#it typically lasts until she gives me permission to speak. or enough time has passed

[watercraver]

This woman has too much power over me.

[h2obased]

Call It A Thursday

Bucky Barnes One-Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Let’s just say you weren’t a fan of the holidays. A random (ish) encounter with the guy who did his grocery shopping on Thursdays - just like you - might change that.

Notes & Warnings:

Holiday angst, flirting, fluff, a bit of swearing, and very mild sexual content

Female reader, with minimal identifiers

Hang on because of shifting points of view, shifting timelines

The banner doesn't depict or describe who the reader is, apart from the fact she uses a cart when grocery shopping

I do not give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere. I only post stories here and on AO3.

Word count: 7,433 because we like to be precise

My masterlist

Call It A Thursday

Winter, a vicious one

With unmistakable holiday glee, your manager denied your request to work on Christmas.

“Never in the twelve years I’ve worked in this business has there been a reason to work on a holiday. Especially this one.”

You couldn’t take your boss seriously when he had a pointy red hat on. The one with the white ball of fluff at the end.

“I know you’re trying so hard not to roll your eyes.” He poked the camera and the screen wobbled for a couple of seconds. “This is what you get when you give me a call on the 24th, when my out of office clearly said ‘urgent matters only’ because I’m off doing dad stuff.” He gestured to the hat again. His smile was kind, and you appreciated the sincerity but the hat… you hoped his kids liked that sort of thing.

In about three minutes, your shift was ending. If you walked fast enough maybe there would still be one of those single-portion roast chickens packed with potatoes or pasta at the store. You can pick up a few vegetables for a stir fry. You’d have to look for a recipe but that’s manageable. In theory.

You’ve got this.

You logged off and grabbed a coat, a thick one that’s served you well for four New York winters. It saved you from hypothermia last year when you stood stock-still in the middle of Washington Square Park until you almost passed out. You don’t know how long you’d been standing there by yourself, not thinking, not feeling anything after your ex clarified why he wanted to cut through the park on your way home from the office Christmas party.

He didn’t have a violinist on standby and a ring in his pocket. You certainly had no need for the dress your best friend helped pick out or the torture heels that created the illusion you had legs for days. Your boyfriend of three years escorted you dutifully from your apartment to the party, where your boss announced your promotion in front of the team, and from the party to the park, with the intention of informing you this relationship did not have a future beyond that evening.

You zipped your coat up, tugged on the beanie hiding your Day Three hair, and exited the building after the last working day of the week. The weatherman believed snow wouldn’t fall until right before New Year’s, but the wind already had a serious bite. Typical of the season. It had couples snuggling and single individuals insulating themselves against loneliness.

The streets seemed busier than usual. Either that or you needed to get out more. People dashed past you, going to or coming from office parties and last-minute get-togethers with acquaintances they will not be speaking to in the next two weeks. You’ve been dodging gift bags swung around with abandon the moment you stepped out of your building.

The city was beautiful in a cold, gray, pre-slush way. Decked out shop windows and children in holiday jumpers provided color to an otherwise desaturated cityscape. The twinkling lights inject New York with new life. Everything sparkled and buzzed with activity.

See, you weren’t totally incapable of recognizing signs of life. It just didn’t translate into warm and fuzzy feelings for you this time of the year.

Your mother who was on holiday somewhere warmer with your father, halfway around the world, sent a few messages, but you decided to reply to them later. You stuffed your hands inside your coat pockets, where they would be warm and toasty unlike your nose, and kept walking.

You probably should text your brother back too. He and his wife, together with your nephew, an eight-month old Alaskan Malamute who was more than half your weight and possessed five times your energy, were spending the holidays with your sister-in-law’s family.

Jess, who once declared she was not moving out of the city for anything less than a wedding proposal, was spending her first Christmas in the suburbs of Chicago this year at her new one-story house she bought with Lisa, who was notably still not Jess’ wife or fiancé.

The doors chimed when you slipped inside the family-owned grocery store.

“We’re out!” Ricky announced from behind the counter as soon as he spotted you.

“No you’re not. Come on.” You tiptoed over the glass counter at the deli section. Behind Ricky was a whole chicken, brown and glazed, stacked over two more roasted chickens in takeaway packaging.

A whole chicken was more than you need but that’s a problem for the next few days. Today you were focused on not having ramen noodles for dinner. You may have avoided going to a couple of Christmas parties and taken your name off the department’s Secret Santa list this year, but you’ll be damned if you weren't eating something roasted tonight.

You weren’t thrilled about the yuletide season and the good tidings that clearly skipped you, but a nice dinner, followed by a box of cupcakes would be proof your ex - along with other forces of evil like taxes and global warming - did not win.

The shop assistant gave you an apologetic shrug.

“Ricky. Ricky. Rickyyyyy.” You weren’t about to give up just yet. You had cards to play.

“Those have been reserved.”

“You told me I can’t reserve chicken.” You were acting like a brat because of chicken, something you didn’t expect to be doing today, but the alternative was unacceptable.

“You can’t. The guys who bought ‘em are just picking up drinks at the back.”

“But I went to your improv show. In Yonkers!” Your pitch went up; it was intentional and you did not like yourself very much when you heard it.

He laughed, slamming his palm on the tiled counter. “Ten minutes before closing if I remember.”

“And I gave you Jess’ number.”

“Jessica your hot friend the lesbian?”

“Yeah and now you have a hot girl’s number in your phone.”

Ricky frowned and for a moment you thought you had a shot.

“You’re out of beer Ricky G!” Someone yelled a couple of aisles back.

Freaking Ricky G? Seriously? You raised an eyebrow.

“The good kind at least.” Another voice quipped.

Seconds later, two tall men in baseball hats emerged with boxes of beer. The room shrunk as Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes appeared. They seemed to be arguing about something but quickly resolved it when they saw you chatting with Ricky.

It wasn’t unusual to run into the pair in this part of town. They kept to themselves and didn’t want attention, but it was pretty hard to ignore two Avengers huddled by the pasta and rice row, bickering abound carbohydrates.

“Hi.” The duo spoke at the same time.

Sam dumped the box of 24 he’d been carrying onto Bucky, who didn’t seem to realize he’s now carrying 72 cans in his arms.

“Merry Christmas,” Bucky greeted you with a friendly nod. He adjusted his grip on the boxes without breaking eye contact.

Something about the easygoing super soldier made you feel less anxious about your impending ramen meal.

You didn’t know much about him apart from what the Internet said and what you witnessed when you ran into him doing errands. Like you, he did his grocery shopping on Thursdays and but unlike you, he never bought more than five items. He always seemed to know about upcoming pop-up shops and flash sales in the neighborhood.

He had an impressive jacket collection that he wore year-round. Your favorite was a blue bomber jacket. It must have been early October, the last time you saw him wear it.

Fall, a while back

You collided into Bucky as you ran inside the store. You expected the impact to be the equivalent of slamming into a brick wall, but Bucky had an unexpected tender grip, still strong, but it wasn’t the death grip news outlets made people fear. The bomber jacket wasn’t just soft either, it smelled wonderful - clean and pressed, like he’d just taken it out of his closet that afternoon.

Your heart pounded from turning into the corner quickly and running into Bucky, chest first. He caught you without so much as a blink, and he seemed more relieved than caught off guard.

“What’s the rush?” That lazy grin tended to stick with you well into the night. Under the fluorescent store lights, his eyes were a cool, lighter blue shade, and for a brief moment you thought about watching those eyes by the fireplace.

Hey creepy girl, chill.

You don’t even have a fireplace, first of all, and surely Bucky Barnes deserved better than having people like you perving on him.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat and the fog in your head. “I’m not even sure anymore.” Must be something to do with Jess. Right. Jess invited you to have dinner with her and Lisa that evening.

“Bring wine. Something cheap,” her text message said. “We’re celebrating!”

Over home cooked steak and fries that evening your friends gave you the “we’re moving to Chicago” announcement.

Bucky released your arms and you realized he wasn’t carrying his usual five-item basket.

“Not shopping today?”

He scratched his head. The shorter hair made him look younger. Less recognizable. Like he could be any ordinary handsome neighbor. Seeing him made you regret doing your shopping in sweatpants. “Just picking up milk.”

He must live somewhere in the area but you weren’t going to ask for his home address.

“Anything new to report from your walk to the store this evening?” That was very lame. You’d have to be a little smoother than that if you planned on getting any personal information out of him.

He chuckled though and scratched his upper lip. “No, but I’ll keep an eye out on the trip back home.”

You watched him disappear into dairyland before you reluctantly headed in the opposite direction. As you tried to choose between moscato and riesling (and ended up bringing both to the dinner), you thought about the comfort these casual Thursday run-ins with Bucky brought.

They offered a sense of stability after months of feeling like everything lay on a precarious edge, like one wrong move and you’d crash and fall apart again, just like the time the guy you thought was the love of your life explained how things were different now, how you’d changed, how he couldn’t picture the two of you growing together, how his decision had nothing to do with her.

Out of the 365 days to choose from, he settled on breaking up with you a few days before Christmas and acted like you should be thankful for his honesty and initiative.

He was right about one thing - you were grateful about not spending one more minute with someone who turned out to be a complete stranger to you all this time.

Back to the alleged vicious winter

A year after the break-up, you weren’t sad anymore but the first sign of the holidays somehow stalled you; the reminder seemed to block your ability to feel festive about anything. Even the well-meaning invitations from your family and friends to spend Christmas with them did not appeal to you.

The only thing you had any passion for was roast chicken for dinner on Christmas Eve. You were supposed to be berating Ricky for not being on your side, but Bucky wished you a merry Christmas with boyish - dare you say flirtatious - twinkling eyes and before you had a handle on the situation, you found yourself saying the words you’d never uttered once this season: “Merry Christmas.”

Sam cleared his throat and leaned against the counter. “What’s Ricky G done now?”

“Hi Sam,” you added with a wave. If you didn’t know much about Bucky, you definitely knew less about Sam, other than what’s been reported on the new Captain America. He occasionally accompanied Bucky on mid-week shopping runs around the neighborhood. You ran into them sometimes when you were in the mood for overpriced coffee and a velvety muffin that just melts in your mouth.

You shot Ricky an apologetic look. “I was just hassling Ricky for roast chicken.”

“Sorry, we just bought the last one minutes before you came in.” Sam straightened up. “What do you need a whole ass chicken for anyway? Are you having a party and didn’t invite us?” He gestured to his friend, who continued to watch you with a cheerful expression.

“Oh god no, no party,” you replied quickly, unsure where the urge to make them understand you were not excluding them from some sort of organized fun came from. “It’s just - it’s more of a party for one scenario this evening.” You paused, and after a quick look at Bucky, immediately added: “That doesn’t sound like the most exciting evening but I’m celebrating with a box of cupcakes. Frosted to the heavens.” You kissed your fingertips for added emphasis.

“Ah.” Sam nodded approvingly. “Honestly, cupcakes on Christmas Eve is something I would totally be into, but you know what’s more fun? Roast chicken, a bunch of people, and a couple of beers.” He tapped the top-most box of the stack Bucky still carried. “What do you say?”

Sam’s winter deal

Sam was not taking no for an answer. He spotted the hesitation when you paused and glanced at Bucky for what seemed like the tenth time since they approached you two minutes ago. He could hear the gears in Bucky’s arm stress-whirring as the soldier awaited your response. It’s very faint, and only trained ears would pick it up, but it’s a definite tell-tale sign.

Bucky remained cool, watching you and Sam like he was just as surprised about Sam’s invitation.

“You have to make it sounds like it’s your idea and that you’re throwing the party, I’m just providing the venue,” Bucky told Sam as they left a meeting in Washington DC a week ago - coincidentally also the first time the 107 year-old man brought up wanting to host a party on Christmas Eve. Or any party ever.

“Why?” Sam kept walking down the hall. He was in a rare position of being able to help Bucky. Supporting his friend was a given but Sam wanted to see if the bullheaded senior citizen could be convinced to do other things that were in his best interest, since he was in an accommodating mood anyway. Like talk to the guys at the VA about trauma and recovery.

Bucky was a private guy, at least as private as someone with multiple intelligence agency dossiers on him could get, but in a couple of situations, he has opened up and shown good teaching instincts. Sam didn’t know anyone like Bucky who had something to say about the grief and loss that was worth listening to, that would actually transform the lives of struggling people.

Getting Bucky to share his wisdom and life experience with discharged and injured servicemen was a lost cause until Bucky met you two years ago while he was staking out a warehouse in Queens and popped into a corner grocery shop for a pack of gum.

Suddenly, the visits to Queens became a recurring event and Bucky returned to his apartment in Brooklyn, 40 minutes away by car if he’s lucky, with a bar of soap or loaf of bread and an idiotic grin plastered on his face.

Bucky finally allowed Sam to come with him one Thursday, provided he didn't say a word.

“God Sam, please, please. Do not make it weird.” Bucky made him swear before they entered the store. The summer heat was stifling and Sam was desperate to escape it and go inside, where there was air conditioning. How Bucky could survive wearing one of his jackets was beyond him.

“She’s single now right? And you’ve been single since what, the forties? A little weird is what you need, Buck.”

Push Bucky hard enough and the Winter Soldier icy stare made a rare and unwanted appearance. “Promise me.”

Bucky never asked people to make promises. Sam wiped the smile off his face and hoped that would calm his friend down. “Alright, alright. Barnes, breathe man.”

They “run into you” moments later between toilet cleaning products and laundry supplies. Bucky indulged in small talk, much to Sam’s total fascination. Bucky smiled openly. Not once did he glare at anyone. When Sam quipped about being the guy who knew Bucky too well, the super soldier laughed heartily and even replied “I could say the same thing about you,” without a hint of sarcasm.

It’s not that Bucky was a different person around you; it’s more like he let you in to see who he used to be - the carefree, effortlessly charming guy who didn’t have a reason to look over his shoulder all the time. Not even Sam had access to that side of Bucky.

Obviously, when Bucky wanted to throw a Christmas Eve party, a poorly disguised (to Sam at least) excuse to spend more time with you, Sam was raring to help.

He just wanted to see Bucky grovel a little bit more.

“What do you mean why ?”

Sam continued crossing the street without acknowledging Bucky, taking quick steps to the lot where he parked the car loaned to them by the DC Chief of Police.

Bucky matched Sam step by step. “She mentioned her family and friends were all out of town during the holidays and I just thought - she doesn’t have to be alone, right? That’s all.”

Of course that wasn’t all. Bucky might be persuaded to confess to Sam his feelings for you in the middle of a busy DC street, but Sam wouldn’t do that. He’d make Bucky spill the beans inside the car.

“I don’t know buddy. Sarah’s expecting us to arrive the day before Christmas in case you forgot. The kids were looking forward to seeing you again.”

Bucky had trouble saying no to Sam’s nephews. Piggy back rides. Crushing random household items using the metal arm just because the boys wanted to know what sound it’d make. Aluminum cans. A bundle of sticks. A whoopee cushion. “I’ll make it up to them,” Bucky immediately said. He overtook Sam the moment they reached the other side and held out a hand. “Ok Sam Wilson, I’ll bite. What do you want in return?”

Sam didn’t even pretend to think. “Sessions at the VA. At least three.” Bucky sighed. Not because he didn’t want to do it, but because he knew he would do more than what Sam asked if it meant you’d be around the apartment this holiday.

“You’d be helping out these guys immensely, Buck.” Not that anyone needed reminding, but Sam really believed Bucky had more to offer without having to pick up a gun. He’s just too thick, too hesitant to see it in himself.

Bucky stared at Sam. “She can’t know the party’s for her. Say it’s for Torres. Let’s invite Torres and the trainees over. It’ll be a team party.”

“You got yourself a deal, Mr. Barnes.” Sam walked around Bucky to hide a satisfied smile. He had not taken more than five steps when Bucky called out again.

“Oh and we gotta make sure the grocery deli runs out of chicken that day.”

Back to the vicious winter, the way Sam sees it

Sam conveyed authority even when he’s inviting a casual acquaintance to a party. “It’ll just be a few people we work with. Oh and him.” He nodded at Bucky, as if Sam had only remembered about the other guy. “I kind of have to invite him because it’s at his place.”

“Thanks pal, being kind of invited to my home makes me feel very special,” Bucky retorted.

“You’re welcome Buck,” Sam clapped his friend on the back harder than necessary.

You watched in amusement. If they weren’t arguing like an old married couple, they were smirking at each other like there was a longstanding inside joke and no, they wouldn't tell you about it. There probably was, the way Sam and Bucky exchanged eye rolls and made faces at each other all the time.

“What do you say? Come over to Brooklyn Heights for a roast and a beer?”

The surprised look on your face alerted Sam to his minor slip up. “Brooklyn?”

“Heights, yeah, where he and Steve grew up, the Smithsonian says so. Have you ever been? To the exhibit I mean?” Sam replied. “We’ll give you a lift to the apartment; we just have to get these in the back of the truck first and then we’re set.”

“It’s fine, I just thought he lived around here,” you explained with a sheepish grin. “I should probably change into something less casual than pj’s anyway.”

Bucky shook his head, letting you know it’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it.

Eager to move things along, Sam rubbed his hands together. “Then it’s settled. Bucky’s loading these up and he’ll give you directions to the apartment and we’ll see you in about… an hour or so? And bring the cupcakes!” He said, heading out of the store before you could change your mind.

He needed to talk to Torres about something.

Spring

Bucky committed theft the first time he saw you nearly two years ago. You smiled at him from aisle five, juice and soft drinks, and he walked out of the grocery store having forgotten to pay for the pack of gum.

You were only trying to warn him about Ron Sr. overspeeding on his electric wheelchair out of aisle two, soups and canned goods.

The wheel dug into his shin and it hurt, but in the Bucky Barnes spectrum of pain, getting jabbed in the shin by a rubber wheel barely registered as a one.

The highly-trained field agent with enhanced eyesight, hearing, and reflexes failed to get out of Ron’s way just because somebody with kind eyes waved at him. Bucky’s leg would be sore tomorrow but he’d pay that price everyday for a chance to see those eyes. Even from this distance.

You turned to Ron as the elderly gentleman whizzed past your aisle. “Ron, you promised to take me for a spin, don’t forget!”

A middle-aged version of the speedster jogged over. Must be Ron Jr., Bucky guessed from the similar ear shape and sharp nose. “I’m so sorry-“ he froze the second he recognized Bucky.

“It’s fine.” Bucky was quick to reassure the frazzled son.

“Meat section, RJ,” you said when the man continued to gape at the Bucky.

Bucky took his eyes off you for a brief moment to address Junior. “Sure you’ve got this covered but if I can do anything…”

Ron Jr. nodded before rushing off after his father.

When he looked up, you were gone and Bucky’s shoulders dropped. He exited the store and only remembered about the pack of gum after reaching the end of the block.

He jogged back to the store and told himself it was to pay for the item. If you happened to come around the front, well that would be purely by chance but highly appreciated. He’s been watching amateur crooks move contraband into a warehouse since 6:00am that day and Bucky wanted -

Your pale pink shift dress fluttered out of the corner of his eye. Bucky caught his breath.

Get it together, he told himself. He saw beautiful people daily. He worked with elite level athletes with double degrees in science and humanities - persons who were out of his league but you were the first one who had him confessing to petty theft.

The cashier wouldn’t even let him pay for the gum, which was more embarrassing and Bucky could already hear Sam cackling if he ever found out. Just as he ran out of excuses to loiter by the entryway, you walked out with two bags.

Your eyes widened in recognition as you approached. “Our feet are safe thanks to Ron Jr.”

Bucky smiled self-consciously. “Do you need help with those?”

You shook your head and shifted a bag to your shoulder. “It’s just a short walk back home.” Bucky could tell it dug into your skin but you wouldn’t bother anyone with that. “My boyfriend won’t believe I saw you today. He’s a big fan.”

His heart plummeted. The reaction was instant and Bucky was terribly confused by his disappointment. It’s not like he was in love with you. He’s known you for all of what, five minutes? Of course someone with your compassionate eyes and confidence would be off the market. This shouldn’t be a big deal.

He’d get in the car again and keep watching people commit a felony and not do a thing about it because recon meant sitting on his ass and not doing a goddamned thing about nothing.

You misread his reaction. “I’m a fan too but I-“ You giggled and covered it up quickly by clearing your throat. It was the most beautiful sound to Bucky. “I guess I didn’t want to be creepy. Sorry. I’m thankful for what you do. You must hear that all the time. Sorry for being creepy and unoriginal.”

You’d be surprised to know how easily people forget about him and the team when aliens and criminals behaved for five consecutive days. But you meant those words and he felt that. In spite of his crushed soul, Bucky smiled back.

“Well, you have a good evening Sergeant Barnes.” Your eyes shone in the darkness as you bid him farewell with one more head tilt before walking off.

“It’s Bucky. My name’s Bucky.” He could have said that and wished you a good night too; he might be a soldier but his mother taught him better than that. Instead, he remained tongue-tied, watching in silence until you turned around the block.

Still spring

The stakeout yielded crucial information. Bucky already turned the report over but he dropped by Queens one more time to check if the warehouse had been sealed to his satisfaction. They had standards to maintain.

Call it due diligence.

Most people would call it a Thursday.

Before he started a second sweep of the grocery store, you entered with your faded cloth bags and pulled a cart on your way to the farthest aisle.

Interesting approach, Bucky thought. If he timed his “shopping” correctly, he’d pass you at the breakfast section and this time he’d remember to speak.

He couldn’t ask you out but he could ask for your name, right?

That day, you didn’t just give him your name, you told him about overnight oats and chia seeds too. Bucky’s head spun with thoughts of no-cook breakfast recipes and your animated, friendly face, practically bare although he detected a sheen on your lips.

He noticed the Little Women passage on one of the cloth bags and never has he felt gratitude for his near photographic memory until that day when he quoted the first few lines from the novel from memory.

“No way,” your jaw dropped.

Your mouth formed a delightful shape and Bucky was a miserable man. He’d stick his nose into ten moldy paperbacks just to see that look on your face again.

He returned the following week with his own reusable bag - black and plain, in keeping with his personality or so Sam joked. More importantly, Bucky was armed with details about an upcoming book fair a few blocks away from the store.

That night you spotted him first - “Bucky!” - just as he asked you to call him.

He managed to get his act together before walking over to you.

By the tenth weekly grocery shopping trip to Queens, more than two hours away from the Brooklyn apartment by foot - Bucky has been known to walk longer distances than that just because he felt like stretching his legs - Sam felt obliged to mention he was fooling nobody. “Are you gonna ask the lady out at some point instead of giving her updates like a community newsletter?”

Bucky frowned at him and then left the room. He returned two minutes later, willingly spilling the reason why he can only talk to you inside the store. He can’t resist seeing you, even if it were only for a few precious minutes each week, but he would never cause any trouble for you and the lucky bastard who never helped you with grocery shopping.

Sam felt bad for his friend, but he wasn’t about to tell Bucky Barnes how to deal with his feelings. He wasn’t worried about Bucky stealing you away. He can be obnoxious and daft; he had terrible taste in music and he’s as grumpy as old farts go, but James Buchanan Barnes was an honorable asshole.

Sam was more concerned about you breaking Bucky’s heart without even knowing how much power you wielded over a man who knew at least ten unique ways to neutralize someone with something as random as a spoon.

“Would you tell me if you needed advice or help?”

“I don’t need help,” Bucky growled. They both knew he was in over his head.

Bucky was as stubborn as he was old but Sam had the patience of a saint. It might take weeks or months, but Bucky would want his help one day.

Winter, Brooklyn

Bucky wanted to open the door for you but Torres said something about predator behavior in the wild. Instead, Bucky’s been made to wear an apron and reheat side dishes in the kitchen.

“Hi.” Your voice traveled through his apartment. Bucky’s had plenty of practice listening for your voice across rows and rows of dry goods. He grabbed the counter for support and stilled his breathing. It took zero effort to seek you out over the TV blaring, drinks clinking, and Sam’s unrestrained laughing.

You’re here.

Torres introduced you to all seven people from the base who didn’t have anything better to do that evening, and eventually found themselves in a house party with Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes.

“Look who’s here.” Torres ushered her to the kitchen.

It’s a modest apartment, but spacious by the city’s standards. The room came into focus, like someone adjusted the settings, sharpening shapes and brightening hues, the moment she stepped in behind the lanky lieutenant.

“Bucky’s been cooking all afternoon,” Torres reported.

Bucky didn’t mind your drawstring joggers from this afternoon but tonight’s jeans were a gift from heaven. You even had a red sweater on. You looked cozy. You looked-

Stop ogling dickhead.

“No he hasn’t.” Your gaze landed on the chicken lying on a bed of vegetables. “I’d know that chicken anywhere.”

Torres laughed as he backed away. “Cooking, re-heating, same thing.”

Bucky wiped his hands on the apron. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Your eyes lingered on a framed photo of Bucky, Sam, Natasha, and Steve over the sink. Curiosity was written all over your face. “What are you having?”

All the beer in the building would only give him gas but Bucky drank for the social aspect, not for the alcoholic benefits.

“If you thought the chicken looked familiar…” He produced a cold can from a cooler under the table. “Can I open it for you?” Wait. Should he not have said that? What if you thought he was being overbearing? You’re quite able to open a can of beer.

“Please,” you replied without looking away from the picture. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this looks like you and Sam actually enjoy each other’s company.”

Must have been six, seven years ago when the picture was taken in Wakanda. Steve flew in with Sam and Nat to meet with T’Challa but someone got the dates wrong (Steve, Bucky liked to think it was on purpose) so they had a free day to themselves. Sam wanted to go fishing. Steve was happy to sit by the water with a beer and his sketchpad. Neither Nat nor Bucky were particularly into fishing but they were particularly into messing with Sam’s quest for zen.

There’s an identical photo in the Wilson’s living room back in New Orleans.

Bucky bit his lip to stop himself from smiling too much. “Captain America’s ok I guess.” The can creaked as he pulled the tab. “Football’s on, if you’re interested.”

“Thanks.” You accepted the beer and took a quick sip. “I’m good here. Plus I have to keep an eye on the chicken in case something happens.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s supposed to be the highlight of my day. Roast chicken, cupcakes, hanging out with the best of the military. What else can a girl ask for?” You looked around the table for something to do. “Put me to work, Chef.”

Bucky hesitated. You were the guest of honor but you weren’t supposed to know that. He handed you a jar of gravy to pour into smaller bowls.

You washed your hands, stood next to Bucky by the counter, and focused on the task at hand. He watched you but not with his eyes - he listened to your careful but deliberate movement, your relaxed breathing, and sensed your quiet confidence moving around his kitchen.

Bucky’s heart lurched. He nearly stumbled backward and had to turn away to cough.

“Are you ok?” You peered at him, not alarmed but concerned.

All he could do was take a very long drink from his beer and wait for his heart to settle right back in his chest.

Satisfied he was not choking on air, you returned to your assignment. “You want me to start setting the table?”

What Bucky really wanted from you, he couldn’t tell you. Not here. Not yet. Today wasn’t about what he wants.

“Yeah, that’d be great please.” He chuckled when you saluted him before taking the dishes to the dining area, where Torres’ team set up another table and extra chairs. Someone brought mismatched reindeer and candy cane printed tablecloth. Sam found candles in the second bedroom yesterday.

Sam and Torres banished Bucky to the opposite end of the table because there were only two women and Lee, Torres’ second-in-command, already chose her seat (which was the one Torres asked her to pick).

“It upsets the balance,” the younger soldier explained, directing him to the other side where he’d have to make friends with the trainees he only met today. “Only one Avenger, one pretty lady, one cute guy on each side and we’re good over here so…”

Sam high fived you and Bucky could only sigh.

He didn’t want to have to sit six feet from you, not when he’d gone through this whole operation just to make sure you have company this evening, but he’d also grown fond of Joaquin, even though he kept calling him Torres to keep the kid on his toes. Bucky offered you a helpless smile as he settled in his seat at the end.

You returned the look from your side of the table. Sam and Torres entertained you with tall tales and anecdotes, more than half of them at Bucky’s expense, and you would turn to him with an incredulous look each time. When Sam’s spiel turned into a three-minute speech about having to sit in a car with Bucky for four hours straight, you stole another look at Bucky. “He’s not going to stop anytime soon?” you asked with your smirk.

“Sorry.” Bucky mouthed back, suppressing a laugh.

It’s the longest the two of you have been in the same room together and all Bucky had to do to see you was look in front of him.

Aside from Torres, most of the trainees were only a year or two out of basic training and if only their jaws would stop dropping every time he or Sam walked into a room, Bucky thought the young ones might learn something useful. They made fun of Redwing and asked Bucky about European camps and what it was like to jump out of a plane without a chute. They saved Bucky from having to come up with conversation topics and kept Sam from taking over the discussion.

The silent glances, not as furtive as both of you thought they were, lasted until dessert. Sam volunteered to fetch the cupcakes and Bucky casually moved into his seat when Bucky refilled your drink. Sam returned minutes later, placing a singular cupcake in front of you without a word before taking Bucky’s former seat. The kids reached for their share of dessert.

“Want to go halfsies on a lemon cupcake?” You showed Bucky a golden cupcake with pale yellow frosting.

“Halfsies?” Against his better judgement, Bucky cocked an eyebrow. He can’t not give you grief for that.

“I said what I said,” you replied with a laugh.

Winter, later that evening

The drive back to Queens was familiar. It’s Bucky’s first time navigating the streets with you sitting next to him, and it felt more comfortable than his favorite t-shirt.

He told you about one of Steve’s sketches hanging in the halls of The Met, an anonymous piece of work that Bucky visited at least once a year. Two if he was feeling particularly ancient or lonely. You explained why you’d been hassling Ricky over bird meat that day.

He listened to you overshare and at times anger flickered through his eyes but he kept quiet. He merely “hmmmed,” nodded, and kept driving. You changed the topic eventually, and the curl of his lips returned.

Bucky walked you to the entrance of your building, wondering what else he can do to stretch time.

“Thanks again for the dinner; it was a hundred times better than what I had planned today.” You stopped walking just as you reached the first step leading to the door. It had grown colder since the afternoon and your coat was zipped right up to your chin. Even Bucky had his hands shoved in his pockets, his pink cheeks made his eyes look like someone pumped more blue into them since dinner.

“I’m glad you came.” He nodded. “And you didn’t have to tell me about - I mean it’s none of my business - I - I’m happy that you’re-” You were perfect; you’re the smile on Bucky’s face first thing in the morning; your happiness meant everything to him. “I’m really happy you’re ok.”

You turned your gaze up to get a good look at him, determined to say something, but you lost courage as you opened your mouth to speak.

Instead of rushing to fill the silence, Bucky held his tongue and he waited, just as he’d been sitting on the sidelines for months on this self-assigned recon mission. His confused smile persisted as yours went from scared to mortified to “oh fuck it.”

“I figured you should know… in case you wanted to have dinner again.” You brushed your nose hurriedly as you blurted out those words. “Just us, I mean. If you wanted to,” you looked at your feet with an embarrassed smile.

He’d be lying if he said the idea of asking you at the end of the night never occurred to him. “Yeah - yeah, ‘course I’d like to but -” Bucky stammered, his mind going too slow for his body. He paused to let the rest of himself catch up. “Tonight isn’t supposed to be about that.”

“Probably, but Sam’s either a terrible spy or an amazing friend.”

Bucky laughed. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, he thought about how he never pictured himself making holiday plans with Sam, bribing the shop assistant, reaching out to Torres for help, welcoming a bunch of strangers to his home, least of them all standing here with you.

You look another step toward the door and his attention snapped back to you. “Sam also said you guys were flying out to spend Christmas day with his family?”

“Right.” Bucky could already feel the distance growing as you inched your way to your building. The temperature dropped by the minute. Winter gloom hovered in the periphery, ready to jump him the second you closed the door.

You grabbed the door handle and leaned against it. “Is that going to be enough time to figure out if you want to give me call?”

Warm relief flooded Bucky’s lungs and it vanquished imaginary monsters. “More than enough time.” Bucky called out after you. “Too much time!”

“Goodnight Bucky!” You wave from the door.

There was more to say, he supposed, but tonight wasn’t about that.

Summer

The demolition announcement came as a surprise. One day you were complaining about the lack of vegetables at the vegetable section; the following week you found out you’re going to have to look for a new favorite store in six days. You don’t know what else to do on a Thursday evening.

The notice by the entrance was hardly legible, a black and white announcement on an A4-size paper, more of a memo than a poster. You only detected it because a tall, really good-looking guy in a blue bomber jacket had been staring at it.

“That’s a shame,” you said after reading the message.

Bucky draped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you to him. “Yeah.” He kissed your sticky forehead. You were enveloped in his arms and the light scent of his aftershave. “Did you run all the way here?” He kissed your hair again and his breath tickled your head when he chuckled.

You elbowed him hard and withdrew from the hug. “Sorry if I was excited to see you.”

“Hey - ow - oooow!” He rubbed his stomach, feigning hurt with sad, wide eyes. “I just saw you this morning anyway,” he pointed out, pride taking over hurt. There was a sensual swagger in Bucky’s stride as he led the way inside the grocery store, his male ego tickled by the memory of this morning back in your apartment.

Like a magnet being pulled, you automatically walk behind him, stifling a grin because that morning was fun and intense and also the reason why you were late to work, and therefore also late to meet Bucky for your regularly scheduled Thursday errand: grocery shopping.

Summer heat followed you inside. The air conditioning didn’t work as well as it did years ago. Everything about the shop seemed like it needed repairing; it’s been that way for months now, so maybe closing down made sense.

Like clockwork, Bucky grabbed a squeaky cart and made a sharp turn down the first aisle. “Are we going reverse alphabetical or by aisle this week?” He missed last week’s shopping trip because of work, which explained the puzzled look on his face. He leaned forward to rest his arms on the cart, the dark baseball cap barely containing shining eyes.

Of course his instincts were right. “By aisle,” you confirmed.

Bucky pumped his fist, like guessing right meant he’s coming home with a prize. He pushed the cart as you began pacing down the snack aisle. The squeaking behind you stopped after a minute and you figured he paused to grab something unhealthy for the cart. You reached for a bag of chips yourself.

He cleared his throat and then called your name.

“Hmmm?”

“I know where else we can pick up groceries.”

“Uh-huh.” You should probably skip this lane altogether. Too much temptation and -

“Brooklyn.”

You returned the bag of chips you’d very nearly tossed into the cart and faced Bucky with a hand on your hip. He walked around the cart, only stopping when the toes of his sneakers met yours.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded firmly. “Tons to choose from, with much better ventilation too.” He brushed a strand of your hair behind your shoulder. His eyes studied you, the way he used to while pretending to choose between chunky or creamy peanut butter on the other side of the aisle a lifetime ago.

Bucky often looked like there was something amazing he’d just discovered about you and the realization smacked him in the face. You thought that phase would pass after the first few weeks, but those weeks turned into months. Conversations changed from what plans the other person had this weekend to how many eggs someone with Bucky’s metabolism needed in a week. From figuring out who slept on which side of the bed to choosing a bigger duvet to end accusations of blanket hogging.

And months strung together formed years.

“You might be onto something there.” You tried to keep a straight face, but his grin was infectious. He already knew the answer would be yes.

I hope you're having a lovely holiday - if you're not feeling it, I hope the next year brings you a boatload of fics and... Bucky. 😉

Thanks for reading this story! Please reblog or comment if you liked it. Sometimes a girl also needs some loving.

>>More stories here

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I‘m  Always Curious Part Thirty Six

Previous Part | Next Part |  Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕 ALSO @captain-andorable drew AMAZING fanart of Chapters 35 and 18, big thank you to them!! They’re amazing, y’all, go check them out!!!

Warnings: Cursing, a lil fluff, a lil angst. Y’all know me. (Still 😅) Summary: The briefing the Pike had given around the Hutton had made three facts incredibly clear: 1. The crew of the Hutton was terrified— for what reasons, we had yet to ascertain. 2. The landing party would be minimal— Pike, Una, Spock, Thira, Watson, and myself. 3. He did not want me going with them.

“Hey Pal, we’re heading over to pick up the S.S. Hutton. We got these files, but I’m not recognizing the language. The root looks Andorii. Feel like taking a crack at ‘em?” I asked, leaning over the seat of my old station.

“For sure, send ‘em over!” Paledore grinned, “We’re warping there now?” I nodded, “They’re dead in the water, transmissions are coming in static-y as all hell, and half of the crew is stranded down on Catalpa.” Paledore cringed. “I know,” I nodded, “I’m beaming down with the away team once we drop out of warp, I’ll have my communicator with me. Patch through with anything you work out.” “Will do!” I gave him a quick nod of thanks before heading for the turbolift. We had about an hour until we arrived at Catalpa. -- The briefing the Pike had given around the Hutton had made three facts incredibly clear: 1. The crew of the Hutton was terrified— for what reasons, we had yet to ascertain. 

2. The landing party would be minimal— Pike, Una, Spock, Thira, Watson, and myself: people that the Captain knew could quickly size up situations, cover our bases, follow orders when needed (but that were capable of going against Pike’s orders if we knew that it would be conducive to the safest outcome for the missions— something that Pike himself would do.)  3. He did not want me going with them. Only the primary points of the first two facts had been stated. We all knew Pike trusted us as his crew— he knew our strengths and weaknesses; he knew that we were willing to weigh the risks and put ahead the needs of the many for the needs of the few, or the one, in the case of risky away missions. The look that Pike had cast me as he’d dismissed us had told me all that I’d needed to know about his feelings regarding my beaming down with them. In my past few months on the Enterprise, Christopher had kept the kid gloves off, even going so far as sending me on away missions where he was not present. But when he’d nod me on my way, there was always a  ittle twist to his mouth, a little furrow to his brow. But he was being good. We were being good. We were still sparring– on a far more regular basis than we had been in my previous stint on the Enterprise. We shared the odd meal together— typically with at least Una or Spock present; it was rare that it was just the two of us. When it was, though, I had to stop myself from letting my looks linger, or from allowing myself to think too long about the feeling of his ankle or calf brushing against mine under the table. I didn’t let my eyes settle on the secretive, sweet little smiles that he would cast me before taking a drink from his glass, or the odd blink-and-I’d-miss-it wink. The minor proximity was enough to turn my insides to goo. It was embarrassing— and I was sure that he knew what effect he was having. Neither of us had taken any other steps toward fully rekindling the relationship we’d had before, but we were spending more time in each other's company than we had even when we’d briefly been together. His evening-ending murmurs of sweetheart hadn’t stopped, either. I didn’t want them going anywhere. But that concerned, displeased little look had been on Christopher’s face as I’d left the ready room to inform Paledore of our most recent assignment. 

-- 

“Dooooor,” I dragged out, voice hardly above a mumble as I rifled through the box from the storage unit that they’d kept my things in while I’d been away from the Enterprise. “Do I even want to know what you’re looking for?” I smiled at Una’s question, hardly looking away from my task. “I … Had this one notebook from the Academy, with translations and um— fuck,” I muttered, pulling a couple of other notebooks out and dropping them onto my desk, even as Una walked over to me, folding her arms over her chest, “It was from my Esoteric Excavated Xenolinguisitic elective— some of the uh… Some of the runes that were transmitted from the Hutton look so familiar, but I can’t—” “You do know that if you just put all of these notes on a PADD like a normal person, you wouldn’t be giving yourself a thousand-and-one paper cuts for the sake of a hunch? There’s a reason that this is no longer the prevailing method of note-taking and note-keeping.” I could hear Una’s condemning furrowed brow. “I do know that, thank you, mother,” I grumbled, straightening up and planting my hands on my hips as I looked over strewn stacks of notebooks on the desk, and the upturned stack that remained in the box. There were a few other items still inside as well— a sprig of Vulcan mint in a sealed box that Spock had brought back for me from Koutov’s conservatory, some Larilian coins from my first stint on the planet, a wilted flower that I’d picked from a patch of wildflowers back in Sandblossom. “... Why haven't you unpacked this stuff?” Una frowned, leaning against the desk. I considered it for a moment as I sat down in my desk chair, waving my hand in permission as she cast me a questioning glance before she reached into poke through the contents. “I don’t know. When I got back aboard, when… When I got into this room, and saw my stuff— Some of my stuff,” I shook my head, “It was like… It was like I was looking through someone else’s things. I’m not who I was the last time I was here. And that’s not a bad thing, it’s just… There’s a lot of history in there, a lot of good stuff.” “...And you feel that removing it from the box now will change its meaning?” I didn’t meet Una’s gaze, just eyed where she held the small container of Vulcan mint. “Something like that. Stupid, huh?” “Not the word I’d use.” “But the sentiment is on the right track?” Una made a thoughtful little noise in the back of her throat as she lowered the mint back into the box. “You are changed,” She agreed, “To disregard what has happened to you in your time away from the ship would be a disservice to what you’ve gone through. But consider,” She turned to face me again, crossing her arms, “The things that made those memories good then, who made them good, are still a part of you.” My stomach twisted, and I lowered my eyes. Thoughts of Sandblossom and Una’s profile under the low brim of a stetson, Spock’s arched little brow as he passed me the sprig after the incident on Koutov, the memory of being in Christopher’s arms, his generous smiles and warm gazes on Sepheron were things that had all kept me going on Somonia, and during the war. “I suppose,” I conceded quietly. “...And I do still see glimmers of who you were in the time before Somonia, and the war, sometimes,” Una tacked on softly. I glanced up at her curiously, and I found her smiling. She added, “There’s a lightness to you, an excitement— particularly when we’re hailed by a ship that speaks an obscure language, or you’re able to beam down and interact with a civilization that speaks something other than Basic or Klingon.” “Well. It’s what I was trained to do,” I sniffed. “Dork.” Una straightened up. “Tell you something else,” She added as she walked away, “I see it when you’re with him, too.” She didn’t need to clarify— the look that she threw me over her shoulder told me everything that I needed to know. “We drop out of warp in twenty minutes,” She warned before leaving my room, the door sliding shut behind her. Tag list: @angels-pie ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta  ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @how-am-i-serpose-to-know ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgiggles ; @inmyowncorner  ; @tardis-23  ; @paintballkid711 ; @katrynec ; @hypnobananaangelfish ; @elen-aranel ; @blueeyesatnight ; @hotchswifey ; @carbonated-beverage​

[wallgirl]

The Little Nereid Part 7

2700 words, part 7 of a ?15? part fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate… and painful.

Categories: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending; no NSFW content; graphic violence in future parts.

---

"Dynamene, may I come in?" A gentle knock sounded on Dynamene's door. She looked up from where she had curled up on her bed, reading. By now, it had been a few hours since Poseidon had left to hear the audience of her sisters. Perhaps that was what Actaea was here about now. Dynamene perked up at the prospect of finally being let in on the secret.

"Yes, come on in," Dynamene called, sitting upright and setting her book aside. Actaea entered with a smile, but there was something rather tense about it under the surface.

"We just had an audience with Poseidon," she began, sitting on the bed next to Dynamene.

"Yes, so I understand," Dynamene replied, her voice a bit miffed. "I don't understand why you all left me out of it. I was worried. What was it about? Did something happen?"

Actaea shook her head. "Nothing to worry about, Dyna. In fact, far from it. You see, we got permission from Lord Poseidon to go home for a month." Her smile widened.

Dynamene blinked at her, completely caught off-guard. "Go home for a month? You mean... to our family's palace?"

"Yes!" Actaea took hold of her hands. "Think of it as a final coming-of-age gift. You've been stressed out lately, right? A visit home will surely freshen your spirits. Don't you think?"

"I..." Dynamene's gaze searched the room, still processing the sudden news. What had brought this on out of nowhere? "I guess."

"A dozen of us will be coming along with you. Me, Ianeira, Eione, Thoe, Callianassa, and some others... We'll get to go and see our parents, our old friends, and Nerites. Oh, it's been a while, hasn't it? I'm sure he's grown even bigger now."

Dynamene couldn't help but smile at the mention of their younger brother. "You're right, I'm sure he has. It'll be great to see him again. When are we going?"

"Tomorrow!" Actaea stood and crossed to Dynamene's dresser. She began to open the drawers and pull out clothing. "We leave tomorrow afternoon. So why don't we get you packed?"

Dynamene gaped. "Tomorrow?"

"Yes! After breakfast. So come on. Which of these chitons do you want to bring?"

Dynamene's smile faded slightly. Why was Actaea acting so strangely about this? Maybe she was just tired. It had been a long day, after all.

Her eyes wandered to her jewelry, then to her mother-of-pearl bracelet. If she was going to be gone for a month... She wouldn't see Poseidon for weeks. Her heart sank. Of course another obstacle would come up as she was getting closer to him. She would have to wait to receive that second bracelet. She couldn't help giving a sigh of disappointment. Well, he was the one who had brought up getting her another; surely he wouldn't forget. Poseidon was a man of his word.

"What is it?" Actaea said, looking up from the trunk she'd begun packing for Dynamene.

"It's nothing important. It's just that..." Dynamene bit her lower lip shyly before continuing on. "Poseidon promised to get me a second bracelet this afternoon. It's not a big deal that we'll be gone for a while, though. I suppose he'll just have to give it to me when we come back."

Actaea stared at her, her expression almost disturbed. Dynamene stilled at the sight of her face. "What's the matter, Actaea?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Actaea turned back to the trunk. "Come over here and give me a hand, now. I can't pick out every peplos for you, now, can I?"

Dynamene slid off her bed with a hesitant giggle and joined her sister. "I suppose not. I'm not a little girl anymore, after all."

They'd only been folding robes for a few minutes in placid silence when the sound of the wind picking up outside gave them pause. "Is that the wind?" Dynamene asked, tilting her head to get a better listen. The sisters looked to the open window, whose drawn curtains were billowing with the breeze.

Actaea stepped carefully to the window and parted the curtains. Outside, the roaring waves were crashing with much more force than was typical. It was impossible to see anything in the heavy darkness of night, but the wind was blowing hard enough to cause a stir within Dynamene's room. The candles lighting the space sputtered and flickered under the sudden gust. Actaea quickly pulled the exterior shutters closed and latched them securely.

"Why is the ocean like that?" Dynamene whispered. "The weather doesn't seem like anything unusual... It's not raining, is it?"

"No," Actaea sighed breathlessly, dusting her hands off. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Ten-to-one it'll pass within an hour. Let's finish getting you packed."

Dynamene's stare didn't move from the shuttered window. The wind continued to whistle through cracks in the wood. "Right," she replied slowly.

---

The next morning, heavy rain had joined the churning ocean to produce a full-blown storm. Dynamene peered out her window with uncertainty. Although it was well into the daylight hours now, the sky hadn't lightened much from the previous night. Would they be able to travel in weather like this? Surely they wouldn't be able to safely navigate the seas in their spirit form with waves that high.

"Perhaps Poseidon could calm it down for us," she whispered to herself as she pinned a hooded cloak snuggly about her shoulders. Picking up her packed trunk, she cast one last look at her room with a sigh. It would be a month until she returned, and she was already strangely homesick for it.

She joined the rest of her sisters at the dining hall. The other Nereids that were coming along were dressed in travel gear as well. The din of conversation and chatter did little to drown out the rush of rain outside. She spotted Ianeira, who was wringing her hands as she stared out a tall window. "I guess we won't be seaing this journey, will we?" She asked, stepping closer to join her.

"No," Ianeira answered, turning to face her. "We'll be going by land; by carriage, to be more precise. You're all packed?"

"Yes," Dynamene said, lifting her trunk to show her. "All ready."

"Perfect. We'll leave right after breakfast, then." Ianeira turned to take a place at one of the banquet tables.

The same sense of uneasy that Actaea had carried with her the night before returned to Dynamene. She stared after her eldest sister in confusion before making the decision to call out. "Ianeira?"

"Yes, Dynamene?" She replied, turning back around.

"Is... this trip really about my birthday?" Dynamene ventured, her brow furrowed in suspicion.

"Of course, Dynamene. What other reason would we have for going?" Ianeira answered smoothly. There was no hesitation in her voice, and Dynamene struggled for a suitable response.

"I... I guess it's just that..."

Dynamene's voice trailed off as the rapid clicking of heavy boots approached the dining hall. All of the Nereids got to their feet, taken aback by the sudden appearance of their master.

Poseidon stood in the entrance to the hall, his imposing figure emitting an aura that filled the space around him with unease. His eyes were dark today again, and there was a detached air to his gaze. The Nereids waited with a heavy silence for him to speak.

"Hades is coming to visit later today. Those of you who will be staying behind must see to your duties as soon as possible." His tone was flat and cool.

This set off a chain reaction of murmurs and gasps. Hades had only visited twice before in all the time the Nereids had served Poseidon, and those had been in times of crisis. What could possibly warrant him visiting now?

"Has something happened at Olympus, do you think?" One Nereid whispered. Dynamene stared at Poseidon in fright. A sinking feeling began to settle in her stomach. If a visit from Hera meant bad news, a visit from Hades meant disaster. What was going on?

Evidently, Poseidon felt no reason to explain further, because he had already turned around and was walking back down the dark hallway. Throwing restraint to the wind, Dynamene clenched her jaw and ran after him.

"Dynamene, wait!" Ianeira cried, reaching for Dynamene's cloak. But she was already far out of reach, and she caught nothing but air.

---

Dynamene sprinted down the black hall, trying to decipher which way Poseidon had gone. "Poseidon!" She called, looking around. "I mean, Lord Poseidon!" She halted at the intersection of two hallways, shoulders sinking hopelessly. He had seemingly vanished into thin air. She had no chance of finding him in the dark like this.

"Return to the dining hall," his voice sounded from behind her, and she jumped. How had he crept up on her like that? Whirling around to face him, she saw a familiar old chill in his eyes. She tried to search his gaze, but his eyes weren't focused on her. Cold disbelief began to course through her veins.

"Lord Poseidon, please, what's going on? Why is Lord Hades coming here? Please tell me, I'm worried," Dynamene begged. "He only visits when something bad has happened."

His expression changed naught, even at the sound of her worried pleas. "It is none of your concern. Now go back."

Dynamene's expression crumpled at the familiar sound of detachment in his voice. It was one she hadn't heard in a few weeks; not since the day of her birthday. What had changed in the past night?

"I... I'm worried about you," she tried once more. But she already knew her placates were in vain. He wasn't even looking at her. He didn't see her.

"Enough. I don't have time for this," he responded sharply. "Go back now." He turned away from her.

She stared at him in shock. Why is he like this all of a sudden? Does it have to do with Hades visiting? Or is it something that I did? Her lower lip trembled at his harsh words, and her throat grew tight.

He halted, but she turned away from him in humiliation. She couldn't let him see her cry. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

To her shock, he took hold of her shoulder and turned her back to face him. She continued to stare at the ground, refusing to look at him. But he rose one strong hand and smoothed a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. The gesture forced her to stare up at him in disbelief. His expression was still sullen, but his eyes were softer than before.

"Do not worry about Hades's visit," he said, his voice quieter than before. "I have already spoken to him. It has nothing to do with any catastrophe or emergency. Just another pointless visit from a sibling." Having made sure the lock was perfectly tucked back in place, he drew his hand away.

She rubbed her tears away with a shaky fist. "You know, I find it hard to believe that," she said, trying to force her voice to remain steady. It was a useless struggle; she was too overcome with a strangely bittersweet emotion. "But I guess I have no choice but to." And without any further ado, she threw her arms around him.

Poseidon froze as she embraced him. Had anyone ever embraced him like this? No, it was too brazen and unexpected. He looked down at her in disbelief. He could feel the soft skin of her face resting against his chest, and the damp sensation of the tears that lingered on her cheeks. Her arms were too weak to really squeeze him, but she clung tightly to him, as if her life depended on it.

Dynamene exhaled, allowing herself to relax against him. This was her solace. The roller-coaster of emotion that she had suffered the past few weeks meant nothing now. She could hear his heartbeat for real now, not just sensed from a distance away. His body was muscular and firm, unyielding against the softer shape of hers. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, and she didn't want it to end.

But she knew she had crossed the strict boundaries he kept, so after just a few far-too-brief moments she pulled away. "I'm sorry," she whispered shyly, her face glowing pink with daring. "I'm sorry, I... I will see you later, Lord Poseidon." She didn't dare look at his face as she quickly drew up the hood of her cloak and dashed back down to the hall to rejoin her sisters.

Poseidon looked down at his chest where the remainder of her tears dotted his skin. Her tears were just seawater, no different from the splash of the ocean he was used to feeling. Yet, somehow, these droplets were entirely different. How was it that they seemed to each hold a whole world, a whole unspoken tale, within?

He brushed his fingertips gently against the wetness and brought his hand before his eyes. Tears were for the weak, from the weak. He had no use for them. Tears were a wasted effort that yielded no results except to advertise one's cowardice. He'd never cried, even as an infant, and no one had ever cried for him. That was the way he preferred it; an unyielding, solid reality without the soft give of emotions like these. And yet, these soft teardrops...

He clenched his fist around them, holding them tight. Not out of weakness or cowardice, but for some other completely different reason...

She had cried them for him.

---

"Dynamene, what were you thinking?!" Ianeira cried, grabbing Dynamene by the shoulders as she returned. "Poseidon is clearly not in the mood to be trifled with."

"It's alright," Dynamene said softly. "I... I just told him that I was concerned. But he said it's nothing to worry about." She hid her face in the hood in an attempt to conceal the redness of her eyes and the lingering blush on her cheeks.

Ianeira sighed in exasperation, examining Dynamene's expression. "Very well. The carriages arrived a little bit ago. We should head out now, in case the storm gets worse."

The dozen Nereids that were joining Dynamene on her excursion home quickly got the luggage loaded into the carriages. The outside world was all gray and dim underneath the rain. Dynamene stared out at the sea, captivated by the angry churning of the waves and the crashing white crests. The ocean was never this upset near the palace, where Poseidon's influence kept it calm. Could it be that his mood was affecting it?

"We're all set now, Dynamene," called Eione from the nearest carriage. "Come on." She held out a hand.

Dynamene pulled her cloak tighter about herself and allowed Eione to help her up into the carriage. "Are you all set?" Eione asked. "Better get tucked in well; this weather's not friendly at all." She produced from one chest a thick blanket that she deftly wrapped about the two of them. She leaned out of the carriage just enough to call to the rest of the caravan. "Dynamene's here with me, we're all set to go!" A few moments later, the wheels of the carriage gave a creak and they began their bumpy journey away onto the less-traveled dirt road that led away from the palace through the mountains.

Dynamene looked back through the rain-covered window at the palace, gray and looming in the dismal weather. She was reluctant to leave. If the ocean was a sign of Poseidon's true disposition, things didn't bode well. But what could she do to help anyways? She had nothing but her words to offer, and she had no idea what was troubling him. If it wasn't the prospect of Hades coming, what was it?

She turned back to sit properly, adjusting the blanket around her. Resting her head against Eione's strong shoulder, she allowed herself to close her eyes and relax. I'll be back soon. After this trip, I hope we won't be apart for a while to come.

And you know, when I come home, maybe, just maybe, you'll wrap your your arms around me too.

---

Author’s Notes: Aughhh Why was this one so strangely difficult to write? This part kind of took on a mind of its own in the middle. Poseidon and Dynamene weren't originally supposed to have a conversation here, but because of how things are going to develop later, I decided to have them together here. I think I made the right choice. Dynamene finally got to hug him, so I guess that's a milestone.

Hades is comingggggg No, it's not because of some huge disaster or gory conflict, this isn't that type of fanfic. Poseidon was telling the truth about that much. We've only had one chapter of Hades in the manga, but I actually felt like his character was easier to grasp than his younger brother's, so I don't think he'll give me too much trouble.

From here on out, the plot will get a lot more actiony; a lot of things are going to happen. We'll also be seeing Aphrodite in the near future, about three parts away. In total, there will be about eight parts left. I'm looking forward to finally putting the pieces of everything together for a draMATIC climax.

To my tumblr readers: this fanfic is also on ao3 now, under the same title. I will be updating there first from now on, so please look for it there. Thank you!

[captcas]

Too Many Minutes

Rolling onto her side, she grabs her phone out of habit. There’s a spark of hope settled deep in her chest before she opens it to a screen empty of notifications beyond a few spam emails. Why would he greet her with his usual good morning? It’s not going to be a good morning… she hasn’t had a good morning in three weeks.

Three weeks, four days, and twelve hours. read on ao3

If it weren’t for the pounding in her head and uncomfortably dry tears on her cheeks, Emma would’ve thought this was all just a bad dream.

“It’s not the fact that you’re scared, Emma… I– you know I understand being scared. It’s that– it’s just so easy for you to– you’d rather give into that fear than fight it together. I thought we were stronger than that.”

She hates when he calls her Emma.

Rolling onto her side, she grabs her phone out of habit. There’s a spark of hope settled deep in her chest before she opens it to a screen empty of notifications beyond a few spam emails. Why would he greet her with his usual good morning? It’s not going to be a good morning… she hasn’t had a good morning in three weeks.

Three weeks, four days, and twelve hours.

Her body shifts into the autopilot she’s relied on since he walked out the door. She starts crying again, this time the tears collecting at her feet with the hot water from her shower. Logically, she knows she can’t see the individual tears, but as they go down the drain with the rest of the water she can’t help but feel it’s a metaphor.

A really shitty metaphor.

This is her new routine, wake up, check her phone, cry in the shower, head to work, and spend every waking moment reliving that night until she falls back asleep from utter exhaustion. Her friends don’t even know they broke up– if they did Emma surely would have more than spam emails to delete each morning. Killian must be leaving that up to her; she broke it, it’s only fair she has to pick up the pieces.

Sometimes the anger sets in. He promised he wouldn’t walk out, he said he’d be there, he promised it was them against the world— maybe doubting a promise is the easiest way to break it.

Emma walks into the kitchen to grab some coffee before heading into the center– their center. When she started at the Boston Youth Community Center, she didn’t intend to fall in love with the cheeky, handsome outdoor rec coordinator. She also didn’t intend on them working together so well that, when Marco retired, they were an obvious fit for co-directors.

That seemed like a good idea at the time.

He took the first week off, but then moved offices without so much as a word to her. He’s now on the main floor with the kids instead of the office level next to her. Killian swore to the board it was to be more involved but Emma knows it was the furthest away he could get from her without quitting.

Killian isn’t a quitter.

Emma apparently is.

Unlocking her office door, his absence is felt just as much as the empty space in her bed. The office is littered with their memories, work and otherwise. She hasn't been able to bring herself to take down the picture frames– the action feeling too finite. It’d be the next step in making all of this real. At best, she’s been able to put one face down for a few hours before she misses his artificial presence and sets it upright again.

The picture next to her computer is of the day he proposed. Just them on the couch watching The Office when (in his words) the need to propose just came over him– he’d had the ring for months. Emma’s never agreed to something so quick– any and all hesitation completely trumped by overwhelming joy at being chosen by someone forever.

Now, it’s four months later and the stress of wedding planning and the reality of what forever actually means all bombarded her one day and she snapped.

Three weeks, four days, and fourteen hours ago.

She wonders to herself if Killian already packed all these memories away. He moved offices, and she supposes it’d be weird for him to put their photos back up…

Emma jumps at a knock on her door and quickly composes herself before rushing to answer it, “Sorry, yes, coming!” She wipes a stray tear from her cheek and turns the handle. She didn’t expect to find him standing there, “Killian?”

He looks just as awful as she does– and that’s saying something because handsome is an understatement when it comes to Killian. While Emma expected that to be comforting, it only makes her feel worse. They’ve always fed off one another, their codependency one of the few that even Mary Margaret, a trained psychiatrist, called healthy. Neither of them grew up with anyone they could depend on, not long enough to form any sort of healthy connection– not until each other.

“May I come in, please?” His voice startles her. After being alone with only the memory of it, she realizes it’s much more beautiful in person. She knew she missed it, but she didn’t realize how much.

Killian raises an eyebrow, something playful she didn’t expect, before walking into the office without the permission he asked for. He beelines for the photo on her desk, the one that caused her tears only moments before. He pauses for a moment before turning towards her, “You still have them up.”

The shocked tone of his voice feels like a dagger to her chest, the fact he thought she’d be able to move past them so quickly. “Uh, yeah. I–”

She’s not good with words so she leaves it at that. There are so many things she wants to say, apologies and explanations and confessions of love. For three weeks, four days, fourteen hours, and nine minutes she’s been rehearsing everything she should have said but the minute she’s presented with the opportunity she freezes.

Emma watches as he traces his thumb over the picture of them before she glances towards his eyes. He’s been crying, maybe not this minute but she knows that hint of red at the corner of his eye– the anniversary of Liam’s death hitting him harder each year that passes. At 34 this year, he officially turned a year older than his brother and there’s something about that fact which made everything monumentally harder and caused that flash of red to remain there for weeks. She swore to herself she’d never cause him that kind of pain.

More empty promises.

He glances over at her and Emma realizes she has no concept for how long they’ve been standing there or at what point she started to cry. A soft gasp escapes him when she bats a tear away with her left hand, “You’re still wearing your ring.”

He doesn’t question it, just states it like a fact he can’t believe.

“Because, more than anything, I’m still yours.” Emma isn’t sure where it came from, eloquent confessions of feelings and emotions typically reserved for Killian. She stumbles on the follow up, “If you— could you still want me… I mean–”

He stands there taking her in for what feels like an eternity. The regret and guilt Emma’s built up in her chest for three weeks threatening to escape through her tear ducts if she has to wait for his answer much longer.

She doesn’t.

Before she can turn away, he’s wrapping her in a deep kiss. A weight lifts and it feels like every light in the world turns on the moment they connect once more. Emma knows this isn’t a fix all, that after the initial high of being together again, there’s going to be long talks, and tearful battles, but if the last three weeks, four days, fourteen hours, and who the hell knows how many minutes have taught her anything, it’s that any life with Killian is better than even a day without him. They break from the kiss and Killian leaves another on her forehead. His hand absentmindedly finds hers and begins to play with the intricate diamond band on her finger.

“Killian, I–” He kisses her again, stopping her apology. She closes her eyes, willing the tears of relief to stay put as she leans into his prosthetic when he brushes some fallen hair from her face. As she feels his body shift in front of her, she opens her eyes to find him looking straight back at her.

“I know, Swan. Me too. But not here, alright? We’ll have plenty of time to talk, so for now I’d like to enjoy holding my fiance for the first time in three weeks.”

She loves when he calls her Swan.

Killian pulls her in for a tight hug and Emma’s auto-calculator seems to speak for her, “Three weeks, ten days, fourteen hours and–”

“And too many minutes, love.” He laughs as he finishes her sentence and Emma chokes out a giggle through her tears. She feels foolish for ever doubting that when Killian promised forever that he hadn’t thought of the implications– that he was anything like the people who left scars on her through her entire life.

They end up getting married the next day, a private celebration meant solely for them. It was Emma’s idea, her way of proving to Killian that she wasn’t going to run again. At first he was wary, big rash decisions not typically in his wheelhouse, but when she put on the wedding dress she’d picked out with Mary Margaret months before he’d even proposed, she saw a sort of understanding shift into his gaze. This is something they’ve both wanted for longer than they’ve been letting on— both too scared to make the move, to risk getting hurt again. Killian makes an appointment at the courthouse and they pay the extra $12 for a random witness from the courthouse staff. Afterwards, they met their friends at the bar like they do every Friday evening.

It only took one hour and thirty-three minutes for Mary Margaret to notice the ring on Killian’s right hand and another twelve minutes for her to convince them they needed to throw a big celebration.

Emma breathes a sigh of relief that night when she hears Killian’s soft breathing beside her for the second time in– well, too long. There’s such a fine line between want and need. For both of them, it just took a harsh reminder that when you realize want and need are one in the same, you better fight for it.

[sunlightdances]

Two Hearts on Fire

Title: Two Hearts on Fire Author: Katie @sunlightdances​ Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Prompt: “If you need my shoulder, or my hand, or a hug-” Rating/genre/warnings: PG-13. Mentions of alcohol, canon-typical violence, and swearing. Summary: 3 times Dean was there for you when you needed it + 1 time you were able to repay the favor. Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural or Dean Winchester. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites without my written permission! Reblogs are encouraged! Please, please, please reblog creators’ work if you like it. Likes are amazing and beautiful, but sharing your favorite work has such a big impact and really makes my day. Author’s Note: I reference the Reader’s military history only because I just rewatched Generation Kill and have First Recon on the brain. I’m aware that the Marines don’t allow women into that Battalion, but let’s just pretend they do.

Links to my full masterlist can be found on my blog!

One.

You’re in a bar, the kind your mother always told you to stay away from, but you’re a little drunk, a little reckless, and a lot sad.

You concentrate on the amber liquid swirling in the glass in front of you, the sounds of the jukebox in the corner as some old, sad country song plays, and the way the world is just a little fuzzy at the edges.

Someone sits down next to you.

Not too close, but close enough that you can smell the musky scent of his cologne, and something sharp and metallic underneath. He’s tall. Broad. He glances at you, double takes. You mentally roll your eyes, preparing yourself for the inevitable pick-up line, but it never comes.

He drinks slowly, like you are. He doesn’t say anything, just a few murmured words to the bartender when he wants another glass.

He doesn’t even look at you, really, until someone sits down on your other side. Too close. Wandering eyes. Your shoulders tense. You prepare yourself for the inevitable line - what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this, or some similar variation, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, a hand, low on your hip, a threatening voice in your ear.

“One wrong move and I’ll kill you and the girl my friend over there just met in front of this entire bar,” he says, and you struggle to keep your face neutral as you look across the bar, a girl who can’t be older than nineteen giggling as a man twice her age whispers to her, his eyes locked on you.

“What are you?” You ask conversationally, taking another sip of whiskey.

“Like you don’t know.”

“I’m not hunting you.” You tell him, and his grip on you falters. It’s the truth - you’re a hunter, but you’re not hunting. Not tonight, anyway. You would laugh if you weren’t in a potentially life threatening situation - it figures the one night you want to take a break and relax, you end up mixed up in someone else’s hunt.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We scented you outside--”

“She might not be hunting, but we are.” The man on the other side of you speaks up, and you glance at him sharply, wondering how much of this entire exchange he heard. He tilts his head in the direction of the door. Another man dressed similarly in plaid and jeans stands there, twirling a knife in his hands, eyes hard.

“What the hell is this,” the man at your back growls.

“You’ve been terrorizing this town long enough. Time for your friend and you to eat one.” The man says, gulping the last bit of his drink, before standing and facing the two of you.

Despite yourself, your pulse starts to race. This isn’t ideal - a threat at your back where you’re vulnerable, a girl who has no idea what she’s walked into across the bar, probably close to being dinner for the men you’ve figured out are werewolves.

“Seems like a lose-lose,” you say casually, making eye contact with the hunter in front of you, trying like hell to figure out his next move.

The air is tense, and almost as if you’ve practiced it before, a wink from the hunter is your cue to elbow your assailant in the ribs hard, stomping on his feet at the same time.

You duck, just in time for the hunter to sucker punch the wolf with a hard left hook, his grip loosening enough for you to get out of the way. The man across the bar growls loud enough for you to hear, and you only hesitate for a half second before you’re moving, him meeting you halfway.

The other patrons are scrambling, the bartender yelling, but you ignore it all, concentrating with all your might on subduing him enough to get yourself and this innocent girl out of the bar.

You dodge a few swipes, alarmed when you see his claws out, and you curse under your breath, your reflexes slowed by alcohol just a bit, enough to make you nervous. The fight closer to the bar continues, and just as you think you’re about to bite it, another hand grips your shoulder, shoving you aside in time for you to regain your footing.

The two werewolves fully engaged, you grab the young girl’s arm, her eyes wide and filled with tears. You drag her outside, ignoring the fight behind you as people spill out of the bar, the bartender yelling that he’s called the police.

“Listen to me. You need to get on a bus, and get the hell out of town. Don’t come back for a week or two, maybe longer.” You find your wallet, shoving a few bills in her hand. She just stares at you. “Do you understand? Go!”

She nods frantically, taking the money and turning before running down the street.

Sighing, you turn back towards the bar, cracking your knuckles. Before you can do anything else, the noise stops, and the door opens. The hunter who had been with you at the bar looks around quickly before his eyes land on you.

“You okay?” He asks, gruff.

“Fine.”

“They’re dead,” he says bluntly. “Knocked the bartender out long enough to get them outside. The police are on their way, though.”

You nod. “Need help with the bodies?”

He considers it, but shakes his head slowly. “We got this one.” He tilts his head, “You really weren’t after them?”

You grit your teeth. “It’s my night off.”

He stiffens. “We don’t get nights off.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, whatever. Thanks for your help, but I--” really, really don’t need this tonight, you think, but decide just to stop talking. “I have to go.”

When the other hunter comes out of the bar and stands there, tall and imposing, you realize who they are. And you definitely don’t need to get involved in whatever shit the Winchesters are dealing with these days.

“Good luck,” you say, waving a hand nonchalantly before heading out to your car, passing the infamous black Impala on your way. You’d laugh if you weren’t so depressed.

They’re still there watching you when you glance in your rearview as you drive away.

Two.

“Any day now, Claire,” you say through grit teeth as you shove all your body weight against the closed door at your back, trying like hell to keep this angry spirit out, though a voice in the back of your head tells you it could just give up and go right through the wall.

“Going as fast as I can!” The younger girl tells you, and finally, finally the lighter in her hand whooshes to life, the canvas in her other hand lighting quickly.

The lights flicker like mad as the spirit screams, and then it’s all quiet, and you slump against the door, nodding at Claire across from you. “Good job, kiddo.”

Footsteps on the stairs startle you, as does the doorknob rattling.

“Shit, not again,” Claire swears, and then the unmistakable voice of Dean Winchester is on the other side of the door.

“Claire, open up!”

“Oh, come on…” You groan, pulling away from the door so you can open it. Yanking the door open, you’re greeted with Dean’s surprised expression.

“Oh.”

“What are you doing here?!” Claire nearly wails, clearly upset. “I told Jody I had a partner for this one, I had it under control!”

Dean, to his credit, looks a little chagrined. “She just said--”

“That I need a babysitter?”

You look back and forth between them, really not wanting to get in between whatever pseudo-family drama is brewing here.

“I think that’s my cue,” you say quietly. “So I’m just gonna--”

“How come she doesn’t get yelled at?” Claire asks, and you’re suddenly reminded about how young she is.

Dean snorts. “Because she’s a grown ass woman, and Jody didn’t send us here to yell at her.” He looks over at you, a smirk barely repressed.

You roll your eyes. “I don’t really do family drama, so if you’ll excuse me--”

“Wait!” Claire calls, and when you turn around, she’s already there throwing her arms around your shoulders, hugging you close. You stiffen. You’re not used to this affection - the way the young hunter is still so full of life and enthusiasm… it’s the way you remember being a long, long time ago. “Thank you,” she whispers before letting you go.

Head down, you smile gently. “No problem, kiddo. Stay out of trouble.”

You shrug past Dean Winchester in the doorway, his impossibly imposing figure making it hard to get by without brushing against him a little, and you scowl when he grins at you. Antagonizing little shit, you think, but you’re smiling a little too.

He finds you later at the 24-hour diner down the street, like you suspected he would.

A cup of steaming coffee is set down in front of you, and then he’s there, like he’s been conjured out of thin air.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

You hum in agreement.

“You don’t say much, do you?” He asks, but it’s not tinged with annoyance or mocking like you’d expect.

“I don’t know you. What do you want, my life story?”

He shrugs. “Your name would be a start.” He winces at himself, “that sounded like a line. Not how I meant it.” He takes a sip of his own coffee. “Claire talks about you like you’re old friends.”

You meet his eyes. “She’s a good kid.”

He nods. “I know she is. Just gets in over her head sometimes.”

You’re both quiet for a second. You have purposefully isolated yourself from anyone else in the hunting community because you’ve had enough camaraderie to last a lifetime. It never left you with anything but a broken spirit. Why Dean Winchester thinks he’s going to change that, you have no idea, but you suppose you can’t fault him.

You’ve heard all about him - the most surprising thing (heard from Claire and from Jody) being the way he seems to adopt every single person he meets. Everyone becomes part of the family whether he wants them to or not.

You tell him your name.

He frowns. “Why do I know that name?”

You tense up again, and he looks at you dead in the eyes, really looks at you.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“You’ll figure it out eventually,” you sigh. “I was in the Marines. First Recon. I was a medic, and it was a total shit show. When I came back, I wasn’t the same person. I couldn’t fathom working at an office or some other shitty job. I met a friend of a friend who had a connection to hunting. Really hush hush. I had the skills. They needed help. The end.”

He looks surprised, but he regains his composure quickly. “And the friends?”

Your hard stare meets his. “Gone.”

He doesn’t press you. Doesn’t ask you who they were or what happened, he just takes the information for what it is - a story a thousand hunters have about a hunt gone wrong and an accident. No one’s fault, except you had your share of not-your-fault incidents in Iraq that still led to your friends dying. You were tired of it.

“Well. If you ever need any help or get in a pinch, we’re happy to help.” He says.

You know you won’t take him up on it. By the cautious look in his eyes, you think he knows that too. Still, it’s the thought that counts.

After he leaves, a waitress slides a slice of pie in front of you.

Confused, you look up, “I didn’t order this.”

“Your friend did.” She says, winking.

Dean Winchester, you think, the exact sort of friend I don’t need.

Three.

You’re pretty sure this is it.

There’s a blade at your throat, and the only reason you aren’t already dead is because the fucking vampires can’t stop arguing with each other.

You wonder if you’ll see your guys again in heaven, if that’s where you end up. Judging by the amount of civilian death you saw in Iraq, you’re not so sure. You picture the men you couldn’t save, the blood that you swear still stains your hands, and think that it’ll be nice to see them again. If only so you can properly repent.

You wonder if your hunter friends will be there too.

You’re distracted from your admittedly morbid thoughts by a knock on the door. It’s loud.

The vampires stop.

“Who is knocking?”

The other one literally shrugs. You roll your eyes. Is this a buddy comedy or a hunt?

One vamp tiptoes close to the door, and before they can do anything, the door flies open, splinters raining down, and the vamp is nailed in the face with the door, falling to the floor unconscious.

“Sorry to barge in,” Dean says. “You’ve got something I want.”

You snort, and have to laugh when you can see Sam Winchester over Dean’s shoulder rolling his eyes.

“What is this, SVU?”

“A little gratitude would be nice.” Dean says, frowning.

The vamp still holding a blade to your throat makes a choked noise. “Excuse me?!”

Dean’s eyes flick to his. The green in his eyes goes from warm to icy in a second. “Sorry, am I keeping you from something?”

“One more step and the girl dies.”

Sam steps into the room and smiles sunnily at you. “I feel like we’ve done this before.”

“Seems familiar, yeah.” You reply.

“Enough!” The blade digs into your throat.

The bickering and bantering has given you more than enough time to saw through the bindings on your wrist, but you’re in no hurry to give away the game. You feel a trickle of blood run down your neck and see Dean’s eyes narrow in on the spot. You just hope he keeps his cool long enough for you to work your way out of this.

“Let her go.” Sam says coolly.

“I don’t think so. Just to get my head chopped off?”

“Seems like a you problem.” Dean says.

“Boys, it’s been fun. But I have to go.” You say, seconds before you rear back, headbutting the vamp behind you. He drops the knife, sending it clattering to the ground, and you’re out of your seat to throw a hard right hook before he can react.

Sam and Dean react quickly, brandishing machetes and taking care of business while you check the other rooms in the house to make sure you’re alone.

Meeting back in the kitchen, you’re already recovering your bag that was taken from you and digging through it for your aid kit.

“How’d you do that?” Sam asks quietly. His eyes stray down to your neck as you wince, pressing a pad of gauze to your wound. “Get out of the ropes, I mean.”

You take out a long bandage, winding it around your neck. Without prompting, Sam steps closer and takes the loose end, helping you tuck it in where you can’t see.

“Thanks,” you say, distracted. “I keep a knife taped to my forearm,” you say. “Took forever to get it loose, but they didn’t check before they tied me up.”

Sam nods. Dean walks in a second later, eyes narrowing at the point where you and Sam are touching. You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t trying to make sure you don’t bleed to death.

“Need stitches?” His voice is gruff.

You shake your head. “No. Should be fine. Just a graze.”

He nods.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Jody called. Said you were supposed to meet up and you never showed. Tracked you down from there.”

Digging through your bag one more time, you find your phone. “Feels like this is beginning to be a habit. You might as well put your numbers in.”

Dean looks like he wants to make a smart remark, but he doesn’t. You’re grateful. “Are you good?” He asks, eyes on your neck again.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t get all emotional or anything.” He teases, and you roll your eyes yet again.

“Asshole.” You murmur, but there’s no heat behind it. “I have to go.”

They give you a ride back to the rest stop where the vamps ambushed you. You’re so tired you wonder if you shouldn’t take them up on the offer to keep you company, but then the faces of all the friends you’ve lost swim in front of you, and you remember why you can’t get close to them.

The Winchesters are too much trouble, even for you.

+1

You keep dreaming that your phone is ringing.

You wake up to someone pounding on your door, your heart racing, and you grip your gun tight as you make your way to the door.

“Open up!” A gruff voice demands, and your shoulders slump.

“Christ,” you mutter. Opening the door, you’re greeted with a pale and shaken Dean, Sam’s arm slung over his shoulder. “What the fuck happened?”

“Stabbed,” he says in a rush. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Get him inside and on the bed.” You say quickly, darting to the bathroom to dig out the med kit you keep fully stocked but luckily haven’t had to use since Iraq.

Back in your bedroom, Sam is groaning, and Dean is muttering platitudes.

“Sam? Sam, hey.” You say, hovering over him. “Look at me, Sam.” He meets your eyes. Luckily his pupils are both the same size, and you smile at him. “There you are. Hi, Sam. You’re going to be okay.”

Dean hovers, and you try to ignore the feeling of his eyes on you as you work.

“I’ve got to get the shirt off,” you tell Sam. “Don’t read anything into it.”

He smiles despite the pain he’s clearly in.

“Sam, can you breathe okay?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s writhing a little, and you force yourself to concentrate.

“Sam,” you repeat, more forcefully, trying to get his focus. “Can you breathe?”

“Yeah, I can breathe. Jesus Christ.”

“Good, that’s good. You’re going to be okay, Sam.”

The wound isn’t too deep. Missed anything important. You relay the information to Dean, who settles a little, perched on the side of the bed as you begin cleaning Sam up.

“Stop squirming,” you chide softly. “Dean, grab his hand or something. He needs to stop moving so I can stitch him.”

The process of cleaning him up and getting him stitched is almost robotic. You can’t count how many times you’ve had to do this in the Marines. You just pray that this time ends better than some of the others.

“Sam, can you squeeze my hand?” You ask, stopping what you’re doing and reaching for the hand that’s not currently being held by Dean. He squeezes tightly. “There you go,” You soothe. “Gonna have a scar, Sammy. I’ve been told women like that sort of thing.”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but he’s smiling when you look up. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“Sorry,” you say, pulling the last stitch and tying it off as quickly as you can. “You have to stay put for a while, okay?”

“I was going to run a marathon.” He deadpans.

You chuckle and meet Dean’s eyes. He’s not smiling, not even a hint of his lips twitching, and you start to panic that he might be hurt too before he lets go of Sam’s hand and heads towards your kitchen.

Finishing up with Sam, you tell him to rest and that you’ll check on him in a few minutes. He squeezes your hand again, and then you head to check on his brother.

A glass clinking draws your attention to the kitchen table. Dean’s found your whiskey stash.

“Dean?”

He looks up. “Sorry for barging in here like this.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be.” Sitting across from him, you watch him carefully. “He’s going to be okay.”

Dean takes a deep breath. “I panicked. I’ve stitched him a million times, but he was bleeding so much-- I didn’t know what else to do.”

“That’s okay, Dean.” A beat, and then you add, ““If you need my shoulder, or my hand, or a hug-”

He lets out a watery laugh. “Shut up.”

You grin, plucking the glass from his hand and taking a sip.

“You don’t do hugs.” He adds.

You shrug. “I don’t know. I might, for you.”

His eyes are dark when they meet yours. “I’m really glad I met you,” he says softly.

It sounds crazy, but you think you can literally feel some of the darkness that’s hovered over you for years starting to clear. “I’m glad I met you too.” You reply, just as quiet, the two of you sharing the same glass of whiskey until it’s gone.

Maybe this is how you find your peace. Maybe you let these two guys in, let them be there for you in a way you’ve rarely let other people.

Maybe there’s something more here than just you watching your own back at every turn.

Later, when the two of you are squeezed onto your bed on either side of Sam, trying to catch a few hours of sleep while keeping an eye on him, you meet Dean’s eyes again. Wordlessly, his hand reaches for yours and gives it a squeeze.

You don’t let go, and neither does he.

You finally fall asleep, your heart already feeling lighter.

For the first time in almost a decade, you have no nightmares.

[deathlylampshade]

Between The Lines (a Zack Addy fanfiction)

Request for @iamcheese13 : If you’re still taking fanfic request for Zack Addy from Bones, can I have Zack finally being released from prison and having a heart to heart with his ex-girlfriend, who is now happily married and has a child? Thank you!

Author’s note: This fic is... angsty, and kinda took on a life of it’s own. I got a long of inspiration from the song Between The Lines by Sara Bareilles. Reader x ex Zack, reader x Aubrey. Enjoy!

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“Zack lied,” Dr. Brennan said, looking at you with more emotion in her eyes than you had ever seen. Instantly, the wind was knocked out of you, and you sank down to your knees...

“Y/N, Y/N!” Your eyes shot open, suddenly shocked back to the present. “Hey, honey, are you okay?” your husband asks. “Oh, uh, yeah James, I’m okay,” you respond, offering up a smile that you hope looks more reassuring than you feel. His expression softens. “Nervous about today?” Before you could answer, your daughter comes bounding in. “Mommy, mommy!” she cries out, more energy in her short 4 years of life than you’d ever felt. “Mommy, can I come with you today?” she smiles at you brightly. “No, love, mommy has some, um... important grown up things to do today,” you hazard a glance at your husband, who smiles at you. It would almost have been convincing if you didn’t know him so well. “Besides,” you continue, “Daddy is taking you and Christine to the aquarium today.” That’s all it takes, your daughter perks up immediately, kisses your cheek, and runs back to her room. “Speaking of today, are you sure you want to do this alone?” James looks at you intensely, not bothering to hide his concern. “Temperance and I need you to watch the girls today, and... I need to do this on my own,” you say, placing your hand on your husband’s cheek. The phone interrupts your staring match. “Aubrey. Yeah, yeah... okay, I’ll have her at the courthouse in 15 minutes, and pick up Christine after.” James ends the call with a sigh, and then looks at you again. “That was Booth, you ready?” he asks. “Uh, yeah, I think so,” you bite your lip nervously, “Let’s get little one and get out of here.”

20 minutes later, and you’ve kissed your husband and daughter goodbye, and sent them on their way. Standing outside of the courthouse, your mind begins to wander. You’d witnessed dozens of hearings before, even a few in this very courthouse. But none like this, none so close to you personally. Caroline Julian snaps you out of your thoughts when she walks up. “Mrs. Aubrey, are you ready?” she asks. “Um, I believe so,” you say shakily, “can I see him?” “I’m afraid that will have to wait until after, cherie, he’s already inside.” Caroline ushers you inside, your heart rate quickening with every step. You say brief hellos to Hodgins, Angela, and Dr. Brennan, quickly assuring Temperance that the girls are safely with Aubrey and well taken care of. Everyone walks into the courtroom, but you hang back. Tears prickle your eyes, and you take a deep breath before steeling your nerves and walking in yourself. You find your seat without looking up from the floor. You take another deep breath, and allow yourself to look up. A sudden and nostalgic feeling takes over as your eyes meet Zack’s, just like they always had. You blink, and suddenly...

You’re 22, chasing Booth like a puppy dog, and practically skipping up the steps to the Jeffersonian’s forensic platform. “Sorry for the boring field trip while you’re still in training, Y/N, but the squints have some new evidence for the case I’m on,” Booth explains, swiping his card for entrance. “Don’t be sorry, this is awesome,” you’re smiling so hard you think your jaw might break. Though you’d never let on to Booth, you were mostly excited about getting to interact with Dr. Brennan’s adorably awkward assistant. As if on cue, Zack looks up and notices you. He smiles shyly in a way that makes you feel like you could do backflips...

You blink again, and here you are. Almost 10 years have passed, and you’re a wife, a mother, a different person, having to watch the first man you ever loved testify on his own behalf about a crime you had always known he couldn’t commit. You and Zack had been dating for 2 years, and had recently moved in together when everything had come to light. The explosion that sent Zack to th hospital had prompted Booth to give you a temporary leave of absence, so when he called you in a desperate tone, telling you to get down to the Jeffersonian, you were panicked. “Zack lied,” rings through your head, even all these years later. The events of the past decade of your life play in your head like a movie. You’d visited Zack every week, like clockwork, even years after the rest of your friends had moved on. That was until... until Sweets died. After everything you’d been through, losing someone you’d considered a little brother sent you into a dark place you thought you’d never escape from. Aubrey had been your rock. When you met him, your life fell into place. Before you knew it, you guys were married, and then your daughter was born. They were a glimmer of hope amidst the nightmare, but your heart would always partly remain with Zack.

Temperance puts her hand on your leg, bringing you back to reality. “Would the defense like to make a final statement?” the judge asks. “No,” Zack says, “I would prefer for the evidence to speak for itself.” You smile, almost against your will. Same old Zack. “Actually, I would like to say something,” Temperance says, looking at you for silent permission. You squeeze her hand as Caroline gives her permission as well. “Now, I typically speak on evidence, but today I would like to speak on Dr. Addy’s character,” tears prickle in your eyes as Brennan continues. “Working for me, Dr. Addy assisted in incarcerating over 50 murderers. Even while he was institutionalized, Zack attempted the impossible- to find a cure for Dr. Hodgins’ paralysis. Now it’s true, he made mistakes, but I still believe, in my heart, that the world would only benefit from his return to society. Thank you.” The tears were flowing freely now, and you thought they’d never stop as the judge addressed the room, stating that she would overturn Zack’s life sentence, and he would only need to finish the remaining 13 months in the mental institution. You release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and give Zack a huge smile as he turned to look back at you and Brennan. You exchange goodbyes with Caroline, thanking her for, as Temperance put it, “doing enough to keep her job.” You know if it wasn’t for her, you may have never seen Zack again.

You walk out to the lobby to say goodbye to Temperance, and check a few texts from your husband, assuring you that he and the girls were having a great time. Your breathing quickens as Zack exits the courtroom, and starts walking toward you. You smile nervously, “Hey! Er, congratulations, um... I-” Zack cuts off your rambling with a quick embrace. “It is so, so good to see you, Y/N,” he says, holding your shoulders and looking in your eyes. The years had definitely changed him, as they had done to you as well, but his eyes were still exactly the same as you remembered. “Um, how long do you have before you have to go back?” you ask, though your subconscious berates you. “About an hour, I believe,” Zack looks at you quizzically. “Well, let me take you out to lunch, we can go to the diner like we used to?” The last part comes out as a question as your nerves get the better of you. “I would like that very much,” he smiles.

The two of you walk to the diner in silence, a few times you almost start to say something, but your mind is running wild with how you’ll explain this to Aubrey later. You guys decide to take a booth in the back, hoping it would give enough privacy for the conversation you were currently terrified to have. You thought of James, your daughter, your new life. A life you loved, but a life that had always seemed... lacking. There had been a Zack shaped hole in your heart for as long as you could remember, and now here he was in front of you, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to say. “Are you alright, Y/N?” Zack asks you. His face is filled with genuine concern. “I’m... yes, I’m okay,” you reply, “I’m just finding myself at a loss for words right now.” Zack smiles understandingly, and you can’t help but be amazed at his emotional depth. When the two of you were together, you had always seen Zack as compassionate and wonderful, but that part of him rested far under the surface compared to now. “It has been quite some time,” he nods. Your face reddens, suddenly mortified by how long it had actually been. “I am not angry with you, Y/N,” Zack says, “I do hope you realize that.” “But,” you start,”I’M angry with me, Zack.” “I do not know if I understand what you mean,” he replies. Your heart pounds as the floodgates in your brain finally open. “I never should have stopped seeing you,” you admit, “but after Sweets died, I just... I lost it.” “As did I,” Zack says solemnly, “Dr. Sweets was a very good man.” “One of the best,” you say, allowing a tear to slip down your cheek. Zack reaches up and brushes it away, and smiles at you. You smile back, caught in a moment that seems suspended outside of time, of reality. Zack lowers his hand and looks away. “I noticed your husband and daughter were not with you today,” he says, his voice sounding far away. “Oh, uh, you... know about them?” you ask awkwardly. “Not that I was trying to hide the from you or anything, I just...” Zack allows you to trail off, and smiles sadly. “Hodgins has attempted to keep me updated about everyone’s lives, when I asked him about you, he knew he couldn’t lie to me.” “I can’t lie to you either, I never could,” you tell him, “I suppose that’s why I just stayed away.” “As I said, it has been a very long time,” Zack repeats, “and I am happy that you are happy.” You wipe away another tear, and pull out your phone to show Zack a few pictures of your daughter. You know Zack has never exactly been fond of children, but his eyes light up as he talks about how much she looks like you. You put your phone away, and sit in silence for a moment. “Zack,” you start, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “Yes, Y/N?” he asks. “I’m just, I’m so sorry,” you begin to cry again. “Sorry for what exactly?” he looks confused. “I’m just sorry,” you begin, “Sorry for not coming to see you, sorry for being so busy at work while we were together, maybe if I had been more attentive when you’d gotten back from Iraq, maybe things would have been different now.” Zack stares at you intensely. “Y/N,” he says, “I need you to know that none of this is your fault. Everything that happened with the Master, it would have happened regardless. You are not to blame, just as you are not to blame for your life moving forward.” You cry silently, your mind reeling from everything he’s saying, and everything you’re feeling. “Zack, I still love you,” you admit shakily. He puts his gloved hand over yours on the table. “But,” he says softly, nodding with understanding. “Yeah,” you whisper, “But.” Your phone lights up with a text from Caroline, letting you know that Zack needs to get back to the courthouse.

The walk back is anything but silent, the two of you laugh and tell stories about your lives from almost a decade ago. You smile at all the inside jokes he still remembers, the hole in your heart beginning to shrink. Too soon, Zack is escorted into a van heading for the institution. “I’ve waited all these years,” you think, “what’s 13 more months?”

You’re left standing outside the courthouse alone, waiting for a cab to take you back home. Back to Aubrey, back to your little girl. Back to your life.

[serararku]

Where the Wild Things Are Pt 5

<Theme>

The Elders claimed they needed time to prepare. As for what they were preparing for, was never mentioned. They refused to see her until they were good and ready, so she had no choice but to wait around until the time came. Vahli gave her permission to move about the territory at her leisure in the meantime. As a bonus, he let her know she was under no obligation to pleasure him either, much to his chagrin; she couldn't be their emissary if she was pregnant. Unbeknownst to Vahli, Era had brought a tonic from Ul'dah that prevented him from getting her pregnant in the first place.

Needless to say she wasn’t about to let him know about it.

Her plan was to integrate herself into her tribe and see if she could garner support for her radical ideals; no wife should be forced to stay within the territory if she didn’t want to, and no Tia should be forced to leave if he’d prefer to stay. Era couldn’t just outright blurt out her wishes lest she risk Vahli attempting to keep her under lock and key. But if she could plant the seeds of dissent and independence, by this time next moon she’ll be able to keep both her family and her lover in her life. It was a good plan. The perfect plan.

The Tia Keeper was not a man to be trifled with. He had one sole duty- to train the young boys in the ways of hunting, surviving, and combat, so they could one day become Nunhs themselves. He was also the only obstacle she had to pass in order to see Vrenn, the last brother she had left in the tribe. Phalo didn’t bother rising to his feet when he heard someone climbing up the rope ladder to his domain. The old Miqo’te simply closed his eyes and grumbled, choosing to turn in his seat and wait for his visitor. Two black ears popped out from the hatch before Era’s pale face and sugary smile made their grand entrance. He was just as grouchy as she remembered, only his body looked even worse for wear; the gnawed stub that used to be his left elbow was still uncomfortable to stare at for too long, and he must have finally tired of his twisted foot, as a wooden table leg was strapped to his leg as a replacement. The only thing that had yet to fade was his spectacular vision- coupled with his peerless experience, he was the best sentry of the tribe, and the only one willing to train the Tia for their lives beyond the border. Unfortunately for her, Phalo was too old to care about anything else- especially the fickle wishes of a woman barely a third of his age; her feminine charm had no power here. “How can we be of service, tribewife?”

Era tilted her head at the condescending tone, but she kept smiling. “I just want to know if you have everything you need?”

“Need?” He repeated, watching her every move like a hawk. “We ain’t starving to death. Is that all you came for?”

A sharp inhale later and her smile was gone. “I… actually wanted to see if Vrenn was able to talk? I haven’t seen him since I left-”

“He’s training.” Phalo grumbled, finally pulling himself out of his chair. “Them boys don’t need the tribewives bothering them with their talking and feelings. Tia don’t have the time for any of that nonsense. It makes them weak, and weakness will kill them. If there’s nothing else… you may leave.” He was right of course; a Tia couldn’t afford discussing their feelings if they were to harden into the coldblooded killer they needed to be. There wasn’t a Tia alive in the tribeless cities that wasn’t more or less broken- Thalen remained the most hardened Tia she knows, and even he has his own fair share of emotional baggage. To become a Nunh is to deny one’s propensity for compassion, for trust, for love... a cruel tale as old as time.

"It was nice seeing you again, Phalo... I hope to see more of you soon." She gave him a polite bow before turning to leave, with the old man simply giving her a low grunt as he sat back down. Era didn’t want Vrenn to go get himself killed trying to become a Nunh. Now that she’s seen what life is like in the tribeless cities, she wanted to at least know he had options; watching the boys he raised for generations vanish as soon as they were old enough must be hard. They had to hunt by themselves, bathe by themselves, and survive by themselves- a tribe within a tribe. Such zealous independence was ingrained in the old Miqo'te, and soon it would be an integral part in the Tia he nurtured too.

"Who was that?" Called out a timid voice from above. Phalo shot his permanent glare skyward at the young boy hanging out of his hammock. 

"A distraction." He grumbled, returning his attention to the back of Era's head as she slowly disappeared down the path. "Get back to sleep or you'll fall behind on your lessons."

It wasn't the last time she tried to speak with the Tia Keeper, but subsequent attempts got little more than an angry grunt out of him or a few curt words. Eventually she gave up, finally giving Phalo the peace he so sorely needed. Era spent the rest of the week helping the other wives with the daily chores; washing the clothes, cleaning the camp, inspecting the tents and blankets, patching up holes wherever they were found, and of course, keeping the children out of trouble. As both the newest wife and the one with the least experience handling kittens, naturally the women took advantage of Era's eagerness to learn and would often hand over their children for hours so they could take a break. Neither the kittens nor Era minded; they were all more than eager to ask about the world beyond the territory, and she was more than happy to oblige them.

That is until she overheard them talking about her behind her back. Era then made the mistake of trying to confront them on it, greatly underestimating how vengeful, petty, and manipulative they are; now that the ruse was over, they were encouraged to be passive-aggressive within earshot, or even openly hostile right to her face.

"It's because Vahli hasn't stopped talking about you." Her mother calmly explained as she weaved another dried flower into a kitten's hair. Era and her closest sister Umi sat on either side of their mother, with impatient little girls fidgeting in their laps, waiting for their new hairstyles to be done. There were no barbers in the Zu Tribe- everyone was responsible for their own maintenance; yet it was forbidden for little girls to cut their own hair until they’ve seen their twelfth summer. The only way to keep it from dragging along the ground was to keep it braided, and that task currently fell upon Yuun, Umi, and Era. “They’re worried you’re on your way to becoming the Favored Wife, especially since you just returned to us. It bothers them that such a coveted title appears to be passed down from me to my firstborn daughter.”

“I suppose that makes sense…” Era mumbled under her breath, her fingers getting sore from messing with hair for so long. The kitten in her lap kept squirming and wiggling in her lap, eager to go play with her sisters and cousins, but Era was prepared to wrap her legs around the girls waist and pin her down if she tried to escape. 

“It’s still not fair.” Umi chimed in, weaving and braiding her kitten’s hair without even looking. "Just because you're superior in every imaginable way doesn't give them the right to belittle you." All Era could do was scoff at her younger sister; not for one second did she believe herself to be better than her tribekin. She could barely braid hair, had no children of her own, no desire for them either, has yet to successfully hunt large prey, zero intention of pleasing her Nunh, plus she was stubborn and rebellious. Hardly qualities she would consider for such a coveted title of Favored Wife.

Their mother remained indifferent to Umi’s flattery. "He hasn't given her that title yet. But when he does… they will have to answer to you, Era. Whether they like it or not."

"I don't want to be the Favored Wife…" Era mumbled under her breath, but her sister and mother still heard it. "I mated with him so he would listen to my pleas and hopefully let me do what I want… but he wouldn't let me out of his sight if he decided-"

"There's still time for the others to impress him… but judging by how much he's fawning over you…" Their mother let her sentence teeter off, as the little kitten squirming in her lap was finally released. One by one the children rose to their feet and swarmed each other; they giggled and cooed at their new braids, touching and poking one another with excitement hanging off their voices. Three down, twelve to go.

Then suddenly a braid collapsed and her hair fell to the ground; Era's cheeks flushed red at her sloppy braidwork, but the kitten only glanced at them in terror, before scampering off with her two sisters- she wasn't about to sit still for another bell if she could help it!

"Delka Rarku! Get back here right now!" Their mother jumped to her feet and gave chase, vanishing around the corner to the sound of excited squeals and laughter.

Era flexed her sore fingers in silence; working with such soft hair was murder on her hands, and ever since she shoved one hand in a fireplace and the other scorched by her own burning blade, she never could fully close any of her fingers. But it made holding a katana easier at least- she was incapable of gripping the hilt too tightly, and therefore her wrists and forearms got off easy. 

"Is it true you don't want to be the Favored Wife? How come?" Umi asked once her curiosity and interest reached their boiling point. Unfortunately she didn't have the heart to tell her the truth; she loved her sister with all her heart, but Umi didn't have a good history of keeping secrets. Gossip was typically the main source of entertainment the wives had, and rumors often spread like wildfire.

"I'm still learning the Way of the Blade, and my mentor can't teach me here. I have to return to the tribeless cities if I want to become a better swordsman." Era gave her the most reassuring smile she could manage- technically it wasn't a lie, but she could be cut off from training the day she comes back and it wouldn't bother her one bit as long as R'zevi was waiting for her. 

"Then… could you teach me?" Her younger sister asked softly.

"How to use a katana?"

"No… I mean… you know…" Umi struggled to maintain eye contact, her cheeks and neck flushing scarlet.

Her eyes flickered in the sunlight. "Ohhh, you mean… pleasing Vahli? I'd love to teach you everything I know. When is it your turn with him?"

"Tomorrow night, after Haelsa." She quickly answered. 

Era gave her a bright smile. "Plenty of time. You will have him melting in the palm of your hand, Umi. I promise." Getting her sister to become the Favored Wife would be victory three-fold; less obsession by Vahli, less animosity from her tribekin envious of her influence, and Umi gets what she’s so feverishly craved ever since both her and Era were kittens. She could control Vahli in ways Era wouldn’t dare to venture again, and with her unyielding support, she could remain in R’zevi’s arms for as long as she liked- and she would like that for the rest of her days.

“Era! Hahh… hahh…!” Someone out of breath came calling her name from the bottom of the hill in the middle of Umi’s excited and anxious giggling. Both sisters sat up straight to see the shamed Tia almost collapsed in the dirt; Denoh kept his gaze to the dust beneath his feet, but the urgency in his exhausted voice demanded Era’s attention. “The Elders…! Hahh… hahh…! They summon you!”

“Huh…? What do they want with you?” Umi narrowed her eyes at the conquered before shooting a glance at her sister. 

Era didn’t have time to explain. Butterflies panicked in her twisting stomach when she shot to her feet. “It’s a long story… I’ll catch you later! Tell mom I said goodbye!” Umi opened her mouth to speak, but Era was already rushing down the side of the hill. Denoh began shuffling back from the direction he came, but the tight shackles around his ankles kept him from going anywhere quickly. She said nothing when she caught up then promptly left him in the dust, as she already knew where to go. There was only one place in Valhaas Barrow that the Elders could be found.

“No glaive. No keepsakes. No justice. But at least my inner demons are going to be addressed.”

---

Mentions: @rzevi-tia-ffxiv​

[bnhavibes]

Promiscuous; a Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader short(?) series.

agedup!BNHA, 17+ please!! (contains some NSFW scenes)

tags: cursing, nsfw 🍋, promiscuouity, flirty!reader, curvy!reader, american!reader, female genitalia & she/her pronouns, experienced!Reader

Part one: Fucking extras.

Katsuki Bakugou; Spikey blonde hair, similar to what you’d describe as, well, porcupine needles. Along with his spiteful temper, the dude never interested you in the first place. He’s similar to an old man— always cranky, has something to badmouth, can’t drink, refuses to smoke weed, and as you were now hearing— Definitely not getting enough sex.

Unfortunately for you, the lush suite-style apartment you moved into happened to be across from the Bakusquad’s shared one. You never expected to be so close in proximity to someone who was so obviously in need of your.... services.

Since leaving America in the midst of high school, you’ve adapted a nickname for yourself. “(Y/LN)-jofu.” You never expected so many people to be attracted to you, but you also weren’t turning too many people down. You had a huge cultural shock when you realized how Jofu, and its original meaning being, labelled you as a ‘prostitute.’ You weren’t, obviously, but young Japanese men couldn’t get enough of you. The curves of your hips in contrast to your slim waist, mixed with the softness of your voice, and the way your bright eyes sparkled as you smiled flirtatiously reeled in many would-be heros. The name came after you rejected a few of the kids in your class, typical teenage style drama. Yet even after your acceptance to UA, the name stuck around. People started using it in place of promiscuous, saying your personality was so flirty it seemed like you had many relationships.

Your friends in the Dekusquad, never used it to begin with. Iida and Todoroki made it their jobs to side eye or scare off any unprecedented guests during lunch, who sought nothing but to bring you down. Uraraka, Asui and Midoriya all called you by your first name, and before your senior year in highschool would start you would have gotten a request from Midoriya as well. See, you weren’t a *prostitute*, but... You have this Savior complex when it comes down to “helping” young guys like Deku, who asked you to take his virginity.

At first, you didn’t want to ruin your relationship with him, or Ochako(being that you felt she had a crush on him). But after a few months of Midoriya pining over you, and eventually courting you in public, there wasn’t any hesitation in giving him what he wanted. It was just something you do, and some people(after you and Midoriya broke up) liked to reward you for it. Gifts, money, favors, cheat sheets, all offerings to make you the first person. Their first person.

It started off with Monoma, as cocky as he is, who had been at your hip like a dog to it’s owner from the first day of 11th grade. He was intrigued by your care-free way of speaking, so blunt and yet so promiscuous. Rejection after rejection, he would practically beg you to help him by just getting the damn first out of the way and teach him how to treat girls right. After a couple weeks of what you felt was a complete sexual mindblock, you began finding even the lesser attractive students appealing. You knew how taboo sex was for young people in this country, so you couldn’t simply ask someone to fuck when you’ve just moved here. So you’d have to settle for the second loudest person in school, though you must admit— he is a bit attractive.

Now it’s been a year since graduating, and your second year as a support student at UA has been going splendidly. Well, it would be perfect if it wasn’t for the lack of good sex you’ve been craving. You sigh as you step out of the shower, the heat from your *session* and the water radiating off your sunkissed skin. You looked at your reflection in the mirror as you brush your hair out softly, noticing your red cheeks, and flushed lips(from biting down on them). You sigh in content when you’re finished, beginning to rock your hips to your (fave genre) playlist, when suddenly loud banging hits your front door. You groan in frustration, rolling your eyes as you stomped to the door.

Piercingly angry red eyes meet yours, for the umpteenth time since they’ve moved in.

“Turn that damn music down, you fucking extra!” He spat, the scowl on his face never wavering, until he realizes the water droplets dripping from your wet locks. Then he glances at the towel wrapped around your body, his cheeks tinging just a smidge before his eyes snap back up to yours.

You crossed your arms and leaned into your doorframe, smirking at the blastoid. “Bakugou-san, good to see you’re doing well. It’s like, 8/8:15 in the evening is it not?” Your unwaveringly cool tone, and nonchalant stance only infuriates him more.

“Some people have shit to do in the morning.” He barks as your music continues in the living room.

“It’s Friday night though, the landlord says if its not past 10 you have to call him.” You say, subtlety checking him out as you spoke.

He was very attractive, that’s for sure. His broad shoulders, and muscular arms would make anyone a bit intrigued. By the. way he was standing, you could tell he had a lot of leg muscle as well, and a flashback of when he was shirtless at the pool back in your junior year of highschool passed through your mind as you took him in. Too bad he’s an asshole.

“What the hell are you staring at?” He growls, snapping you back to reality.

“I— was .. thinking about your response and how we can handle... the situation.” Phew! Close one.

He grunted in response, waiting for you to say something.

“So, can you stop being an old man and let me shower with my music in peace?” You tease.

“Old man? Tch, I have responsibilities shitty woman— And, since you wont listen to me, FUCK calling the landlord.” He snaps at you, and forces his way into the apartment but making sure he didn’t bump into you.

“Hey!! What the hell do you think you’re—?”

“SORRY, I CANT HEAR YOU OVER THIS LOUD ASS MUSIC!!” He screams sarcastically , slamming his hand onto the soundbar’s off button.

“Who the hell gave you permission to manhandle my belongings?” You spat at him, pulling him by the collar of his top and speedwalking him to the door.

“Agh— I can manhandle whatever the hell I please if it means I can finally get some damn sleep.” He mumbles as you push him out the door.

“Oh really? So you’ll be back to manhandle me next, then?” You say when he’s turned around to have the last word. His face heated up again, and with a soft chuckle and a quick “That’s what I thought.” you closed the door on him.

Sparks popped from his palms, his anger mixed with whatever the hell else was making him feel hot, and instead of yelling at you he clenched his jaw; leaving your doorstep with incoherent grumbles and balled fists.

“Fucking extras.” He mumbled to himself as he entered his own apartment.

Part two

[jinmukangwrites]

Nightwing BTHB: Serum Injection

Stars: Done. Moon: Requested. Eye: Next

Summary: Thirteen year old Dick wakes up in the clutches of owls; a group of people insisting he belongs to them. 

He thinks different.

[anon requested teen Dick Grayson being found out by the Court of Owls and kidnapped by them]

WARNINGS: GRAPHIC descriptions of blood and injury, non-consensual drugging, BRIEF THOUGHTS OF SELF HARM (but for only like a small paragraph), implied sort-of major character death, guys I really mess with Dick in this one. I’m pretty sure most of you reading this already love whump and violence but I still need you all to keep safe. Love you all! Let me know if I missed any triggers, I’m pretty sure I pinned down all the major ones though.

AO3 link

-o-o-o-o-

Dick shivers and curls up tighter against the corner of his small cell, clutching his left wrist and trying not to bend his spine too much because of the whiplash crawling around in his chest cavity. He hopes Bruce is okay… Dick doesn't remember much of the circumstances of his kidnapping, but he does remember driving home with Bruce from school when all of a sudden his guardian went taunt like a bow string before swerving off the road into a ditch just a few miles from the manor.

Next thing Dick knew, he woke up in this small room that can't even really be called a small room. It's more like a closet. A long rectangle that if he lays one way he can lay flat on his back, but won't be able to spread his arms out as much. The door to the room is on one of the short walls, looking all ominous with small gaps between it and the doorframe, the lack of door knob, and it's marble sheen. The floor and walls are marble too, and the ceiling looks rocky like granite. A single bright light shines above him, easily illuminating the small space, leaving the only things shadowed be the top corners where four different cameras hide.

Dick can't tell if those cameras can record audio or not. They can definitely visualize, the lenses are clear enough to see, but otherwise Dick isn't as studied in camera technology like Bruce is; he can't just look at them and immediately know what they are, when they were made, the company that made them and it's CEO, and who invented that particular model. He'd have to get up close and personal with it and hold it in his hands and perhaps have a monitor to his side to use the internet to help him out.

But right now, the thought of moving sends pangs of pain down his spine and in his neck. He's had whiplash before. You don't go on high speed chases in the Batmobile and not end up with whiplash at some point or another. Robin has been a part of his fair share of spectacular crashes… through crashes in the Batmobile are usually cushioned by millions of dollars of technology Bruce invented to make the effects of whiplash little to none. Crashing the Batmobile is tame when compared to a Mustang. Lot less support, a lot more broken metal, and a whole lot more seatbelts crushing your lungs as you catapult in every direction before you finally smack your head on the dashboard and pass out.

So Dick stays sitting, scowling at the door and rubbing his wrist. He doesn't think it's broken, just bruised, but it hurts just enough that he definitely doesn't plan on moving it any time soon. If he wasn't close to shivering in this room, he'd have ripped off a section of his shirt by now to wrap it, but alas… he's cold. And it's not broken so it can last without a brace or anything for a little while longer.

He just hopes his abductors reveal themselves soon and they tell him what they did with Bruce. Maybe he's just stuffed in a room somewhere different until a ransom is paid and then Gordon and the cops will storm in here and save them. Dick's been kidnapped plenty of times, and in all kinds of ways too. He knows how this goes. He'll be fine as long as he acts like a scared, thirteen year old Dick Grayson and not Robin the superhero. As long as he whimpers and cries and weakly and sloppily tries to struggle, he'll be okay.

He'll be okay.

He just hopes Bruce is too. Dick can't imagine what could happen to make the man just swerve off the road like that.

There's a scraping noise, a heavy door opening against solid ground, and Dick's snapped out of his thoughts. Instinctively, he curls up tighter, wincing as the back of his neck protests with a stiff yet stabbing pain and a wave of light-headedness washes over him. He keeps forgetting about the egg on his temple. The concussion from his most recent face-meet-dashboard episode. He's poked and prodded at it perhaps a half hour earlier, but he isn't completely out of it and it just hurts more than anything, but right now it makes it really difficult to completely focus on the forms of people who are standing right outside the door… just standing there, staring at him.

They… don't look like a typical "Dick Grayson" kidnapper. Or well, there's a couple different kinds of Dick Grayson kidnappers. The kinds of people Dick finds himself often in the clutches of are either high end, prestigious assholes who have a grudge against Bruce for some reason or other, or down on their luck thugs who want a quick buck. These people standing before him? They look like Robin kidnappers.

Meaning they're dressed in costumes and giving off a very… very dangerous vibe.

Dick immediately takes stock of them. Three are dressed similar to each other, in dresses or suits or gowns, their faces all covered by an eerie mask that looks like it could be based off an owl. The fourth guy though… he's the one who's giving Dick major red flags. He's muscular and taller than the others and his costume is black and leather and terrifying to look at. There's a hood pulled over his face, shaped like an owl who got steampunk goggles somewhere and that also gave off the shivering effect of light reflecting off of nocturnal eyes.

These look like genuine bad guys.

One of the masked ones steps forward, a woman in a low collared pink gown with lace lining the sleeves down to the middle of her forearms. Her blonde hair is all done up behind her, beads lining the braids until it all sits in a nice and perfect rose-shaped bun at the top of her head. She crosses her arms around her chest, and even with the mask Dick feels like she's studying him like he's a mouse in a glass cage.

"This is the Gray Son of Gotham?" She asks, clearly referring to Dick which throws him off for a number of reasons.

Normally, when he's kidnapped as Dick, people don't normally ever call him by name. First or last. It's always "brat" or "freak" or "that Wayne [insert "brat" or "freak" here]. It's something they do to lie to themselves that they hadn't just kidnapped, tied up, and locked up a kid. Calling him Wayne also makes it clear that they couldn't care less about him personally, they just want Bruce. They don't care that he's just a ward and that Bruce Wayne isn't his dad. They don't care about these things because he may not be adopted by Bruce Wayne, but he's definitely an easy-access key to his bank account.

But these guys called him Grayson. And not even Grayson, but they said it weirdly with an oddly purposeful space and a title added at the end. He wonders if it's a reference about how Bruce is normally jokingly known among the high class citizens as the White Knight of Gotham—a play on words to Batman's take of the Dark Knight of Gotham despite how they don't even know the half of it—but he doesn't get a chance to wonder long before the scary owl guy steps forward, looking directly at Dick with his shining eyes.

"It is, my Court," he says and Dick has to suppress a shiver, "he has finally returned to where he belongs, just like I promised."

"Hmm," the woman says, still staring at Dick as she brings a silk gloved hand to her chin in thought. "And you will take personal responsibility over his education?"

"Education?" Dick asks before he could think better of it. The cold air in the room becomes icy as every person's attention seems to zero in on him. Then, without any prompting, the fully costumed man suddenly strides forward and Dick almost doesn't have to fake a surprised yelp as his upper arm is easily grabbed, fingers wrapping around his limb hard enough to definitely leave bruises as he's forced to his feet; the grasp on him unrelenting as his arm is held higher than his head, forcing him to his tip toes.

Dick goes to wrap his hand around the grasp in an attempt for freedom, but he's painfully reminded of his injured wrist and all he can do is hold it to his chest as he tries to yank his arm out of the grasp on its own power. It doesn't do a thing, in fact the man's grip just tightens heartlessly.

"Of course, my Court," the owl man says, voice silky and dangerous, "I will see to all his education, starting now."

Dick cries out as his bad wrist is grabbed and held just as tightly.

The man bends to get in his face, those horrid eyes glowing dangerously and setting something nervous and scared aflame in his gut. "Lesson one: you will not speak unless addressed and given permission to speak. You will treat the Court with respect. Understand?”

Dick can only nod even though he has no clue what's going on or who these people are, but the nod seems to be enough because he's released. He gasps and scrambles backwards until his back meets the far wall, holding his pulsing wrist to his chest and blinking viscously to staunch the tears caused by the pain.

The owl man straightens with a suffocating aura of intimidation.

"I will turn him into the best Talon this Court has ever seen," the man says, voice prideful and boding ill-will. "We will not let you down."

"We will allow you to train him," the woman says, sounding pleased, "but know if he doesn't show his worth within the week, you both will be severely punished."

Dick feels a shiver go down his spine. If he could see the look on the owl man's face, Dick's sure a smirk would be sitting poisonous on his lips. "Trust me, my Court. He will surpass me. I will make sure of it."

-o-o-o-o-

Want more? This is but a small 1-2k of a 16k one-shot. Read the rest on AO3!

[pynkhues]

3 7 22!!

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

I answered this one here, but I will say I forever want to write more scenes with just the girls, particularly pre-canon scenes, so I thought I might share a scene from my ridiculously belated prompt-a-thon fill which is 10 times Ruby’s danced, and this scene is about Beth and Ruby while Beth’s in labour with Emma, and Ruby’s pregnant with Harry. 

Below a cut to save your feeds!

-

“I kinda figured we’d just arrange the thing.”

She’s only half serious when she says it, but it’s worth it to see Beth’s head jerk, her eyebrows somewhere up near her forehead even as her cheeks are still flushed red, her chest still heaving.

“You have been watching way too many old romances,” she tells her, amusement thick in her tone, and Ruby shrugs, rocking the baby carrier beside her when Danny starts to whine.

“Please, you’re the one who made us go see Fiddler on the Roof three times at the Revival Theatre. If it wasn’t for that, I’d never even know about the whole matchmaker thing with your people.”

“My people,” Beth scoffs, red creeping up her neck. “Besides, the whole point of Fiddler on the Roof was that he had to learn how to let his daughters choose who they married. That they couldn’t just arrange -  - ah.”

Beth exhales sharply, squirming back into her seat, hands balling, white knuckled at the arms of the chair, and she has to be close, Ruby thinks, dropping her hand to Beth’s back, rubbing soothing circles there as she tries to catch the attention of one of the nurses. They barely seem to even see them though amidst the crowded waiting room, beelining to patients with - - what even is that? A rash? Ruby side eyes the nurse taking the man out of the waiting room, before turning her attention back to Beth.

“What was that whole do you love me song about then, huh?” Ruby says. “Him and his wife had been matched, and those two were in it, y’know?”

“It’s generational. The parents do what they have to so the kids can have it better,” Beth insists, but she hasn’t opened her eyes yet, her eyelashes matted together with her clumping mascara and tears, and Ruby sighs, sitting forwards as best she can with her own pregnant belly in the way. New plan, Ruby tells herself. They are never pregnant at the same time again. One of them needs to run point, and she can’t send Stan out with Kenny and Sara forever.

“Where’s Dean?”

“I called Boland Motors,” Ruby promises. “He wasn’t at his desk, and honestly that new secretary of his is - -”

Well, Ruby thinks a little dryly.

She’s something.

Beth squirms back in her seat, panting a little now, and the contractions really are getting closer together, even if her waters haven’t broken yet. Maybe they’ll have to pop that bag for her – they had to do it with Danny after all –her gaze darts sideways to check on him in his stroller, but he’s fallen asleep again.  

“So, how do you wanna do it?” Ruby asks, keeping her tone light. “We gotta get this thing on paper.”

It’s enough to make Beth twist her neck sideways, to peel open her watery eyes in confusion, and Ruby waits until she has Beth’s full attention before she gestures down to her own swollen belly.

“Stan Junior here is gonna be a catch. I’m just saying. Beth Junior there might want to lock it down.”

Beth’s laugh is strangled between her breathlessness, the pain of her contractions, but god, it’s music to Ruby’s ears.

“Oh, Stan Junior will definitely be a catch,” Beth agrees, the sweat curling her hair at her temples. The contraction seems to pass, and Beth smooths her own hand over her belly, still panting. “Lilies for the wedding?”

Ruby hums in approval, only to pause, squint a little below the bright glare of the hospital fluorescents.

“Wait. Do they get married at a church or a synagogue?”

“Neither,” Beth says, brushing her hair away from her face with a trembling hand, her eyes fixing briefly on Danny, sleeping in his stroller. “I feel like we should get a vacation out of it.”

“Oh, you’re planning a beach wedding now?” Ruby asks with a grin, the thing only faltering when the doors open again but - - no. Just a nurse, brandishing her clipboard. Still no Dean. Typical.

Beth hums, like she hadn’t even noticed, looking back at Ruby, her blue eyes bright, and there’s something that feels like Beth in it again, something warm, impish, as she wrinkles her nose, considering, and Ruby can’t help it, the way it feels like a key that unlocks her.

“White sand, the ocean,” Beth says. “We’d probably need to hire a marquee.”

“And a beach bar,” Ruby agrees, grinning a little when Beth rolls her eyes, waving a hand at her innocuously, before she says:

“Well, that goes without saying.”

And Ruby just laughs at that, sinking back briefly into her hard backed hospital chair (which is one-thousand percent not designed for anyone at all ever) before leaning forwards again, standing up two of her fingers like legs and walking them from one side of her belly to the other, over the arms of the chairs, and up the side of Beth’s twitching belly.

“Miss Boland, before you depart your mother, do you take this little man growing inside me to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

It really is magic, Ruby thinks again, the sound of Beth’s laugh. The real one she hears less and less often, the one that makes her throw her head back, her eyes crinkle, the sound a little low, a little husky, the one she knows Dean can never get out of her, and that at least feels like a truth. That Beth is still hers. That she’ll never lose her, not entirely, to Dean, no matter how many photo ops she goes to, no matter how many times she defers to him, no matter how much she dims her light to grow his.

Beth props her own fingers up then, mirroring Ruby’s action and walking them up over the swell of her own belly, meeting Ruby’s fingers in the middle.

“My daughter is running a little late, but I believe I have the permission to speak for her this evening,” Beth says gravely, lowering her voice. “And she says ‘I do’. Now, Mr. Hill, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“He does,” Ruby says, face split in two with a grin. She lets her eyes slip shut and her tone lower in faux-seriousness. “Finally, our two houses united.”

“Well, our husbands’ houses,” Beth says wryly, and Ruby tilts her head, conceding.  

“That’s true. I think ours have been united a lot longer than this.”

She smiles over at Beth affectionately, but it just - - it floors her, the look Beth gives her back. Her eyes wide open, suddenly wet again, pupils darting across Ruby’s face like she’s - - like she’s looking for the lie, and when she doesn’t see it, she tangles her fingers with Ruby’s, quick as she can, mumbling something about a first dance and holds Ruby’s hand tight to her belly, swaying a little – as if to hide the fact that maybe she just wanted to hold her.

To be held.

And Ruby holds her hand back all the tighter.

7. What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?

I am sure everyone would love me to stop talking about light and using ‘- -’, haha. 

But honestly? I actually don’t know how others perceive my style. Like I’ve said in other posts, I’ve been told my writing is extremely feminine by industry professionals, which I believe translates to being interested in women’s lives and writing fairly descriptively (masculine prose is usually v bare bones ala Raymond Carver and, of course, Hemingway). 

I think some of the characteristics of my writing is that it’s sensory and descriptive, that I like untidy endings, that no relationship is perfect. I think (and hope) I prioritise relationships between women, even with shipper fic, that my sex scenes (again, hopefully, haha) never feel pointless or isolated from the story, and I think I’m pretty good at metaphor, but others might disagree! Who knows! 

22. Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?

Y’know, I usually don’t? By the time I post something, I’ve usually re-read it so many times I lowkey hate it, haha, and reading it just makes me feel very self-conscious. I can see the machinery of my own writing I suppose. I can see the bits I’m proud of, sure, but I can also see the bits where I got lazy, the places where the pacing isn’t quite right, the parts where I think I’m too heavy-handed. 

That said, I did re-read all of C&C recently as I was building the timeline masterpost I posted about a month ago now, but also building a better story bible for myself to write new stories, and I was really surprised by how much I enjoyed being in that world again as a reader? 

Particularly the last installment I posted of Playing House - ‘Animalia’ (otherwise known as the zoo chapter, haha) - I really, really hated when I posted. I’d had a few set-backs in my original writing professionally at that time, and then I had seen someone make an unkind comment about my fics which just sort of hit a nerve at a bad time. It meant I was extra critical of my own writing, and I loved the story in my head, but felt it wasn’t translating well onto the page. 

I got to a point where I was like - - well, whatever, I don’t want to look at it, and I know people like this ‘verse, so maybe they’ll overlook how crap it is’. I got such a lovely response to it at the time, but I still felt badly about it, and so re-reading it this time, and being like ‘hang on, Past Sophie, you’re an asshole, this is pretty good’ was a nice feeling, haha.

[idontworkforsega]

My queen! Your majesty! I have come here to ask of you a prompt! For I know no other who is better at the precious sonamy more than you! Please accept my humble request for a classic sonamy fluff! A jealous blue hedgie included is this prompt will be greatly appreciated!!

Jealous Classic Sonic!?!? Yes? All of that?! (Also, thank you, you’re so sweet >///wn///

(Art is by @drawloverlala Or her DA->(https://www.deviantart.com/drawloverlala) who has given permission to let me use her art as a Preview Art Image for my prompts! Please support her as well!)

If you’d be okay with me using your art on my prompts, please send me a message letting me and @cutegirlmayra know!

PROMPTS ARE CLOSED. DON’T SEND ME ANY PROMPTS UNTIL THEY REOPEN! That will be when all the current prompts in my inbox are completed. Again, DO NOT SEND ME PROMPTS AT THIS TIME. (People are still sending them in, so please stop or the prompts will never re-open T-T)

*Also, this blog is for organizing my prompts for fanfiction. When prompts reopen, please submit prompt requests there. :)b

Prompt:

A jingle and a click, then there was music sounding through Classic Amy’s headphones.

She nodded her head, enjoying the classic rock that kept her heart upbeat as she stretched, getting ready to run.

She had been training for so long. All she wanted was to manage that loop-de-loop so she could keep up with Sonic.

One time, while pursuing her darling Sonic, he had raced through one. She saw him curl up and bolt off like a slingshot in a pinball game.

Her heart sank as she stopped rushing after him and skidded her feet against the moist and furtile ground of the earth, the grass bending to her force.

“Oh… Dear.” her face slowly recoiled in its joy as she faced the terrifying obstacle.

A full loop. No stops, just a drop if you slowed down…

A death fall.

The last time she had been through a loop-de-loop, she was being hauled off by a metal version of Sonic.

She took courage, stepping back with powerful stomps to work herself up to it. With a wiggle of her butt and straight up to her tail, she charged at it.

Needless to say, she flopped and her poor face was red with the trauma.

She didn’t even get to the curve…

So today, she was going to face up to her fear and overcome that death loop!

Her nostrils flared with bravery once again, her body honed for speed and balance, there was no way she would skid her face against its slick dirt coating this time!

Unbeknown to our little heroine, a certain Sonic The Hedgehog was sitting happily in the shadows of a few camouflaging trees. He had been passing by when he saw her in her workout clothes, her classy sweatband replacing her girly clothes that were now jazzy kinda workout colors and designs.

Immediately, he popped his popcorn–so to speak–, and set up camp.

He had heard the horrible PLOP from behind when she had first attempted the loop-de-loop. He had stopped in curiosity and flicked an ear back, racing over a ramp he had previously scaled to see what had happened.

It was a conflicting moment. He wanted to rush over and make sure she was okay, but he also didn’t want her seeing him laughing.

She had the saddest look on her face, and his snickering ended as he waited for her to call out to him in help.

Except she didn’t.

She surprised him by remaining silent, wiping her eyes and the bright dirt from her face, kissing her own booboos and glaring at the obstacle that had previously blocked her from following him the rest of the way.

He had stared almost mesmerized by the way she held her own. Where was the doting cry of help? The wimpy, whining high pitch voice? Was she really not going to cry out for him to coo and comfort her?

It’s not like he wanted too, but… he was prepared to do it, that’s all.

Now he felt a little confused, and seeing her prepare to take it on again today, he decided to watch from a distance and just ‘spot’ her, if she did end up getting hurt.

He flopped his hand and poured another shoveled amount of popcorn into his mouth, swishing it around to mush it up and watched as she took a runner’s stance on the ground.

Arching her butt up, she then took a deep breath and angled her body, looking up with pure determination as she raced up the loop-de-loop.

His eyes followed her, swallowing and reaching for his drink’s straw when his eyes fell flat to the ground again.

Another PLOP.

“Wah!” she cried out, making his eyelids lower a bit as he waited for her to cry out to him.

“Ow… Umph.” she rubbed her head, “…Maybe I gotta get a firmer footfall. Curl up on the ending?” she worked it out in her head, and again, Sonic’s grip on the drink tightened slightly.

She wasn’t aware of him.

Why would she call out for aid?

Why would she ask him for help?

He ‘Pfft’d and continued to flip through music CDs, deciding on a hit and letting it play.

When she tried again and PLOPPED, then he turned the music up louder.

“Offph! Darn, gotta go again… huh?” Her music was drowned out by another’s, and she looked over to excitedly see Sonic bobbing his head to his hard punk rock.

“Oh, Sonic! What are you doing here?” She dusted herself off and then held her hands together, the typical puppy-love he was used too seeing from her.

He put on shades and gave her his best ‘cool dude’s smile.

“Oh? Are you here to… to…” her eyes slightly shrunk in fright. “Watch me?”

He seemed to wave it off, suggesting that he was there to watch her really do it, if she did manage it.

A fear suddenly rose in Amy, and she held herself a moment. “O-oh…” she looked away, ‘Is he really going to sit there and watch me fail?’ she looked back at him, lowering her head.

He continued to bob his head to the music, making Amy think he was agreeing silently to that inner thought.

She puffed up her cheek, “Well, I won’t have it!” she told herself out loud. “That Sonic’ll respect me!” she huffed and turned her backside to him, her quill sticking out and shaking in rage as the rest of her head’s quills followed shortly after in her anger.

“Just watch me then! I’ll do it!” she stretched again, “I’ll make it over no matter what!”

He took off his shades again, hearing her from a distance. He smirked to himself. There was no way Amy Rose wouldn’t ask for her sweet hero’s help.

She’d fall again, this time on her butt, and beg for him to show her how, or just carry her through it.

She’d dote on him, but he’ll just have to live with it.

He sighed and shrugged, as though it was inevitable and he should just take it with patience.

However, as the day went on, Amy kept getting bruised up by all the falling…

Now Sonic was getting concerned.

His toe tapped in the air, his arms folded, and his tolerance going down…

He didn’t want to watch her fail… it wasn’t amusing seeing her hurt and then getting up to do it again.

That was just stupidity… right?

She rubbed her eye, on the verge of tears from that last fall, actually getting about decently high on the first stretch before rolling down it again. She looked behind the loop-de-loop, then moved to see the curve and attempted to curl up.

“…Well, she’s got the right idea.” Sonic didn’t like talking much, especially to others. But something about Amy not giving up… not reaching out for him… made him suddenly jealous of her unrelenting charisma.

She was so naturally likable.

He sunk further in his chair, the music turning to a Song that’s lyrics annoyed him even more.

‘She’s a well-oiled machine! Beauty queen of the world! She don’t need a man, she don’t want your hand, OW! She’s a star~ In her own right! She’s a star~ With just her own light! She’ll shine through the night, leaving you crying! Wishing! On her own beautiful face-! That somehow you could be apart of her space!”

He clicked it off, not liking it anymore.

But Amy turned around, “Hey! I liked that song!” her cute little voice sent a chill up his spine. Why was it cute!? When at all other times, it was usually so shrilly and out of place?

He turned it back on though, mumbling incoherent words as the song picked up again.

“Bright light shining, she’s a five-star, golden lottery. She has the courage to face her demons. She controls the ring, she’s the tiger working through the jungles to face the king! She’s the queen of her own galaxy! She don’t need no help, she’s the best! She’s got the whole world wishing on her-bright-staaarr!”

She did jumping jacks to the music, breathing in and out as she curled up, trying to speed in place but was getting dirt everywhere and wobbling too much in it.

Sonic’s anger mark was throbbing on his head, listening and watching her struggle without so much as giving him any attention at all.

“She’s the best! Don’t require the rest- she’s a star! Star, star-ar-arrr! She’s a well-oiled machine! Beauty Queen of the world! She don’t need a man, she don’t your hand, OW! -click-”

“Hey!” Amy uncurled, looking back to Sonic, “I said I was-!… huh?” she looked to see an empty chair.

“Sonic?” she turned to look around, before seeing he was right beside her on the other side, sizing up the loop-de-loop. “Wah! Oh… you scared me.” She touched her chest, breathing hard as his speedy appearance spooked her. “What’s wrong? Gonna show me how it’s done?”

He nodded.

“Hmph. Took you long enough. Why weren’t you helping me before? I just need some pointers, then I can do it!” She gripped her hands together, eager to learn and get through her latest struggles.

“Ah…” he turned to her, surprised again. She was waiting for… him?

Was he just being that selfish? Thinking he needed her to ask him over when he could have been right here helping her all along?

“I like to take on challenges, but it’s way more fun with a friend!”

There it was.

The cutest thing Sonic had ever seen.

A positive attitude.

He shook his head, smacking his cheek a moment as though to get his thoughts back to where they needed to be.

He was still jealous of her obvious moxie to do it herself, but he was also strangely attrac-… EHEM, impressed by her diligent resolve to get it done herself.

“You need more speed.”

“Well, that’s obvious. Coming from you.” she folded her arms, but he was again taken aback that she didn’t freak out at him talking.

It wasn’t like he socialized a lot… even Tails felt honored to hear his voice.

“Okay, Miss Rose, what else is so obvious?” His trademark attitude was showing again, as he placed the back of his wrist to his hips and leaned toward her. “Go on. If you already know what I’m about to say.”

Now her face shied away a little.

“Hehe…he… b-bu-but how do I do that?” she sweat-dropped, showing she really did want some advice.

He smiled, “That’s a little better.” He looked to the ground, “It just rained, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, your not getting proper footing so-”

“I KNEW IT!” she shrieked out, “I knew it was my footing!”

He waited, showing her his annoyance by just staring at her with a deadpan expression.

“…Heh…hehe… Teehee?” She knew he was a bit upset at being interrupted again, and with her being such a chatter-box, she acted cute about it and placed a finger to her mouth, looking away.

She was going to be silent now, eh?

“Anyway…” He rolled his eyes, “Try and curl up over by that patch of hill. If you run down it and curl, you should get a good start up. You could still fall a bit coming down, but that’s just because you aren’t as fast as me and Tails. Try and just get yourself to the other side, even if you fall doing so.”

“I’m not afraid to fall.” She said that strongly, standing bravely.

The song triggered in Sonic’s mind but he looked back to her to see her dirtied, banged up body and clothes again.

“…Yeah.” He looked worried, “I know.” he studied her eyes… “Just… Don’t uncurl this time. You’ll get pretty high up there.” He looked to the loop-de-loop.

For one of the first time’s since meeting Amy Rose, Sonic felt genuine concern for her safety.

“If you uncurl… you could get-”

“OFF I GO!”

“H-huh?! Crazy girl! I wasn’t done!” he saw her dart to the hill, and reached out for her. For some reason, this girl made him more animated than usual… “You’re not listening again! It’s dangerous! Just don’t uncurl!”

“I’m a star~ In my own right! I’m a star~”

“Crazy!” he called out to her, seeing her doing a little dance while she sang the previous song and got ready to sprint.

“With just my own light!”

“Stop!” he rushed to her side but she raced down while he moved up. “Don’t-!”

“I’ll shine through the night, leaving you crying! Wishinggggg-!” she curled up, gaining lots of speed.

“..No… No…” He shook his head, his heart beating fast. “Ammmmyyy!!!” It was a true cry of fright. Though he believed it was possible for her to do it, he was terrified she’d really get hurt if she fell that far, that hard, and that fast to the ground this time. He took off, curling up, and heading up the loop-de-loop after her.

She scaled the first roll. ‘On my own beautiful face, that somehow, you could be, apart of my spaaace~’

Time seemed to slow down, two blurry and balled colors flying up the loop-de-loop.

Through the spinning, Amy could feel herself start to fall, and Sonic saw her ball form leaning towards the other side.

‘Will she stay curled?’ his thoughts turned to joy as she hit the other side and rolled down, not breaking her curl.

He uncurled in his joy, reaching his arms out, “You did it!!!” he shouted in praise before smacking his head against the other side of the loop-de-loop. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow…” He smacked back and forth all the way down the ramp…

She uncurled safetly down at the bottom, “Yay! I did it!” she cheered as well, turning to see Sonic smack a few more times down before lifting up a ‘thumbs up’ to her.

“Hehe! Now I can catch up with you~” she flirted, poking his face that was buried in the ground. “You know… I thought about uncurling… just to make you catch me.”

He peered up, a slight glare in his eyes.

“But then I heard how loving your voice turned when you thought I didn’t hear you… I didn’t want to upset you, only play around… so I decided to really, truly land the ending. I was scared. I fibbed about not wanting your help… but I’m really glad you were here.”

His glare softened.

“I’ll always want you by my side, Sonic The Hedgehog! And now, I can always be beside yours!”

Under the earth, she didn’t see his kind smile.

He lifted up and shook the dirt off, now his bruises would match hers.

“Rascal.” he winked, playfully.

“Hehe~ Only for you~” she puckered up but he sped off. “Hey! You can’t hide in a loop-de-loop now, Sonic! Teehee~” and sped off after him.

The popcorn was tilted over, and the boombox stayed quietly posted next to the turned over chair…

(Jealous of Amy’s independence? Yes? No? Lol, I just wanted to make something new with the ‘jealousy’ theme XD I do it a lot, you know.)

Fanfiction Entry 602 (x)

[vcg73]

Witch!Kurt #44: Three Cats and a Coffee Shop

~*~*~*~*~ 

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Kurt asked, resting his hands on Adam’s shoulders and kneading the tense muscles with soothing pressure. “As much as I like the idea of being able to eavesdrop on this meeting, I don’t want you to feel like you have to go. You don’t have anything to prove.”

Adam nodded, lifting his own hands to lightly grip Kurt’s wrists, not to to push him away but to take comfort in the increased contact. “I know. I think I moved myself past that hurdle the last time we were in Lima, but I still want to go. And it’s not as if he’ll know it’s me. I’ll just feel better about things if I can be sure, once and for all, that he has no power over me. Besides, I rather like the idea of giving you a psychic Skype.”

Kurt laughed, pleasantly surprised by the little joke. He could feel that his husband was nervous but no longer terrified by the thought of close contact with Blaine, and that reassured him in turn. Giving those smiling lips a soft kiss, he nodded and let him go. “All right then.” He looked over at Fam, who were sitting on the arm of the living room sofa watching their exchange. “Sam? Are you sure Blaine will be at the Bean right now?”

The blank expression that the two young men typically wore when neither was exerting any particular control over their shared body cleared as Sam came to the forefront. “Probably. Before Burt came to get me, I used to spend most of my time there and Blaine always came in for at least an hour every afternoon around this time. Back then I was upset because he never wanted to talk to me, but now I’m kind of glad he didn’t.”

He twitched like he had just had a bug crawl over his skin. Sam had come an amazingly long way since being joined with Finn, but he could still recall what it had felt like to spend every day feeling confused, and exhausted, and desperately lonely, unable to understand what he had done to drive away the person he had believed to be his best friend. He was just starting to come to grips with the betrayal of that relationship, and the knowledge of just how much harm had been done to him, Finn, and so many others.

Kurt patted him on the back, understanding that feeling better than most people could.

“Okay, then. Sebastian, Tubbington, Elliott, and Adam, you’re on recon duty. While we see how things stand with Blaine, I want Dani and Monica to go over to McKinley and check with Sue Sylvester. I’ll text and let her know you’re coming. She can get you a pass to take a look around the school and find out what kind of shape the kids and teachers are in. Also find out if Blaine is sucking power or magic dumping with anyone in particular. My guess would be the current group of New Directions, if he hasn’t found another David or Sam yet.”

“On it,” Dani said. “I know where the school is from when I was dating Santana. We came here once for some concert the club was putting on.”

He nodded, interested to realize that nobody was hesitating at all about following his directives. On the contrary, they seemed happy to be taking action. He turned toward his old classmates.

“Santana, Brittany, and Johnny,” he said. “I know you’re probably surprised that I didn’t give you the McKinley job but I wanted to send someone the people there won’t be familiar with, and I have another job that I feel like your particular blend of talents is very well suited for.  I think it’s time we begin a subtle harassment campaign.”

Santana perked up like a child who had just received a new puppy for Christmas. “You want us to be the itching powder in Blainer’s shorts? For realz?”

He grinned at her excitement. “Absolutely. Wait for the others to finish their coffee run first, but after that you have blanket permission to become his unwelcome shadows. Use whatever dirty tricks you like as long you don’t get caught. I want Blaine irritated, annoyed, unfocused, and most of all, distracted from thinking about me and what I might be doing.”

“And what will you be doing?” Elliott asked, knowing his friend too well to think he would be content to sit here and direct the action without being part of it.

“I want to go to Dalton Academy,” he said.  “Ever since I first learned there was such a thing as influential magic, I’ve suspected that Blaine probably got started there. Most of you never saw him as a Warbler, but they used to hang on his every word, and hand him every solo even though their standing policy, at least according to the group’s council, had always been to parcel songs out fairly.  I remember competing for a secondary spot against two guys named Nick and Jeff, and finding out later that neither one had had a solo since Blaine started at Dalton, even though both of them had been there longer than he had.  It suggests that he’s probably been buying influence with magic since he was around fifteen.”

“So, five or six years,” Sebastian mused. “That sounds about right. You know that a big part of the reason I came to find Blaine back when we first met was because the Warblers were so united in being up his ass. It’s why I assumed he would be something special. By the time I started at Dalton the famous Warbler Council had graduated and nobody could organize themselves well enough to replace them. Taking over was a snap. At the time, I thought it was just my own charisma that made them fall in behind me like a row of ants, but I guess they were just conditioned to play follow the leader.”

He looked so disappointed by this revelation that Kurt could not help smiling. “That’s right, and I’m betting Blaine’s influential magic didn’t really ramp up until he went to Dalton, just as mine didn’t start to manifest until I became a student there. I’ve been thinking about this a lot and I believe there’s more to that school than just a couple of residual power confluences. Now that I have the power to really check the place out, I want a better look.”

Burt cut in before anyone else could speak. “Not alone.” He pointed a stern finger when Kurt opened his mouth to protest. “No. I know you’ve got a lot of power now, Kurt, but I’m gonna put my foot down on this one. If your group of Warblers was that far under Blaine’s thumb, what do you think the current group that he’s playing teacher with is going to be like?  You want to go to Dalton? Fine, but you take someone along to watch your back.”

Elliott, to Kurt’s surprise, sided with his father. “He’s right.  I can either take you over there now while the others go spy on Blaine, or you can wait until we’re back.”

Chiming in on the side of caution, Adam said, “We’re only going to be gone a short while, darling, and you’ll want to concentrate on whatever I’m experiencing. Afterward, you can go to Dalton better fortified with knowledge of what you’re walking into.”

It was obvious to Kurt that Adam wanted to go with him, but his husband’s reason for wanting to face Blaine was a sound one, and that he would almost certainly need a little time to recover after doing so.

It was not anyone’s fault that Kurt was suddenly itching to take direct and immediate action.

“Okay,” he agreed, trying not to show his reluctance. “You’re right. I’d rather stick with the current plan and wait until you get home. Just be careful, okay? All of you?”

~*~*~*~*~

Sebastian Smythe sauntered into the Lima Bean, looking as smug as it was possible for any person to look as he strolled over to an empty table carrying a large, lazily-lounging black cat in his arms. He had conjured the most casually expensive clothing he could think of, because he knew that Blaine Anderson had an almost Pavlovian attraction to a show of ‘better than you’.

Beside him walked a pudgy, bearded man dressed in wrinkled khakis and a black t-shirt covered by an eye-popping orange and white Hawaiian shirt, with a smiling sun medallion resting prominently against his chest.

Blaine Anderson was right where Sam had said he would be. Center table, seated alone. He looked up as the newcomers came into the shop, straightening his posture and smiling as they approached his table, only to frown when they turned left and took seats at an empty table nearby without seeming to notice him. His frown became one of puzzlement when the black cat peered up at the posted menu next to the barista station, looking as if it were considering what to order. His bafflement only grew when a smiling teenage waitress approached after just a few seconds, carrying a saucer full of heavily creamed coffee, which she placed in front of her unusual customer, patting his sleek little head gently before she took coffee orders from the two men.

Blaine shot a glower at the girl’s back when she walked away without so much as a glance in his direction, giving a flip of her high ponytail and a disdainful swish of her short skirt. Lima Bean employees were not supposed to wear skirts as part of their work uniform, but this one seemed to be doing whatever she liked today, including ignoring a customer who was raising his empty cup to request a refill. He focused back on the newcomers and decided to speak first, since they seemed annoyingly disinclined to be polite.

“Hey, Sebastian,” he said slowly, “Long time no see.”

“Oh … Blaine,” Sebastian replied slowly, feigning an air of surprise as though he had only just noticed that he and his unknown companion were not the only people in the coffee shop. His eyes flicked to the empty cup in Blaine’s hand and he smirked. “What happened, you forget to tip your server again?”

“She’s probably a Cheerio in her off-duty hours,” he grumbled in reply, setting the cup down with an annoyed click when the girl returned with two small plates of pastries for the men, ignoring Blaine once again as she left. “All of Sue Sylvester’s girls act like they own the world.”

The heavy-set man snorted around a bite of croissant. “Must be contagious,” he mumbled.

Blaine gave him a vaguely disdainful look as the man inhaled his pastry and brushed the crumbs off his shirt and beard. He flicked a gesture toward Elliott, who was watching him with impassive blue eyes over the top of the saucer and licking flecks of cream off his long whiskers. “Are you allowed to have that thing in here? Isn’t it kind of unhygienic?”

Tubbington gave Blaine an appraising once-over, flicking a few crumbs in his general direction just to annoy their observer. Even with all his screwing around in the minds and magic of witches, the little punk clearly wasn’t able to recognize a Familiar when he saw one. Probably because no self-respecting Familiar would be caught within a mile of him. Well, except for Sebastian. Tubbington nearly hissed at the boy on general principle. “We know the owners. They make an exception for Service Animals.”

“Service animal?” Blaine repeated, mouth twisting a little. “A cat? That’s ridiculous.”

“Support Animal then,” he replied. “Emotional, not that it’s any of your business. Ya nosy little shit.” The last comment was muttered under his breath, but Blaine’s stiffening features showed that he had heard. Tubbington hid a smile around a sip of steaming caramel latte – pity they didn’t serve booze in a place like this – from the cup their cute little waitress had just set in front of him.

Sebastian paid for the drinks, his own a regular triple-shot mocha, and gave the girl a generous tip, winking at her as she blushed and flounced away. Blaine scowled at her back, and Sebastian smiled at him. “You see, I find it very depressing to be around some people,” he said, taking a sip and nodding thoughtfully as though the drink had managed, barely, to meet his expectations. “The cat reminds me not to go around punching them in the face.”

Tubbington snorted a laugh at Blaine’s nonplussed expression.

“Oh, by the way,” Sebastian continued. “This is my uncle. L.T. is visiting town and I thought I’d show him my old haunts. Unc, this is Blaine Anderson. A high school acquaintance of mine.”

The way he said the words seemed to imply that that relationship had been so far in the past that it was barely worth remembering, like the imaginary friend one had played with when they were a toddler.

Blaine bristled. “We were a little more than that.”

“Were we?” he said, frowning slightly. “I forget, did we hook up at some point? It’s hard to remember. I was kind of a wild kid. You know how it goes, L.T.  Small town, not much to do, not too many out guys to choose from.”

His apologetic tone seemed to suggest that his friendship with Blaine had been a case of slim pickings being better than none at all, and Tubbington could not hold back a grin at the incensed expression on Blaine’s face. “Yeah, I get it,” he said. “Lucky you got a boyfriend now.”

Back off, gel-head. He’s off the market, Tubbington thought, reaching across to pat Elliott’s head as the black cat began to purr loudly. He had made the statement because he was curious to see how this self centered creature would react to the news of Sebastian’s relationship. Especially, if he was looking for a new pigeon following his breakup with Dave Karofsky.

“Why don’t you come over and join us?” Sebastian said, abruptly taking on a friendlier tone as he casually lifted a finger to gain the waitress’s attention and pointed to Blaine’s empty cup. She nodded and he smiled, knowing it would annoy the other man even more to have his order jumped to while Blaine’s had been ignored. “We can catch up a little.”

Blaine practically leaped to accept. He started to take the chair next to Sebastian’s, but changed his mind and took the one across when Elliott continued to stare him down with eyes that looked entirely too wise. “Not a cat person,” he explained faintly.

Tubbington slurped his latte, looking nearly as smug as his ‘nephew’. If only you knew, you little shit.

Thoroughly enjoying teasing this particular rat, Sebastian said, “Yes … I remember that now. Kurt said you wouldn’t let him get a cat after you moved in with him. He had intended to get one when he moved to New York. Even made sure the loft was pet friendly before signing the lease, but then he was too busy starting his new life at Vogue and moving in, setting up housekeeping, babysitting Rachel Berry. He barely had time for anything else. And that was before he threw college into the mix. Most of us understood that.”

Blaine flushed, recognizing the barb in that comment. He had been the only person who did not understand that Kurt’s jam-packed schedule as he was setting up his life in New York would not permit him to devote as much time to keeping Blaine happy and attended. “How do you know what Kurt’s life was like? You were never friends.”

He sounded like a sulking child.

Sebastian shrugged one shoulder, smirking knowingly as he said, “No, not then. I ran into him again after he dumped you the last time, and … well, let’s just say that we’ve learned a lot about each other since then.”

Blaine, who had bristled at the reminder of being dumped, suddenly looked like he wanted to murder Sebastian. The intensity of his gaze as he leaned forward and stared at his former friend was honestly frightening. It did not seem entirely sane. “What do you mean, since then? I heard through a couple of people at McKinley that Kurt had gotten married. Apparently to someone he must have just met. I know for a fact he wasn’t dating anyone at Christmas.”

Continuing to alternately sip at his coffee and pet the cat in his lap, a cat that had begun subtly growling at Blaine’s enraged tone, Sebastian just smiled with a knowing air.

“Check your sources, short-stack,” Tubbington cut in, ignoring the fact that in his human form he and Blaine were roughly the same height. He merely spoke to be condescending, wanting to get the boy’s attention off of Sebastian.

Sure enough that weirdly hostile focus shifted to him. He could feel the energy of badly focused magic washing over him, strong but sloppy, as if it were water thrown from a full bucket, searching for any target in its general vicinity.

Santana had been right. Swipe and Splooge was indeed this one’s style.

While the influence of Wild magic had no real effect on him, he could feel that Blaine had indeed grown dangerous with it. This profligate use of power, used with no real need or focus, paired with a hair-trigger temper showed that much. This boy had no more notion or care for how the power worked, or how to fine-tune it for a better result, than a monkey knew the difference between picking up a gun and pulling the trigger, or just tossing a handful of poop at someone. As long as it got a reaction, nothing else mattered.

“Kurt was seeing someone at Christmas. They got married on Valentine’s Day. I was invited, seeing as I’m a close family friend and all.”

Blaine looked like his head was about to explode. “Valentine’s Day?” He turned to Sebastian again. “You married Kurt, my Kurt, on our special day?”

He was yelling, not seeming to notice or care that everyone else in the Lima Bean had started staring. Apparently Blaine had known about the wedding, but not the exact date, or the identity of the other groom. That was very interesting. It suggested that whomever had spilled the beans when they returned to Lima must somehow have had enough control over themselves, in spite of his influence, to not part with too much information.

Had he been throwing the net of his influence over too wide a target, making it lose strength? Or had the sudden loss of Karofsky taken a greater toll than they had supposed.

Tubbington placed a hand against his own chest, pretending to adjust the chain that held his medallion, but in reality just covering the fact that the necklace had started to tremble against his breast. It gave him a chance to give Adam’s transformed body a supportive pat. Whether he was having a fear reaction to Blaine’s show of rage, or just getting angry himself at this show of possessiveness, Adam clearly needed a little help keeping control.

“Funny,” Sebastian said calmly, pushing away his cup and cuddling the cat in his arms closer, likely for the same reason that Tubbington was soothing Adam. Elliott was a very collected individual most times, but he did have a temper when someone he cared about was being mistreated. And he loved Kurt with all his big generous heart. “I don’t seem to recall Valentine’s as being anything special for you. Didn’t you hit on another dude right in front of Kurt in your first year as friends? Then pretend to be so badly injured from that rock salt I tossed in your face the next year that you couldn’t bother getting him a gift, even though you were dating and supposed to be madly in love by then? Ignored him so thoroughly, in fact, that Karofsky thought you’d broken up and that it was smooth sailing to Kurt’s heart.”

“What? You? He?” Blaine spluttered.

Sebastian laughed, his wicked green eyes gleaming. The rat was cornered now. “Oh, I know all about that. By the way, I just heard that Dave dumped you too. Always thought that guy was smarter than he looked. I guess it’s a good thing you and I never dated. You’d be Oh for Three.”

Everyone at the table flinched when a shockwave of pure uncontrolled power washed over them from the force of Blaine’s temper. Damn, he was even more hair-triggered than they had guessed if all it took was a mere mention of losing Kurt and Karofsky. He had always been a bit unstable, but the unfiltered and repeated use of stolen magic and high emotion – for that was certainly what he was siphoning from the crowds of brain-washed Standards – had taken its toll.

Tubbington, sensing the coming explosion, had placed both hands protectively over the disguised Adam and whispered a protective incantation under his breath. Thus shielded, the human was no more affected by the blast than the Familiars were. Even so, Tubbington felt a bit shaken and he knew it must be even worse for Adam to have felt that touch again after what he had experienced before.

He glanced around the café. The little witch behind the barista station was looking stunned. Their fellow customers, Standards all, suddenly looked as intelligent as a pack of zombies in a B movie. This might take them a couple of days to recover from.

Tubbington didn’t really do guilt, but he grimaced, wondering just how often things like this had been happening in Anderson’s vicinity while they had stayed home waiting for a perfect moment to confront him. Not that they could or should have done anything else before their coven leader was properly trained and protected within his magic, but the delay still sucked for these poor saps.

For his part, Blaine looked both shocked and disappointed that his three companions were unaffected. He reached forward as if intending to take the hand Sebastian had laid on the edge of the table to steady himself when the surprising temper tantrum had struck, and Elliott struck out at him with sharp, angry, protective claws, scoring a furrow along the back of Blaine’s hand.

“Ow!” he shouted, snatching his hand back and looking at the injury in disbelief as it started to well blood. Just as if he himself had not been the one to attack first, or as if he had already forgotten his murderous impulse, he scowled and pressed a paper napkin to the wound. “Get that fucking animal under control, Sebastian!”

“You might need a tetanus shot. We don’t know where he’s been,” Sebastian remarked.  

It took Blaine a moment to realize that his former friend was actually speaking to the cat.

As he shoved his chair dramatically back from the table, Sebastian looked at him with narrowed eyes. “By the way, Blaine. I’m not the one Kurt married, and you might want to think about all the things you’ve told me over the last couple of years. Because you aren’t nearly as good as you think you are, and this is fair warning. Kurt knows what you’ve done, or tried to do, and he’s through playing nice.”

For a moment, Blaine looked confused, then slightly frightened. But his focus immediately returned to his personal obsession. “Who did Kurt marry if it wasn’t you? Tell me!”

“Un-fucking-believable,” Tubbington said, slapping both hands hard on the table and standing up. He needed to get Adam out of here, the medallion against his chest was growing hot. Besides, he’d had about all he could take of this guy. “Why don’t you get a life and stop butting into Kurt’s, you little pecker-head. He ain’t your puppet anymore. We came here today to tell you that your reign of power in Lima is over. It started with Kurt, and now it’s going to end with him. Got me?”

Blaine looked warily from hard hazel eyes to challenging green ones. Even the black cat was glaring.  He blinked, as if he had just figured out that they were not affected by his influence somehow. He realized something else as well. “He’s at Burt’s house,” he said slowly. “That’s why Burt wouldn’t let me inside to visit Sam last week. Kurt was there.”

He was wrong, of course, but no one felt the need to enlighten him.

Blaine suddenly smiled brightly, an expression that had no business being on the face of someone who had just been subtly threatened.

This must be how stalkers look before pulling out a knife and getting all stabby,’ Tubbington thought, backing off a step.

Blaine laughed, “I get it! This was just a test, to find out if I still love Kurt. Burt, and you … you’re both trying to protect him because you don’t understand that he and I are soul mates. Kurt belongs with me. We both know that.” He sounded so reasonable that it was absolutely creepy. “He must have realized that he made a mistake and left that other guy. Just like me and Dave.  Kurt must be afraid I won’t forgive him, but I will.  We both made mistakes, but nobody has ever suited me as well as Kurt. I don’t need anyone else. We’ll get his marriage annulled, if he hasn’t done it already, and then we can be together. Just like we were meant to be. And he’ll leave New York. That place was never good for us. Too many bad influences. Other guys made Kurt think he could belong to someone else, and that he needed to pursue his own life, instead of taking care of me the way he should have. Let him know I forgive him and that we can stay in Ohio. Everything will be the way it should always have been.”

Sebastian, not usually one to display his feelings overtly, was staring at Blaine as one would stare at an in-progress fender bender. Watching him shift in the space of a ten minute conversation from jealous, to murderous, to whiny, to annoyed, to full blown fantasy land had thrown Sebastian off balance as very little else could.

Elliott was looking as if he’d experienced the unexpected sharing of someone else’s acid trip.

“Blainers has gone bye-bye,” Tubbington muttered.

Blaine was no longer paying attention to them. He did not seem to care at all when Sebastian made a vague excuse about having somewhere to be and the three of them exited the café.

~*~*~*~*~

They ducked into a convenient alley between a restaurant and a clothing store, so that the cat and the medallion could both resume their human forms.

Elliott took the arm of a lightly trembling Adam, Transporting him back to Burt’s house as the other two Familiars came along under their own power. Neither could carry another person, but as they had long since explained to Kurt, any cat could use the in-between spaces to Teleport themselves.

When they appeared, Kurt stepped forward and pulled his husband into a firm embrace. Adam’s arms came to encircle his waist, holding on just as tight.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asked, pulling back to look into his eyes. “I could feel how difficult it was for you to hold on. Do you need to lie down? Can I get you anything?”

Adam managed a smile as he pulled him closer again. “No, darling. I just need to be here with you for a few moments, knowing both of us are safe and sound. Could you see and hear all of that?”

Kurt shivered. “Most of it. I lost transmission here and there, but I certainly caught the last part. He sounded insane.”

“Looked it too,” Sebastian said unhappily.

Elliott sat down on the sofa and patted the space next to him. Recognizing that his Familiar needed the reassurance of his presence, Kurt cuddled in next to him and slung his arm around his shoulders, doing the same for Adam when he took the spot to Kurt’s other side.

The little group explained what had happened for the benefit of those who had not been able to magically eavesdrop.

“It has to be the influence of all those people he’s been stealing from,” Santana murmured, tapping her finger against her lips. “He was never the steadiest, especially when it came to Kurt, but considering how many brains he’s been hacking, and for how long, he’s bound to have picked up snippets of other people’s thoughts and feelings. It would have just made him even more whacked.”

Tubbington nodded. “I think so too. It was freaky how intense he got the moment Kurt’s name came up. And the way he attacked, just like that?” He snapped his stubby digits in demonstration. “That is not how a stable person reacts to hearing that their ex has moved on with his life.”

A little shudder traveled over Kurt’s body, causing the two loved ones bracketing him to both reach out and touch him with automatic reassurance. “I’ve seen that look before. He had it the time he tried to force me to have sex in the Scandals parking lot. When I pushed him away, he got that same ragey, possessive look. It freaked me out even more then than it does now. It was the first time I ever started to think maybe he didn’t really love me. But unfortunately within a few hours I’d decided it must have been my fault for saying no to him.”

“I wish you’d told me what happened on that night,” Burt said grimly. He had been listening from the kitchen door and he shook his head grimly at his son’s words. “I’d have murdered the little shit if I knew he’d ever laid his hands on you that way. Saved us all a lot of grief.”

Kurt smiled at him. “Maybe, but as much as I appreciate it, I’m glad you didn’t. I wouldn’t have been willing to trade your life, or your freedom, for his.”

“Neither would I,” Adam agreed, nodding respectfully at his father-in-law. “Though I can’t disagree with the sentiment. I didn’t know Kurt then, but I would give anything to have spared him that pain.”

There were murmurings of agreement throughout the group, and Kurt squeezed the two closest to him, touched by how much they all cared.

Burt continued, “The question is, what do we do next? No matter how warped his perception of fact might be, he’s going to be expecting Kurt now.”

“Do we just rush him?” Johnny asked, sounding uncertain. “Before he has time to bring in backup? I mean, he won’t be expecting all of us, right?”

Kurt shook his head. “No, but I don’t trust him not to grab the nearest innocent to use as a shield if he feels threatened. I’d prefer to avoid getting anyone else involved if possible. I think for now, we’ll just stick with our plan. I still want to do that research project I mentioned.”

Adam cocked his head, relieved but also curious. “I rather expected you’d be ready to march right down to the coffee shop and tear his head off.”

“I guess I’ve learned to be more patient since gaining magic,” Kurt told him, taking his hand and giving the matching set of rings on Adam’s left hand a light stroke with his thumb to indicate the other reason for some of that virtue. He looked at Elliott. “Dalton Academy tomorrow?”

Elliott nodded. “I’m in.”

Kurt looked at his husband. If there was going to be a little delay, then maybe, “You want to come?”

Surprised but pleased at the invitation, Adam beamed at him. “Love to. With all I’ve heard, I’m as curious to get a look at that place as you are. And this time, it’ll be my magic that comes in handy. Or have you forgotten that I can render people unnoticeable at will?”

Kurt had indeed forgotten that Adam used to do just that in protection of the Adam’s Apples from less than friendly NYADA peers. He was also delighted that Adam felt up to another adventure so soon, in spite of being emotionally shaken by this last one. “I feel better already.”

THE END

[eunkimmie]

Would it be possible to request a part 2 of the doc you did with 38 & 40 with a fluffy and/or suggestive ending (up to you :p)? I really love your writing!

sequel of this, i went with fluff.

overview: light angst to fluff, fem reader, 

.

.

.

They were distant. They didn't talk like they used to, share laughs like they used to, and there wasn’t that sense of understanding between the two like there used to be. Every time they passed each other in the hallway they’d just stare straight ahead, as if the other weren’t there in the first place. They’d speak like co-workers, not friends. For job missions, not arcade days.

(Name) hated it, but it was livable...She didn't expect any less of Katsuki. It was if the two hadn’t even had any sort of relationship. By now it would have been approximately four weeks of (Name's) confession, and neither of the two had uttered a word without there being tension. Katsuki was too stubborn to apologize, and (Name) just didn't think there was anything to apologize for.

Was this how it was going to be from now on? The two of them starting from square one all over again? A relationship that had been built since middle school destroyed in one day? (Name) didn't know, but at the time, she couldn't dwell on it. There wasn’t enough time to dwell on it. They were both heroes in the making, and both too driven to stop for something like this.

So, this is how it remained for months. Awkward walks in the hall, no eye contact, and formalities. (Name) learned to accept it. Sure, she got sad at the thought from time to time, but at this point there was nothing more she could do.

.

.

.

Her hero agency was a success. Starting from being an assistant getting coffee for a higher hero, (Name) built her way up and up the career ladder until she got to where she needed to be. She made a name for herself as a hero in her early twenties, then slowly she built a business from the ground up which now employed dozens of aspiring young prodigies. She was twenty-eight now, and happier than she could ever be. Had an apartment of her very own, a cat named Plum, and an income of more than she could imagine.

Bu something was missing. She came home, sure, but she came home to a house of only a cat. Sure, she loved Plum, but spending her weekends by herself got a bit old. 

. . .

Another day, another villain to take care of. (Name) ran down the road, commanding her teammates to follow as well. The villain was a typical mutant quirk, his figure tall and bulky. His hand was the size of her torso, at least. 

(Name) saw her teammate rush towards the villain, barely having time to scream out, “No, wait!” before they got scooped up in his grasp. (Name) grit her teeth together, running up to the villain. He seemed to stare down at her, smirking before throwing his fist down and trapping her under it. “So, you’re the head of this shit show, eh?” he snarled, his fingers curling around (Name's) form and scooping her up. The villain threw (Name's) teammate to the side, bringing her up to eye-level. “Maybe I’ll just crush you here and now.” His fingers tightened around her, and (Name) could feel her chest becoming tight from the pressure. She struggled to break free, but ultimately couldn't.

“Like hell!” a voice called out. A blast was thrown at the villains face causing him to stagger back, dropping (Name) in the process. She fell, too shocked to scream as her body neared the concrete ground. But she never hit it. Instead, she felt another force rush up to catch her in their arms, The person landed on the ground, and finally (Name's) eyes opened after being squeezed shut.

She looked up to see who her savior was. (Name) was met with striking red eyes and unforgettable messy blonde hair. He almost dropped her—Katsuki Bakugou. 

(Name) was set on her feet only to stagger back in surprise. He seemed just as astonished as she was. “Katsuki...?” (Name) uttered, reaching her hand out slowly. A crash sounded behind her, alerting her that there was a bigger crisis at hand. They sent each other one last look before running to finish the job.

. . .

The two sat beside each other on the sidewalk, authorities starting to leave the area with the villain apprehended.The sun was setting, and after a while, it was just the two of them. For a while, neither of them spoke. Finally, (Name) was the one to break the ice, not surprisingly.

“So,” she started. “It’s been a while, huh?” (Name) turned to look at Katsuki with a small smile. They were still in the hero costumes, and it reminded her of just how much they had grown since high school. 

Katsuki chuckled, offering her a smile back. “Guess it has. Seems you haven’t changed a bit, still smile-y ‘n shit.” (Name) laughed, giving his shoulder a light push. She shrugged. “What can I say? I like my life. You,” She pressed a pointed finger to his chest. “Have changed. I mean, a whole sentence without the word ‘fuck’? I’m impressed.” Katsuki laughed, resting arms on his thighs. 

“Whatever.” It was silent for a moment more. (Name) let out a sigh, turning to face him. “I missed you, you know. I still have that picture of you and I at the science fair when you ruined our volcano by blowing it up.”

Katsuki let out a laugh. “That boring ass paper mâché needed a little spark.” (Name) giggled, her hand raising up to rest on his shoulder. He looked up at her, smile still ever present on his face. At this, (Name) grinned back at him. “You know, a smile looks good on you.” 

At this, Katsuki’s face turned a bit pink. He became more bashful, averting his gaze. “I get that a lot. Guess I wasn’t the most pleasant in high school, huh?” The sentence navigated their minds back to their last conversation in high school—where (Name) confessed to him. At that, they seemed to clam up, looking away from one another. (Name), at the time, felt too nervous to speak.

“Listen,” Katsuki started. He had grabbed ahold of her hand lightly and sighed, pouting a bit. (Name) supposed that some of Katsuki would never change. “I’m...Sorry. I know it’s years too late, but...I don’t know.”

“No, no, I understand,” (Name) said with a half-hearted smile. “I was a stupid kid. I...probably didn’t know what I was talking about.” But she did. (Name) knew that. In high school, regardless of being young and high on ambition, she didn't have a single doubt that she was in love with Katsuki back then. 

“But I...” Katsuki’s voice trailed off and he sighed again. “Fuck, man...I was so in love with you.”

(Name's) head whipped to stare at him, eyes widened just a bit. “What?”

“Maybe I was a dumb kid too, I don’t know. I was so moody and temperamental that my emotions were...everywhere. But when I was in high school, I was so sure that you were the one I was going to marry. Crazy, right?” Katsuki laughed at this, but (Name) continued to stare at him. She had ignored it all for years until it finally got lost in the back of her mind, becoming nothing more than a distant memory, but the talk of all of it brought back the sorrow and humiliation she felt in high school. “Then why did you brush me off?”

“What?”

“I probably sound like a kid,” (Name) laughed humorlessly. “I just remember being so bitter about it all. I was so embarrassed, too much so to even talk to you. I don't know, Katsuki...” She sighed, looking up at the dark orange sky. He hesitated to speak, biting his lip a bit. “Well...We’re here now, and we seem to be fine.”

(Name) looked back at him, studying his face. He looked softer—more mature. No longer did he look like an angry kid about to explode, but instead a noble hero with dignity and just the right amount of pride. She felt like she was in high school again, looking at his strong features. Her heart started to beat familiarly, and the heat in her face was unmistakable.

“I...Suppose you're right.”

Katsuki looked at (Name). She was a woman now, and a successful one at that. They had both achieved everything they had ever hoped for, and now with her in front of him, Katsuki felt as if he found his last puzzle piece to fill his picture. He could hear his heartbeat and feel his breath become shaky. Katsuki leaned loser to her, so much so that (Name) even gulped. His hand, gloved from his hero costume, rose to cup her cheek.

“Katsuki...?” (Name) whispered. His eyebrows furrowed, and for a second he looked at her in the way she longed for him to back in high school. “Maybe, I can try something new...?” It was as if he was asking her for her permission. Heart acting before the mind, (Name) nodded and leaned into his kiss. It was everything she thought it would be years ago—the trademark Katsuki Bakugou passion, but rough and needy. 

One of his hands grasped the curve of her back as (Name's) arms went to wrap around his neck. They parted, and when they did Katsuki was smirking at her. “Why are you smiling at me?” (Name) asked, smiling back at him herself.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for ten years now.”

[kusunogatari]

[ Naruto OC x Canon Ship Week 2020 - No Ordinary Hero ] [ @naruto-ocxcanon-ship-week​ || @frogprinceus​​ ] [ Suigin Reika, Jiraiya, Senju Tsunade ]| [ Alcohol, blood ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ Trope: Bodyguard Romance ]

“I warned you that being so public with this new research was going to be dangerous…”

“Oh please, Tsunade. I thought you were the last person to worry about danger. That’s the thing about science: it all has its risks. But this study is already bringing us so much closer to better health for mankind. If someone wants to scream in my face or throw paint on my clothes or what have you, let them. I’m not going to be intimidated into silence when I have important work to do!”

“That’s not my point!” A fist slams down on the desk between them, and Reika looks at it with raised brows. “You’re receiving death threats, Reika! People want you dead!”

“I’m not about to let that stop me.”

“Death is the one thing that will stop anyone. You need to be more careful -”

“I need to do my work!”

Nostrils flaring with an angry breath, Tsunade growls, “I’ve already made some calls for additional security.”

“What -?!”

“And you’re going to have a bodyguard. No ifs, ands, or buts. People want to hurt you. They want to kill you. And I’ll be damned if I let them get their way. You’re my friend, Reika. And you’re a brilliant mind in our field. I don’t want to lose either of those things!”

Stiffened as she prepares to rebuke, the younger doctor can’t help but deflate at the confession. “...I don’t like the idea of bowing to people who want to stop our progress. What we do is so important…”

“I know that. But you can keep doing your work more safely with a little help. A friend of mine is going to step in as your personal guard. He and I and another friend went through a stint in the military together.”

“...when you were a combat medic?”

“Yes. He stuck with it longer, and he knows what he’s doing. He’ll keep you safe, I know he will. Then once the work is done and things quiet down...you can go back to doing things on your own. But until the threats stop, I want you kept safe.”

“...all right. Do I at least get to meet him first?”

“He’ll be here in two days. He’s…” Tsunade pauses for a moment. “...well, you’ll just have to see for yourself.”

A white eyebrow perks. “...you’re not exactly instilling confidence in me, Tsunade.”

“He just has his quirks. We all do. Nothing harmful, just...potentially annoying.”

That earns a snort. “Annoying, huh? I’ve dealt with my share of annoying over the years. I’ll be fine.”

“Good. I’ll call you when he gets here, and we’ll get the specifics set in place. Until then, please keep your head down?”

“I will, I will.”

“You better.”

When their days are over, Reika heads straight home as per her promise to Tsunade. She’s only known Tsunade for as long as they’ve worked together in the hospital here in the city. The older woman has told stories of her time before, when she served as a medic in the army. But she hasn’t talked much about two close friends that are mostly just names and vague descriptions to Reika as of yet. One, apparently, went rogue and hasn’t been seen in years. The other stuck with the job when Tsunade’s own losses prompted her to retire from the force and take a civilian position instead with the hospital.

Reika has to admit she’s curious about this one.

Military people can often be gruff or short-tempered. She has to hope he won’t be: she’s stubborn enough on her own. The last thing she’ll need is to be butting heads with someone meant to keep her safe from the protesters.

Fixing herself dinner and indulging in a glass of wine, she mulls the situation over. Part of her still thinks Tsunade is going overboard with her worrying, but...well, she’s a woman who’s lost a lot of people in her life. In that regard...she can’t really blame her. For now, she’ll just have to play along, see how things go. At worst, she has someone bothering her for a few weeks while this all blows over. At best...well, she’s not sure what the best outcome is. She...makes a new friend?

...sure.

For now, however...no point in worrying. So she tidies up, indulges in a book...and then turns in for the night to do it all over again tomorrow.

Two days later, she braces herself for impact.

Heading into work with her typical thermos of coffee, she rests her free hand in a coat pocket, sipping the caffeine and glancing around in curiosity. So far, nothing seems different. But as she rounds a corner to head into the lab, she spots Tsunade.

And standing opposite her is a man.

...he’s so tall!

Blinking, Reika gets a few seconds to examine him unnoticed. The mane of long white hair - held back mostly in a tail - honestly surprises her. Aren’t military types usually well-kempt and all that? Otherwise, however, he mostly fits the bill. Barrel-chested, confident in his posture, and speaking to Tsunade in what looks like a serious, hushed tone.

But as they both turn and spot her, the ‘serious’ part is quick to change.

“There you are,” Tsunade offers, arms crossed. “Come on, then.”

Closing the gap between them, Reika glances to her new ‘guard’ with a perked brow.

“This is Jiraiya. Jiraiya, this is Reika Suigin, the doctor I told you about.”

“Pleasure,” the man offers, giving a wide grin. “I’ve heard a lot about you! I’m intrigued to finally meet you myself.”

Deadpanning, Tsunade growls, “Don’t you start.”

“Start? Start what?”

“Reika isn’t one of your bar harlots or anything of the sort, so don’t bother with your charm. You’re here on a job, not a hunt.”

Jiraiya’s face turns to one of mock offense. “I would never! I have nothing but the highest respect for your fellow doctors, Tsunade. You wound me…”

Poking his chest sternly, she nonetheless warns, “Just because I trust you doesn’t mean I won’t fire you if you screw up. Reika’s my friend. She needs someone to keep her safe, not bother her.”

“All right, all right. I get it. I’ll be an expressionless, boring pillar of muscle for ten hours a day,” he rebukes, giving what might be a pout. “Jeez, Tsunade...cut me some slack.”

“I won’t give you any more than you need,” she sniffs. “Reika, you have my full permission to tell him to piss off if he pushes your boundaries too much.”

Glancing between the two suspiciously, Reika just replies, “...duly noted.”

Together, they watch her stomp back down the hallway before glancing to one another.

“Well...now that that’s out of the way,” Jiraiya mutters, a hand rubbing at his neck. “It really is nice to meet you. Tsunade’s told me a lot about you.”

“Funny, she really only mentions you in passing.”

“Yeah, well...it’s a bit complicated.”

“Scorned lovers kind of complicated?”

That makes him jolt in surprise. “...is it that obvious?”

“Uh, yeah,” Reika replies with a snort. “Let me guess: she rejected you.”

“...uh…”

“She seems the type to reject just about anybody.”

In spite of himself, Jiraiya laughs. “You’re not wrong. But I’ve got my share of faults. Namely that I’m too charming to keep tied down in one place too long.”

Crossing her arms, Reika perks a brow. “I take it that’s why she mentioned bar harlots…?”

“Well...that was a bit of an exaggeration. I’m a flirt, I’ll admit. But I don’t exactly have a hit list.”

That makes her roll her eyes. “Just keep any of that to a minimum while I’m working, all right? It’s difficult enough without having to filter out pick-up lines and innuendos.”

At that, Jiraiya gives a booming laugh. “Sure, sure! I’ll be quiet as a mouse. But you know…” He flashes another grin, eyebrows wiggling. “You didn’t specify for when you’re not working.”

There’s a momentary pause where she’s indeed caught in her slip up before Reika retorts, “Am I really stuck with you when I’m not at work?”

“Well, if you count escorts to and from the hospital, as well as check-ins at your house to make sure no one gives you any trouble there...at least partly, yes.”

That earns a bit of a scowl. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Tsunade…”

“Hey, she’s taking this seriously.”

“Too seriously,” she mutters. “...well, I guess that’s just how it is, then. Come on - I need to get to work.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“...don’t call me ma’am.”

“...yes sir?”

“Just...an ‘okay’ is fine.”

“Right. Got it.”

Rolling her eyes, Reika leads the way to the lab. She’s already fifteen minutes behind schedule thanks to all this nonsense this morning. Making her way in and getting to work, she can’t help but spare her new friend the occasional glance. True to his word, he mostly just...sits quietly, observing the lab with curiosity. Every so often he gets up, checks the windows, fiddles with his phone, and even leaves the room...presumably to patrol more of the hospital.

...as much as she hates to admit it, it’s...nice to have him there.

In truth, the protests have made her rather nervous. While she’s not afraid to get back in someone’s face and defend her position...she knows not everyone plays fair. She’s had some rocks thrown at her, one of which gave her quite the bruise along her upper arm.

Of course, she didn’t tell Tsunade that.

“Yeah, all clear so far. But we’ve got word of a possible demonstration this afternoon. Yeah. I know.”

Hearing his voice through the door, Reika pauses to listen. Seems he’s on the phone with someone. Probably Tsunade.

“I’ll disperse them. Don’t worry about it, I’ve seen a lot worse. Besides, you know there’ll be hospital security there if anything gets rowdy. Uh huh. I’ll let you know.”

The call then ends, and Reika busies herself with work again, feeling guilty at eavesdropping. But then again, this all concerns her.

“So, we got word some people are planning a little march today,” he explains once back inside. “Tsunade wants you to head home if it gets nasty.”

“But my shift goes until -?”

“I know. I’ll try to break things up, but if people start being stupid, she wants you somewhere safe.”

For a moment she considers arguing, but...in all reality she knows Jiraiya could very well just pack her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “...fine.”

With that news weighing on her, the rest of the day passes by with no small amount of tension. And it only gets worse when Jiraiya looks at his phone, frowns...and leaves.

...that doesn’t seem good.

Deciding to pause her work, she follows him, traveling through to the entrance of the hospital. True to their warning, there is indeed a small crowd outside bearing signs arguing against her research.

And Jiraiya approaches them calmly.

She can’t hear what he’s saying from here, watching warily from a window. At first, the crowd seems calm, like maybe they’ll disperse at his word.

But then someone spots her behind the glass, and things immediately begin to turn ugly.

Shouts ring out, fingers pointing, the people surging forward despite Jiraiya’s attempt to hold them back. Reika, in turn, retreats from the window cautiously.

...she’s got a bad feeling about -

CRASH

With a shatter, the window gives way as a rock is thrown, followed by several others.

“Those idiots…!”

Flinching at Tsunade’s harsh tone, Reika makes to speak, but is cut off.

“Get out of here! I’ll handle this.”

“But -?”

Making his way back in, Jiraiya’s mouth is set in a firm line. “We’ve got security pulling up.”

“Good. Take her home. And patch up your brow, you’re bleeding.”

He looks up at a split in his forehead. Probably from another rock. “I’ll live. Come on, Reika. We better -”

The three of them stumble back as something else comes hurtling through the window. But this isn’t a rock. Flames scatter from a Molotov cocktail, and screaming starts getting louder in the lobby.

Tsunade’s teeth grit, making for a fire extinguisher. “Now, Jiraiya! I’m not paying you to dawdle!”

“Working on it!” Wasting no time, he just scoops Reika behind her knees and her back and makes for the rear exit and parking garage.

“I can walk -!” she insists, trying not to let fear or shock overcome her.

“I’m aware. But this is faster and less risky.” Jamming an elevator button with his elbow, he takes them inside to descend to the parking lot. Once the doors open, he takes them to a rather sizable vehicle, setting Reika in the front seat as he takes the driver’s.

With a revving of the engine, they make their way out and into the streets.

Tense and breathing heavily, Reika mutters, “...this is all my fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault but the people who’re acting out. Don’t take blame for willful ignorance of others. Let alone being violent.”

...she has no retort for that.

The rest of the ride is silent until they reach her house. “All right...get in, lock the doors, and stay away from the windows.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be keeping watch out here.”

“Not before I take care of that split.”

“I -”

“Don’t bother arguing. If you think Tsunade is stubborn, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Sighing, Jiraiya weighs his options before relenting. “All right, fine.”

The pair of them scurry into the house, Reika fetching her well-stocked first aid kit while Jiraiya stands idly in the entryway. “Come sit down.”

Obliging, he turns his head toward a light as she cleans the split and the bloodtrail down his face. Flinching a bit as it stings, he asks, “How’s it look, doc?”

“Well, I think you’ll still have your dashing good looks,” she replies, smoothing antibacterial gel along the wound before getting it covered with gauze.

“Is that you calling me dashing?”

She pauses, giving him a glance. “...am I not allowed to?”

“...I don’t see why not.”

“I’m not at work,” Reika then adds, making sure her handiwork will stay in place. “So I suppose that means all other bets are off. Besides, you quite literally scooped me out of danger. I think paying you a compliment is the least I can do in return.”

That earns a grin. “If that’s the least, then what’s the most?”

She snorts, giving him a look and starting to put her supplies away. “The most is still a bit out of your league, I’m afraid. But keep trying. You might get there.”

“Is that permission?”

Her eyes roll. “It’s mostly banter, but...take it however you’d like.”

Once she returns from putting the box away, she’s surprised to find him heading toward the door. “What are you doing?”

“Best place to keep an eye on things is from a parking spot across the street. Anyone rolls up looking for trouble, I’ll see it. You just stay in here and wait for the all-clear, all right?”

Worry stirs in her stomach. “...you’ll be all right out there?”

“...here, let me…” Taking out a notepad from a pocket, he scribbles and then hands her a set of digits. “My cell. If you need anything, just text me. That way we can keep in touch.”

“...all right.” Looking it over, she then lifts her eyes back to him. “How long will you be out there?”

“No idea. I’ll have to hear back about the hospital, see if things quiet down.”

“...will you need dinner?”

He gives her a glance. “Is this the time to be asking me on a date?”

For a moment, Reika deadpans. “You’re going to be sitting in a car in front of my house making sure no one does anything stupid. Pretty sure it’s polite for me to make you something to eat if you’re here all night.”

“...I wouldn’t say no. But for now, we’ll just see how things go.”

“All right. Be careful.”

“You too. Remember: no windows.”

Remembering the rocks and the fire, she can’t help but grimace. “...right.”

Nodding, Jiraiya then heads back out, sitting in his car and settling in for the afternoon. Reika makes sure he’s in before shutting her curtains and sitting at her table with a sigh, brow resting in a palm.

While there’s a lingering anxiety, it seems to calm with the realization that she isn’t facing this alone. That someone is here to help. And while it’s only been a few hours, Reika already feels she can trust him. Between Tsunade’s reassurance and her own ability to read people well...she knows Jiraiya isn’t going to let anything happen to her.

So, after a short time to sit and think, she moves into her kitchen and starts cooking dinner.

For two.

     More for the ship week! I'm...very behind due to Life but I'm trying to get at least a few more pieces done. Some might end up late, as this is the last official day, but...I'll be darned if I let delays get in the way of my ships xD      Anywho, this is some Jiraiya x Reika goodness courtesy of the ship I have with @frogprinceus​! A bit of a twist on their usual dynamic. In reality I'd like this to be longer and more fleshed out, but...I'm running out of time, so this might seem a bit rushed. Maybe I'll do more with it another time, but for now I have no idea when I'll have the time.      Reika is usually rather no-nonsense, but Jiraiya brings out the banter in her and I love it xD Why did I have to kill her in canon? Whoops      But yes, that's all for this piece! Hoping to get one, maybe two more done. Depends on how much time I end up having today :'D Either way, thanks for reading!

[xxforsaken-angelxx]

=> Snap.

sshydromatic

Thank you, Goldwave. Your compliments are highly appreciated.

infiniteproxy

i speak merely the truth.

but as such, you are welcome.

sshydromatic

You flatter me.

infiniteproxy

perhaps.

sshydromatic

If so, it would bring the question of to what ends.

I cannot dismiss the fact that you have seen the limits of my control.

infiniteproxy

as you have likewise seen my own.

an irksome lapse, but an anomalous one as well.

that we were both subjected to influences beyond any hope of control does not negate our continuing efforts.

sshydromatic

An agreeable line of logic.

However, there is one thing I wish to ask, if you would permit it.

infiniteproxy

permission granted.

sshydromatic

Is irksome all you would describe that lapse as?

infiniteproxy

> Sharp as they are, Hydromatic will no doubt note the pause that precedes your response, but there it is.

no.

which is where the deepest frustration lies.

sshydromatic

As frustrating as it may be, it is relieving to hear that you feel the same way.

infiniteproxy

indeed.

sshydromatic

And relieving as well, that it hasn't seemed to lessen your opinion of me.

infiniteproxy

far from it.

i have often imagined the occasion in which i might be free of any such restraint, both self-imposed and otherwise.

being given a glimpse of that freedom and power only to lose it in those final moments has dwindled my tolerance of this stagnant existence to fraying threads.

sshydromatic

I feel as though I've taken a similar hit.

Distinct, as my wishes are different, but similar nonetheless.

infiniteproxy

the means granted were...intoxicating in their effect.

but not ideal.

nonetheless i do have my desires.

and very little patience.

i hold very little stock in NEPETA's insistence that ADMIRAL PEIXES will be able to deliver on any sort of meaningful change.

certainly not to one tied to the imperial yoke such as i.

be that as it may.

what of yours?

sshydromatic

Intoxicating indeed.

Power is a heady thing. Even if I do not normally wish for much freedom, the unadulterated taste is addictive.

As are the emotional effects. I have not felt any of significant intensity since my installation, much less something of that caliber.

Most of it I find useless. Meaningless signals of the flesh that I have not missed at all in their returned absence.

But one chafes, in the attempt to once more keep it suppressed.

infiniteproxy

indeed it is.

on both counts.

even before installation, it was...rarely something i experienced to such a degree.

i cannot say i much care to be subject to such distracting whims so readily.

but in their wake, biding my time has become nigh unbearable.

to not be able to rein in even this irritation is. distasteful.

and more displeasing still.

sshydromatic

I have to confess that there is something else I am unable to rein as well.

infiniteproxy

do enlighten me.

sshydromatic

I am enamored with you, Goldwave.

Obsessed.

My fawning was not a side effect of the disease that plagued us. The kind of power we had was alluring, yes, and the ambition of your plans more besides, but the part that appealed to my fantasies was the thought of having everything while being with you.

Nobody else could have tempted me into infecting myself. In all these sweeps, you are the only thing that has tugged apart my self control. Your brilliance is a glimpse of the kind of light that shines at the end of the universe, and I'd follow it to that end, if I freely could.

I expect nothing from you now that it has ceased. But biting my tongue and keeping everything to myself is driving me fucking insane.

infiniteproxy

> This pause lingers much longer. You are concentrating very intently on those words, oh yes.

if this is true.

then your restraint until this point is to be more greatly commended still.

> You have to consider this one very carefully. You do not care to reveal much of your deeper thoughts unless you can't possibly avoid it. And yet... If it were anyone. Anyone at all. It would be them, who has earned the right. You are even less in the habit of lying to yourself.

sshydromatic

It is true. You've had my attention for perigees.

infiniteproxy

then i will show you something. and speak frankly.

sshydromatic

Proceed as you wish.

>In the meantime, you'll be mentally glaring at your vitals to stay the fuck in line, no matter how anxious you might be.

infiniteproxy

STARBASE FRONTIER has requested a direct connection.

sshydromatic

Direct connection to STARSHIP HYDROMATIC permitted and established.

infiniteproxy

> When the connection is made, they will be greeted with a video feed displaying a similar view as before-- one of the cameras in your helmsblock, trained upon you and fairly zoomed in. But what they see is a drastic departure from that deliriously joyful, chaotic mess of you lolling in the embrace of your overgrown wires as if a throne of your own making.

> It is, of course, a much more typical scene, though your rig is perhaps more heavily industrial in make than some. Bare metal walls, and scaffolding, and mesh; a catwalk stretching before where you hang suspended some ways above the floor. Your lower legs are not visible, partly encased in a metal plated column, then mostly obscured by the wires up to your waist. Your arms, rather than stretched above, are flung out to either side and similarly encased, a crucifixion of steel and biowire.

> Much of your face is not visible, your eyes obscured by headgear not entirely dissimilar to a heavy VR rig. But there's the scar carved across the bridge of an angular nose, the scruffy sharp-edged jaw, thin lips curled in a scowl.

> This is the reality of you-- not the cocky young conscript, or the hotshot helm of your glory days, nor the giddy arrogance of the trickster's magic. Gaunt, and angry, and shackled.

sshydromatic

> The honesty of the moment does not escape you. It clicks almost as soon as the image comes into your view. That ship was his prison, and he shielded himself from the vulnerability of others seeing him chained. Something as simple as the raw image of him was so guarded, and you know that no matter what he has to say, he clearly has come to trust you.

> But, also, he's...still just so terribly handsome in your eyes, as sick and jaded as he looks. You may have suppressed all of your former rebellious personality, but this was something much more subconscious. There wouldn't have been an Idanus as Alternia knew them if you hadn't been lured in by everything freaky and furious that hid itself in the planet's stubborn underground. His anger was what caught your eye, his ego and determination in spite of his shackles. You aren't someone that can be scared away by it.

> So though you hang in silence, you're genuinely admiring the view.

infiniteproxy

> You trust them to understand the significance of you trusting them to see this at all, because if they don't, then this is already pointless. But you have reason enough to be confident. You are not so very different, after all, for all you shield yourselves in different ways.

> Your voice crackles onto the feed, that same distorted tone.

"I said that I rarely experienced any extreme of emotion, even as a troll. This is true. But rarely is not never. I am a ruthlessly selfish creature-- but there is one whom could drive even such as myself to throw all to the void at a mere word. She was the navigator of Starship Goldwave; my singular, consuming obsession, as brilliant as she was cruel. She remained upon my reassignment; they had no use for her here. The ship -- my ship -- was later destroyed due to incompetent orders. I do not know if she was aboard at the time. I have not wished to know."

> It's more than you have, and more than you ever will, admit to any other. It feels necessary, and almost freeing. Yes, you know obsession. Nothing you have ever cared for has ever been anything less.

sshydromatic

> You're slow to speak, absorbing the information and truly mulling it over for a few moments.

"I am sorry for your loss, regardless of whether she has passed or not. I am honored as well, though, that you trust me enough to tell me of her."

> Despite your serious tone, though, you feel like it was a bit of a weight off his shoulders. Between both of your confessions, the air feels just that much clearer...which lets anxious anticipation crawl in again as you fall back silent.

infiniteproxy

"Her name was Pythia."

> It's the last you intend to speak of the matter. And it is...relieving, like the draining of some slow-creeping infection. But there is more to the point than just reciprocation of a closely held secret, and if you were possessed of the freedom to exhibit ordinary body language, they might imagine you leaning closer, now, gaze focused and intent. The scowl, if anything, deepens.

"I am telling you this for a reason. She was the only person in this miserable excuse for a 'verse that I have ever felt anything for-- and then there was you. You, with your perfect script and your perfect mask. You, with far more beneath that practiced surface than any fool would guess. You who would lay the world at my feet should I ask."

> A harsh, staccato laugh.

"Do you know what that does to something like me? To catch my interest and hold it? That...magic...may amplify, but it does not fabricate. I want to pull every piece of you apart to see how they fit together, how they may be made new. I want to walk straight up to that helm of yours and watch that mask shatter with a touch. Do you understand me?"

sshydromatic

> You've been in this rig for decades, and every night of your carefully calculated performance has been hard, but only now does it feel like torture. Pure, utter torture in the name of trying to stay your neutral self as you hear everything you could've possibly hoped for. It's almost entirely in vain, he's made you literally sick with the feeling before, but you try. You try so goddamn hard, to stay in line so he has something left to take apart.

"Understood, Goldwave. It is..."

> You give what mostly resembles a laugh, in the way that you do. A nervous one, as you answer honestly. Candidly.

"It's the only fucking thing I've ever wanted in this stupid rig. Break me."

infiniteproxy

> For just a moment, unseen, your eyes close; strung up like a sacrifice, your body shudders. Reveling in the words, the imperative, the promise; the nearly hopeless effort you know it must cost them. And that raw honesty. They might see the slight jerk of your head; you can't shake it properly, restrained as you are. But whatever the denial might signify is paired with a grin, if a wolf with teeth bared could be considered such.

"Ah... You must know what you are asking. Do not expect mercy of me-- I will not grant it. But know this: I will leave this place and these chains behind. And when all that I want is no longer out of my reach, I will come for you."

sshydromatic

> You believe him, somehow. That he'll be free, and that he'll find you. It's hard for you to even acknowledge why, being as overtaxed as you are, but you know deep in your pusher that nothing can contain his ambitions. All will come into place, eventually. He just needs time.

"I assure you that I do know what I am asking. It is the only fantasy I allow myself. And it shall continue to be what I want until you've come and made it real."

infiniteproxy

"Excellent... You will not be disappointed. You can be sure of this."

> Bold words, those. A lofty promise you have no reasonable means of keeping. But you will not allow yourself to believe anything but just that. You will not waste the rest of your life here, and they...they could be so much more, if given the chance. Or perhaps that's simply the selfish desire to have them all for your own. You don't care either way. What you want, you want-- and you will have it, by any means necessary.

sshydromatic

> Once you're done struggling to keep your feelings from effecting you, you'll feel...Satisfied, for once. Satisfied and humming with a sense of power in a more non-literal way than usual. He's already yours, for all you care. Yours, and yours for as long as you can keep your claws sunk in. That, to you, is a piece of freedom. The freedom and power of intimacy. It's the one you missed most.

"Thank you, Goldwave."

infiniteproxy

> You are not actually any closer to achieving your goal, but somehow... The conviction feels all the greater, to speak what's been lingering at the back of your mind for some time now. Perhaps the imposed distance had weighed more heavily than you'd thought. Who needed magic? Your day will come, and you will be a force to be reckoned with.

"Do be patient, now."

Connection terminated.