#i should try to sleep. try bein the operative word

[dnangelic]

[unmeiha-arc]

          ❝ I wish I could take the hands of time and turn them in reverse. I'd take back every long goodbye with venom in my words. The only way to bein' found is gettin' lost at first, but all I find are more bridges to burn. So am I too far gone to be running home? 'Cause I'm longin' tonight to be somewhere across that great divide.                        ― Ira Wolf,  ❛ Great Divide ❜

          Getting out of Doma unseen was far easier, Koharu thinks, than finding an inconspicuous way back into Doma.

A ship would take too long; by her estimation, it's already been away a little over a year since "she" first left Doma, and there's less than a year to go until Doma's failed rebellion. She can't afford to waste time. So she settles on teleportation, but to where? The aetheryte in Monzen should still be intact for now, but it's closely guarded around the clock. Namai's aetheryte is no less conspicuous. Teleporting directly into the House of the Fierce... is not an option. Even assuming the aetheryte has yet to be destroyed, her welcoming to the Liberation Front's base of operations would not be a warm one after the way she had left things.

So, farther away, then. Tamamizu? No, she has no relations with the Kojin in this time. Onokoro... She stops her pacing around the Crystal Tower's Ocular, hopeful, then shakes her head, sighs, and resumes her pacing. Too many pirates. She would need to deal with them to find a way across the Ruby Sea regardless, but starting with teleporting into a Confederacy outpost was perhaps not the best way to curry their favor.

Kugane, then. Neutral territory, with the aetheryte seeing frequent comings and goings. From there she can find transport to just outside of Isari and make her way into Yanxia from there. It was the long way, to be sure, but it was safe. With a plan decided, she closes her eyes, focuses, and only the faint echo of her teleportation spell remains in the Ocular until it, too, ceases, leaving no trace she was ever there at all.

She scoffs. Safe.

Indeed, getting to Yanxia had been the easy part. Yet even traveling at night, there were more Imperial patrols than she'd recalled and making her way the long way to the north around the mountains and up the One River unseen had been far more challenging than anticipated.

As she rows her stolen borrowed boat up the river, the anxiety gnawing at her insides grows. She'd left because she had been unable to convince those around her that the visions she claimed to have were true. She'd left because the visions had frightened her. What hope does she have that things will be any different? That she can somehow do in this second chance what she had been unable to do the first time? Her hands on the oars hesitate. She thought that she'd thought this through, that her resolve in coming back to try again had been strong enough. That she could — would — endure everything all over again for a better end. But now...

And then, as she rows out into the middle of the darkened river, there it is, sleeping silently atop the cliffside overlooking the Dragon's Struggle: Monzen — dimly lit, almost peaceful save for the towering Kiyofusa and Imperial patrols, but very much hale and mostly whole. Her chest tightens, eyes burn, and it takes every ounce of willpower to stifle the sob that threatens to tear out of her throat. For a moment she simply sits there, swiping away at tears ere they can fall, watching the city as it rests. Within those walls her friends, her comrades, her family all rest under Garlemald's watchful eye. Alive.

Her hands tighten on the oars again and she pulls hard on them, propelling herself closer to the city, towards the darkened mercantile docks, prepared to silence any who may be patrolling it.

If this is to succeed, I must find an ally.

One person who would listen, who would believe. Someone who would understand the what is at stake and not allow pride to blind them. Someone willing to do what needs to be done. Someone who —

Her eyes move from the city to the castle that watches over it, still standing strong; a symbol of the nation to all who look upon it. She changes her course, rowing hard towards the Enclave.

Someone who understands that Doma is not a set of stone walls, but the people within it.

It is nearly dawn by the time she pulls the little boat to shore between the Enclave and Doma Castle. Retrieving her things from the sole of the boat, she sets off towards the castle, keeping off the main path. If she knew @domaheir, no doubt he would find time to make his way to the dense bamboo groves behind the castle to train.

She need only make camp and wait.

𓆩❀𓆪

[ragingpancake]

Lietuenant Colonel Idiot And The Kastat Root Part 2

Part 1

The first thing John is aware of when he starts to come to is the quiet beeping of machines. He knows that that’s never a good sign but he feels floaty and warm so he has a hard time caring about what exactly landed him in the infirmary this time. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking against the overhead light, dim as it was in the moment but he doesn’t realize he’s made a noise until Teyla and Ronon quickly come into his line of vision. “Hi,” he manages, voice hoarse with disuse, and you know, probably from the tube they’d shoved down his throat to anesthetize him when Carson had cut him back open to clean him up a little. “Where’s… what happened?” He has a vague memory of a stomachache and of screaming but the pain meds they have him on makes it hard to think. It also makes it hard to sleep, so when Teyla tells him gently that he should go back to sleep and they’ll fill him in later, he doesn’t argue. He just closes his eyes and lets the darkness return.

-- It happens like that a couple of times before John finally, truly, wakes up. He thinks that it’s probably the pain that does it, that pulls him back to the land of the lucid, as Beckett has started weaning him off of the good stuff. He doesn’t remember much from those quick bursts of consciousness, but he does remember that while he’s seen Teyla and Ronon every time, he hasn’t once seen Rodney. Where’s Rodney? “Aye, Colonel,” Carson greets, leaning over as he adjusts John’s nasal cannula, Teyla and Ronon just visible over his shoulder. “Welcome back t’the land of the livin’, lad. How’re ya feelin’ this morning?” “Where’s Rodney?” He doesn’t miss the way Carson’s face shifts, just for a moment, nor does he miss the look shared by Teyla and Ronon. Something sits painfully in his gut at that and for one brief, horrible moment, he’s afraid that something happened to Rodney, something off-world, because Rodney was always here when he woke up, and-- “Settle down now,” Carson admonishes gently, and John is embarrassed to realize that the beeping on his heart rate monitor has sped up. “Rodney’s down in the labs, that’s all. He’s alright. The only one y’need to be worryin’ about now is yourself.” “How much do you remember?” Ronon asks and John can tell by the look on Teyla’s face that she’s not pleased at the question. It had been a routine mission, right? M3-X982, the Plesians, according to the ancient database. Not so routine if you ended up here, his brain reminds him and okay, fair enough. He takes a second and tries to think through the brain fog he always associates with the good drugs. He remembers the almost meatloaf and the bad jokes told by Plesia’s leader, Korom. He remembers the heat--. No. Not heat. The fever and the stomachache and--. Screaming. Hoarse screams, begging them to stop killing him, for Ronon to let him go, for Teyla to help him. And Rodney… Rodney, holding the dagger looking very much on the edge of a panic attack as he sliced through John’s skin, flaying him open. “Your appendix nearly ruptured,” Carson supplies, voice more gentle now. “Rodney recognized the signs fairly quickly but the doctor in Plesia was ill-equipped to operate.” “Doctor McKay very likely saved your life, John,” Teyla says, a fact she’s tried to get through to Rodney since their return. “Aye,” Carson agrees. “We had t’put ya under again to clean up a bit of infection and to right some suturin’, but he did bloody well considerin’ the circumstances.” “Then why… why isn’t he here?” Because no one has actually told him that much, but John can probably guess why. Guilt is a hell of a thing and John knows in an instant that he would’ve never wanted the roles reversed, would’ve never have wanted to have to--. “I need to talk to him,” and he’s not exactly thrilled with how desperate he sounds but he really doesn’t care right. He needs to talk to Rodney, needs to seehim, to tell him he did good. He starts pulling at all the leads and wires and Ronon is there again, a firm hand on his shoulder, urging him back down. “Let me talk to him first,” he says and even Teyla raises an eyebrow at that. Ronon isn’t exactly known for his uh, gentle nature, but when she meets John’s eyes, she gives him the slightest of nods. “Tell him to get his ass in here, or I’m gonna come find him myself,” John warns, but there’s no heat. The slight exertion has left him very nearly panting through a wave of pain. “I’ll be sure to pass on the message,” he says and without anything further, Ronon is gone. -- Rodney McKay isn’t known for his silence. He knows he’s a loud, obnoxious, abrasiveman even on his best day and yet ever since they’d returned from Plesia, he hadn’t been able to muster up the strength to even so much as raise his voice. It’s unnerving his scientists, he knows, but he doesn’t care. Mostly, he keeps to himself and keeps working, stopping only long enough for the occasional power nap and to replenish his supply of power bars. He’s just finished the aforementioned nap when Ronon finds

him, trudging back down to the laps to continue his work on the ancient device they’d found some time ago. He’s hoping that with enough tweaking, it can be used to send a patient into something sort of a temporary stasis, long enough to get them back through the Stargate where an actual fucking medical team can--. “McKay,” Ronon calls, but Rodney doesn’t stop. “Little busy, Chewie,” he calls over his shoulder but it lacks the usual McKay bite. “Sheppard’s awake.” Rodney does stop for that, but he doesn’t turn, shoulders tensing and he has to take a deep breath because he can feel something like panic trying to surge up again. “Is he--?” “Pissed? Yeah. Pissed that you weren’t there with us when he woke up.” “Well I’m sorry that some of us have actual work to do and can’t spend days--.” “You’re bein’ dumb.” Rodney whirls around at that, and he can feel the vein in his forehead throbbing in anger because he’s not--! He’s just--! “Sheppard probably wouldn’t have made it out of surgery without some major problems if we’d waited until the rain stopped. The Doc said so himself. Because of what you did, he’s got about another week of medicine and he’ll be back on his feet.” “I am not that kind of doctor,” Rodney reminds Ronon and he hates how he sounds in that moment, so, so upset. So weak. The weakest on the team, always. “You were the most qualified in that room to do what had to be done,” Ronon says and while that may actually be true, that won’t help when the nightmares come back. “You held it together better than either me or Teyla would’ve.” Rodney highly doubts that. “Listen,” Ronon says and this may be the most words Rodney’s heard him string together ever. “It sucked but it had to be done. You can’t keep beating yourself up for it.” We’ll see about that, Rodney thinks. “Thanks for the pep talk, Conan,” he says as he starts back for the labs. “You’re goin’ the wrong way. Infirmary’s that way.” Rodney doesn’t respond and he half expects Ronon to come after him, to throw him over his shoulder and haul him off to the infirmary, but a moment later, Rodney hears a quiet sigh and heavy footsteps falling away. He’s just not ready yet. -- Rodney might not be ready yet, but John’s never been the most patient person in the world. Especially not when it comes to Rodney. He’s tired, in pain, and annoyedby the time he makes it down to the labs, a trip that should’ve taken him five minutes on a good day but has taken nearly a half an hour for all the breaks he’s had to take to stop and lean against the wall. Carson’s going to have a field day when he comes back from surgery to find that John’s managed to sneak out, but he’ll just have to deal with that later. For now, the only thing he’s concerned about is Rodney. Atlantis takes pity on him and opens the door to the labs the minute she senses him approaching, allowing him to continue to hold on the wall as he slips inside and the minute he sees the slope of those shoulders in that blue shirt, any annoyance John had been feeling faded away. “Listen Teyla,” Rodney says and he sounds exasperated which leads John to believe that the Athosian has been down here plenty while he’s been holed up in the infirmary. He’s glad for that though. Means his people are taking care of each other. “I appreciate y--,” he turns and the words die in his throat. “Hi Rodney,” John greets, maybe a little dumbly and Rodney stands up so quickly that his stool topples backward. John thinks maybe he’s going to haul off and punch him, so he braces for impact, but when Rodney approaches, he grabs John’s arm and hauls it around his shoulder, giving him something else to lean against. “You’re supposed to be in the infirmary, you absolute idiot,” Rodney hisses and when he gets John seated on a stool, he moves to tap the communicator in his ear. “Rodney, wait!” And he reaches for the other, closing his hand around Rodney’s wrist. “Just… gimme a minute, okay?” Rodney hesitates, which is unusual for him. Rodney is always so sure of himself and quick to make

sure everyone knows it. Was this because of what happened on Plesia? “Listen,” John says and that’s about as far as he gets before Rodney is talking over him. “No! You listen, you, you, you irresponsible, stupid—” There’s a half a second that John wants to be offended and starts to respond in kind, but he stops himself because he realizes that Rodney needs this. That he’s been holding this in since they got back from that stupid planet. “You could have died! And not just from your stupid appendix, but your entire body could have gone into shock and you could have died! Because you were too stupid, too, too, too you to just go to the damn infirmary before we ever left!” “I know, Rodney and I’m –” “No! You don’t know. You have no idea!” He’s pacing now, wringing his hands together and John doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so upset. The thought that he’d been the one to cause that— “What if I’d been wrong, Sheppard? What if that had been for nothing? What if I’d—" “Rodney,” John says and he stands then, ignoring the way that the room spins just a little. “Listen to me, okay? I’m fine. You did everything right, and you probably saved me from a really shitty next few weeks, assuming I hadn’t died. I wouldn’t be sitting here right now if it wasn’t for you.” “But--.” “No buts,” John answers. “I’m sorry you had to do that, that I made you have to make that choice. You’re right, it was stupid to go off world without getting checked out first and I’m sorry, alright?” He reaches up, rubbing uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “I just… wanted to, you know, thank you for saving my ass out there. And to tell you that I’m really glad to know that no matter what, you’ve got my back.” And Rodney sags, all of the fight and the anger and maybe a little of the guilt too having gone out of him. “You’re… really alright?” “I’m really alright,” John promises him and this time, Rodney sags against the table, the tension leaving shoulders. “Thank God,” he breathes, and a breath later, “you owe me for this.” “Ah, there he is,” John says and he feigns annoyance, rolling his eyes. “No, no, you don’t understand. You owe me.” “I know, Rodney.” He doesn’t protest as Rodney comes around again, hauling John’s arm over his shoulder and as they begin to make their way from the science lab, back to John’s own quarters, John lets Rodney’s incessant babble wash over him. It felt good to hear it again, he realizes, even if he knows he’s never going to hear the end of this. And honestly? Well. He wouldn’t change that for anything in the world.

[inkribbon796]

My Favorite Human Ch. 2: I Want YOU in This Custody Fight

Summary: It’s not a date if you argue about the kids in front of the restaurant staff.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Chase tried to dress nice when he came to this building. It was one of the fancier restaurants under Dark’s control. He didn’t have a whole lot of nice suits but he did have a white button-up and a black vest. But that was as far as he got.

Dark never seemed to mind either way. After all this was strictly business. They’d talk about the twins, and then Chase would leave. The Entity would offer for Chase to order something from the menu, “on me”, and the marksman would always turn him down, even before he first glanced at the menu.

After he’d seen the menu he was determined to never order anything from this place because it was way too much for anything.

But the view . . . the view was amazing. The restaurant was situated by the river and so at night it looked amazing. Dark was always in a private business room, to make sure their conversations couldn’t be easily overheard by errant patrons.

As Chase walked up, sans superhero outfit or mask because he didn’t want his meetings with Dark getting on the news at all, a waiter led him right to Dark.

When Chase walked in he had his usual crisis, his feet stopping and a weight settling in his heart. Dark had his back to him as he looked out into the city.

Chase got his feet to work and he took his usual seat.

Dark sighed when Chase sat down, “I heard what happened.”

“Mori and Tempus think he’s better now, least he’s not runnin’[1] around naked in the woods anymore,” Chase reported. “I think Mem got most ‘a[2] it out ‘a[2] his system.”

Dark clicked his tongue. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him, at least the others don’t have to be watched so some random hiker wouldn’t get attacked.”

That got a chuckle out of Chase, settling a bit in his chair. “Really? I find that hard ta[3] believe.”

“Arthur was a bit of a handful but at least he could be contained to his books. He didn’t actively seek to become chaos itself.” Dark’s fingers drummed casually on his desk.

“Prolly[4] could have cut him off beforehand if I hadn’t been on patrol this mornin’[5],” Chase’s eyes tracked over as a waiter came in to bring some wine for Dark and a water for Chase, he was braced for a random attack. It was mostly out of habit — because of Clubs — but still trained all the same.

Dark’s aura circled around the rim of his wine glass. “Yes, Illinois commented the same.”

The Entity’s aura hummed as he thought, he twisted the base of glass with two fingers. “I was thinking that perhaps the problem is not that they need constant supervision, it’s merely that they’re bored and they do the first thing that comes to mind.”

“Not sure how I can help with that ta[3] be honest,” Chase admitted.

Dark paused to take an especially long sip of his wine. “It has occurred to me that perhaps if they spend a bit long thinking about the ideas they have that maybe they would make wiser decisions. They are very young spawnlings, and there is a certain impulse that such young demons only have when they have never been threatened and feel safe in a territory.”

“Really?” Chase smiled. “Yeh[6] were impulsive back in the day? Would’a[7] loved ta[3] see that.”

Looking away, Dark took another sip, “No, I made Egoton into what it is today so I would not have to waste my time finding a new territory every couple of decades.”

The smile didn’t fade from Chase’s face quite yet. “So yeh[6] got any plans fer[8] the twins, err, boys.”

At that mistake, the smile did drop and Chase was glaring out the window for a full second or two. “Yeh[6] got any plans fer[8] the boys?”

“A couple,” Dark mercifully ignored the slip up. “My first option was to just stick them with Illinois, he’s more than mentally equipped to corral chaotic spawnlings. But with the wedding coming up, I figured . . .”

Dark trailed off, waving his hand dismissively, “Best not to leave the responsibility with Illinois.”

Chase felt the urge to say something, but he didn’t even know what that something was, so he kept quiet. He preoccupied himself with wiping down the condensate from his glass.

“Tempus is fine on her own, but if I leave her to them, she’d only mildly protest at whatever they do and then record them, and Wil only seems to enable their destructive behavior,” Dark continued.

“Hmph, that’s Bubbles fer[8] yeh[6],” Chase dismissed coldly. “I think he might e’en be givin’ ‘em ideas.”[9]

“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” Dark agreed, “Tempus too, a couple of their more harebrained stunts have actually been her idea, despite Memento’s insistence that he’s the brains of their operation.”

That got a chuckle out of Chase.

“But that still leaves me with a problem, namely that apart from Illinois or myself there seems to be only one other person who can reason with them, or at least enough that they don’t get themselves into legal trouble. Their minor antics are fine, especially if they can confine it to the Manor, but running around the parks or beaches is getting them into trouble, and getting them noticed by demon hunters.”

“Yikes, didn’t know it was that bad yet,” Chase sat up a little straighter.

“It’s nothing that can’t be handled, but I was thinking, and Kay and Illinois posed the idea themselves, that you could help,” Dark proposed, his expression neutral and guarded. “Since you seem to be the only other person they listen to.”

Chase was quiet, the room was so quiet that he could dimly hear chatter from the other room. He wasn’t exactly sure where this conversation was going. “I’m tryin’ ta watch ‘em, but I still got patrols ta keep up with. I’ve got ta deal with random bullshite that the Duke or Anti cause in the city. I’m still part ‘a the Coalition.”[10]

“The heroes have more than enough people to deal with them,” Dark dismissed.

“Dark, I’ll keep doin’ e’erythin’ I can fer the boys, but I’m tryin’ ta stay on good behavior,”[11] Chase reminded him. “It’s bad enough they’re barely lettin’ me see my other kids, I don’t know what they’d do if I wasn’t bein’ a hero. It’s the only thin’ I got goin’ fer me.”[12]

Dark meant to be reassuring, that Chase was a natural parental figure underneath his poor mental health and self-incriminating bad choices. That they’d made a mistake when Chase was denied his children. But such words required a certain amount of emotional vulnerability from Dark, and the Entity could never allow himself to be vulnerable, even when it was desperately needed.

So the words that came out of his mouth were, “I could make sure there were no problems.”

Chase froze, staring at Dark in alarm. Normally his head and heart were at war. Between wanting to treat Dark like a dearly loved friend, and his head who reminded Chase that Dark was a dangerous, demonic mob boss. Someone who destroyed lives that didn’t suit him.

At this moment there was no discourse.

“What does that mean?” Chase’s tone was terse.

“I don’t see why anyone should have a problem with you seeing any of your children, Anti has not used you as a host in months. He has not targeted you in even longer. The correct people merely need . . . convincing.”

“No!” Chase snapped, surging up so he was away from the table. “Don’t! Just stop right there. Yer not gonna threaten or “convince” anyone. Stacy’s fine. She’s doin’ fine with ‘em. If yeh could get yer fookin’ claws outta Paddy that’d be e’en better.”[13]

“Your eldest has his own goals and if he wants to achieve it through my Network, I see no reason to stop him,” Dark dismissed. “He is an expert marksman who’s time and skill were being squandered on running around with other delinquents pretending to be gangsters. Crime and trouble would have found him if I hadn’t swept in and taken him.”

Chase made some ugly snort that carried his disbelief and offense.

“The four of them are already embroiled in the Network, it would certainly make things simpler,” Dark suggested, immediately doubling down on his point.

“Simpler?” Chase scoffed. “Fer who? I’m not gonna fookin’ sit on my arse until they do somethin’, it’s not like I’ve got anythin’ useful fer yer little crime organization.”[14]

Dark gave Chase a look.

Chase just stared at the Entity in alarm, “No.”

“You denying the very nature of your magic and soul doesn’t make it any less true,” Dark commented, metaphorically shoving his foot right into his mouth.

“No,” Chase repeated a little more firmly. “Fook[15] off.”

“The heroes have had a top marksman for years and yet you are sidelined constantly,” Dark commented. “Even if you’re not killing in my Network your skills would be more useful. You don’t even have to be in the room to do the job.”

“So that’s what this is?” Chase spat. “I’m just some asset fer yeh ta buy?”[16]

In the absence of anything that wasn’t an emotionally charged response, Dark fell silent.

Chase threw his hands up, so angry that there was a very furious grin where teeth ground together, “No. We’ll keep the system we got, it’s workin’[17] just fine.”

The marksman was boiling with rage and it didn’t help that Dark wasn’t confirming or denying it.

“Enjoy yer[18] overpriced steak, Dark, I’m goin’[19] home,” Chase decided, alright turning.

Dark stayed quiet, and when Chase looked back at him he let out a groan of annoyance and stormed off and out of the building.

The Entity didn’t stop him, he was too busy tending to his blue soul who was trying to follow Chase but was stopped because Dark was staying in his seat.

“He’s angry,” Damien commented in their shared headspace, his fragmented soul full of nothing but emotion and none of the social cues that kept those emotions from being acted on. “What did I do?”

“He’s a human, it’s all they do,” Dark’s red soul commented dryly. She was already wanting to leave, fretting about the mountain of work they needed to do.

“We can give him things,” Damien suggested hopefully, looking to Dark for approval.

Why? Dark asked. Is he the man we’ve been sleeping with for decades? Because I seem to remember someone a little more pink and mad. Or am I wrong?

Dark’s blue soul curled in on himself and stopped pulling the Entity to follow after Chase. He was more subdued than he’d been in a while.

It let Dark finally leave and head back to the warehouses to get some work done. And if Damien urged Dark to give little macabre trinkets to the triplets, he only hesitated for a little bit.

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

Post A/N: Man, if Dark and Anti were half as good at communicating as they were at killing people, all their problems would be solved!

Accessibility Translations:

1. running

2. of

3. to

4. Probably

5. morning

6. You

7. Would have

8. for

9. I think he might even be giving them ideas.

10. I’m trying to watch them, but I’ve still got patrols to keep up with. I’ve got to deal with random bullshit that the Duke or Anti cause in the city. I’m still part of the Coalition.

11. Dark, I’ll keep doing everything I can for the boys, but I’m trying to stay on good behavior

12. It’s bad enough they’re barely letting me see my other kids, I don’t know what they’d do if I wasn’t being a hero. It’s the only thing I got going for me

13. Don’t! Just stop right there. You’re not going to threaten or “convince” anyone. Stacy’s fine. She’s doing fine with them. If you could get your fucking claws out of Paddy that’d be even better.

14. For who? I’m not going to fucking sit on my ass until they do something, it’s not like I’ve got anything useful for your little crime organization.

15. Fuck

16. I’m just some asset for you to buy?

17. working

18. your

19. going

[howlingmedic]

Coming Home: Chapter 5

Coming Home: 

Previous | Next

Synopsis: what happens when the person who finally made their world make sense is taken from them? What happens when the people who were supposed find her can’t?

Relationship: Stucky x Angel!OFC

Warnings: angst, references to religion, references to torture, references to wounds, poorly explained technology, probably incorrect science, shifting POV because I’m the worst, my shit writing

A/N: This chapter is two parts. One part is like normal. The other is actually something I wrote a while ago in 1st person from Allie’s POV, and is what inspired this whole story. I tried to change it to 3rd person, and I hated it like that, so I switched it back and left it as is. It also used to be a standalone chapter, but I decided both chapters were too short, so now they’re one weird chapter. 

Chapter Five: How they Got Here

“We gonna talk about it?” Bucky asked as they walked to the bikes they had acquired through their travels. Steve smirked. “Talk about what? It was just decorative,” he answered coyly despite knowing full well what Bucky wanted to talk about. The questioning looks had been impossible to miss while they got dressed. Honestly, Steve was surprised Bucky had held his tongue this long. “Steven Grant Rogers, you did not make a design alteration to your uniform based solely on aesthetics after a day like today, now spill,” Bucky huffed as he dumped his essentials in the saddle pocket. “I don’t want to serve the public anymore, at least not today. This is about us. The star… it didn’t seem right, not while I’m being selfish, so I took it off. Now, Let’s get our asses in gear. Jet should be touching down in an hour.” That firmly ended the discussion. It was that simple; Steve’s tone made that part clear, and his expression made it clear they could talk later when all three of them could be involved. Bucky shrugged and swung his leg over the bike. Steve decided in that moment that if they made it out of this, he was buying that man a motorcycle.

Five hours had elapsed since Tony’s phone call. Fury had called and informed them he had returned their status to active duty - Steve only slightly cringed at the comment - and that this was now an official mission. All requisite communication devices and extra weapons would be waiting for them on the jet. They also had been granted the full force of the Avengers - minus Banner, who would be standing by with Loki, Cho, Strange, and an entire med team on a separate jet. They were to meet the team just outside the tiny town they had been using as a base of operations in the southernmost part of Spain. They would then fly to Chad, which was where the heat signature had been. The rest was a rescue mission just like any other, except it wasn’t at all.

The tone on the jet was tense, and the air was electric. Nobody dared to speak a word for the first 10 minutes. Natasha gave Bucky a gentle squeeze on the upper arm, Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder and gave him a firm nod, and Sam gave them both one-armed hugs. Even during those silent exchanges, you could hear a pin drop. Once the jet had reached their cruising altitude, Natasha cleared her throat and stood. “Look, none of us like this situation. We all take this one personally because it is, but we’ve got a job to do. Everyone should have the plan shared to their tablets, I’ll pull it up on the big screen, and we can go over it one more time, but I think we’ve all committed it to memory by now.”

Steve lost track of what she said after that. He knew his part. It was the same as any other mission: use his shield, knock out or kill the bad guys, and don’t die. This time it just had the added task of rescuing the woman he loved. At some point, he stole a look at Bucky, who seemed equally zoned out. Everyone else’s faces were focused intently on their tablets. Natasha caught their gaze and gave them a weak smile; she always had a way of knowing. Once she finished talking, the jet fell silent again. Everyone seemed to be absorbing the gravity of the situation. Steve’s eyes remained fixed on the glowing blue form on the screen that had 45 Amps next to it. He wished they could pull the scan down, that he could forget that reading was far too low. Tony had told them it was one-tenth of what it usually was 6 hours ago. It was another hour of flying to Chad. Steve wasn’t sure if it had changed since Tony had first told them it was low. Nobody had commented on it, so he had to assume everything was staying stable, but somehow having a number tied to Tony’s comments made them more concrete.

Every once in awhile, he saw the form move. The first time it had given him hope. It had proved she was alive. After a little while, he couldn’t help himself, he studied every movement. Sometimes, it was just a shift. Like she was trying to get more comfortable. Others, he saw her jerk, and the number would drop. 45 down to 42, then it recovered to 44. 44 dropped to 39. Steve froze. Bucky looked up and sighed at the screen. Steve wasn’t sure if the sigh was from something Bucky was contending with internally or a reaction to the changing energy measurements. Steve quickly decided he couldn’t care right now, and his attention returned fully to the screen. When the number rose back to 42, Steve decided he preferred things when it stayed in the 40s.

Some of the panic seeped from his mind when the numbers on the screen stopped changing, and the eerily incandescent blob that represented Allie seemed to calm on the sceen. Steve glanced over at Bucky, and smiled softly at what he saw. Bucky’s eyes had fallen closed, but his breathing hadn’t steadied like he was sleeping. If Steve strained, he could hear him whispering. “C’mon, doll, just hang in there. We’re coming.” Then Steve’s eyes flicked back up to the screen eager to see if he might be able to watch Allie react. At first Steve’s heart soared: the number rose slightly to 43. Then, the world froze while the figure on the screen thrashed harder than Steve had seen yet before going inhumanly still. “Bucky! Stop!” Everyone’s eyes went wide, and they stared at Steve, who just gaped and stared at the screen: 43, 39, 35, 20, before coming to a halt at 17. “Fuck, Clint, fly faster!” Steve cried, his voice high and desperate.

The number on the screen didn’t look like it was going anywhere, which wasn’t the best outcome, but it was better than free falling. Bucky sagged in his seat, and Steve blew out a hard breath before he could focus on him. “I know what you were trying to do, babe,” Steve said under his breath so only Bucky could hear him.

“Doesn’t matter what I was tryin’ to do, Steve. Matters that I mighta almost fuckin’ killed her.”

“You had no way of knowing that would happen, so don’t you dare get all hard on yourself now. We don’t have time for that shit right now. We just gotta get in there, get her, get out. We’ve got at most three hours till she’s in the hands of the most capable people in the cosmos and back in our arms. She’s strong. She’ll pull through, pal,” Steve promised and hoped to anyone who was listening that it sounded more confident than he felt.

“Alright, alright, quit bein’ sappy before we go to work,” Bucky snarked. Steve knew it was nothing more than a brave face, but he knew better than to argue right now. Instead, he turned his attention back to the screen. 20 Amps. How many did she need to live?

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I wasn’t supposed to be laying in a cell, filthy and chained up. I certainly wasn’t supposed to be drained of all my grace to the point where I couldn’t even hide my wings in a pocket dimension anymore. No, it wasn’t supposed to have gone like this at all.

I wasn’t even sure how long I had been gone. Over two weeks, but beyond that, I had no idea. Three weeks? Months? I was reasonably confident it hadn’t reached the point of being missing for years, but it was possible. Without knowing how long I had been unconscious, I couldn’t be sure of anything. Hell, maybe I was dead and in an angel’s version of Hell. Reports of The Empty were sketchy at best, so it was all theoretically possible at this point.

There was a whisper of Bucky’s voice in my head again. It was just barely audible, but he was begging me to hold on, promising me he was going to bring me home. I twisted and writhed against the chains again, felt the edges of the cuffs dig deep into the cuts on my wrists, ankles, and the joints of my wings. I screamed again, and my voice came out raw and broken, and the scream left me coughing and gagging with no moisture left to soothe my irritated throat. To spare what little grace I had left and try to heal it was to risk dying  - actually dying… or dying in whatever hellish delusion I was stuck in.

“How the fuck had it gone this wrong? How the fuck did they overpower us, and how did they know about angel cuffs? We had destroyed them all, destroyed any trace of them, and yet here they were,” My brain cycled through the usual questions that consumed my thoughts when I was coherent. Bucky’s voice crying, pleading with me not to let go, cut through the drone of my reflection once more. I ripped against the chains harder in hopes that maybe this time I could break them. I felt my shoulder pop out of its socket, and I tried to scream again, but no sound would come out. I had lost my last asset, my one way to punish my captors. At least my screams made me a nuisance, it made me unpleasant to be around, but now I had nothing. No way to resist them, no way to fight back.

And as if being trapped here wasn’t enough of a punishment, my own brain had finally turned against me. I was hearing my lovers’ voices calling out to me when I knew the cuffs binding me would block any prayers. The only conclusion I could come to as I slipped unconscious again and relived the moments that landed me here one more time was that I had to have lost my mind and begun hallucinating.

It started like any other day of clearing out some cell trying to carry out Thanos’ mission - there had been a surprising number since his defeat and the reversal of the snap. Identify, negotiate, fail to reach an agreement, arrest, clear the base, and destroy it while agents interrogate each member of the cell.

That’s where it had gone wrong. There had been more of them - enhanced members - hiding in a room below the floorboards, and they had ambushed us. Someone strong, stronger than any natural human, had clamped the cuffs tights over my wrists. The sudden lack of grace flowing through me had dropped me to my knees with a shriek, but the others couldn’t come back. They were evenly matched with their combatants. This crew had studied each of us meticulously. They knew what they were up against, and they knew the best way to get to three of the best hand to hand fighters in the world was to take one of them out of the equation and use that to distract the other two. I happened to be the one with a kryptonite.

Whatever had happened next was a mystery. I had come-to in a damp, windowless, and quite possibly subterranean cell somewhere in the Saharan Desert. Food had been chucked my direction once every so often. If it was daily, I had spent at least 14 days stuck in this hell hole hoping someone could find me, and that hope was the last thing I had binding me to any semblance of sanity, but that seemed to have slipped away.

Footsteps. That was the first thought I could form when I came to again. They were drawing closer, and I muffled a scream as I pulled myself into a ball. Maybe if I pretended to still be unconscious they would spare me for a day.

[lovemesomerafael]

Others Like Me                                  Chapter 10:  Spain

Chapters 1-5     Chapter 6     Chapter 7  

Chapter 8   Chapter 9    Read it on AO3

Most of the team sleeps on the way back to the Compound, but only Bucky gets on the plane, takes a seat, and sleeps until they hit the tarmac in New York. Actually, he doesn’t sleep the entire time; he wakes up a few times, blinks, remembers, and forces himself to go back to sleep again.  He knows he can’t just sleep until he feels better, like he used to back in Brooklyn when he had the flu.  But it’s working for now.  

He doesn’t dream, at least that he can tell.  Too exhausted, maybe.  

It doesn’t escape him that, every time he wakes up, Steve’s sitting next to him. Sometimes he’s asleep, too, but mostly he’s reading or talking softly to Clint or one of the soldiers.  Bucky wonders if Steve knows how much that helps.  Probably.  But when he can, Bucky’s going to tell him, anyway.  He can’t, right now.  But he can reach out and take Steve’s hand where it’s resting in Steve’s lap.  So he does.  Bucky closes his eyes and goes back to sleep, so he doesn’t see Steve spend the next hour staring at their clasped hands, or feel the tear that escapes to fall onto Bucky’s fingers and then roll down onto Steve’s.  

Back home, it’s morning and Bucky can’t sleep anymore.  He looks around for something to catch his interest, but he doesn’t want to sit still, he’s too tired and sore to work out, and his stab wound isn’t healed enough yet to go for a run.  So he just prowls the compound like a tiger in a cage, restless and melancholy. He’s glad there’s no one around. Steve and Clint are here somewhere, but Tony, Bruce, Natasha, and Sam have all stayed behind to help the Troops figure out their next steps.  Scott’s gone back wherever he came from.  It’s quiet, and there’s no one to be bothered by Bucky’s edginess and constant roaming.

Eventually, he unpacks his gear and works on cleaning and repairs, just for something to occupy his hands.  His mind’s kind of fuzzy, which he figures is probably a good thing.  In his mind, he’s replaying the operation to destroy the bunker and free the Troops, like he always does after a mission, but mostly he’s trying not to think about anything.  He doesn’t want to think about Marya, and he’s not ready to think about Steve.  

The next week goes kind of like that, although every day’s a little better than the last.  Tony gets back and he’s full of ideas for the Troops.  The twelve who are staying together have chosen to live in Spain, in the Basque country west of Bilbao, and Tony and the other Avengers have an idea for a compound sort of like this one, if a little more self-sustaining.  The first thing the Troops did was to choose names for themselves, real names, rather than their number designations, which Natasha thinks is a good sign.  She’s helping them start figuring out the real world, and Sam’s helping them begin to process what they’ve been through and done in their years as Hydra captives. Bruce is working on plans for the compound, which Tony is, of course, financing.  

Steve explains to Bucky that there’s more to this than mere altruism.  The Troops are still dangerous as hell, yet extremely vulnerable.  It’s critical that The Avengers keep in close contact and on good terms with them so that they don’t just become the pawns of some other organization like Hydra, or worse. Besides which, they’ll be great allies if needed in a fight.  

It hurts to hear about them.  Bucky wants to be there; he knows he’s their “brother”, and he should be there.  But he simply can’t.  Tony is full of funny stories about the Troops misunderstanding common turns of phrase, and it reminds Bucky so much of Marya he feels it like a knife in his gut.  He’ll get there.  He knows he will, and it won’t be that long.  But not today, and not next week. ��Nobody’s rushing him.  

Steve’s not rushing him into anything, either.  For the first month, that suits Bucky fine.  Their friendship was in such tatters a short time ago that it’s nice, for now, to start simply.   When Bucky had first been rescued from Hydra, he’d been a mess, and Steve had simply been present, letting Bucky set the tone and speed of their reunion.  After that, when Bucky was fully Bucky again, he’d tried as hard as Steve had to recapture the easy intimacy of their friendship and, for the most part, they’d succeeded for a short time.  But things had fallen apart when they’d tried to rekindle their romance.  The romance wasn’t the problem – God knows that wasn’t the problem – but every time he’d tried, Bucky had found himself unable to keep from pulling away, so shamed and disgusted by himself he couldn’t bear to let Steve get close.  The more Steve had pushed, the further Bucky had retreated, until he’d finally decided the least painful alternative for them both was to give up on ever being able to let Steve love him again.  They’d both been so frustrated that they were barely speaking even before Bucky had been abducted and met Marya.

Things are different now.  They’ve been repairing their friendship since before the bunker, even when Bucky was with Marya.  And when she’d told Bucky that she wasn’t coming back with him - that he was ready to be with Steve again, where he belongs - Bucky had known she was right.

It’s taken Bucky this long to get over the shock and initial grief of Marya’s death.  These days, however, he can think about her and smile.  It still hurts like a bitch, but the truth is, she’s been gone almost as long as she was in Bucky’s life.  And Steve’s here.  

They’ve started training together again, which is what they’re doing right now. The serum lets them beat the crap out of each other if they want to, knowing everything will be pretty much healed by the next day.  But Bucky’s been noticing that, lately, he wants to tackle and wrestle Steve a lot more than he wants to punch or kick him, and he knows exactly what that’s about. It’s time.  He thinks Steve’s there, too, but he won’t make a move.  Every time Bucky tries, Steve gives him this “let’s take it slow” speech, the exact opposite of what he did when Bucky really needed to take it slow.  It just wouldn’t be their relationship if they didn’t fuck things up ten ways to Sunday.

Steve’s just thrown Bucky over his head to land with a thud flat on his back, knocking the breath out of him for a minute.  Bucky’s smiling.  He would be laughing if his lungs were currently working, and Steve’s being a complete smug dick about it.  When Bucky catches his breath, Steve makes the mistake of reaching down to help him up from the mat and gets his feet swept out from under him.  In less than a second, Bucky’s got him pinned and his legs trapped with his own.  

“You’re such a sucker!”

“It’s called manners,” Steve huffs.  “You should try it.”

“Make me.”

For the next few minutes, Steve tries to do that, but Bucky’s having it all his way. The end result is a lot of writhing around while Bucky’s lying pretty much fully along Steve which is, of course, Bucky’s entire intention.  

“All right, fine,” Steve sighs disgustedly.  “You win this one.”

“Uh-huh.  Now gimme my prize.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Kiss me.”

Steve’s instantly on alert.  He frowns and goes all concerned.  Bucky rolls his eyes.  “Shit, Steve, it’s just a kiss.  I’m not askin’ you to marry me.”

“I know, Buck, but I’m trying to do things right this time.  Tryin’ to take it slow.”

“Fine.  Kiss me slow,” Bucky grins.

Steve’s uncertain, but Bucky’s not, and he also happens to be kind of a shit. So he starts rubbing against Steve, leaning down to within a fraction of an inch of his lips, and not letting him get away.  “C’mon,” he purrs.  “What’re you afraid of?”

“Not you, that’s for sure.”

“Then fuckin’ kiss me, punk.”

Steve does.  Bucky can feel that he’s into it, and he’s breathing hard, but he keeps the kiss gentle and almost chaste.

“What am I, your sister?”  Bucky growls. “I said kiss me.”

That works.  The next thing Bucky knows, he’s the one lying under Steve, who’s straddling him and kissing him for real.  It’s about time.  

It feels glorious to have Steve’s hot mouth on his, kissing him hard and invasively, all tongue and moans.  Bucky keeps trying to grind against him, and it works for a few minutes, but then Steve pulls back and rolls off of Bucky.

“What the hell?  Come back here,” Bucky groans, reaching for Steve, who moves a little away.

“Can’t help it, Bucky, you’re just so damn sexy.”

“Which is a reason to come back over here, lame-brain, not move away.”

“No, but, I just don’t wanna start something we can’t finish.”

“Why the hell can’t we finish it?  I want to finish it.  That’s kind of the point I’m makin’ here.”

“It’s too soon.”

“Buddy, it’s been too long.”

Bucky reaches for Steve, who stands up and moves a few steps away.  He pulls his fingers through his hair, clearly troubled. “C’mon, Buck, stop it.  You know I can’t resist you.”

“Then don’t!”

“Dammit, Bucky, this isn’t a game.  I love you.  I’m tryin’ to do right by you.”

Bucky sits up, sighing in frustration.  “OK, OK. Look, I know that.  I just…  I want you, Stevie.”

“Yeah, I got that message.  And I’m right there with you.  But I’m playin’ for keeps here, Bucky.  I pushed too hard before.  I’m not makin’ that mistake again.”

“Even if it kills me?”  Bucky’s voice is half-shriek, half-whine.

“If it didn’t kill me before, it won’t kill you now.  Quit bein’ such a baby.”

Bucky smirks up at Steve from where he’s sitting on the mat.  “I’m not gonna quit tryin’.”

“Good.  Don’t. Because I’m not always gonna say no.”

 As good as his word, Bucky continues to try to seduce Steve.  Steve’s maintained his boundaries so far, but Bucky’s been steadily eroding them.  Steve’s willing to make out, shirts optional, and he’s OK with them getting a little handsy sometimes.  Bucky’s even been able to get him so worked up he agreed to mutual hand jobs a couple times, but so far he hasn’t been able to get Steve’s pants off.  It’s been frustrating in the extreme, but it’s also been the right thing to do.  Bucky’s never going to give Steve the satisfaction of telling him that, but he knows it’s true.  

Three months after the bunker mission, Bucky goes to Spain.  Natasha’s experiences are similar to those of the Troops in many ways, and that’s already proved to be a very good thing on a number of occasions.  They’re free and adapting much faster than anyone expected, but they’re still traumatized and living in an alien world.  Natasha has some things she needs to take care of, and she thinks Bucky needs to be there in her absence.  It’s definitely time for him to help out, and he feels ready.  

In the hangar, Steve kisses Bucky good bye and they agree they’ll see each other in two weeks, either at the Compound or in Spain, if Bucky’s still there.  

“I been thinkin’ maybe, when you get back, we could talk about makin’ some changes around here,” Steve says, holding Bucky close and whispering in his ear.

“Yeah?  Like what?”

“Like, maybe… sleeping arrangements.”

Bucky pulls back, completely surprised.  “You son of a bitch!  You say that to me now, when I’m leavin’ the country?”

“I thought it’d be good for us to, you know, think about it first.”

“Oh, I’ll be thinkin’ about it, all right.  C’mere, you.”

Bucky kisses the daylights out of Steve for a full five minutes before the rest of the crew making the flight begin to be obvious about their impatience. Smiling into Steve’s eyes, he says, “I love you.  I’ll see you in two weeks.”  Then he wiggles his eyebrows.  “Naked.”

“You really know how to ruin a romantic moment, you know that?”

Bucky hugs Steve again, chuckling, and Steve whispers, “I love you, Buck.”

 Marya’s brother, now called Dmitriy, meets the Quinjet with a truck, to take Bucky and the others, and the supplies they’ve brought, back to where the Troops are building their Compound.  They won’t find it without an escort, and even if they did, they wouldn’t make it past the perimeter that’s been set up.  

Dmitriy and Bucky introduce themselves, never actually having spoken before.  It’s a solemn moment when they first stand in front of one another.  It’s a little jarring when Dmitriy speaks Spanish; Bucky had just assumed he’d speak Russian.  When he asks about it, Dmitriy shrugs and says they speak the local languages for everyday.  They’ll stand out less, and there’s something symbolic about choosing to live their new life in a language other than Russian.  

Bucky nods, and mentions that he’s been on missions in this part of Spain and speaks Basque in addition to Spanish.  Dmitriy smiles.  “I thought you might.  You are our brother, after all.”

“I haven’t been much of a brother up to now,” Bucky admits, chagrined.  “But I’m here now.”

“Sergeant, I never had the chance to talk to Marya about you and her.  There was no time.  But I’ve been told enough to appreciate the fact that you mourn her. I understand and, if it makes any sense, I’m thankful that you care that much.”

“I do.  I loved her, Dmitriy.”

“Then we have that in common, along with everything else.”  

Bucky doesn’t quite understand why the hard hug he and Dmitriy share feels so healing, maybe something about knowing that Dmitriy feels Marya’s loss as much as Bucky does.  But he knows from that moment that he wants to make a friend of Dmitriy.

“You can call me Bucky, you know.”  

“No, Sergeant,” Dmitriy says with a grin he doesn’t even try to hide.  “I can’t.”

That gets a belly laugh from Bucky, even though Dmitriy’s resemblance to his sister when he says it hurts like hell.  He supposes he better strap in for a lot of that while he’s here.

 As promised, when Bucky’s been in Spain for two weeks, Steve comes to the Compound for a few days.  Bucky’s part of Dmitriy’s work crew framing the first building of the Troops’ Compound, now that they’ve dug and poured the foundation, so he can’t be there to welcome Steve.   He’s more than a little aware of what time Steve’s arriving, though, and he sees the truck arrive.  

Dmitriy has proven to be every bit the smartass Marya was, and insists that the crew can’t do without Bucky until they get done with the section they’re working on and break for lunch.  His shit-eating grin tells Bucky he’s well aware of the situation, but he refuses to relent. As they work, Bucky keeps expecting to see Steve come walking out of the grove of trees where the Troops are currently housed in a large grouping of yurts, but he doesn’t.  By the time noon arrives, Bucky’s pretty much bordering on blue balls and about ready to give Dmitriy a demonstration of what his left arm can do.  Finally, he hears Dmitriy give a shrill, melodic whistle and jumps, rolling as he lands, from the building’s ridgepole to the ground.  As he strides rapidly toward the yurts, removing his toolbelt as he goes, he hears Dmitriy’s deep laugh follow him.

Steve’s not in Bucky’s small yurt when he tears the door open, but to Bucky’s utter joy, he sees that Steve’s dropped his bag on the end of the bed.  Bucky feels another jolt of arousal as he realizes that means Steve’s staying here.  With him.

As he stalks over toward the biggest yurt, where he thinks Steve must be, Bucky belatedly realizes that he was so anxious to see him that he’s forgotten to put a shirt on or wash up.  He can tell that a lot of his hair’s pulled free of the elastic at the back of his neck, because some of it is in his eyes. But he immediately forgets again when he finds Steve deep in conference with Bruce and Sam, going over blueprints and details of the water system they’re building. Once Bucky sees Steve, he doesn’t see anything else.  He only dimly realizes that Steve’s practically drooling, staring at Bucky’s sweaty, dirty bare chest and flushed face.

They just stare at each other long enough for Sam to roll his eyes and groan disgustedly.  “For fuck’s sake, you guys, I’m gonna get pregnant if you keep lookin’ at each other like that.  Go be alone, and remember yurts have fabric walls.  Damn.”

Bruce blushes and looks down at the table covered with blueprints, drawings, and plans.

Bucky and Steve are in each other’s arms instantly, and they hold one another tightly for so long that, when they let go, they realize that Bruce and Sam have left the yurt without their realizing it.  Their mouths meet hungrily, greedily, and that takes a long time, too.

“I saw your stuff on my bed.  You stayin’ with me?”  When Steve opens his mouth to answer, Bucky says quickly, “And you should know that the only answer I’m gonna accept is yes.”

“Yes,” Steve smiles widely.

It’s hard for Bucky to kiss Steve the way he wants when he’s smiling so much, but he’s also suddenly way too horny to kiss much, anyway, without ending up fucking Steve right here on the floor of Bruce’s office.  

“I made us a picnic,” Bucky says breathlessly.

“Really?  That’s what you wanna do right now?”

“Sam’s right.  Yurts have fabric walls.  And it’s beautiful here.  There’s a hill about a mile away with a clearing.  Sunshine, blanket on the grass… You… Me…”

“Fuck,” Steve gasps.  “Sign me the hell up.”

They practically run to pick up the packed picnic supplies Bucky’s stashed just inside the door of his yurt and get to the clearing.  Steve doesn’t spend much time smoothing out the blanket, just shakes it out in front of him and then pulls Bucky down onto it.  Bucky doesn’t mean to literally tear Steve’s shirt off, but he also doesn’t give it a second thought when it happens.  Feeling Steve’s bare chest against his, the solidity of his muscular body in his arms, the heat and need in his kisses, is like air to Bucky.   He doesn’t know how he’s going to let go long enough to get Steve’s jeans off.

“I love you.  I love you so much, Stevie.”

“I love you, too, Buck.  You’re mine.”

“Yeah.  Fuck, yeah, I’m yours.  Always been yours.”

As it turns out, Steve’s not able to let Bucky go any more than Bucky can let go of Steve.  They end up clasping desperately at one another, mouths open to each other and tongues stroking each other when they remember, grinding painfully hard cocks together until they both come, hissing filthy praise and their love for each other.

“Jeez, Buck, we haven’t done that since we were seventeen.”

“’Bout time, then,” is all Bucky has to say between kisses down Steve’s jawline.

“We’re gonna be a sight walking back into the Compound.”

“There’s a creek,” Bucky mutters, moving lower to take a nipple into his still-greedy mouth.

“Fuck.”

At long last, after months of hot but frustrating make-out sessions and heavy petting, Bucky pulls Steve’s jeans off and takes all of him in for the first time. The sight is enough to make Bucky’s own jeans uncomfortable again, and he quickly peels them off.  Steve’s already hard again, too, and he makes a sound that’s almost a whimper when he sees Bucky reach into the picnic hamper and pull out a bottle of lube.  

“Planned this all along, huh?”

Bucky snorts.  “Sweetheart, I’ve been thinkin’ about fucking you pretty much nonstop for the last two weeks. Damn straight I planned this.”

Steve cries out as Bucky softly touches his hole wit warm, slippery fingers. “I ever tell you how fucking sexy you are?”

Bucky’s smile is almost too happy to be the predatory leer he’s going for.  “Tell me now, while I make all those dirty thoughts come true.”

“I love you,” Steve begins, his words broken and breath hitching as Bucky begins to lick lightly at the head of his cock.  “You’re so gorgeous.  I saw you in Bruce’s yurt just now and I just about lost it right there- oh, shit, Bucky! Fuck, your mouth is a lethal weapon…”

Bucky chuckles and begins a slow but definite rhythm, sliding his finger in and out of Steve while he continues teasing him with his tongue.  Steve’s moving his pelvis, letting Bucky know how fast to go.  “So fuckin’ good,” Bucky murmurs, sliding another finger into Steve as he relents and takes Steve’s cock into his mouth.

Steve’s shout of pleasure is a definite reason to be a mile away from the closest other people.  

“Oh, fuck, Bucky…  You feel so good.  I’ve wanted you for so long.  I…  Oh…”

“You gonna come, Sweetheart?  Yeah, come for me.  Oh, I would love that…”

Bucky barely gets the words out before Steve’s fucking into his mouth and screaming – there’s no other word for the sound he’s making – as he shoots down Bucky’s throat.  Bucky could easily come from watching that, just rubbing against the blanket on the soft grass, but he wants to be inside Steve when he comes next.  

By the time Steve’s starting to relax a little, Bucky’s got him fully ready and, although he just came, Steve’s still hard.  Gotta love that serum.  

“Fuck me, Buck.  Please, Baby, I need to feel you – us together – it’s been so fucking long…”

Bucky feels like he’s been waiting for this moment forever, and when he raises up on his knees, lifting Steve’s thighs to give himself a little more room, it feels like here, pushing his cock gently into Steve is the place he’s always supposed to have been.  He’s surprised to feel tears burn at the back of his eyes.  Despite the awkward stretch it takes, he leans over and kisses Steve’s lips, buried completely in the man he loves.

“Stevie…”

“Ungh...”

“I’m yours.  Always.”

“Mine.”

“Yours.  And you’re mine.”

He has to grit his teeth a little, but he wants to enjoy this moment, stroke after stroke, for as long as he can.  The sun is warm on his back, and there’s a sweet smell of green in the air, and Steve looks absolutely perfect lying beneath him, eyes boring into his, glowing with exertion and pleasure.  When he comes, Bucky doesn’t shout.  He whispers, breathing hard, “I love you, Steve.  I love you.  I’m yours. I’m yours…”

It’s dusk before they wander back into the Compound, holding hands and smiling quietly.  When they enter Bucky’s yurt, they see that someone has laid out supper for them on the table. Bucky knows they’re welcome at the communal evening meal, which makes this gift all the more thoughtful, especially because there’s nothing Bucky and Steve want more right now than to be alone together.  They can hear voices outside, and see the warm, flickering light of a few campfires, but it’s just a comforting backdrop for the small, blissed-out world inside the yurt where only the two of them exist.

 One of the reasons Steve’s at the Compound is that they are going to finish the mop-up of their destruction of Hydra.  On the day they’d taken the bunker, the team had purposely allowed Hydra the opportunity to call for help, to see who would answer.  Sam and Tony had destroyed the three helicopters that responded and, with support from Natasha, the Troops had traced them to a group The Avengers hadn’t known existed.  The Troops learned all they could about them.  It was as bad as they’d feared, and not something they could allow to grow.  

With the Troops, Steve and Bucky spend a few days destroying the group and its facility.  Bucky sees what Steve meant when they’d discussed this earlier.  The Troops are far too dangerous and naïve to be abandoned to their own devices, and they’re invaluable allies.  Besides caring deeply what happens to them, Bucky sees the wisdom of making sure their little community succeeds, and that The Avengers are the foundation for that success.

It’s an opportunity for Bucky to bond further with Dmitriy, and for Steve to get to know him.  Sitting around a fire back at the Compound the night they return from the raid, the three get as drunk as supersoldiers can, mild and temporary as alcohol’s affects on them are. They speak English, because the U.S. Army has never had Hydra’s focus on languages.  Steve could learn them ridiculously easily, as they all can, but he hasn’t bothered much.  They talk about a lot of things, enjoying each other’s company and making informal plans for the future.  

“I gotta ask, Dmitriy, about that scar on your face,” Steve says, slurring his words just a little.  “How’s someone who got the serum develop a scar?  I never do.  Bucky doesn’t.”

“We don’t, either,” Dmitriy answers.  “I think I must have had this before the serum.  I don’t ever remember not having it.”

Bucky asks, “Are you guys gonna work on that?  Your memories, I mean?  Bruce has some theories.”  

“We already are.  More with Sam than Bruce, though.  Nobody’s very comfortable with the idea of doctors, period, and we’ve had about enough of people playing with our minds.”

“Amen to that, Brother,” Bucky mutters, and downs the rest of the vodka he’s drinking.

“We’re more focused on the future.  As you know, we don’t really know what the serum does long-term.  We want to build a life here, which means we need to know some basics about what we can expect.  Our life spans, whether we could ever have children, those kinds of things. That’s what Bruce is working on, when he’s not designing septic systems.”

They enjoy a quiet laugh about that.

“And you two?  It’s not much of a secret that you’re having some sort of reunion, and it’s definitely not a secret what kind.”  Dmitriy smirks.  “What’s in your future?”

Steve looks at Bucky like he’s pretty much perfect and Bucky finds himself expecting a twinge of pain and shame that doesn’t come.  

“Whatever it is,” he says, squeezing Steve’s hand and looking into his too-blue eyes, “It’ll be together.”

[vixieevox]

The Grand Rebranding

There were only twenty minutes before noon, and for the first time in months, I was afraid.

It wasn’t the kind of fear that you might feel if you were facing down a pack of geists while waist-deep in snow. For a warrior trade princess like me, that was just another weekday. It wasn’t the fear that some might feel when facing down someone much larger than them in a hand to hand duel, that was just life as a goblin. It wasn’t even the fear of being penniless since I had hit rock bottom before and dragged myself out of it by my thumbs and could do so again if need be.

I was afraid that my fiancee was going to be late for the biggest day of my life.

I know that sounds selfish, but you have to understand. The plan was months in the making and it’s the biggest gift a goblin could ever give to another.

If Pexi had read the note I left by the steak omelet I cooked for her before heading out, she’d have found a simple message that said “I need you in Bilgewater today at noon. Just go to Shatt and talk to the Draenei named Boorus, he’ll tell you what happens next.” The note shouldn’t have been missed since it was black bold letters on ugly gold paper. The directions should have been clear enough that even if Pexi got distracted, she wouldn’t forget it. I love my fiancee, but she’s not the smartest Troblin on Azeroth. Anyway, after she talked to Boorus, he would teleport her to Orgrimmar where one of my flight-boys would give her a chaperoned ride to Bilgewater isle, that I had rented for the morning and early afternoon for today’s announcement, that my parent company was a rebranding.

No longer would Vixiee Bootsguard be the owner of Bootsguard Productions, she’d be the co-owner of Fiercefuel Fabrications. Same business but named after my fiancee.

I pictured that she would see the brand new sign and marquee that I had secretly designed over the past few weeks and would turn all sorts of shades of red, rush the stage, tackle me, and kiss me until she realized we were making out on stage. We’d have a laugh, mingle, and slip away for some private dining on the Y.A.C.H.T. that I had built and hidden in the Bilgewater warehouses for the day.

But here I was, about to have to make the announcements with the real star of the show nowhere to be seen. If I had to be honest, I was about five seconds from crying. I wanted to cancel the event, tell everyone to take all the snacks and drinks as an apology, and just hide in a room and bawl my eyes out.

But I couldn’t.

See, I’m a trade princess and the world’s strongest woman. So publicly, I have to always be in control. I have to look the part of a proud leader who would never be phased by anything. I wanted to be just like my hero Gazlowe and be honorable and good to my people except for way stronger and more successful. How could I do that if everyone saw me snotting all over the blue sequined dress that I had ordered custom woven from a Silvermoon tailor? It’d be the biggest scandal as one of the new trade princesses on the scene broke down. Even with the recent cooperation deal, I struck with Steamwheedle, I can just see that affecting business deals until the next big scandal drew eyes away from me.

So I had to go through with the rebranding…no matter what.

I shook off the feelings that made my heart hurt and sashayed my way up to the podium in front of the tarp-covered marquee. Every step was graceful, with my thighs slipping out from the slit just enough to draw eyes from the fellas and ladies that fancied amazons like me. My lips were curled in a winning smile and my purple eyes shined reflecting the carefully positioned stage lights and fireworks that heralded my appearance. The band I hired to play Kezan show tunes blared their horns and banged their drums, matching my pace and the sway of my hips.

I’ll admit it was vain as all hell, but when you look as good as me, you can show off at least a little.

Flikk, the MC I hired for the event smiled and shook my hand before the younger goblin turned towards the crowd.

“Yeah, you’re right boss! Enough ‘bout the sandwiches! Let’s give a round of applause to Trade Princess Bootsguard!” Flikk said before leaving me alone on the stage.

I winked at Flikk then grabbed the edges of the podium for support as I scanned the crowd to see if I somehow missed my blue-haired love. I winked at guests as I met their eyes and tapped my skull-shaped hairpin when I saw one of my fans showing off her limited edition recreation. I even feigned a blush when the orc in the back blew me a kiss.

But no sign of Pexi.

I don’t know how I kept the smile on my face, but the show must go on.

“Ok ok fellas,” I said, “I’m happy you are all here but let’s get this show on the road.”

I paused and waited for the whoopin’ and hollering to die down.

Someone in the back coughed and I think someone had gotten drunk on volcano punch and set something on fire when I heard a scream and the distant smell of burnt hair. Someone shouted about the Samoflange. It was good to be home again.

“Three years ago, I opened up my first solo operation,” I said, “Bootsguard productions were always about brand name adventurin’ goods so you could fight bad guys or delve in tombs in style. The devices I made were also a hit, includin’ the Bootsguard Body Blocker Electro Shield. Nevah thought I’d be a trade princess, but careful savings, smart investin’, and bein’ a badass princess like me makes it easy, especially with the help of every one of ya.”

I meant it too. Unlike Gally-bag-of-dix or other losers like him, I cared about the people that worked for me. I didn’t know everyone by name, but I don’t think a single person at that event doubted that I would have jumped to their defense against anything and everyone. I was truly the denmom for this cartel and I loved it.

“But,” I said “there comes a time when a rebrandin’ is in order. And that’s what we’re here for today to announce that—”

I heard a whipping sound and a sheer whistling sound. My ears flicked as I tried to pinpoint the source. The crowd heard it as well, as most the goblins and others there turned and murmured to see what was going on.

The sound was closer then. The whipping sound was a gyrocopter blade chopping through the air and the whistling sound was a familiar voice shouting from the horizon.

“….waaaaAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIT!”

I have to admit, my heart leaped into my throat and I felt like I had to cry. This time, it wasn’t out of frustration or disappointment. It was from the voice of my Fiancee as she clung for dear life on the landing bar of the gyrocopter while the pilot was navigating the burning sparking thing towards the island. I had a ton of questions about what exactly happened to make the thing spark and sputter like that, but I didn’t care at the time. Pexi was there at the nick of time.

As the Gyrocopter reached the island, Pexi threw herself from the burning sparking machine as the pilot swung it around for an emergency landing on the P.I.L.L.O.W. that deployed whenever scanners detected a crashing ship nearing the island. So basically about seven times a day.

“YEEEEEET” shouted Pexi as she activated her rocket boots to try for a safe landing inside of the gathered group.

The guests screamed and shouted as they made way for the troblin expecting the larger woman to crash in on them and break an arm; hers or someone else's. But I stayed still since I designed her propulsion system myself and knew about the para-soles deployment system that would make a perfectly soft and safe landing.

“Hey, doll! Ya made it!” I said to Pexi.

Pexi landed with a soft pat on the earth, her face red and sweating.

“Heya babe,” Pexi said, “Sorry I’m late. The ship had to get repairs since a bear slapped it when we were flying too low and we had to take out the passenger seats so that it could fly again and…”

I raised my hand and shook my head to quiet her. I loved my fiancee, but if I didn’t stop her, she’d explain every minute of the journey and we were already behind schedule.

“Don’t worry about it”, I said as my guests returned to their places, “You’re just in time.”

“In time for what?” Pexi asked.

I smiled at her and sashayed to a rope that trailed down from the tarp that covered the marquee.

“Hey, stop droolin’ at my fiancee”, Pexi said. I heard her slap someone in the back of the head and giggled. I don’t know who she caught, but they had to know better. This princess belonged only to Pexi. Lookin’ was free, but so was head slaps if she caught them.

I ignored the slap and turned around.

“Well doll, I said I was gonna give you the ultimate wedding gift. So…I’ll has to think of something else since our weddin’ is delayed. So call this a ‘cause you mean the world to me’ gift instead.” I said.

I jerked the rope and the tarp rolled off the marquee.

The sign was a flashing neon thing powered by my own eco-friendly pneumatics pumps. It featured Pexi and my faces with an arm outstretched welcoming visitors to whatever building we hung it over. Our faces dangled over the left side of the words “Fiercefuel Fabrications”, with my mascot, the mouse Bullion sleeping inside of the o. The S had a pair of tiny troll tusks sticking out of it to represent half of my fiancee’s parentage, while a pair of bombs dangled beneath, representing that the co-owners were a pair of bombshells.

I waited for Pexi to take it all in, then looked at her with a cheeky smile.

“So doll, what do ya thi—”

Pexi cut me off by leaping over the podium and tackling me to the ground for a big smoochin’ session.

Maybe this plan didn’t go wrong after all.

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

Multiverse is a Curse Word (2)

Again, no idea how to describe this AU, other than as some sort of Frankenstein-y mash of @the-subpar-ghost‘s Adrift AU, and @hntrgurl13‘s Dimension Jumper AU and Drifting Dimensions AU. Adeline Marks is also the latter’s lovely OC. Although the Addiford ship has not yet sailed, I’m still going to credit it to @scipunk63. 

@deadpool-demon-diva and @thejesterlyfictionista I refuse to NOT inform you when I post an update. 

AO3  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11

Chapter 2: Hand Signals to Befuddle Your Enemies

The scenery whipped past silently, and sunlight streamed through the transparent walls of what Mabel had dubbed The Trainbulance. It had docked over the market place shortly after Ford had passed out. Apparently, fights were fairly common in that place, and medical help was permanently stationed nearby to pick up the pieces.

Her uncle jolted awake right next to her, shooting from horizontal to sitting upright almost instantly. His right hand automatically reached for the gun that Mabel had, with wise forethought, temporarily removed from its holster.

“Whoa! Grunkle Ford! It’s okay!”

Eyes wide and breathing hard through his nose, Ford focused on her after a moment of taking in his surroundings.

“Are you alright?”

“Me?” Mabel laughed worriedly. “What about you?”

“I’m-” Ford looked down at the recovery bed he was lying in, and then at his newly re-located shoulder. “Fine, actually.” He sounded surprised. “Where are we?”

Grinning so wide she thought every one of her braces must be showing, Mabel joyously exclaimed, “The Trainbulance! It can fly! And we don’t even have to pay for it or anything, Addi’s settled it all with the driver. I think she’s magic,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Addi?” Ford inquired.

“Right here.” Adeline said, stepping into the compartment. “Adeline Marks, your saving grace.” She introduced herself with a playful smile.

⃝

Adeline wore tattered clothes in brown and grey, and her wrists and hands were wrapped like a boxer’s. Ford knew immediately that he should not get on the wrong side of the sword strapped to her back; he had seen how fast it could be drawn. Her choppy blonde hair had a few grey streaks, and her right cheekbone wielded a couple of horizontal scars. Ford estimated that she was perhaps a few years younger than himself and had seen at least as much action, if not more, judging by the confident way she held herself – like she knew she was more than a match for anyone she crossed.

“I think she can hypnotise people with sign language, too,” Mabel supplied. Ford was suddenly aware that he had done nothing but stare at Adeline since she had walked into the room, and cleared his throat.

“Thank you for your help,” he said sincerely.

“Anytime,” she replied easily, “but Mabel’s the real hero here. She came and got me.” Adeline directed another warm smile towards his niece.

Mabel hesitated. Frowning slightly, she eventually took a breath and said to Ford again, “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have cheated.”

Ford swung his legs off the recovery bed and took her hands, making sure to look into her eyes. “Don’t blame yourself.” He said firmly. “Nobody’s hurt, that’s the important thing-”

“But you were hurt-”

“And you saved me,”

Mabel sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder, still upset.

“Mabel, you and Stanford did not deserve to be attacked over a dice game, regardless of whether you cheated. If anyone’s to blame, it’s that jerk of a gambler. I mean, who goes after a kid like that?” Adeline put in. “Next time, only cheat if the other guy isn’t going to notice.” She winked.

Mabel nodded slowly, mollified.

“Where are heading?” Ford wondered.

“This, um, trainbulance is going to drop us off at a place I know, run by some … colleagues, I guess, of mine. At the very least it’s a place to shelter for the night.” Adeline prompted, seeing his obvious reluctance.

“Adeline, it’s not that I don’t appreciate all that you’ve done,” he began, “I would just prefer not to take any more risks than absolutely necessary.”

“It wouldn’t be a risk.” Adeline said quickly and eagerly. “I mean, not by our standards, right?”

Ford ran a hand through his hair, glancing at Mabel, who erupted into a coughing fit.

“I’m good,” she choked out. He really hoped she had not caught something from that alley. He should have tried harder to find a more sanitary, not to mention safer, sleeping place. It was hard to remember how much more careful he had to be now, especially with a child as uncomplaining and resilient as Mabel. That being said, no matter how guilty he felt it was impossible to find suitable living conditions all the time.

It would be best to take it where he could get it then.

“Okay,” he agreed, nodding to Adeline.

⃝

Trying hard to contain her delight and not freak out the others, Addi was suddenly reminded of something.

“Oh! A thing you may find useful …” She rotated her wrist around and flicked her fingers out.

“I think she’s trying to hypnotise us,” Mabel stage whispered, looking strangely keen.

“No, this is a hand signal.” Addi laughed. “It, well, it sort of means ‘I don’t want to hurt you, I’m on your side.’” She rolled her eyes at Stanford’s raised eyebrow. “At the very least it’ll confuse your enemies into stopping attacking, y’know, if you decide to just stand there and wave at them. But they’ll probably recognise it. It works in many of the dimensions I’ve been to.”

“You said ‘side’ as in side of a war?” Stanford picked up, perceptive as ever.

“No. Not yet anyway,”

“So, a resistance effort? Against what? Are you a part of this?”

Addi shifted uncomfortably. She’d want Wesley around to explain this. “I help out where I’m needed. I’m not officially a part of anything. If they need assistance they call me in, like with-”

“Recruiting?” Ford’s voice was suddenly as hard as steel.

“No, well yes, but not you, not Mabel. I don’t involve kids.” Addi became aware that the conversation had made a sharp turn off road.

“You don’t. However, in my experience resistances are often just as brutal and cruel as the institutions they overthrow,”

“I’m not trying to get either of you involved.” Addi raised her hands in a placating gesture. “I just think we could help you out.”

“We don’t need help,” Stanford said coldly.

Mabel doubled over coughing again. As Addi steadied her with a hand, the medical transport shuttle, which had been slowing imperceptibly, rocked to a halt. The cease in motion caused all three of them to sway, and Addi distinctly heard Stanford’s breath catch in his throat when he looked back at her. He froze up, and Addi knew, she just knew that her necklace was showing. In the following moment of silence and stillness, Mabel’s mouth dropped open as she saw it too.

“It’s not-” Addi tried desperately to say, but then her two, well she couldn’t call them friends anymore, heard footsteps thundering towards them from the door behind her.

Things happened very quickly after that.

Mabel tore herself out of Addi’s hand and ran to the exit hatch in one of the viewing walls. Stanford kicked the chair she had vacated into Addi’s knees, making her hiss in pain. With a blast from the man’s gun, Mabel shot the emergency hatch off, and then they were gone.

“Damn it!” Adeline shouted in mingled anger and despair. The two resistance members she had notified to escort them to their base in this dimension hurried into the room.

“Why were you running? There was no rush!”

“The driver was getting impatient,” the blue, three-eyed, spiny one said uncertainly.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm down, Addi reached up and removed her necklace.

“Shit,” she whispered, gazing down at the little golden triangle.

“They freaked, huh?” asked Kot, a green, tentacled, octopus-like person. Their words were filled with sympathy.

“Yeah,” Addi tried to keep her voice from cracking.

⃝

Three days and two dimensions later, Mabel’s cough was only getting worse. She felt unsteady on her feet, and her temperature was stubbornly increasing. She’d also noticed Ford starting to cough.

They could not afford to be sick.

They were both interdimensional outlaws – Mabel by association, Ford by intent – and any wrong move could draw attention to themselves. A one-eyed, yellow, demonic kind of attention. Their encounter with Addi had given them no choice but to keep moving.

“How far away’s the next portal?” she murmured. On the other side of the fire pit in the desert floor, Ford looked up from his calculations.

“Not far.” He said. “It will open in a few hours.”

Mabel nodded and shivered. She was too tired to speak. She was cold, even though she was wrapped in all the blankets they had. Even though she was next to a fire. Even though they were in a desert.

This sucks, she thought miserably. Hey, never had an alien virus though! This didn’t cheer her up as much as it had two days ago.

Ford’s smothered cough almost escaped her notice as the crackling of the fire. A pang of guilt went through her and she sniffled. Worry painted all over his face, her uncle came and sat next to her, rubbing her back.

“S’ry,” Mabel said.

“No, I shouldn’t have let us stay in that alley,”

“Meant for bein’ a hassle,”

“You’re not. You never are,”

Mabel was pretty sure that was a lie. Ford was always counting their rations to make sure there was enough for two. He was more focused on earning money so they could stay in actual dwelling places whenever possible. He always kept a secure grip on her hand when they walked into civilisation, and had gone out of his way to get her proper travelling clothes. Most regularly though, he took the time to teach her about the calculations he used, the most common social customs he’d found, and how to operate what technology they had. To her, it was obvious how much of his attention she took up. It was nice of him to lie though.

Mustering up some last dregs of energy, Mabel asked what had been weighing on her mind.

“Do you really think Addi was working for Bill? I mean, the necklace didn’t have an eye. It was just a triangle,”

“I don’t know,” Ford said tiredly. It must have been the millionth time she had asked that question.

“I really liked her,” Mabel said sadly.

“I know. I’m sorry,”

After a moment Ford drew the blankets around her tighter. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He’d said that every night since she’d gotten a fever. She never did, but thankfully it was always easy to fall asleep. Waking up was the difficult part.

⃝

Ford woke up to the click of a weapon two sand dunes over. Quietly and quickly, he shook Mabel awake and checked that the smouldering coals of the fire were not bright enough to give away their position. Then he stuffed all their possessions into their bag, leaving one blanket around the girl. They were ready to move in under a minute.

When he took Mabel’s hand she was shaking. Not only her fingers, but her legs were trembling as if they were unused to the strain of lifting her, and her shoulders were heaving with the effort of suppressing violent coughs. Feeling his mouth go dry, he looked into her eyes. Their brown usually full of life, it was shocking to see how exhausted they were now. She seemed only half aware of what was going on.

Enough was enough. Once they were through the portal he was getting her to a hospital.

They made it across three sand dunes before their pursuers caught sight of them. Breaking into a run, Mabel was forced to stumble forwards with him as best she could. Unable to hold it in anymore, she dissolved into a full-blown coughing fit.

When the blue disc of the portal burst into brilliance ahead of them, the pursuers started shouting. A variety of languages met Ford’s ears, those that he understood phrasing questions.

“Stop! Who are you?”

“What are you doing here? Who sent you?”

“This is a warning shot!”

The sand next to them exploded, red lasers leaving afterimages across the dark sky. Ford instinctively threw himself in the opposite direction, cannoning into Mabel. Then he was on his feet and drawing his own gun, only to have it magnetically ripped out of his hands.

“Do not move,”

Ford reached out to push Mabel behind him, but the only resistance his hand met came from air. Ready to dive at the nearest assailant if they had so much as singed his niece, his head snapped around to see her on her hands and knees coughing so hard into the sand it sounded painful. He started towards her but another warning shot flew between them. He froze.

For a few seconds, all Ford could hear was the pulse pounding in his head and the agonised gasps for breath coming from his niece. Then the two pursuers began their interrogation.

“Tell us why you are here!”

“You were armed. That does not suggest a benign intention,”

“Are you affiliated with Wikert Expansion Enterprises?”

Mabel tried to say something, but all that came out was a croak, quickly overtaken by more coughs.

“We’re just travellers, we’re only passing through-” Ford tried.

“Travellers do not live like criminals,”

“What is wrong with the child?”

“I don’t know,” Ford said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Mabel was trying to get their attention. She waved an arm out ahead of her in lieu of words, or so Ford initially thought. Her coughs were coming harder and faster than ever, leaving her with barely enough time to breathe. Her condition was rapidly worsening. Could she be hallucinating? Was that why she was waving like that? Various thoughts presented themselves to him with lightning speed, but no solutions were among them.

With a huge rattling breath, Mabel gave one last cough. There was a muted splat as something dribbled out of her mouth and hit the sand. Ford’s heart seemed to stop as the portal gave one last flare before it disappeared, showing him clearly the red blood his little girl had choked out.

She shakily wiped her mouth and stood up, swaying. Then she made the hand signal she had been previously struggling to: a wrist rotation, followed by splayed fingers. After a very still moment, the two others echoed it.

Right then, the words “Come with us. We can help,” were the only ones necessary to convince Ford to trust them.

⃝

The structure was a monumental block in the middle of the desert. It was as big as a town, and twenty stories tall. Ford was not sure how they had missed it when they had arrived.

Another cough brought his attention back to Mabel. The following sob caused his throat to close up. More on edge than he had been in years, he hurried them both through one of the entrances, their two guides signalling the guards to let them in.

There were only a few people in this section, all wearing a black symbol on their clothes identifying them as medics. A small wave of relief flowed over him, and he looked down at Mabel as –

- as her eyes rolled back into her head and her legs finally buckled. Catching her before she hit the ground, Ford barely registered the panicked shout that left him, inducing the medical personnel to all hurry towards the commotion.

Ford swiftly checked Mabel’s breathing and heart-rate, neither of which were good. Her skin was clammy when he had been sure it was feverish only earlier that day. She was twitching slightly, but not seizing, which was indicative of –

A green, tentacled being started to pull his niece out of his arms. Instinctively, he jerked back, attempting to tighten his hold on her, but the stranger was already rushing away with the girl. Another swell of panic caused him to lash out, to try to stop them from moving out of his sight, even though he was dimly aware that it’s okay, they’re a doctor, they know what they’re doing. The hands of the guides closed around him for restraint, which only made him struggle harder. There was shouting, a call for help, an unintelligible reply, and a sharp prick in his right arm.

Fuck, was his last thought before he slipped into unconsciousness. Again.  

[rfsak2]

Fight

Here’s hoping this ends up in the tag as it should. This is based of some prompts the lovely @xodirection sent me yesterday! Thanks, girl! Hope you like!

Prompts used: “I miss you so much it hurts.” Long cuddles (There’s so many cuddles) Jack gets in a bar fight because some jackass puts his hands on his lady…

Fight Summary: Them’s fighting words… Jack Lowden/Reader Warnings: Shouting and a bit of mild violence.

There was a knock on the door and she sprung to her feet, setting her laptop aside. She smiled at Bobby who sat at the small dining table across the room. “That’s probably Jack!”

She dashed towards the door and threw it open, smiling widely down at Jack. Throwing her arms open, she beamed. “Jack Jack!”

Jack managed a small, tight smile and wrapped his arms around her. “I missed ye, hennie.”

She frowned and pulled slightly away from him. “Are you okay, baby?”

He shrugged and caught sight of Bobby packing his laptop up over her shoulder. “Get lost, Bobby.”

Frowning a bit at his tone, Bobby nodded. “On my way out, Jack. See you Monday morning, Y/N.”

She nodded and waved, smiling politely. “Yep. See you bright and early.”

Jack stepped fully into the trailer, letting Bobby out, frowning mightily down at the smaller man.

As soon as the door was closed behind him, Y/N turned on Jack. “What was that about?”

Jack shrugged and brushed past her to sit on the couch. “It’s nothin’, hen.” He pasted a smile on his face and patted his lap. “Come cuddle?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What was that, Jack? Why were you so rude to Bobby?”

Jack scoffed. “Who gives a fuck, woman? Ge’ over ‘ere.”

“No.”

“‘Scuse me?” He all but growled.

She shook her head and pulled herself up to her not very impressive height. “Absolutely not. You’re not gonna talk to me like that, Jack.”

“Like what, hennie? How am I talkin’ te ye exactly?” He swiped a hand over his face.

“Like I’m below you, Jack. Like you have a right to command sex from me.”

“Don’t I?” He tried for humor, he really did. But it just came out of his mouth nastily, like acid. He fought to regain control over his temper and tried again. “Hennie, come here please…” He shoved to his feet. “Fuck this. I’m gettin’ a hotel.”

She pulled back like he had struck her. “No. Sit your ass down. We’re gonna talk about this.” He glared at her. “What did I do? What is your bloody problem, Jack?”

He ignored her and made for the door. She got in between him and the door and shoved at his chest. “Baby, what is wrong? Can you please just talk to me?”

He was silent for a long moment, leaning down over her, caging her against the door. “Bobby… how many hoors a day do ye spend wit’ him?”

She pulled back. “What? Jack, he’s my assistant. I spend a lot of time with him.” She grew quiet. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m no’ suggestin’ anythin’.” He shrugged, tense and sarcastic. “Jus’ tha’ ye seem t’enjoy spendin’ tha’ time wit’ ‘im… he already fuck ye, hen? Tha’ why ye don-”

She slapped him and ducked under his arm. “Get out.”

He banged his fist against the door loudly and she jumped, looking suddenly very scared. His heart froze and he realized just how far this had gotten. “Hennie.. Lovie, I’m-”

She shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes. “Out. Go find that fuckin’ hotel. I don’t care.” She sucked in a breath. “I haven’t seen you for two months and this is what you do?”

“Y/N… I’m sorry, lass…”

“Get. Out.” She turned and fled towards her bedroom, slamming the door.

Jack sagged back against the door, sinking to the floor, and forced himself to sit and listen to her sobbing through the thin walls of the trailer. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, fighting back tears.

It had been a long day and he hadn’t really meant to take that out on his girl. But then he’d seen Bobby and lost the last bit of his patience…

He knew she wouldn’t ever cheat on him. That she loved him as much as he loved her, but he had wanted nothing more than to cuddle with his lady-love and then the kid was there- Shit, he was a dumbass.

God.. what had he done?

He shoved to his feet and all but staggered toward the bedroom door where he could still hear her sobbing. She had probably not made it to the bed and had just curled in on herself on the other side of the door. The image that his mind conjured up made him feel like scum.

I am such a fuckin’ arsehole.

He knocked on the door and she struggled to catch her breath. “I told you to leave.”

“Lovie… I’m so sorry.”

She muffled the next sob and he wanted to punch himself in the face. “I just want you to leave me alone. Go away.”

He sighed and sat on the other side of the door. “I’m an arse, love. I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t say anything and more out of a bid to fill the silence, Jack started rambling. “I miss ye so much it hurts, hen. Skype jus’ ain’t enough, y’know. I hate wakin’ up in th’morning an’ knowin’ yer no’ there t’force me ou’ a’bed. I hate no’ bein’ able to eat wit’ ye, te talk through even the mundane, normal shite wit’ ye. I hate working on sets wi’out ye.”

He chuckled sadly. “I’ve been rather spoiled by working wit’ ye, s’pose. It’s jus’ not th’same wi’out ye on th’otha side of th’camera. Some of the camera opera’ers on this crew are absolute rubbish. Today we had to film one scene five bloody times because th’camera couldn’t get their shite toge’er.” He sighed. “Tha’s why I missed tha’ ferst bloody train and then dinner. It’s been a shit day, love. I’m sorry.”

She stuttered angrily. “You accused me of cheating on you because another camera operator sucked at their job? What fuckin’ sense does that make, Jack?”

He nodded, though she couldn’t see it. “I know.. I don’t ‘ave a single credible explanation fer tha’, lovie… I was jus’ angry an’ spoilin’ fer a fight. I know ye’d never cheat on me.”

“Do you?” He felt her head connect with the door lightly. “Cause if you don’t, fuck right off.”

“I jus’ went a bit mad, is all. All I’ve wanted all day is to be wit’ ye an’ it felt like everythin’ was conspirin’ to make tha’ not happen. Then I get here and Bobby is here and even though rationally I know ye don’t want ‘im, that ye love me, I just-”

“Acted like a complete fucktard?” She sucked in another breath, her voice less shaky. “We were just trying to get everything done so I could spend all weekend with you and not have anything to work on. I just wanted to make sure you had my undivided attention. Then you go and flip the fuck out over Bobby of all people.”

He sighed. “Hennie, I’m sorry I blew up.”

“You’re an ass.” She paused. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Don’t I know it, lass. Don’t know what I’d do wi’out ye. I love ye too.” He smiled. “Let me in? I need te hold ye somethin’ fierce.”

There was a tense silence and then he heard her stand. He sighed in relief and stood. The door opened slowly and she stuck her head out, using her body to block him out of the room. She leaned against the door frame and the sight of her hunched posture and red eyes had his heart plummeting all over again.

“Och… hennie. I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged and looked down at her feet. When he lifted his hand to wipe at her cheeks, she shied away from him and he sucked in a stuttering breath.

“You scared me. I’ve never seen you that angry before.”

He nodded and leaned in close to her, but not touching her. “I’m sorry, hennie. I swear, I’d never hurt ye. I didn’t even realize how out of control I had gotten. Baby, I’m so sorry.”

She nodded and tentatively set a hand against his waist before it slid up his chest. She lifted her other hand and cradled his red cheek “I’m sorry for slapping you.”

He shook his head and slid his arms around her slowly, tryin’ not to spook her. “It’s alright… Though it did sting, hennie. I feel better knowing ye can defend yeself.”

She stepped fully into his arms and chuckled through a fresh run of tears, pressing her face to his chest. He squeezed her tightly to him and nuzzled his cheek against the top of her head. “Gawd. I ‘ate m’self fer doin’ this te ye, m’love.” He let her sob, pressing the occasional soft kiss to her hair. “Let’s go lay down, hennie. Please?”

She nodded and turned away from him, wiping at her face. He eyed the bed with some trepidation. He doubted he would be able to even fully stretch out his legs.

“What is it?” She had turned back to him.

He smiled softly and wiped a stray tear from her face. “Jus’ a small bed, hennie. Tha’sall. I’m too tall fer it.”

“You’re gonna wish you really went to that hotel now.” She smiled feebly and sat down, scooting to the far side.

He shook his head and leaned over the bed to kiss her, catching her eyes and holding her gaze. “If yer no’ at th’hotel, then I don’t want t’be at th’hotel. I’d sleep in a bloody shack on a dirt floor if ye were there wit’ me.” He grinned and thumbed at her chin. “If I had-a gone to th’hotel, then I’d be hatin’ meself all night fer walkin’ oot on th’woman I love an’ leavin’ her cryin’. Ye know tha’ right, hennie? Wouldnae ‘ave slept anyways.”

“Yeah, I know.” She kissed him before curling her knees to her chest and watching as he sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced his boots.

Boots gone, he stayed still, perched on the edge of the bed, shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion and the emotional toil of the day. He rubbed a hand over his face and her heart squeezed as his shoulders started shaking silently.

She scooted forward and wrapped herself around him, cheek pressed to his back. Sometime later, his breathing smoothed as he calmed down and he chuckled through the tears. “No’ necessarily th’sexiest thing ye’ve seen me do.”

She smiled. “Oh, I don’t know  There’s something very comforting about knowing that all this affects you as much as it does me. This past hour has been brutal. I’d be worried if you managed to make it through dry-eyed.”

He nodded, wiping at his face, and patted her thigh. “Move back, lovie. I need a cuddle.”

She laid back and he stood, stripping himself of his jumper, undershirt and jeans. She hadn’t bothered to take off her own jeans, so he motioned to her. “Can I help ye out, hennie?” She smiled and nodded.

Smiling, he moved to kneel next to her on the bed and leant down to kiss her, before popping the button on her jeans and shimmying them down her legs. He paused to press a kiss to her sternum over her (or rather his) uni jumper- how did I miss that?-, before stretching out over her. He laid his head on her chest, angling across the bed to make sure he could stretch out fully, and sighed when she started carding her fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry, hennie.”

She shushed him. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

“I love ye.”

“I love you too.” She kissed his head. “I’m sorry you had such a shit day.”

He shrugged and they lapsed into comfortable silence. She had just begun dozing off, warm and safe in his arms when he spoke again. “If I ever do tha’ again, leave me.”

She hummed and he sat up, eyes serious. “If I ever get tha’ angry again, where yer scared tha’-” he swallowed dryly “-tha’ I might hurt ye, leave me.”

She nodded but leaned up to kiss him. “Okay, I will. I was scared for a brief second but I didn’t ever think you were going to hurt me, please know that. You scared yourself as much… maybe more than you scared me.”

He laid his head back on her chest. “I will never forget th’look on yer face. I never wanted te scare ye, I promise.”

She shushed him again and started combing through his hair again. “I know, baby. I never thought you did, I promise. I know that you’d never hurt me. You just lost control for a split second.”

He shook his head. “It’s no excuse. I shoulda never done it.”

She shushed him and kissed his hair.

**

She followed Jack back to the table, smiling at the friends who had joined them since Jack had pulled her onto the dance floor.

Jack grinned. “Hiya!”

There was only seat so she let Jack pull her into his lap, waving off Fionn’s offered seat. “It’s fine. Why do you think I’m marrying him except to always have a place to sit?”

Jack chuckled and pressed his hips up against her. She muffled a giggle and Jack pressed his lips to her ear. “I’ll give ye a place te sit, hennie.”

She smiled and pecked him on the lips. “Behave, rooster.”

“Neva!”

Quietly laughing, she tapped the little beauty mark revealed by his newly clean-shaven face, before sliding her fingers back into his hair. “Getcha a man who can do both.”

Jack hummed, eyes on her lips.

There was a sudden awkward quietness and the couple turned from each other.

Y/N frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Fionn shrugged. “That bloke by the bar. Tom says he’s been staring this way for awhile.”

Jack leaned around her and she swiveled to look. The man, who she wouldn’t hesitate to describe as vaguely dude bro-ish, was still staring. When he saw that he had her attention, he lifted his hand to his face and made an obscene gesture.

She recoiled back against Jack’s chest.

“Wha’ th’fuck?” Jack patted her thigh. “Le’me up, hennie. I’m gonna deal wit’ this.”

She shook her head and turned to face Jack. “Absolutely not.”

Jack frowned, flushed in anger. “No bloody arsehole is gonna act tha’ way te a lady while I’m around, hen. Le’me up.”

Harry nodded and had already stood. “We’ll go with him, Y/N. That’s not cool.”

“No.” She smoothed a hand over his shoulder and down his chest, before turning to the boys. She motioned for them all to sit. “You’re not going to start a fight in a pub over some drunk dumbass being gross. No. You’re all too smart for that.”

“Oh am I?” Jack’s eyes were still very firmly on the dude bro. “I don’t think I am.”

Fionn laughed despite the tension. “I wish I had recorded that.”

“Oi! Ye wanker!” Jack blushed and swatted at Fionn’s arm.

Just like that the tension was dispelled and Y/N sighed in relief.

Jack settled back against the couch and pulled her firmly against his chest, nodding. “Alright, hennie. Jus’ because you asked me to.”

“Thank you, my love.” She leaned up to kiss him. “There’s already too much attention on all of us, what with Harry being here. I don’t want all of this to end up in a tabloid if we can avoid this.”

He sighed, still spoiling for the fight and shrugged. “If tha’s wha’ ye want.” He kissed her forehead. “Yer too smart fer me, lovie.”

She chuckled. “I love you, rooster.”

“I love ye too, m’gorgeous girl.”

An hour and half of her Guinness later, she stood. “I’m gonna run to the toilet.”

Jack casting his eyes around, looking for the dude bro. “Do ye want me te stand ou’side an’ wait fer ye?”

She looked around. “Is he lingering?”

Jack shrugged. “Haven’t seen ‘im in awhile.”

She nodded. “Should be fine then.” She leaned over and kissed him. “I’ll be right back.”

He kept his eyes on her as she crossed the pub toward the toilet. He was fine for the first ten minutes but as each additional minute passed, Jack got increasingly nervous.

He stood and the boys looked up. “I’m gonna go check on Y/N. Be right back.”

Tom nodded and it was like a switch had been flipped, all the earlier tension back tenfold.

Jack leaned on the wall by the corridor that led back to the toilets. He waited, not wanting to make other women uncomfortable if all was well, and was seconds from asking another girl to pop into the bathroom and check when he heard a half-muffled ‘get off’ in a distinct American accent.

He brushed past a man leaving the corridor and rounded the corner towards the ladies’ toilet and saw red. The same asshole from earlier had Y/N backed up against the wall, one hand over her mouth, trying to keep her quiet, the other trying to unbutton her jeans.

She pushed his hand off her face and hauled back, slapping him, fighting like a hellcat to get her knee up between his legs. “Get off of me.”

Cussing a blue streak, the man lifted a hand to strike her.

Jack rushed the man, catching him around the lapels and shoving him against the wall with a thump he was sure could be heard in the pub. “Are ye aff ye bluidy heid, ye bastard? Were ye goin’ te hit her?”

The man laughed. “Whatever man, she wanted it.”

Jack growled and slammed him against the wall again. “Ye best watch yer bloody gob or I’ll skelp ye one guid.”

“Fuck you and fuck your frigid bitch.”

Jack hauled back and hit the asshole square in the jaw. “I told ye te watch yer gob. Ye’ll no’ talk about her tha’ way, ye ken?”

The man spat blood at his feet and managed to break Jack’s grip. He threw a wild, unaimed punch, catching Jack in the eyebrow. Jack caught the man again and this time there was no doubt that everyone in the suddenly silent pub heard the man’s head hit the panelled wood wall.

Y/N jumped and Jack caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. “Are ye okay, m’love?” When she had nodded, he jerked his chin. “Go stand wit’ the lads, lovie.”

She nodded, turning to see their friends gathered in the corner. Shakily, she took the five steps to Barry and Harry who gently passed her back to Tom and Fionn.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Tom wrapped an arm around her and smiled gently. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. “Jack’s bleeding.”

Tom shushed her. “He’ll be alright.”

“Your whore girlfriend-”

Jack punched him again, this time right in the mouth. “Haud yer wheesht!”

“Fuck you, you jock bastard.”

This time he lost a tooth.

There was a commotion behind them and the bouncers pushed past the growing crowd. “Break it up! Come on, lads. There’s no need to fight.”

Jack dropped the man, hands up, and backed away. “I caught him tryin’ t’rape me burd.”

One bouncer frowned as the other hauled the dude bro to his feet. “Is this true?”

The asshole spat out another tooth. “Fuck t’lot of ya.”

“Where’s your girlfriend?”

Jack motioned to Y/N, who pulled away from Tom and rushed to Jack’s side. “M’fiancee.”

The bouncer nodded. “Did this man try to rape you?”

She nodded. “He was waiting for me when I left the toilet. Grabbed me and hauled me into the corner.”

“Fuck you, bitch.”

Jack made another bid to get at the man, but Y/N grabbed his hand, avoiding his split knuckles. Jack looked down and gathered her against his side. Pressing his face to her hair, he turned back to the bouncers. “He harassed ‘er earlier, made an obscene gesture, leerin’, all tha’.”

The bouncer nodded. “We’ll call the cops. Go head back into the pub and we’ll get this arsewipe out of here.”

Jack turned and found he was blocked by a crowd of people. He gritted his teeth and bellowed, “Move, ye arseholes! I wanna get m’girl outta ‘ere.”

The crowd parted and still in black temper, Jack led her back to the table. “Sit down, hennie. I need a bluidy drink.”

She shook her head. Smiling softly, she guided him to the seat. “Sit down, my love. I need to grab ice for that eyebrow. I’ll grab you a drink.”

He touched his eyebrow, hand coming away bloody, and winced. “Didn’t realize he go’ me.”

She nodded, holding a clean cocktail napkin underneath his eyebrow. “I don’t know how. You’ve got blood all in your eye. You’ll definitely have a bruise in the morning-”

Still clinging to his anger, he tried for a grin. “Ye should see th’otha guy.”

She pecked at his lips. “I know, I did…” She fingered the collar of his flannel. “I think that shirt is toast, you have blood on the collar and the sleeve.” She kissed his cheek. “Hold that. I’ll be right back.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want ye leavin’ me side fer the rest of the night, hennie.” He grabbed her hand.

“I’ll be-”

Barry smiled. “I’ll get it, Y/N. Sit wit’ Jack.” He grinned at Jack. “Gotta buy the night’s hero a drink, yeah? Scotch?”

Jack nodded and pulled Y/N back to him. She sat gingerly in his lap and put some pressure on his eyebrow. “Are ye really okay, hennie?”

She nodded, smiling at him. “You, my hero, got to him mere seconds after he pulled me into the corner. I’m just fine. I promise.”

He nodded and flexed his hand, wincing as Barry returned with his whiskey, a glass of ice and first aid kit.

Jack sipped at his whiskey, while she cleaned the area around his eyebrow with an alcohol pad. She smoothed a little petroleum jelly over the cut when she was satisfied that it was clean and no longer bleeding. “There that should do for that. Let’s see that hand.”

After carefully cleaning the blood away from his split knuckles, she wrapped some ice up in a clean rag. Pressing it to his hand, they sat and waited for the bouncers to come back after talking to the police.

Jack sipped his whiskey again. “I love ye, Y/N.”

She smiled and kissed him, aware that everyone still had eyes on them. “I love you too, rooster. I’m so glad I have you.”

He knocked foreheads with her before wincing and cussing as it knocked his split eyebrow against her forehead. “Shite!”

She laughed. “Now you’ve gone and got bloody petroleum jelly on me! Yuck!”

Jack laughed and leaned forward to kiss her.

Inappropriate Up Next: Maybe

[winedwords]

Finn| Into Your Arms |Bálor

Title; Into Your Arms

Pairing; Finn Bálor/Reader

Word Count; 5523

Summary; If it’s just a game, then I like the way that we play.

Warnings;  NSFW. Body painting leading to smut. Smut for smut’s sake. Here be no plot. Latex free.

A/N: repost from the old blog

If there was one thing I hated most about my chosen and beloved profession, it was cleaning my airbrush gun and brushes before each body painting session.

Cleanliness was next to godliness and I was practically divine, cleaning all the tools of my trade before and after each session. My back ached from being hunched over a sink for hours, my cuticles and palms dry and cracking from cleaning solution, and feet terribly sore from being on them all day.  My thoroughness and attention to detail in every aspect of my career had served me well and had landed me my current position.

Makeup artists were a dime a dozen these days, with everyone with some cheap brushes, a neutral eyeshadow palette, and an iPhone claiming the title. It was a disservice to those of us who literally starved for the opportunity to assist more established artists, who had to decide between spending the money on purchasing items for the kit or paying rent. I put in my time and paid my dues, assisting and learning from award winning artists, landing small gigs that didn’t pay, to finally getting a contract for a television show and working a Fashion Week.

The WWE was just a new challenge.

I had joined the Glam Squad three months ago when one of their girls went on maternity leave and they were desperate for someone who was proficient in airbrush and body painting. I got along famously with the others, after a few days of initial awkwardness and tension. We had all cut our teeth in the industry and there is a certain degree of professional jealousy that taints every relationship, but this felt more like family. The camaraderie was there, it had to be, since we traveled like nomads across the world, never staying in one place too long.

I was the first one at the arena, and for good reason.

It was another pay per view, which meant I needed to be at the arena obscenely early to prepare for body painting.

I found the dressing room to be used for the artists easy enough, the gophers having gotten to the arena just before me and they had set up our stations. Now it was just myself, the soft sounds of a random Pandora station, and thoughts of my muse.

Finn Bálor.

He’d essentially given me free reign, after the first couple of sessions, with his body painting. He’d entrusted me with making him look badass and let my creativity run free. That feeling was addictive, especially after doing nothing but a smoky eye and flawless skin on women who were already flawless.

He though… he was perfection personified. Brilliant blue eyes, a wide smile, sharp jaw line, and what seemed to be negative body fat, every muscle sharply defined against his pale skin. He genuinely appeared to be carved out of marble and given his predilection for almost too tight tailored suits combined with his affectionate gestures for other male superstars, I had some questions about his preferences. Okay, some questions was an understatement, when in reality he could just have been living up to the reputation of being European.

I chuckled to myself and shook my head. Glancing back down, I realized I had been cleaning the same makeup sponge for a solid five minutes and the material was starting to shred. I made a face and grumbled, before pushing the now ruined egg shaped sponge into the trash can rather violently.

There was twenty dollars down the drain because I was busy thinking about my very possibly gay male fantasy.

“God fuckin’ damn it. I need to go buy more fuckin’ sponges.”

Someone cleared their throat behind me and I nearly jumped out of my skin, whirling around with a hand pressed to my heart to see the tall Irishman that had interrupted my thoughts. He was just standing there with his hands in his pockets, a silly grin on his face.

“Should I come back later?”

I frowned and shook my head. “No, no, it’s fine. What are you doing here? We don’t have to start painting until eleven.”

His grin pulled just a fraction wider and he glanced down at his phone. “Yeah, I have the paintin’ session at eleven, but it’s half past already. I apologize fer bein’ late.”

My mouth dropped into a perfect o, my brain working rapidly to try to recollect my schedule. “Oh shoot, I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

Finn laughed, his face lighting up. “Oh no, darlin’ it’s fine. It’s m'fault for bein’ late and ye seemed pretty absorbed in cleanin’ yer brushes.”

I waved off his words, already beginning to arrange the alcohol based body paints on the table that would serve as my work station.

“It’s all okay Finn. I was just about ready for you anyway. You know the drill.”

Finn chuckled and unzipped his hooded sweartshirt to reveal his bare, broad chest. My mouth went dry and I had to look away quickly with a cough, grabbing at my brush belt, nearly knocking over my carefully arranged set up.

Finn’s expression was simultaneously amused and unreadable, the flicker of heat that I caught on his face making me feel suddenly self conscious. As quick as it had appeared, it was gone, leaving me to think it was just a figment of my imagination. My face flushed as he pulled his sweats low enough to be dangerous, the smooth flesh of his pelvis exposed to my suddenly too hungry eyes.

I gave the barest shake of my head, trying to clear out the rapidly forming unprofessional thoughts. As the tall Irishman was sorting himself out and getting comfortable for the hours long painting session, I pulled my hair up into a sloppy ponytail to get it out of my face. I was fussing with the spray bottles of alcohol and strapping on my brush belt, the weight of his eyes on me the entire time.

I was dressed almost too comfortably to be professional, hastily applied makeup that had been put on in a compact, and my hair, though now in a ponytail, was only finger combed this morning. A quick glance in one of the mirrors along the wall had let me know that there was nothing out of the ordinary on my face. What could he possibly be looking at?

The possibility that he was looking at me flitted across my mind, but I dismissed that thought as soon as it had come. I was being ridiculous. Even if he was straight, there was no way he would look in my direction. We were surrounded day in and day out by ridiculously beautiful women, let alone the women who hung around after the shows and in the hotel lobbies who were hoping to warm the talent’s bed for the night. Finn was sweet and well mannered, but an incorrigible flirt if the rumors about Japan were true.

I sprayed a large fan brush with alcohol and swirled over the black cream makeup, before turning to face Finn. I don’t know why I had a slight tremor in my hands or why every nerve ending in my body was on edge. I had done this exact same process with Finn multiple times, so was I all out of sorts now?

“Ready?”

Finn stretched his neck to the left, then the right before nodding while turning his back to me to start painting.

“’m always ready darlin’.”

I hesitated for just the briefest of moments, my heart skipping a beat. Nope, he totally wasn’t making a sexually laced flirtatious comment in my direction. I was just imagining things and clearly needed some quality time with my battery operated boyfriend. I mentally shook it off, before beginning the outline of the demon eye that I had sketched out a couple of nights previously. My mouth went a little dry as I watched the well defined muscles of his back flutter, tense, and jump under the bristles of my brush.

“Dunno why yer brush is always cold. Can’t they make this stuff warmer?”

I giggled.

“Unfortunately not, Finn. It’s hard to keep alcohol warm in spray bottles. And you know it gets worse once I fire up the airbrush machine.”

He groaned playfully, before the two of us fell into a companionable silence. For well over twenty minutes, the only sounds in the room were the soft notes from whatever song Pandora was playing, the spraying of alcohol into the cake makeup, and the bristles of the brushes gliding along skin.

I always started low on his back, being a full head shorter than him. It was just easiest to start there and work up, when I would eventually need a step stool to reach his broad shoulders and onto the sensitive skin of Finn’s neck. He truly did look like his body was carved by one of the Renaissance masters, all milky smooth skin and chiseled muscle. Predictably, my mind went wandering to places where it shouldn’t be and wondering what his skin would feel like underneath my fingers…

“Y'know, every time ye do this, I almost want ta go ta sleep. It’s relaxin’.”

His voice interrupted my thoughts and I flushed, my brush never faltering. I kept my eyes low, trying to focus on the line work, when I noticed it.

He was crouching to make it easier for me to paint his back. I took the smallest of steps back.

“Finn, you don’t have to crouch. I have a step stool for a reason.”

He snorted, almost incredulously.

“Ye’ve been helpin’ me out wit this for… four months now? And yer just now noticin’ that I’m crouchin’?”

I couldn’t help myself, the giggle that snuck out was a little high pitched and flirtatious.

“Oh I’ve noticed before. I just didn’t care enough to let you have it easy.”

I could feel the grin in his voice as he clucked his tongue against his teeth.

“What’ve I ever done to ye, (Y/N)?”

I exaggerated a sigh, before playfully quipping back.

“The mere fact you exist, Finn.”

The Irishman barked out a laugh, “Ye cannot just leave me hangin’ like that, what’s the real reason?”

I was thankful that his back was to me, because I’m almost positive that my face was doing its best imitation of a tomato.

“I get a lot of messages from the female friends and family members who watch RAW. I don’t hear the end of it.”

He snorted, “And here I thought it was because of the Twin Terrors.”

I froze, the angled brush motionless on his skin, before I shifted on my feet. I looked at the back of his head curiously.

“The Twin Terrors?”

Finn shrugged and he glanced back over his shoulder to meet my eyes. “Marie and Lauren in wardrobe.”

I made a face and pressed my lips together tightly.

“I have nothing to say about them.”

How he picked up on what I thought was well disguised distaste for the two women who made up wardrobe, I don’t know. I’d never heard them called the Terror Twins, that was relatively PG compared to the epithets others on the Glam Squad called them. Why did Finn even bring them up? I kept to myself backstage, so I never really paid attention when they were fawning over him, especially when it seemed that he enjoyed their attentions.

I didn’t pay him any attention.

At all.

Ever. I swear.

He shrugged again and his mouth pulled into an almost childlike smile, that for some reason came off as incredibly sexy. I was sure that any red blooded woman, and some men, would have that the same as well.

I blinked rapidly and went back to painting the flesh of his back. It was a few minutes of brush strokes, the blending of colors, complete with the marveling at the way his muscles jumped, and a long, loaded silence before I caved.

“The objection I have to them, is the same objection I have with all women that act like that. It’s not because they’re paying attention to you.”

He was silent for a moment, tension flooding his shoulders.

“Oh…”

I could have sworn that I detected the barest hint of sadness in his accented voice after I said that, but it could have been just my imagination playing tricks on me. He was flirting with me like he flirted with everyone, male or female, backstage. The time I had spent around him had led me to believe that he flirted with the same ease that he breathed, it was just natural to him. It was that flirtation, combined with the accent and smile, and Finn could quite literally charm the pants off of anyone and they wouldn’t know what had happened until Finn was back in Ireland.

I swapped brushes and colors, setting about coloring in the fangs of the demon I was painting onto the Irishman’s back. I had knelt down to paint along the small of his back, my neck and back having tired from hunching over. It was a few minutes of complete silence between the two of us, Pandora still chirping away, when he sighed and a low chuckle rumbled through him. That chuckle was like a jolt of electricity to the juncture between my thighs. The rumbling and short laugh was incredibly seductive and laden with heady intentions.

I glanced at him curiously, expecting to only see the back of his head, but instead I was met with bright eyes and his trademark grin. I was woman enough to admit that Finn’s smile, no Finn’s everything really, affected me in decidedly not professional ways. He affected me in ways that almost always ensured that I needed a cold shower or at the very least, would strike me dumb for a solid minute.

“What?” I muttered, looking back down to my work as I swirled red in strategic places of the demon’s mouth.

“Oh, nothin’,” he mumbled. He took a breath and continued, “I was jus’ thinkin’ that you’ve spent hours on yer knees fer me and I haven’ even taken ye ta dinner.”

My face was radioactively hot and I could practically feel the tips of my ears sizzle at his words. Something was wrong. Finn was an unrepentant flirt and an incorrigible charmer, but never had I heard him be so vulgar. There had always been innuendo, most certainly, but he had never been so forward.

And than… It struck me like a bolt of lightning. Did he really mean to ask me out? We barely knew each other, having only made small talk while he was essentially held captive for body painting.

And I still pretty sure he was not interested in women.

“Aren’t ye goin’ ta say somethin’?”

I glanced back up at him, before straightening up to my full height and turning to my supply table, with every intention of hiding my burning face. Even at my full height, I would have only reached his collarbones. On my tiptoes, I would have been able to see over his shoulder or maybe even speak into his ear. I was painfully aware of how large he was in comparison to me, and how easy it would have been for him to overpower me… If he was that kind of man. My gut and observations told me he wasn’t, he was never anything but respectful.

“What do you want me to say?”

He turned to face me, but I was still making every attempt to hide my face in order to try to cool the flush on my face.

“Oh goodness Finn, I thought ye’d never ask!”

His attempt at an American accent was miserable, yet endearing.

I sighed, picking up the white body paint and yet another brush, before turning around to get back to the job at hand. Too bad that I was struck dumb by how quietly Finn had been able to move towards me, within an arms distance, without me noticing and the way his abdominal muscles practically rippled. Any progress that had been made on cooling the flush on my face was all for naught, as I did my best impression of a tomato.

“Why’re ye blushin’?” he inquired.

I looked up to make direct eye contact, my face burning. His eyes were searching mine rather intensely, looking for something that I wasn’t quite sure of.

“Ye’re never this quiet,” he remarked.

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, like I wasn’t just thinking about the heavy, blatant innuendos and what he could have possibly meant. “Maybe I’m having an off day?”

His eyebrow raised so high, I could have sworn it disappeared into his hair line. “Every single time’ve come in here fer the paintin’, ye’ve talked m'ear off about somethin’ or another. And now ye won’t say anythin’ and ye’re doing a pretty good impression of a cherry. What’s goin’ on darlin’?”

Had I really been so talkative? My stomach roiled uncomfortably at the thought. My mind flashed to all of our previous sessions at a dizzying speed, and it was true, every time I had been around him in the past, I had babbled. I don’t know what it was about today, but it was different. The words that would have previously rushed out of my mouth were now no longer there.

‘Or… You’re afraid that if you open your mouth today, you’ll say something that’ll embarrass the shit out of you.’ That dark little thought came unbidden to my mind.

“Don’t take it that ’m complainin’,” he said. “I mean, I like listenin’ to ye talk. I find yer American accent relaxin’.”

I frowned for a moment, before stepping forward and painting a broad stripe across his collarbone. Just like any other time when I had painted him, he shuddered as my brush glided over his skin in this particular area, but Finn never said anything about it. It was… Curious. I noticed it happen every time I painted in the areas of his collarbones, chest, and neck, but I had brushed it off. I had thought that it was maybe just a ticklish reaction and not the thing that the tiny, horny voice in my mind wanted it to be.

It was after the second or third stroke of my brush and the corresponding full body shudder, that I had noticed that the feeling in the room had changed.

“O-okay,” I stuttered, having decided that I needed to get away from him for a few moments, just long enough to collect myself. I began to pull away when he reached out for me, catching my elbow in a large, calloused hand. Sparks danced underneath my skin where his hand was, and he spun me back around to face him.

Before I could regain my ground, his lips were on mine.

At least, that’s what I was pretty sure that was what was occurring.

I was already dizzy from being spun around, and now this kiss was making me dizzier. The moment our lips had touched, there was a tingling, thrilling electric surge that shot through my body. Finn was possessive at first, claiming my mouth, an arm wrapped around my waist in an iron grip. It felt like he was trying to make me understand something, just by using his mouth. Slowly, after several moments of our mouths working feverishly against each other, the pressure of his mouth on mine lessened, and he pulled back slightly.

His eyes were searching my face for something, but I couldn’t put my finger on it, as I was in a daze. My legs felt like there were made of rubber and I desperately needed something to hold onto for support.

Definitely not gay. Definitely appeared to be attracted to women.

Okay, so he wasn’t gay. European. Only European.

I blinked owlishly, trying to clear the cobwebs from my mind, as he stood motionless in front of me, his mouth still only a breath away from my own and his arm still tight around my waist. I  was confused and ridiculously turned on all at the same time. I was most certainly viewing Finn in a new light, one that I was able to admit to in the light of day and not just when I was alone at night.

“Um, wow.”

Well that was brilliant and eloquent.

He just chuckled, his eyes bright, and shook his head. “Let’s get this finished so that we can make plans for dinner tongiht.”

“Who said I accepted?”

The shift from lightheartedness to dark and predatory was faster than a blink. Before I knew what was happening, Finn was kissing me again. Just the same as mere moments ago, but this time, he was kissing me thoroughly until I was convinced. This time though, when he began to pull away a second time, I reached an arm around to keep him securely in place so that the kiss wouldn’t end. It didn’t take much strength, because he clearly didn’t want to leave the embrace either. His other arm dropped lower than the one that was wrapped around my waist, grazing daringly against my butt.

I grazed my teeth against his lower lip and his fingers curled into the clothed flesh of my butt in response, before pressing me firmly into his body and holding me in place. It was there that I could feel the rather impressive evidence of his arousal and I was lost. It had been quite some time since I had been with a man and my body was screaming for this kind of attention. That it was Finn, in all of his Adonis-like glory, made the heat pool dangerously fast between my legs.

Curious as to his reaction, I slid my hand between our bodies, running it down his bare chest as my brushes had done so many times before, and he stopped our kiss. Instead, he watched the trail of my hand, both of our chests heaving in tandem as my hand traveled still lower, almost of its own accord, stopping at the waist of his joggers. I looked up at him, the question clear on my face.

“Please don’t tease me darlin’.” His voice was strained and rough and I’ll be damned if it didn’t make my thighs clench together.

My mouth was a little dry as I ran my hand over the clothed bulge and grasped what I could. Impressive didn’t even begin to describe what Finn was clearly gifted with. The strangled moan that tore from his throat startled me and my eyes were wide as they shot to meet his half lidded ones. His lips were just barely parted and his pupils were so blown out from the sensations that only the tiniest sliver of blue was visible. That was all the cue I needed, running my fingers along the hard ridge a few times more.

He stopped me quite abruptly, his hands clasping my hips as he maneuvered me backwards. I was in a daze and not terribly oriented to my surroundings. My mind was a pink and lusty haze, and I most certainly was not thinking about where we actually were or the very, very real threat of someone walking in on us at any given moment.

The backs of my calves hit leather covered cushion and my question was answered. I had forgotten about the old leather couch that was pressed up against a wall in this locker room, but it was going to serve its purpose quite well.

There was no way he was backing out now.

Hopefully, he wasn’t just doing this to play with me.

His fingers slipped up underneath the hem of my shirt, not straying from my waist until they began lifting the shirt with their progress, mapping out the contours of my body. I mewled and shivering at his touch, it felt like he was leaving trails of fire across my skin, and Finn appeared to be satisfied with my reactions.

The shirt came off over my head and then it was thrown haphazardly somewhere within the room, and a perfect moment of clarity settled in my head, the lust induced haze lifting briefly. I placed my hands on his chest and pushed him away ever so minutely, and he paused the distractingly erotic way his fingers were tracing up my ribcage. He moved back, albeit reluctantly, a slightly worried and questioning look on his face.

I held up a finger, just to signal to him that he had to wait a minute. It also served the purpose of allowing me to regain my wits.

“We can’t smudge the paint.”

Relief blossomed across his eyes, the tension in his face relaxing.

“Oh. ’ve no problem with that at all darlin’.”

I giggled, and moments later he was completely naked, as he had made short work of his joggers are Armani boxer briefs. Why I knew and catalogued that information, I didn’t know. My eyes trailed down, and my mouth went dry. I wasn’t new to sex, but I could honestly say I had never seen a cock look beautiful, but I suppose it had to match the man it was attached to.

Without another thought, I reached out and wrapped my hand around the base, giving his length an experimental stroke. He inhaled sharply, his eyes dropping shut, and his hips stuttering at the touch. I grinned and released my grasp for just a moment. His eyes opened for a moment, until he saw me working my bra off of my shoulders and he was more than eager to assist in that venture. So eager in fact, he helped me to slide my panties off, pressing soft kisses to my hips and thighs, before sliding back up my body to press a fiery kiss to my mouth.

My hands were splayed over his chest, to stabilize myself as I was no longer sure that my knees would support my weight. A nip at my lower lip made my nails reflexively dig into the firm flesh of his chest and he moaned. The sound itself was sinful and sent another rush of liquid heat to the juncture between my thighs.

I stepped back again and switched our positions, so that he could sit on the edge of the couch, his back far from the cushions as to not smudge my work. The change of positioning was a great equalizer, as I didn’t feel so overwhelmed by him and the size of his body.

His arms were long enough to ensnare me again, pulling me down on top of him before I could gather my wits again fully. Finn’s hands went directly for my core, his long fingers curling up to press against the tight bundle of nerves found there. The bolt of pleasure that surged through my body left me breathless and ground into him, my eyes slipping shut and my hands finding purchase on his barely painted shoulders.

His hand slipped further down and I took the opportunity to grind into the heel of his hand, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough contact, enough friction, enough pressure. I knew what we both needed, as did Finn. I rearranged my position in his lap, straddling him in such a way that his cock rest along my inner thigh like a brand and my breasts in my face. His eyes glazed over in a way that if it were any other situation, would have been funny, but then his hands were suddenly there, cupping and teasing and pinching. The matter was settled, Finn was indeed a boob man.

He stopped in his attentions rather suddenly, gazing up at me with wide blue eyes.

He wanted me to make the next move. He wanted me to tell him that I wanted this.

And oh god, did I want this.

I shifted onto my knees and moved over him, his hands again on my hips, guiding his cock into me as I shifted my hips downwards.

I can honestly say that I had never felt anything so mind meltingly amazing or felt so full. I was stretched to the limit and neither the long groan that escaped from my lips as my hips met his or the way my head fell back in bliss could be helped. His lips found the sensitive skin of my neck, coaxing me to look back to his molten gaze. I began to move my hips, slowly at first, but his hands guided me to a pace that he was in control of, not allowing me to move any faster or slower than what he wanted. The dig of his fingers into the soft flesh of my hips should have hurt, but there was something erotic about the way he dictated the pace.

Everything in me wanted to go faster, to buck wildly, to chase my own release, but his grip stopped me from doing so. I leaned into him, kissing his mouth his lips again, in a vain attempt to distract him. My efforts failed, as his thumb slipped our moving bodies and stroked at the slick bundle of nerves just above where our bodies were connected, and white hot fire surged through my veins.

It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how far gone I was, and it only took a few flicks of his finger for me to be spiraling out of control. My fingers dug into his chest, leaving little half moon indentations. His hands circled behind my head, fingers lacing up into my hair, as he smoothly changed our positions while never breaking our contact, pinning my hips to the couch as he was crouched in position between my spread thighs.

With smooth movements, he began to move in and out of me with more force and speed than could possibly keep up with. I could feel a second release building, coiling tightly in the pit of my low abdomen.

It was only a matter of time before I was gasping my release again, my hips arching wildly. One of his large hands steadied me by resting on my lower stomach with the other on my thigh as his own body was wracked with shudders. He leaned over me, keening lowly into my ear. It was a most intoxicating mixture of a groan and grumble combined together.

We lay like that, in our post-coital haze, his body pressing into mine and his head cradled in between my neck and shoulder. It was as our bodies slowly began to calm and come down from the endorphin induced high, did the reality of the situation hit me.

“I’m confused… Y-you’ve never shown an interest in me before.”

He let out a huff of air that sounded suspiciously like a self-depreciating chuckle. “’ve been tryin’ to get ya to pay attention t'me since ye came on board months ago.”

I blinked rapidly, my heart stuttering in its rhythm at his words.

“But…”

Now that I thought about it, he was always within my line of sight when I arrived and hanging around the Glam Squad’s “office” when he really had no reason to be there. Whenever I say him, he was flirting heavily with the women that were almost always around him. Was it to make me jealous? I didn’t know, but the puzzle pieces were starting to fit together.

“Why me?”

“Because ye aren’t the Terror Twins.”

I craned my neck to look at him, though his face was nuzzling into the skin of my neck, I could have sworn I saw a grin. I thought I would have had something smart to say, but nothing came to mind. My head fell back into the worn leather cushion of the couch and I just listened to Finn’s steady breathing.

“Are ye goin’ t'have dinner with me now?” His question pulled me out of my sated, content haze.

I chuckled languidly, “What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinkin’ we find a little twenty four hour diner after the show.”

I chuckled, “Oh be still, my beating heart.”

He laughed and pulled away to look at me. “I promise to take ye out proper later, but that’s all I got right now.”

I smiled and lifted my head to meet his twinkling blue eyes. “You throw in a coffee from Starbucks and I’m yours.”

“A coffee?” He was almost incredulous. “I coulda had ye months ago if I’d gotten ye a coffee?”

I laughed, and wiggled myself out from under him. I stood on shaky legs, to look for my clothes and give a small prayer that no one would walk into the locker room. It wasn’t until after I finished the body painting and we were preparing to leave that I noticed that the door had been locked and essentially barricaded from the inside.

Finn shrugged and didn’t look the least bit remorseful, even if he did hold his hands up defensively

I couldn’t bring myself to be upset.