word count: 3,381 (i know i know...)

Warnings: polyamory, ddlg dynamics, excessive, probably unnecessary, fluff no one asked for.

A/N: Nonnie, I'm honored💜. Thank you so much for sending me this, you've warmed my heart to no extent💜💜. It is everything when you tell me you like what I share with you. You're so amazing and I hope I'll always deliver and never disappoint you ily:"💜 I know you only said Bucky but I couldn't help but get Papa!Sam in there too, hope you're not mad at me?:" Please enjoy xx.

~~

don't hide

"Oh, we forgot the toilet paper!" Sam groaned, "I'll go get it. Wait here, sugar, okay? Eyes on the bags and don't move. Papa will be right back," he said before marching back to the big store's entrance, leaving her by the car with all the grocery bags.

Papa said to wait there. Papa warned her that the ground was snowy and slippery and dangerous. Papa told her not to move, she reminded herself but she just couldn't help it. She had to grab that orange.

A bag had fallen on its side out of nowhere and an orange had fallen out and rolled away. She needed to get it before Papa came back or else he'd know she wasn't watching the bags and was zoned out instead. She'd be careful and she'd take the fruit and come back to where Papa left her and he wouldn't even know it. She'd take small steps and she'd be quick. Plus, she was a big girl; she'd never slip, right?

Wrong.

Before she could catch herself, her foot was slipping, her arms were flailing and she was on her back on the cold, hard icy ground. She squeaked, pain shooting through her spine like an electric shock. Through panic and pain, she got hold of the stray fruit, managing to get herself up and back to where she was supposed to be standing the whole time before Sam made his way back to her.

"There we go," Sam sighed, setting the bag with the toilet paper beside the others and opening the car.

She was silent, biting down on her lip to stifle the pained whimpers ready to leave her mouth.

"You ready to go, sugar?" He asked her as he stacked the last bag in the car, slamming the back shut.

"Yes, papa." She nodded, the bones supporting her neck hurting as she tried her best not to cry when she slightly bent to get in the backseat.

She didn't say anything. She couldn't. Daddy and Papa were taking her sledding in the park the next day and she couldn't even be good and obey one single thing she was told. They'd definitely cancel the whole day and make her stay home if they knew what she did. And not only that but she'd surely be punished for not listening and not being careful enough. She could take it. She could play, sled and smile through the pain. Plus, she was a big girl; she could handle a little fall, right?

Wrong.

Her back was killing her. She tried not to hiss when Papa put her seat belt on for her. She had no idea how she'd make it through the day.

~

"Show daddy what you got him, sugar!" Sam encouraged after leaving the bag of goods on the table for her, walking to the kitchen to drop a bunch of grocery bags

She carefully pulled a chair out and slowly climbed on top, rummaging through the bag until she found a packet of Bucky's favourite cookies. She'd pointed at them as soon as she saw them at the store and didn't stop until Papa got them down the high shelf and into the cart.

Bucky's appreciative smile lit up the room, "oh, for me?"

"Yes, daddy. Got 'em for you." She nodded timidly, playing with her sleeve.

He accepted the cookies with a giddy grin and went to store them in place in the kitchen. She giggled, proud she was the reason Daddy was smiling.

"Thank you, love." Before she could stop him, Bucky was hugging her tight, metal arm pressing on her back to pull her body to his.

The chocked whimper she let out didn't go unnoticed by the super soldier.

"You okay, doll?" Bucky raised a worried brow, flesh hand rubbing circles on her back as a sort of habit.

"Yes, daddy. I'm fine," she lied, held-in tears burning the back of her eyes. She just needed him to stop touching her spine.

"You sure?"

"Sugar, go wash your hands we just got back from outside," Sam reminded, saving her from repeating the lie to Bucky.

"Yes, papa." Her socked feet padded on the floor as she left for the bathroom.

Bucky shrugged it off for now, walking outside to help Sam with the bags. She probably wanted more candy than she was allowed and Sam refused or something of that sort.

~

When she was done washing her hands, she tiptoed to her bedroom and did her best to redress herself fast. Her discoloured skin looked awful in the mirror. She couldn't let her daddies see the huge bruise that was forming on her back, innocently praying it'd disappear over night so they could still go sledding the next morning.

"You changed by yourself?" Sam furrowed his eyebrows upon seeing her in a comfier outfit. He knew for a fact Bucky didn't help her because he was washing strawberries in the sink behind him.

"Yes, papa," she muttered hesitantly, fearing his reaction.

"Why didn't you call me or daddy, baby? We could've helped."

"Papa and daddy are busy, didn' wanna bother you," she lied again.

"Doll, we'll never be too busy to look after our favourite girl. You can always ask for daddy and papa's help, okay?" Bucky assured her gently.

"Yes, dada."

"Good girl, here," Bucky grinned, offering her a strawberry.

"Tank you." She took it with a smile and hummed after the first bite, making Sam chuckle.

"You did a good job dressing yourself, sugar. We're proud of you." Sam let his hand cradle the small of her back so he could kiss her forehead.

She whimpered again, biting her lip hard and closing her eyes.

"Everything alright, baby?"

"Yes, papa. Strawberry tastes so good."

"Okay, baby. Go play in your room till me and daddy get lunch ready."

"Yes, papa." She pecked Sam's cheek before leaving the kitchen.

"She's lying," Bucky told his husband as soon as she got inside her playroom.

"I know."

~

She spent the rest of the morning suffering in silence. Her back hurt whenever it came in contact with anything. She couldn't lean forward, or backward. She couldn't even lay down for nap time, crying into her pillow as soon as her daddies left the room.

She'd try not to whine when Daddy's palm touched her upper back. She couldn't enjoy watching her favourite show on TV because she was too busy trying not to pull away when Papa hugged her to his chest while she was on his lap.

As the hours passed, she was in so much pain it was showing all over her face. Sam and Bucky were worried that she wasn't saying anything. They knew something was wrong they just didn't know what. They failed to notice her features scrunching up in pain whenever they touched her because, in their defense, they were always touching her. So they couldn't really pinpoint the problem.

"There you go, sugar." Sam handed her a plastic cup, half full of strawberry milk he'd just whipped in the blender for her.

"Thank you, papa." She smiled gratefully, stretching her neck to kiss his cheek, her face twisting in pain as a result.

"Doll, are you sure you're okay? Do you have a tummy ache? Do you feel sick?" Bucky questioned softly, all while rubbing circles on her upper back.

"No, dada. I'm okay," she continued to lie, sipping from her straw quickly so maybe Bucky would stop and let her drink in peace.

Bucky looked to Sam in defeat and the latter just shrugged at him helplessly.

"Love, me and papa are worried there's something you're not telling us." Bucky's hand caressed further down to the small of her back and she couldn't help but wince, dropping her cup.

Strawberry milk covered her chest and lap and she couldn't hold it in anymore. She started crying and apologizing, thinking there was no way out of punishment for her now. They were going to find out.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, sugar. It was an accident. It's okay." Sam tried to soothe her but her cries only grew louder as she let all the tears out.

Her body hurt so bad and it didn't help that Bucky was patting her back to calm her coughs and sobs.

"Come with me, doll. Let's get you cleaned up." She cried harder at Bucky's statement, knowing they were going to see her back now.

"No, daddy, please. Don't wanna." She shook her head, choking on her tears. She made no effort to go to his open arms like she would.

It broke Bucky's heart a tiny bit. He started to think he'd done something; that she was like that all day because of him for some reason.

"But baby, you're soaked in milk. You can't stay like that!" Sam didn't wait for her refusal, slipping his arms under her legs and carrying her body off the couch.

"No, no, papa, please." Her tears wet Sam's sweater, her thrashing hurting her muscles even more.

"Stop crying, sugar. Tell me what's wrong," Sam said, sitting down on the closed toilet lid with her on his lap.

She remained silent, her fist rubbing at her teary eye and her lips trembling.

"Is there anything you wanna tell me and daddy, baby?" Sam tried again, making brief eye contact with a worried Bucky preparing a bath.

"Wanna shower by myself," she muttered when her sobs died out, tears still leaving her red eyes.

"You know we can't let you do that, doll," Bucky sighed.

"B-But I dressed by myself," she cried more, leaning on Sam's chest.

"This is different, baby." He kissed her forehead.

"Why don't you want our help, doll? What is it?"

She was quiet again, making both men sigh.

"Alright, love, hands up," Bucky instructed but she shook her head.

"Come on now, be good. We gotta get you cleaned up, baby, or you're gonna be all sticky," Sam told her, fingers tugging at the hem of her sweater.

She gave up fighting; her back was sore and she knew her daddies were going to get her in that bath no matter what. She closed her eyes when the sweater was pulled over her head, preparing herself for Daddy's reaction.

"My goodness, doll! What happened?!" Bucky exclaimed in worry and she started sobbing again.

"What is it?"

"Look at her back, it's messed up!" Bucky gestured to the huge purple and blue bruise, whispering the last part of his sentence.

"Oh my god! How did you get this?!" Sam's eyes widened as he questioned her and she only cried more.

It broke their heart. She was in so much pain all morning and they had no idea. How could they be so inattentive?

"Hey, baby, no, it's alright. We just wanna know how you got hurt, sugar. You're not in trouble," Sam reassured, pushing her hair out of her face while Bucky ever so tenderly examined her bruises.

"I'm sorry, papa. I'm so sorry," she cried in his chest, "I- I didn' listen when you- told me to stay I- the orange fell out an- and I wanted to get it and I fell d-down an' hurt m-myself." She tried to explain between hiccups as Sam bit down in realization and regret.

"Aw, sugar," Sam sighed, feeling guilt gnaw at him for leaving her alone by the car. What was he thinking? How could he leave her all by herself like that? She was just a little baby!

"Papa's sorry, baby. Papa's so sorry he left you standing alone and went back inside." Sam apologized, kissing away the tears soaking her cheeks while she sniffled and hiccuped.

"Don't cry, doll. We're not sad with you. You didn't do anything wrong," Bucky cooed, his thumb wiping the tears down her chin and neck.

"B-But I was bad." She looked at Bucky with teary eyes.

"No, doll, you weren't bad. You were just tryna help Papa because you're a good girl." Bucky kissed her temple, holding her forehead to his cheek while he looked at Sam.

The man was zoned out, probably beating himself up somewhere in his mind.

"Let's just get you in the tub for now and then we can let the doctor take a look at your back, okay?"

"What if he gives me shots?"

"He's not gonna give you shots, doll. Only something to apply to your bruise, nothing painful or scary." Bucky promised, easing her off Sam's lap to get the rest of her clothes off.

Sam scratched his head before abruptly standing from the toilet seat, "I'll go start dinner."

Bucky sighed when his husband left the bathroom. He knew Sam was feeling guilty for their baby getting hurt and while he wanted to assure him it wasn't his fault, he had to tend to her for the time being.

"There you go, doll." Bucky carefully lowered her in the tub, letting the warm, soaped water soothe the ache in her muscles.

"Dada, can you come too?" She asked quietly, noiseless tears still leaving her eyes.

Bucky stripped himself at once, cautiously getting behind her in the tub before pressing her back to his chest. She sighed as he held her to him, Bucky's chest being much comfier than the solid ceramic of the tub.

"Is papa mad at me?" She asked Bucky, her voice trembling and breaking as she continued to cry.

"No, no, doll. Papa's not mad at you one bit, he's just worried about you," Bucky said, his hands rubbing softly on her tummy as he kissed her shoulder.

"Then why'd he leave?" Her voice was squishing Bucky's heart and he just wanted both his babies to feel better.

"He's preparing dinner for you, baby. Papa loves you; he could never be mad at you." Bucky turned her head so she could face him and wiped her tears away.

"We love you, doll. No one is mad at you. Daddy and Papa only want you to be okay. We just wanna keep you safe," Bucky told her warmly and she nodded, wrapping her arms around Bucky's neck and burrowing her face in the crook of it.

~

After her bath, Bucky got out first, telling her to wait while he got towels. But instead his legs took him to Sam.

"I feel like shit for not noticing too," Bucky muttered behind his spouse.

"It's not only that- what are you doing strolling around the house in just a towel after a warm bath?! Bucky, you'll catch a cold-" Sam scolded when he turned around and saw Bucky undressed.

Bucky put his mouth on Sam's in an attempt to calm his anxiety.

"I'm gonna be fine and so is she," Bucky promised against Sam's lips, cupping his cheek.

"I left her alone, Buck. She got hurt because of me."

"No, love, no. It was an accident. It could've happened anywhere any time."

"I still shouldn't have left her."

"Then we know not to do it again. Don't beat yourself up over it and distance yourself like that."

"I'm not distancing myself."

"Sam, she thinks you're sad with her. Please, love," Bucky begged, his thumb swiping over Sam's skin until the latter nodded with a sigh.

"Now go put on something."

"I thought you liked me naked," Bucky teased.

"Go." Sam lightly slapped his rear.

"I'm going." Bucky laughed, kissing Sam's lips one last time before retreating to the bathroom.

~

Bucky dressed her in something warm and told her to wait a minute while he got ready so he could take her to the doctor's. She peaked out of her room, hearing onions sizzling in the kitchen. She walked over to Sam as he poured tomato juice and the pot hissed.

"Papa? Are you mad?" She tugged at Sam's sleeve, red-rimmed eyes staring up at the man.

Sam sighed, turning off the stove. He took her hand in his and walked out of the kitchen with her, sitting down on the couch and motioning for her to sit on his lap.

"Why didn't you say anything, sugar?" Sam asked, putting her hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry, papa," shs teared up, "I thought you'd be mad at me and think I'm bad and not wanna take me sledding no more."

"Baby, I'd never get mad at you for getting hurt. Ever." Sam reassured her, not letting his eyes get glossy with the tears he held in.

"If you get hurt me and papa will take care of you no matter what, doll. That's the only consequence. Do you understand me, love?" Bucky added, walking out of the bedroom with a jacket in hand.

"Yes, daddy." She nodded, throwing herself in Bucky's arms, "I'm sorry. I love you."

"We love you too, doll." Bucky kissed her head, careful not to hug or squeeze her too tight.

"Papa, will you come to the doctor wimme and daddy?" She asked Sam sweetly, leaning on his chest after leaving Bucky's hold.

"Of course, sugar." Sam's thumb stroked her cheek softly.

"And we can still go sledding in the park tomorrow?"

"Oh no, baby, we can't go tomorrow."

"But you said you weren't mad." Her lip jutted out in a pout.

"I'm not mad, baby, I promise, but you're hurt."

"But the doctor is gonna fix it," she whined

"He's a doctor, sugar, not a wizard!" Sam chuckled

"Because wizards don't exist."

"They do exist, but that's not the point," Sam argued and Bucky playfully rolled his eyes behind her back.

"But papa-"

"No buts, doll. We'll go as soon as you get better and we'll stay as long as you want, yeah?"

"Yes, daddy." She complied, knowing they were right; her back was achy and stinging.

~

As promised the doctor gave her no needles, only a prescription of a cream for her back and a painkiller.

"Daddy, I don't wanna," she whimpered as Bucky lifted her PJs up. She was afraid of the pain she would feel once Bucky started massaging the substance onto her skin.

"I'm gonna be gentle, doll. I promise."

"It's gonna hurt," she complained more.

"Here, sugar, hold papa's hands and daddy will be done before you know it." Sam opened his palms and she immediately put her smaller hands on top.

"There you go, all set. We're ready, daddy," Sam told Bucky, squeezing her hands and smiling comfortingly at her.

She gave half a smile back, blushing as she felt Bucky ever so softly lay kisses down her hurt back.

Sam chuckled, kissing the back of her hand. She slightly hissed when Bucky touched her skin with the cold cream, his pointer and middle spreading it around on the bruises.

"Anywhere else hurts, love?"

"Right here, daddy." She pointed to the back of her neck.

Before Bucky could, Sam tilted himself forward and kissed from the ends of her hair down to where her neck met her back. She giggled, Sam's lips tickling her. The man chuckled again, pecking her cheek.

"Papa?" She held his hands in hers.

"Yes, baby?"

"I love you." She wasn't unaware of how he blamed himself for her little accident and she wanted to let him know it was alright; she was alright.

"I love you more, sugar." Sam smiled, relieved, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Starting to feel seriously left out over here," Bucky said, wiping his fingers on a tissue.

Sam rolled his eyes at his needy-for-attention husband before cupping his cheek and kissing his forehead as well, sending blood to his cheeks.

"I love you, daddy," she whispered, squeezing Bucky's right hand.

"I love you more, doll." Bucky echoed his partner, kissing her hand.

For the whole week, Papa and Daddy let her sleep on top of their chests, seeing as cuddling and spooning weren't options and they still wanted to be close. She'd alternate between the men as the nights passed.

Eventually, they did go sledding in the park when she healed, three days in a row. She loved it and she laughed so much till her cheeks hurt. She could handle a little fall after all; she could handle anything as long as Sam and Bucky were there to take care of her through it.

[hanazuma-inactive]

Excuse me, just want to drop my request with bottom Yo Shindo.

Mreader caught shindo masturbating to reader clothes and reader find it amusing looking at shindo flustered face. Reader then ask him what he imagining then tell him to do what he want to do, so he start sucking on mreader nipple while Reader pumping his member until he climax and Reader asked him if he want something else and he want Reader to fill him up.

Have a good day :D

distracted, (nsfw) yo shindo x top!reader

pronouns: he/him (FEMALE ORIENTED DNI!!)

warnings: nipple sucking, degrading + praising combo, spit as lube, rough sex, creampie, barely any prep, rough sex

a/n: god this man is so fucking fine both as a top and a bottom MMM! sorry if this was a bit short btw :/ i'm kind of bad at controlling word counts sometimes i overwrite and sometimes i don't write nearly enough. also wtf is this request it's so hot anon marry me??/j

_____

"shindoo, i'm home~" you cooed while taking off your shoes, returning from a long day at work. 

"shindo? you there honey?" you heard no response so you went into the bedroom to see if your husband was just asleep. 

what you didn't expect was something that would push all your other plans for tonight right down the drain and focus on something else instead.

your dear spouse shindo, was playing with himself in your hoodie that you usually wore at home. his eyes were closed and didn't notice that someone had already opened his bedroom door because he was too into it, thinking about all the dirty things he wanted to do with you while pleasuring himself in your hoodie. 

"mmghm~ fuck…y/n…you smell so good, fuck me more…" 

"oh? is that what you want?" you said, arms crossed leaning on the door. 

shindo opened his eyes suddenly and covered himself with the blanket out of surprise. 

"woah! y-y/n?! aren't you suppose to be at work!" shindo glanced over at the clock to see he lost track of the time. 

"looks like someone got a little horny while i was gone hm?"

"ahaha yah...m-maybe just a little." he replied nervously.

"if you were so into it...why don't you tell me what you were thinking about? doing all those dirty things while wearing my clothes. did you want my scent all over you darling?" 

shindo blushed and looked away, you've always been dominant but not like this. especially since you caught him red handed, he found it hard to open his mouth. 

"i was just thinking about...how i could suck on your nipples as you jack me off…later maybe you could fuck me too if you want…" shindo whispered, still facing away from you. 

you leaned in closer, to a point where you could breathe in his ear to make him even more flustered than he already is. 

"what's that? i couldn't fucking hear you, you're gonna have to be louder. so tell me, what do you want me to do?" 

all the hair on his skin stood up and you could feel him getting weaker from you words. 

"y/n…i-i wanna suck on your nipples…please." 

"see? wasn't so hard was it?" you took off your dress shirt and opened your fly, making shindo blush again. you got up close to him and gave him a smirk before allowing him to make his fantasies come true. 

"go on, suck em, you asked for it." 

without waiting he applied his lips onto your chest. starting with the right one and playing with the left one with his other hand. even though you were the one getting serviced he probably felt better than you. you could hear his tiny moans coming out everytime he sucked on your nipples. you started to stroke his dark and soft hair while he was at it, slowly gaining a rhythm. 

while enjoying this you noticed something hard hitting your knee. shindo's cock was covered by your hoodie but it was already leaking and hard as a rock. you wanted to hear his moans more clearly and see his expression that you missed earlier when he was doing it by himself, so you grabbed onto his cock and started to stroke it at a medium pace and he continued to work on your nipples. 

he squealed a little, unable to handle the pleasure with only your hand on his cock. but it only motivated him to suck on your nipples. he was so focused on them to the point where he didn't even realize he was leaking so much pre and about to cum. and of course he did after getting his cock stroked again and and again, leaving his cum all over your hand and even some spilling onto your knees. 

"wow...look at you? cumming so much from just a handjob?" 

"i-it's not enough y/n...please, i want more!" 

"well you gotta be clear then, what do you want me to do to you?" you said, holding his chin

"i want you to fuck me...and fill me up, inside, please y/n." 

he was already doing such a good job and you didn't want to wait any longer either, so you agreed to his request and pushed him over, back against the bed with you towered over him. 

"don't regret what you just said then, pretty boy."

you spat on your dick and spread it by stroking your cock. not giving anytime for shindo to prep, you were gonna go in and you were gonna make him feel it. instead of putting it slowly like you usually do you just slammed your cock into him. reaching deep inside him and past his prostate, making him tilt his head back from the pleasure. immediately after, you started moving fast, not giving him anytime to adjust to your fast rhythm. 

"ah~ ah! y/n, s-slow down oh fuck…you're so big-" shindo said, barely being able to make out the words. 

"too fucking bad...you asked for this didn't you? you begged like the good little slut you are and i'll give it to you like the good little slut you wanted to be!" you said once again slamming your cock hard deep inside him. 

shindo came again and again as you fucked him to the point where he passed out. but that wasn't going to stop you, you weren't going to stop until you're satisfied. after an hour or so, you were finally content. you looked at the mess you made and your lovely and cute husband's ass filled with you cum, asleep on the bed. being too tired from work you simply laid down next to him and held him in your arms as you rested on your pillow. 

"goodnight darling, you're gonna hurt in the morning because of this…" 

[deathbymeow]

Chandelier

This is my first Dickinette fic and song fic.

This started off as a funny idea form @boldlyanxious followed by a silly conversation that lead to creating this.

I wanted to gift this to @boldlyanxious because without her this wouldn't exist. Not only did she give me the idea but listened to me talk about it for the last week and found all my spelling mistakes.  💝

The song is Chandelier by Sia

Warning : some sexual references

Party girls don’t get hurt

Can’t feel anything, when will I learn?

I push it down, push it down.

Marinette struggled to open her eyes. Everything was too bright and the noise from the busy street down below seemed ten times louder than normal. She rolled over and yelped as she fell onto the floor. This wasn’t her bedroom. This wasn’t even her apartment. Where the hell was she?

“Oh, look sleeping beauty is finally awake.” Steph snickered. “Coffee?”

Marinette rubbed her face then stood up and stretched. “Do you even have to ask?” She felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Every muscle protested as she walked over to her blonde friends.

“Never thought I’d see the day that miss goody two shoes partied harder than me.” Chloe said pulling the chair out for Marinette and putting a plate of pancakes on the table.

“Ease up on her babe. If anyone deserves to let her hair down, it’s Mari and you know it.”

Steph grabbed her girlfriend’s hand and pulled her down for a kiss.

“I’ve gotta go. I have a thing.” Marinette looked away from the girls and downed her coffee before standing up.

“Hey, you don’t have to run off. There’s no judgment here.” Steph grabbed her hand. “It’s been a year since you defeated your enemy. Six months since you broke up with Adrien. This is the first time in your life you’ve been able to actually let go.”

Marinette felt the but coming on and she had to force herself not to run out the door. She wasn’t used to letting her emotions run wild and it had been her downfall with Adrien. His carefree attitude drove her crazy in the end, but she hadn’t been able to detach herself from the troubled relationship. Instead, she’d pushed him away till he couldn’t take it anymore.

She missed him but in the same breath she didn’t. Emotions were not her strong point, so she’d decided to finally let go. Maybe she’d taken it a step to fare though. She worked on her commissions during the day and partied most nights.

A few hours’ sleep if that, then repeat.

Her friends were starting to worry but they were torn between letting her finally live and making her slow down before she did something she regrated. The Kwami seemed divide as well. Half of them were happy she was finally living like a normal 20 something year old and the other half were on her case about responsibilities.

“Thanks for not letting me go home with that guy.” She couldn’t remember his name and she didn’t care to be honest. “I’ve got a meeting and commissions to get through today, so I have to go.” She gave Steph’s hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and smiled at the girls.

“Get some rest too M but don’t forget we have the gala tonight.” Steph called out as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “We’ll pick you up at 7pm.”

“Sure, I’ll see you guys later.”

One, two, three, one, two, three

One, two, three, one, two, three

One, two, three, one, two, three

Throw ‘em back ‘til I lose count.

The masquerade gala was as expected. Rich people flirting their wealth around like it was a competition. Everyone loved the dark blue dress and mask she wore. One of her many creations she hand crafted in hopes to get her name out there. So far, the sleepless nights were paying off and she’d nearly run out of business cards.

The woman wanted to look like her and the old men didn’t seem to know how to keep their hands off of her, even with their wives standing right there. The wives seemed preoccupied, to distracted by all the young bachelors running around anyway. Marinette was left wondering if the masks had made people forget their inhibitions.

After two hours of Steph dragging her around to different groups of people, she excused herself and headed for the bar. She ignored the questioning look the bartender threw her when she ordered three tequila shots and a vodka and lemonade.

She’d already downed the first two shots before she heard the conversation down the other end of the bar.

“Tt, Father has obviously forgotten Dick’s obsession with chandeliers.” The shorter of the three said.

“It’s like he’s asking for trouble so how do we get Dickie bird to do his thing.” The tallest this time, who was ruggedly handsome with a white streak in the front of his dark messy hair.

“You both know B is going to be pissed if one of us ruins this event. That said Dick totally set me up last time so as long as it doesn’t get back to me, I’m in.” The third guy was dressed in an expensive suit and looked the part except for his shoes. Black and white converse of all things gave away the fact he’d probably been forced to attend.

Marinette downed her last shot and turned to the men. “And here I was thinking this was going to be a boring night.” She smiled wickedly at them. “I must say I’m intrigued. Is there some type of entertainment I don’t know about?”

The tallest of the three smiled at her and walked over. He leaned on the bar next to her and she couldn’t help but notice how his muscles flexed under the fabric of his suit. “If it’s entertainment you’re after doll I’ll be happy to help you out.”

“Tt, as subtle as a freight train as always Todd.”

“Shut it, Demon spawn.”

“Hi, I’m Tim.” The guy in the converse extended his hand passed his tall friend. Marinette took it and smiled warmly at him. “And these are my brothers Jason and Damian. Now if you’re finished embarrassing yourself Jay, we’ve got about two minutes before he makes his way over here. $100 for whoever can talk him into it.”

“Who and into what?” Marinette asked looking between the three brothers.

They all looked at each other then back to her. “Our brother Dick use to be in a circus and let’s just say he has a thing for hanging off chandeliers.” Tim answered while Jason snickered, Damian just looked annoyed.

“So, you’re trying to get him to what exactly?” She asked trying to keep the grin off her face. Well, this wasn’t what she was expecting at a gala. She was sure the host Bruce Wayne would have all of them kicked out for this and banned from the social events in Gotham for life. But Marinette was intrigued and always up for chaos.

“See the row of chandeliers little lady.” Jason pointed at the ceiling and Marinette noticed the rows of small gold chandeliers hanging in-between the garlands of flowers. There was a large chandelier in the middle of the room that looked to be a permanent fixture. The smaller ones started in each corner of the room then met the larger one in the middle. It made a decorative X across the ceiling. “We want to see if our brother Dick can make it across the room.”

Marinette did some rough calculations in her head. Wouldn’t be the same without her yoyo but with any type of circus or parkour training the distance was doable. “If he has any type of skill that shouldn’t be impossible.”

“And you know this how?” Damian asked with his calculating green eyes studying her masked face.

She just shrugged. “How about if I can talk him into it all three of you pay up? So that would be $300.” She smiled at their shocked faces.

Jason recovered first. “Tell you what doll, if you can get him to race you across the chandeliers, I’ll make it $500 if you win?”

Marinette thought about it for a moment then downed the rest of her drink and extended her hand. “Deal.”

I’m going to swing from the chandelier

From the chandelier

I’m going to live like tomorrow doesn’t exist

Doesn’t exist.

It was easier that Marinette expected. After the three brothers left her at the bar it didn’t take Dick long to join her.

“Are you lost ma’am? Because heaven is a long way from here.”

Marinette turned and looked up into a pair of blue eyes surrounded by a dark blue mask. He was gorgeous, with a carefree smile on his face. “Does that ever work monsieur?” She asked trying not to laugh.

“I don’t know yet, but do you have a name, or can I call you mine?” His smile grew impossibly big, and he reminded her of an over excited golden retriever except with dark hair.

“If you stop with the cheese pick-up lines you can join me.” Marinette said giving him a dazzling smile.

She watched as he swallowed and seemed to falter with his comeback. He nodded and sat down next to her and cleared his throat. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure.” She looked at the bartender and smiled. “Same as before please.” The bartender studied her for a moment then poured her drinks.

“I’ll have what the ladies having, thanks.” Dick said without looking away from her eyes.

“I’m Richard but everyone calls me Dick.” He held his hand out to her.

Smiling she took his hand and giggled when he kissed it instead of shaking it. “I’m Marinette.”

“Beautiful just like its owner.” He said still holding her hand.

“How did you get Dick from Richard?” Marinette asked trying not to focus on the warmth from his hand.

“It’s kind of a long story but my mother use to call me that so after she died, I couldn’t bring myself to change it.” He looked away for the fist time since sitting next to her.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I…”

“It’s ok. It was a long time ago.” He finally noticed the line of drinks in front of them. He looked back up at her and raised an eyebrow.

An hour passed with more tequila than planned. By the end of the hour Marinette was licking salt from his hand and vice versa. It wasn’t till she caught Jason looking at her from across the bar that she remembered her task.

Marinette was thankful it wasn’t as crowded as before but either way she wasn’t one to back down. “So, I heard from a little birdy that you have a thing for chandeliers?” Marinette playfully asked running her finger down his defined jaw.

He looked down at her lust clearly visible in his eyes. “Wha, who told you that?”

“I have a proposition for you.” She grabbed his tie and pulled him down till he was only an inch from her red lips.

“You could probably ask me anything right about now and I’d agree to it beautiful.” He breathed against her lips using all his will power not to kiss her.

She bit her lip and giggled when he seemed to blue screen at the action. “A race.”

Dick scrunched his eyebrows together and stared at her, confusion clear on his face. “Like a running race?”

“No silly. Up there.” She pointed up to the chandeliers.

“From the chandeliers? You want to race me, up there?” The amusement was clear on his face and mischief danced in his blue eyes.

“Don’t be too sure of yourself hot stuff.” She breathed against his lips then let go of his tie.

“And if I win, what do I get?” He asked tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, letting his finger brush against her cheek.

“My number.” She bopped his nose and straightened up.

“Ok, but first I have to ask have you done anything like this before? Because the one in the middle is really high and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You could say that. I’ve been flying since I was twelve.” She smiled brightly at him and giggled at the way he was staring stary eyed at her.

Dick cleared his throat and shook his head. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t falling for this woman already and if she wasn’t lying about this, he may just have to propose to her. But first he had a race to win.

“You sound too good to be true Mars bar, you’re on.” He shook her hand as he was checking out the first chandelier. It was lower than the rest and they seemed to get higher as they got closer to the middle one. He should be able to reach the first one from a chair, but he wasn’t sure how Marinette was going to reach.

“How are you going to get up to the first one?” He asked.

“Oh I have my ways, you just worry about yourself.” She gave him a wicked grin then kissed him on the cheek. “You’ll know when to start.”

I’m gonna fly like a bird through the night

Feel my tears as they dry.

But I’m holding on for dear life

Won’t look down, won’t open my eyes

Marinette walked over to Jason. “Care to give me a hand.” She asked as she slipped her hand into his and pulled him behind her.

“Baby you can have whatever body part you want.” He said following her blindly.

She snickered as she approached the corner. Once under the chandelier she looked down at her full skirt. Her dress was made up out of two parts and she couldn’t have planned her outfit better if she tried. The top was a bodysuit that sat low on her back. The skirt sat perfectly against the bodysuit and gave the impression that it was all one piece.

Marinette reached down and undid her heals. She stepped out of them and turned to Jason who was now a whole head and a half taller than her. “We need something so Dick knows when to start.”

“On it.” Jason grabbed his phone out of his pocket and sent a message to someone. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

She turned back around. “Can you unzip me?”

“I’m completely down for PDA sweetheart, but shouldn’t we take this somewhere a little more private.”

“It’s a skirt Jason. I can’t win in this.” She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled at his flustered face. Why did they have to be brothers, she would happily take them both home.

“Yeah, no I knew that. I was just messin with you.” He rubbed the back of his neck before reaching for her zipper. He ran his finger down her spine and snickered when she shivered.

Marinette stepped out of her velvet skirt that pooled at her feet. She turned back around to Jason and caught him checking out what her full skirt was hiding. “Eyes up here buddy.”

“Sorry, can’t blame a guy though. Nice ass...”

“Hey.” Marinette hit his shoulder with her clutch.

“I was giving you a complement and if you’d let me finish, I would have said assets.” He winked at her.

“I’m not sure if you’re trying to put me off my game or you’re just really bad at flirting.”

“Hey! Now who’s being rude.”

Marinette ignored his pout, as cute as it was, she had bet to win. “Tell your person one minute.”

Jason nodded and sent the message. “I’m guessing you need me to get you up there?” He said pointing at the chandelier over their heads.

“Not just a pretty face then.” She smiled at him as she stepped onto his linked hands.

The music stopped for a moment and then the song ‘The Greatest Show’ started to play louder than the music before.

Marinette looked at Jason and nodded. The grin he gave her was nothing but wicked as he sent her flying up into the air.

Hugh Jackman could be heard singing ‘Ladies and gents, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for’ as she grabbed onto the first chandelier. Trust these brothers to be over the top in their music taste as well.

Marinette heard the crowd below ‘aww’ as she swung on the chandelier. To them they probably just thought this was all part of the entertainment.

As soon as her hands closed over what should have been metal, she knew she was in trouble. The chandeliers were made from bloody chocolate. She’d just got up enough momentum to swing to the next one as she felt it start to crumble.

It was too late to back out now. All she could do was move as fast as she could till she got to the actual chandelier in the middle. She had no idea how Dick was going or if he’d fallen yet.

Her hands were slippery from the damn edible lighting and maybe all those shots weren’t the best idea. It was the last one before she could rest and wipe her hands for a second on the real chandelier.

She let go but she hadn’t gotten up enough momentum. Her hands weren’t high enough to grab the chandelier and all she could think was ‘this is going to suck’. Closing her eyes and accepting her fate she felt hands grab her wrists before she fell any further.

Keep my glass full until morning light

‘Cause I’m just holding on for tonight

Help me, I’m holding on for dear life

Won’t look down, won’t open my eyes

“I didn’t know angels flew this low.”

Marinette looked up at a smiling Dick who was hanging upside down from the chandelier. His eyes were sparkling, and, in that moment, she decided she needed to know this man. Cheesy pick-up lines and all. “What can I say. Maybe I’m falling for you.” She breathed out smiling up at him.”

“Was that, was that a pickup line? Be still my beating heart.”

“Ok Romeo, don’t leave me hanging.”

“Oh and she’s punny too.”

“No, no I didn’t mean too. Argh can we get this over with before security is called.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Really? We’re hanging from a chandelier in Bruce Wayne’s Mansion what gives you that idea.”

“Manor.”

“What?”

“It’s a Manor and well, he’s kinda my dad.”

“What the hell Dick? And what does kinda mean?”

“How bout we finish what we started and then I can explain over drinks?”

“Sure, splendid, super.” Marinette made the mistake of looking down and was sure she could pick out Bruce Wayne. He’d be the one shaking his head while pinching the bridge of his nose, his mask long forgotten on a table nearby.

“I have an idea.” Dick smiled down at her.

“I don’t know you well enough to know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Do you think you can stand up here if I swing you up?” He was still smiling like a kid on Christmas morning and God was he beautiful.

Marinette looked from Dick to the chandelier and did a quick calculation in her head. “Sure.”

This wasn’t even the most ridiculous thing she’d ever done but all those other times she’d been Ladybug and had the excuse of fighting an akuma.

Dick started to swing the chandelier and Marinette quickly caught on that she could help if she swung her body in the opposite direction.

“Ok on the count of three I’m going to let you go. Ready?” Dick asked looking slightly hesitant.

“I was born ready.” She gave him a playful wink.

Dick counted and when he reached three, he let go like he said he would. Marinette flew into the air then felt the free fall that she hadn’t realized she missed before the chandelier swung back. She landed gracefully on the metal structure and quickly grabbed hold as it swung back in the opposite direction. Within moments Dick was standing next to her smiling widely.

“Damn if being sexy was a crime, you’d be guilty as charged.” He breathed into her ear.

“You’re lucky I’m not lactose intolerant because you’re as cheesy as they come monsieur.” She pushed his face away giggling.

“I’ll take that as you think I’m a snack.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“That may be so, but you can add loser to that list in a minute.” She surprised him by kissing him on the lips then took a few carefully placed steps and jumped off.

The descend was easier and Marinette had worked out the strongest points to grab before the chocolate chandeliers gave way. Within minutes she let go of the last chandelier and landed in Jason’s waiting arms.

“Now that was impressive sweetheart.” Jason said as he hesitantly let her go and helped her into her skirt. His fingers linger on the small of her back as he did her zipper up and she tried to ignore how good it felt.

“I’d say thank you but I’m curious to know if you all knew those chandeliers were made of chocolate?” Marinette questioned as she turned around and looked accusingly at him.

“What do you mean chocolate?” Jason asked looking confused.

Marinette pointed to the broken chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and held up her chocolate covered hands. Before Jason could answer Dick ran up to them smiling.

“You, you cheated.” There was no heat behind his words as he grabbed her hand. “If you weren’t so darn cute, I’d be annoyed.”

“Wait you cheated?” Jason asked.

“No, technically you let yourself get distracted. There’s a difference.” She shrugged.

“Thanks for that Dickhead you cost me $500.” Jason grumbled pulling his wallet out of his pocket.

“Wait, what does he mean.” Dick asked as Jason handed Marinette her clutch and a pile of notes that she promptly stuffed into said clutch.

“No time to talk circus freaks.” Steph followed by Chloe rushed up to them. “Bruce is coming this way. Time to get outta here.”

Jason looked at Marinette longingly, passed her shoes to her and gave her a two fringed salute before vanishing into the crowd. Steph groaned at her hopeless pseudo brothers before grabbing Marinette’s hand and dragging her and Dick to the nearest exit.

Once they were all piled into her car and leaving the gates Steph turned to Marinette and Dick who were giggling in the back seat.

“What the hell was that shit show and who the hell said you could corrupt my best friend Grayson?”

Dick looked between the two girls. “Hang on a minute, I had no idea Marinette was your friend and it was her idea.”

“Actually, it was your brother’s idea and don’t act like you didn’t jump at the chance circus boy.” Marinette playfully pushed his shoulder. “How do you guys know each other?”

“Of course it was them. I bet that little shit Tim was behind the chocolate chandeliers as pay back for the last gala.” He grumbled.

“Last gala? You guys make a habit of chaos?” Marinette asked as a thought crossed her mind. Did chaos intentionally hunt her out or was it her that was drawn to it?

“How bouts I buy you a drink and I can explain everything, if you’re up for it?” He asked taking off his mask.

Marinette smiled at him and nodded taking off her own mask. She thought he was hot with the mask on but without it he was truly beautiful. “Hey Bee, since you love me so much do you think you could drop us off at that cute little bar on 5Th Pleasssssse?”

Both Steph and Chloe groaned but agreed as the two chandelier swinging idiots shamelessly flirted in the back of the car.

Two hours later after way too many dinks and flirting that turned into a shameless exhibition of PDA the two stumbled into Dick’s apartment. Marinette looked around the apartment momentarily before turning back to Dick. He shut the door and threw his keys onto the hallway table then walked over to her and gently grabbed her hips, wasting no time to pull her back into his arms.

Marinette looked up into his lust filled eyes before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to meet her already swollen lips. The kiss was messy and needy as she pressed her body against his.

Dick pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. “We don’t have to take this any further if you don’t want to.” He breathed against her lips.

“I know what I want, Dick.” Marinette ran her hands up his chest and under his suit jacket, taking it of in one swift movement. “But that goes both ways. What do you want?” She whispered in his ear then playfully bit his earlobe, snickering when he moaned.

“Have I told you how amazing your dress looks tonight? The only thing that would look better on you, is me.” He winked at her as she groaned and smacked his chest.

“Killing the mood Chandelier boy.”

His lip quirked up in a lopsided grin as he grabbed her and assaulted her neck with kisses, running his hand up the split in her dress earning him a soft moan from her parted lips.

“How bout now beautiful?” He asked against her lips.

“Stop talking, more kissing.” She ordered as she make quick work to undo his tie and unbutton his shirt.

He laughed as he captured her lips again. His hands found the zipper on her skirt and quickly tugged it down letting the soft fabric fall to the floor as he lifted her off the ground. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he walked over to the table. He swiped the contents on the ground then gently dropped her onto the smooth wooden surface.

“As you wish.” He breathed against the inside of her thigh.

Marinette lay back on the table as Dick found the clasp for her bodysuit. She quickly realised that swinging from chandeliers wasn’t going to be the only reason she remembered this night.

Sun is up, I’m a mess

Gotta get out now, gotta run from this

Here comes the shame, here comes the shame

Marinette’s eyes fluttered open, taking a moment to adjust to the soft light coming in from somewhere in the unfamiliar room. An arm was wrapped around her, and she could feel a warm body behind her.

Memories of the night before flooded back to her. The gala and the stupid chandeliers. The car trip back into Gotham and seeing Dick’s face without the mask. The embarrassing shovel talk Chloe and Steph tried to give Dick before they got out of the car. The bar seated in a secluded corner. Learning things about each other before the sexual tension came to a head and the two could hardly pull away from each other to make it back to Dick’s apartment.

The apartment that she’d barely seen too busy losing herself time and time again to Dick. She knew there was a table somewhere and a couch that was soft. A plush rug that was to blame for the carpet burn on various parts of her body and who could forget the oversized shower with its waterfall shower head. And last but not least the king-sized bed.

The very bed that she was naked in, wrapped up in Dick’s arms. Who turned out to be her best friends kind of brother. Shit, had she taken things too far this time? The drinking, stupid risk taking, flirting with strangers all just to feel alive again.

Dick was boyfriend material. Someone she could see herself settling down with and she’d stuffed it up by giving into her desirers and having a one-night stand. What was Steph going to think of her? What about Dick?

Marinette could feel the panic start to creep over her skin like a hot flush, her chest tightened, and her stomach started to twist. She needed to get out of there fast before Mr sleeping beauty woke up.

She tried to escape his hold but the more she wiggled the tighter his hold got. In the end she only made it worse and now she was facing him. He looked so peaceful. She really could get use to this.

“S’wasn’t just a dream, you’re still here.” He mumbled into her hair.

“I should really go.” Marinette said pulling away from him.

That seemed to fully wake Dick up. He rubbed his eyes then reached for her wrist before she could get out of the bed. “Did I do something last night that made you uncomfortable?”

She flinched when she saw the hurt in his blue eyes. “No, no I just. I shouldn’t have stayed.” She slumped back against the bedhead holding the sheet over her chest. “You’re amazing. Last night was amazing.”

Dick rested his head on his arm so he could look into her deep blue eyes. “There’s a but right? Look I don’t want you to think I do this all the time.” He ran his hand through his hair, and she couldn’t help but watch the way his muscles flexed. “Maybe I did when I was younger. Young dumb and well you know the rest. I really like you Marinette. I know we kinda rushed things and maybe if I’d been more in control last night, I would have asked you on a date and taken things slowly. You came out of nowhere and literally swung into my life on a chandelier of all things.”

He smiled up at her and she felt her panic slip away. There was something calming about him. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t quite place it. “I think you need to have a talk to your fathers’ decorator. Who the hell uses chocolate chandeliers?”

He burst out laughing. “Maybe I should just keep my feet on the ground for once.” He pulled her back down and wrapped his arms around her again. “Is this, ok?”

“Yeah, I think I could get use to this.” She breathed against his lips before catching them with hers.

Dick broke away slightly breathless. “You know I always thought happiness started with a h, but turns out mine starts with u.”

Marinette groaned and playfully bopped his nose. “What am I getting myself in too?” She grumbled as Dick laughed against her lips before kissing her again.

[venusiangguk]

gold rush | jjk (m)

>>pairing: jungkook x reader

>>genre: pwp, smut, college au (kinda), established relationship

>>word count: 5k+

>>warnings: oral (m/f), fingering (f), phone sex, normal sex, explicit sex, slapping tits, slapping, crying, degrading, dirty talk, all the sex stuff, jks a lil mean and condescending but it’s very cool and sexy

>>notes: hello! this is my first post on here :) it’s part of a longer scenario i’m just seeing how it’s received before posting the full length version~~

>>summary: jk comes back from a weekend away and he wants to show you just how much he missed you. 

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

It’s a Saturday night and you’re laying in your boyfriends dorm room bed by yourself. You’re bored and alone because Jeongguk had an away tournament that was far enough to warrant a hotel for the weekend. Typically you would have tagged along like many of the students at your university, but you had had a test on Friday that you couldn’t miss. Which is why you found yourself wrapped in one of his t shirts, under his blanket scrolling absently through your phone not really paying attention to anything much, just going from app to app.

Due to the lack of anything better to do, you boredly slipped your hand under the waist band of your panties. Not particularly horny... just passing the time you would say. You casually ran your fingertips over your smooth lips before yanking your hand out, being struck with an idea. You quickly type a text to Jeongguk.

you :

hi

i’m touching myself rn

Short sweet and to the point. You nibble on your lip as you see the typing bubble pop up not even 5 seconds after it says ‘delivered’.

koo 🥴:

hi

pics ? 🥺

You roll your eyes. Two years of dating and that’s still how he responds.

you :

no way

wyd rn ??

koo 🥴:

:(

why not

i’m at dinner w my team

jimin and tae say hi

-insert pic-

You smile at the pic your boyfriend took of his friends. You were pretty close to all of the team but more so Taehyung and Jimin, seeing as you and Jeongguk would go on double dates with the couple quite often.

you:

tell them i said hi and that they should kiss 😌

Immediately he responds.

koo 🥴:

they said only if u send me pics 😌

You laugh before snapping a selfie to send to him.

you:

you didn’t even ask them but ok 🙄

koo 🥴:

ur in my shirt while jerking off ?

😩 🤌 🏻

pics PLASE

PLEASE**

You giggle and you’re about to respond when you get a facetime call from him.

“You’re so impatient,” You scold. From the looks of it, he’s in a bathroom stall.

“And you’re so mean.” He pouts. “Lemme see ‘em.”

You think about being annoying and making him wait more, but he looks so handsome and hopeful that you just can’t bring yourself to tease much. You grab the bottom of his loose t shirt and pull it up and tuck it under your chin. The cool air of the room makes your nipples harden and you grab one of your tits in your free hand and squeeze and shake it gently. “These?” You ask sweetly.

His eyes are hooded and he subconsciously runs his tongue over his lips before biting the plump bottom one softly. He’s blushing when he says, “Mhmm, they’re so pretty. Will you lick them for me, baby?”

You groan. “You know I hate doing that.”

He swallows, and fusses with his hair for a second before his hand goes out of frame again. “I know it just- makes me so hard, I love watching you do it. You don’t have to though.”

You sigh and grip under your boob, and do your best to get your nipple to your mouth. They aren’t small but at the same time they aren’t the biggest so its kinda tough, but if you really try you can get it done. Once you swirl your tongue around your nipple, you hear a soft moan come from your phone speaker and you feel it go straight to your pussy. You suck on your nipple a little more before pulling off with a loud pop!

“Are you hard?” You ask, a slight shake to your voice as you get more and more turned on. He nods. “Are you touching?” He nods again. “Show me.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He pulls his sweater up and holds it between his teeth so you can see his toned stomach as well as the bulge in his pants. He runs his hand over it, toying with the tip some, making soft muffled noises fall from his lips. His stomach tenses a little bit.

You put your hand down your panties again, and tease a little at your clit. “You look so good, I wish you weren’t so far away...” You whine quietly.

Jeongguk groans and brings his face back into view. “I know, baby. I can’t even stay here with you to help or coach will get suspicious. We are supposed to be team bonding before the final game tomorrow.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ve got to will this boner away and go back out there.” He sounds like it pains him as much as it pains you to finish off alone.

“Take it out really quick, just for a second,” You say quickly before he goes.

He scowls playfully. “I really can��t stay, so just a little.”

You lick your lips and nod quickly, rubbing your fingers on your clit a little faster.

He gets the angle right and unbuttons his pants and pulls his hard cock out just enough for him to stroke up and down. He groans once he gets a hand around himself at the same time that you let out a high pitch moan.

Jeongguks cock is so pretty. It’s fat and plump and pink. Shiny at the tip where he’s already leaking. He always gets so wet for you, just like you get wet for him. His hand wrapped around himself is truly a sight. His long slender fingers moving up and down before the whole hand grips around his girth. He’s thick and long and the thought of him filling you up makes you whine and your pussy pulse.

“Are you touching yourself baby?” He whispers.

You nod. “Yes, yeah... please come home. Right now.”

He hums on a laugh. “Show me how wet that pretty pussy gets for me.”

You swirl your fingers around your wetness before bringing the glistening digits up into view of the camera. He groans and his head falls back before putting the camera back down to his cock to show you how fast he’s stroking.

“You get that wet for me even though I’m miles and miles away? How slutty baby... How do you taste hmm? Sweet like when I last tasted you just a couple of days ago?”

You’re just about to suck your fingers into your mouth for him when you hear a door open through your phone speaker.

“Kook? It’s time to stop jerking off and participate in the bonding activities, Captain .”

You can tell from the deep voice that it’s Taehyung that came to get him. You giggle quietly.

“Yeah yeah, I’m coming give me a minute.” He says through the bathroom stall. He sighs, and gives you a playful eye roll like he’s exasperated.

“Don’t cum while I’m here, and be thankful that it was me that came to get you and not coach. Bye y/n!” He says loudly.

“Bye Tae!” You squeak as you hear the door close.

Jeongguk groans, but smiles lazily at you. “Guess I gotta go.”

You hum. “Guess you do Captain.”

He laughs a little as he does his pants back up, tucking his now mostly soft cock away. “I love you. Cheer me on tomorrow. I’ll see you after, but I probably won’t get back to the dorms till late. Are you gonna be there still or are you going back to yours?”

“I’ll wait for you. Score a goal for me, and text me later. Love you.” You smooch at the screen and Jeongguk does the same before the call ends.

And with that you are once again left alone, but a lot more horny than before the talk. So you do what any sensible person would do.

You pull up the hub.

~~~

Jeongguk walks into his dorm room around 10 pm, and the first thing he sees is you, right where you were when you hung up the night before after your little facetime sesh. The only difference is that you’re wearing a different shirt, still his, and you have ice cream in your hand and your laptop set up on your lap a show playing in the background.

At the sound of the door opening your eyes find his and you quickly set your food down on his night stand, and fling the covers off your lap, paying no mind to the mac book that is now buried somewhere under his comforter, before squealing and flinging yourself into his arms.

He grabs you easily, bags dropping to the floor, hands under your butt to keep you hoisted. You wrap you legs around his tiny waist and smush your lips to his cheek and mumble a distorted, “I missed you.”

“Okay so kiss me about it,” He says back, eyes glinting and lips puckered.

You giggle, placing your hands on his cheeks, angling your head to slot your lips between his. He parts easily for you, and starts to walk you both back to his bed before he drops you where he found you. You bounce lightly and take a second to take him in.

He’s wearing oversized comfy clothes, grey sweats and a big white long sleeve shirt. His long hair is soft and shiny, falling over his pretty face delicately. He must have had a shower at the hotel after the game. He looks soft and oh so sweet. You just want to devour him. From the looks of the semi in his pants, he’s feeling the same way about you.

“Ah, already getting hard for me?” You coo, hand cupping him over his sweats. He pushes against your palm, unashamed. “You just got here baby.”

He shrugs looking down at you. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all weekend. I had to rub one out in the bathroom room last night as soon as we got back to the hotel. Tae and Jimin were right outside.”

You nuzzle into the material of his sweats feeling his cock quickly become fully erect as you mouth at it. His hand comes down to cup your cheek, run through your hair. “I watched porn after we got off the phone.”

“Did you?” He asks, shifting away for a second so he can pull his sweats down, leaving him in his briefs. You see a little wet patch where the tip is. You suck lightly over the material and he moans loud and clear for you. He sounds so much prettier in person, over the phone just doesn’t compare.

“Yeah, came so hard. Was thinking about you and me.”

“Fuck. Did you make a mess all over my sheets?”

You shake your head as you slowly pull the waist band of his briefs down his hard cock. Once it’s free it bounces in front of your face, flushed and begging for your mouth. You stroke lightly while saying, “No, but I did find something that I wanna try.” You flick your tongue under the head and the hand in your hair tightens and pushes slightly. You part your lips and let him in.

“Mmm, you can tell me all about it once I’m done with you. I can’t wait any longer baby. Swallow me,” He moans, both hands going to the back of your head and pulling you farther onto his cock. He jerks when he feels you swallow around the tip. “So fucking good.” He sighs.

You let him have his way, fucking your throat a little, although he’s much gentler than he usually is when he does it, and he does it for a much shorter time. He must be tired from the weekend, or he must have something else in mind for tonight.

“Lay back baby.” He says when he pulls out of your throat, crawling on the mattress. He finds your discarded laptop and places it under the bed out of the way. You both remove the rest of your clothes before you do as he says and he settles down between your legs.

You figure since he got hard literally on arrival, that he wouldn’t waste time with teasing, would get right to the good part. But no. He takes his sweet time kissing, licking and biting at your thighs, squeezing them roughly in his hands. He nuzzles into your skin flicking the lightest lick over you pussy lips before pulling back and blowing a little. You gasp and roll your hips, trying to get him closer to where you wanted, spreading your legs even farther apart, presenting yourself to him. But he’s having none of that.

“Stop fucking squirming,” He groans before you feel his grip tighten on your hips. But still he doesn’t go where you want him, so you fight against his hold.

“Stop teasing then,” you whine with a scowl.

He bites at your inner thigh. “Hush baby.”

You huff and hit your tiny fists on the bed, frustrated and fussy. “Make me.”

Jeongguk stills and you gulp. He glances up from between your thighs, and he quirks an eyebrow at you.

“What was that?” He asks, much too calmly.

“I said make me.” You whisper poutily.

He sighs and sits up. You get to whine for just a second before you’re yelping and squeezing your legs shut. He just smacked your pussy.

“Shut up.” He says. He doesn’t sound angry, very casual in fact. He rubs his hands over your legs, easing them back open. “Y’know y/n, I had a very long weekend. Travelled hours to play 4 games in two days. Travelled hours back.” He’s running his fingertips over your pussy lips, smearing around the slick you know is pouring out of you. You shiver. You love it when he gets like this. You love it every time your guys are together, but when he’s extremely one way or the other, extremely dominant or extremely submissive? It just makes your entire body burn and your pussy ache. “I even scored a goal for you in the final.” He glances at you, finally sneaking his finger between your folds, he grazes your clit and you shiver, legs spreading even more. “All I wanted to do was get home and take care of you... Make my girl feel good...” He’s rubbing circles around the little nub and your hips slowly start to rock into his touch, breathing heavy from the pleasure. His girl. Yes. You’re his girl. You tell him so.

“Really?” He asks. You nod. He hums. “That’s funny because all I see here is a brat .” He spits out, before another smack lands on your sensitive cunt.

You cry out, trying to close your legs again, but he holds them open. He settles between them again and says sternly, “Now be good. I’m going to do it how I want. Do you understand?” You whisper a tiny yes. He sighs like he’s relieved that you’re not going to be difficult and put up much of a fight, so he can finally do what he’s been wanting to for days. He pushes back on your thighs so your cunt it fully exposed to him, and he spits on it before rubbing his fingers around the sticky mess. Every time he rubs over your clit you twitch, but you’re trying to be good.

“So fucking messy baby. So gross.” He says sweetly as presses his tongue flat on your opening before licking all the way to your clit. He moans at the taste of you despite his words just a moment ago and your eyes roll back. He’s in a mean mood now. And you’re gushing for it. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty baby... because your little cunt is so nasty , just leaking all over the place. I’ve barely even touched her, and she’s dripping down to my sheets. How did you manage to keep them clean while I was gone hmm?” He doesn’t let you respond, quickly sucking your clit into his mouth suctioning it just a bit before flicking the tip of his tongue over it quickly.

“Ah, f-fuck-“ You gasp. You raise yourself onto your elbows so you can watch. He hums around your clit before he flicks his eyes to you. You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut before falling to your back again, not able to handle the gaze he gives you.

He pulls off and uses his fingers to open your lips and pull the hood back before making his tongue flat and licking slowly over your exposed clit.

“Oh my god- That’s- that feels so good baby,” You say between breaths. Your legs are starting to get a slight tremble to them but still, you pull them farther back, making yourself as open as you can for his tongue.

He hums and then smiles, biting at your clit gently, making you jolt. “Feels good baby?” He rubs his fingers all over your core again. You nod and he says, “Could have felt good before and not had spanks if you weren’t so fucking bad.” He swats your cunt again lightly, before sighing and kissing your clit sweetly. Your head is spinning from the switches in his mood but you love it. Love that you don’t know what to expect when he slides his fingers into you. He moans and rests his head on your inner thigh, watching as his fingers slip in and out of your heat. He looks like he’s in awe of your cunt, watching as it clenches and sucks his fingers in. He looks so lovely between your legs.

“Always so fucking tight, can’t wait to get my cock in here.” When he says ‘here’ he curls his fingers inside of you and your back arches off of the bed, and you moan his name loudly. “That’s it baby...” He whispers against your core before he starts to thrust his fingers into you, curling on the pull out. He adds his mouth and you start to shake. Your hands find his hair and you pull him closer, feel him lick and suck at your clit like its the best thing he’s ever tasted. He moans while he eats your pussy. And he has the nerve to call you nasty. He’s absolutely filthy.

“I- close-“ You choke out, relishing in the sloppy wet pleasure that his mouth and fingers are giving you.

He says ‘mhmm’ against your clit before pulling away to get out a quick, “Fuck. Yeah you are, cum for me.” and then he’s diving right back in, focusing on where you’re most sensitive, your clit and your g spot.

“There baby, yeah- fuck , don’t stop ,” You whine quietly as your body tenses. Your legs are shaking out of control, before the string in you snaps and you cry out. Your thighs close around his head and you grind your cunt into his face riding out your orgasm before it gets too much and your try to squirm away. But Jeongguk holds you there until you’re almost crying from the overstimulation.

You pull at his hair, begging him to stop, and finally, he does. He pulls away from your messy cunt, and lays himself on top of you before kissing you deep, wasting no time sticking his tongue in your mouth so you can taste yourself on him. You moan and twine your fingers through his long hair, arching your body to get as close to him as you can. You feel him start to rut his cock over your sensitive core, and gasp. He’s so hard, you can feel him throb against you. He pulls away and grips his cock at the base, lining it up with your pussy before sliding it up and down, teasing your clit even more, mixing his precum with his spit and your slick. He focuses his frenulum on your clit, and his hips twitch. His head rolls back, and his mouth opens in a silent moan. He pulls back and when he looks at you again, he looks wild. His eyes are dark with desire and his pupils are blown. His hands grip at your body like he can’t get enough of you. You’ll have pretty little bruise blossoms all over your body in the morning. Finally, the tip of his cock breaches your center.

You’re so hot, and tight, and so fucking wet around him, that Jeongguk can’t keep the moan that falls from his lips locked away as he pushes inside of you. He pushes all the way to the hilt, you can feel him flush against your clit. Your mouth falls open in pleasure, but your eyes never leave him, the first thrust always being your favorite. Finally getting filled up like you wanted. You can feel him in your belly, heat pooling there as he lets you adjust to his size. Sometimes he likes press his hand into your tummy while he fucks you. Says can feel his cock splitting you open. You watch the man above you part his lips and furrow his brows in pleasure while he does his best to not go too fast, tries not to thrust into you wildly like he so wants to.

He’s leaning over you, hands on the side of your head. You run your palms up his sides, whispering, “I’m good, you feel so good. Give it to me please.” You lean up and press a kiss to his collarbone.

He’s quick as he hikes your legs up and hooks them on his shoulders. He rests some of his weight on you, bending you in half as he starts moving his hips. He pulls out to just the tip before slamming back in with one swift motion. Your hands claw at his back, the angle he has you in allowing him to reach even deeper. Gasps are punched out of you as he starts to set his brutal, sharp pace, not forgetting how bad your were earlier. He’s going to make sure you feel every inch of him for days.

“Oh my god, fuck. That’s so fucking good, Jeongguk. Please fuck me,” Your moans are high pitched and close to sobs.

He leans back some and spreads your legs wide, hands on your ankles to keep them open and he looks down slowing his thrust to watch as he slides into your little cunt. Your pussy is swollen and pink around his cock. He can see your arousal shiny on the base of his cock. “Fuuuck,” He moans as he closes his eyes basking in the feel of you clenching tight around him. He’s slowly pulling his cock from you, only for you pussy to pull him right back in. “This pussy was made to take my cock, huh?” He says speeding up. You nod and tell him, “Yes only your cock gets me this wet, this fucking hot.” He pumps his cock into you hard enough for you to get jostled, so your words come out in choppy and incoherent moans.

The way he’s fucking you makes your tits bounce, perky and pretty. He growls and leans down to suck a nipple into his mouth. You arch into his touch, cute little mewls falling from your lips as his tongue flicks over the small bud. You brush his long hair out of his eyes, holding him to your tit as he makes goosebumps rise to your skin.

“That feels so nice baby,” You say. It’s quiet and desperate, you head thrown back, neck extended and bared to him.

His eyes flick up to look at you, still playing with your nipples. He sees you bared in submission and can’t help the hand that rubs up your torso all the way to your neck. Just begging to have a hand around it. He pulls off your your tit, letting one of your legs fall to around his waist and you moan loud and long as the picks up his pace again.

Your favorite position. He knows how to fuck you any and every way, but like this he fucks you just right, making you fall apart in no time at all. The hand around your throat tightens at the sides, making the moans and whines that come out of your mouth high pitched and airy. The lack of blood flow to your brain makes you feel lightheaded and fuzzy, almost euphoric as he fucks you into submission. His free hand smacks your tits lightly, and you clench from the dull pain as they jiggle. Jeongguk swears.

“God your pussy is just milking my cock, not even letting me pull out all the way. Such a greedy , selfish little cunt. Can’t get enough of this cock filling her up.” He grips your hips with both hands and watches your pussy swallow his cock.

You giggle, soft and delirious as you feel the first signs of your orgasm pool in the pit of your belly, right where Jeongguk’s cock is pounding into you.

“You think that’s funny?” He questions. He grips your jaw and makes you look at him. Your cheeks are smushed and your eyes water from the hold he has on you. “You think being a selfish, greedy little slut is funny?” He presses against the side of your face, biting at your cheek like he just needs to sink his teeth into something to let out some of the pent of feelings coursing through his veins.

“I just love it. Love your cock so much,” You whimper.

Jeongguk pulls back so he can look into your eyes again. He looks at you mockingly. “You love it?” His voice is condescending and it makes your pussy drip. “You fucking love it?” He looks crazed as his hips jackhammer into your cunt, the slaps of his skin meeting yours ringing loud and clear throughout the dorm. Bless his poor neighbors.

“Yes, yes I fucking love it,” God you’re going to cum.

He feels how close you are, sees the way your legs are trembling. He’s moaning when he says, “Shit baby, show me how much you love it. Show me, make that little pussy cream all over my fat cock.”

You nod helplessly as your body jerks in his hold. You can feel your pussy contract over his cock as he brings you the precipice of your pleasure. Tears fall from your eyes from how overwhelmingly good it feels.

Jeongguk fucks into you a few more times, the last of your orgasm leaving your body, as you listen to the higher pitched moans falling from his lips at a faster rate than before. He gasps as he pulls out and positions himself over your heaving chest, cock right in your face as he fists it fast.

“Fuck, open you mouth,” He says, voice dripping with pleasure. You do, smiling, tongue out. He groans deep before his hips jerk and he whispers, “I’m gonna cum,” with heavy lust filled eyes. You feel the first shot of cum land on your cheek.

“Mmm yeah, cum all over my face,” You hum, blissed out.

He milks every last drop of his load out, and you suckle on the tip until he’s whining and shivering, pulling back with an overwhelmed, overly sensitive gasp.

He catches his breath for a second before he gets up and makes his way to bathroom. He sees you about to wipe the cum off your face and says, “Wait a sec.”

You sit patiently, criss cross apple sauce, cum on your face, eyes red and wet from the tears you shed, until he comes back with a wet wash cloth in one hand. He makes a stop at his bags on the floor and fishes his phone out.

He sets the wash cloth on the night stand next to your forgotten, melted ice cream and pulls up the camera.

“Smile baby,” He says, softly giggling.

You do, big and radiant, throwing up a little finger heart. You hear the shutter a few times before his phone takes the place of the wash cloth on the night stand. You reach for it to clean yourself, but he pulls away, wanting to do it himself.

You smile as he concentrates and gently cleans up his mess from your face. His tongue peaks out of his lips and you peck him. He stills before scowling with a small smile, and continuing.

“You look so pretty when you have my nut all over you face,” He says absently. His thumb brushes under you eye. “When you cry too.” He cups your jaw and runs his thumb over your cheek bone. “I wasn’t too mean was I? Too rough?” His eyes search yours. You shake your head.

“No I like it when you get like that, ‘s sexy,” You say wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him so that you both are laying down. You wrap around him like a koala. He yawns and settles in your hold, snuggling into the bed.

“Okay good. You can be mean next time,” He sounds sleepy.

You scoff, knowing that you both know that when you take control it’s in a softer way. Degrading and being mean was his thing, what you liked. Jeongguk liked to be praised.

“Yeah okay,” You say sarcastically. “You’d cry in a non sexy way if I was even half as mean to you as you are to me,” You scratch at his scalp and he purrs.

“I’m sensitive,” He whines. Another yawn. “And sleepy. Shhhh.”

“Jeongguk wait,” You say.

“Hmm?” He says already close to knocking out.

“I wanna eat your ass next time.”

“Mhmm, okay. Now sleep please. Turn off the lamp.” He turns over, wanting to be the little spoon.

You know he didn’t actually listen to what you said, but that would not stop you from holding the ‘yes’ he gave you over his head in the morning when he’s more coherent. You flick off the lamp, and throw an arm over his waist. He snuggles back into you, fitting his body against yours. You kiss his shoulder and say, “Okay, remember that you said yes in the morning.”

All you get in response is a soft snore.

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

and there it is! let me know if u want me to finish and post the whole thing! comments and feedback are appreciated!

part 2 here!

part 3 here!

[sacredsorceress]

Know You Better || Bucky Barnes

pairing: 40’s!bucky barnes x rogers!reader

summary: your brother’s best friend, bucky, rescues you at the dance club and walks you home, but you both have feelings that are a bit more than friendly

a/n: i have been on such a 40s!bucky x rogers!reader kick i’m so sorry but i hope you enjoy! reblogs and replies are super appreciated!!

word count: 2.0k

warnings: attempted assault, fluff

masterlist || request || taglist

1940

Listening absentmindedly to the brunette seated beside him, Bucky took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes trained on you dancing across the room.

He wasn’t sure if you had seen him when you walked in, but he sure as hell did. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as soon as he caught you walking into the establishment with some of your friends, not even taking six steps into the building without some guy asking you to dance. Although he was there with his own date- a girl he had asked out at the diner yesterday- he regretted it as soon as he saw you in that other man’s arms and felt his heart drop to his stomach.

He hated it- thinking that way about you- he knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was wrong. You were Steve’s sister. There were thousands of eligible ladies in New York and he just had to have feelings for his best friend’s little sister.

He should have seen it coming- he had always had a soft spot for you- getting into fights any time someone looked at you the wrong way, making up lies about his sister begging him to ask you to braid her hair just so he could see you without Steve there, and even the simplest things like knowing he laughed harder when you were there laughing along with him. 

As much as he hated it, he wasn’t the only one who had seen it either- his mom teasing him that one day he was gonna settle down and marry that Rogers girl, him having to slap his hand over his sister’s mouth because he just knew the little punk was gonna let it slip one day- he was undeniably soft for you with only you and Steve being none the wiser.

Watching as the guy rested his hand on your lower back, pulling you closer to him, Bucky began to feel his blood boil. Who did this guy think he was anyway? He didn’t deserve to hold you close like that. He didn’t know you. He didn’t know you the way that Bucky did.

As the band continued to drone on in the background, Bucky began to grow tired watching the sight of you two together and was ready to head home until he saw you shake your head adamantly and part from the man, making your way to the far corner of the dance club where the bathrooms were situated, the man you had just been dancing with following behind you.

As soon as you left his line of sight, Bucky put out the cigarette he had been smoking in the ash tray. Cutting off the brunette whose name he couldn’t even remember, he pulled out his wallet, leaving cash on the table before standing up.

“It’s been nice, doll.” He said. “But I’m gonna have to go.”

Without another word, he shoved his wallet into his back pocket, striding over to the back corner of the building.

-

Swinging open the door of the bathroom, you saw the man you had just been dancing with waiting right outside the door in the tiny hallway just off the main room.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, bumping into the man you had never caught the name of.

“One more dance?” He asked.

Shaking your head, you chuckled nervously trying to push past him. “No, sorry. I can’t.” You faux apologized. “My brother’s waiting for me at home and I don’t wanna worry him.”

Just as you attempted to move past him, he pushed you against the wall of the dimly lit hallway and grabbed your hands when you tried to shove him away. Struggling in his grasp you jolted backwards as his head made its way into the crook of your neck.

“C’mon sweetheart.” He whispered. “The night’s still young-”

“She said no.” A familiar voice spoke up from behind him.

Feeling a sense of relief wash over you, you took advantage of the man’s distraction and shoved him away from you, Bucky grabbing him by the collar of his shirt as he stumbled into him. Shoving him against the wall you watched as Bucky’s face came inches away from the man’s.

“Listen man.” The guy said throwing his hands up in the air. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked. “Didn’t look like that to me.”

“C’mon pal,” The guy chuckled nervously. “Just let me go and we can forget this ever happened.”

“Y/n?” You heard your brother’s best friend ask.

“Yeah?” You answered, standing up straighter.

“What do you think I should do with this guy?”

Wrapping your arms around yourself and checking the time on your wrist watch, you shrugged.

“I don’t know, Buck.” You sighed. “It’s getting late. Steve’s gonna wonder where the hell I am. I told him I was just goin’ to dinner.”

Heeding your words, Bucky pulled the man’s face closer to his.

“You got lucky this time.”

Once Bucky saw fear in the man’s eyes, he felt satisfied, throwing the man to the floor and watching as he scrambled to his feet and ran out of the hallway. Turning back to you, Bucky pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, slipping one out.

“I could have handled that myself, ya know.” You said, still leaning against the wall.

Shaking his head, he scoffed slipping the cig into his mouth.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.” He said looking up at you, pulling a lighter from his other pocket. “You and your brother, Y/n... ya know... sometimes it would be nice to hear a ‘thank you’.”

You understood what he meant- Bucky was looking out for you just as he always had and as much as your pride hated to admit it- you were glad he had come to your rescue when he did.

Watching him bring the lighter to the cigarette that hung from his mouth, you shook your head.

“C’mon, Buck.” You groaned, snatching the lighter from his hand. “Those things will kill you.”

“There’s a war going on, doll.” He said plucking the lighter from your grasp. “I think a cig’s the least of my worries.”

Hearing the pet name slip from his mouth, you began to feel the heat rise to your face.

In all the time you had known James “Bucky” Barnes, you had heard him call dozens of girls that name, but never you. He had always called you by your name or teasing nicknames like “punk” or “kid”- never “doll”. That name was saved exclusively for girls you took on dates and kissed on the walk back to their apartments - not you.

But as he used the name on you for the first time, whether it was an accident or not, you felt butterflies floating in your stomach.

A part of you hated that you didn’t hate it and the other wished he would call you that again and again.

“James please.” You urged. “You know I hate the smell of those things.”

James.

As much as he loved his nickname, the sound of his first name falling from your lips was sweet as honey and so intimate he swore he would do whatever you asked when you said it.

Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he shoved it back in the pack and into his back pocket, pulling up his sleeve to check his watch.

“You’re right.” He said, clearing his throat. “It’s getting late. Let me walk you back home.”

Following him out of the hallway and into the main room, the sound of the band still playing in the background, you spotted the man Bucky had just thrown out speaking to what you assumed was one of his friends. Adverting your eyes from him, you instinctively moved closer to Bucky, wrapping your hand around his bicep.

Feeling your touch against his clothed skin, his heart skipped a beat as he pulled open the door of the club, both of you moving outside into the cool summer night air.

“Why were you here anyway?” You asked, walking alongside Bucky on the sidewalk. “You have a date or something?”

“Yeah.”

You felt your heart sink to your stomach.

“But I wasn’t interested. I stopped listening to her story about her last date two minutes in.”

Just now realizing that you had been holding your breath, you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry, Buck.” You apologized half heartedly, a part of you glad that his date with another random girl he had just met didn’t work out.

“S’alright.” Bucky assured you. “There’s plenty of better girls in the city. I’m walkin’ with one of 'em right now.”

Glancing up at your brother’s best friend beside you, you met his eyes and smiled.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were flirtin’ with me, Barnes.” 

Gazing down at you, your face highlighted by the dim glow of the streetlamp illuminating the sidewalk, his breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say next. You had been consuming his thoughts for months- years even- that now as you tested the waters he couldn’t find the right words to speak next.

He couldn’t risk losing you, but as he admired you in the soft glow of the moon shining above the apartment buildings, he knew he couldn’t risk not having you either.

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

Now the one speechless, you stared up at him, noticing the seriousness in his face- not a hint of his usual teasing smirk in sight.

Just as you opened your mouth, you watched as the light switched on in your apartment above. 

Shoving Bucky against the wall of the building so he was out of sight, you looked up as the window opened and your brother’s head popped out.

“Y/n?” Steve asked. “That you?”

“Yeah!” You called. “I’ll be up in a second. I just gotta... fix my shoe.”

“Were you talkin’ to someone?” He asked, checking the sidewalk below you.

“What?” You asked, shaking your head. “I wasn’t talking to anyone. You’re hearing things- go back to bed before you wake up the block!”

With that you watched as your brother shrugged, moving himself back into the apartment, slamming the window shut. Emerging from the shadows, Bucky gestured towards the apartment.

“You’re lying to your brother now?” He asked. “You really don’t want to be seen with me that bad?”

Strolling towards him, you laughed.

“I love Steve, Buck, but sometimes he can be a bit too protective.” You said, grabbing the end of his tie. “I gotta go, but...”

Tugging on his tie, you pulled him towards you and when his face lined up with yours, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thanks for saving me, James.” You whispered in his ear.

As you dropped his tie from your hands, he stood up straighter, watching with wide eyes as you made your way back towards your apartment, throwing him one last glance over your shoulder with a smile before climbing up the steps and out of his sight.

Feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, fearing that he was blushing so hard anyone could see it even in the darkness of night, he held his hand up to the spot on his face where you had just kissed him, leaning back against the wall.

Feeling his heart thump against his chest, he knew he was done for.

A part of him had always known that his mother was right- that he was gonna settle down one day and end up with the Rogers girl. As much as he had dismissed it, promising “Ma, she’s Steve’s sister. She’s my friend”, he knew better. As he stood there leaning against the brick wall of your apartment building on that cool summer night, a part of him knew- as he would recount to you on your wedding day- that it was the end of the string of new girls on dates every other night for him and the beginning of the rest of his life.

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Nanny Pt. 1

Lee Bodecker x Nanny!F!Reader

18+ 

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s), cursing, Sandy and Carl being bad parents, 18+ content in later chapters 

Summary:

Based on this Request: The reader moves to Meade/Knockemstiff while answering an advertisement for a nanny in the paper. We learn that the ad was posted by Sandy, who has the reader watch her child whenever she and Carl leave to do their secret thing. After one of these trips, Sandy and her husband never return, so the reader is left caring for their baby. With the new investigation into these events, she meets Sandy’s brother Lee, the older, out of shape, alcoholic bachelor, and they are suddenly thrown into each others lives as he begins looking into his sister’s disappearance. Through it all, Lee starts to fall for her, and they slowly become a family.

A/N: Here is the first part of my newest series and I want to thank the anon who reached out to me with this idea! 

If I missed anything I should include as a warning that I missed please let me know!

Taglist Form is in my bio and should be updated to now to include this fic! (If for some reason it isn’t working send me a message and I’ll make sure you’re added!!)

“Damn it, Sandy, can’t you handle that?” Carl yells from his dark room as the baby starts crying again.

“Fuck you, Carl,” Sandy shouts back, hurrying to put out her cigarette before heading to the nursery.

Their little girl was just about a year old, and neither one of them knew what they were doing. Carl was incredibly indifferent and despite her honest attempts at motherhood, Sandy’s maternal instincts never kicked in like she thought it would happen. Carl was annoyed that it cut into their time they would be on trips. They weren’t able to photograph models with the baby on the road, so he’d been itching to get back on the road.

“Is she hungry?” he shouts back, not even bothering to take his eyes off of the most recent photographs he had been developing.

“I just fed her!”

“Then why is she crying?”

“Fuck if I know,” Sandy shouts back exasperated. She scooped up the baby from her crib and started to rock her back and forth in her arms. Sandy also tried burping her, humming a little lullaby she made up on the fly… no luck. She walks around the house with the baby on her hip, trying to rock her back to sleep.

“We haven’t able to get back on the road in a year,” Carl says, clearly frustrated.

“That ain’t purely my fault,” she spits back, “Takes two to make a baby, Carl.”

“Fuck I know,” he groans, “But I need new inspiration. If I take one more picture of nature…”

“If she’s such a hindrance, pay for a damn sitter like I suggested months ago,” she counters.

“We can’t have no stranger walking around the house Sandy,” he points out.

“Just keep your damn room locked, it’s not a huge deal,” Sandy sighs. “Besides, no one is gonna snoop around if you pay ‘em enough. You damn well produce your own incriminating evidence; you should always have that room locked anyways.”

“We only have to worry about your damn brother,” Carl points out, “We hire a fucking sitter that’s two people we need to worry about.”

“You’re just to goddamn cheap to hire somebody,” Sandy states, moving back towards the nursery, the baby now snoring softly.

“You know what? Fine,” Carl says defeated. “But you’re in charge of putting the ad out and hiring somebody.”

“Thank you,” she says in a sing song tone, happy she got her way. But the moment of quiet that follows is short lived as they baby starts crying again.

“Please for the love of God can you just take care of that?” Carl yells, and the argument circles back to the beginning.

You had sat in the small dinner in the corner booth hunched over the newspaper and nursing your now cold cup of coffee. You had just arrived in Knockemstiff and were looking for work. “Any leads?” Julie asked as she topped off your coffee. Julie was your roommate. You had found her the same way you were currently looking for a job. You must have answered at least ten terrible Roommate Wanted ads until you had found Julie. The two of you now share an apartment- the top floor of a three-family owned by a sweet older couple.

“Thank you,” you say without looking up from scanning the ads. “Maybe this one?” You say pointing to one of the ads. She looks to see her manager stepped out for his smoke break before sliding in the booth across from you. You slide the paper over to her and she reads the ad out loud.

NANNY NEEDED Knockemstiff, Ohio

Couple that travels for work in need of a nanny for one-year-old daughter.

Temporary live-in position for several weeks at a time. Pay negotiable.

Call Sandy Henderson at the below number.

“I can sublet the room temporarily while you stay there,” Julie offers. “It’s a pretty vague offer,” she continues. “I wouldn’t commit until you call and speak to that Sandy woman.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll need to be interviewed,” you agree. “What kind of people are comfortable just leaving their baby for weeks at a time with a perfect stranger?”

“Paul is still out back I think,” she chuckles, “I’ll let you use the wall phone.”

You take a seat at one of the stools at the counter, and she dials the number for you and then passes you the receiver. You mouth a thank you and she waves her hand in dismissal as she heads over to take someone’s order.

“Whaddya want?” the woman on the other end answers abruptly.

“Oh, I’m calling about the ad in the paper regarding the nanny position. Is it still available?”

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, hun,” the woman says, now in a much nicer tone. “Thought it was my brother calling. Yes, it is, and we need it filled as soon as possible. When are you available?”

“For an interview?” You ask.

“Yeah,” she says mumbled, like she is dangling a cigarette from her mouth. “Can you come today?”

“Oh, wow. Yes, I can,” you reply.

“Great, um, you got a pen? Take down this address.”

About two hours, a change of clothes and a cab ride later, you were standing outside a house towards the end of town. It was a little run down, but what building in this town wasn’t? You were a little nervous of course, but it was also the most unconventional way you have gotten an interview. Part of you was relieved, because the woman on the phone sounded real, not phony, but the circumstances still made you uneasy. Julie had the address and said you’d call when you got back to the taxi dispatch.

“Welcome, welcome,” Sandy smiled, opening up the door for you. She had one hand on the doorknob and one of the cutest babies you’d ever seen in the other. “Come on in, make yourself comfortable.”

“Who is this?” you coo, leaning down to the baby’s eye level. “She’s darling.”

“This little sweetheart is Valerie,” Sandy smiles, passing the baby to you. “She’s so well-behaved. Hardly ever cries.”

“She’s adorable,” you smile, as the baby cuddles up close, resting her head on your shoulder. “I didn’t properly introduce myself on the phone. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“I’m Sandy,” she introduces herself. “Please take a seat on the couch, get comfortable. I hate things that are so formal. Bleh.”

You take a seat on the couch, and readjust the little girl in your arms so she’s sitting on your lap and her back is resting against you so she is supported.

“So, my husband and I are on the road a lot, usually,” she begins, “We took some time off when we had Valerie, but we really need to start working again, you understand.”

“Of course, what do you both do?” you ask politely.

“We’re photographers,” she beams, “Mostly nature and landmarks- which reminds me! We have a darkroom in the house, but that door will be locked when you’re staying here. We don’t want any damage to any of the negatives we have stored in there you understand. Everywhere else in the house is yours to explore! And of course we gotta spare bedroom you can call your own.”

“Fair enough,” you joke.

“So, tell me about yourself, honey,” she smiles, crossing her legs in the armchair where she sat.

“Well, I just moved here a few weeks ago actually,” you begin, “I just recently finished school, and now I’m looking for work. I just got my degree in early childcare from the state college.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she says with a clap of her hands. “So, you’re local?”

“Yes, I live in town.”

“Excellent! We’d also love for this to be like an on-call thing as well, you know for date nights and things like that for times when we’re home. Like for a few hours here and there. And of course, we’ll always live money for groceries or whatever you need on top of your pay for emergencies incase Valerie needs formula or diapers or anything.”

“Perfect,” you smile, surprised how well the conversation was going. Sandy was easy-going and nice to talk to. The two of you sat and talked for a little under an hour, her asking all the standard questions you anticipated. You also were able to ask her some more of your own questions as well. It was the most effortless interview you had been on easily.

“I’m sorry you weren’t able to meet Carl today,” she says when she is showing you out. “But hun, I feel confident to offer you the job. We haven’t had many applicants and you’re the most qualified one I’ve spoken to. The job is yours if you want it?”

“When can I start?” you smile, making her laugh.

“Your number is on the resume, right?” she says, scooping up the baby. You nod, waving goodbye to the baby and then saying goodbye to Sandy.

“I’ll call you when I speak to Carl, but I think once he knows he’ll want to head out as soon as we can. Plan for Sunday,” she says as you get into the cab.

Just like she had promised, you get a call from Sandy on Saturday afternoon asking you to show up the next morning at 9. You spend the day packing up your clothes and anything else you’d need for a few weeks. Sandy said they’d be back in two weeks but you pack for three just in case. Julie was also nice enough to help you. You didn’t need to do much. Ever since you had settled in Knockemstiff, you had been pretty lazy with unpacking and for once procrastination played out in your favor.

Julie insisted on taking you out to celebrate that night before starting your job tomorrow. There was a small little bar, a little shack of a place just on the outside of town you went to. Julie had a car and you drove, anticipating she’d have a lot more to drink than you. It was a hotter summer night, so you drove with the windows down and the radio playing a little louder than you normally would.

The outside was decorated with string lights of primary colors and the wooden awning looked like it was one more storm away from collapsing. But the atmosphere inside was to die for. The jukebox was playing loud dance music, and the place was crowded. Empty recycled glasses lined the walls on a high shelf as decoration along with weathered posters of anything Americana. A row of motorcycles and trucks were parked outside the little place and it looked like a pileup from how crowded the lot was. People lingered outside as well, and you both hoped you’d find seats inside.

The two of you found a high-top table and Julie made her way up to the bar, skillfully maneuvering through the crowd to grab you both some drinks. You let your eyes wandering, surveying the room and just people watching. Couples were dancing closely to the music that was rattling the jukebox, and a group of people were sitting at the bar huddles in to watch the little black and white portable television. You also noticed a group of men in uniform several tables down, local police. They weren’t paying any attention to anyone but their own conversation, except one.

He just so happened to have looked up just as your eyes landed on their table. Steel blue eyes cutting across everything and just staring right back into yours. It was a fraction of a second and his gaze was broken by Julie taking her seat across from you. You cleared your throat, and finally allowed yourself to exhale. You felt her raise an eyebrow at you but she didn’t press, just gave you a knowing smirk you brushed off. You still felt his gaze on you even if your view was now obstructed.

Sandy and Carl were in a rush when you arrived in the morning. Sandy ran you through the details of where everything was kept and told you that she would call to check in when she could when they made stopped. She helped you carry your bags in from the trunk of the taxi while Carl packed their bags in their car. He was polite enough, but you felt in your gut to just keep your distance. Sandy led you upstairs to the guest room she told you she worked to clean out for you. It was simple, a bed and a dresser with a small closet. She said it mostly had been storage and her weekend project had been clearing it out for you. It was simple, but good enough for you for sure. You thanked her and she dismissed it saying you were the one doing her a favor, making you laugh.

The whole ordeal was very hurried. Carl was rushing to get on the road as soon as possible and you could tell he was clearly irritated at how long Sandy was taking showing you around and explaining things about Valerie. Carrying the baby in your arms, you finally were settled in to your new role and Sandy gave one more big hug and a kiss on Valerie’s head before rushing down to the car. You waved to the pair of them from the small front porch, Sandy looking back and waving to the baby from the passenger seat until they were out of your line of vision.

The first day was a little daunting. New space, living in a house that isn’t yours and a baby babbling in your arms. She was a sweet thing, and she already had taken a liking to you. Heading over to her nursery, you saw that she had a little play pen folded up in the corner of the nursery and you quickly set it up in your room so you could unpack while keeping an eye on her. She babbled just happy utter nonsense to you while you navigated around the space and her big eyes just followed you, just watching you was entertaining for her for now. You were a new face and she was entertained just by that for now.

A few hours later, Valerie had settled down for a nap in the early afternoon. She was sleeping soundly in her crib and you were getting formula ready for when she woke up. It was quiet, the only noise in the house was the small sounds of your own rustling in the kitchen. You wondered when you would hear from Sandy, if it would be later tonight or in a couple of days. You just were lost in your own thoughts when you were startled by a loud knocking on the door. Instantly, Valerie began to cry. You wiped your hands quickly on the skirt of your dress before grabbing her. You rested her on your hip and rocked her gently, shushing her to calm down while you went to grab the door.

The first thing your eyes saw were the same blue eyes who was looking at you at the bar last night. The man’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked really confused. He had one hand rested on his hip and the other against the doorframe, but he stood up straight when he saw it wasn’t who he expected. Your eyes then went down to the shiny Sheriff’s Badge fixed in place on his uniform.

“Who are you?” he asks abruptly. “Where’s Sandy?”

“Sandy and Carl left this morning,” you explain, not sure if he recognizes you. “I’m their nanny.”

He laughs and shakes his head as he looks down, almost like he doesn’t believe you, or he just doesn’t believe the situation. “Carl? Carl Henderson hired a nanny?” he scoffs and you nod, holding Valerie a little closer. The little girl rubs her eyes and yawns, when her eyes flutter open, she looks at the stranger in the doorway and immediately reaches out to signal she wants to be held by him. You ignore her resistance to wanting to be in your arms until you get more information about why the Sheriff is at their doorstep, though she obviously knows him.

“I’m Sandy’s brother,” he explains, “Did she say when they were coming back?” He doesn’t try to hold the baby yet, just holds out one of his fingers and her little hand holds onto it tightly.

“Two weeks.”

“They hire a complete stranger to watch my niece and live in their house unsupervised while they drive around?” he scoffs, shaking his head again in disbelief.

“I’m more than qualified…”

“It’s not a jab at you, sweetheart,” the man tries to explain, “More so a reflection on my sister and her husband is all. They are… fairly selfish people and I wished this situation surprises me more than it does.”

“Should I tell her you came by when she calls?” you ask.

“If she calls,” the man chuckles, “Sure, let her know Lee stopped by to visit.”

“You don’t think she will?” you ask, tilting your head.

“We’ll see,” Lee shrugs, “Do I know you from somewhere?” He rests his arm back up on the doorframe and looks down to the baby again, extending out his free hand to her again and scrunching her cheeks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, not wanting to admit you remembered seeing him last night. He purses his lips together and nods, not pressing further. He pushes off from the doorframe and puts his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Must’ve been in a dream then,” he smirks, and you feel your cheeks flush. He walks down the steps and back towards his cop car. “What did you say your name was?” he asks, turning back around.

“I didn’t,” you chuckle.

“Hmm,” he nods, and raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to fill in the blank. You tell him your name and he repeats it back to you like he’s thinking about it, trying it out to see how it sounds.

“Well,” he says, standing behind the open driver’s door, “Good luck, and I hope Sandy proves me wrong. Let me know if she calls.”

Taglist: 

@adelaide-walker @thedepressolit @samanthadegaro​ 

[weasleylangs]

swipe right / f.w

Summary: Finding your best friend and your biggest crush on Tinder is always awkward.  Pairing: Muggle!Fred Weasley x Muggle!Fem!Reader Warnings: Discussions of sex, language, alcohol, food/drink mention.  Word Count: 6.9k (this is the longest thing i’ve ever written)

AUTHORS NOTE / hiiiii... this is my first fic in SO long but thank you for waiting for me!!! a huge thank you to my lovely rosie @spacexcowgirl for inspiring this fic and also listening to me ramble on about it for hours on end as i was writing it and for also beta reading it guys this fic rly wouldnt exist if it wasnt for rose so.........

/ also, george’s girlfriend in the fic is named ‘em’ and she has no physical description besides also using she/her pronouns. i’m trying this out so even people who aren’t (primarily) fred simps can self insert in this fic!!!

taglist / @amourtentiaa​ @weelittleweasley​ @lumos-barnes​​ @lumosandnoxwriting​​ @loveboyhalo​​ @harrysweasleys​​ @freds-slut​​ @rcwenaclaw​​ @barneswidow​ @fandomhideout​​​

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

Y/N stared at her screen, the Tinder profile of Fred Weasley staring right back at her, teasing her ominously. She eventually decides to lock her phone to avoid the familiar and unwelcomed feelings rising in her throat. The last thing she ever expected to see during her mindless swiping at 1am was her best friend’s Tinder profile. 

She knows it’s hypocritical to feel this way but she’s also not stupid. She and Fred both have had their fair share of dates and hookups thanks to dating apps- they’re in the twenties and single after all. But she can’t shake how weird she feels finding Fred. Like she’s stumbled across something private.

Y/N unlocks her phone again, curiosity eventually making her cave after staring at her ceiling blankly for way too long. 

‘Pros: I’m an Aries (I’ve been told that's a good thing). Cons: I’m an Aries (I’ve been told that’s a bad thing).’

It’s a short and simple bio, much like her own but she has to stifle a choked laugh. She and George’s girlfriend have said these to both the twins and she feels a sense of accomplishment that she can’t explain. Almost like Fred thinking of her while he sets up his dating profile means something. 

She hesitates a moment, debating between swiping left and never thinking about Fred and dating profiles ever again and swiping right just to see what happens. Y/N’s definitely making it a bigger issue than it has to be, which is why she doesn’t realise when George’s girlfriend and her roommate suddenly appears in her doorway holding chocolate.

“Em, it’s 1am and you have work tomorrow?” She questions and the girl in the doorway shrugs, making her way into the room and sitting down without an invitation.

“I can vaguely hear you monologuing next door,” she laughs as she breaks a line of chocolate off the bar and hands it to Y/N. She groans, in her moment of panic she completely forgot about the fact it’s late and their bedroom walls are paper-thin. “All I heard was something about Fred and the word fuck. I hope I’m not interrupting anything…” she winks and Y/N cringes, Em’s usual 15-year-old boy humour shining through as she pops the piece of chocolate in her mouth. 

“You’re hilarious,” Y/N says rolling her eyes but she can’t deny the fondness that’s there for her best friend. “No, you’re not interrupting anything, rather the opposite actually, look.” She passes her unlocked phone to Em and Y/N wishes she could have captured the shocked look on Em's face.

“Fred has a fucking active Tinder?” She’s quickly swiping through his profile and she hates to admit he has good pictures, but when she gets to his bio she snorts and rolls her eyes. “That’s something you say, Y/N.” 

Y/N feels her face go red at Em’s comment. She’s acknowledged this already but when someone else says it she feels like she isn’t being as far fetched as she’s convinced herself. While she outright refuses to acknowledge her feelings for Fred to anyone who isn’t herself, she knows Em knows without having to tell her. Call it best friend instinct, ‘dating-his-twin-brother’ instinct, whatever she pleases, which is why when there’s a mischievous glint in Em’s eyes, Y/N immediately is reaching for her phone. “No.”

Em whines, rolling onto her back. “Why not, you’re so boring!” 

“I am not swiping right on Frederick fucking Weasley.” She feels her face becoming warmer as she says it. Em gives her a look as if to say ‘I believe you’ with a glint in her eye that makes Y/N know she doesn’t. “I’m just never going to open the app again!”

Em rolls her eyes but the fond smile on her face is unmistakable. “And do what, love?” 

Y/N falters for a second before shrugging. “Not perceive his profile. It’ll be gone into the abyss of people who live in London and I’ll never think about it again.” She’s smiling, thinking she’s concocted the most perfect plan.

-----

It wasn’t the most perfect plan, for when Y/N is hanging out with Fred two days later she’s faced yet again with the ‘Tinder Predicament’ as dubbed by Em. Fred and Y/N are sitting in their favourite park, the new spring weather of London on their skin as they soak up the friendly sun rays after a harsh winter. Y/N is laying on her stomach, the book open but she’s barely reading as she pretends to listen to Fred ramble on about only God knows what. 

It’s 11am, not too early for the park to be empty but busy enough that other people are turning up, mostly couples. Y/N tunes Fred out, quickly getting lost in her own thoughts. Do other people think we’re a couple? she thinks to herself. She knows if Em could read her mind she’d say yes and Y/N is quick to push the thought out of her mind. 

Everything is interrupted when her phone lights up with a ‘You’ve got a new match!’ notification and before she can hide it from prying eyes, Fred’s wolf-whistling. 

“You’ve got dating apps, do ya, Y/L/N?” he teases and Y/N wants the Earth to swallow her up, she can’t think of a worse situation to be in. 

“Yeah, don’t you?” The second the words leave her mouth she regrets them. Fred’s smirking at her, a signature smirk of his he only does when she knows he’s up to something. Unfortunately for her, she is on the receiving end of that something.

“Something along the lines of ‘looking for a golden retriever boy?’. Ring any bells, darling?” Y/N feels her blood drain from her body and Fred releases a laugh that can only be described as a full-body chortle. “You know I have one, darling. Besides, you popped up last night. I already knew.” 

Y/N groans. This shouldn’t be as embarrassing as it feels but it’s Fred and knowing Fred has seen her dating profile was low on her wishes for this week, or for her entire life for that matter. 

“Did you at least swipe right on me?” 

It’s said with a teasing manner, falling right out of Y/N’s mouth before she can stop it. Her curiosity always gets the best of her and she wants to kick herself for it. But she doesn’t even notice Fred’s slight falter, the red tint kissing his cheeks and emphasising the freckles across his face at the comment. “You’ll have to swipe right on me to find out.” 

She can’t tell if he’s joking. But Fred is always joking. So she laughs and pushes him slightly, “If I come across your Tinder profile, I’m reporting it.” 

“It would be a blessing from the universe for you to come across my dating profile. I’m sure you’d appreciate my bio.” 

“Let me guess. ‘6’3 if it matters’?” Fred scowls looking down at her and she knows she looks way too proud for that comment but she doesn’t care and after a few seconds, Fred doesn’t care either. He starts to feel a small shred of jealousy from knowing Y/N has a Tinder profile, but he swallows it, tabling it for later when he isn’t with her.

“Why do you have the app?” He blurts out, annoyed at himself for letting it slip out. “Just… Curious, y’know?” He adds on when he notices Y/N looking up at him with an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t really want to know, but the words are out there and the cute scrunch of Y/N’s nose as she thinks of an answer almost makes it worth it.

“Male validation, mostly,” she laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck when she hears Fred laugh along with her. “I don’t know, Freddie.” She says, exasperatedly. “I barely use it. What about you?”

“Sex, if I’m honest.” Now it’s his turn to awkwardly laugh because he knows he answered that way too quickly and a little too honest for his own comfort. Y/N’s been his best friend for years, probably knows him best besides George but she didn’t really need to know he uses his Tinder profile to hook up with people. 

When Y/N doesn’t respond immediately, Fred takes it badly. He knows she would never judge him, not about anything and especially not this, but his thoughts get the best of him and sometimes he can’t help it. He has no idea Y/N is in her own head, jealous other girls get to hold Fred at a distance closer than she ever will. 

He clears his throat and checks his phone to see no notifications besides a direct message from Lee Jordan. He knows George isn’t expecting him home- cursing his brother when he remembers George demanded the flat to himself (and in turn, also Em) today for a few hours. “Hey, uh. I’ve gotta go. Emergency with George apparently.” 

He knows he shouldn’t have lied, it’s not even a good lie but it was the first thing he thought of. He notices Y/N’s eyebrows furrow before she shrugs, nodding before closing her book. “That’s okay, I was getting tired anyway. I might pop back to my flat for a nap.” 

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Fred asks and his chest feels warm when Y/N meets his face with a smile. 

“Of course, Freddie.” 

She watches Fred leave, her thoughts getting the best of her. She knows for a fact there is no ‘George emergency’- she knows George is with Em probably being sick and in love and she’s sure Fred knows this too. The realisation Fred made an excuse to not spend time with her hits her like a truck, her mind frantically searching for what she could’ve possibly done to upset her best friend. 

“Fuck,” she whispers to herself, the second she realises.

-----

To: Em > if you come home tonight dont mind me being drunk x 

Y/N sends the text as she stands in the kitchen, pouring herself her second glass of wine before it has even hit 6pm. On her way home, she stopped by the liquor store, picked up her favourite wine and decided to drink away the anxieties of upsetting Fred.

From: Em > ill be home. ill pick up chinese on the way. save me some wine!!! x

She smiles down at her phone, knowing Em would always be there without even realising it. She sits down on their couch and turns on the television- old reruns of early 2000s sitcoms playing on almost every channel. 

It’s 20 minutes late when Em turns up. She’s nursing the Chinese food as if it’s a child as she tries to unlock the front door without dropping the food or her bottle of wine. She smiles proudly at Y/N the second she gets in, putting the food on the table before she grabs her own wine glass. 

“What happened today?” 

Y/N is caught off guard but she shouldn’t be shocked. She doesn’t usually drink and when she does, it’s very rarely without Em. “Nothing’s wrong!” she says, skulling the rest of her wine when Em gives her a knowing look.

“You were with Fred today and now you’re sad drinking. What happened?” Usually, she loves when Em is her all-knowing best friend, but right now she wishes she’d shut up. 

“Nothing happened!” She’s adamant to not say too much. She knows it’s probably all in her head, that she and Fred will be fine in a few days but when Em gives her one more knowing look, she breaks. “Okay, fine. I think I upset him today.” 

Em’s confused, to say the least. Fred, for as long as she has known him, has never been upset with Y/N- even on accident. She has the tall redhead wrapped around her finger. “How?” she questions, because she truly can’t think of a single thing that Y/N could do to hurt him. 

Em places Y/N’s food in front of her when she starts speaking. “We were talking about Tinder- don’t give me that look he saw a notification and it came up and he asked why I had it. I said I don’t know and when I asked him, he said he uses it for sex,” Y/N says softly, pouring herself another glass of wine before continuing. “I didn’t say anything when he said that, because… Well… You know why.” 

Em does know. She knew the second she became Y/N’s roommate their first year of University that she had feelings for Fred and she knew immediately Fred liked her too but Y/N’s never believed her. “You think he got upset you didn’t say anything about sex?” 

“I think he thinks I was being judgemental.” Em sighs at Y/N’s response. She loves both her best friends- they’re her favourite people besides George but she knows they can be idiots. They sit in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the forks against their Chinese containers before Em grab’s Y/N’s phone, unlocking it.

“Well if Fred’s using Tinder for sex, so should you!” she says matter-of-factly and when Y/N groans from the kitchen sink, Em speaks again. “It’s true! He likes you but won’t tell you, you like him but won’t tell anyone! Who’s a good meaningless shag going to hurt?” 

That’s how they end up in Em’s bed, cuddling under the duvet with ice cream and Y/N’s Tinder profile open on her phone. “You’re so fucking picky, holy shit,” Em says when Y/N scrunches her nose up at the sixth consecutive guy. “It’s a shag, not a hand in marriage, love.”

“They don’t do it for me!” Y/N is avoiding the elephant in the room- that she’s comparing every guy that pops up to Fred. “I have to be attracted to them for this meaningless shag you’re preaching about… See, he’s cute!” His name’s Cormac, he’s 21 so only a few years younger than Y/N and he’s not bad looking. 

“He looks like a douchebag!” Em exclaims and Y/N groans. 

“You told me to stop being picky!” 

“Stop being picky doesn’t mean saying yes to the first conventionally attractive guy we see!” Em exclaims as she swipes left on poor Cormac. Y/N gets up to pour herself and Em one more glass of wine each and she hears Em starting giggling to herself when the new profile shows up, hiding the phone from Y/N’s eyes when she walks over. Without even questioning Y/N, Em swipes right and immediately she starts howling laughing. 

‘New Match!’ the screen reads and Y/N feels her breath hitch when snatches the phone from Em’s hands and she sees who she matched with.

Fred, 24. 2km away.

“I remembered after dinner, you said he told you to swipe right to see what he did,” Em says proudly, and Y/N regrets even mentioning it to Em offhandedly. Y/N’s eyes are transfixed on the tiny screen. There’s no way he seriously swiped right, she’s sure it’s only a joke- people jokingly match with their friends all the time. “So here you go, Freddie swiped right on my lil Y/N/N.” 

Y/N shakes her head at this. “I’m sure he only did it as a joke. People do that when they find their friends on Tinder all the time!” she says, sitting back down on the bed and cuddling up next to Em. “You were telling me to swipe right on him last night, after all.” 

Em looks at Y/N and sighs, clearly sensing how uncomfortable Y/N is feeling right now from the confrontation of her feelings for Fred. “I was telling you to swipe right because I know you’re in love with him,” she says softly, not missing the way Y/N’s eyes soften at the mention of her feelings for Fred. “I’m sorry if I’d known-”

“Don’t apologise! I’m just going to ignore the fact we matched,” she says softly, unlocking her phone and immediately exiting from Fred’s profile. The tension from a few moments ago quickly dissipates as Y/N receives another match, this time from a boy named Neville who Y/N knows is friends with Fred’s little brother. 

“When did you swipe on Nev?” Em asks and Y/N shrugs. She knows she probably did it to be funny, like what she thinks Fred’s done to her, but the more she thinks about it, Neville isn’t a bad match. He’s nice, friendly and now he’s in his twenties, he isn’t bad looking either.  

“Nev’s sweet. If he asked me out I’d say yes.” She says. She isn’t lying- there’s been times she’s considered going on dates to avoid her feelings for Fred, to get over him once and for all but whenever it gets to that point, she chickens out. “I know you want a meaningless shag, but I think maybe a date would be a good idea. You know?”

Em nods, pulling Y/N closer to cuddle her and suddenly feeling bad about preaching for meaningless sex. “Maybe you’re more of a date before shagging kind of girl, and that’s okay.” 

“Yeah, maybe.” 

-----

Em’s fast asleep and Y/N’s overthinking next to her when she gets a message from a match. Y/N rolls her eyes when she sees the time reads 2am; knowing whoever's messaging at this time is just looking for a booty call but she opens the notification nonetheless.

From: Fred > i can be a golden retriever boy :) 

She smiles at the message, Fred’s presence always does that to her. She never expected him to message her on tinder considering she’s convinced it was just a joke swipe right, but this is probably just a joking message too. She checks his bio is still the same Aries joke before quickly replying.  

To: Fred > good thing im a big aries fan then ;)  > how tall are you though? im sure youre well aware it matters

She hopes Fred laughs at her messages because making Fred laugh is her favourite pastime. The three dots signalling Fred’s typing pops up and her heart starts to race.

From: Fred

> im 7’5 if its that important :/ 

She giggles and when doesn’t know how to reply after that, she exits out of their messages, but it’s not like she has to keep a conversation with Fred going. She’s trying to think of a funny message to send Fred when she gets another message; this time from Neville.

From: Neville > hi Y/N! i hope this isnt a weird time to message you, i just finished grading some work. i was wondering if you’d like to get dinner sometime this week? we were kind of friends at school, after all, and it’ll be nice to catch up :) 

The message from Neville is sweet, and she almost feels guilty reading it. Attached is his number and everything and Y/N feels her throat closing up. She would feel terrible going on a date with Neville despite what she claimed earlier, knowing her heart currently belongs to Fred. 

But Fred’s lack of interest in her is eating at her as much as her own feelings for him do, and she knows she deserves better than to sit around and wait for him any longer. If Em was awake the date would already be confirmed, she knows that much so she decides to say yes to Neville, to at least put herself out there. She can imagine the little Devil version of Em dancing on her shoulder as she begins to type out a reply to Neville.

She doesn’t even think to look at who it’s being sent to before clicking send. But by then it’s too late- she doesn’t even know how she ended up back in Fred’s messages but now she wants to roll up into a ball and die.

To: Fred > hi neville! id love to grab dinner one day, here’s my number and we can organise it tomorrow because im going to bed now! x

She’s staring at the message for so long she doesn’t even notice the ‘???’ she gets back from Fred. She quickly copies and pastes the message to the right recipient this time before plugging in her phone and rolling over to sleep.

Em’s slight snoring lulls her to sleep, thoughts of Fred filling her mind before she passes out for the night. What she doesn’t know is that while she falls asleep, Fred lays awake, staring at his ceiling. Contemplating the knowledge he has knowing Y/N’s potentially organising a date with one of  his little brother’s best friends. 

-----

Fred hates this feeling; this feeling of jealousy in his stomach that’s threatening to spill out of his throat. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about Y/N accidentally messaging him about a date with another person all morning and he knows George is getting annoyed with him. 

“Why are you being such a prat this morning?” George had asked when Fred scowled at his brother for simply standing in the kitchen. Fred had huffed as a reply, grabbing the milk for his tea before sitting down at their table to munch on his toast.

“Not being a prat,” he says, words muffled by the food in his mouth and George gives him a disgusted look before taking a bite of his own toast. “Do you remember Neville Longbottom?” 

George nods, of course, he knows Neville. “Ron’s friend? Super nice bloke. Think him and Hannah Abbott just broke up, why?” 

Fred shrugs, he’s almost positive it’s the same Neville now. “Think Y/N’s going on a date with him, that’s all.” When George raises his eyebrows, Fred speaks again, “Just wanted to make sure she wasn’t going on a date with a prat.”

“Wanted to know who she is going on a date with in general, more like it,” George mutters under his breath. He knows Fred better than he knows anybody, better than he knows his girlfriend and almost better than he knows himself. “You sure you’re not jealous?”

Fred squints at George. “Why would I be jealous?” Fred stands and makes his way to the kitchen to wash up his dishes and he almost drops them in the sink when George speaks again.

“Because you’re in love with Y/N?” He says it so casually Fred almost chokes on air. He’s never thought about himself and Y/N in that way. Sure they like to cuddle when they’re drunk and they spend every waking moment together but he’s not in love with Y/N.

Is he?

“What makes you say that?” Fred asks quietly, hoping to hide the red blush forming on his cheeks. George might be his best friend and twin brother but he knows he would never live it down admitting he has feelings for Y/N. 

“You two are worse than Em and I, and we’re actually dating,” George speaks as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “When Em first met Y/N, she asked how long you and she had been together for, mate.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Fred says a little too quickly. 

“I’m sure it doesn’t, Freddie,” George smirks as he speaks, getting up to wash his dishes now. Fred stands in the kitchen, nursing his cup of tea as he contemplates George’s words. Sure, he always knew he had some kind of feelings for his best friend, but being in love was another whole ordeal. It means wanting long term commitment, probably a house together, maybe marriage, perhaps kids if Y/N wanted them and the longer Fred sits with these in his mind, he quickly realises he does want all that and even more with Y/N. He’s probably wanted it with her for a while and he just hasn’t ever realised.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, low enough for George not to hear but when Fred doesn’t have a rebuttal to George’s words he knows he’s accidentally sent Fred into an existential crisis. 

“Look, Fred. If Y/N going on a date bothers you, you need to tell her.” George knows he’s about to cross some lines that he promised himself he would never cross but it’s getting dire in his eyes. “Y/N likes you and deep down you know you like her too, even if you’re oblivious. She deserves to know and if you’re too much of a chicken to admit it to her, then you don’t get to be bothered about her going on a date with Neville Longbottom.” 

Fred huffs. He knows George is right, but he can’t help but feel like he truly noticed too late. He swiped right on her on Tinder hoping she would swipe right back and they could go from there. But he knows Y/N only swiped right to see if he had done it first, that she only swiped right out of curiosity and right now, Fred is cursing the app under his breath. 

“Well, fine, yes I like Y/N, but I can’t just stop her from going on a date. That’s controlling and mean.” Fred states and George just sighs. “I’ll talk to her after her date, if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

George stares at him. “Since when are you mister Que sera, sera, Freddie?” Fred shrugs, not understanding the reference George made. “Since when are you just letting it happen?” George translates when he notices the blank stare on Fred’s face.

“Since right now. I don’t want to come off controlling to Y/N.” Fred says. In actuality, even though he knows George would never lie to him, he’s scared. Y/N is his best friend and the last thing he ever wants to do is ruin his closest friendship all because of some jealousy. 

“Okay fine, but if she gets a boyfriend, I’m sorry mate,” George says and he knows putting the threat of losing Y/N romantically on the line is harsh, but it’s what he has to do. He’s watched the pair pine for each other for years and he’s sure this is the last straw. 

“We’re going out with the lads in a few days, by the way! Maybe you can stop moping enough for a shag!” George calls out and Fred flips him the finger as he walks off to his bedroom. 

-----

Y/N and Neville decide on getting dinner together three days later. It’s a Friday so neither of them has to worry about work or coursework the next day, which is perfect. Neville tells Y/N about his favourite Italian restaurant right near Old Street subway station in Shoreditch, so that’s where the pair decide to meet. 

It’s rather busy when Y/N gets to the station. Neville has apologised profusely for still being fifteen minutes away but she reassures him it’s fine and that she’ll meet him outside the station so they can walk to the restaurant together. 

Y/N’s on her phone, texting Em and telling her she’s safe when she feels a presence next to her. She tenses up quickly but she soon relaxes when she looks at the person next to her and realises it’s Fred. 

“Hi,” she says, smiling. She hasn’t seen him since the day in the park, but they’ve texted and called so she’s sure everything is fine. “What are you doing all the way on this side of London?” 

Fred smiles and shoves his hands in his jeans pocket before replying, “Grabbing a drink with the lads tonight, love. What about you?” His tone is casual and Y/N has to stop herself from checking him out. He’s dressed in a nice dress shirt, it’s orange and on anyone else, it would clash with his hair but Fred somehow manages to pull it off. He’s got a black jacket over the top of his shirt, alongside black jeans that show off his long and muscular legs on and his outfit is paired off with a pair of boots on his feet. 

He’s not making it easy to get over him, that’s for sure. 

“I’ve got a date,” she’s shy when she says it, looking away from Fred and then back down at her phone. The time reads 6:47pm and Neville’s train will be getting in any second now. She’s trying to get over Fred and the last thing she needs is Fred lingering when said date turns up. 

“Ah yes, with Neville, if I remember correctly,” Fred’s teasing and Y/N has to force a laugh out. She blocked out the fact she’d accidentally messaged him instead of Neville and was hoping he would forget as well. But this is Fred she was talking about, and Fred never lets up a chance to tease Y/N for something.

“Yeah, Neville Longbottom,” she says and she catches the look of recognition that flashes across Fred’s face. “He was friends with your brother in school.” 

Fred nods in acknowledgement while he can’t decide whether or not he’s happy with the confirmation that he was right. He’s sad and jealous, that much is obvious, but he’s a little happy. Happy that even though Y/N is going on a date with someone who isn’t himself, it’s someone he knows would treat her like she deserves. 

“Neville’s a good guy, I’m happy for you,” he forces out and Y/N smiles up at Fred and he wants to sink into the Earth. The smile on her face is one he wants to be the cause for forever. “I should get going, tell Nev hello for me!”

He pulls Y/N into a quick hug, presses a quick kiss absentmindedly on the top of her head before letting her go and crossing the street and making his way to the bar he’s meeting Lee, George, Harry and Ron at. 

Y/N watches him leave, dumbfounded. The kiss on the top of her head is nothing less than usual; Fred’s always been touchy with her but now it feels weird. All she wants is to call out to Fred and demand the redhead take her on a date instead. 

But before Y/N can do anything drastic, she hears Neville call out her name and she turns around quickly. He’s just as sweet and cute as she remembers and even if she wishes Fred was the boy she was on a date with, Neville is someone she would be friends with above anything. 

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long!” He says when he reaches her, kissing her cheek as Y/N pulls him into a hug. His presence is comforting and he smells like cinnamon and Y/N feels herself instantly relax.

“Not too long!” She replies as she begins walking towards the restaurant with Neville. During Spring, the cold weather still returns at night so their hands are shoved inside their jacket pockets to keep warm but they’re walking closely together. “I ran into Fred just before, so he kept me company.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Neville says as he grabs the door to the restaurant, “can’t have a pretty girl waiting outside a subway station alone.” Y/N feels her cheeks heat up at his comment. 

They’re quickly seated and wine is ordered. They’ve been placed in a booth right near the window, where they’re able to watch the City of London go by. “How’s teaching going?” Y/N asks when she remembers Neville recently graduated and got an immediate job offer at the Agriculture department at a college in Surrey. 

“It’s going well! I specifically teach the floriculture courses so I love it, of course,” Neville’s smile couldn’t get any wider. Y/N specifically remembers his constant fascination with plants and flowers in school and she couldn’t be happier for him to be doing what he so clearly loves, “What about you?” 

“Being hammered by my postgrad coursework,” she says, laughing and taking a sip of her wine. “My job at the bookstore near my flat doesn’t suck but I definitely don’t work as much as I used to, unfortunately.” Neville raises his glass, almost to say I’ll drink to that when the waiter comes over to take their order.

Dinner goes quickly, conversation flows easily between the two and soon enough the bill arrives and Neville grabs the cheque before Y/N can even say anything. “You can grab it next time.” 

Y/N falters at this. She knows she should say something to Neville; that this has been nice but there won’t be a second date. She’s too caught up in her panic and she’s beginning to curse Fred Weasley under her breath when Neville gently places his hand on the small of her back to lead her out of the restaurant. 

“Are you okay?” Neville asks when they get outside. He noticed the tensed look on Y/N’s face the second they got outside and when she nods and sighs he takes it as a sign to stop walking.

“This has been nice, Nev,” she starts and she feels terrible even though she knows it’s better, to be honest. “But I don’t think I’m-”

“Ready for a relationship?” Neville finishes for her, and he’s not condescending when he says it. He could tell even before dinner was finished that she probably felt that way and he doesn’t mind. “I don’t think I am either. But this was fun, was it not?” 

Y/N nods, smiling as the anxieties of hurting Neville wash away. “It was fun!” she says, “I hope we can do it again. Even as friends?” 

He nods back, a warm smile gracing his cheeks. “Of course.”

They walk back to the station together, promises of seeing each other again soon leaves their mouths as they walk to their respective platforms. 

From: Neville  > thanks for tonight. i forgot to mention, please tell me when you’re home safe!

She smiles down at the text, shooting Neville a reply of reassurance that she will before opening her messages with Em to let her know she’s on her way home. She’s jumping through her apps, Snapchat that she only uses for filters, Facebook she only uses to check the ‘Dogspotting’ group until she lands on Instagram. 

She sees a story from George and when she opens it, she immediately regrets it. It’s their friendship group, that much she expected but she sees a girl sitting next to Fred nursing what looks like a Gin and Tonic and Y/N feels sick. 

She immediately closes the app, pretending she didn’t see it. She has no right to be upset over this but it plagues her thoughts for the entire subway trip home.

That’s when she decides she’s going to demand answers from Fred. She doesn’t know how, or when or if she’ll even do it without Em forcing her to, but she knows she deserves better. That she doesn’t deserve to hang on the end of every touch, every word of Fred’s in hopes he’ll hold her closer than arm's length while she desperately wants more. 

-----

The next night, Fred’s laying on his couch in an uncomfortable position searching Netflix at 10pm when he hears a knock at the front door. He knows it isn’t George, or any member of his family for that matter and any normal person would ring before coming over this late at night. So when Fred gets up and looks through his peephole to ensure he’s not about to be murdered, he’s shocked to see an angry-looking Y/N.  

He opens the door and she’s immediately inside, pushing past Fred’s body and when she turns around, she has the most determined look on her face he’s ever seen. 

“I’m annoyed at you.” Fred’s taken aback, he tries to think back at their interaction the evening before, trying to piece together anything that would annoy Y/N but he’s coming up blank.

“What did I do?” He wearily asks and when Y/N purses her lips together and looks like she’s about to cry Fred has to resist the urge to apologise without knowing what he needs to apologise for.

“I’m annoyed at you because,” she pauses and takes a shaky breath, “I’m annoyed because I went on a date last night. I went on a date with the loveliest man I’ve ever met. And I spent the whole fucking time wishing I was on a date with you. And I’ve spent all of today debating coming over here and telling you that so I drank half of Em’s bottle of wine for some liquid courage and here I fucking am!” 

That’s the last thing Fred was expecting to come out of Y/N’s mouth. “Well, that’s not-” 

“I’m not finished.” She stares at Fred and he immediately shuts up. 

“I’ve been in love with you for years and it’s not fair on me anymore, Freddie.” Her voice is shaking like she needs to get everything out as soon as possible. “I need to know if you feel anything for me, even in the slightest, because if I need to move on, I’m begging you to be honest with me.” 

Fred feels his heartbreak at how sweet, how broken, how defeated Y/N looked standing in front of him right now. He can see the need for an honest answer swimming in Y/N’s eyes and he’s never felt braver to admit his feelings than he does right now.

“I’m an idiot,” Y/N scoffs but lets him continue, “because I didn’t realise how fucking in love with you I am until I almost lost you. I thought…” he pauses, looking for the right words and when his eyes meet Y/N’s, there’s a softness there that wasn’t there previously. “I thought what we had was normal; the cuddling, the constant need to be with each other, the constant subtle touches. But George knocked some sense into me.” Y/N lets out a breath as she laughs, of course, it was George’s doing.

“I’m in love with you, and I think I have been since we were 17. So I’m so fucking sorry, for ever letting you think you meant any less to me, my love.” 

Y/N’s eyes are overflowing with tears at his words and Fred panics for a second before he sees the biggest and most loving smile overtake Y/N’s face. “Fucking hell, you big dummy.” 

She crosses the room, quicker than she’s ever moved before and pulls Fred’s 6’3 frame into her arms. She feels Fred pull her away, only slightly, so he can look down into her eyes and cup her cheek with his hand. His thumb is providing comfort as it strokes across her cheek and wiping away any stray tears. 

She cups the outside of his hand with her own and brings her face to the side to kiss his palm. This is the closest the two have ever been and both their hearts feel like they could beat out of their chests at any moment. It’s the adrenaline from this moment that causes Fred to blurt out his next question, without any hesitation.

“Can I please kiss you before I die?” 

Y/N laughs as she looks up at Fred. She doesn’t even give him an answer, she just pulls the tall boy down before locking their lips together. They’ve both kissed plenty of people, had many first kisses whether it be with first dates or partners but they can both agree this is the best kiss either of them has ever experienced. 

Y/N is pouring everything she can into the kiss, knowing she will never get tired of the taste of caramel that she will forever associate with kissing the love of her life. She presses her lips harder against his, her tongue running along Fred’s chapped lips asking for more before he opens his mouth to massage his tongue with hers. 

Fred decides to be a tease, pulling back slightly before capturing her lips again and biting her bottom lip slightly. This action pulls a moan from Y/N’s throat, soft enough that Fred almost misses it but he can’t help but smirk into the kiss. He wants nothing more than to kiss Y/N for the rest of his life, but eventually, he has to pull away to catch his breath and the whine that leaves Y/N’s mouth might be the cutest sound he’s ever heard in his life. 

“I hope to God you know I’m never letting you kiss anyone else ever again, holy shit,” she says, cheeks flushed red and when she looks at Fred she thinks she’s fallen even further in love with him. His hair’s messy, thanks to her running her hands through it and his lips are slightly swollen. She thinks this might be the most beautiful she’s ever seen Fred in her life and if this is how gorgeous he looks after a few minutes of kissing, she’s secretly anticipating how gorgeous he’s going to look laying in her bed, naked. 

Fred smiles dopily down at her, “Don’t worry darling, I never want to be with someone who isn’t you ever again.”

[ponderinqs]

Pushed Away || JJ Maybank

pairing: jj x reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse, underage drinking, angst, gun usage, SLOW BURN!!!

word count: 3.3k

summary: you’re best friends with jj, but something happens one day, leaving you and the rest of the group confused and worried about him. what happened to him? did you do something to hurt him? or maybe, there’s something rather... emotional going on inside him. something he’s never felt for anyone before in his life.

a/n: here’s me apologizing for not posting this WAYYY sooner. listen,, i got huge writers block for a very long time, and i wasn’t feeling up to anything obx. but now that season 2 has come out, and the fact that i’m at the beach right now (approximately 2 hours away from where they film outer banks), i finally have some motivation to write. soooo yeahhhh. hope you enjoy LMFAOOO. also, read the other parts if u haven’t already!

unedited. please excuse any typos :)

comment if you want tagged !! :)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

—————————

It’s been about four days since your friends found out about your past. A week since you spoke to any of them.

When you came home that night after seeing Rafe, you and your mother got into a screaming fit over how she needs to stop trying to change you back to who you used to be.

“You don’t get to tell me who I am! I get to choose that!��� You yelled, finger pointed at your mother.

“Excuse me?! I am your mother! I can do whatever I need to do to get you to stop turning into someone you’re not!” Now your mother was screaming at you, probably waking the neighbors.

“Life was better when dad was here! Now you’re just a pathetic excuse as a mother!!” You felt regretful for the words that left your mouth, but in the heat of the moment, it felt like the right thing to do.

You felt a hand come across your cheek. “You don’t get to talk to me like that, young lady!”

She left the house shortly after you two fought. Your mother has been gone for a few days, which left you holed up in your room, alone, letting the nasty thoughts fog your brain.

You groaned as you got out of your bed, trudging to the bathroom to see how awful you looked. Your hair was disheveled and you looked like absolute shit. “God…” You whispered, letting your fingers graze your cheek. You winced as you felt a slight sting from the movement. It was still sore, and even if there wasn’t much of a mark anymore, you could still see a slight red tint to it.

You finally decided it was time to leave the house. The sun was beginning to set, but you didn’t want to be holed up in your house for another day. After cleaning up and looking somewhat normal, you walked downstairs and went to open the door, but someone was at the door, just about to knock. It was Pope, looking frantic and scared.

“Y/N! Hi!” He pulled you into a quick hug. “You gotta come quick, there’s something wrong with JJ.” He looked at you, scanning your face for any response, when he saw the slightly reddened cheek mark.

“Who did that?” He spoke softly, his finger touching the mark lightly. “My mother.” You sighed. You didn’t feel like worrying everyone, but it was already happening.

“We can talk about this later, okay? But c'mon, we gotta go.” He nudged his head to his car as the both of you made your way over to the car.

“Is he okay? What’s wrong with him?” You spoke after a few minutes of pure silence while Pope drove. “I really don’t know. He went back home last night and something must’ve happened there. You’re like the only one that can get him to calm down.” He smiled at you as he pulled into the Chateau.

You both got out and walked towards the front, where JJ was seen pacing back and forth, Kiara and John B just watching him. They both saw you and stared, not saying a word.

JJ turned around and saw you, the two of you making eye contact. He stopped pacing, and you saw the sun shine through his beautiful hair, but you also noticed more cuts and bruises scattered around his pretty face.

You approached him with caution, looking into his ocean blue eyes the entire time. The two of you didn’t speak any words, but somehow you still calmed JJ down. You grabbed both of his arms as you looked at his face, examining each and every cut and bruise.

Instead of speaking, you hugged him. You wrapped your arms around his torso tightly, resting your head on his chest. He was hesitant at first, but he also wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his head in your neck.

You felt wetness on your skin, making you hug him even tighter. JJ let out a choked sob, still holding onto you as if you were the only thing keeping him from completely losing it. You stroked his back, your eyes watering as you listened to him cry into you.

“I can’t do it.” He mumbled into your neck in between sobs. Your heart broke for what felt like the hundredth time this week. And again, you couldn’t do anything to help him, which made you feel helpless. All you could do was stand here and hug your best friend, hoping something would make everything stop hurting.

JJ went limp in your arms as the two of you fell to the ground, JJ covering his face with his hands and he continued to cry. “JJ..” You whispered softly, grabbing him and holding him to your chest. You ran your hand through his hair a few times, trying to get him to calm down.

You looked around at the other Pogue members, signaling that they need to give you two a minute. They understood and nodded, walking into the Chateau and closing the door behind them.

After they were gone, you moved JJ away from you as you pulled his hands away from his face. Your foreheads rested against each other’s, the two of you not daring to break eye contact.

His eyes were red and puffy, tears still streaming down his face. He looked at you with his sad eyes as you felt raindrops beginning to fall on the top of your head.

Soon it was beginning to rain even harder, but the two of you just sat outside, staring at each other and not speaking a word. “I can’t deal with him anymore..” JJ’s voice cracked at the end, letting out another choked sob.

You cupped his face with your hands, kissing his forehead lightly. As you pulled his face away, he noticed the faint cheek mark on your face. “Who.. who did that?” He said quietly, his hand coming up to touch it.

Shivers went down your spine as you felt his touch, along with a slight sting. “Shit.” You hissed, looking down at the ground.

“It was your mother, wasn’t it?” He moved his dripping wet hair out of his face, looking into your eyes.

You nodded slowly right as a bolt of lightning cracked in the air. Thunder boomed through the atmosphere within seconds, and the two of you shared the same look. “Let’s go inside, okay?” You grabbed his hand and helped him stand as the two of you went inside.

The three friends looked up at the sound of the door closing, seeing the both of you drenched with your hands still intertwined.

You squeezed his hand, leading him to the extra bedroom. You watched the fragile boy lie down on the bed, turning his back to you.

You turned around and went back out to the rest of your friends. “Um, we’re gonna stay here tonight.” You shuffled your feet.

“Everyone is staying here. The hurricane is coming through right now.” John B sat on one of the couches, finally looking up at you.

You nodded. “He’s gonna be okay, Y/N. Just give him time.” Kiara looked up at you, giving you a slight smile.

You sighed and made your way to the bathroom and grabbed a few towels before you returned to the extra room, seeing JJ in the same position that he was in when you left him.

“Hey, I got some towels so we can dry off.” You got onto the bed and set the towels in front of you. JJ turned around and sat up, grabbing a towel and drying off his hair.

“Do you have extra clothes here?” You asked, and JJ just simply nodded, pointing to the worn down dresser across from the bed. You stood up and walked over, opening it and finding some random clothes for you and JJ.

You tossed JJ a random marina shirt, and a pair of shorts. You found a blue shirt and some sweats, and put them onto the bed. “Well, close your eyes.” You grinned at him, and JJ smirked before covering his eyes with his hand.

You stripped from your wet shirt and tossed it to the corner of the room, making a note to wash it tomorrow. When you looked at JJ, he was peeking out of his hand. “Maybank!!” You giggled as you hurriedly put the shirt on.

“Well, I like the view.” He commented, making the heat rise up to your cheeks. You shook your head and pulled off the drenched pants you had on, rushing to put on the sweatpants.

“Keep em off.” He smirked, his hands now completely away from his eyes. “Oh, shut up.” You finished changing and got into bed, JJ now getting up and changing. “Do I need to close my eyes?” You spoke as if you were a little child.

“That’s up to you.” He smirked again. You decided not to as you watched him slowly peel his wet shirt off of his body.

Without realizing it, you were biting your lip and staring at his defined torso. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” JJ laughed, pulling the dry shirt onto him and then taking off his drenched shorts.

Seeing JJ in his boxers was something you never thought you would witness, but I guess it had to happen sometime, right? He slid on his shorts and got back into bed.

Rain pattered against the window, along with the occasional lightning strikes and thunder. The two of you sat in the darkness for what felt like hours.

“Why did your mother slap you?” JJ spoke, the air thick with something you couldn’t quite explain.

“I called her a pathetic excuse for a mother. So she slapped me. Then she left.” You turned to face JJ, your faces inches away from each other.

“Why didn’t you come to see us? You were gone for a long time, or at least a long to the three of us. We were all scared and confused.” JJ’s hand moved to rest on your cheek, staring at you. Even in total darkness, he could make out your features.

“I didn’t want to. I thought you guys hated me.” You relaxed into his touch, sighing.

“We don’t hate you, Y/N. We are all just a little disappointed that you never told us.” He moved a piece of your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

The tension was thick, and it scared you. You’ve never been this vulnerable to each other. JJ never let his guard down, and neither did you. The time you shared outside was something that has never happened before.

“Do you feel better?” You spoke softly, wondering if that was the right thing to say. You didn’t know if you were overstepping any boundaries the two of you had. A lightning bolt lit up the sky, followed by a large boom of thunder as JJ began to talk.

“Yeah.. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He shrugged it off and pulled the thin blanket up to his chest. You gave him a confused look. “JJ, I will always worry about you. That’s what friends do. We always look after each other and make sure the other one is okay.” You scooted yourself closer to him. You felt him shiver as your arm grazed his.

“Just don’t bother worrying about me, okay? I’ll survive.” His finger reached up to his face to touch the multiple cuts and bruises on his face. You heard him wince as the wind picked up outside.

Rain began rapidly pattering against the window, wind shaking the trees and scraping up against the side of the shack.

“JJ look.. I’m sorry for going full ghost on you guys for that long. I should’ve let you all know that I was okay.” You whispered, your hand resting on his shoulder as you laid your side to look at him.

“Nah I get it. I do it too.” JJ shrugged. You stared into his blue eyes, trying to figure out what was going on inside of that beautiful brain of his. He was too focused on the storm outside to realize that you were staring at him. When he finally made eye contact with you, your heart seemed to have skipped a beat.

“What?” He asked, his voice soft and caring. “Nothing.” You mumbled and laid down, getting comfortable with your pillow and the blanket you were currently sharing with JJ.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” JJ said before he turned on his side and tried to fall asleep. You were facing his back, your eyes glued to him. Slowly but surely your eyes closed and you both fell asleep to the sound of the wind and rain outside.

-

When you opened your eyes the next morning, you felt a heavy weight on your chest. Looking down, you saw JJ sleeping on you, his hand draped across your stomach with soft snores emitting from his mouth. You smiled and brushed some hair out of his face. You inspected his small cuts and bruises on his face, your index finger grazing each and every one of them.

Soon JJ’s eyes peeled open and he looked up at you. “What are you doing?” He mumbled, his eyes darting to your lips and then back up to your eyes.

“Oh, nothing. Good morning.” You replied, moving your finger away from his face. JJ rolled himself off of you and got out of bed, mumbling a ‘good morning’ before he exited the room and went to find the others. You followed him shortly after, finding no one in the living room.

“Uh.. guys?” JJ questioned, walking around the small boat house as he tried to find his friends. You then spotted John B outside, along with Kiara and Pope. “JJ, they’re outside.” You spoke before walking outside.

You looked around at the damage the hurricane had caused. Branches and twigs were scattered around the yard, along with a lot of random debris covering most of the grass. “Holy shit. She really did a number.” JJ admitted, walking around the yard, stepping on some twigs and picking random stuff up.

“Yeah, no kidding.” John B replied, his hands on his hips as he looked around at all the damage.

Surprisingly, the Chateau didn’t take much damage. You had noticed a bucket sitting on the floor earlier, so there must be a leak. Other than that, there wasn’t much else that needed repairing.

Suddenly, your phone in your pocket started to ring. Grabbing it, you saw the caller ID and it showed that it was your mom. “You have to be kidding me.” You muttered under your breath.

Catching your friends’ attention, they all turned to look at you. “Your mom?” Pope asked, wincing to himself once you nodded.

You answered the call and put your phone up to your ear. “Y/F/N Y/L/N, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?!” She screamed through the phone.

“What do you mean?” You kept your voice calm and controlled, because you knew if you raised your voice this phone call would be a lot worse than it already is.

“Leaving the house when I’m not there?! Doing god knows what with those low life’s?!” Your mom responded through the phone, her voice getting increasingly louder by the second.

“First of all, you left me!! What the hell was I supposed to do holed up in that house?! And I have told you this time and time again, they are not low lifes!” You retaliated back, making sure that your mom knew that she was in the wrong.

“That’s what you think.” She responded flatly. You just scoffed. “You make me sick, mom. You really do.” You responded, beginning to walk around in circles.

“You need to come back home. I mean it.” Your mom responded sternly. She could do anything, but nothing would tear you away from your real family.

“No. I am not coming back home for a while.” You shook your head, making eye contact with Kie.

“Excuse me? Yes you are. I will send the cops after you if I have to.” She responded, now raising her voice yet again.

“I cannot believe how disrespectful you are right now, mom. No, I am not coming home. You have given me so many reasons to not come home. I am going to stay here where I am more loved. Fuck off.” You yelled and ended the call, not caring about what she had to respond with.

“God, Y/N, I am so sorry you have to deal with her. That’s horrible.” Kiara walked up to you and gave you a hug. You hugged her back, resting your head on her shoulder.

The rest of the Pogues soon surrounded you and hugged you. You smiled as everyone hugged you.

-

About 30 minutes later, everyone was standing around a large fire that had started to burn all the twigs and branches scattered across the yard, when a Range Rover pulled up next to John B’s van.

You were not surprised when you saw Rafe get out of the car. “Oh hell no..” John B scoffed, walking over to Rafe.

“John B.. John B. Relax. I’m just here for Y/N.” Rafe smirked as he looked over at you, holding his hand out to stop John B.

“Rafe. Get out of here.” You told him, staying near JJ just in case he tries to do something.

“I got you, I got you.” JJ whispered in your ear, placing his hands on your hips as he held you close.

“It was your mom again.” Rafe’s voice got louder as he started to walk closer to you.

“I don’t care about her. Now leave.” Your heartbeat began to rise as he got closer and closer.

“Nah, I don’t think I will do that.” Rafe was now four feet in front of you.

“Hey, buddy, back it up!!” JJ yelled, staring at Rafe to make sure he doesn’t make any sudden movements.

“Aw look, you have a bodyguard. How adorable. You know, Y/N, me and you had history. I used to be your bodyguard. Isn’t that right?” Rafe smirked at you.

Before anyone could react, Rafe grabbed you by the arm and pulled you towards him. He held you close to his back, his arm locked across your chest.

“You dickhead!” JJ screamed and ran over to grab you.

Suddenly, Rafe pulled out a gun, causing everyone to stop in their tracks.

He clocked the gun at you, the barrel sitting right on your head. You gasped, tears trickling down your face.

“Tell them, Y/N. Tell them what we were.” Rafe said, smirking as he looked around at the group.

“Put down the gun and I will!!” You yelled, only causing Rafe to push the gun onto your head more. You let out a yell.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think you just better tell them now.” Rafe looked down at you, smirking.

“Me and Rafe,” you sniffled, looking down at the ground. “we had.. history. More than what I have told you. We… we dated.” You let out a choked sob.

Rafe slowly moved the gun away from your head. “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He grinned, stilling holding you close to his body.

All of the Pogues looked at you in disbelief. You couldn’t even find it in you to look at JJ.

“Cmon, Y/N. Let’s go.” Rafe gave your friends a little wave before he walked over to his car with you and shoved you into the passenger seat.

You were unable to fight him. You gave up, just staring at the floor of the car.

As Rafe started the car up, your friends started to run after you. Rafe quickly backed up out of his spot and peeled away. The last thing you saw out of the passenger side window was JJ, looking scared and very upset.

[smells-like-mettaton]

Rating: T (for inherent neutral ending angst)

Summary: Toriel's old house feels like a mausoleum. She will gladly ignore chisp crumbs and lumpy mattresses for a place that feels more like home.  (Queen Toriel ending fic for Soriel Week 2021.)

Word Count: 5211

XXX

The bedroom was exactly how she left it. Her bed pushed up against the gray wall. A book about snails on the wooden desk. A knit sweater with the embroidered words "Mrs. Mom Lady" in the wardrobe.

Even after all this time, she could barely look at it without her soul splitting in two.

She'd known this wouldn't be easy. She hadn't seen this house in over a century. Still, she wasn't prepared for how Asgore had sealed up her old room like a tomb, a photograph of the day that everything went terribly, horribly wrong.

At least the last child was safe. They should not have had to take a life to save their own, but she doubted Asgore had given them a choice.  Her own soul felt more numb than anything.  To her, Asgore had died a century ago.

What was done, was done. And as usual, she was too late to do anything but sweep up the dust.

She backed through the doorframe, shutting the door with a quiet click. She would have to return eventually, but for now, she yearned for a place with fewer painful memories.

"Hey, Your Majesty." A voice startled her as she attempted to escape the foyer. Luckily it was a voice she would always recognize.

"Hello, old friend." She turned and smiled at the monster leaning against the stair railing.

He was smaller than she expected, with that deep voice. Not that that was a bad thing. As for him being a skeleton, that had been apparent from the abundance of bone puns.

"You know the formality is unnecessary," she told him softly.

"Is it?" He shuffled from foot to slippered foot. 

In all her time of joking with him through the door, she had never expected him to be so cute. 

"Didn't want to assume, old lady."

He winked, and she felt a weight lift from her chest. At least one monster would still treat her like a person, and not like a mythical figure returned to save them.

"Toriel," she introduced herself for the first time. He had to have heard already, but between rushing to the palace, scattering Asgore's dust, comforting their—her people… she hadn't had time to seek out her friend.

He seemed to feel comfortable walking right into her home, though. Did he ever visit Asgore when he was here? Her friend seemed like the type of monster who went wherever he felt like, and Asgore, for all his flaws, had never turned a monster away from his home.

"Sans." He held out a bony hand. "Sans the skeleton."

"Nice to meet you, Sans," she tested out the name and clasped his hand with her paw.

A loud pthbbbbbt echoed through the empty hall. Her eyes widened.

"Wow, Toriel. That's, uh, some way to make an introduction." He winked.

She squinted down at the inflatable object in his hand, the source of the farting noise. Then she pretended to ignore it.

"It certainly is. I was not aware that skeletons were capable of flatulence."

His eyelights gutted for a moment before he burst out laughing.

"Your jokes are even better in person," he said once he composed himself.

His laugh set her soul fluttering. In all their conversations through the door, he'd never laughed like that. Maybe she should have tried fart jokes sooner.

"I am always happy to tickle your funny bone." She smiled, and his face tinged blue.

"Happy to be tickled. But, uh. I guess that's not all I'm here for?"

Her breath caught in her lungs. Of course he would not visit without a reason. 

"I suppose not. Would you like to have a seat?"

"It's nothing that serious," he assured her quickly. "I just thought you'd want an update on the kid."

"You've spoken with them? They are still here?"  She tried to keep the hysteria from her voice.

How could they have taken Asgore’s soul and not returned home?  Had the Barrier proven too powerful?

"No—geez, I'm making this sound worse." He ran a bony palm down his face. "They’re definitely gone.  Papyrus tried to call them nonstop.  Besides that, you know the big stuff. The king's dead."

Her lips drew to a thin line, pulling tight across her fangs.

"I can hardly fault them for that."

"Right." He stuck his hands back in his pockets. "I gotta be honest. The way the kid looked when I last saw them… I don't think they did it."

Her brow furrowed. She was inclined to hope that the child had not chosen violence.  They had been so sweet, so eager to talk and joke with the monsters of the Ruins, so quick to hug her even after she’d fought them.  It was hard to imagine them striking down Asgore.

"But… then what do you think happened?"

Sans shrugged. "Wish I knew. I kept watch best I could, but…"

"I could not expect you to come between them and your king." As much as she wished he could have. She had hardly expected him to agree to watch over the human at all.

“Couldn’t have even if I wanted to.  These bones aren’t as sturdy as they look.  Maybe I shoulda listened to my bro and drank more milk...” He grimaced and glanced away.  “Anyway.  Like I said, I don’t know what happened.  Just.  Be careful, okay?”

“Careful?” She blinked.

“Yeah.  You never know.” His gaze flickered to a potted golden flower on the end table next to the stairs.

“Sans.  If I did not know better, that would sound like a threat.” She crouched down, so she could better meet his eyesockets. “Is there something you are trying to tell me?”

“Man. First I rip one in front of a lady, then I threaten her.  I’m makin’ a great first impression.”  He rocked back and forth on his slippers. “Look. Toriel. I don’t wanna scare you, ‘specially since today must’ve been hard. Real hard.”

His eyelights bored into her irises. She found herself needing to look away.

“It has certainly been… interesting. Moreso than any day since I last saw this place.” She suppressed a shudder.

Change. Her life had been constant for so long.  There would be no more of that, now. Hopefully that would be for the better, but only time would tell.

“Yeah. Being flung away from everything you’re used to… don’t imagine that’s a cakewalk. Don’t want you to worry about freaks hiding in the shadows on top of that.”

Somehow, she felt he made more sense when he was on the other side of a door. Knock-knock jokes had a formula. Just another normalcy she had forfeited, she supposed.

“Please, Sans. If you believe I am in danger, you may say so.”

“Fine. So.” He grinned, and she couldn’t help a snort.

“Alright, I suppose I walked into that one.” She smiled, despite his warning. “Under normal circumstances, I would say I could handle myself. But I must admit you are more updated on the state of the kingdom than I.  Do you have any information that could help?”

“...Not really?” His grin turned sheepish.  “You look like a tough lady. I bet my bones are rattling over nothing.”

“I would still humer-us you.”

He gave her a funny look. “You’re actually taking me seriously?”

“Why would I not? You are my friend.  Perhaps… my only friend, at this point,” she admitted.  It would be foolish to ignore a warning, even if it was based on gut feeling. Or, whatever skeletons had in place of a gut.

“Well.  Uh.  If someone, something, was behind the king’s… yeah. If it wasn’t the kid, whoever else it was might still be around. So.” He coughed. “Sounds stupid when I say it like that, huh.”

“It does not.  I think it is sweet that you are worried.” He wouldn’t be able to see her blush, thankfully. It had been a long time since anyone had looked out for her.

“Geez, Toriel.” He rubbed the back of his skull. “You’re gonna ruin my reputation.”

“What reputation? Are you typically a monster with a heart of bone?” she teased.

“Nah. I just don’t worry. Too much work.”  It was difficult to tell if he was joking.  “Guess I can make an exception this once, though.”

“Why, thank you, my friend.”  She had the sudden urge to reach out and squeeze his hand.  It would be more for her own comfort than his, so she did not act on it. “To be honest, your words are a relief. I do not mind the excuse to avoid this place.”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “You got somewhere else you’d rather be?”

She both did, and did not. How could she explain without sounding like a clinging child?

...Perhaps that was the wrong metaphor. She would have preferred her children to be a little clingier.

“‘Cause, uh, if you don’t mind a bit of mess… my door’s always open.”

She blinked at the offer. Had he felt the thoughts stirring in her soul?

She didn’t want to be alone. Not again. And she had told him the truth: there were unlikely to be any other monsters she knew still around. Perhaps Gerson; she and Asgore had always joked that he would outlive them.

That joke seemed awfully morbid now.

“Sorry. Was that too forward? Our friendship’s built off closed doors; guess we should just take 'em one at a—"

"No," she interjected too forcefully. “No. I would love to visit your home.”

Though she had never set foot there, she already suspected it would feel more like a home than this place.

“You really—? Great.” His skull tinged the faintest blue. “Just, uh, know that it’s nothing fancy.”

Toriel smiled. “‘Nothing fancy’ sounds wonderful at the moment.”

Perhaps wherever he lived would be out of the way enough that news of her return would be delayed. If she could be lucky enough to pass for an ordinary monster… well, that was likely too much to wish for. It certainly wasn’t becoming of a queen to hide from her subjects.

Stars, there was so much to get used to. So many formalities to reacquaint herself with.  She hoped such things would wait until tomorrow.

Sans returned her smile.

“In that case, I know a shortcut.”

XXX

She handled the shortcut well for a first-timer. No stumbling on the other end, no complaints of nausea or dizziness. Of course, she was a Queen. A Boss Monster. Why would a magic trick ruin her composure?

Sans wanted to laugh. All this time, he'd been joking with the Queen. She didn't seem to mind, but she could just be “humerus”ing him.

...Nah. She had every excuse to ignore him if she really wanted to. Instead she'd actually taken him up on his offer.

He almost forgot to drop her hand once their feet landed in the soft snow. Heh. Who was he kidding? It was just nice to feel her fur under his fingers. To touch her, and know that she was real.

"Oh!" Her eyes lit up, reflecting the gyftmas lights strung haphazardly around the house's columns. "I remember this place!"

"You do?" Sans's browbone furrowed.

"I saw it while travelling from the Ruins to…" she trailed off.  To stop the kid from fighting Asgore.

Sans felt stupid for not trying to stop them himself.  Not that a kid that determined would’ve listened, anyway.  Still… he’d believed in them.  Hoped that by some miracle, they’d get ‘em out of this mess.

Heh. That was too much pressure to put on a kid, even a determined one.

"Yeah." He coughed quietly. "Guess we're hard to miss. Papyrus did something to the Gyftmas lights—even when the CORE lights go out for the night, ours stay on. Never figured out how he pulled that off."

Toriel laughed before seeming to realize something.

"I will get to meet your brother!" She clasped her hands together. "I wish it had not come about for such an unhappy reason, but I am excited nonetheless."

He chuckled. Her excitement was contagious. That was something she and Papyrus had in common already.

He pushed the door open, called out for his brother—and noticed the monster sprawled out on his couch.

"Oh." Sans blinked at Undyne, who was snoring so loudly, he should've heard it from outside. Guess he'd been a little distracted. "Uh. This is awkward."

"What is it?" Toriel hung back, her head ducking through the doorframe. "Is your brother sleeping? I would not wish to wake him. You said he rarely sleeps, did you not?"

"Nah, it's not him. Forgot his pal's house burned down. Actually, I'm sure you met her. Undyne? Captain of the Royal Guard?"

"I… yes, we met." Toriel edged inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "She looks far more peaceful now than she did this morning. From what I understand, my ex-husband was something of a father to her."

"Something like that." Sans nodded in agreement. There hadn't even been a Royal Guard until Asgore created the position for her. Sans wondered if Toriel would keep it around now that Asgore was gone.

Welp. It wouldn't hurt, what with his suspicions about Papyrus's friend "Flowery." 

(Maybe Sans should let Toriel sleep on the top floor rather than the couch anyway. No dirt for stray flowers to get into up there.)

"Should we be staring?" Toriel said with a soft chuckle.

Sans shook his thoughts away. "Sorry. Just thinking. I, uh…"

There wasn't room on the top floor. Sans's lumpy, crumb-dusted mattress was out of the question. That left only Papyrus's bed, which while rarely in use, had too much sentimental value to give to Toriel without asking. Where was Papyrus, anyway?

"Undyne!" His brother practically kicked in the door. "I have returned with nutritious—oh!"

Papyrus's sockets blinked at Toriel. Then at Sans. Then at Toriel again.

(Undyne let out another loud snore.)

"Sans?”  Papyrus dropped his groceries on the table next to the pet rock. “Why didn't you tell me we had another guest??"  

Because he was an idiot who hadn't planned past one impulsive offer. His face went a little blue.

"I guest you would figure it out," he managed to joke. 

Toriel let out a bleating laugh at that. The suddenness of it was enough to jolt Undyne awake.

"NGAHH!!" She tried to leap off the couch, but ended up rolling onto the floor. "I'm here, Asgore! I won't—oh."

Her single eye blinked up at Toriel. 

"Papyrus?" Undyne hissed through her teeth. "Why didn't you tell me the Queen was coming??"

"Because I didn't know!" Papyrus replied brightly. 

"I, uh, promise I'm usually more professional than this." Undyne summoned an energy spear and used it to push herself to her feet. The attack left a small char mark on the carpet. "I am at your service, Your Majesty."

Sans thought she looked real professional in a pair of Papyrus's MTT-brand crop top pajamas. Toriel didn't comment on that though, instead opting for a matronly smile.

"There is no need for that, Captain. I am not here on business, but as a friend."

That smile turned towards Sans, and he fought back a blush.

"Yeah. I was just gonna, uh, make some dinner. Y'know, welcome our queen back with some Snowdin hospitality."

"Dinner?" Papyrus squinted suspiciously. "You don't cook dinner. I cook dinner."

"First time for everything, right?" Sans winked to hide his embarrassment. 

Of course Papyrus wouldn't buy his excuse. But he really didn't want his brother and Undyne worrying on top of Toriel. Granted, it was Undyne's job to worry about security threats… but she'd tear up the house's foundation if she thought an enemy might be hiding anywhere in a five-mile radius. 

"Sans," Toriel chided him. "You do not owe me that."

"Wowie! You must be a great influence on him, Bald Asgore!"

Toriel blinked before bursting out laughing. Sans's grin widened. 

"Her name is Toriel, bro."

"Of course!! Where are my manners?" Papyrus bustled past him to shake Toriel's paws. "I am the Great Papyrus! It's an honor to meet you, Queen Toriel!"

"The honor is mine. Sans has told me so much about you," she said, and Papyrus blushed pink.

"You? Know the new queen?" Undyne whispered to Sans while Papyrus and Toriel got acquainted.

"You know me. I know everyone." He winked.

"She came out of nowhere."

"Yeah. My bro and I know what that's like."

Undyne huffed, but Sans didn't offer a more thorough explanation.

Papyrus's affronted shout signalled that Toriel had dropped her first pun.

"I take it back! This is the worst day of my life!!" 

Sans met Toriel's eyes, and they both laughed.

"I suppose I will have to help Sans in the kitchen as my pun-ishment," she said with a coy wink.

"Normally I would object to a guest cooking, but in this case I will make an exception!" Papyrus turned on his heel and grabbed Undyne's arm. "We will clean up the living room in the meantime! Try not to corrupt the queen any further, Sans!!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, bro."

He gave a quick wink to Toriel behind Papyrus's back, and they moved to the kitchen.

"Did I actually upset him…?" She asked once they were out of earshot.

"Nah. He's just dramatic like that. He'll drop three puns per sentence when he thinks I'm not listening."

He turned away, rummaging through the fridge for something edible they could cook.  Discreetly, he tucked his empty chisp bag behind Papyrus’s spaghetti-filled tupperware.

“Oh, good.  I would not want to make a bad first impression.”

“Pfft. You’d have to try real hard to do that, Tori.  My bro sees the best in everyone.”  He smiled and pulled a “pupperoni” pizza out of the freezer.  It wasn’t anything fancy, but at least it would be edible.

He turned around, pizza in hand, and found Toriel staring at him oddly.

“What?”  His sockets widened.  “Uh, you’re not vegetarian, are you?”

She shook her head quickly, her gaze skimming off of his like oil from water.

“Pizza sounds lovely.  It has been quite some time since I had one.”

Sans didn’t pry, but he couldn’t help wondering what her expression had meant.  Had he said something weird?

...Oh.  He’d called her Tori, hadn’t he?  He should know better than to use nicknames without asking.  Papyrus hated them.

“Please, allow me.”  She held out her paws, so she couldn’t be too upset.

He handed over the pizza, and he jumped when fire flared to life in her palms.  For a moment he thought the fire would scorch the pizza beyond recognition, but the flames were just pleasantly warm.  He’d never known a monster other than Grillby to have such careful control of fire magic.

“Heh.  I didn’t know you were so hot, Toriel.”

As soon as he said it, he clamped his jaw shut.  Geez, how stupid could he be?  Making bad jokes was one thing, but flirting with bad jokes?

The fire went out.  She looked up abruptly—er, looked away from the pizza.  He was still a good two feet shorter than her.

“Tori was fine,” she said, her voice soft.

“Uh,” he replied intelligently. 

She suppressed a giggle, and he was pretty sure his face burned hotter than her fire had.  He could stand to take notes from Alphys and throw himself in the trash.

“Or not.  Whatever is comfortable for you,” she reassured him.  “Now, should we eat dinner before it gets cold?”

Eating was hardly something he could screw up at.

“Sure,” then after a pause, he tested, “Tori.”

Forget her fire magic.  Her smile could’ve heated the pizza all on its own.

XXX

For once in a hundred years, dinner was a warm and energetic affair.  In addition to the pizza, Papyrus had tossed together a salad from his fresh groceries, and Sans had briefly stepped out to grab a few orders of wings and fries.  In the end there was plenty of food for four hungry monsters.

Papyrus apologized for the lack of seating, but Toriel didn’t mind sitting on the couch squeezed between Sans and Undyne, eating off of paper plates.  She couldn’t imagine anywhere she would have felt more comfortable.

Before long, though, the day’s fatigue caught up with her.  She supposed it was to be expected—she wouldn’t regain her social stamina all at once.  

Sans caught her eye, and he nodded towards the stairs as Undyne and Papyrus “owned” each other in an MTT-Brand fighting game.

“Sorry.  I know they can be a bit much.” Sans rubbed the back of his skull.  

“They’re lovely.  I wish I had the energy to keep up with them.”  She smiled.

He leaned against the banister, smiling down at them.  Papyrus had gotten the upper hand this time, and was punching the air with joy.

“Me too,” Sans said, still looking away.  “I was thinking.  If you want a place to rest for the night, my bed’s open.”

She blinked.  Her face seemed to catch fire.  That was rather more… forward than she was expecting.  Sure, she had enjoyed his lighthearted flirting, and much as she tried to deny it, feelings had been growing in her for a long time.  But to have him return those feelings? And so boldly? It was as unfathomable as it was unlikely.

“I can get ya some fresh sheets, and I’ll crash in the shed.  My bro set up an, uh, guest room there when the human was in town.”

Oh.  She rubbed the heat from her face while he wasn’t looking.  How foolish could she be, to think he would be implying…? Well.

“I would not force you out of your room,” she said.  “If your brother prepared a guest room, I am sure that would be adequate.”

He let out a quick laugh.  “Uh, you’re not used to my brother’s… decorating.  Seriously, I don’t mind.”

She sighed.  If he insisted, she supposed it would be rude to deny his hospitality.

“Alright.  Thank you very much, Sans.”

“Great.”  He smiled back at her, then went into his brother’s room.  She waited patiently, and only jumped a little when he suddenly reappeared from the right hand door.  Perhaps the two rooms were connected in the back by a bathroom.

“Hotel Sans, one vacancy.”  He winked while holding the door open.

She chuckled behind her hand.  “You really did not have to resort to this.”

“Heh, I wouldn’t call it much of a resort.  The bed’s not even queen sized.”  He rubbed the back of his skull.

The bed was smaller than she was used to, but it did have fresh sheets.  That was the only fresh thing about the room.  Chisp crumbs had been brushed under the dresser, and… that was a tornado.  A self-sustaining trash tornado.  Though at least there was a pine-scented air freshener suspended in it.

“Sorry, it’s… really not much.  Uh.  Probably kinda insulting, expecting the Queen to sleep—”

“It’s perfect.”

He blinked.  “Huh?” 

“I am no stranger to a few crumbs, Sans.”

She remembered days that bled into weeks that bled into months.  Months where she couldn’t bring herself to clean, could hardly bring herself to care at all.  Months that had grown fewer and farther between since she’d met a friendly voice behind a door.

“I would’ve vacuumed,” he said sheepishly, “but I suck at it.”

More embarrassingly loud laughter burst from her.  In front of Sans, though, she didn’t feel the need to curtail her joy.

“Thank you.” She poured as much sincerity as she could into her voice.  

“‘S no problem, Tori.”  A light blue tinge warmed his cheekbones.  How could he possibly look so adorable? “Bathroom’s down the hall if you wanna wash up or anything.  And Undyne’ll be on the couch, so this is probably the safest place in the Underground right now.”

Her brow furrowed.  Sure enough, there was no bathroom door inside the room—he must have used one of his “shortcuts” to move from his brother’s room to here.

“So, uh.  I’ll be in the shed—uh, guest room if you need me.”  He flashed one more tense grin before turning to leave.

“Wait.” She stepped towards him without thinking.  

He looked up, one brow ridge raised.  She found herself biting her lip, wondering if she dared ask what her soul wanted.  It was silly, really.  She’d been on her own for years, decades.

Maybe that was why she was so hesitant to lose this one taste of companionship.

“I would feel… safer, if you would stay too.”  Her face burned beneath her fur, but she projected her usual composure.

“...Welp. Can’t say no to that, huh?”

She was about to reassure him that he could say no—that she was asking as his friend, not as his queen—but the soft smile on his face told her he already knew.  

He briefly left to grab a few things, then returned with a few pillows and, for some reason, a dog bed.

“You are not going to sleep on that,” she said in disbelief.

He flopped the dog bed in the middle of the floor and started fluffing it.  “Why not?  Gotta throw a dog bed a bone, right?”

“Sans.”  

The outdoor lights dimmed, as if at her command.  Only the colored Gyftmas lights outside and one dim indoor bulb lit the room.

Her confidence waned with the light.  What had she expected him to do?  She’d asked him to stay.  Unless she wanted to…

Oh, to hell with it.  She was too old to be so shy about these things.

“If you are not opposed,” she swallowed, “we could… share this mattress.”

When he looked up, she couldn’t make out his eyelights at all.  Their glow returned slowly, like the rising of the sun from her memories.

“Heh… you sure?  You don’t even know if I snore.”

She laughed and sat on the bed, patting the space beside her.  “You do not know if I snore, either.”

“Fair enough, Tori.”

They took turns cleaning up in the bathroom—she was imposing on Sans enough without adding the smell of dirty fur to his bed.  Then she did her best to ignore the flutterings in her soul as he slipped off his hoodie and climbed up onto the mattress.  She insisted he stay under the sheets; her fur would keep her warm enough with just the light blanket on top.  

The sheets were a barrier in name only.  There was only so much space on the mattress, so no matter how he adjusted and apologized, she could still feel the curve of his spine against hers.

It felt amazing.  It felt terrifying.  It felt like a mistake.  It felt like the only thing she’d ever done right.

The one saving grace of the whole situation was that it didn’t stir memories of Asgore.  Her royal beds had been triple the size of Sans’s lumpy mattress. She and her ex-husband had rarely slept back to back, and if they had, the feeling would have much different.

“...Tori?” Sans’s voice was just above a whisper.  “You, uh, still awake?”

As if she could sleep while enduring the wonderful agony of friendly touch for the first time in a century.

“Yes,” she replied softly.  “Am I taking up too much space?”

“No, ‘course not. I was just, uh… geez.” He sounded embarrassed.

Risking their precarious balance, she rolled over to face him.  Or to face the back of his skull, at least.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Doin’ sans-sational.” He chuckled to himself.  “Sorry.  Never got to use that one with you before.”

She would have laughed, had she not worried about shaking the whole mattress.

“It was sans-tastic,” she joked back, and he laughed again.

Then abruptly, his laughter cut off.

“Thanks, Tori,” he said in a quiet but firm voice.

“What for?” She wished she could take his hand, see his face, learn what thoughts were passing through his skull.  Instead she gave him as much space as physically possible… which still was not much.

A long, silent moment passed.  Had he fallen asleep?

“I know it’s not how you wanted,” he finally said, “but I’m glad I got to meet you.  So.  Thanks.”

Warmth spread outward from her soul to fill her whole body.  Sans could probably feel it radiating from her.

“Thank you, Sans.  If I had to return, knowing no one…”

He rolled to face her.  His eyelights were mere inches from her pupils.

“You would’ve been fine.  All you had to do was tell a few of your amazing jokes, and the whole Underground would’ve been linin’ up to be your pals.”

She suppressed a laugh.  “I hardly think that would be appropriate, under the circumstances.”

“Eh.”  He shrugged.  “Plenty of monsters in town cope with jokes.  You’d just be relating to the common folk.”

She stared into his sockets a little too intently.  At this distance, it easily made her dizzy.

“Would you be included in that demographic?” she couldn’t help asking.

“When I first met you?  For sure.” His gaze darted away.  “But it’s crazy.  Between you and the kid… I’m startin’ to think there’s more to life than good food and bad laughs.”

“Really?”  She and the child had made such an impact on him?

“I know.  Don’t tell Papyrus.  He wouldn’t believe you, anyway.” He winked.

“My lips are sealed.” She smiled.

Silence hung between them.  It should have felt awkward, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away.  In the end it was Sans who yawned in her face and then hurriedly flipped back onto his other side.

She laughed, and clearly she was exhausted too, because she pressed a kiss to the back of his skull without thinking.

He froze.  She froze.  There was no way to play that off gracefully.  And there was no way she could fall asleep and pretend that it had not happened.

“Heh… those didn’t feel very sealed to me,” he finally rasped out.

It took her a moment to process what he meant.  Meanwhile her embarrassment only burned hotter.

“I am so sorry—”

“I’m not.” When he rolled back to face her, his face was bright blue.  “You’ll still be here when I wake up, right?”

His question was tinged with desperation.

“Of course,” she answered automatically, despite the many responsibilities that she would have to attend to in the morning.  She was the Queen once more.  If she had to, she could adjust the schedule of meetings and speeches to accommodate… this.

Whatever this was to be.

“Remind me in the morning,” he squeezed her hand, “that this is real.”

His hand quickly went limp.  She was worried for a moment, before she heard the faint snore escape his nasal cavity.

She gave him a fond smile, and allowed her own eyes to close.  She did not know if sleep would come or not.  She did not know what challenges the new day would bring, or what old challenges would continue to rear their heads.

But she did know that she was not alone.  For tonight, that was enough.

[wiypt-writes]

Guilty As Charged

Guilty As Charged: Bucky Barnes One Shot

Summary: Defence Attorney James ‘Bucky’ Barnes is the absolute bane of your life…

Pairing: Lawyer AU Bucky Barnes x Reader (Frenemies!)

Warnings: Bad language words.

Word Count- Under 2k

A/N:  This was originally posted on my old blog ages ago, but I’ve just given it a little polish and thought, seeing as I’m on the Bucky Train at the moment, I’d bring it back. Also, my knowledge on US Criminal Law is sketchy at best, so humour me…

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist // Main Masterlist

*******

In God We Trust, the words set about the Judge’s podium were fixed in your vision, motes of dust moving freely in the rays of sunlight which were streaming through the large, ornate windows of the court room and you took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, concentrating on expelling the nerves you were feeling with the air that left your mouth and lungs.

No matter how many times you were in this position, the reading of the verdict still got to you. Your gaze turned to the jury, as the judge did the same, that all important question ringing across the room, the air stiflingly tense.

“On the charge of murder in the first degree, do you find the defendant or not guilty"

“Not guilty.”

Fuck.

Cheers from the defendants family drowned out your loud groan as you rubbed at your temple. Looking over at your colleague, Sam, you shook your head in utter disbelief.

The judge continued through the remaining charges, second-degree murder and voluntary manslaughter, and your despair grew as the same verdict was returned for each.

You’d lost. And it stung, not merely because of your near perfect conviction rate, but for the family of the victim you were one-hundred percent convinced the accused.

"Y/N this wasn't your fault.” Sam stated in a low voice but you simply sighed again and shrugged.

"I was sure they'd see through his lies,” you glanced over to your right where the defence team, headed up by James Buchanan Barnes of Barnes and Rogers Law firm were shaking hand with each other and their defendant. Barnes' face was arranged in the usual smug look that you always had the urge to slap right off it. His partner, Steve, glanced over at you and gave you a genuine, sympathetic smile.

He’s always the most courteous out of the two, the one you actually didn’t mind dealing with when it came to cases.

"He fucking did it Y/N," Sam's voice was almost a growl, "I know he did."

"Well in the eyes of the law he didn’t." You stated, standing up.

The commotion continued behind you, as the defendant was told he was free to go. Making sure to keep your head down, you hastily shuffled your papers back into their respective files and packed your briefcase up. Picking up your jacket, you shrugged it on, smoothing down pencil skirt before you head to leave the courtroom before Barnes can pipe up with his usual smart ass quips. But you're not quite fast enough. "Commiserations Miss Y/LN, can't win em all." The familiar Brooklyn drawl hit your ears.

"Buck," Steve sighed "c'mon pal..."

You grit your teeth. You know you shouldn't rise to it, but you just can’t help it. The man is an utter jack ass in the courtroom. Spinning to face him, you shot him your best contemptuous glare, the one you always reserve for those people you really cannot stand, and looked at him like he was something you'd just trodden in.

"You know Barnes, there is such a thing as being gracious in victory as well as defeat." "Defeat?” He asked, looking at Steve with a puzzled expression on his face, “no, not sure what that is." "Eat shit.” You mumbled before turning to Sam who was stood behind you, watching the exchange. You nod to him and the two of you continued up the aisle towards the exit. The victim's family were congregated outside and all at once the start barraging you with questions.

"How did that happen?"

"You said it was a cert he would go down!”

"What about a private prosecution?”

You sighed and turn to look at them, you were exhausted. "I'm sorry.” You shook your head. “That new evidence that his attorney submitted, it was just threw too much of a doubt into the juries mind..." you held your hand up to gently silence them. “If you're serious about a private prosecution then I can meet you next week to discuss and put you in touch with a few people but I’m sorry, as far as the State’s involvement goes…I can’t do anymore."

Escaping as quickly as you could, you and Sam headed back to your office. After a short meeting with your boss, the District Attorney, who was as pissed as you were that the prosecution had failed, you emerged feeling twice as tired and battered as you had when you’d left the courtroom.

As Sam stated, there was only one thing left you could do. Drink alcohol. A lot of alcohol.

It was a short walk to your preferred bar, having decided to abandon your car and collect it in the morning. You were going to get drunk. Really drunk. "Hey Y/N, hey Sam." Clint, the bar tender greeted you. “I hear it wasn't a great day.” You looked up and saw he was pointing to the TV behind the bar. It was on a news channel, focussing on a report from earlier that afternoon which wasn’t surprising. The case had thrown up huge public interest ever since the body of the teenage girl has been found in the alleyway in Queens. The defendant confessed but somehow, the new evidence submitted was an alleged recording that the defence had gotten their hands on as proof the confession was taken under duress. If you were being totally honest, you had to admit that it didn't sound great, the officer did seem to be leaning heavily on the defendant, but the other evidence was, no, IS overwhelming.

But all it needed was that little seed of doubt, which the defence sowed expertly, and the jury couldn't convict. And now, thanks to Barnes and Rogers, specifically Barnes, in your mind a dangerous killer was walking free. As you stared at the television, you saw Barnes on the screen with the defendant, all smiles and Steve at his side. Barnes greeted the press with a raised hand. "Clint turn it over man." Sam almost pleaded and Clint shot you both a sympathetic look, before he pointed the remote at and flicked the report over to a mundane, late afternoon game show. You ordered 2 beers, and then settled at the bar on one of the tall chairs, crossing your bare, heeled legs as you and Sam began to dissect the case. You couldn’t help it, you always did this, analyse where you went wrong or right.

The pair of you got that enthralled in your discussions, that before you know it, it was an hour lager and you're now four beers deep... and Sam was fielding an angry phone call from his wife, Natasha. "I gotta go, boss." He sighed, apologetically, “it’s my little girl’s dance recital at six and if I miss this one, Nat’s gonna hang me out to dry!” You waved his explanation off. “Its fine, Sam. Oh, and take the morning tomorrow. That case has had us working all hours and I don’t intend on being there till lunch. Clint, gimme a bourbon please?" "Don't let Barnes get to you.” Sam sighed. “You know what he is like" "Smug, arrogant and annoyingly self-righteous.” You nodded. “Yup, I got it.” Sam smiled and dropped a friendly kiss to your cheek. "See you later." Clint slid the glass of bourbon over to you and you smiled before pulling out your phone to check a few emails and your social media. You were just reading through an article about a Billionaire in Manhattan who had designed some kind of metal suit that allowed him to fly (because that's gonna end well), when a familiar voice broke your concentration. "Can I buy you a drink?" You rolled your eyes and looked up at Bucky Barnes as he leaned on the bar, still in his suit, although he had dispensed of his black and white tie, and opened his top button. This was another thing you hated about him. He is utterly gorgeous. Like GQ cover gorgeous, especially in his sharp suits and silk ties.

And he fucking knows it, too. "Depends." You shrugged, throwing back the remainder of your bourbon. "Does it come with a side helping of irritating smugness?" He chuckled. "I'm off duty, Doll so no."

"In that case I'll have another Monkey Shoulder." You slid the empty glass back to Clint. "Take it you're not driving home?" Barnes asked, his azure eyes running over your bare legs. "Well if I do and I get caught, I'm sure you can get me off any charges.” You replied sharply, shooting him a look that made it clear you caught him eyeing you up. And it isn't the first time either. That's another reason you clash so much in the courtroom. Sexual tension. Fucking jerk. He barked out a laugh "You're really not happy with me are you?" "Not particularly." You shook your head, thanking Clint as he pushed the now full glass back to you, with a small wink. It's a double, you noticed. That should set Barnes back a bit. Bucky reached for his beer and after a pull he looked directly at you. "Come work for me." He said and you groaned.

Not this again. "I'm a prosecutor." You rolled your eyes. "Not a defence attorney. I told you that last time you asked. And the time before, and the time before that." "I'm nothing if not persistent." He winked, turning in his stool so he was facing you. "Besides, I can teach you the ways of the dark side." "You’d love that wouldn't you?" You snort. "Oh, Sweetheart you have no idea." He leaned forward slightly, his elbow on the bar and this time he is blatantly staring at the flash of skin that was showing above the buttons on your blouse. "My face is up here, ass hole." With a smirk he raised his deep, blue eyes and they locked onto yours. Despite yourself, you feel your breath hitch slightly. Dammed him and his sex appeal. "Why are you always this insufferable?" You eventually tore your gaze away from his and picked up your drink, glancing up at the TV as an excuse not to look at him. "Ah come on Y/N, don’t be like that." He reached out to squeeze your hand which was resting on the back of the tall chair you were sat in. "We could make a great team..." You raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "Professionally.” He added, his eyes not leaving yours as he took another large drink of his beer, and you pulled your hand away from under his. "I'd kill you within five minutes of us being in the same office." You glared at him as you took another sip from your drink. He chuckled and eyed you again, “to be fair I'm not sure Stevie would be able to function with a beautiful dame such as yourself in close proximity. He still flusters around any woman that isn’t his Peggy.” "That's because Steve is a happily married man." "So am I." He shot back. Ah yes, Mrs Barnes… "Your wife deserves a medal. She must have the patience of a fucking saint to put up with you." You said into your glass. "I have other hidden qualities which mean she's prepared to overlook my slightly less favourable personality traits." He quipped, and you looked back to see that lopsided grin on his face that flips your stomach. Behave Y/N. "They must be very hidden." You mused, and he let out another loud laugh.   "You're killing me, Doll.” "Good." You drained your glass. The liquid burnt your throat and you could feel the effects of the alcohol from the last few hours as your brain started to hum. You looked at Barnes who was watching you, his eyes shining with all the cheekiness of a teenage boy and you know you need to leave before you do something stupid.

Like snogging his dumb, handsome face off. "I think it's time I got going." You said simply, standing up. Barnes gave a nod, draining his bottle. “Yeah I should be making tracks too. Wife to see to, you know how it is.” You stood and he did the same, and you realised he was holding up your jacket, ready for you to slide your arms into. Narrowing your eyes slightly at his sudden chivalry, you couldn’t help the small smile that flickered across your face as you turned and allowed him to help you into it. His hands dropped to your shoulders and he span you round gently and smiled with those perfect teeth, a smile that lit up his beautiful face, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "Lead the way Mrs Barnes.” He instructed softly, dropping a tender kiss to your lips. "You know it's a good job I love you,” you smiled, sliding your arms up round his neck. "Yeah, I know." "Although right now I'm struggling to remember why." "Well, when we get home I'll just have to show you some of those hidden qualities I was talking about, see if they help jog your memory.” You bit your lip slightly at the dark flash of desire that flit across his eyes, and you leant up to brush your lips across his stubbled jawline. "Unanimous verdict,” your voice drops slightly as you pull back and he smirked again, “guilty as charged.” You tossed Clint a good bye, linked your hand into your husband’s and he walked you outside into the brisk wind, his arm pulling you close, his lips pressed a soft kiss to your temple. Yeah, James Buchanan Barnes might be an insufferable, arrogant ass hole in the courtroom, but outside it he's simply your Bucky.