#i reserve the right to move it around as pleased- usually because someone commissioned to set something higher

[luimagines]

Current Prompts In Queue

Dragon au part 19 (7th jan.)

Link, shut up and kiss me (9th jan.)

[retirementhomecollab]

☾ the witching hour

☾ decision: open bedroom

☾ warnings: f!reader, mention of drinking games

☾ word count: 1.9k

At the entrance of the hallway, you look back at the living room. The party is bustling to the brim. That’s what you get with the hosts’ overwhelming popularity throughout campus. Without Hiromi by your side, you’re suddenly a tiny bit conscious, a tiny bit drained. It’s okay to take a little break from all this, right? Thinking back, this is probably the first time you’ve been in the boys’ apartment. You know Kuroo, Bokuto, and Akaashi live together, and you’re friends with them, Akaashi’s even suffered through a few all-nighters of Russian classics analysis with you. With one of the doors opened, they probably wouldn’t mind you taking a breather in there.

“Y/n! Whatcha doin’?” 

Back at the coffee table, Kuroo has gathered a bunch of people for King’s Cup. Over by the dining table, Bokuto wraps up what has got to be the fifth round of beer pong since you’ve arrived. You raise an eyebrow in Kuroo’s direction as Bokuto hollers at another victory — he slams back a drink anyways, and you visibly cringe at the ickiness of it all — and Kuroo only gives you a what-can-you-do-it’s-Bokuto kind of shrug. Grinning at you, he beckons you over to join them. 

A small smile and a shake of your head, you mouth to him, “Headache. Later.” 

His smirk falls, eyebrows knitting together with concern. 

Having known him since he tutored you in a cursed compulsory chemistry class, you know that he’s about to lecture you. To pacify his mothering instincts, you follow up with a sleep hand gesture and what you hope is a reassuring grin.

Kuroo gives you a withering look, one reserved for Kenma, Lev, and the other underclassmen he claims maternal responsibility over, like you. You only continue to grin at him, shaking your head once again.

After a pause, he sighs dramatically, setting the last card down on the table. 

“The room with the open door. Should be empty,” he yells.

With a mock salute, you leave the party behind you for now.

The room’s lights are off, but between the brightness streaming in from the party and the glow of the moon above the windows, it’s sufficient. 

Neat and organized, you know that Kuroo must have tidied up for the party. There’s still the telltale Chair in the corner: a mountain of clothing on the chairback and a stack of textbooks on the seat. 

You give an amused snort. Good thing Akaashi had the sense to lock Bokuto’s terrestrial supernova of a room from curious eyes. And probably his own from the likes of you. 

You wonder what your fellow literature student’s room would look like, but you doubt he would ever invite you to his room anyways.

He’s never even expressed interest in having you over to his apartment much less fulfilling this kind of wishful thinking. 

You take off your cloak, not wanting to make Kuroo’s bed too dirty, and lean back down. He has good taste: plush comforter, mattress not too hard, not too soft.

Not ten minutes later, there is shouting from outside your door, and the door is flung wide open.  

“Bokuto-san, what are—”

“Akaashi, it’s for your own good.”

“Yea, ‘Kaashi, listen to your senpai.”

“Kuroo-san! You pain-in-the—”

He falls through the door frame, and you squint against the light in confusion.

Akaashi lurches forward to stop the door from slamming shut but as expected of the scheming captain, everything is well timed. 

Akaashi doesn’t even bother twisting the unlocked door; Kuroo’s already put Bokuto on door duty.

He sighs, hand smoothing over the top of his head. The lights are still off but it’s not difficult to guess who’s in his room with him. It’s someone who had inspired both Bokuto and Kuroo to interrupt their winning streaks in order to lock their poor housemate in his own room. At a Halloween party he was largely responsible for running.

“Akaashi?” You guess, very confused, slightly amused. 

In the moonlight, his outline is bulkier than usual, and you miss the mass of haloed curls around his head. But if your groggy state is even slightly reliable, it’s definitely Akaashi.

“Y/n-san,” he greets you with what you’re sure a smile sounds like.

Akaashi sighs again. This time internally. 

He isn’t dense. He knows what his senpai are planning. It’s kind of difficult not to when he has to stop Bokuto from babbling whenever you greet them on the quad or when he threatens Kuroo for inviting you to their apartment every other week, on days that Akaashi is bound to be home alone. They’ve been pestering him for weeks to ask you out, but Akaashi has kept his distance. 

And now he not only has to explain the situation but also his costume. 

“Y/n-san.”

“Yes, Akaashi?” 

His voice is serious, and you think that maybe this situation isn’t as funny for him as it is for you.

“I’m going to turn around,” he says cautiously. “Please do not scream.”

You give him a very confused frown before realizing that he can’t see that. 

So you reply with a hesitant “okay.”

Slowly, Akaashi reveals himself in the moonlight. A shiver runs through you, in anticipation? in wariness? You weren’t sure. 

But you didn’t think you’d actually scream. 

“Y/n-san.” Akaashi pads over slowly, carefully. “I asked you not to scream.”

“But, but.” You look at him incredulously, hand gesturing wildly at his head. “You’re bald.”

He chuckles lightly as his hand runs over the top of his head once again. 

“There’s hair at the back.” He turns his head to show you. “So, I’m not entirely bald.”

You look at him, jaw dropped to through the mattress, beyond the bedframe, right to the creaky floorboards. “You shaved your head for Toyotomi Hideyoshi?”

This time, he laughs an uninhibited, full bodied laugh, the heavy fabrics of his overcoat hunched over as he walks towards you. 

He makes a whole show of carefully tearing off the scalp part, and you watch in horror before Akaashi grins at you, smile a gentle white in the moonlight.

“It’s a semi-bald cap,” he clarifies, holding up the floppy rubber. The halo of lacquered curls are back in commission, and you finally relax knowing that his gorgeous hair is intact.

You sit up, scooting over when he moves to sit on the edge of the bed. The room is getting warmer.

“Though, I’m impressed you got it correct on the first try,” Akaashi smiles. “I’ve been getting either Date Masamune or Oda Nobunaga the whole night.” 

“From mainly girls?”

“Yeah, from girls and Kuroo-san.” Akaashi quirks a brow. “You don’t happen to know anything about this, do you?”

With a snort of disbelief, you look towards the door before replying loudly and clearly, “I didn’t take Kuroo for a dating sims fan.”

There is a muffled kind of shuffling before you hear a very explicit “Shh!” from not Kuroo.

You and Akaashi turn back to each other and burst into laughter. 

“There’s a dating sim for the warlords now?” He chuckles. 

You nod solemnly. “Date and Oda are the most popular characters.”

“Ah,” was all Akaashi could come up with as a reply. “I suppose you play it as well?”

There is a glint in his eyes as he watches you try to dance around the question. Eventually, you give up on any kind of vague answers, and give a small nod. 

“Who’s your favourite character?” He asks in playful seriousness, suddenly very interested in your Sengoku boy of choice. 

You’re sure that the moon turned a bright red just to highlight your embarrassment.

Akaashi sits there, pleasantly waiting for your answer. 

Finally, you muster out a small admission. Perhaps the witching hour would conjure up some magic tonight. 

“Toyotomi Hideyoshi.”

In the silence that follows, you can hear the breathing from outside the door, but neither of you spare those interlopers a glance. 

“Not Date Masamune?” Akaashi asks quietly.

You laugh weakly at this, unsure of how to tread. 

You fidget with the lace of your sleeves. “He’s too similar to Kuroo for me to take his route seriously.”

Akaashi doesn’t think of himself dense, but he supposes that self-awareness is a lifelong teaching. 

But at this stage, even he knows that this is a confession, despite it coming on Halloween with him and his crush locked in his own room discussing Sengoku dating sims. 

With her confessing that she likes Toyotomi Hideyoshi, aka him, Akaashi Keiji. 

“I thought you liked Kuroo-san?” He blurts out.

But then he asks stupid questions like these, and Akaashi wonders if you can pass away from pure stupidity. 

“What?”

“Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“I know who Kuroo is.” For you, this isn’t really the kind of witching hour you were expecting as you conduct the calmest yet most bizarre confession you’ve ever given.

“You’re very close to him.”

“We’re good friends.” You surprise yourself with your cordial, pleasant reply. Maybe it’s because it’s Akaashi that you’re like this. Despite your get up, Akaashi the Toyotomi Hideyoshi is definitely the witch of this witching hour. “Plus, that lovesick idiot probably has his own crush to chase.”

“So, you’re not in love with Kuroo,” Akaashi clarifies. In his defense, things can get weird on Halloween.

“No,” you confirm, “I’m not.”

“And you like me?” His voice raises ever so slightly, but he still keeps quiet, not for those nosy people outside but for consideration that if he says it too loudly, he might jinx the whole magic of the night. 

“Yes,” you nod. “You as in Akaashi Keiji, not Toyotomi Hideyoshi, ikemen or otherwise,” you add on for further clarification. 

“Oh.” Akaashi flops back down on the bed, and for a second, you’re worried you might’ve broken him. “I’m happy.”

You wait for him to continue. 

Akaashi pats the space beside him, and after a moment of deliberation, you fall back beside him. 

“Did you get the guy in the end?” He asks, a strange emotion in his voice, something not quite a smile but something not unpleasant. “In the game, I mean.”

“No,” you frown, “I keep getting the sad ending.”

Akaashi smiles a small smile to himself as he turns to you. Witching hour indeed. 

“If I promise you the happy ending,” he breathes out carefully, “can you not scream if I kiss you?”

Once again, the moonlit red beams upon you, and you nod, a grin gradually spreading to your lips. 

Akaashi cups your cheeks, and as he pressed his lips to yours in a simple lunar kiss, you’re very grateful that in the witching hour, he is Akaashi Keiji — not Toyotomi Hideyoshi, Date Masamune and definitely not Kuroo Tetsurou.

In the glow of the Halloween moon, you and Akaashi lie at the foot of the bed, his arms around you, wrapped in the magic of the night. 

“They’re waiting for us, right?”

“Yeah,” Akaashi laughs. “Any longer now, and Bokuto-san might suffer from brain hypoxia with how Kuroo’s probably told him to be ‘as quiet as the grave.’”

You do love an all-rounded literature student. 

“So,” you grin, already knowing the answer to your rhetorical question, “do you think it’s time to go back out? Kuroo probably wants his room back too.”

“This is my room.” Akaashi pulls away with a quirked brow. “Kuroo’s bed is unmade, and he has two Chairs.”

Once again, your face flushes red as you try to stammer out an explanation.

“You’re fine. Things have been weird tonight,” Akaashi chuckles. It’s a good thing he’s taken off the horrifying atrocious bald cap or else the beautifully mischievous expression would’ve been lost on you. “Let’s keep them in suspense a little longer. It’s Halloween after all.”

Pick a different room: > Go to the closed bedroom. > Go to the balcony. > Go to the kitchen. > Go to the hallway. > Go to the bathroom. > Go to the living room.

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 24

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Halloween chapter, part 2.

A/N: Yay, an update! I think some of you are gonna be happy about the characters that are being introduced in this chapter... Also lots of Caleo dorkiness (and canon references) in it! And you'll get to see if you were right with your costume guesses :D

Also like I already mentioned last week, this is the last chapter that I have written so far (when I started posting this fic I tried to make sure I'd have at least 7 chapters ready so I wouldn't have to stress about deadlines... and here we are now) so it is possible that updates may slow down a bit, at least if the chapter wants to become long. But I am still /trying/ to keep up with the regular updates the best I can :) So worry not!

Now, enjoy and let me know what you think!! Ps. somehow we’ve managed to pass 50k words already :O

Words: 4040

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

…

“Hi, you guys!” Piper, who was dressed as Wonder Woman, greeted Leo and Calypso first when they arrived, gesturing for them to come in.

“Hello! I was afraid Argo II had decided to stop working because you guys are late,” Jason the Superman noted as he offered to take Calypso’s coat and put it in a hanger by the door.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Jason, that possibility did cross my mind as well,” Calypso said, casting Leo a meaningful look. “But no, not this time.”

“We’re only 10 minutes late!” Leo protested, checking the time from his phone. “I was busy finishing something… and Calypso took her time preparing herself as well. She probably did her wig for like two hours.” He gave her a not so serious side-eye.

“I did not!” Calypso said defensively. “Yeah, I straightened and combed and braided it but that took me maybe 15-20 minutes so he is highly exaggerating.”

“Don’t worry, Calypso, we know he does that a lot.” Piper smiled at her reassuringly. “Speaking of your wig, though, you look very cute! That hair reminds me of the style you had before my makeover. You’re dressed as the mythology Calypso, right?”

“Yes, I am,” Calypso said, pleased that Piper had figured that out so fast. “I thought it would be fun to be a bit self ironic for once. I haven’t really had a good reason to sew recently so this was a nice excuse to do that as well.” She made a small twirl to show the dress better.

“That dress really looks great!” Piper told her. “I would gladly commission you to sew me clothes; it’s so hard to find anything nice from the clothes stores these days. But Leo.” She turned back to him. “I see someone hasn’t bothered to get a costume. I wasn’t expecting that from you because you’re always so excited about them.”

“No, you got it all wrong.” Leo wagged his finger at her. “I do have it here, but as I told Cal, it would have been too difficult to wear in the car.” He dropped his bag on the floor, causing a loud thud as it hit the ground.

“Alright. Care to give us any hint what it is?” Piper asked curiously. “Seems heavy.” Calypso wondered if this was something they did every year.

“I’m just saying that it’s inspired by some movies that united us three,” Leo noted mysteriously. “But that’s all, you’ll see soon!”

“My mind is blank now,” Piper said. “Jason, what movies have we watched with him?”

“The first one that comes to my mind is Star Wars,” Jason reminded her. Suddenly both Jason and Piper’s eyes widened in realization. “Could it be?”

“Oh no, Leo you didn’t!” Piper doubled over in laughter when it occurred to her what Leo’s costume most likely was. “I can’t wait to see this!”

“I hope you took pictures with Festus!” Jason couldn’t keep his poker face either, and Calypso watched their reactions with confusion.

“Don’t worry, I will show them later.” Leo grinned, unperplexed by Jason and Piper’s laughter. “Now, where can I change?”

Piper showed him an empty room where he could get into his costume in peace, while Calypso started looking around the house on her own. Even though the place seemed rather fancy, Jason and Piper had managed to make it cozier with their personal objects. A lot of them had seen life and were worn but somehow they still fit in with the newer decorations.

As Calypso reached the living room, her focus went to the guests who had already arrived at the party. She waved at Annabeth and nodded awkwardly to Percy. Even though she and Annabeth were friends again, she wasn’t quite sure how she should act near Percy so ‘reserved’ felt the most natural reaction. She couldn’t help but smile a bit, though, when she registered their costumes: Annabeth had a Chiton just like her, although grey instead of white, with some silvery accessories and a beautiful owl shaped brooch over her chest. Perhaps the most impressive part of her costume was the Greek styled helmet that was used in battles and that hid most of Annabeth’s curly ponytail. Calypso was quite certain she was dressed as Athena, the Greek goddess that according to her was the one she identified herself the most with. Percy on the other hand was wearing sandals, shorts, a tropical shirt, and a belt with fishing equipment and he was holding a fishing rod in his hand. Calypso couldn’t quite figure out who he was supposed to be, other than some sort of fisherman.

“Hi,” Calypso greeted them as she got to hearing distance with them. “You guys look nice. You’re Athena, right?” She asked Annabeth. “Matches my theme, don’t you think?”

“Sure does,” Annabeth nodded, eyeing Calypso’s costume. “You look pretty much exactly like how I imagine the mythology Calypso.”

“Thank you. Coming from you it’s a big compliment.” She turned Percy. “I can’t figure out who you are, though. You don’t seem like a Greek god?”

“I am, though,” Percy replied. “I’m Poseidon.”

“Ooh, so that’s why the fishing gear!” Calypso realized. “But I don’t think the Greeks had tropical shirts quite yet.”

“No, you’re right in that.” Percy shook his head, smiling a bit. “But I’m basing this on the version in the Peter Johnson series. That’s how he was described in it.”

“I didn’t know you have read that too,” Calypso said, “But makes sense. Um, the Poseidon and Athena of the mythology hated each other, though. Not that it’s really my business, but I hope you two are doing fine…?” She asked a bit nervously, not wanting to be the reason for their issues.

“Oh yeah, we are,” Percy confirmed immediately. “It’s just an old joke – back when Annabeth and I were reading the Peter Johnson books I used to say Poseidon is my godly parent and Athena Annabeth’s, and that just kind of stuck with us.”

“Alright.” Calypso accepted Percy’s answer, turning her attention back to Annabeth. “By the way, where did you get that helmet? It definitely looks fancier than most of the plastic ones you see at costume shops.”

“My father collects these things,” Annabeth answered, lifting the helmet from her head for a moment. “I’ve told you he’s also a historian, right? Well, one of his friends wanted to make a replica of the ancient Greek helmets with some modern machines and dad bought this from him. I’m not saying this is 100 per cent accurate but it looks pretty cool, in my opinion.”

“It does,” Calypso confirmed.

“You came with Leo, right?” Percy asked then, to which Calypso nodded. “Where is he? I can’t wait to see his costume; he usually goes for something that is way over the top. Last year he was Hiccup from How to Train your Dragon and he had made a Toothless costume for his dog. I’ve also seen pics of him as Iron Man. Yes, with a full iron costume.”

“I can believe that of him,” Calypso chuckled, imagining Leo in the said costume. “He just went to change into his costume because apparently he couldn’t drive in it. He didn’t reveal what he was going to be, but it does sound like something extravagant.”

“I missed his costume last year but I’ll be sure to have a camera ready when he shows up this time,” Annabeth said happily. Calypso was relieved that the conversation was going this well; she hadn’t known what to expect beforehand because this was the first time she was in the same room with Percy since the ‘incident’. Talking with him now, though, made her realize that holding a grudge wouldn’t be smart and he seemed to think the same way.

“I just realized,” Calypso decided to change the topic, “that I’ve never heard the story of how you guys know Jason and Piper. So how did that happen?”

“It’s a funny story,” Percy started, smiling at the memory. “Jason and I used to be the captains of rivaling soccer teams when we were around 16. Well, one time Jason’s team was visiting us but we were playing in an arena that had just been renovated so I hadn’t been there before. I may have been a bit late from our team meeting and I was a bit lost so I decided to ask one staff lady where I was supposed to go. Somehow she got our teams mixed up and I ended up in the locker room of Jason’s team. Some of Jason’s teammates said that my expression was worth seeing when I realized the mistake but I dunno about that. The funny thing was that somehow the same thing had happened to Jason; he had also been late for the meeting because of traffic or something and he had gotten into my team’s locker room. Well, after the game we had a good laugh about it together and ended up talking about other stuff as well and noticed we have a lot in common. That’s how we became friends. When we moved into the same town, we started training together at least a few times a week.”

“Piper and I didn’t learn to know each other until Jason and she started dating a couple of years ago and they invited Percy to some party where I went with him. To be honest, I was a bit suspicious about her at first because we seemed very different but eventually we learned to respect each other’s qualities. And here we are,” Annabeth added.

“Those are some cool stories,” Calypso said. “It seems like a funny coincidence that somehow we all ended up in this city even though most of us are from somewhere else. Like Leo is from Texas, I am from Greece…” “Speaking of him,” Annabeth had to muffle his laughter with her hand, “I believe we are finally getting some answers about his costume.”

“Oh… my gods” was all Calypso could say when she turned to the direction Annabeth was looking at. “You’re really something else.”

Leo was completely hidden inside his costume, but Calypso could practically hear him grinning at their reactions. The costume looked very much like in the movies; golden (just painted, not real gold, because there was no way Leo could afford something like that) plating forming a droid with big round eyes and an ability to speak lots and lots of different languages: C-3PO from Star Wars.

“Holy shit, dude, that looks so real.” Percy gaped at Leo. “I’m starting to understand why you spent so much time in your room the past few weeks.”

“Why C-3PO, though?” Calypso asked once she managed to put her poker face back on. “Does that have some story behind it?”

“Because, duh, it looks cool!” Leo exclaimed with a mechanical voice from inside his costume. “I dunno, ever since I first saw C-3PO as a kid I thought it would be cool to be able to build something like that. And hey, his ability to translate like all the possible languages is pretty neat. Me? I just know 3.”

“Isn’t it uncomfortable in there, though?” Calypso asked. “That thing must be heavy.”

“Sunshine, I’m always uncomfortable. But this was a childhood dream of mine so I sure as heck am not backing off now,” Leo said with determination.

“A stubborn one, aren’t you?” Calypso stated. “Even I have to admit, though, that you have certainly done some thorough job with it. Hey, I should take photos before I forget! You don’t get to see this every day.”

The others dug their phones up as well and for a while Leo just made silly poses while they took pictures, clearly enjoying the attention his costume got. Eventually he started demanding that Calypso should join him for the photos but she was a bit hesitant at first.

Leo argued: “Come on. Greek mythology meets Star Wars? You don’t see a crossover like that every day.”

“Can’t argue with that, I suppose,” Calypso said and went next to him. “Well, do we have some kind of story for Calypso and C-3PO’s meeting?” she asked as Percy and Annabeth waved at them to look at the camera.

Leo considered her question for a moment. “Oh, how about this? C-3PO somehow ends up on Calypso’s island - because duh, Calypso is cursed so she can’t leave the island…”

“You seem to know surprisingly much about Greek mythology, just saying…” Calypso noted while trying to smile for the photos, resting her hand on the metallic shoulder.

“I told ya, Sunshine, you can blame tía Callida for that…” Leo reminded her. “Anyway, I imagine those two don’t really like each other at first because they’re so different but eventually they learn to respect each other’s skills; C-3PO can translate basically any language and Calypso is good at all kinds of handiworks, which is hard for a droid.”

“And? What happens after that?” Calypso asked curiously.

Leo considered it for a moment. “C-3PO doesn’t really wanna leave Calypso’s island but he has galaxies to save with his friend R2-D2 so he has to go but he promises to come get her afterwards.”

“Aw, Leo, that is kind of sweet,” Calypso commented, suddenly aware of the metal arm that had snuck around her waist. “Does he… does he ever return, though? Shouldn’t that be impossible?”

“For a human, maybe, but he’s a droid,” Leo noted. “Unfortunately during a big battle he blows up badly but the ever so faithful R2-D2 collects the pieces and finds someone who can rebuild him again. And boom, he makes it back and lives happily ever after with his goddess.”

“What’s the term you use when you enjoy a fictional relationship a lot?” Calypso asked. “Shipping?” Annabeth nodded at her. “I don’t know, Leo, to me it sounds like you ship those two. Isn’t that a bit weird?” “What, why would that be weird? I’ve seen people ship…”

“I see these two have gotten into a full on nerd mode again,” Annabeth said quietly to Percy while they were waiting for the flatmates to stop their bickering so they’d be able to take the photos. “Not projecting themselves into their characters, right?”

“No, definitely not,” Percy agreed.

Eventually Leo and Calypso stopped bickering and Annabeth was able to take the pictures. Even if Leo was mostly hidden by his costume, Calypso felt a bit self conscious about the fact that these were the first photos of them together. They did a few goofy poses because Annabeth and Percy told them to, but Calypso thought she probably looked more embarrassed than funny in them.

Once they were done, Leo went to Annabeth who was going through the photos and bowed his head a bit to see them better. “Hey, these do look pretty cool! It’s probably just the lighting but here you look like you’re blushing to some funny comment C-3PO made.”

“Show me!” Calypso yelped nervously and took the phone from Annabeth. When she saw it, she could immediately tell Leo was not wrong; she really was blushing. “Yeah, it’s definitely those candles in the background that do it… And I think it’s pretty warm in here, maybe all the people here heat this room…”

“OK, if you say so,” Leo said but Calypso imagined that he was looking at her suspiciously through his costume.

Trying to get the others’ attention to something else, she said: “So, who else has arrived so far?”

“Nico and Will. I think they went to get some snacks from the dining room,” Piper, who had just entered the room, answered.

“Leo told me that Nico is Jason’s relative, but what about Will?” Calypso asked her.

“Will is Nico’s boyfriend. This is the first time we’re meeting him but they seem very good together. At least he seems to have a grounding effect on Nico, and he actually listens to him, unlike most of us. Um, sorry, it’s a long story, one that I should probably save for another time. Nico may be a bit hard to approach sometimes but he is a very nice guy when you learn to know him. Just… been through a lot. I guess like many of us here. But he seems way happier now,” Piper said, and as if on cue, they could hear some distant laughter coming from the dining room.

“We should start a traumatized college kids’ club,” Leo attempted to joke, and the others hummed in agreement. Maybe she did belong to this group after all, Calypso thought. If only they knew, though…

“This just got cheerful,” Percy said, interrupting Calypso’s thought process. “Who’s up for blue candies? Get them before Will and Nico eat them all.”

“I heard that, Jackson!” Nico entered the room without a warning. “No offense to you or your mom but blue candies aren’t exactly my thing.”

“Hi, Nico,” Percy greeted him, seeming a bit flustered after Nico’s comment. “You haven’t met Calypso, right?” He pointed at her.

“No, I haven’t,” Nico took a quick look at her and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Alright, in that case, this is Calypso Astal. And Calypso, this is Nico di Angelo,” Percy introduced them to each other.

“Nice to meet you,” Calypso approached him, but he seemed to evaluate her for a moment before he took her hand.

“Likewise,” Nico said finally. “I think Jason has mentioned you a few times.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” Calypso said a bit unsurely, like every time she met a new person. The lonely years still had a toll on her, and even though she liked spending time with her friends, meeting new people was always a bit nerve wracking to her. “You’re his relative, right?”

“A distant cousin,” Nico answered. “Yeah, our fathers are related, but I have my mother’s last name and Jason has his.”

“I take it your mother has roots elsewhere, based on the last name?” Calypso asked.

“She was Italian,” Nico shrugged. “I lived there my first years too. But now I can barely remember those times.”

Calypso noticed the use of past tense, but she thought it was probably better to not ask about that in the middle of a party. “Oh. I’ve been to Italy a few times. I’m originally from Greece.”

“What brought you here, then?” Nico asked.

“Dad’s work,” Calypso responded in a tone that told everyone she wouldn’t elaborate on that topic more. It seemed to have become a habit to her.

“Anyway,” Leo, who had managed to stay quiet for a surprisingly long amount of time in Calypso’s opinion, stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Nico, a little bird told me,” he looked at Jason, “that your boyfriend is a Star Wars geek. Is that true?”

Nico took one look at Leo’s costume and his mouth twitched when he realized why Leo was asking. “He is, but don’t let him get started on it, or else he will never stop. Besides, he’s not my boyfriend, I prefer calling him…”

“A significant nuisance?” Will showed up from the dining room, carrying a plate full of food. “Don’t mind him, he just warms up a bit slow.”

“Yes, this is Will,” Nico sighed, addressing those who hadn’t met them before. “Sometimes he’s a nuisance, sometimes he can be quite OK. When he’s having a good day.”

“Same back at you, dear,” Will laughed. “Did I hear someone mention Star Wars, though?”

“You did,” Leo said, stepping forward so Will could see his costume better. Needless to say, Will looked beyond thrilled.

“Oh boy, here we go again,” Nico said quietly before Will even had time to comment on the costume.

“Woah, that must be the best C-3PO costume I’ve seen. And yeah, I’ve seen a few so I don’t compliment you for nothing,” Will assured.

“Thanks, man, I did spend quite a while with it,” Leo said, high fiving Will. “Glad someone here appreciates good things.”

“I still hope you’re not one of those fans who have only seen the most recent movies and not the originals,” Will noted.

“Heck, no!” Leo exclaimed immediately. “The original three for the win! Mom and I used to watch them a lot… um, when I was little. She was a big fan. But the newer ones just don’t feel the same.” Calypso had a feeling Leo had almost said something else, but he had changed his phrasing at the last moment.

“You have a pretty good taste,” Will said approvingly. Then he finally realized he hadn’t even asked Leo and Calypso’s names before getting into the geek mode.

“So, who are you two? I already met Percy and Annabeth earlier but I don’t think I know you guys yet.”

“I’m Leo Valdez, and this is my, um, flatmate, Calypso Astal,” Leo introduced. Calypso hoped there was a better word to describe their relationship than a ‘flatmate’ but at the moment it was probably the best and the safest option there was.

“Flatmates, huh?” Will repeated. “How did that happen?”

“I was in a hurry to find a roof over my head so I put in the application that I also accept mixed flats,” Calypso replied. “I didn’t meet Leo beforehand because, um, that would have been a bit difficult to arrange in this case, but it worked out OK.” Calypso noticed Leo was looking at her from the corner of his eye, and she realized she had never even talked about that option before. The truth was that she had had to plan her leaving very thoroughly so her father wouldn’t notice and she had driven to Indianapolis as fast as possible, with no time for second guessing.

“And my flat happened to have a room free because our boy Jason decided to move in with Beauty Queen,” Leo added to that story. “It’s really no stranger than that.”

“Oh, right, someone must have mentioned that you and Jason used to be flatmates,” Will recalled. “I just didn’t connect the dots.”

Jason had apparently finished welcoming the rest of the guests because he joined the group in the living room. “That reminds me, I don’t think I’ve asked you, Calypso, if Leo still leaves his dishes undone and if he has empty milk cartons in the fridge.”

“He used to do that?” Calypso asked with amusement. “After seeing his room that’s not so hard to picture, but no, he’s been pretty tidy in the common area. Although one time he bribed me to do his dishes for him in exchange for some of his food.”

“It was a good deal!” Leo protested. “You didn’t have to cook and you also got to taste some Valdez’ sizzling hot quesadillas so I’d say it was a win-win. Besides, you didn’t seem to have anything against that.”

“Alright, I will admit the quesadillas were pretty good,” Calypso conceded. “But a true gentleman offers them without even asking. Well, other than that he’s been OK,” she told Jason with a playful twinkle in her eye.

“I guess he really is able to change his habits, then,” he replied. “At least when the flatmate is someone he...”

Before Jason had time to finish his sentence, Leo intervened: “Folks, do we really have to be talking about my cleaning habits in front of people I don’t know? The first impressions are important, especially when it comes to Supersized McShizzle!”

“We’re just being honest, Repair Boy.” Calypso couldn’t resist booping his metal covered nose. Apparently she just didn’t know how to not cross the line with this boy, she sighed in her mind.

“Is that all? Where’s the feisty Sunshine I know?,” Leo said in a low tone, so the others could barely hear his comment, coming out almost flirty.

“Shut up,” Calypso answered equally quietly but held her gaze at him.

“Ahem,” they suddenly heard Piper’s voice behind them. “In case you’ve stopped with the flirting, I’d like you to meet a couple of people.”

Calypso turned to see the newcomers and as she recognized the Hunter badges both of them had attached to their shirts, something in her mind just suddenly turned off.

[matter-of-a-pinion]

LIVANA FALLENRUTH- LFRP

Livana (Liv), while rarely outright unfriendly, is aloof and awkward around people. While she longs to find people she can connect with, she has put up a lot of walls to keep herself protected and does not find opening up to others easy or comfortable. A walking cliche perhaps, Liv feels far more comfortable around animals than around people and far more at home in nature than in bustling cities. Still, she is devastatingly curious. If there's ever trouble, she'll put her own discomfort aside and she will be there to lend a helping hand.

THE BASICS –––

Name: Livana (Liv) Fallenruth

Age: 25

Nameday:  17th Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon

Race: Midlander, Hyur

Gender: Female

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Marital Status: Single

Server: Mateus

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE –––

Hair: Dark blonde 

Eyes: Blue

Height: About 5′5 

Build: Liv is slim but strong. She is not afraid of hard work or labor. In fact, she enjoys it because it makes her feel self-sufficient. 

Common Accessories: Liv is an artist and obsessed with nature. She carries around ink, brushes, and parchment at all times. She also carries a book to help her identify species of plants. While this book is old (to the point pages are falling out) and bookmarked to hell, she rarely has need to use it anymore as she's committed so much of it to memory. Similarly, she has a book of birds in very similar condition. She is creating her own wildlife guide of (non-monsterous) animals she watches in Eorzea.

Apart from these items, she also carries rations with her (just in case), potions, daggers, her bow, and many arrows (she crafts these when she's killing time). 

PERSONAL –––

Profession: Liv works part time at Bentbranch Meadows caring for the chocobos there. As a side hobby she volunteers there caring for any other animals that are brought in that are injured and need rehabilitation. 

Hobbies: Drawing, painting, bird-watching, animal watching in general, volunteering to humanely catch animals causing a problem, herbology, alchemy, archery, petty theft, beating up abusers, tracking cult activity, secretly studying magic in hopes of dispelling a strange curse on her family she hopes no one learns about, reading up on dragon lore, you know… the usual. >.> Nothing out of the ordinary.

Languages: Common

Residence: Livana currently resides in a small cottage in the Lavender Beds as a house guest. She does not wish to overstay her welcome and does not know where she wants to move onto next.

Birthplace: Livana was born in a small town Coerthas and is very accustomed to colder weather… though she despises it.

Patron Deity: None. She's as anti-religion as one can possibly be.

RELATIONSHIPS –––

Spouse: None.

Children: See above.

Parents: Something tragic has happened to Leo and Mila Fallenruth and Liv is absolutely not talking about it. She's not talking about her parents at all. Ever. But they might have something to do with her interest in following cult activity and learning all about every form of magic and her obsession with alchemy.

Siblings: Liv has a twin sister named Nyra. Nyra is very aetherically gifted and has a natural talent for magic that Liv lacks. Her skin, hair, and eyes are also a shade or two lighter than Liv's. Livana is both extremely protective of and extremely jealous of her twin sister. Nyra is played by another player on Mateus. If you see her, say hi!

Other Relatives: She is unaware of other family but that doesn't mean she doesn't have any.

Pets: While she doesn't consider them pets she cares for a great many different animals.

TRAITS –––

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient (with people: impatient. with animals: so patient.)

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard working  / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION –––

Smoking Habit: Nope.

Drugs: Not with any regularity at all, but she's not morally opposed or anything.

Alcohol: Also not with any regularity. Still not morally opposed!

RP HOOKS –––

Nature Lover: Livana can most often be found in nature, primarily the Shroud. She has a profound affection and interest in animals and cares for any wounded animals she comes across, feeds strays, and volunteers her time at Bentbranch Meadows raising, grooming, and training chocobos. She also loves gardening and gathering/cataloguing plants that grow wild. 

Curious: Liv is shy and awkward in social situations, but she does want to make friends and won't avoid interactions if she becomes involved in any. If something interesting is happening nearby, she won't be able to stop herself from checking it out.

Thief and Archer: Little known information about Liv is that beneath the shy, animal loving, artist is a background in theft and expertise in archery. These days she tries not to draw attention to either of these skills, but should they be useful to someone in need she will not hesitate to offer to assist.

Artist: She is a practicing painter and can be hired to for art commissions. Note: I am not an artist and cannot do commissions. It's just for RP!

Protective: Liv detests those who abuse their power to hurt or bully others. If she sees mistreatment, she will step in to stop it regardless of the cost to her own personal safety. She carries grudges and will throw herself whole-heartedly into avenging any victims of abuse or mistreatment.

Cults, cults, cults: So many cults! There's a real evil cult problem in Eorzea. And this poses a challenge for Liv because her parents… well… turns out might have secretly been part of one. She is stalking several groups to get information on what happened to her parents and how to fix it. She does not like cults. At all.

Magic: Can you help teach Liv magic? Can you help her dispell it?

Family: Liv's twin sister is extremely important to her and she will risk her life to protect her from danger. Further, she and her sister have been attempting to undo a spell that has encased their mother and father in impenetrable, unmelting ice. This is not common knowledge, so should anyone comment on it or appear to have expertise in such matters, Liv will likely stalk them for information and to ascertain how trustworthy they might be.

CONTACT INFORMATION  –––

Contacting me here on tumblr or finding me in game is the best bet. If you see Liv out in  the world, please say hello! I’d love her to make more friends (or rivals, depending on what you think would be fun!)

I do have a Discord and I do RP on it. I don’t give that information out right away though. I’d like to interact in game or through tumblr a few times before I feel comfortable giving that information out.

I have craaaazy work hours. I work the night shift M-F. That means that I’m on very early in the morning and sometimes in the late afternoon/early evening. I’m usually not on very late unless it’s a weekend.

Notes –––

Ahhhh! I’m so excited to meet new characters and players! Nice to meet you! I hope we RP soon!

[misc-headcanons]

Lucci/F!Reader: In the Dark

(Commissioned by @junebloom21​)

Word count: 1964

When they first got together, Lucci told ____ that being with him wouldn't end well. He was constantly on the move for his job that he refused to ever share any details of, out of a sense of "protecting" her. He wasn't used to trusting anyone, not completely anyway. He's been called remorseless, heartless, a cold-blooded monster--and he'd admit that those could all easily describe him. Loving someone like that isn't easy, and the last thing he wants to do is ruin ____'s life because she was kind and foolish enough to fall in love with him.

And yet, when he'd told her this, all she did was kiss his cheek and say that she didn't care what kind of misery came about from being together; she'd rather live a hard life with Lucci than an easy one without him. It wasn't the first time he'd heard a partner of his say that after he gave them this "full disclosure" speech, and he'd felt a pang of worry in his heart that ____ would come to regret her desire to stay with him. Still, she said yes, and a stupidly optimistic part of him couldn't help but believe the earnestness and warmth and love in her voice.

But months after that conversation, he could tell that things were becoming strained. He had been called on a covert mission to carry out just before the Reverie, and he wouldn't be able to see ____ for at least two months. Something had happened in Big Mom's territory, and the intelligence gathered there led Lucci's superiors to believe that they'd need to  increase surveillance in Wano and Tottland; infiltrating the territory of two Yonko was definitely going to be a long and difficult affair for the agents of Cipher Pol. As a high-ranking member and one of their best spies, Lucci had been called on to leave as soon as possible. Normally he'd have had enough time to soften the blow of his absence to ____ by taking her out on a nice date, treating her to a perfect evening a few days before he had to ship out. Tonight was no different, but _____ was acting a bit strange.

Lucci had made reservations at ____'s favorite restaurant, and he'd even gone out to buy a few things he'd noticed her eyeing when they'd gone window-shopping in town a few weeks prior. When ____ stepped out of her bedroom in an elegant (and expensive) outfit, Lucci smiled warmly and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear before kissing her cheek. "You look beautiful," he murmured. "As always."

____ smiled back, though Lucci noticed there was a tightness and tension to her expression. "And you're just as handsome as ever," she replied playfully, eyeing Lucci and his animal companion who was almost always on his shoulder. "Both of you, hehe." She brushed Hattori's chin and the white bird cooed as he rubbed his cheek against her fingers. 

Lucci's eyes narrowed a bit when he saw her expression change for just an instant, and her face fell for a moment as she looked at Hattori. Something was bothering her and he wanted to know what that was. He draped his arms around her back and held her close, pulling her in for an embrace. "Are you alright?" He felt her bristle a bit in his arms. "It seems like something's on your mind."

____ was quiet for a fraction of a second too long. "Oh, it's...nothing," she said hastily, hugging him back and resting her head on his free shoulder. 

Lucci frowned. "If it's bothering you," he replied firmly, "Then it isn't 'nothing.'" He pulled away to look her in the eyes. "You can tell me anything," he assured. "You know that, don't you?"

____ stared back up at him, and the only sounds in the room were the ambient noise of the breeze blowing through an opened window nearby as a pair of silk curtains gently flapped and swayed. Her smile was gone, and Lucci saw that she was biting a small portion of the inside of her mouth. Her body was much more tense than it had been before. "I…" Her voice wobbled slightly, and that waver in her words was enough to send her over the edge of composure; tears welled up in her eyes, causing her mascara to begin to run as she sniffled and lowered her head.

Lucci's eyes widened a bit and he blinked in surprise as he watched her begin to cry. "I'm sorry," she sniffled. "I wanted to be happy tonight and make our last date for a while go well, but...I'm sorry, I can't. I can't pretend I'm happy."

Lucci held her and rubbed circles into her hip and upper back with his thumbs. "Don't apologize," he insisted. "Just tell me why you feel this way." 

____ looked up at him and took a shaky breath. "You're leaving again," she said bluntly. "And you won't be back for at least two or three months--again. And THIS time, you didn't even tell me where you're going!" She wiped away a few tears and glared at Lucci. "I can't call you, I can't send you any letters...Are you just expecting me to wait here for months, not knowing where you are, what you're doing, whether you're alive or dead or injured or…" She let out a soft sob and shook her head. "I can't, not without losing my mind this time."

Lucci's heart sank as he heard her. He knew that his long and frequent absence was hard on her, but he couldn't do anything about it. "You know I can't contact you for your own safety," he reminded her, trying not to sound annoyed or angry--although, a small part of him couldn't help but remember her saying she wanted this relationship with him despite the hardships there would be. "If you knew where I was and someone found out, you could be targeted. And if I gave you any information about my assignment, it could--"

"I know," ____ snapped, turning away from Lucci and crossing her arms. "It could jeopardize your mission and your safety. I've heard that a million times." She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "I'm not asking you to tell me everything, Rob. Just something. Anything, so I'm not completely in the dark when you come back home months from now at 3 AM, covered in random cuts and bruises, and you act like I'm supposed to just not say anything about it."

____ turned around and took Lucci's hand, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "Look, can you please just tell me what's going on?" Before Lucci could open his mouth, she hastily cut him off. "I'm not asking you to tell me everything. But there has to be more you can tell me about...I don't know, just something more than 'I'm leaving next week and won't be back for at least two months.' And I know, I know I told you I was okay with our relationship being…'complicated' because of your work." She squeezed his hand. "But I don't think I'm strong enough, not without something changing."

Lucci silently squeezed her hand back, and let her continue. "Do you know what it's like here when you're gone?" She bit her lip. "I wonder if you're going to come back. I look out the window--" She walked over to the slightly open window and pulled away the curtains to reveal the beautiful city view and coastline. "And I wonder if you're on one of those ships at the docks in a coffin or an urn. I have nightmares all the time, where you're bleeding to death or you're dead in the middle of nowhere. And I think, maybe I'll never know if you die out there." She let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "Maybe the World Government won't let me know you're gone, just so your mission doesn't get compromised. I'll just spend the rest of my life wondering what happened."

Lucci stepped behind her and put her arms around her again. She covered her mouth and started to cry again, staring out at the coastline while he held her. "Please, there has to be something you can tell me," she sniffled. "I won't ever feel okay until you're back through that door, but I need something to just…" She shrugged. "To hold onto, I guess." She turned around and pulled him into a tight hug. "You told me once that you've been an agent since you were a kid, right?"

Lucci nodded. "It's all I've ever done," he replied quietly.

"So...you've never had someone worry about you before," she replied questioningly. "Not just as an asset or something, but worried about you." 

"Aside from my associates, no," he replied. Calling them "associates" somehow seemed too formal; Khalifa, Kaku...they were all more like his siblings after everything they'd gone through together.

____ cling to him a bit tighter. "Well, now you have someone else worried about you," she said, her voice thick and worn from her bout of crying. "I love you, Rob. I'm never going to be okay when you're gone for so long, but if I don't know anything about it...it just makes it even worse."

Lucci froze up at her words. He'd had some partners that lasted longer than any one-night stand or passing fling, but he'd never took their "I love you"s that seriously. They never lasted long anyways, and they'd usually end things even after they said they could handle the distance involved with being with Lucci. His memories of them leaving didn't hurt that much, but the thought of ____ like that...It hurt him, in a way he wasn't used to feeling. He really did love her, against his years of training and his better judgment. 

Lucci was quiet for a long time, and the two of them held each other in silence. His heartbeat sped up in his chest as he tried to find something, anything he could say to give her more information without compromising himself. "...Hypothetically." he said slowly. ____ looked up at him in confusion. "An agent, not specifically me, could find a way to write to their loved one. She would need to learn how to read a certain type of code to read short messages sent to her disguised as inconspicuous scraps of paper--receipts, bills, etcetera." He gripped her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. "And she would need to burn them immediately after reading them," he said pointedly. "Do you think she could learn that code in a week before her significant other leaves?"

____ smiled and nodded eagerly. "Even if she's not a very good student," she replied playfully, "She might do whatever it took to know whether or not he was okay out there." She let out a small chuckle. "Maybe after she fixed her ruined mascara and made herself look like less of a mess, they could enjoy their date night and then spend some time cuddling and learning this new code."

Lucci smirked and brushed the pad of his thumb over ____'s cheek and lips. "He might be a harsh and strict teacher," he warned jokingly. "Do you think she'd be able to handle his lessons?"

____'s smile widened. "Depends," she replied. "Is he going to discipline her by spanking her with a ruler or something?"

Lucci chuckled and held her close, enjoying the rumble in her chest as she giggled while he nuzzled her neck. She could fix her makeup if she wanted before they left, but right now, he just wanted to enjoy having her in his arms and in his life.

[the-ineffable-demon-crowley]

The Sweetest Wrath

Your romantic dinner with Crowley goes pear-shaped when Aziraphale unceremoniously interrupts. As your attention is captured by the angel, Crowley finds he has to use more creative means to remind the two of you just who you belong to. 

Pairing: Anthony J. Crowley x reader (ft. Aziraphale)

Warnings: Exhibitionism, little bit of voyeurism, praise kink, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, car sex 

Length: 4.2k

Cross-posted to AO3 here

                     This work is a commission for @mollyplier

                                                           ⋘ ⋙

Despite what you might think, demons had very busy schedules. Well, someone had to go around tempting people into their insidious desires, spreading hate and unrest within the population. Whether that be by blocking off all the main roads with untimely construction work that never seemed to be completed, pulling down all the major phone networks on a Friday evening, or by crashing the entirety of the public library’s database during finals season, Crowley had a long to-do list. Never mind the collection of souls for the Dark Lord, a back-breaking tasks in of itself. 

Of course, that never stopped him from using his tempting charms as a means for his own good. There were a few souls that had caught his eye over the centuries, but they were far too special to be sacrificed to the Dark Lord. No, these were just for him. You were one of his finest achievements, but it didn’t take much to ensnare you. His charming walk, his easy grin, and his simple one-liners. Who could resist? It’d almost felt like you knew him for centuries, but that was just how comfortable you were with Crowley, and how much of an old soul he really was beyond the sarcastic, sniggering snake he could be sometimes. 

Still, he worked hard, even if he didn’t want to.  Which is why you loved Aziraphale, a cheeky but posh cherubic principality who was Crowley’s colleague, friend, confidante, everything. Though Aziraphale didn’t like it, he understood how useless it was to cancel each other’s work out, and would sometimes come to an agreement with Crowley over the heavenly state of the souls of some town’s population. Usually, Crowley won the coin-toss. Aziraphale never thought to ponder how Crowley was always so lucky. 

But on the off-chance that Crowley lost, Aziraphale would keep you company. He was a delightful companion, and the two of you always spent your time talking books, plants, and the bureaucracy of Heaven. Aziraphale had much to say regarding that. But now, with Crowley off unveiling the worst in people, you were sat at home alone, planning. Conniving, he would call it, and then boast about how he had done well in corrupting you. If only he knew.

You’d made a reservation for two at the RItz for you and Crowley for that very evening. It was technically Aziraphale’s favourite place, but you knew Crowley was fond of it as well, having been dragged there for drinks and crêpes since its inception in 1906. You planned the whole thing out; for dinner, a sumptuous 4-course feast, and for dessert, well... You had several decadent selections in mind, each sure to make him more insatiable than the last.

Your instructions to Crowley were simple as you typed them out on your phone. Dinner, tonight. Pick me up at 8. Stay hungry, my demon. 

His reply was swift. Ravenous already. See you tonight.

Crowley wasn’t often known for punctuality, but because you hadn’t been able to spend much time together since he was busy at... work, you supposed it was, he was outside your flat, leaning against his Bentley waiting for you at 8 on the dot. You smirked at the sight of him, black blazer, black trousers, per usual. Red hair swiped upwards, black sunglasses framing his sharp features. He was angular, positively fiendish, and he was here for your soul. 

                                                            ⋘ ⋙

As expected, the Ritz was beautiful, the vintage building’s peaks soaring into the backdrop of the starry night sky, and its patrons dripping in glamour. Guests came dressed with their savings on their sleeves, with even the most casually dressed of diners boasting expensive loungewear. You thought you fit right in on the arm of your demon, bedecked in black, and you, clad in a tasteful dress that brought out your eyes. As you made your way up towards the entrance, your arm brushed against Crowley’s, and you nearly flushed, as though this was your first date all over again. He just had that kind of effect on you. 

Despite the fact that Crowley wasn’t often one for affection, you could feel his long, strong arm slipping around your waist as he escorted you into the dining room, a quiet din of the other diners filling your ears. You sat down onto the white upholstered chair, and smiled at Crowley as a waiter came to take preliminary drink orders. Minutes later, drinks and the first course had arrived. 

“This is absolutely glorious, angel, thank you.” Crowley murmured as he tipped the mixed alcoholic concoction into his mouth. His tongue darted out to collect a stray droplet, and you watched it with fascination at its snapping movement. 

“It’ll get even better once you start eating instead of just drinking.” You quipped, lifting a forkful of your dinner to your mouth. Crowley grinned. 

“All in good time.” He raised his hand, fingers long and neatly manicured, and gestured to the waiter for another round. 

“Have Hastur and Ligur been giving you much trouble?”

“Ngk.” Crowley responded, this time taking your advice and swallowing whole his bites of dinner. However, he remained a perfect gentleman, and you couldn’t help but stare at him outfitted in his jacket and trousers. He didn’t necessarily fit in among the glitzy crowd of the Ritz dining room, but damn if he didn’t look every bit as expensive as everybody else in there, right down to the shining black gunmetal of his sunglasses. “Nothing I can’t handle. They’re attempting to delegate the planning of the next recession and stock-market crash to me, but I told them they can stick it right-”

“Oh!” A sudden soft gasp, otherwise masked by the din of the room, caught Crowley’s ear. Mostly because he’d heard it for centuries; mainly when a particularly cute creature was in view. His partner in.... something, Aziraphale. You noticed him noticing it, and turned your head to see what had caught his attention. 

“Crowley! Y/N! How lovely to see you both here!” Aziraphale was positively gleaming as he approached the dinner table, a ray of sunshine in direct opposition to Crowley’s black void. You couldn’t help but smile at the angel, appreciative at his endless enthusiasm.

“Aziraphale, what a surprise!” You returned. 

“Oh, my dear, I have been holed up in my shop for what feels like hours. I had to get out and have a nice cuppa. Speaking of which, have you read that novel I gave you yet? You simply must, I could not put it down for the life of me.” 

“Oh, I’ve gotten about halfway, and I was so shocked when one of the twins died, and- oh, please, sit down.” You hadn’t expected this interruption, but now that he was here, you simply couldn’t resist a quick chat. You were about to ask a nearby diner if you could borrow one of the chairs at their table, but one miracled itself right in front of your eyes. You glanced around at the others, the magical appearance of the chair apparently unnoticed, then at Crowley, seemingly as indifferent as ever, continuing to sip at his drink.

“Thank you, Y/N. Now, tell me what you think of the heroine.” Aziraphale happily on the chair. 

You gushed about the novel with Aziraphale for a few more minutes, admittedly completely neglecting Crowley during that time. But every time you glanced at him, he seemed to at least be paying attention, albeit drinking all the while. You had counted three or four empty glasses before the waiter came to collect them, bringing a fresh one shortly afterwards. A demon’s tolerance was essentially bottomless, so Crowley wouldn’t be anywhere near drunk yet, but it could be soon at the rate Aziraphale was talking, and Crowley with no other way to entertain himself.

“Oh, have you finished eating? Then I believe it’s time for dessert- garçon! Three of your finest strawberry crêpes, s’il vous plaît.” 

“Oh, angel, I think Y/N had planned for-” but Crowley was quickly cut off, and he sat back in the chair, raising a brow to you. You signalled to give it another minute, and you would start to shoo Aziraphale off.

“Don’t be silly, Crowley, company as lovely as YN here deserves nothing but the best- and the crêpes here are the best.” This seemed to shut Crowley up for the moment, but you could tell he was getting a little territorial over your attention, with his boot beginning to slowly trace itself against your ankle. You cleared your throat to focus, but your leg did not move, eager for a piece of Crowley during this interrupted dinner. Still, it was simply impossible to be rude to the angel, and Crowley, for whom it was somehow an endearing trait, was seemingly refusing to help. “Oh, Y/N, that reminds me, I have taken your advice and have taken up a spot of painting.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun. What medium?”

“Oil paints, I should think. I dabbled in it before, of course, tried a hand at some neoimpressionism, but I should think the classical styles are more my type, the nude portraits and the like. Positively divine.” Crowley snorted, the first indication that he hadn’t petrified and turned to stone since Aziraphale’s arrival.

“Bit biased there, aren’t you?” He drawled smugly. 

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley from the corner of his eye pettily, then looked back at you. Then as if to spite him, or perhaps out of a naive desire to simply catch your beauty on canvas, he blurted out, “You’d pose for me, wouldn’t you, Y/N? You’d make a beautiful model for a nude study.” 

Your eyes flashed and your mouth fell open slightly, lips parting in surprise. It wasn’t necessarily the request, but the fact that Crowley was right there-

“Oh, yes, I could see it now. Bedecked in honeysuckle and lavender, in your hair, against your lovely skin, you’d be heavenly. What do you think, Crowley?”

You laughed, a bit taken aback. “I’m flattered, really! But I-” 

“Oh, I should think she would be- Y/N.” Crowley leaned forward, placing his elbows onto the table. “Get your coat, sweet.” 

Aziraphale seemed genuinely confused, bless him, turning to look at the demon. In the meantime, you stood from your chair and scooped up your jacket, trying not to think about how Crowley’s darkened voice sent shivers up your spine. You knew this was coming from the moment Aziraphale even mentioned nude portraits, could almost see how his features were shadowed by lust at the thought of you. Aziraphale’s voice remained strong, but innocent. “But the crêpes haven’t arrived yet-”

“Oh, come on, Aziraphale.” He cajoled. “Let’s have a bit of a walk, hm?” Crowley inclined his head towards the exit, his red hair catching the light of the chandeliers. You smirked as the angel, still babbling, stood up and reluctantly agreed, leaving the promise of his dessert behind. 

With Aziraphale in front of you, Crowley’s arm slid possessively around your waist a little tighter this time, pulling you to him, against him as you walked between the tables. You could feel the power in his body with every step, and though you knew you were in for it now, the thought of Crowley claiming you as his was as delicious a dessert as you could ever have suggested. Despite his intimidation, you knew he was secretly enjoying this; he had found the perfect excuse to shut Aziraphale up, and finish the the night off exactly the way he wanted to- with your legs spread. 

The night air was cool but not unpleasant as a breeze traced across your skin. Your senses felt sharpened, each of his touches sending you into a frenzy as he led you towards the car. Aziraphale followed behind, one of his hands holding the other in front of him like a poised debutante. 

“Y/N, sit in the back for a moment, please.” You heard the subtle growl in his voice, and you obliged, popping open the door of the big, black Bentley and slipping inside onto the cool leather. The angel and the demon got in in front of you, and you stared at their beautiful silhouettes. Crowley, a lean, shadowy, sinful figure, and Aziraphale, a vision of purity and light even in the nighttime, even in the face of Crowley’s wrath. 

The car was silent for a beat before anybody spoke.

“My two angels,” Crowley murmured, turning back to look at you in the backseat. “You’ve both been naughty, haven’t you?” His gaze turned to Aziraphale with a slight turn of his head. Even behind the impenetrable sunglasses that perched on his nose, his gaze was heavy, dangerous. You scarcely felt yourself breathe. You were in trouble now.

“Crowley, it’s my fault, Aziraphale was just-” You began to reach forward for him. He turned his head towards you, and your mouth closed. You sat back against the backseat of the Bentley quietly, the leather creaking underneath you. It was the only noise in the car for a long moment. 

“I know what he was doing, love. Like to have a bit of a look? Bit of a flirt?” He looked at Aziraphale. “And you-” You bit your lip, eyes lifting slowly to look at him. “You know.” 

God, did you ever. Crowley had never been that much of the jealous type, but for you to have been fawning over Aziraphale like that, during a dinner meant for him to relax? It was enough to trigger the most hellish side of the demon, and you were in for it now. Heat flooded your core, and you pressed your knees together. You saw Crowley raise a brow behind his glasses, a smirk adorning his lips. He saw.

“You’re enjoying this. Would you enjoy bouncing on my cock while Aziraphale watches, then? I think it’s what you both deserve after tonight.” He inclined his head towards the angel, who began sputtering in shock.

“Crowley, I say!” But you saw his cheeks flush pink, painting the perfect picture of a cherub. You weren’t going to lie, making Aziraphale watch was one of the hottest things you’d ever heard, and you had never expected Crowley to go that far. It was clear things were going to be played by his rules tonight. 

“What d’ya say, angel?” His smirk grew wicked, and you grew hot beneath your clothing. Your reply was a whisper, but you knew he heard it, and he knew you meant it.

“Yes, Crowley.”

It took him precisely half a second to materialize in the backseat with you. It was a mess of limbs, his long and lean, and yours tangled up with him. His hands gripped your hips, and his lips found yours in a searing kiss. You moaned into his mouth at the feeling of his strong, nimble fingers beginning to trail up and down your sides, one slipping underneath your shirt to palm at your breast. His thumb rolled circles over your nipple, and you groaned your pleasure against him.

“Eyes on me, angel.” He growled in your ear. You blinked, and looked up at the man overing over you. His sharp features were illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlights outside, and whatever scarce cars drove by. You knew they couldn’t see anything; the car was probably magicked to invisibility. Crowley wouldn’t be that careless. He was lithe, but heavy, a comforting weight between your legs, and his hair already a mess from the way your fingers had been running through it. He stared down at you with black eyes, his sunglasses still on his face. “Both of you.” He barked, lifting his head to look at Aziraphale. The angel, looking quite unsettled, turned his head to look at you. Crowley’s hands made quick work of your shirt and your bra, exposing your breasts to the night air. 

You felt like you were being ravished in front of God himself, a demon laying snugly between your thighs. Crowley seemed to agree, as he bucked his hips against you, his hard erection pressing into your clothed centre.

“Fuck, Crowley, please.”

“So needy, angel, even with an audience. You’re greedy, little one.” 

His large hand snaked down to between your thighs, his fingers beginning to rub you against your trousers. You keened at the feeling, head rolling against the car door, hips squirming. He held you fast, his weight keeping you pinned down beneath him. You felt absolutely at his mercy, without even Aziraphale to dare help you now. Crowley’s fingers then found the button and zipper of your jeans, at which point he began to yank them down. 

“Crowley, is this really-” You heard him start, but your moan swallowed his words in the darkness of the car. 

“That feel good? My long fingers inside of you?” 

Precisely two of his long fingers were now buried deep inside of you, thumb on your lit, and palm slapping against your pussy. Your hands snapped forward, gripping his forearms. You felt the power beneath the corded muscles that flexed underneath his thin black blazer. The smell of smoke and leather overwhelmed you, eyes shutting tightly as his fingers increased their pace.

“Look at me. Look at me, or I won’t let you cum.” He hissed, and your eyes popped open, so desperate were you for release.

“-Yes, Aziraphale,” He addressed the angel calmly, though his eyes remained on you. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To see her splayed out, desperate, needy, begging? ‘Cept of course, it’s my cock that she’ll be bouncing on, isn’t it, love?” His thumb rolled over your clit harshly, and your hips bucked. Aziraphale couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on you, so clearly in the throes of pleasure. He wasn’t proud of himself, and yet...

“Yes! God, yes...”

“You like him watching, don’t you?” He purred in your ear, and your ankles hooked around his hips, an attempt to bring him closer. No part of him touched you except his hand, buried in your soaking cunt. “Say it.”

“I-I... I like it! I like it- please, let me... cum.”

“Alright, I’ll allow it. Cum.” 

Stars sparked behind your eyelids, and fire tore through your insides. Your juices soaked his hand, fingers still fucking in and out of you, and you heard him groan at the sight of it. You could also feel him rubbing against your thigh in search of a bit of friction, but still, he kept his composure. A sheen of sweat covered your forehead, hair sticking to your cheeks. Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly; you’d nearly forgotten he was there at all. 

“Are you satisfied, Crowley?” He muttered. 

Crowley grinned. “Not nearly.” 

In the blink of eye, you were on top of the demon, jeans abandoned, and his cock free of his tight leather trousers. He folded his hands behind his head, mirroring your previous position, and yet it was clear he was the one in charge here. His sunglasses were also gone at this point, and the sight of his snake eyes filled you with desire. There was something so wrong about it all, being fucked by a demon with an angel staring right at you. You had no hopes of explaining this one to the Almighty. 

You could barely keep yourself upright as you straddled him, limbs still weak from your orgasm. Crowley did not care. 

“Turn around, Y/N.” 

You raised a brow, and his eyes narrowed, challenging you. You quickly changed positions, with the help of Crowley sitting up a bit in the back. You were now sitting atop of him, staring directly in the face of Aziraphale, sitting in the passenger seat. If he had looked uncomfortable before, he was positively faint at this point. It was clear he wanted to look away, and yet, if either by some wicked temptation or by Crowley’s clear commands, he did not. Not for a second. 

Not even when your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the tip of Crowley’s cock rubbed against your folds. Instantly, you felt desire electrify your insides, and you wanted nothing more than to sink down onto him. But you needed his permission first. He rubbed the pre-cum against you, and you felt your juices slowly dripping down your thighs. You shuddered, hips bowing down to try to take him in. He chuckled. 

“You still want my cock, love? Right in front of Aziraphale?”

You lifted your eyes to the actual angel’s, and he gave you a slight smile as if to assure you. Angel or not, he couldn’t have not been enjoying this display. 

“Yes, I want your cock always, Crowley, please, please fuck me.” 

“Whatever my angel so desires. Keep your eyes on him and I might let you cum again.” 

With one hand on your hip pulling you towards him, he used the other to guide himself into you. Thick, long, and hard, he filled you entirely, and you felt stuffed as you seated him inside of you right to the hilt. You heard Crowley growl underneath you, the only time he had lost his composure during this entire affair. His hand pushed against your hip, encouraging you- pushing you to build up your rhythm. You gyrated your hips against him as hard and fast as you could, but it didn’t feel like enough to Crowley.

You bounced against his cock, tits bouncing in front of Aziraphale, hands reaching for the headrest to steady yourself. Crowley’s hips, powerful and strong, fucked up into you as his cock filled your walls. You felt him shift slightly, and the instant he hit that special spot, your back arched.

“There, is it?” Crowley’s voice was rough, and his grip, his pace, was rougher. “Look at you, being fucked right here in the backseat, absolutely soaking wet for my cock, even with someone watching. You are a little minx, aren’t you?” 

His dirty words spurred you on, bouncing as quick as you could, chasing your high. You knew Crowley’s permission wouldn’t come easily this time, and you had to make it count. 

“Aziraphale, isn’t she lovely?” 

Your eyes flitted to the angel’s, then fell, and he swallowed, clearly affected by the sight of you. “Positively decadent.” 

“And she belongs to me.”  

His fingers wrapped around a handful of your hair, bending your neck back. You felt his teeth scrape against the exposed skin, and you cried out at the feeling of the pleasure and pain mixing. “Look at him while you try to cum.”

One of his hands traveled between your legs, and his fingers pinched your clit. You nearly sobbed, and you wanted nothing more than to collapse, but still, he kept you going. Your release was coming, and coming hard. Crowley could feel it by the way your hips began to stutter, your pace slowing as your limbs grew weak from the exhaustion.

“Don’t you stop.” He yanked your hair harder, and you moaned in response, the stinging sensation in your scalp a delicious addition to the pounding between your legs. His cock, hot and hard, was hitting you over and over again in the your most sensitive of places. But you were so close, so close.

“Please le-let... me cum!” You begged, his fingers gripping your hair and your neck bending as you stared into Aziraphale’s eyes. Crowley’s fingers began to tweak at your clit, but his permission didn’t come. You cried at the feeling, continuing to fuck yourself against his cock without any sign of release in sight. 

“Tell me who you belong to.” You could hear his voice becoming ragged as he fought the urge to cum himself, eyes fixated on the way your ass bounced against his hips, his cock disappearing in and out of you. 

“You! You, Crowley, only you... Please!” 

“Cum.” 

With one single word, you fell to pieces. You fell forward as his hand released your hair, his hands now gripping your hips harshly as he sought his own release. You moaned at the feeling of letting him use you for his own pleasure as your cum soaked his cock, your thighs, and the leather of the Bentley beneath you. Your fingers slipped against the plastic interior of the car door, trying to no avail to get a grip on your surroundings. He thrusted in and out of you a handful of times again before cumming, hot spurts of cum filling you up inside, then slowly beginning to trickle out. 

Crowley’s hands, no longer harsh, but strong, moved to disengage himself from you, and reached for some napkins to help you clean up. You reached for your shirt and jeans, and began to dress yourself as awkwardly as you could in the small space. Crowley’s hair was mussed, and his perfect skin glowed with sweat. You felt your hair sticking to you, and the heat of Crowley’s cum still inside you. Limbs weak, you allowed yourself to be collected in Crowley’s arms.

Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly.

“Yes, well... that was-”

“Divine? Tempting enough to immortalize on canvas?” Crowley finished with a grin. You felt him chuckle beneath you, and you snuggled in close to his chest. 

“No! Goodness, no, I, uh... get the message.”

“Glad to hear it. You alright, love?”

“Yes, Crowley.” 

“Good. Shall we get some dessert?” 

You saw Aziraphale’s gaze light up, and you knew that his eyes were never meant for you. Only Crowley’s.

[rosesgonerogue]

Blind Date

Daminette December Day 2

WARNING: This one turned into a crack post, don’t expect anything too good. 

Marinette wasn’t sure how she had gotten herself into this situation. She was here in Gotham for a fashion internship, not to date! Then again, when you’re set up by a superhero, it’s kind of hard to say no. 

She idly played with her earrings. She hadn’t had to be Ladybug for a while now, and she had to admit she missed it. Hawkmoth being behind bars was fantastic, but she missed the freedom, the thrill of sailing through the air with her yo-yo. She would have patrolled the area, but it hadn’t taken long for Marinette to gather the fact that newcomers weren’t really welcome on the justice scene. Tikki had convinced Marinette to see this as a positive thing, but she couldn’t help but feel she should be doing more. 

What does one even wear to a blind date? This was absurd, why did Nightwing set her up in the first place? Marinette threw yet another blouse on the bed in the rejection pile before finally settling on a light pink sundress. It walked that fine line between casual and slightly formal, so it would be appropriate in most settings, even if the Gotham spring wasn’t particularly warm. A pair of tights and a nice jacket should fix that. 

She was officially ready, and feeling a bit ridiculous. Was this all some dream?

A part of her wished it had been. She had been walking home one night when she was cornered by a few thugs. She probably could have dealt with them, but it would have been hard without transforming. She had taken one of the men down when a man in a sleek black bodysuit intervened. 

He had been impressed with how quickly she had disabled the first man, and the two of them began speaking for a while. Nightwing was a little strange, but at the same time he was clever and funny. He was also interested in her. She found herself telling him about growing up in Paris and her fashion internship here. She explained why she knew so much about self defense, and told a few stories just for entertainment’s sake as he walked her to her apartment. 

Before he had left, Nightwing asked for a piece of paper and scribbled an address. “Come here Friday night at six o’clock, I know someone who you would be perfect with. Just ask for Damian.”

He had left before she could reply, tell him that she was too busy for a love life right now. She had toyed with the idea of hunting the superhero down, or even just not showing up, but Marinette felt obligated to go. The American superheroes were a different breed than the Parisian ones, it would seem. 

So here she found herself walking to the address on the paper. She hoped that the date wouldn’t last long, because walking home in the dark didn’t appeal to her. Especially if this was how Gotham’s heroes “helped” people. 

The address was a fancier restaurant than Marinette usually went to, especially as her internship didn’t pay for much more than her room and board. She still took the occasional commission on, so she wasn’t destitute, but she couldn’t be extravagant. 

“Reservation?” The hostess asked shortly, barely even glancing at Marinette.

“I’m here for a blind date? The only name I was given is Damian.” 

The hostess choked, eyes wide as she stared at Marinette. “Yes, of course, just follow me this way, ma’am.”

Marinette trailed behind as they moved into a private room that was entirely too nice for a mere blind date. This whole thing was ridiculous, Marinette had things to do. 

So far the other party of this date had yet to arrive. Marinette shrugged and began gnawing on a breadstick. She was contemplating what time she was allowed to leave without being rude when something crashed into the window. 

It was most likely a bird, so Marinette moved forward to check on the poor thing when the window was wrenched open. She bit back a scream when the masked face of Nightwing popped in. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late, it took me a while to get your date here,” the cheerful hero said, hefting a wriggling mass in through the window. “Have fun, kids!”

The wriggling mass that hit the ground pretty hard turned out to be a boy around her age, trussed up like a pig as he growled in multiple languages through his blindfold. Marinette made quick work of the knots, worriedly examining him, asking, “Are you okay, did you hit your head? Does anything hurt?” 

The boy shrugged her off. “Only my pride. I’m going to murder that ridiculous bird.” 

“It is kind of insane,” Marinette agreed. “What did he think, that he can just shove two civilians into the same room and expect them to fall in love?” The second the words came out of her mouth, Marinette remembered being at a zoo with two friends in a panther cage, but that was different! She wasn’t sure how, but it definitely was! 

“I can almost guarantee that that is exactly what went through that fool’s mind. He should learn that he’s a vigilante, not a matchmaker,” the boy said darkly. 

“He doesn’t do this, like frequently, does he?”

“Thankfully not. If he did, I would end him for the greater good.”

She couldn’t help but giggle. “That seems just a tad over the top. I’m Marinette, by the way.” 

The boy simply stared at the proffered appendage. “What, do you think this makes us friends now?” 

“No, not yet at least. But I figure if we’re going to enact justice on a vigilante, we should at least know each other’s names.”

Despite himself, he found his lips twisting up into a smile. “Damian.”

As they chatted about possible retribution, he couldn’t help but think that maybe Grayson was right about this girl after all. 

That didn’t mean he was safe from them, though.

There you have it, the product of my sleep-deprived mind! Like I said, it’s a bit of a crack fic, but it also seems very Miraculous. Thanks for reading, and please, let me know what you think!

Taglist: 

@ozmav @daminette-december2019 @cravethosecrazysquares @krispydefendorpolice @thesunanditsangel @sonif50 @kris-pines04 @persephonebutkore @tbehartoo

Let me know if I missed anyone on the taglist!

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Heartstrings

A commission for my girl @jooheonbee​!!! It’s SO LONG AND SO SAD

Summary: You’re moving on with your new man, Lee Jooheon, and you’re happy. So why do you keep letting Sehun in?

Warnings: big big angst, Sehun being a brat and a clown simultaneously, unprotected sex, girl on top, it’s emo hours lads

Word Count: 6098

So maybe Sehun gets a little antsy when you tell him things are getting serious with your new squeeze. Maybe it makes his shoulders a little stiff, makes him huff out a breath over the phone.

"So what, you too busy for me now?"

"Yep!" You chirp, and he can't help but smile at your sass.

"Yeah, yeah, call me when you get bored, like always."

"Maybe," you say, coyly, and after he talks you into sending him a sexy selfie he feels a little better.

It's been off and on for years and it isn't like it's the first time you'd met some guy to distract you, take you on real dates (whatever that meant), but you always ended up right back in his arms.

But over the coming weeks you start calling less and less. You start leaving his texts on read. You start posting couple selfies with this Jooheon, and Sehun fucking hates it.

He hates it, but it's still fine, you'll be back, you're always back but when you send him an invite to an engagement party it feels like someone has sucked all the oxygen out of the room.

It's not fine, nothing is fine because suddenly you're all he can think about and he fucked up. He fucked up so bad by assuming you'd always be there, by never telling you how you were the first thing on his mind every morning.

But what can he do now? Your family is flying up for your fucking engagement party, what is he gonna do, make a scene?

Making a scene is exactly what he ends up doing, after the better part of a case of soju and calling you ten times in a row.

Later he thinks that it would've probably been a better plan to not drink the entirety of the day before he makes those calls, before he dresses up and brushes his teeth and pretends to be somewhat sober when Junmyeon drives them all to the party, but he can't think of anything but seeing your face.

It's all okay, for a while. You give him a big smile and hug him, say you hadn't expected him to come.

"Always thought you looked hot in white," he manages with a smirk and you laugh and punch him and then your new man comes over and throws an arm around your shoulder and Sehun grits his teeth through an introduction and thank God there's an open bar.

He ends up in the hall when your fiance makes a speech, hears him talk about how sweet and beautiful you are and all Sehun can think is he doesn't fucking know you.

He doesn't know you drunk, beating on his back when he hauls you out of a bar and then laughing into his mouth when he gets you in the Uber. He doesn't know you messy and angry and crying with mascara running down your cheeks, yelling at him but still so fucking beautiful it makes his chest hurt. He doesn't know you half asleep with your fingers clutched in his shirt, calling him an asshole but swinging a leg over his hip because you can't get close enough.

He's loosening his tie, sitting in the hall with his head between his knees because the room is spinning and he wants to vomit thinking of how you looked up at Jooheon with stars in your eyes when he hears your voice.

He doesn't look at you, keeps his head down because he's this close to losing it, to saying some dumb shit like "I love you, please don't" and he's never said that before and it wouldn't mean anything to you now but he's shaking when you put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sehunnie ...are you okay?"

It's like a fucking dam bursts inside him and fuck, it's too much, it feels like something's clawing inside his chest and you put your fingers in the nape of his hair and that only makes it worse.

"Jagi," he chokes out, and your fingers still in his hair because that's always been a pet name reserved for the wee hours of the morning, after you're both sated and he's kissing along the line of your shoulder, spooned against you.

"I'll get you some water," you say softly, but he clutches at you, at your stupid white dress and he wants to tell you that you'd look better in red but all he manages to do is tuck his head into your shoulder, breathing hard.

"Sehun," you say again, and he hears the concern in your voice but he can't make some smartass remark when everything is breaking inside him.

So he does it. He does the dumb fucking thing he's been telling himself not to do for weeks.

"Y/n...I love you. Don't marry him, yeah?"

He doesn't remember much after that, it's just bits and pieces, just your wide eyes, how you shoved him, called him a fucking idiot and he followed you around like a stray puppy, babbling.

"It's always been you, Jagi. Didn't you know? Always." 

You're covering your ears and crying and your asshole fiance looks like he wants to take a swing at him but he doesn't, even when Sehun shoves him away from you.

Junmyeon drags him out and Sehun remembers crying like a baby and there's snot and tears on his suit jacket the next morning.

"Idiot," Junmyeon mutters, but he doesn't seem mad, helps him to bed, won't give him his phone.

When he tries to call you the next morning, the instant he opens his eyes, you've blocked his number and he hurls the phone against the wall.

*

You're getting married in a month and you can't stop fucking crying.

Oh Sehun is the bane of your fucking existence, has been for years, just a parasite who feeds off your affection and lust and leaves when he wants to, he's never given two shits about you so why did your heart crack straight through when he looked up at you like he was drowning, dark eyes glassy and soft?

Why were you sobbing into Jooheon's chest like someone had died when it's just fucking Oh Sehun being an idiot? 

And Jooheon's so sweet, murmuring comforts into your hair and if the shoe were on the other foot you'd probably be pissed, be anxious that this meant something.

But it doesn't. It doesn't and that's why late that night after a too big glass of wine, you unblock his number.

You don't know what you expect when you send him a text, simple: You okay? As if he'd call you right away but he leaves you on read and your mouth twists in a smile.

That much you were used to.

It's less than half an hour when your doorbell rings and your breath catches in your throat because you know. You know it's him and part of you wants to hide under the covers and pretend you aren't home but your feet carry you to the door anyway.

He looks hungover or maybe still drunk, eyes puffy, but his deep voice is steady and clear, if a bit hoarse. He's still wearing the suit he'd worn to the engagement party, sans jacket, as if he'd slept in it.

"Just wanted to see you."

"Why?" You're standing in the doorway, blocking him from slipping inside.

"Please," he says, and it feels like a punch in the gut, the way his eyes are pleading with you.

You heave a deep sigh and let him in and usually he'd smirk at you, tell you he knew you'd let him in, tease you about it, push you against the wall and try to kiss you, but tonight he just sits down on your couch, looks down at his hands as if he doesn't know what to do with them.

You just stand there, cocking your head at him.

"Sehun." You say his name and you mean it to almost be a warning but when he looks up at you and smiles just a little your heart skips in your chest.

"Y/n... I'm sorry. About the party. I didn't mean to-" he stops, throat working, and runs a hand through his hair.

You don't know what you're feeling exactly, something between relief and disappointment.

"It's okay. You were drunk and we all say shit we don't mean when we're-"

He huffs out a breath and you gasp when he reaches out and grabs you around the waist, tugging you close, and he kisses your belly, right at your waistline and it's oddly sweet when he nuzzles his face into your stomach.

"I didn't say I didn't mean it," he says, voice low and soft, and fuck, this hurts, why does it hurt so fucking much?

You drop a hand into his hair and he sighs, fingers rubbing into the skin of your hips.

"What are you saying?" Your voice is shaking and you hate yourself for even asking. You know you should kick him out but he's grabbing onto you like a lifeline and you can't bring yourself to push him away.

"I'm saying... I'm saying I want you," he lifts your top, murmurs it into your skin, his lips soft against your bellybutton and it sends goosebumps popping up along your flesh.

So much of you wants to give in, wants to melt against him and stop thinking about it, but you keep thinking of Jooheon's dimpled smile, the way he stroked your hair, didn't ask a single question.

You pull away and Sehun makes this distressed sound in the back of his throat.

"You can't do this. I'm getting married in a month."

He swallows hard and his hands are still clutching at your hips. 

"Don't. It's too soon, yeah?"

"It's not your business," you intend for it to be a snap at him but it's weak.

"It should be," he insists. "It should have been my business. You should have been mine."

"You didn't want me." 

He blinks up at you as if you've struck him, stands up, towering over you. "Don't tell me what I want," he says, and it's almost a growl and your heart rate speeds up.

You know he's going to kiss you, you can see it in his eyes and you expect it to be hard and hungry, almost punishing, but it's soft, his hand in your hair, and tears spring to your eyes, unbidden.

You break apart from him and take a few steps back, shaken.

"You...you need to leave."

He shakes his head, frowning, reaching out to you, but you back away.  

"No. No, you can't make me go, Y/n, I...I love you."

You shake your head, taking a deep breath to keep the tears at bay. "Stop. Don't say that. Don't fucking say that, Sehun-"

"I'm in love with you, jagi," he insists, defiantly, taking a step toward you.

You feel too much, panic and longing and guilt and you can't look at him.

"You have to go," you say again, your voice shaking.

"Please don't make me go." His voice breaks and you crack, look up at him and tears stream down his face and your heart aches.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Yes," he says immediately, as if relieved, and maybe he's lying but you can't throw him out, not when he's crying and begging like this.

He's always so put together, even when he's angry and he looks so tired..

"You can sleep on the couch." You don't trust yourself to let him in your bed, don't know if you can resist his touch when you're feeling so raw and vulnerable.

He nods, wipes at his face. "Will you lie with me? Just for a while?"

You look up at him, lip caught between your teeth.

"Please, jagi. If…" He takes a deep breath, sits down on the couch again, and he won't stop looking at you, his eyes dark and wet. "If you're really going to get married, I want to hold you one more time."

So you end up on your couch, and maybe this is worse than the bed would've been because it's close and intimate.

He has one arm tight around your waist and the other cupping your face, dragging his thumb along the tear tracks on your cheek.

He tucks his face into your neck and hitches in a breath. "Please don't let it be too late, yeah?" 

The words are muffled by your skin and he kisses your skin so softly and wraps both arms around you, so tight it almost hurts.

You can't give him an answer, your eyes burning with tears, but he's asleep in just a few moments, breathing deep and even.

When you wiggle out of his arms he whines a little in his sleep, and it makes you smile.

You sit on the edge of the couch for a while, watching the line of his jaw as he sleeps, and thinking about how everything about him hurts you. You cover him with a blanket and head to your room.

You know what you have to do and dread pours over you like a fog when you unlock your phone.

*

"Hey, baby," Jooheon answers on the first ring, and he's already worried, you hadn't answered his good night text and usually he'd call you right away but he knows how upset you were.

"Hey," you say, and your voice is weak and choked with tears.

"Oh, baby. What's wrong?"

You just burst into tears and his chest aches, he wants to throw on his coat and come and get you but he waits, murmuring comforts, until you collect yourself.

"Sehun...Sehun came here and he's staying over on the couch. I just wanted to tell you, I didn't want you thinking something happened-"

The air around him suddenly feels thick and heavy. Something like panic climbs up his throat and he swallows hard.

"Did something happen?" He asks softly, and he can't breathe when you take a beat to answer, his throat closes up to a pinhole.

"He-He kissed me," you whisper, and Jooheon takes in a gulp of air but it doesn't help at all, feels like inhaling broken glass.

He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to feel and he knows he should be angry but he can only think of how you sobbed against his chest, how your face was streaked with tears, and he's quiet for a moment.

"Joo? I'm so sorry, he was drunk and upset and it didn't mean anything-"

"Of course it meant something," he mutters, head spinning like he'd had too much soju.

"Jooheon, please don't-"

He takes in another breath, trying to focus on you, on what you need instead of the ache in his chest.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay, I know...I know you're confused."

"I'm not confused, I love you so much, I just- he just-" you start crying again and Jooheon would give the world to go back in time to twelve hours ago and have Oh Sehun thrown out of the party before he ever said a word to you.

"You need some time, yeah?" He hates how shaky his voice is, how he's fighting everything in him to not beg you to stay with him. "You just need some time to think and you'll... you'll come back to me."

"I don't need time!" You say, almost panicked, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Yeah you do, baby. You need to think about what you want, and that's okay." He struggles to stay calm, keep his voice steady.

It's not okay. It's not okay because he can't stop thinking about you in a white dress, how you were smiling so wide until you saw Sehun walk up to you, how your whole face changed. He could see it from across the room. It's not okay because he could feel your longing bleeding all over and it hurt so bad when you'd plastered on a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

"Jooheon, no-"

"Just...just a few days. Everything's okay, Y/n. You'll take a few days and then we'll get back to planning our lives together, yeah?"

You sniffle. "Just a few days?"

"Whatever you need."

"Are you...are you mad at me?"

He can't help but smile. "No, baby. I love you."

"I love you so much," you whisper, and it lessens the tightness in his chest a little.

"Everything's going to be fine," he says, and he wonders if it sounds at all like he believes it.

You agree to go visit your mother for a couple days after more tears and his reassurances, and when Jooheon hangs up he's almost overcome by anger and frustration.

He wants to break something, punch holes into the sheet rock but instead he just lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark.

*

It's a couple nights later before Jooheon feels anything approaching okay, when he's at Minhyuk's party and he's had a couple of bottles of soju. He's talking to Minhyuk when he sees Oh Sehun from across the room and all the good feelings dissipate.

Minhyuk's eyes widen. "Shit. He must have come with Yeol. I can make him leave-"

Jooheon shakes his head. "It's okay. I'll be fine."

He is fine, mostly, and Sehun looks like shit so that probably means you aren't talking to him either, and he'd be lying if that didn't make him feel a little better.

He drinks a bit more than usual, but given the circumstances, he thinks that's fair. It's a couple hours later that everything goes sideways.

He's in the kitchen, talking to Hoseok about you, when he hears someone scoff.

He looks over and Sehun is sitting on the floor of the kitchen, laughing.

Jooheon rolls his head on his shoulders, trying to shake it off. He turns back to Hoseok, but Sehun's standing up, bracing his hand against the counter, leaning in.

"You think you know her?"

"Hey," Hoseok says, anxious, and Jooheon smiles, gritting his teeth.

"It's fine."

"You don't know shit," Sehun's words are slurred, eyes glassy, and Jooheon knows he shouldn't let it get to him, but his blood is boiling.

"Really? I know she's wearing my ring," he says, tone almost cheery.

Sehun clenches his jaw, stands up straight. "For now."

Jooheon is turning away, he knows he needs to walk away before he does something stupid, when Sehun says, almost conversationally, "You sure you know her? You know she likes it when you choke her when you're fucking her?"

Jooheon stops, facing away from him. "Shut up," he hisses through gritted teeth.

"Oh, so you didn't know? I could give you some tips. You know, for your wedding night. She always comes so hard for me."

It's all a blur after that, just the satisfying thud of his fist, and Sehun's spitting out blood and laughing like a lunatic when Hoseok and Hyunwoo pull Jooheon off him.

Jooheon's split the skin on his knuckles but he doesn't even know he's bleeding until Hyunwoo throws him into a chair on the couch, and when he tries to get up, he presses down on his chest.

"You're getting blood all over the chair, Jooheon, stop!"

Jooheon is brought around by the sharp tone. Hyunwoo rarely raises his voice, and Jooheon looks up at him, breathing hard.

"Just sit still," Hyunwoo says, softly this time, and Jooheon is suddenly fighting tears.

"Fuck," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

Hyunwoo shakes his head. "If that had been my girl he was talking about, it would've taken all of you to pull me off."

Jooheon is surprised into a laugh, and Hyunwoo smiles a bit while Hoseok brings a cloth and some bandages.

"Maybe you should call her," Hoseok offers as Jooheon stops the bleeding.

He shakes his head. "No. I said I'd give her time, and I will. I'll be fine."

Hoseok doesn't look like he believes him.

Jooheon doesn't know if he believes himself.

*

Sehun is still laughing when Chanyeol shoves him into the car.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Sehun doesn't answer because this is the first time he's felt anything in days. Drinking you away wasn't working, you hadn't answered your phone since you'd shoved him out of your apartment a few mornings ago. So when he was invited out, he jumped at the chance.

Seeing your fiance made rage heat his blood, but it wasn't enough, didn't help the hollow feeling in his chest. But his probably broken nose, his eye swelling, that helped, it was something real, something that hurt, distracted him from thinking of the way you'd slammed the door in his face.

Junmyeon keeps telling him he should be happy that you're taking time to think but Sehun thinks there's nothing to think about.

He knows you, knows you better than anyone else does, better than your fucking fiance, and if you had to think about it maybe that means you're going to marry him and just thinking about it makes him want to puke in Chanyeol's car.

He tries to tell him to pull over but he's dizzy and fading in and out of consciousness and he's almost grateful, he's barely slept in days.

*

You're asleep when the phone rings, and you're disoriented when you answer.

Ten minutes later your heart is in your throat and you're pulling on your clothes.

You feel like you can't breathe until you see him, and Chanyeol had sounded so worried…

It doesn't help to see him, Chanyeol tried to prepare you but he looks awful, cheek swollen so much his eye is almost shut, the bridge of his nose crooked.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry-"

You're climbing up on the guest bed, and you don't even realize he's awake until he moves to wrap his arms around your waist, 

"You came," he mumbles, and you stroke his hair.

You're angry, you want to call Jooheon and yell at him but what right did you have, after you'd rushed here despite the fact that you were still wearing his engagement ring.

"Of course I did."

"Do you think...do you think you won't leave me now?" 

His words are slurred and it's an arrow through your heart, tears spill down your cheeks.

"I'm not going anywhere" you croon, and he lifts his head to look at you.

"You promise?"

It hurts, how much you feel, it's like you might burst, and you dip your head to kiss him as softly as you can.

You end up falling asleep there, and you wake up being pulled into his arms, his swollen mouth on your shoulder.

"I thought I dreamed you," he whispers, his long fingers trailing down your body.

"Sehun," you warn, but he just keeps trailing his hand up and down your side, not going further.

"I'm so happy you're here, jagi. I've missed you so much. I love you so much."

When you twist to face him, his bruised face making your heart ache, because he's smiling at you even though it must hurt.

"I came because Chanyeol was worried about you."

His smile fades. "Oh. Right."

"Sehun-"

"It's fine," he mumbles. "At least I got to see you."

"Are you...are you okay?"

Sehun barks out a laugh. "Don't I look okay?"

"I'm so sorry he hit you."

He shrugs. "I probably deserved it."

You can't help but smile. "You probably did," you agree.

He smiles back at you but it's almost wistful and you wish you could go an hour without crying.

"Hey," he says softly, thumbing at your tears. "It's okay. I'm okay."

"I'm sorry," you sob, and you can't tell him what you're sorry for, that you're sorry because you love him too but it's all too late.

You hide your face in his chest he rubs your back.

"Not your fault, jagi. I'm sorry. This is the way it should have been, yeah? I did it all wrong. This is how I should have loved you." 

You pull back to look at him and the half smile he gives you almost breaks you.

He kisses the tip of your nose. "I should have loved you better, should have told you how I think about you all day, how you make me feel like my heart will burst every time you smile at me."

"Sehun," you breathe, and then you can't help yourself, can't stop yourself from leaning in to kiss him and he makes a surprised sound into your mouth but then he's kissing you back, harder than you'd imagine given his busted lip.

You're popping buttons on his shirt to get your hands on his skin before you know what you're doing, you just need to get closer, just need to touch him, and then scrabbling at the button of his jeans.

He takes your hands in his, kisses your knuckles. "Wait. Y/n. Slow down. I wanna do this right, if it's the last time."

Your heart aches and you're still crying and all you want is him as close as you can get him, want him inside you because everything hurts and you don't want to think about this being the last time.

"Sehun, please, I need you." You arch your back, tug off your shirt, kiss his throat, trying everything you know that entices him.

He just lets out a groan that's half a laugh and rolls on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head with one arm.

"You don't get to be a brat tonight, jagi. I wanna touch you everywhere." 

He slides his hand between your bare breasts, dips his thumb into your bellybutton, and you're trembling.

"So pretty," he mumbles. "Gotta remember this, how you look beneath me."

God, it hurts, hurts somewhere in your very bones how this might be the last time and you squeeze your eyes shut.

Sehun just kisses you, soft and sweet as his fingers creep below your waistband.

"I love you," he whispers into your ear and you whimper, thighs parting as he dips two fingers inside you.

"I love you too," you say in a burst, and his fingers stop, he buries his face in your neck.

"Ah, jagi...please don't say that."

"But I do. I do, I love you so fucking much," you say and it's almost a sob.

You tug at his hair and his eyes are wet when he lifts his head.

"Jagi, if you say that...if you mean it...I don't know if I can let you go." It's a hoarse whisper and you feel like you'll never stop crying.

"I...I don't want to talk about it, please, just...just love me, okay?"

Sehun's breath catches in his throat and when he kisses you there's salt on your tongue.

You finally feel like you can breathe again when he's inside you, cupping your face in his hands and it's almost too much, feels like you might burst with all the things you want to say, so you say nothing instead, just his name.

"I can't lose you, jagi. Don't make me lose you."

You pull him down to kiss you, roll your hips, hope to show him with your body instead.

He moans into your mouth but he stills inside you and you whimper.

You arch your back, dig your nails into his shoulders, but he just buries his face in your neck again, breathing hard.

"Sehun...please-" you gasp out.

"You'll go when it's over, yeah? I don't want it to be over." 

His voice is shaking and God, it hurts, everything hurts, there's no decision you can make that doesn't. 

Then he pulls out of you even as you protest, rolls onto his back but you roll with him.

The way he looks up at you when you're riding him is almost too much to bear, his heart is in his eyes and yours is breaking.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, running his hands up your sides to cup your breasts.

When you feel yourself getting close, feel pressure building in your belly, you lean over, press your forehead to his as you roll your hips.

He puts his hand in your hair, kisses you over and over as you moan into his mouth and when you finally come it’s bittersweet because the second you come down, dread drops onto you like a blanket.

You don’t move, when it’s over, just stay with him softening inside you and his hand still in your hair, massaging your scalp.

He takes in a deep, shuddering breath before he speaks. “I know you have to go.”

You feel your lip trembling, and he shushes you, kisses you again, brushing his nose against yours.

When you get up, he watches you for a moment and then turns away from you on the bed, curling into a ball and you can see his broad shoulders shaking and everything in you wants to go back, wants to comfort him, tell him you love him.

Instead, you go, shutting the door behind you before you burst into tears.

*

Jooheon thinks later that he knew how this would go before you ever come back to him. He thinks he knew how it would end up, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself.

There’s so much of him that wants to rage, wants to be angry and jealous and throw his fists into walls, so much of him that aches to do something stupid, but he doesn’t. He waits for you, because he wants you to be his wife and it’s one thing if you decide to go, but if he hasn’t fucked it up already by getting in a fight with your ex boyfriend, he’s not going to do it now.

You don’t even call, just show up at his house and he sees you through the peephole and his chest tightens.

When he opens the door you throw yourself into his arms and you’re sobbing like your heart is broken, just like you did at the engagement party.

Part of him wants to push you away, tell you it isn’t fair, that he shouldn’t have to comfort you after everything that’s happened, but he loves you so much. He wants you so happy.

You tell him between sobs, in the most broken voice, everything that happened and his heart just sinks lower and lower.

You won’t let go of him, have your fingers clutched in his shirt even when he takes you to sit down on the couch.

He doesn’t speak for a long time after you tell him, doesn’t ask you any questions, and you just keep staring at him and he can’t even look at you.

"Don't hate me, Joo, please," you gasp out, and he shakes his head, can't bear you thinking that even if his heart is breaking.

"I could never hate you. I love you. I love you so much." He gives you a weak smile and you just start crying all over again so he pulls you close, kisses the top of your head.

You start talking about how you just need some time, about how everything will be fine and he’s half listening because his heart is pounding in his ears.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into your hair. “Y/n...I want you…” he stops, the words sticking in his throat, takes a deep breath and tries again. “I want you to go.”

You lift your head, looking panicked. “Joo, no I-”

“You’re miserable, baby,” he says, and he laughs a little, wiping at his eyes. “You’ve been miserable ever since he showed up to the engagement party and I just...I want you to be happy.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that, you make me happy! You make me so happy!” You cry, and he wishes you wouldn’t fight it so hard.

It makes him want to give in, makes him want to sweep it all under the rug, but he can see it in your eyes, how much you’re suffering and he can’t let you keep doing it.

He disentangles himself from your arms, holds you an arm’s length away even when you protest.

“You can’t do this,” you say weakly.

He laughs again. “You think I fucking want to? You think I want to push you into his arms? It’s what you want, Y/n. If it wasn’t what you wanted you wouldn’t have been so upset, you wouldn’t have fucked him-”

“Is that what this is about? I’m sorry, I should’ve never-”

“It’s not about that! It’s about how you feel, Y/n, and….” his voice breaks and he huffs out a breath. “And how you don’t.”

You just look at him, your eyes so big and pleading and fuck, he hates this, he hates everything about this.

“I’ll just take a few more days,” you say, and your voice is so small and it feels like his chest will crack open.

He nods. “Yeah, okay.”

You don’t  move to leave though and he can’t look at you anymore, can’t look at you without begging you to stay so he puts his face in his hands.

“Just go, yeah?” 

“Joo-”

“Please. Please, just go.”

When the door closes behind you it sounds like the end of the world.

*

Sehun doesn’t get out of bed until Chanyeol drags him out, telling him he probably has a concussion and he has to at least eat something instead of drinking his breakfast.

Everything tastes like cardboard but he eats, tries to smile even though it hurts his busted lip.

“Do you think she’ll invite me to the wedding?” Sehun asks after he’s done, and he starts laughing and then he’s crying instead and Chanyeol pulls him into a hug.

He’s just fucking tired. He’s tired and he doesn’t want to do any of this anymore, doesn’t want to hate your fiance for having you, doesn’t want to hate you for leaving, doesn’t want to hate himself for not telling you when he should have.

He talks Chanyeol into taking him home, promises over and over he won’t drink, he won’t call you, and he knows damn well he’ll probably do both.

On the way home, his phone buzzes and when he sees your name light up on the screen he can barely breathe. 

It’s just two words, just: Come over, but it’s like he can’t take in a deep breath until Chanyeol drops him off, asking him again and again if he should wait, and Sehun waves him off and all but bolts to your door.

Your face is streaked with tears when you answer but you just go into your living room without a word and he follows you like a stray puppy, his heart in his throat.

You sit on the couch and he just stands there like an idiot, he can’t think of a single thing to say that isn’t something stupid like “are you okay?” when you clearly aren’t, and that gives him hope and makes him feel like an asshole at the same time.

“Do you love me?”

He blinks, surprised. “Yes.”

“Really love me? You’re not just fucking...territorial or fucking with my head because you can?”

“I love you so much,” he breathes out, and he doesn’t know what to do with his fucking hands, he reaches them out to you and then back down to his sides. “I love you so much, Y/n, you have no idea-”

You stop him by taking his hand and hope is bubbling in his chest and that’s dangerous, that’s so fucking dangerous because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if you end up saying goodbye after this.

“You better show me. You better show me every fucking day because after all this if-”

He laughs, he can’t help it, his heart is soaring and you’re frowning at him and he takes your face in his hands and kisses you kisses you kisses you until his busted lip is aching.

It isn’t all easy after that, you’re still wary and there’s things to work out with Jooheon and he can’t help the searing in his chest when you say you’re going to pick up your things a couple weeks later, but it’s more than he ever could have hoped for, and it’s you. 

It’s you, and you’re everything.

[ask-de-writer]

LOST TIME (part 1 of 3) A fantasy of Flocking Bay.

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

LOST TIME

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5556 words

© 2020 by Glen Ten-Eyck

written 2003

All rights reserved.

Reproduction  in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the  express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

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Users  of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in  my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge   for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

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It stands out even in the dark ... It shouldn’t. It’s just a house. A damned old house. Not even that old really, not for New England. It’s a two story salt-box style with an observation deck under a cupola at the peak. It is probably just the setting. Rusty old iron fence, gnarled elderly trees, unkempt lawn not quite out of control, windows that the neighborhood kids haven’t broken. It should be a witch’s house but it isn’t. It is mine. I just closed on it yesterday.

The kids are going to have a field day this time. I don’t like the daylight... been on night shift as far back as I can remember. That’s a longish way back. But I’m not a witch, nor vampire. Nothing exotic that I know of. I’m just one of those people (you probably know one or two) who don’t show their age. If you envy me, think again. YOU try to explain to a traffic cop why your ID has you pegged for seventy+ and you don’t look over twenty. I carry a copy of my fingerprint record from the military, because they can check that.

Funny part of it is, I really don’t have the slightest idea how old I am. Traumatic amnesia the doctors called it, during the war. The head wound was minor, they said.

That is a matter of opinion. It robbed me of my past, my name, my identity, my loves and hates but left my skills intact. I was an empty shell. I am still trying to find my past.

The name that I use comes from more or less modern myth. Vandervekken. The Flying Dutchman. Wandering Dutchman would be more accurate. He sails the seas off the Cape of Good Hope until Judgment Day. He can’t find his home either. I bought the house because it is the first place that I have seen in over fifty years where I want to stay. You explain it.

The rusty gate opened silently, thanks to the bit of oil that I put on the hinges. Going up the uneven walk, between the looming trees is an experience. The door lock is old-fashioned but still works smoothly. Covered furniture could have made ghosts to haunt the place, if I were superstitious or given to being easily frightened.

As I said, I like the night. I even enjoy things with a bit of a spooky atmosphere. I also like antiques and handcrafted things which is why, if I ever find out who did it, I will cheerfully throttle whatever philistine covered the finely inlaid hardwood parquetry floors with battleship gray paint.

Stripping and refinishing those floors was on my priority job list. Actually, I shouldn’t beef too much. Pointing out the problem got me a price reduction of nearly $2000 on an already underpriced house with all of its furniture as part of the deal. Estates can be wonderful when you are on a tight budget. Too bad that someone else had to die to create my good fortune.

As I pulled the dust covers from the furniture, I saw that my good fortune was been complete. It was all sturdy, hand-carved hardwood with Chinese silk brocade upholstery. The furniture alone was worth what I had paid for the house and contents. The tops of even the smallest hall tables were inlaid with rich veneers, ivory and mother of pearl. You couldn’t buy furniture like this any more. Besides the cost, the ivory in the inlays is no longer legal to obtain. I could get as much from the sale of just one or two pieces as I could from a year of writing if I could bring myself to part with any of this treasure. It just feels like the house would not be complete without it.

Whoever it was that had died and left this for me to have has whatever blessings it is in my power to bestow. The only wonder is that this place stayed on the market long enough for me to find it. Usually, deals like this get snapped up by the real-estate brokers before people like me ever see them.

When I got to the kitchen, I received another little jolt. I knew that it was fairly up to date, but some thoughtful soul had stocked the fridge and set out a bit of a snack for me. Just cookies and a glass for the milk, which was staying cold in the cooler. Thoughtful. I wondered who did it.

While munching on the cookies, I opened a few windows to air the place out a bit. Going out to my car, I saw that the flags of the walk needed leveling because of the weeds that grew up between them. I drove around to the alley behind the place, opened the garage and parked Lilitu, my classic pre-war Packard touring car. She looked right at home in there. Few, even of modern garages were big enough for her. I ferried my few personal goods up to the house. On my last trip, I saw a couple of wide-eyed kids looking over the back fence.

“Told ya, told ya so!” one of them chanted. “There’s somebody sneakin’ inta the ol’ Vekin place!”

“I wouldn’t call it sneaking, to move into your own place,” I answered as civilly as I could manage. “I just bought it. Why do you call it the Vekin place?”

“If ya ain’t sneakin’, why ya goin’ in the back way? An’ after dark, too?” she shot back. I could now see that they were a girl and a boy. She was obviously in charge.

“I like nights. I’m a writer, so I can keep any hours I like. Why is it the Vekin place?” I asked again.

“Dun’no - Crazy guy named Vekin used to live there,” she contradicted herself.

“Lot of folks tried to buy the place since then,” the boy piped in.

“But nobody ever stays,” the girl finished for him firmly.

“So, this is the neighborhood’s haunted house?” I inquired jovially.

“No,” was as far as the boy got.

“Its down the street, on t’other side,” she cut in.

“I looked at that one,” I said thoughtfully. “The old Victorian. Somebody’s broken out all the windows. Not like here. If the Vekin house is so bad, why hasn’t some kid chucked rocks at it?”

“‘Cause we’re not THAT crazy!” exclaimed The boy, getting out a whole thought. The girl gave him a push, and they ran off into the night.

I got up about noon, after the most restful night’s sleep that I’d had since the War. After my breakfast and a quiet tour of the place from attic to basement, I went out. My goal was the local newspaper. THE FLOCKING BAY VOICE was sprawled across the plate glass window in Old English style letters of gold leaf and black. Smaller letters proclaimed Est. 1841. I pushed open the door. My nose was assaulted by the multiple odors of printer’s ink, paper and grease. The VOICE occupied one large room. An elderly web press crouched at the back of the space, behind several rolls of newsprint. Cubicles made offices in the middle of the room. An old oak counter that had once seen duty as a bar had several signs suspended over it on thin chains. They read ‘submissions’, ‘advertisements’, ‘subscriptions’, ‘billing’.

There was a bell on the counter. Some wag had put a sign on it, “Please ring bell, it won’t help but it will give you something to do.” I gave myself something to do, energetically, a few times.

A trim little blond lady answered the bell’s summons. She wore a green eyeshade and a pin on her sweater announced, ‘Lois Martin - cook, bottle washer & EDITOR in CHIEF.’ “What can I do for you, today?” she asked.

“I came to see what I can find out about the Vekin place,” I answered, trying not to stare at her.

“Just a moment, I’ll get the file out of the morgue. I was going to get it anyway. Somebody went and bought the place again.”

“Wait a minute,” I protested. “Someone buys a house and that makes news in Flocking Bay? This town must be even quieter than it looks.”

“Oh,” she retorted, “it can get downright interesting around here when the old Vekin place sells. You’ll see.” She disappeared among the cubicles and I heard her feet clattering down a flight of stairs. I heard a file drawer creak and slide, then slam shut. It wasn’t long before she reappeared, a rather fat file clutched in her hand.

“If you’d like, we can have lunch over at Mike’s Soda Shop,” she proposed. “He makes decent submarine sandwiches and real ice-cream sodas.”

“Well ... ” I pretended to hesitate, “I haven’t been invited out by a beautiful blond in a long time, so, yes.”

“I hope that I haven’t just made a fool of myself,” she remarked, laying aside the eyeshade. “You are Mr. Vandervekken aren’t you? The man who just bought the place?”

“Too true,” I said.

“Then I’ll make it an interview and deduct it from my taxes,” she smiled.

“You make enough to pay taxes?” I asked, looking back as we crossed the street.

“I have hidden assets. The paper is a tax shelter.” She opened the door of Mike’s and ushered me in.

As I was seating her, I just couldn’t help blurting out, “Your assets seem to be pretty obvious.”

She grinned, “Go ahead and stare. I don’t mind. If I did, I wouldn’t wear a snug sweater and put my pin just here.” She pointed, then added, “Looking at it will keep you off your guard while I ask my questions.”

“OK, Ms. Martin, but let me look at the file first. You can order for me. You know the food here,” I said, reaching for the file.

“Lois,” she replied, “call me Lois, everyone else does.” Then she hollered to the man behind the counter, “Oh, Mike! Two butterscotch sodas and a big turkey sub! Divide it in half!”

“How did you know that I liked butterscotch?” I asked. “It’s not that common a preference these days.”

“I just had a hunch, that’s all. You looked like another butterscotch type person.”

I was leafing through the file on the rather beat-up table while we waited. I couldn’t resist snorting with amusement at the name of the house’s builder. Capt. Von Der Vekin. The house had been built in 1894 by the Capt. and his elusive son, Charles. Nobody had ever seen Charles until he came into town, on April 1st, 1900, to report his father’s demise and burial on the property. He ordered a headstone hewn of the local limestone. Charles had returned from WW I with honors and lived quietly, claiming to be a writer, though nobody ever saw any of his work in print. When asked, all that he would say was ‘Pseudonyms are great for privacy’. He was not so lucky when he volunteered to assist the French resistance in 1939. He never came home.

Next==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

[high5nerd]

Healer

This is one of my firsts on archiveofourown.org after a long writers block! I can’t recall if this one was a commission, but it’s a Cavity ship!

This wasn’t the first time he found himself surrounded by death once he closed his eyes. Or did he just open them? Everything felt cold, and in some parts of his body, it felt like seething fire. Liquid fire. What’s on his hands?

A dark hand raised to his face, centimeters from his nose. It was sluiced in red. Crimson red. His own red. God, the pain...Stars Above, it hurt so much.

Above him, he saw nothing but a burning sky, swathed in an aura of dusky purple and the bloody rose of the sunset beyond. Just barely, he could make out the slivers of the two moons above him, a sign of hope that he was holding onto by strings of fate. How was he even still alive? The battle should have finished him, he knew when he rode into it with his battalion that the odds weren’t in their favor. The dream pirates have swallowed the entire constellation, there was no chance that he would lead his troops to victory against them.

Then again, one must always obey the orders of the king and queen of comets.

His teeth felt brittle as he grimaced against the throbbing that took over his brain. Alright, now he was feeling pain. Sitting up proved difficult, but he fought against the white hot agony to look around him. He had to know if there were other survivors. Anyone to give him hope that they won, for when he was struck off his horse, he fell unconscious and hadn’t been aware of the outcome as the battle raged on. Even the banner men with their flagged staffs would be enough proof of hope that they will return home victorious, that the galaxy was once saved from further pestilence of the dream pirates.

Nobody rose with him. He felt his mouth drop and a gust of air flood his lungs, ripping his raw throat. He wished he felt the hot tears spring in his eyes, but he only felt the dried blood against his cheeks harden as he winced more at the growing pain in his stomach.

His vision cleared more once the blurriness passed along with his migraine subsiding to a dull throbbing. Now he could look out to the sea of lifeless beings with more clarity. Some looked peaceful, helped by those who escaped or defeated the foe and had enough sympathy for the fallen to shut their eyes and say a prayer to the stars above. Others died in the midst of pain, their eyes open, barren, and white. Their mouths open mid yell of pain, filling with more red and staining their teeth like oil paint on pearl.

No...No. I failed. My men. My friends...I failed them. His mind spiraled as he looked around him, his hope quickly becoming demolished.

What have I done.

What have you done? You killed them. You killed them all.

They trusted you, and you got them all killed.

You monster.

Pitch.

Pitch!

“Pitch!”

That was a voice, not a memory. His eyes snapped open, and through the haze of the remaining nightmare, he saw a flutter of color and then magenta eyes filled with worry hover above him like an angel sent from the creator to take pity on him. But his heart still raced, his mind still transported in the realm of the nightmare that was once a fresh wound and a memory. He couldn’t help but act on instinct, the man of battle still fresh in his breath.

Toothiana yelped and took in a breath of air as she was grabbed from the air and flipped onto her back, with his hand around her throat as he sat on her abdomen, a look of bloodthirsty mourning on his face.

“Pitch, it’s just me. Please...it’s okay.”

Tooth. Toothiana. What is she doing here?

The look of revenge swiftly fled from his face, and a new look of horror spread across his face as he quickly retracted from her as if singed. She sat up, looking at him with a new expression he would like to label as pity, but something in his shrunken heart told him it wasn’t that at all. A new voice that didn’t hurt him, that didn’t continuously open old wounds over and over as punishment.

She’s empathetic. She knows you’re in pain.

Pathetic. Get her out of here.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped lowly, not looking at her as he dressed himself. He felt a twinge of shame for climbing onto her like that in just his briefs.

He was met with silence for a moment before he heard the bed linens shuffle. A flutter of wings, and then a soft landing and a gentle hand on his back. He flinched. He’d rather feel angry nails against his spine than something so comforting. You don’t deserve it.

“An old proverb that a lot of the humans say is, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. We’re worried about you.” she said, her voice like satin. No hint of lying detected.

He scoffed and glared at her, “Who the hell is ‘we’?” he turned back and flared his robe out for a final act of inner torment before turning to the majestic fairy. He felt that stirring come back again at seeing that little pout she was making right at that moment, then grew angry at himself for feeling it. Ever since a few months ago…

She sighed, looking to the towering pillar across from them. “Fine. I am. You know I’m soft like that.”

He grunted, fixing his robe more but refused to fasten it, trying to not look at her and drink in her fae-like aura, “Not completely. A year ago you proved that by a nasty punch. Five months ago you proved against that once more. I still have scratches on my back from-”

“Anyway,” Tooth’s voice dripped with warning.

Ooh, he loved teasing her. As much as he hated himself for feeling an attraction for someone like her, or even anyone at all, he had to take mirth out of riling her up. It usually leads to good and distracting outcomes. He made no effort to hide his smirk, a look that once irritated Toothiana enough to fluff her feathers.

“I didn’t just come here to...wake you from your troubles.”

“Business, I take it.” he muttered, striding out of the room. He didn’t care if she followed. She usually never does. He wanted to milk out what he could from her visit as much as he can. He hated it when she left, and he hated that he felt that way at being alone now.

“Although the Guardians have recollected all the teeth you’ve stolen, there’s one you haven’t yet returned. I have a slot missing in Russia, you know. I would have suspected of North using it for gifting inspiration from their memories but he has no idea where-”

Pitch swirled his fingers, the sand dancing around his digits until out formed the canister of teeth, glittering in the filtered light that barely made it down to the depths they walked in. He heard Tooth huff in irritation, and a smirk once more graced his fine features.

Took her long enough to notice.

Anything to keep her here longer.

“Out of all the times to be immature,” she leapt into the air to grab it, but he was quicker. His hand retracted from over his shoulder to his other hand and out far away from her reach. Toothiana found herself draped over his shoulder, giving him a perfect view of her curves from a slight turn of his chin.

He grinned, “This oddly feels familiar.”

“Grrh!”

The canister flew up, twirled, and disappeared in nightmare sand just as she reached to his other hand, a look of irritated determination on her face. He smiled, closing his eyes in modesty as he felt the slight ruffle of baby feathers from her upper chest against the tip of his nose. She always smelled of spring water, roses and mint. Such a good mix of smells for a tiny, pretty little thing.

She froze, realizing her position.

“Again, familiar. Is this becoming a habit, my dear?” he teased.

She leaned back and glared at him. That goddamn mouth of his. She didn’t know if she was thinking that in annoyance or slight attraction at seeing his smirk and his golden, heated eyes looking up at her with mirth and a crackling fire she wanted to spill her own flames onto. A prickling heat sensation came over her cheeks when she realized she was staring at his mouth for too long, remembering the darker things his mouth can do that wasn’t just talking and taunting.

Growling, she grabbed his face and pulled him towards her, mashing her mouth with his. She felt him stiffen before reluctantly melting into it. It both surprised them that Tooth was the one who acted first and Pitch was all talk and actually reserved once Tooth makes the first move.

Then again, it doesn’t take him long enough to react as animalistic as her either.

Kids these days call this fuckmates, you know.

Shut up.

The canister reappeared and fell, and because the king of nightmares was too...preoccupied with trying to win at the war Tooth started, she caught it with dexterity, and pulled away with a triumphant look on her face.

His own expression soured. “Good for you. You can leave now.”

He tried pulling away, but was surprised by the gentle tug of resistance from her, and looked at her with expectancy as she gently fluttered to stand on the cold ground. She gently smiled at him, touching his face with affection.

Wait. Affection? What is this? What is she doing?

“I was thinking of staying a while, if you don’t mind.” she offered, clearly hinting at what he hoped for for months.

Well, shit. Now we’re really fucked.

He grunted and gruffly looked away from her as if in annoyance, but she caught the darkening on his cheeks enough to gloat about it with a prideful smile.

“I suppose you could….if you’ve got the time,” he looked back at her, ready to test the waters, “I thought you and I strictly made this thing between us an...informality?”

She smiled, cradling the tooth canister to her chest as she guided him back to the room they left a few moments ago.

“I’m ready to make it formal, no matter what others think.”

The calmness that washed over him, the promising smile on her face made all nightmares from previous nights wash away. He felt a genuine but small smile creep against his mouth, and it caused her to brighten.

She knew of the nightmare that constantly plagued him. It didn’t take Toothiana long to dig it out of him over time, but for once, the cruel voices that plagued him through it were finally silenced, if anything for the fleeting moments that she was there for him, and with him. She was his healer, and he was her glimmer of hope. Perhaps now he’d awaken from a dream where he rises among a battlement of victorious souls, along with a feeling of completion now that she’s finally made herself known to him.

Yes, he can endure this. Just for her. And even, for him as well.

[magioftheseas]

Take Me Back, Back, Back

For @bidoofgodofdestruction

Summary: One minute he's failed to convince Hinata Hajime against the Kamukura Izuru Project. The next, he's in a hospital bed with Hinata Hajime leaning over him. In a scene that he could've sworn already happened months ago.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Violence both implied and explicit albeit minor and not super graphic. Also this entire thing circles around a time loop so there are implicit character deaths in it, too. And angst. Lots of angst.

Notes: I got commissioned to write time loop KomaHina where Komaeda tries to prevent Hinata from signing up for the project! It’s set, however, in bidoof’s Ultimate Despair fic so you need to read it for context. It mentions band stuff. The band stuff is important. It’s also super angsty. This and that fic because...obviously. Wheeeeeeee.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

He first remembers a dead phone line. The ground rippling and sinking below. It’s cold. It’s dark. He still can’t move. His heart pounds on the inside of his chest.

Let me out, let me out!

It’s screaming. Inside, it’s all just screaming.

Let me out! Let me see him! Please! Please! It can’t end like this!

“It’s not use,” Matsuda Yasuke had told him. “He’s too far gone.”

Hinata-kun.

He laughs. His trapped heart sobs between its screams.

Hinata-kun!

And he wakes up, jumping as Hinata yelps.

“H-Hey, easy, easy there!” Hinata grips his shoulders as he thrashes, squeezing and frantic. “Calm down, it’s just me!”

He stills. He’s panting. He’s in the bed of the nurse’s office. There’s sunlight filtering through the window, catching onto Hinata Hajime’s worried face. His furrowed brow. Komaeda stares.

The next onslaught of memories leave him limp and breathless. Hinata exclaims something. Is quick to embrace him so that he doesn’t slip. Quickly spills out bland reassurances. Komaeda’s heart is still pounding, but it’s not asking him to be let out.

“Hinata-kun.”

Hinata rubs his back awkwardly, nearly choking out his response as if he were shaken up, too. “Y-Yeah?”

“What just happened?”

“I-I don’t know,” Hinata stammers. “I mean, we were having band practice. You were swaying. Mioda thought it was to the music but you looked a little paler than usual and then—uh. You fell. Tumbled off the stage, too. How hard did you...?”

Not being an Ultimate, Hinata’s hand groping his skull for the implied bruise was uncomfortable and awkward. Komaeda still leaned into the touch. It hurt like hell, but he’s been through worse. So much worse.

“Aw, jeez.” Hinata quickly retracts his hand. “Yeah, that’s a bump. Don’t think we can continue practicing like this.”

“Ahaha.” Komaeda remembers, now, and just like before, he shakes his head. “No, no, I’m fine enough to sing. I can just sit down while I do if you’re worried about my balance.”

“Are you sure? There’s no shame in taking a break while you’re injured.”

“There is shame in disappointing others, especially when they’re Ultimates.”

They’ve had this conversation before. It’s all familiar.

When his feet touch the ground, he feels the rippling.

Was that—all really just a dream?

Hinata’s expression is strained and conflicted. It’s clear he wants to argue. Komaeda remembers being irritated with him. Bristling and telling him off.

He feels different now.

“I’ll be fine. It’s fine.”

“If you...say so.”

He says all that and when Hinata pulls away to let him stand, his heart thumps in protest.

No, no, no.

“A-At least help me up,” Komaeda mutters lamely, raising his hand. Hinata shorts, but he doesn’t hesitate. He takes Komaeda’s hand. He smiles just a bit.

He squeezes, and Komaeda’s heart soars.

--

There were more moments of familiarity. Conversations and banter that he had been through once before. Flashes of the future pushing at his skull before they’d happen in front of him. Building and building until a fateful, undoubtedly significant moment.

It was Hinata’s birthday. He showed up to give him a present. He hadn’t seen anyone else in weeks. It hadn’t been any easier the supposed second time. He felt a little sick, honestly.

And then, Hinata Hajime asked him—

“If you had the opportunity to be gifted talent...would you take it?”

“What on earth are you saying?”

His initial response was the same, but his heart was pounding in his ears.

“You’re fine as you are.” The words spill out before he can stop them. “You don’t need talent, you’re already worthwhile.”

“H-Huh?! That’s a complete 180 from your usual behavior.” Hinata straightens up, but he seems attentive. Komaeda wonders. “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

It occurs to him, then, that he’s gripping Hinata’s hands tight. Tight enough that his own might break.

“You’re fine as you are,” he presses. “You don’t need any sort of talent! So, just—forget it! Forget all about it!”

“H-How the hell am I supposed to forget?! Oi, Komaeda, let go!”

“Hajime, don’t go—!”

Hinata shoves him away. The words keep spilling and spilling.

“Hope and talent still can’t be manufactured—no matter what they do, no matter what you do, it won’t matter. All you’re doing is killing yourself. What’s the good in that? You’re reducing yourself to a husk for—for what? For just the idea that you could be talented?!”

“W-What are you—you don’t know what you’re—argh!” Hinata clutches his head, and he screams. “Shut up! Just shut up!”

“Hajime, I-I’m just saying...”

“Get out! Get out, get out, get out!”

“H-Hajime, please—!”

Hinata removes him forcibly. He threatens to call the police when Komaeda bangs on his door. It’s an empty threat. The police won’t care, especially not the campus cops. But Komaeda freezes, seizes, and then—

Through blurring tears, he wakes up again. Hinata is by his side again, fretting over him.

“W-What’s wrong, Komaeda?! Komaeda?”

“I-I... I... A-Aha... Haha... How...!” Throwing his arm over his eyes, he wheezes in grief and euphoria. “How lucky—! To get not just a second chance, but a third!”

“Komaeda!”

--

That’s the delight about his luck, you see. Luck is when something happens in spite of the odds. As long as there’s that non-zero-percent chance, there’s a way. And his Ultimate Luck worked that very way.

Wasn’t that wonderful? Wasn’t that amazing?

No matter how many times he tried over and over and over and over and over and over again, as long as there was a chance of success—none of it mattered! None of it at all!

Even when—

“Look, Komaeda, I know you mean well, but—I’m not in the mood, I’m sorry. I don’t think—I can talk to you anymore.”

And when—

“Y-You’re getting kinda creepy, so like...can you just leave it alone...? I don’t need you patronizing me.”

Especially when—

“I don’t know who told you about the project, but if it gets out, it’ll be bad for Hope’s Peak. Sorry, Komaeda-kun, but we just can’t take the risk, even if it’s with you. But you’ll understand, won’t you?”

When—

“I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, open your eyes! Komaeda! Komaeda! NAGITO!!”

--

“Hey, can you hear me?”

He wakes up, dazed and dizzy. He still remembers the cold stream of blood running down his temple. Hinata shakes his shoulder a bit.

“You with me? That fall was—pretty bad.”

So bad it killed me, he thought drearily. But it’s okay. I’m still here. I still have—a chance. But what should I do this time? What’s even less? How should I—?

“Maybe I should get you ice?” Hinata wonders, almost idly. “Komaeda, how are you feeling?”

I’m so frustrated.

“Like shit.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s blunt. Guess you did hit your head pretty hard.” Hinata shrugs it off. He goes to the freezer to fetch an ice pack. “Yeah, I’ll tell Mioda that we’ll have to stop band practice early today. And I don’t want to hear any arguments.”

What can even be done about you?

He does come up with an idea. One that’s sure to make Hinata Hajime hate him. He knows going to Hope’s Peak staff is a dead end, figuratively and literally—he supposes, then, all he has left is burning the bridge entirely.

“Actually, Hinata-kun.” He manages his usual smile as Hinata hands him the pack. He doesn’t feel the chill seeping into his skull as he presses it to the bump there. “I’ll just tell Mioda-san that the band isn’t an option anymore.”

Hinata Hajime blinks at him rather dumbly.

“You...don’t think you can recover at all?”

Aha. You’re so cute.

“I can’t accept it. You in a space for Ultimates. Associating with Ultimates. Reserves like you—that level of cockiness should be considered a crime.”

Hinata Hajime blinks again.

“...seriously? This again? You’re going to throw another tantrum now? Y’know—you’re just going to upset the others. Mioda, Saionji, Tsumiki, like—they don’t deserve this shit. Just rest. Recover. But if you want to drop out, I’m not going to stop you. It’s your own damn problem to deal with.”

“Ahaha. You make me sound so selfish.” Maybe I am. You’re just one person. The loss of someone like you shouldn’t be significant. And, yet. I want to prevent it. “It’s not just me, I swear. It’s you. All you. Hinata-kun, I—think you should go back to your last high school.”

“Well, I refuse. Sorry.”

Right now, Hinata Hajime looks at him as if he were the scum of the earth. He should be used to that.

It still hurts. But, compared to everything else—this meager self-centered pain is—

“Haha. Hinata-kun, you’re such a piece of work. You’re so pathetic, trotting after every Ultimate’s heels. You’re even latched onto someone like me.” He laughs. It hurts. It’s cold. “Do you think that if you cling hard enough that you’ll be taken in? Like a stray dog?”

“That wasn’t why!” Hinata exclaimed. “You—I just got dragged into this from the start!”

“I doubt it’s that.” The ice is set aside. Komaeda swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I really do believe you think it’s that easy to be accepted. Just to wiggle your way in. Like a naughty cuckoo. But, don’t you know? Birds aren’t all fools. They can spot the fakes. They reject them. It’s going to be the same with you. So.” He pokes Hinata’s sternum. There’s a flutter. “It’s best you just leave before you’re dropped, Hinata-kun. It’ll hurt less that way.”

Hinata slaps his hand away.

“Fuck you.”

Komaeda slaps him across the face. The response is immediate. Hinata seizes the collars of his shirt, pulls him close, and—

Komaeda screams.

The response is immediate.

Hinata drops him in surprise. A passing teacher rushes in. Komaeda points. Hinata pales.

Hinata tries to stammer out his name. Komaeda doesn’t look at him.

“Teacher, this reserve attacked me.”

Hinata shouts at him before he’s yanked away. It could’ve been out of rage. Confusion. It could’ve been a plea. Komaeda doesn’t really remember that part—but he does remember Hinata Hajime’s expulsion soon after.

--

The days pass.

The world still ends.

Komaeda Nagito can only laugh until he bursts into tears.  He passes out soon after and hopes he doesn’t wake up again.

[whumpywhumper]

Oryn--Part 5

This one is a little heavier on the “world-building” side than the whump but I’m using this one for the “Fevers” slot on my @badthingshappenbingo card

Thanks @0idril0 for looking this over for the eternity that this has been on my computer. Red is completed, yellow is requested, and green has an idea--I need some more requests! 

Link to previous parts: Part One, Two, Three, and Four

Tagging the people who seemed interested in Oryn: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @fallingstormphoenix @whumpitywhumpwhump @wildfaewhump @whumping-every-day @imagination1reality0 @voidwhump

***

Galen rustled through his bag, pulling bottles out of it and looking at labels. "I think we're going to need to keep a closer eye on this one," he murmured.  

The "one" in question was finally asleep, his whistling breaths drawn through dry and cracked lips. Emrik continued combing through the black, greasy locks under his hand. The Fae needed all of the comfort that he could get. "I think that would be a good idea," he pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a dry chuckle. "That probably took more than a few years off of all of our lives."  

The older man gave a sardonic smile, "An understatement."

Their sleeping charge moaned quietly, and Emrik turn back to him. His face was lax in sleep, the only evidence of pain a small line between his dark brows, just under the cool cloth on his forehead. Sleep changed the Fae’s face from the terrified and pain filled mask that he had first seen. Emrik didn’t think he would ever forget the stark terror in those yellow eyes or the way he had called out for his goddess. 

Now, he looked so young. Young and war torn—a mass of bruises, stitches, and broken bones. Emrik sighed and flipped the cloth to the cool side. He felt a tug on the tattered remains of the dyät knot and nudged back with gentle reassurance, “It’s alright, shhh.” He brushed through the dark hair again before disentangling the knot and releasing the magic. A shudder rolled through him at the release, and he sighed in relief. 

 Galen gave him a concerned look at the noise, "Are you going to be alright? You don’t normally seem to strain like that." 

"I don’t normally have to strain like that,” he muttered, giving the sleeping Fae a considering look. “I'll be fine. I'm just glad I waited until he let me, and I didn't try to force the knot on him." 

The human cocked his head at him with confusion, hands stilling, “You know I don’t know magic, especially your magic, what do you mean?” 

“I mean if I had tried to force him, I wouldn’t have had the power to follow through.” A shrug, “Would’ve knocked me out of commission for a few days, trying to battle it out with him.”

A frown, "I've never heard you put it that way before, lad. Usually, you just do it and everything is fine." 

"Usually, our patients are human," Emrik leaned forward in the chair that he had drug to the bedside, "or lesser seelie. Greater seelie are a whole new game, their grasp of magic is unparalleled. Their access to the weave of lei lines in the world is literally a part of their body, like an extra organ." He sighed and shrugged, "I don't understand all of it. I just know my magic cannot trump his. You humans have found ways around it," he tapped at the cuffs around their poor charge's wrist with a dark look, "for certain things. But I can't." 

Galen gave an equally dark look at the cuffs and collar. “Guess I’ll take your word for it then.” He came over with his bag and pulled the blankets back from his charge’s chest. Black bruises crawled up his sides, equally matched by red welts and stitched cuts. The tube, made from the hollow roots of an astor plant, in the Fae's chest wall had been quickly stitched in place, held against his side with blood tacky bandages and lead down to a glass bottle on the floor. 

His hands were gentle as they could be, but the Fae whimpered as the older man searched for air pockets or other injuries from his fall. “I know, I know, pup, it hurts.” Galen’s voice held a comforting baritone gravel that settled their charge, his weak breaths smoothing into a softer rhythm. 

Emrik shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning downward. “You said Melisandra is coming in the morning, right?”

“Mmmhm, why?” 

“I think she speaks better Saethe than I do, she might be able to talk to him if he wakes up again. He seemed to respond to some of what we said, but I don’t know how well he understands us. Even if he understands us, I don’t know how well he would speak Common.” 

Galen grimaced. “He knows the words ‘please’ and ‘no more’, I can tell you that. He woke up for a few minutes earlier tonight, begged me not to hurt him.” 

“They really did a number on him,” Emrik murmured. He shook his head again, pushing away the melancholy as he stood. “He’s stubborn, hopefully stubborn enough to recover from this. I’m going to go and get you more water.” 

“Thanks.”  

*** 

Oryn woke to the low murmur of voices nearby. There was a cold wet weight over his eyes and arms that caused him to shiver weakly. His bones ached and the slight weight that covered him was too much. It hurt, everything hurt, and he couldn’t stop the quiet whimper that pushed through his chapped lips. The voices near him quieted, and he did his best to breathe normally through his fear and confusion. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew that the people in the room weren’t actively hurting him. That could change quickly if they knew that he was awake. 

A cool slender hand pressed against his hot cheek, and the Fae flinched, automatically turning his head away, a burbled moan caught in his throat at the spike of pain through his spine. The wet weight—a towel?— slipped from one of his eyes, but he kept it closed. 

“He is so warm,” an accented feminine voice whispered, not appearing to notice that he was awake as the towel was eased back over his eye. “How long has his fever been like this?” 

“The fever started last night,” a gruff vaguely familiar grumble answered, near his hip, “it’s still climbing. Emrik and I are doing everything we can for it, but it’s up to him now.” 

The woman hummed, slender fingers pressing over the wet towel, making cold drops of water track down past his ears. “Did he wake at all?” 

A choked laugh, and he heard the rasp as the man ran his hand over his beard. “For a few minutes. By Tala, he was so scared.” The gruff voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. “The pup toppled off the bed when I went to get water for the fever and split some of his stitches open falling on the floor. Punctured his damn lung. Poor Emrik had to help me calm him.” 

”I saw Emrik when I came in, he’s dead asleep in your foyer.” The woman’s light touch moved across his forehead and carded through Oryn’s still matted hair, catching on the tangles and knots. His fevered skin ached where her fingers touched, hypersensitive to the pull of his hair against his scalp, and he couldn’t suppress the hitch in his breath.  

“Hmph, he said he used a lot of his reserves last night, tried to explain some of the magic to me. Not that I understood it. Meli, I know Emrik is exhausted, but is there anything you can do?” 

Fevered confusion clouded the injured Fae’s thoughts. What?

“I don’t think so, Galen. Our magic doesn’t work the same with them. I haven’t figured out why yet.” The woman‘s chair skittered over the floor as she stood. “Even if he was human, he is very weak right now. I don’t know that he would survive my attempts at healing.” 

“That’s basically what Emrik said,” a thick fingered hand took Oryn’s limp one and covered his swollen fingers with a warm, rough palm. Oryn’s fingers twitched around the larger hand, the hard splints under the manacles causing a twinge through his arm, and the stranger smoothed over them with a soft murmur. “He’s been tortured to within an inch of his life, Meli. Where did your men say they found him?” 

Her men? Who were these people?  Were they Soren’s friends? A dim memory of yelling men with authority in their voices welled up, but it was too tenuous to grasp and examine. 

A quiet rustle of papers across the room marked the woman’s location. “Soren’s, apparently he was searching for some seelie runaways. You know about his fascination with their magic.” 

Oryn felt his insides throb at actually hearing Soren’s name, a sharp inhalation making his ribs tug painfully, and an insistent voice started up in the back of his mind. They’re Soren’s friends. They’re going to hurt me too. They’re just waiting for Soren to come back.

 He barely noticed the other’s fingers stilling over his own.  “Run aways?” the questioned response stressed the plural. “By Tala, will he never learn? Someone needs to teach him there is a reason that the seelie are illegal to own. He is going to cause another war.” 

A sharp sigh.  “I’m not sure he hasn’t. The run aways were, apparently, on the border of the Leander Ridge when this one was captured. I don’t think the Queen’s forces were able to find the others after we got our report from Soren’s informant.” 

Oryn felt his heart start to drum against his ribs, a spike of dread lancing through his gut. They were hunting the other seelie too. That’s why they were treating him, because Soren hadn’t gotten the information from him. 

She continued with an ironic lilt to her voice that made Oryn tense further. “Besides, and I have no idea how he did it, but this little pup killed him as my Inquisitors broke the door down. So I guess we don’t have to worry about teaching Soren any lessons in the the future.” 

“I’m sorry, he what?!” Shock colored the male’s voice as Oryn’s hand was placed back on the covers.    

The Fae felt a wave of alarmed confusion start to roil and churn within him. Dead? A fog of pained memory boiled up, the sharp press of a knife against his abdomen, a brief, sweet flash of hope. But nothing else. He killed Soren? 

Meli laughed as she answered, and the Fae’s frantic mind turned it into a sharp, cacophic peel of noise. “You heard me, Galen. Soren cracked his head on the floor, and it turned his brain to jelly. The only reason I know it was your dark haired charge, and not some sort of freak stroke, is that one of the lesser seelies could feel the knot.” 

“But, how? This has to be one of the most magically restrained seelie I’ve ever come across, how did he even manage to scrape together the magic to form a knot?” 

“I’m not—“ she cut herself off and there was the soft slip of fabric against fabric. Oryn felt the woman’s presence leaning over him again before there were slender fingers at his throat, over his collar, over the pounding pulse in his throat. “Galen,” she murmured, softly, “I think he’s awake.” 

Oryn’s chest hurt, and he realized he’d forgotten to control his breathing, small wheezes for air making his broken ribs scream with pain. Panic flared, and he choked on a whimper when he sensed the male leaning over him as well, the masculine presence strong and looming. Celünie, please. Please, don’t hurt me. Soren was going to hurt the boy. He was so young. Please. 

“Oh, lad,” Galen murmured, “shhhh, easy, it’s okay.” 

It wasn’t okay. Oryn didn’t know who these people were, and they were touching him, and he didn’t feel good, and everything hurt. He gave up playing at sleep and tipped his head back into the pillow, shifting, gasping as a throbs of pain pounded through him. Wanting to get away from the hand at his throat, the potential punishment. He tried to move his legs, needed to flee, but he moaned weakly when a jolt of pain crashed through his body like lightning. Traveling from the broken bones and into the shorn muscles in his abdomen. 

“Shhh, myonik, shhhh,” the woman soothed in Sæthe, “we are not going to hurt you.” Her fingers moved from his throat to brush against his hair in a deceptively gentle caress, another hand trying to cup his cheek.  

Oryn didn’t believe her. Didn’t believe any of these humans with their promises and gentle hands. They’d been gentle before too. But he’d killed Soren, and they wanted to punish him. Hurt him. Make him scream. 

His body was so heavy, and it was agony to move, every tiny muscle contraction telling him to stay still. But he didn’t want them to touch him. The damp cloth slid off of his face when he shook his head, rejecting the hand against his cheek, dull pounding starting up behind his eyes. The heat of the fever flared without the coolness of the cloth, and he whined, eyelids sliding open to search the blurry shapes over him. 

Two people hovered, the bright light making them dark, indistinguishable shadows to the brightness of the room. He flinched back with a tight gasp of air, trying to raise his arms in a defensive posture, but the heavy appendages were easily caught in strong hands. His wrists throbbed even in the light grip, and the square, broad hands controlled him without any trouble. Ignoring his whimpers of protest, the man crossed his wrists across his stomach so that Oryn could be pressed back into the mattress by his other hand.  

“Don’t move, lad,” Galen ordered, false kindness in his voice, “you’re very sick and very hurt. You need to stay still.” 

Oryn’s struggles weakened, and he shuddered, the fear of disobeying overcoming his trembling limbs. His tongue was heavy and unwieldy in his mouth, but he swallowed thickly, trying to force his eyes to focus. “Dä. . . därog. . .il. . .il a.  . . “ His voice was a hoarse, thin rasp that wavered on the plea, and his dry throat closed on any additional words as he panted for air. 

“Shhh, be calm,” the woman said in Saethe, the lilt of his native tongue falling easily from her lips. The woman leaned further in, the hand in his hair sliding back to cradle his head as a cup was placed against his lips. “Drink, myonik.” Her angular face finally came in to focus, but her expression was unreadable to the exhausted Fae. 

Blinking his gritty eyes fitfully, Oryn turned away from the sloshing liquid in the cup, an incoherent croak all he could manage. His throat was so dry, but these humans would hurt him, wanted to punish him for Soren. Wanted to know where his friends went. He didn’t know what was in the cup. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want it. 

He couldn’t stop the hiccuping sob that slid out of his mouth as he squeezed his eyes closed. Please, I don’t want it. 

“Shh, shh, shh, okay, okay.” The cup left his lips, and he sobbed harder when something skimmed across his cheek softly. “I know you’re scared, shhhh, it’s okay.” 

“Oh pup, don’t cry.” Galen’s hands softened their restraining grip, his thumbs rubbing circles into his skin. 

Oryn exhausted himself quickly, his breaths coming in hitching, shaky sobs and gasps as the woman continued carding through his hair, murmuring softly. “You aren’t going to be hurt, I promise. You’re being taken care of; you’re safe, now. Shhh.” His eyelids fluttered weakly, unable to fully unshutter themselves, and he swallowed past the dryness in his mouth. 

“This is just water, we aren’t going to hurt you, but you need to drink, little one.” The woman raised his head again as she pressed the cup back to his mouth, and Oryn couldn’t fight against the cool liquid as it poured past his chapped lips. Pure, sweet water touched his tongue, and it soaked it up like a sponge in the desert. Swallowing fitfully, he sighed as the water soothed his parched throat, and she helped him drink until she pulled the cup away. 

The Fae was drifting on fatigue, the rattle of things in the room making him jerk and whine, as the woman lowered his head back down. “Galen, is that too much water?” 

“That should be enough for now,” Galen murmured, making Oryn shudder as new cool rags were drawn down his arms and across his neck. “He needs all of the fluids he can get, but we can’t have him drinking too fast.” 

“Okay. . . “ Fingers carded through his hair again before she continued in Saethe, “Sleep now, myonik, we will talk when you feel better.” 

Oryn whimpered, head ticking to the side as he forced himself to stay awake.  He wanted to explain, maybe they’d have mercy if he explained. “D’rog. . . “ he slurred, wavering “. . .S’ren. . .” 

“Hush, you don’t have to worry about Soren. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you here. Sleep.” 

The Fae did the only thing he could and obeyed, dark completely overtaking him.   

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

A Second Chance

Steve Rogers x OFC

A/N: Set between Civil War and Infinity War. LISTEN GUYS I KNOW IT’S AN OC WITH STEVE BUT YOU HAVE TO READ THIS. I love it so much and it’s in first person, so just read it! Thank you @firefoxcaty for commissioning this!

Summary: Caty and Steve are each other’s person until the Accords divide them.

It started with the Accords, a thick well written document that Tony Stark had presented to the Avengers; and off the bat, everyone had disagreed on whether to sign it or not. There was no surprise on my end that Steve was the forerunner of the opposition, but man, it pissed me off. I remembered that night, after Tony said everyone had some time to think it over, I had read through half of the Accords. Around two in the morning my eyes started to hurt, and the words started to blur, so I went to find my best friend.

Steve was in the gym, abusing the punching bag as I walked in, admiring his ass a little, because the man had an ass. Although, that thought quickly vanished as they always did, when he turned to look at me.

“Can’t sleep either,” he asked. I walked over and asked if he’d mind the company. “Of course not, I can’t sleep, a lot on my mind…”

“I know, same,” I sighed, sitting down on the bench against the wall. He sat next to me and the two of us fell into that usual silence; the comforting one, where no one has to talk because it was enough the we were together. It was like that, Steve and I; close friends, confidants, the person you came to for those long deep conversations, the tough conversations. He was my person, in the Gray’s Anatomy sense and it had been like that for a while.

“So, I read some of the Accords.”

Steve’s eyes flickered over to me; his mouth pursed into a frown. “And?”

I shrugged, the edge of my shoulder touching his. “It makes sense.”

“You got to kidding me, Caty.”

His accusatory tone had surprised me and for a moment I wanted to punch him, and I had never felt that way before, not towards Steve; never him. Was he the one that was kidding? Sure, the Avengers had saved people, that was our job but at what cost? Tony had told me the story of the young man killed in Sokovia and we all had seen with our eyes all the collateral damage during all our battles. I had witnessed the people shouting for help, their lives slipping away as we rang victorious each time; the blood on my hands were just as red as the enemy, maybe more. I thought, yes, Steve would have his reservations, but come around eventually. Sitting next to him, his eyes wide in surprised, had made think different.

“Steve, Tony’s right, we have to sign.”

“Come on, that’s not freedom,” he argued, back pressing into the wall. “You want the government to decide what we do? The way SHIELD did? Hydra was running the show, what makes you think it won’t happen again?”

“Talk about paranoid.” I stood up from the bench and glared at the man, unable to understand. “People die because of us; innocent people and you think what you want trumps that?”

“No,” he replied coldly. “I don’t think that, but why should we have someone else tell us what we need to do?”

“You got to be shitting me,” I shouted, throwing my hands in defeat. “I can’t with you right now, I have some more reading to do. I mean, you should at least do that.”

I walked out the night, knowing in my heart that signing was the right thing to do, and if Steve refused, as did the others, things were going to hit the fan.

…

And they did.

History would show that the Avengers divided into two sides that ended in an airport fight; Steve vs. Tony, and I was certain Steve was on the wrong side. He had stood across from me, eyes zeroing in on me as everyone stood still for a moment, waiting for someone to say or do something. He called out my name, asked me to rethink my position.

“Caty, please.”

It hurt, badly, the pain in his voice as he said my name, and something snapped inside me. Clarity came over me and it was like I was seeing Steve for the first time. He was so pure in virtue and I knew he thought he was doing the right thing, and hell, maybe he was, but it all seemed to late. Just as Steve was certain signing was wrong, Tony was deadest on making sure everyone signs – he wanted the team to stick together, but I knew it wasn’t going down like that.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” I said to him, ignoring everyone else, because in that moment they didn’t matter. “Reconsider and we can fix this before it goes any further.”

He looked over to Bucky, a man who looked withered down and shook his head, holding up his shield. “I can’t.”

That’s how it started, the fight; teammate against teammate, friend against friend. Wanda had come for me; I fought her, holding my punches until I realized she wasn’t and before I could really fight, I was thrown yards away, arm broken in an instant. I shouted in pain and Steve saw me, rushed to my side, forgetting what was happening all around us.

“You’re going to be okay,” he reassured me, helping me sit up against a metal crate. His eyes drew down to mind and my heart raced as he touched my face. Blood from a cut on my forehead stained his fingertips and tears started to fall down my face. I hated feeling weak, but with Steve, it was different.

“See,” I whispered, closing my eyes for a moment to relish the way his hand felt on my skin. “We both have blood on our hands now.”

Steve’s head hung low for a moment before he took a deep breath and grazed around his surroundings. “I didn’t want this.”

“I know, but this is it now. What are you going to do, Steve?”

A part of me then wanted him to give up, to end it all, and when his blue eyes studied mine, I wanted him in a way I never realized. Sure, I noticed how attractive he was, I wasn’t blind, but it never occurred to me that it was more. That he meant more to me than being my person or that he was my person, and that’s why I was feeling these things now, realizing them now.

Tears, again, filled my eyes as he sighed. “I’m sorry, Caty.”

My lips trembled in pain, and not the physical kind; my heart was breaking because it seemed I wouldn’t be seeing Steve for a long time. I wouldn’t be able to spend time with him, going to baseball games and late movie showings, spend time talking about nothing as the night wore on. It was ending in the middle of an airport in Germany before it could even begin.

“God, I’m so sorry,” he repeated, his hand running through my hair. Slowly, he leaned in forehead against mine and for a second, I thought he’d kiss me, but he didn’t. Instead he took a deep breath and got up, saying he had to go.

“I know,” I nodded, holding my arm against my chest; it hurt almost as much as the entire conversation. “I know, Steve.”

He walked away then, not looking back and I felt it then, that it was for the best.

…

Something was going on in the city, I sensed it in the air as I walked out of the deli, lunch in hand. There was a strong rumble as I held on to a light pole, head whipping back and forth to try to figure out what was happening until my watch beeped. Rhodes had Tony make them for the remaining Avengers, they were faster than waiting for someone to answer a call. Touching the holo-screen pop up button,  I saw Tony.

“We have a problem.”

“I can see that, where you at?”

He gave the location and said he’d send me a suit; twenty seconds later, a special mark he had made for me landed at my heels. Sighing, because I was damn hungry, I suited up and flew to Tony. I was shocked to see Bruce, then the wizard man and his friend, but none of that mattered because New York was being invaded again. The lot of us fought, but in the end, Tony and the wizard had disappeared, leaving Bruce and me alone. After a brief hug hello, because I hadn’t seen the man in a long time, he handed over a dated cell phone.

“You have to call, Cap; we need his help.”

“Tony didn’t explain to you everything that happened while you were gone, did he?”

Bruce shook his head in defeat. “He did, but none of that matters. Make the call.”

Staring at the cell in my hand and the chaos around us, I knew the past didn’t matter; Bruce was right, this was more than hurt feelings and longing, it was another fight all the Avengers needed to come together for. So, I sucked it up and pressed Steve’s name, hesitating for a moment as it started to ring until Bruce gave me a supportive nod.

It rang twice before he picked up, his voice hitting me like a ton of bricks; it felt magical, warm, and sad.

“Tony?”

“No,” I whispered, holding back tears. “It’s me.”

…

Bruce and I sat on the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in each of our hands. I listened as he explained what had happened to him since Ultron and how he was in space, I joked that at least someone was able to go to space. The two of us laughed until we both heard voices in the other room; one was Rhodes, but the other I recognized immediately, and my face fell, as did my heart.

We both left our coffees in the kitchen as I followed Bruce towards the voices. He gave me a wild look when I shoved him first into the room and I watched as he hesitated before walking in, calling to Natasha, who looked different from the last time I saw her. Sam, Wanda, and Vision were looking worse for the wear, but my eyes were deadest on the man in front of them; Steve Rogers.

He had a beard, he looked good considering it all and when he saw me, his face lit up in a smile that said the past was the past; he was just happy to see me. I couldn’t move for a moment as he started towards me, the others gathering together for hellos and hugs. My chest ached and I wanted to cry, but I wanted to be tough too, so I didn’t.

I just watched as he stormed up to me, his mouth slightly opened, as though he was ready to speak all the things he wanted to for so long. I hadn’t seen him in about two years, but it felt like yesterday- the two of us at the airport, my broken arm and his conflicted heart. I wished I had said something then, but there was no time for that now.

“Steve,” I whispered as he embraced me in a warm, tight hug. “Steve…”

“I know,” he whispered back, his mouth close to my ear. He held my close, hands around my waist as he rested his chin on my shoulder. “God, I’ve missed you.”

Both hands slid up his back and my fingers caught the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. I touched them carefully and knew I couldn’t lose him again. Even though a big fight was coming, the big fight, I knew this was our second chance. Our first real chance at something more than friends, something more than what we had, and I wasn’t going to miss out this time.

“I’ve missed you too.”

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Chapter: 15/18 Word count: 2253 Summary: When Tobirama is exiled from the Senju clan without warning, without even the chance to plead his case, it feels like his life is over. What does he have to live for now without his older brother to believe in him? Captured by the Uchiha in his moment of weakness, Tobirama slowly learns to live again with the last people on earth he would have ever expected to care for - or to fall in love with.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the blog header!

Chapter 15

“You seem distracted, husband.”

Hashirama jumped, the sudden motion knocking his chopsticks out of his hands and sending them spinning across the table to land in front of an empty chair farther down. Ironically it was that empty chair he had been mindlessly contemplating for most of their meal.

Although, to his credit, he was able to say that for once he wasn’t thinking of the one person that should have been there to fill it. While Hashirama did still spend a large portion of every day wondering what had ultimately become of the brother he still refused to give up on, today his thoughts had been a little closer to home as he imagined another person he would have liked to join them for dinner. Clinging to one problem did not mean he couldn’t also think about another. Despite what some people believed he did know how to multitask.

When the first missive had arrived from Madara all those months ago he’d noted the strange tone to it, demanding peace even while making the whole idea sound somehow detestable. He recognized that something was off at the time but after looking in to the matter and coming up with nothing he’d mostly chalked it up to the other man’s unique style of communication. As things progressed and each meeting spawned more and more incredible ideas from all sides he had thought things would improve between them and this strange hostility would fade. He’d thought things might go back to the way they once were, that living in the same village would give them a chance to rekindle their lost friendship and grow together the way they had been denied when they were twelve, standing on opposite sides of a river bank while their fathers dictated their paths.

Yet here they were more than a full month after moving in to the newly coined Konohagakure and not once had he been able to tempt Madara over for dinner. The man refused all offers to come meet his wife or even do something as simple as meet for tea on their lunch breaks. Every day their interactions in the office left him more and more confused about where they stood with each other.

Some days the way they fell in to easy conversation left him hopeful that their friendship was finally rebuilding itself. Other days Madara was nothing but business and refused to let himself be distracted by personal conversation, finishing their meetings and then leaving the moment he was able to do so without giving Hashirama a chance to ask so much as a single question. It was never easy to predict which Madara would be coming to work on a given day, the happy friendly one who was willing to engage in distracted conversation or the standoffish closed one who seemed to want nothing to do with anyone outside of his own clan and especially not Hashirama. At times it felt like he was dealing with someone suffering from a split personality.

It was possible that he was just having trouble adjusting like many still were. Hashirama had seen countless near-incidents out on the streets and not all of them were the fabled Uchiha-Senju tension. Just last week he had witnessed a Yamanaka women stop in her tracks and immediately seek shelter when she saw a group of Senju shinobi returning from patrol in full gear, blood spattered on their clothes and weapons in full view. It was an automatic response built from years of living in a blood-soaked environment of shifting alliances. It was understandable.

But it was still saddening every time.

Retrieving his chopsticks, Hashirama hummed quietly to himself and made a snap decision. The day’s work was done and Mito would survive one evening without his company. It was time he did something to clear up this mystery on his own since sitting around and wondering clearly wasn’t getting him anywhere.

“You wouldn’t mind terribly if I popped over to the Uchiha compound for a while, would you?” he asked. His wife lifted her head to regard him quietly.

“Are you positive he will welcome you?” A frown touched her lovely brow. “The behavior you describe from him is worrisome at best.”

“Oh I’ll be fine. It’s only Madara! He would never hurt me, I’m positive of that.” Hashirama sat up a little straighter with his own confidence boosted. They had been dear friends once, surely Madara would honor that bond. Even if the other man didn’t quite see them as friends at the moment Hashirama was certain he could find a way to rekindle things between them.

Mito did insist that he stay behind long enough to help with the dishes as he usually did but that wasn’t exactly a hardship. He would never understand why other men didn’t enjoy spending those few quick minutes every day doing something together with their wives like he did. The cooperation, the closeness, the chance to flick bubbles at a beautiful lady. What wasn’t there to like? Doing the dishes after supper was one of his favorite parts of the day and he was as glad he ever was to partake in such a pleasant ritual.

After he had dried his hands off Hashirama bussed his wife on the cheek and stepped out of their home with an enthusiastic spring in his step. Today was the day he set everything back to how it should be!

Several of the people he passed along the way waved to him cheerfully and he waved back to each and every one of them. It just filled his heart with so much joy to see all these clans living here together in peace, working side by side harmoniously despite the little hiccups along the way. He still woke up some days hardly able to believe that this dream had come true. He couldn’t wait for the day he finally found his absent brother so Tobirama could share in this joy as well and then absolutely everything would be right in the world.

Oddly, something in the air seemed to change when he made his way past the entrance of the Uchiha district. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why but the air felt somehow chillier. Maybe it was the way the people he passed on the street had stopped smiling and nodding or waving in a friendly manner, although he supposed that was just the way they were. Not everyone had to be as open as he was. None of them tried to stop him or asked him to leave, though, so he figured he was welcome to continue on his way. If only he could remember where Madara and Izuna had said they were building their home. The two of them had been oddly secretive about the whole thing.

When he looked around to catch someone’s eye, hoping to ask for directions, he noticed suddenly that all of the nearby adults were giving him a wide berth. None of them looked directly at him, making it impossible to catch their attention without marching right up to their faces and interrupting the many whispered conversations he could see going on. Strange, he thought, to whisper when they were safe inside their own compound. Undeterred, Hashirama waved at a young child passing by who was peeking at him with an undeniably curious expression.

“Hello there,” he greeted the boy. “Would you be able to tell me where Madara’s house is?”

“Perhaps I could assist you?” a voice interrupted. Hashirama blinked at the woman who seemed to have materialized from nowhere. When he offered her a smile she stared back with absolutely no expression.

“Yes please! I’m looking for your clan head’s home.”

“Back that way,” she told him with one hand gesturing vaguely to her right. “Go east for three blocks then turn north and you’ll find what you need.”

The way she spoke had strange overtones of forbidding but before Hashirama could question it they were both interrupted by the child tugging on his sleeve to insist, “No! That’s not where Madara-sama’s house is. You got it wrong, obasan!”

“Oh? Can you tell me where it is then?” Hashirama asked him politely. The boy paused to eye him with increased curiosity while the woman, strangely enough, looked frustrated.

“Uh, I don’t know if I’m supposed to.”

“That is excellent vigilance! It’s alright though, I’m a friend of his. We built this village together!”

He was satisfied to see the boy light up and grin. “Oh! Cool! I’m not supposed to let any strangers find sensei’s house but if you’re a friend then that’s probably alright! Madara-sama said we would all be safe here in the village and he was right so I’m really glad we came – come on, it’s this way – ‘cause I really like it here and it’s nice to be able to play outside without running drills for if we get attacked and–”

The boy chattered like an unending fountain of words as he turned around and led Hashirama off down a random street that he had almost walked right passed. It was so cute watching those dark curls bounce with every step and that brilliant smile flash over the boy’s shoulder every few feet. His energy sort of reminded Hashirama of himself but it did make him wonder how such a happy child had come out of such a reserved clan. Every other Uchiha he’d met since the village was built tended to be cold and standoffish, refusing to make conversation and only speaking to him when they were absolutely required to. None of them had been rude, precisely, but they certainly hadn’t shown themselves to be friendly the way this little boy was.

“Right here!” came the announcement when they stopped in front of a sizeable yet otherwise unremarkable home. “I live right next door so sensei helps me learn my kata sometimes because he’s almost always home and I don’t know if the other two are home right now but you can knock! Mom says it’s polite to knock first and wait for someone to let you in!”

“Thank you very much for such excellent directions,” Hashirama praised him before he could go off on another tangent. The child beamed. “What’s your name, little one?”

“Kagami!”

“Ah. Well thank you very much Kagami, you have been an invaluable help.”

One more smile and then he was gone in an instant, flying down the street on the wings of youth before it occurred to Hashirama to wonder why it had sounded like there were three people living in Madara’s house, Madara, Izuna, and whoever Kagami meant by ‘sensei’. As far as he knew neither of the brothers were married. Did they have a relative staying with them? That wouldn’t make much sense; the village had only just been built and it was Madara himself who had brought up the idea that they should build more housing than they currently needed to make room for expansion and growth. Unless it was someone who had been injured or an older relative who couldn’t live alone. Really the possibilities were endless when he thought about it. Perhaps one of them had even decided to take on a protégé.

Setting the question aside for later, Hashirama shrugged and headed up the short path to the front door. He would find out soon enough so there was no sense worrying. No answer came when he knocked the first time. Or the second time. He could hear voices inside, distorted by the protective wards around the home, yet it seemed they were laughing too loudly to hear the sound of a guest arriving.

But it was only Madara, Hashirama reasoned to himself. Surely his best friend wouldn’t mind if he let himself in to say hello. The wards had yet to respond negatively to his presence and that was about as close to a warm welcome as any shinobi could expect from another.

Izuna’s voice was the first thing to wash over him when he opened the door, halfway through what appeared to be some sort of impersonation of another person. By the way he kept sprinkling his words with a very distinctive clearing of the throat it seemed he was imitating the current Nara clan head’s husband. He was a good man but he did tend to get lost in his own thoughts halfway through a sentence and trail off without finishing whatever he’d been trying to say. Having a conversation with him was often an exercise in frustration even for someone as patient as Hashirama.

Someone else down the hall murmured a question, voice too low to be properly identified, and Izuna broke off his impression to have a snickering fit.

“He does!” the man cried. “Oh kami he does sound like Elder Fu! Fuck me, I never even noticed until you said something!”

Not wanting to startle them too badly, Hashirama announced himself even as he popped his head around the corner, cheerfully calling out, “Hellooo! Is Madara home?”

Then he froze, just the same as the two men in the kitchen did. Izuna recovered after a handful of seconds but he moved only to shift his own body in front of the other man standing behind him who wore an expression that should have been as familiar as the one wearing it – although if they were as shocked as he was then they had never experienced anything quite this surprising.

“To-…Tobirama?”

[noradarhkpalmer]

Rider, Massachusetts - The Epilogue

Title: Rider, Massachusetts

Rating: PG

Pairing: Nora Darhk/Ray Palmer aka Darhkatom

Warnings: Minor swearing

Summary/Notes: AU Based on an ask prompt: only two people in this hotel/inn and sitting in my room alone wasn’t fun so I’m invading yours.

Nora Darhk checks into the Storybrooke Inn after getting lost in the storm, pausing her road trip to be anywhere but Star City after the death of her parents. Ray Palmer’s GPS stops working on his way home from a business trip in New York and that brings him to the small picturesque inn. They’re the only two guests checked in and decide to be lonely together.

This started out as an ask prompt thanks to @jakelovesamy and now it turned into all of this. I am so please and so stoked about this. I’ve always wanted to write an ooey gooey holiday fic like this but never had the right idea.

Here is the epilogue everyone! I hope you enjoyed this darhkatom hallmark movie as much as I enjoyed writing it!

They hadn’t meant to fall asleep in each other’s arms in front of his fireplace last night, but they had. They stayed up talking until about 1:30 before sleep finally claimed them. Nora had momentarily freaked out at their state until Ray gave her a soft, reassuring smile that she hoped she’d see at least once daily for the rest of her life.

What in the world was she thinking? She had just met this man and she was already thinking about seeing his face every day for the rest of their lives? Get a hold of yourself, girl. Nora had politely excused herself to go back to her room to get ready for the day and promised to meet him downstairs for breakfast before either of them left. They both only checked in for one night and as long as the storm cleared, there was no reason for either of them to stay.

The thought saddened Nora, leaving their little holiday bubble but she knew that she’d see him again when they both got back to Star City. He’d be taking his rental car into Boston and she would start making the cross country road trip back to Star City just as he was boarding a plane back to Washington state. They promised to meet up at Jitters as soon as she got back.

Nora made her way downstairs to what she learned was the dining room. She’d seen Maude come out of it the night before but it had been mostly closed off since it was long past dinner time when she’d arrived. She saw the sun shining through the alcove window on one side of the room and then she saw Ray already sitting at the table with a small plate of breakfast. She gave him a soft smile before helping herself to the small buffet of food and settled down next to him.

“Morning… again…” Nora smiled over her cup of orange juice.

Ray grinned. “Good morning, Nora.” Ray scooped up some of his scrambled eggs and ate in a comfortable silence with her.

Nora glanced behind them and saw the snow piling high but a snow plow driving by paving the streets to make it driveable.

Ray noticed her staring and glanced back at the window. “Looks like they’re clearing up the roads.”

Nora nodded. “Yeah, guess this means it’ll be safe to drive.”

Ray watched her face fall to a slightly disappointed expression and he tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “Hey, we’re gonna see each other again. Maybe not in a place this picturesque but you and me, Star City Jitters the second you get in. I wanna take you out on a real first date.”

Nora blushed and looked away. “I know, but maybe… if this goes well, we can come back here again during the holidays?”

Ray was nearly giddy at the thought of them returning here in a year. He wondered how serious they would be, still dating? Engaged? Surely not married yet, he didn’t want to scare her off but he also didn’t want life slipping through is fingers now and he was pretty sure she didn’t either. Not after all she’d lost.

“I would absolutely love that.” He smiled and took her hand then kissed the back of it.

xxxx

They both met downstairs in front of the reception desk with smiles. They were sure of their future together, more than ever.

Maude saddled up to the desk, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. “I see my only two guests got to meet.”

Nora nodded. “We met last night, we’re actually from the same city in Washington.”

“Really? How interesting and yet fate brought you all the way here to meet.” She had a knowing glint in her eye that made Ray and Nora glance at each other, wondering if she would magically disappear into thin air when they looked back.

Maude checked them out and wish them safe travels. “Oh! By the way, you two…”

Nora and Ray both turned around and smiled at Maude. “Yes?” They asked in unison and blushed at how in sync they already were.

“Shall I go ahead and reserve a room for you all next New Years Eve?”

Ray and Nora grinned. “That would be lovely, Maude, thank you,” Nora said and then turned on her heel and took Ray’s hand, leading him outside.

They helped each other pack up their cars and that’s when it finally hit Nora. Again. She wouldn’t see him for probably days. Sure they planned to FaceTime at night when she would stop but she wouldn’t get to hug him, touch him, feel his comforting gaze for days. It almost felt like they were over before they had begun. She knew that wasn’t true but that didn’t stop her lip from quivering and looking like a kicked puppy.

Ray saw Nora’s reaction just before he was about to start up his car and he went to her, putting his hands on her biceps, rubbing them comfortingly. “Hey… it’ll only be a few days, a week tops…” Ray kissed the top of her head and then pulled her in close.

Nora held on tight, she just lost her parents and now found this amazing guy, and was starting… something she wasn’t sure what to name yet, and now they were parting for who knew how long. What if the weather was bad? What if she had car trouble and got stranded?

Nora pulled away and swiped at her tears. “I’m sorry… I didn’t think I’d miss someone so much that I’ve known for less than twenty-four hours.”

Ray smiled and cupped her cheeks. “Me neither.” He was on the verge of tears as well but he tried to hold them back, to be strong for Nora. He wished he could come with her somehow but he wasn’t sure how that would all work with the two vehicles and the traveling and…

“Ray?”

“What?”

“Will you come with me?”

It was almost as if she read his mind. “What?” He asked.

Nora smiled weakly. “What if we met up in Boston and if you can, cancel your flight, and you road trip back to Star City with me?”

Ray choked on a laugh and pulled her in close. “I would absolutely love that, if that’s okay with you?”

Nora nodded. “I couldn’t think of a better way to start 2019 than with you.” She looked up at him and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him softly. “I’ll see you in Boston?”

Ray grinned and broke away from the hug but then stole one more kiss. “I’ll see you in Boston.”

One Year Later

Nora pulled up to the inn, it looked just like she remembered it from a year ago, only now she was seeing it in the daytime. She glanced over at her husband who took her hand in his and kissed it. Her wedding set glittered in the bright sunlight reflecting off the snow. Nora got out of the car and started unloading their bags. They had gotten there on the thirtieth, hoping to actually walk around the small town that brought them together and then stay inside practically all day on the thirty-first and ring in the New Year much like they had last year, with a kiss (and probably more).

So much had changed in the year. They had met up in Boston like they had agreed and road tripped back to Star City together. They quickly learned a lot about each other after being in close quarters for a week straight. Ray was a health nut, Nora loved junk food. Ray wanted to stop at every little landmark he knew a weird factoid about, Nora just wanted to get home. They had fights but always made up, and felt like they had lived a lifetime of their relationship all before they even got to their hometown.

When they eventually did arrive back in Star City, they went to Jitters, just like they had agreed to. The date was wonderful, thankful they did not have to immediately be in such close quarters after, and they parted ways with a sweet kiss the promise of further dates. After their road trip things momentarily slowed down for them, Ray’s job picked up and Nora was on the job hunt. She found a job as the drama teacher at a private high school in town, but wasn’t sure she’d get it. She was barely qualified and had to practically beg Ray not to somehow have a hand in her getting the job. He swore he didn’t and she believed him. And somehow, she got the job anyways.

Nora was happy to be teaching again, it just felt right. The structure of the school year gave her breaks, and she usually spent those in Ray’s bed which was slowly becoming their bed. The paintings he’d commissioned from local artists were moved to his office and the ones in his apartment were replaced with Nora’s. By May, Nora’s lease was up and Ray asked her to move in. She had immediately agreed.

They were happy. Happier than Nora ever thought she’d be and happier than Ray thought he could ever be again. They had their problems, just being so different but something always pulled them back to each other. They spent most of the summer at the beach, thankful for Nora’s break from the school and Nora was thankful that Ray spent almost the entire vacation shirtless. Things were serious and they were only seven months in.

By the fall, they had quite a domestic routine, get up, get ready, kiss goodbye, part ways in the apartment complex parking garage, and be off to their jobs. Sometimes if Nora didn’t have meetings after school she’d come by and visit him, keep him company if he wasn’t too busy until it was time to leave at five. Those were her favorite days because she got to have a few extra hours with the man she loved.

She met his somewhat estranged family at Thanksgiving. It was clear they were threatened by Ray’s success, his mom was nice enough and she could’ve been a little nicer without all the digs about how she was basically inferior to Anna in some way or another. They had left that thoroughly exhausted and she felt bad she didn’t have a family to bring him to for a peaceful reprieve. Not that her family would have been much better but she liked to think her dad would have at least liked him.

As the year inched closer to the one year anniversary of her parents’ deaths, Nora felt herself becoming increasingly closed off. She tried not to be. Ray was amazing and they had built this fantastic relationship in the span of less than a year. She was so sure she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life but she also knew that dealing with all of these feelings again would be hard.

She decided to take a leap of faith and actually go to Ray with some of her pain. Not all of it but crying on him when they were home and she was feeling sad. It actually helped her to get through her next wave of sadness just a little bit. And she was grateful that he was there to be her rock.

On her birthday, he had the whole day planned. She still wasn’t quite in the mood for fun but she indulged him, hoping that would turn into genuine enjoyment of the day. He had taken her to all of their favorite spots in Star City and ended the day with a quiet dinner at home. He knew her well enough to know a fancy dinner at a bought out restaurant was not her style. No sitting quietly with him eating Chinese out of a takeout box was.

Ray handed her a fortune cookie once they finished eating and when she broke it in half, a ring tumbled out and into her lap. She looked up at him, tears brimming and Ray nodded. He had told her how much she meant to him and how he didn’t want to let life slip through his fingers and he knew she felt the same. He wanted to marry her. So he asked her formally and she said yes. A million times yes.

They hadn’t planned on getting married so soon after that but they figured why wait? Planning their whirlwind wedding was the best distraction to help her cope with the pain of the one year anniversary of her parents’ death. She knew they’d want her to be happy. And she would be. The ceremony was incredibly small, in a chapel that fit less than 200 on the property of an older church, they exchanged vows in front of his friends that had quickly become hers as well and even his family was in attendance. He wanted to try and make things better with them now too.

That was Christmas Day. Now they were here, in Rider where it all started and Ray and Nora could not be more excited to see what this weekend and the new year would bring for their marriage.

They made their way into the inn that had been so good to them and smiled brightly at Maude. It had been a year and she had only known them for a matter of hours but it was like seeing a beloved grandmother. She ran over to them and embraced them both.

“If it isn’t my favorite guests!”

Nora rolled her eyes. “Maude, I’m sure you’ve had more regular guests than us.” Nora tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with her left hand and that’s when Maude saw her rings.

Maude squealed and yanked her hand close to inspect the rings. “Oh you did very good, Mr. Palmer. I’m assuming that means I should change the reservation to be for a Mr. and Mrs. Palmer?”

Nora and Ray both grinned. “If you want,” said Ray. “But that’s not necessary given that we’ll be in the room either way.”

Maude hugged them both again and patted each of their cheeks. “Well we’ll just have to get settled you both and I’ll make sure to lay out the lucky baby making blanket on your bed.”

Nora choked on a laugh. “The umm what?”

“It’s an old blanket my grandmother made that I rotate through the rooms because it’s just a very pretty afghan to begin with but I started noticing a pattern with returning guests, every time I would have that in a room of a couple that stayed here, the next time they would visit the wife was usually pregnant or they had a child in that time span.”

Nora’s face flushed red, she and Ray may have had a bit of an accelerated relationship but she definitely wasn’t ready for it to be that accelerated. Even if the thought of a little girl with Ray’s beautiful brown eyes did make her shiver pleasantly. “Maude that’s very kind of you…” Nora wasn’t sure what else to say. How do you not hurt the feelings of the woman that brought you and your husband together? Even if she was insinuating that you were going to get pregnant during your stay at her inn?

“Then it’s settled! Let’s get you checked in and upstairs to your room!”

Nora and Ray laughed quietly together, they had never had someone care about them this much in such a motherly way and it was appreciated, even if it was a bit invasive.

xxxx

Once Maude left them alone in their room, Nora picked up the blanket Maude had been raving about. It was a worn afghan that was laid at the end of the bed, granny squares were carefully stitched together, probably about as many squares as the blanket was old. She studied it carefully when she felt hands tickle her sides. Nora yelped and elbowed Ray playfully.

“Not funny! You know I’m jumpy!”

“Thinking long and hard about whether or not you want to leave the baby making blanket on our bed?”

Nora rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I am not. I would like for it to be just us for a little while longer.” Nora tossed the blanket to a chair in the corner. “Call me selfish but I don’t want to share you with anyone yet, even if that someone would be an adorable baby with your sweet brown eyes.” She turned in his arms and carded her fingers through his hair before gently yanking on the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re mine and mine alone.” Nora pulled him in for a deep kiss, biting as his bottom lip as she pulled away from the kiss.

Ray, quite breathless at his wife’s actions, smiled at her. “You’ll be the death of me, Nora Palmer.”

Nora flushed pleasantly at the use of her married name. “Yeah well, I better keep you alive, who else am I supposed to kiss at midnight?”

“Maude might be into it, you never know,” Ray joked and she swatted him on the arm.

“You’re the only one I want to be kissing and doing other things probably, at midnight.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement.” Ray grinned and pulled her in for another kiss.

[peachyteabuck]

love god herself [bucky barnes x reader]

summary: truth or dare lap dance

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

words: 2167

trigger warnings: i mean.......issa lap dance. there is a butt tattoos mentioned

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Bucky had been off Wanadan ice long enough to not be too scared to socialize, but he still mostly kept to Steve, Natasha, and Clint. Occasionally, he found he way up to Sam’s area if the bird’s ego was getting a little too big for his britches.

He was planning to spend the night alone, in his room, doing what he does best: ignoring the fact that the rest of the world existed.

His best friend, though, had a different agenda.

“Bucky,” Steve pleaded. “Please join us, I’ll be there...and you can leave when you want to! Please. Being around everyone when we’re not on a mission would be great. Tony’s pretty nice when he’s not barking orders…”

Bucky sighed. Why would he want to be around anyone right now, especially when it was everyone at once.

Eventually, he gave in. Seeing Steve’s excited face is worth the extremely uncomfortable churning in his stomach.

Later that night, Steve escorted him to the common room, where everyone was already on their second or third drink. You were there, laughing at something Wanda was talking about.

He didn’t know much about you, just what Steve had told him, what he could observe in meetings, and what he noticed when he found himself in Banner and Stark’s shared lab.

He knew you were in the Navy and had a few PhDs. Tony ended up finding you, buying you out after an impressive track record during your military service and an obvious itch to change careers.

(Government salaries are about as unimpressive as the work they had you doing, so it wasn’t that hard.)

He also knew you loved pizza, really wanted a cat, and had a tattoo on your butt.

So, not much.

The most important thing he knew, though, was that he had a gigantic crush on you. Like, Empire State Building or Statue of Liberty sized.

He had made it painfully obvious, both because he was constantly flushed around you; always stammering through his words and tripping over stuff, and because Natasha figured it out and told you about it.

Since then, everyone in the compound (including FRIDAY) had been desperately trying to get you two together. Included in this master plan was tonight, which hopefully included enough contact between you two to make him crack.

It had been over six months since he had met you, and still the only things he said to you were “hi,” “good, how are you?” and anything strictly related to the health and mobility of his metal arm.

You had tried to make it as obvious as possible that you liked him, but to no avail. You even started getting notices from HR about the length of the skirts you were wearing, but to no avail.

“Hey Bucky!” you called out to him, beckoning him over to the couch you were sitting at. You even patted next to you to show how much room you had reserved for him, but he still followed Steve like a lost puppy to some loveseats across the room.

Sam snorted a little into his drink, to which you and Wanda both glared at him for. Don’t, the look told him. Don’t you fucking dare.

As the night started to lull, Tony stood up and clapped his hands together. When all of your heads were finally facing him, he smiled wickedly.

“I propose,” he says, his usual regal stance forcing his shoulders back and head up high. “That we all play a game…” he gestures for everyone to beat their hands against their thighs or a table in order to build up the anticipation via drumroll. “of good old truth or dare.”

Everyone, including you, groaned.

Truth or dare had been a game you’d been playing since middle school. Therefore, it could get old fast.

But your fast-approaching boredom meant that you all tried to make the game as weird as possible in order to make up for it. By weird, you either meant sexual or just fucking crazy.

The good news is, this particular game went sexual, because the last time it went weird Tony ended up asking you if you still had both kidneys when you picked “truth” and Bruce told you to spit into a cup when you picked “dare.” He then rushed it upstairs (where the lab was located) to “preserve it.”

You still have no idea what it was used for and always shiver at the thought.

“Steve,” Natasha asks, taking another sip of beer. “Truth or dare?’

Steve answered quickly. “Truth.”

“Pussy,” Tony mumbled. He seems to get the most out of this game every time you play it.

“What was is like to jerk off during the war?”

Steve laughs a little, greatful it wasn’t that bad. He was sort of expecting to have to strip, or give someone a blow job, or whatever Natasha’s dirty mind could come up with. “Dirty and gross.”

Bucky smiles in silent agreement. He may not remember much, but he definitely remembers attempting to keep his masterbation sessions secret while literal Nazis attempted to kill them day and night.

“Alright, my turn,” Tony says. He seems bored, fidgety. He hasn’t seen one breast yet and it’s bugging the shit out of him. Tony’s always willing to take things to the next level, which makes the games more intense - and more often than not - more dangerous.

“Actually,” Natasha gestures to you, “I think it’s her’s.”

Tony rolls his eyes dramatically and groans. It makes you giggle, how juvenile he’s being. “Alright, newbie. Truth or dare?”

You think for a moment. You’re tired just sitting on the chair, you want to move around. “Dare,” you say with confidence.

Tony narrows his eyes and taps his chin. Oh, you’re in for it. You squeeze the drink in your hands in anticipation.

“I dare you to give Bucky a lapdance.”

You immediately laugh. Your specialty while doing government work was being undercover, and a lot of internationally-wanted criminals like strippers. A lot. Almost a scary amount. Like, y’all can’t agree on international law but you can agree that a

Because of this, you’ve given a lot of lapdances, stripteases, et cetera in your day. Tony, being the one who recruited you, knows this, and has been determined to see your skills in play.

You stroll over to the sound system, trying to find a song that will fit the kind of mood you’re in.

When you find it, you turn back to Bucky, who’s sitting on the couch.

“Go grab a chair from the kitchen table,” you tell him. Giving a lap dance on a couch? No thank you.

You wait for him to get situated. As you do so, all eyes are on you. You inhale deeply, trying to center yourself. You haven’t done this in a little while, lap dances are much more intimate and scary than pole dancing.  But, truly, how hard can it be to give a hot guy, who’ve you’ve had a crush on since you became an Avenger a lap dance? A man you knew also had a crush on you? Probably not very.

You start the music, and you snap your hips to the beat. It pushes you forward, towards Bucky. The vocalizations give you a chance to turn and dip in front of him, showing off your control and flexibility.

You’re the water, the waves, coming crashing down on him.

Who the fuck do you think I is

You ain’t married to no average bitch boy

You can watch my fat ass twist boy

As I bounce to the next dick boy

Bucky’s eyes don’t know where to look. Your eyes or your lips, legs or breasts, legs or between them. It’s too much for him, but in a perfect way.

And keep your money, I've got my own

Keep a bigger smile on my face, being alone

Bad motherfucker, God complex

Motivate your ass call me Malcolm X

You snap up, pulling your knees to your chest and flipping your hair up. As it hits the side of your face, you turn to face Bucky, sticking the tip of your finger in your mouth and biting it.

Yo operator, or innovator

Fuck you hater, you can't recreate her no

You'll never recreate her no, hero

You slide up his body, resting between his open legs. You put your hands on his shoulders, moving your hips with the music again. God, you missed this.

We just got to let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be baby

You just got to let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be

You turn around, balancing your hands on his knees. The jeans give you a better grip, so you grab onto them, digging your nails into his muscled lower thighs. You bend down a little, allowing your ass to grind against his dick.

He tries to grab it, but no. You’re untouchable in this moment, both literally and figuratively. You turn to face him, then you deciding to swing one leg up to give you a better angle. You grind to the tune of the music, it’s biting tune giving you the power to keep going harder than you ever have.

I am the dragon breathing fire

Beautiful mane I'm the lion

Beautiful man I know you're lying

I am not broken, I'm not crying, I'm not crying

You move to the ground, your work out/sleep/don’t-feel-like-getting-dressed shorts show off your legs, your tank top shows off the rest of your body.

You spread your legs into a split, with you resting on your tailbone. You shake your legs joining your legs together. With heels, it would make a clack sound, but now it’s just a soft slap of skin on skin.

You ain't trying hard enough

You ain't loving hard enough

You don't love me deep enough

We not reaching peaks enough

Blindly in love, I fucks with you

'Til I realize, I'm just too much for you

I'm just too much for you

You get up on your knees, grinding into the ground. It’s on beat, the way your pelvis hits the floor and then cycles backup an imaginary cock

You just got to let it be

Let it be, let it be, let it be baby

With the next verse, you shoot up. Grinding into Bucky’s actual cock now, hip movements still in time with the song.

Hey baby, who the fuck do you think I am?

I smell that fragrance on your Louis Knit boy

Just give my fat ass a big kiss boy

Tonight I'm fucking up all your shit boy

You take the time to look around you, your eyes making it to everyone. They’re all staring at you, every single pair of eyes is watching you intensely. You have to admit, you feel good. You feel sexy. Not like the normal sexy, but really really fucking sexy. Sometimes, you had people who find out you used to strip (whether or not they knew it was because of you being a government-hired covert operative work depended on the person), they often ask you if it was “empowering.”

“Uh, no,” You’d always reply. “It’s my job.” You found it no more empowering than when you babysat for your neighbors as a teenager. But this? Oh, this is empowering. Knowing everyone in the room, taken or not, finds you sexy? And you knowing you have that hold over all of them? That’s empowering.

When you finish (or, more accurately, when the song finishes), you walk away and rush to pause the song before it repeats. That, surely, would ruin the mood more than you snapping out of character.

After that, you blop back down at your spot on the couch, taking a sip of your hard lemonade. The slurping sound is the only thing  that reverberates through the blanket of silence that’s fallen over the room.

Bucky struggles to readjust himself in the chair. It could be because he’s uncomfortable, maybe he’s still got his hard-on from before. Either way, it gives you a little self-confidence boost. C’mon, you just gave a lap dance to the Winter Soldier! Arguably the sexiest and thickest Avenger! Who wouldn’t dream of that!

You look around, trying not to smile too much.

Sam’s mouth hangs open, Wanda remains completely still with her eyes wide.

“Fuck,” Clint mumbles.

“That was…” Bruce starts to say.

“Hot as fuck,” Natasha finishes.

Bucky’s staring at you intensely, hungrily. He looks like he’s about to eat you, and it makes heat pool between your legs. If you weren’t already soaked, you could be sure you were now.

Steve coughs, sipping his drink. “It was...uh...who’s turn was it next?”

The quiet in the room, the sexy, sexy silence sends a surge of adrenaline through your veins. If Bucky isn’t going to crack now, you have no idea what would make him finally ask you out.

//

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