#it’s actually a sun room so the wall space between windows is really narrow

[nerdierholler]

Went to the local art festival today and picked up some new prints.

The Black Rabbit of Inle

Food and Fireflies

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (10)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.9k warnings: smut (18+), angsty angst, this time I dont leave you with a cliff hanger 😉 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“Come on, Bucky! I know you’re in there!” 

You hit your fist on the door again. Perhaps you would have been more mindful of the the hour, but you’d heard glass shattering as you raced up the stairway just moments ago. You’d heard him shouting himself hoarse and heavy footsteps as he paced inside his apartment. You’d heard the cracks in his voice – the consumption of grief and fury and shame swallowing him whole.  

One of Bucky’s neighbors had rung Sam the first time Bucky’s screams could be heard through the thin apartment walls. It was the fifth time in as many nights and Sam promised Bucky would get it under control before they went to the landlord with noise complaints. He made no such promises that he would be the one to do it. 

An elderly woman in a nightgown peeped her head out into the hallway, scowling at you as you continued pounding on the door. Her beady eyes narrowed and you only spared her a moment’s glance before you returned to the door. 

“I’ll wake up the whole building! I swear to—” 

The door was pulled from under your fist. In its frame, stood a ghostly version of the man you knew. Dark circles hung heavy under his eyes. His hair was disheveled, blood dripped from a cut in his palm. Behind him, furniture was turned on its side, glass on the floor, magazines and unopened mail littering every surface. He'd torn his place apart.  

“What are you doing here?” 

You swallowed, forcing your voice stronger than you felt. “Sam called me.” 

Bucky’s grip on the doorknob��tightened. “Of course, he did.”  

He paused only for a moment before he turned his back to you and walked inside the apartment. The door was left open in his wake and you took it as permission to enter. 

Cautiously, you took your first steps into his apartment. You tried to ignore the dust lining the curtains and the fleeting thought wondering when the last time he’d allowed the sun to touch his skin. The latch clicked behind you and you winced at the intrusion to the silence.  

Bucky meanwhile was staring out into the mess of his living room. His gaze rested on the couch turned on its side, then to the box of trinkets spilled on the floor by the mantel, then the broken glass by the window. His shoulders sagged; his expression unreadable. Slowly, he knelt down to the edge of the couch to flip it back on its legs.  

You watched him carefully, not uttering a word or daring to move closer until he finished. Once the couch was right side up again, he exhaled a tired breath and leaned against the edge. Exhaustion flickering through his eyes, though you suspected it had little to do with the exertion of moving furniture.  

As Bucky moved to throw the cushions back to the frame, you realized suddenly how he was dressed. Plaid blue pajama pants hung low on his waist. Bare feet prodding over hardwood floors too close to where broken shards of glass waited. His chest was exposed; skin glazed in the dim glow of moonlight as it peered through the small slit between the curtains.  

You could see his shoulder blades move along his back as he tensed. The lines of his spine and the dips along his hipbones. When he turned to face you again, your eyes were drawn to his shoulder and the frayed mess of scar tissue and burns. It was mesmerizing, the intricate patterns and the markings on his skin. Pink and red and faded with time. You wondered if it still hurt, if he could feel the nerve endings there or— 

Your gaze flickered back to Bucky’s. He was watching you, barely taking a breath. So vulnerable as he stood in front of you and he had no time to prepare for it. He probably didn’t realize how exposed he was until he noticed you staring. You’d imposed on his home, on his space. He couldn’t have known he’d be confronted with this tonight. 

All the effort it took for him to simply remove his jacket and now he was left standing before you without a single layer to protect him.  

You could see the doubt swimming behind his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to pretend like this connection between you was something he could easily push away, like he could let go of it without much of a second thought or a single word in his own defense, you could tell he was ripping himself apart at the seams, wondering whether you found him as repulsive as he saw himself to be. 

He shook his head, his features hardening over again. He gripped at the side of the couch until his knuckles turned white.  

“You should go home,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was thick as gravel. “Sam shouldn’t have bothered you.” 

“Shouldn’t have—?” You scoffed, stunned. “Bucky, look at this place!” 

“I’m fine,” he replied flatly and you almost laughed if it weren’t for the deadpanned look upon his face.  

“You’re clearly not fine!” You dared to take a step closer, aching to remind him of the lightness he carried weeks earlier, only for him to retreat. He rejected the contact on instinct – a flinch throughout his whole body. Your heart clenched as if a hand had slipped in past your ribs and squeezed until it burst.  

Your breath was tight in your lungs as you tried again, a little softer this time, “you’re not fine, Bucky. You’ve kept yourself held up – alone – in this apartment for days on end. You’re pushing away the people who care about you. You’re not sleeping. You... You look like you’ve been through hell.” 

Bucky’s jaw was clenched so tight, you wondered if it might shatter. His gaze was unfocused, staring down at the floor by your feet.  

“You don’t have to put yourself thought this,” you eased, though the tension would not fade from his muscles. They remained locked as stone. You inched forward, a hand extending to him, an anchor to ground him. “Bucky, please... let me help you.” 

Something snapped – as sudden as a rubber band pulled taunt until its breaking point – and Bucky’s cold eyes met yours.  

"There is NO helping me!” he roared, startling you enough to flinched back a few paces, your hand curling back against your chest protectively. He curled his shaking hand to a fist. “I can't escape this shit! Even when I thought I could—when things were finally bearable again and I had a reason to get out of bed in the morning and I actually wanted to live through the fucking day— it all came back anyway! One word and I’m right back to where I started! I’m a fucking nightmare to be around! Don’t you get that?!” 

His breaths were coming in ragged, too quick. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes red. He hit his knuckles against the edge of the couch, on the wooden frame under the spine. Bucky barely took in a full breath.

“I can’t keep my shit together and I’m -- I’m only going to hurt you, okay? You shouldn’t want anything to do with this. I—I mean, look around you!” He kicked at the glass near his exposed feet, angry tears burning on his cheeks. “This is what my life looks like! Is this—is this what you want for yourself? You really want to sign up for this? This—this fucking endless parade of night terrors and panic attacks and anxiety? Huh?” 

He was brimming with pain. It was spilling over the surface and coating the floor. You were drowning in it and all you wanted to do was cross the room to him, to hold him, to soothe even an ounce of that suffering away because it would consume him whole if he let it.  

Bucky’s right hand was shaking so badly, tremors wouldn’t cease even as he clenched his fist. His body betrayed the stone he etched into his features. It was crumbling under the weight.  

“You really want to throw away your life for that? For me?” he spat as if the very idea itself carried venom in its implication, as if it were nothing more than a fool’s errand to spend a lifetime by his side, as if choosing him would be choosing to tie a noose around your neck.  

You’d never seen the evidence of his self-loathing before—not in full view and smothering the man you adored. He was expecting you to recoil, to run, to fight and argue and ultimately accept that you could never love a man so broken. It was a reaction he could wait a century for and still never find even a glimpse of hesitancy on your features.  

You steadied your breathing. Focused on the heart of the man standing in front of you, determined to push past the destructive fog he’d surrounded himself in. You took a step toward him, and this time, he did not run.  

“You’re not going to scare me away, Bucky.” 

Shame quickly spread through his body, replacing the threads of anger with something much crueler. His eyes fell to the floor, his chest rising unsteady and he stumbled back a few paces to give you space from the rage he wasn’t able to control. He looked about a decade younger as his features softened again, cowering back into the shadows. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you eased, daring another step. 

Bucky shook his head, reflective lines along his cheeks. His lower lip was chewed raw.  

“You don’t deserve this mess. You should—You should be with someone whole. Someone who can give you a better life than I can.” He could barely choke out the words.

“I don’t want someone else.” You took another step closer, determined to close the space between you. “I want you.” 

The tips of your fingers brushed against Bucky’s hand and a shiver cast up his spine. His eyes were transfixed on your touch as you slowly encased his hand in your own, easing the tension through his body and crumbling the stones in his chest with a gentle slide of your thumb against his palm. He started to sink against it, his whole body caving in to the very thing he’d been keeping at an arm’s length. He was suffering withdrawal.  

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Bucky whimpered, tears slipping past his eyes as he shut them tight, as if he could cast away his demons if he were blind to their shadows over his shoulder.  

You tugged gently on his hand, pulling him down to the couch. He followed you easily, his body moving of your accord as if he were made of clay. When you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, you felt the slight tremble along his spine, the shakiness in his bones. His head laid against your heartbeat, his right arm snaking around your waist in fear of letting go.   

“I don’t need to know what happened. I don’t need the details,” you sighed against his ear. “I know you. I know you’re a good man, Bucky.” 

Bucky was quiet for a minute. The silence hung thick in the air. 

“What if I’m not?” 

You tried to ignore the twist in your chest. “Oh honey, please don’t say that.” 

“I lost eight people, Y/n,” he muttered out, holding onto you a little tighter. You could feel his heart pounding as you raked your fingers through his hair, hoping to ease him if only a little. “Eight of my unit. My friends. If I... If I had said something sooner... We were sitting ducks and... and...” 

It was impossible to draw the pieces together. You couldn’t see the vivid image he held in his mind, but the details of that day weren’t necessary. He trusted you enough to outline the frame, to provide glimpses into the worst day of his life, even if they were messy and blurred. His body shook as he spoke, like maybe it was the first time he was saying the words aloud.  

You ran your fingers along his spine, drawing patterns along his shoulder blades. He shivered. 

The gentle glow of the moonlight caught the reflective edge of something on the floor. A medal. A Bronze Star. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, remembering what Natasha had told you about its merit for exceptional bravery.  

“Were there any survivors?” 

Bucky held his breath and slowly he nodded. “He was... He was just a kid when it happened. Peter. I think... I think if it wasn’t for him, I would have died out there. I would have given up. Woulda been easy enough. My arm would have bled out pretty quick and the sky... the sky was so beautiful that day. I don’t know why I remember that. Not a cloud for miles. It would have been a nice last thing to see, you know? I would have been okay with that. But Peter... Peter was so young and I... I wanted to bring him home.” 

Tears were openly streaming down your face and you were thankful Bucky couldn’t see them as he laid against your chest. You tried to stifle the sob as it broke through. You kissed at his hairline again, holding him as tight as you could manage. 

“You saved his life,” you stressed, hoping he might be able to hear it.  

Bucky swallowed, tears brushing against the thin fabric of your t-shirt. “I lost eight others.” 

“Yes, you did.” There was no disputing that. Eight lives had been lost and he was grieving his friends, his team, blaming himself for each life he didn’t save. His body tensed and you were mindful to draw pressured lines along his back to ease the rigidity there.  

“You did everything you could, honey.” 

Bucky shook his head. “No, I could have... I—I should have...” 

“Some things are just outside of your control.” 

“But I—” 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

Bucky froze, the recognition present in his body as he slowly lifted his head from your chest. “That’s....” He blinked a few times. “That’s what Sam always said. Those exact words.” 

You smiled, brushing the hair from his eyes. You wiped your thumb along his cheekbone, drawing away the tracks of tears on his face. “Sam’s a smart guy.” 

Bucky searched your eyes and you could tell he was wondering how you’d come to know Sam’s mantras, how they’d become words you often repeated to yourself in your darkest moments, but he couldn’t quite find a way to ask. He pulled himself from your lap and propped himself up beside you, your hands intertwined. He squeezed it lightly and an aching smile pulled at your lips.  

"Sam used to have to write it on paper for me,” you admitted at the bittersweet memory. “I couldn’t say it to myself and he figured if I could read it in his writing, maybe I’d believe it if it were coming from him. After a while I started to say them out loud and hearing it my own voice... I don’t know. Sam kind of tricked me into healing, I guess.” 

You laughed under your breath and you felt Bucky ease slightly beside you. He squeezed your hand again, a silent reminder that he was there. You focused on the feel of his grip, the callouses on his palms and the warmth of his skin. Real and tangible. Your Bucky.  

“Sometimes I think Sam’s the only reason I survived after I lost Riley.” 

A slight pinch formed at Bucky’s brows, his eyes narrowing—a subtle sort of curiosity, though he waited patiently for you to continue. The silence didn’t seem to frighten him as much as he focused on you, his eyes darted to your lip as you dug in your teeth.  

You hadn’t let yourself be vulnerable next to Bucky before, afraid to take away from his own suffering in favor of your own. But you had known pain of a different kind. 

You knew what it was to crave comfort, to silently beg to be held. You knew how it felt to be rejected by a man too shattered to offer any piece of himself away without breaking apart entirely.  

The way Bucky was watching you, even through the dark circles under his eyes, the exhaustion pulling him in... it settled the twists of nerves in your stomach. His thumb traced at the edges of your palms, gentle sweeps to ease the tension away. His back straightened, a determination returning to his features, a sense of belonging – of purpose – in his comfort of you.  

“He was a pararescue in the Air Force,” you continued after a moment and a flash of realization crossed over Bucky’s features. You pressed out a sad sort of smile as you said, “you remind me of him a little.” 

You thought of the t-shirt you’d lent Bucky the evening you’d gotten caught in the storm together, how it clung to his chest. Bucky’s shoulders where broader than Riley’s had been. It was slightly bigger on your frame the next night you wore it. The logo had faded with constant washing, the soft green of the fabric muted to a grey. You’d worn it to sleep nearly every night for weeks after Riley left for his final tour, longer after he’d been killed.  

It was the most cherished thing you owned. Lending it to Bucky that night had taken a strength you hadn’t allowed for yourself in years. It brought back memories you’d left untouched and an ache in your chest you’d forgotten. But somewhere, under it all, it had released you. 

Riley would have liked Bucky, you thought, might have considered him a friend. You hoped he wouldn’t mind being the bridge that allowed you to move onto a new sense of peace, a new comfort. Even in Riley’s darkest moments, he only ever wanted you to be happy. You desperately hoped he meant that.  

“I loved him so much,” you told Bucky, your mouth feeling suddenly dry at the admission, “but the war had hurt him beyond the scars on his body. Most nights, he woke up screaming. I tried... I tried to comfort him, to ground him back to what was real, but Riley was always so stubborn. He insisted he was fine, as if I didn’t notice the dark circles under his eyes or that he started drinking coffee in the evening before bed. He never told me what happened. I know he wasn’t trying to hurt me, that he was just doing what he could to hold himself together, but... the truth was, I lost Riley long before the officers showed up at his parents’ house.” 

Bucky nodded, watching you intently, though he didn’t say a word. You could feel his eyes on you as you kept your stare ahead, focusing on the imperfections laced into the brick of the fireplace across the room. You studied the curve of the cement, the nicks in the mantel, the divots of the stone. It was the first time you’d uttered Riley’s name in years. 

“I know you think I can’t handle this stuff, that it’s too much for me, but this isn’t the first time I’ve been around someone with nightmares, Bucky, or panic attacks,” you said, memories flashing over Riley sinking to the floor with his hands pressed to his ears, tears streaming down his face, images of him turning his back on you and disappearing for days on end. You had hoped he’d open up in enough time, but he never did. He couldn’t, he’d said, or it would consume him whole. Even years later, you still wondered whether it was under the weight of his pain that he suffocated, not in the prospect of its release.  

“Riley struggled after his first tour,” you continued, a lump burning in your throat. “He... He came back different. He couldn’t adjust to civilian life. I could tell from the second he got home that he was itching to go back. Despite all the pain he endured, all the nightmares and the guilt, all he wanted to do was go back.” 

You glanced over at Bucky to find his jaw clenched in understanding. It wasn’t an uncommon feeling, for soldiers who waited so tirelessly to be reunited with family and friends to feel isolated and insignificant when they returned home, to want to return to the one place they felt like they belonged.  

“I tried to stop him,” you continued, wiping your eyes as unshed tears started to blur your vision. “I begged him to stay. He was out of his contract. He didn’t need to go back but...” You sighed. Bucky’s hand gripped yours and you drew on the ounce of strength he was offering. “The worst part was that he was better when he was over there. He was smiling again and laughing and making jokes like he used to. He was promising things for our future I hadn’t even allowed myself to consider before then. Being over there... it offered him something I never could and I was... I was glad for that. I was thankful he’d gone. I was... relieved. I’d missed him so much and I was just happy he was himself again, even if he was a world away, even if it broke my heart. Seeing him happy again... it was enough.” 

You brushed at your eyes, the calloused touch of Bucky’s palm sliding along your jaw to gently wipe the wet from your cheek. His breathing was even again, the shakiness in his hands subsided. He waited for you to gather your thoughts again, not uttering a word in favor of the crickets chirping outside the window – unparalleled kindness in his patience.  

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, urging yourself to continue. Your eyes met Bucky’s, finding comfort in the warm shades of blue and the encouraging glimpse of a smile that barely rose at the edges of his mouth.  

“When Riley died, I blamed myself for a long time,” you said. “I told myself I could have stopped him from going back. I could have done more to convince him to stay, to get him the help he needed. I could have fought harder for him—for... for us. But Riley was his own person. He made his own choices and I couldn’t have done a damn thing to stand in his way. Sam helped convince me of that.” 

Bucky’s face slacked. “That’s why you started volunteering at the VA.” 

You nodded. “Sam and Riley were partners. They had some sort of pact to take care of the other’s family if something happened. Sam held up his side of the bargain whether I liked it or not. He dragged me to the open house that year and I haven’t left since. I do it for Riley, but... I don’t know... I think I do it for myself, too.” 

You exhaled a heavy breath, turning away from the fireplace to face Bucky. His eyes weren’t as red as they had been, a frown no longer etched into his features. His gaze full, though heavy, and he watched you as if you carried the entire world in the palm of your hands.  

“So, you have to understand... I can’t lose you to this war, too,” you choked out, squeezing at his hand to feel the firmness of it, to remind yourself that he was real and sitting right beside you and not an ocean away. “I won’t survive losing you, Bucky. I need you, okay? Please.” 

He looked as though he was about to argue, but he quickly held his tongue as he watched the tears slip down over your cheeks. Reflective in the dim light from the window.  

You took in a long breath, straightening your spine as you met his eye, your voice stronger than it had been since you started. “Not everyone comes home, but you did. You survived and you wandered into my life and somehow, you made me believe in love again. Even on your worst days, just being near you is the best part of mine.” 

Bucky’s lips parted, a semblance of shock flashing over his eyes. You smiled at him through your tears, a hand sliding along the side of his cheek. He sighed against the touch of it, sinking into your embrace as if hadn’t ever expected to be held like that again. Your sweet Bucky, still so surprised that you could adore him as much as you did.  

“So, I will take your nightmares and your panic attacks,” you told him, smiling through the trembling in your lips. “I’ll take your bad days and share the weight you carry on your shoulders. I’ll take every ounce of shame and self-loathing you have until the day comes you can hardly feel it at all. I’ll take the empty side streets with you and we’ll drive so far out into the country side we’ll never hear a firework again.” 

Bucky chuckled at that, a smile pressing up along his cheek until you felt it under your palm.  

“I will take anything you throw at me,” you sighed, your thumb brushing over his lips, “as long as you’re mine. As long as I’m yours. That’s all I want, Bucky. It’s all I ask. Just you.” 

Bucky stared at you, a strange mixture of awe and disbelief on his features. You could see the hope burning behind his eyes, how badly he wanted to believe you, but doubt crept in and sunk its talons into his spine.  

His smile sank. “You’ve... you’ve already been through so much. I don’t know if I’m worth all that.” 

“You are.” You slid both hands along his cheeks, holding his gaze, until you leaned in closer, inch by inch, and pressed your lips to his forehead. Slow, lingering, you kissed his temples, his cheekbones, the tip of his nose, his jawline, pausing only when you found yourself a breath away from his lips.  

“You are, Bucky,” you said again, brushing your thumbs along his cheeks and catching a tear in its path. He bowed his head, a slight trembling in his jawline. It took everything you had not to collapse into him.  

“Honey, I promise you, it won’t always feel like this and I’ll convince you every day that you are enough, if you need me to,” you told him, your voice shaking as you held back tears. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever again.” 

You leaned forward to kiss the crown of his head and his whole body seemed to sink in response, lightening, as if he’d let go of a boulder strapped upon his shoulders. His muscles softened, the tension slipping from his spine, until slowly, he began to lift his head, hair parting away from his eyes. Though they were strained and red, a crystalized ocean current stared back at you.  

You could feel the ease in his body taking over, a realization and a determination present in his stare, in his body.  

His lips parted, a steady breath in. “I love you.” 

*** 

It was the easiest thing he’d ever said; slipped from his lips as if the words had simply tumbled out on their own. Lost in how tenderly you touched him, how your hands never once left his body even as he held himself firm as stone, how you entrusted him with the most painful parts of yourself, how you gently coaxed him away from the shadows threatening to drag him back into a darkness he’d never recover from – he’d never been so certain of anything in his life.  

“I love you,” he said again, just wanting to hear it one more time. His voice was stronger this time, steadier, and he could feel his cheeks curving up into a smile. It ached from disuse, but it was a pleasant feeling. A kind one.  

He slipped his hand to rest on yours as it laid against his face and gently pulled it back just enough to kiss at your palm. It wasn’t often he found you at a loss for words, but it he didn’t mind the silence, not like he did before. He could still hear the slight hitch of surprise in your breath, the nervous laughter carrying in your exhale. You were smiling so wide, he wondered if it were even possible to love you more than he did in that moment.  

“Really?”  

God, you were so beautiful when you looked at him like that. Starry eyed and so full of hope.  

He nodded. “Yeah. I do.” 

You kissed him then, full on his mouth, arms thrown around his neck, and he had to stifle a laugh against your lips. He could feel the smile growing against him, laughing in between every kiss as the tears dried on your cheeks.  

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you beamed, drawing him in to kiss him again. 

He shouldn’t be surprised after all you’d said to him tonight, but it still fluttered in his chest, still caused butterflies to swarm in his stomach, still cast a blinding light deep into his heart that pushed out the remaining darkness lingering behind. His arm snaked around your back, holding you as tight against him as he could manage. He was breathless by the time you pulled away.  

“Will you stay?” he asked, suddenly feeling nervous as his eyes flickered over to the bedroom door. “I know it’s a mess out here, but—” 

Your lips were on his again and he swore he’d never talk again as long as you kept kissing him like that. Slowly, you began to stand from the couch, tugging him along with you. He pulled away from your lips just long enough to navigate his way to the bedroom, stepping over broken glass and the remnants of his nightmare on the living room floor.  

His bedroom was untouched, at least. The sheets were thrown haphazardly off the bed, but other than that, it was pristine in comparison to the damage he’d done out there. A shame tried to work its way deep into his chest, but he felt your hand slip into his, carefully drawing him close to the bed, and it released him to your care.  

His back bounced against the mattress in tune with the sweet sound of your laughter as you crawled over him. Thighs caging his hips, you straddled his waist and he looked up at you, certain he’d find a glimmering shine of a halo behind your head. The moonlight touched over your shoulders as you leaned down against him, kissing his lips. 

He’d missed you so much. Those two weeks left him in a hole he couldn’t possibly dig himself out of on his own. He was scraping at the bottom, nails filled with dirt, digging himself deeper and deeper until he could no longer see the sunlight as it touched over the surface. It wasn’t until you jumped down into the pit with him that he noticed there were notches in a wall once perfectly smooth, allowing him to crawl his way back up to the top.  

You leaned back a little, breathless, as your hands slid along his chest. It was the first time he’d been so exposed in front of you, the scars and burns on full display, and he was surprised that there was no hesitancy in your touch, no reluctance as you brushed your fingertips over the corners of the damage to his skin. But you paused, eyes flickering to him.  

“Can I?” 

Bucky sighed, his heart aching. You knew how difficult it was for him, for you to see this part of him. He hadn't even taken off his jacket once in the first few weeks of knowing you. But now, he nodded eagerly, wanting to feel the tenderness with which you handled him upon the broken remains of his left side.  

Your hands slid up over his shoulder, brushing along the bumps and ridges in his skin. Hardened tissue and raised edges. The way you touched him, like he was something beautiful and adored, made his heart swell. It wasn’t until you leaned down to press a feathered kiss to his shoulder, just over the burn marks and the glimpse of what he’d lost, that he choked back tears.  

“Is it too much?” you asked, noticing the trembling in his lower lip, but he quickly shook his head. 

“It’s perfect,” he replied breathily, drawing you back to his lips. “You’re perfect. I don’t deserve—” 

“Hush,” you warned, kissing him to cut him off, “don’t talk about the man I love like that. You deserve every ounce of love I can give you, you hear me?” 

He stared at you for a moment, studying the sincerity on your features until the gravity of what you said sank in, and slowly, he nodded. It would take time to believe that, but he hoped the more you said it, the easier it would come. He’d believe just about anything if it came from your voice.  

“Let me show you.” 

Bucky stilled; his throat suddenly dry.

“Let me show you, Bucky,” you asked again, your lips against his neck. He shivered. You sucked at his skin, drawing a map along his collarbone. You tongue licked at the indent by his neck. “Please.” 

When you met his eyes again, Bucky wondered if maybe you saw him with the same wonder and enchantment with which he saw you. It only took the slight tilt of a nod before you crossed your arms over your waist and slowly pulled your shirt up over your head. Your bra came next and Bucky shifted uncomfortably, realizing you were still straddling him, his hardening length prominent against your thigh. 

He stared up at you, studying over the curves of your breasts, the dips in your hips, untouched and exposed – so incredibly beautiful.  

He stopped himself as the thought entered his mind, the wondering whether he deserved such beauty in his life, wondering how he’d managed to trick the cruel twist of karma to allow him to love a woman like this – to love you like this. 

He cast away the doubt, forcing it back to the shadows where it belonged. It was easier to do that when you smiled at him like that, like he was truly worth something.  

You laid down against his chest as his hand slid up along your spine, feeling for the slight dip in your back and the goosebumps following in his wake. You shivered under his touch and for the first time, Bucky remembered what it felt like to be wanted.  

He couldn’t stop kissing you, even as your hands slipped to his waistband. It was like you breathed new life back into him; reviving him with every touch.  

He helped you push down the band of his pants until you could easily drag it down his legs and drop it to the floor by his bed. It had been a long time since he was so vulnerable in front of a woman, but he didn’t mind when you looked at him the way you did. There was no ounce of judgement in your eyes, no cautious glance to his shoulder and the absence there. There was only love.  

You slipped the remaining clothes from your body and Bucky held his breath as you climbed over him again, straddling his waist, bare. 

Bucky was trembling as he reached for the drawer at his bedside. Blindly digging around for a box in the back of the drawer, he felt for the edge of foil wrapping. He brought it to his teeth, careful to rip the packaging, though as he held it in one hand, he let out a heavy sigh.  

“Would you...?” he asked, a blush creeping up into his cheeks.  

He didn’t know why he was so embarrassed, given that you were both naked, but this was one of those things he couldn’t do for himself. It would have felt emasculating if it weren’t for how eagerly you nodded and how good it felt as you placed the condom on his tip and slowly rolled it down his base. He closed his eyes, sinking back into the pillow at the feeling, wondering how he was going to survive this. 

“You alright there, honey?” you called, giggling under your breath and, damn, if it wasn’t the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.  

“I won’t last long,” he admitted, his hand sliding up along your waist, thumb brushing over your breast. He tried to catch the whimper as it left his lips to no avail.  

You smirked. “I think we’ve waited long enough. Don’t you think?”  

You sank down on him and he choked back a moan, embarrassingly loud, but it only seemed to spur you on as you rolled your hips, giving him little time to adjust. You were so tight, squeezing around him, and – holy shit – when you dragged yourself against him, using him as you sought out the angle you were looking for, he’d never felt anything like it. 

He held his breath, focusing on the ceiling as he listened to the sweet sounds you made as your hands curled against his chest, hair falling down into your face. He knew he wouldn’t last as long as he wanted— hell, he would have stayed in you like this for hours if he could have – and it was taking near everything he had to hold out long enough for you to finish.  

Thankfully, you were just as riled up as he was – high on missing him, aching in the distance – and Bucky gasped as he felt your walls clench around him with the rushed circles between your legs. You picked up in pace and Bucky found himself meeting you half way, thrusting up into you as he braced himself on the headboard.  

“Oh God – Bucky,” you whimpered, your chest falling down to his, unable to hold yourself up. He kissed your neck, his hand sliding from around the wooden of the baseboard to grip your hips.  

If he could, he would have had a hand on your breast, teasing at the nipple, the other sliding down to the space between your bodies, rubbing circles on the nerves that left you so breathless you could hardly hold yourself up. But he was learning again, getting used to his body and his limits, and all he could focus on was holding you, guiding your hips, giving him leverage to fill you whole.  

Judging from the sounds you were making, your body molding like puddy against him, you didn’t mind at all. 

“I’m close,” you gasped, breath hot against his neck. “Ah, God, Bucky... I’m-- I’m--” 

He could feel it before the words left your lips, the clench in your walls, the spasms in your muscles that left you weak against him, overstimulated as you pulled your hand away from your clit. Your cries gave him the permission he needed to let go, only a few more thrusts was all it took, and he shuttered as he came.  

Breathless, hardly able to control the laugh as it bubbled in his chest, Bucky could hardly believe that he started this night in the darkest place he’d been in months, only to end up lying here with you, so full of light and love he could hardly stand it.  

He didn’t let you go at first, just wanting to hold you a little longer. He felt the sweet touch of your lips as they trailed along his neck, smile brimming against his ear. Then slowly, you rolled off of him, gently removing the condom and tossing it to the bin. A shiver slipped up his spine at the touch.  

“I’m sorry I pushed you away,” Bucky confessed as you laid against his chest, curling up to his side. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “Don’t let me do that again, okay? I can’t stand to go another day without you.” 

You smiled against his chest, your fingers tracing along the lines on his shoulder, touching over old scars and burns. You traced them as if they were simply lines on his body, just another piece of him worth loving, worth memorizing. He wondered if the next time he saw them in the mirror, he might remember this moment and see them for something more than the evidence of his loss that day. Maybe, he might see them the way you did – as evidence of his survival.  

“I love you,” you sighed and Bucky felt his heart swell; it grew and expanded so wide inside his chest, he wondered if his bones might bend to make room as it split him so lovely at the seams.  

“I love you, too.” He curled his arm tighter around your shoulders, drawing you close to his side. Over your shoulder, a cast of moonlight seeped in through the windows, touching over your skin, illuminating the room in a gentle glow. He closed his eyes as sleep drew him near, comforted by the patterns you drew against his shoulder. 

When he fell asleep, he fell willingly – protected in your embrace, safe, from the nightmares laying in wake.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

could i pls get a part 2 of elevator with dream🥺 the way that they show their vulnerable sides to each other is adorable <3

yes! of course! i still kept this pretty fluffy but in another request, someone asked for smut so it's a little spicy.

𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

pairing: dream x reader (dre™ my beloved)

warnings: light smut (i didn't completely write it out I'm sorry), a virgin reader, language, fwb kinda, mentions of sexual content

previous part: elevator

After nearly two hours, the elevator began to buzz with life, hoisting up to the floor where Clay and Sapnap lived. The two of you had bonded in the dim, red elevator, coming out of the cramped room as friends when you had previously just been an odd mix of acquaintance and mutual. Sapnap stood in the threshold, an apologetic look on his face as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

You and Clay became nearly inseparable. You found yourself showing up at his apartment for him just as much as for Sapnap. There were even times when you’d text Sapnap to see if he was busy when your roommate would be trying to shove you out the door and he’d send Clay over instead. His presence always made it awkward for your roommate’s boyfriend and while you hated to admit it, it was hilarious.

“So, you do what kind of farming?” Clay asked from his spot beside you, leaning on the counter with his eyes zoning out to watch your hands as you cooked.

Her boyfriend---who the two of you often referred to as Ricky Fitts behind his back---sighed. He had explained his profession to Clay numerous times, but the manner in which he did it was so pretentious that Clay was addicted to picking at him for it. “It’s botanical gardening. Not farming,” he groaned. “In simple man’s terms, I curate a garden for plant research and help to diversify the plant species in the area.”

Clay nodded. “And how many strains of marijuana do you have in the span of, say, a year.”

“I’m not going over this with you again,” he nipped, making Clay look down in mock defeat.

He sighed longingly before straightening up. “Okay, fine. So, hypothetically speaking, how many strains.”

Ricky stared at him blankly and you knew if you looked up, you’d break character. “Don’t the two of you have somewhere to be? Like a cave or something?”

Clay let out a short laugh. “I’m free all night actually,” he spoke, smirking slightly. “Did you wanna check out a cave with me, baby?” Clay asked him, fluttering his eyelashes.

The two of you often rode the bus together; Clay's height mimicking a skyscraper over you to grab at the bar or handle above you and kneeing you in the butt just because you were short enough that he could. That would usually end in you elbowing him in the gut. When you were coming back from class was when you were a bit quieter usually, nearly falling asleep as you stood by him and then fighting off a blush when he would wrap an arm around you just to keep you balanced upright. When he had first ridden the bus, you had completely forgotten what had told him in the elevator.

Your fingers tightened around the pole attaching the overhead bus shelf to the ground, attempting to steady yourself as you stared out the window adjacent to you. The bus screeched to a halt, jolting you forward slightly. The sea of new people obstructed your view, namely a tall figure as he sidestepped through the crowd of people. You furrowed your brows, brushing your hand against Clay’s arm to capture his attention.

He removed his headphones after pretending not to recognize you. He greeted you and grabbed onto the bar you had commandeered, leaning on the bus wall beside you. “Don’t you have a car?” You asked, reaching out to lightly pull on the lanyard sticking out of his pocket.

He smirked, brushing your hand off. “It’s dangerous down there, careful,” he jeered, making you roll your eyes at his lude joke. “Is there something wrong with supporting local businesses?”

Your brows knitted together in disbelief. “We’re on a city bus, Dream.” He shrugged. You bit your lip slightly, your mind breaking off into another explanation. “You wouldn’t be stalking me, would you?” You baited, a ghost of a blush settling over his cheeks.

He reached forward to cover your mouth. “You ask too many questions.”

He moved closer to let someone have the seat beside him, his hand settling to the space just above yours as your sides threatened to touch. You bit back the idea that Clay was following you around, finding a silent pleasure in that fact. He would probably never admit it fully.

He towered over you as the bus swayed, you having to lean back slightly in order to talk to him. “So, are you gonna walk me to class too then, simp?” You mocked, making him shake his head.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I’m not a simp, thanks,” he answered with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “And maybe I will.”

You crossed your legs, knees popping as you bent out of your previous position on the kitchen floor with your back pressed against one of the sink’s cabinet doors. Clay was on his back, shoulders emerged in that same cupboard as he messed with the sink. You handed him a tool that he vaguely asked for, your eyes lingering on his old high school shirt celebrating some kind of sports achievement.

You chewed the inside of your cheek. “Dream?” You got his attention, delaying your question. He hummed in acknowledgment. “How many people have you slept with?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Let me think,” he murmured, making you snicker. “Three.”

“You had to think about that?” You joshed.

He chuckled at your words. “Well, I mean. No one’s asked me what my body count is since like… I don’t know honestly.” He peeked out at you momentarily. “Why? You looking to be number four?” He jeered, a smirk brushing across his lips as you rolled your eyes.

You huffed sarcastically. “Yeah, you wish,” you mumbled, fighting not to blush.

“Maybe I do,” he stated plainly.

You opened your mouth to retort, but Sapnap walked in, peering down at his phone with an unbending concentration. Clay sat up beside you, flashing you a look before Sapnap began to speak. “I have a date. I just wanted you guys to know,” he stated before grabbing his coat off of one of the hooks. He finally looked up from his phone, lazily point a finger at the pair of you. “Don’t hook up. It’ll make it awkward for me and I’m not ready to deal with you guys being together yet.”

Clay laughed and your ears warmed, rolling your eyes as he left the two of you with his words.

After an hour, Sapnap’s words were blown to the wind as Clay’s fingers carded through your hair, his lips pressed against yours in some kind of heated passion to prove himself to you; that he was worthy of being with you in such an intimate way.

You weren’t hesitant, to say the least, and had even initiated the manner as the sun had begun to set. You had been sitting beside each other, lazily discussing your sex lives and lack-there-of.

“So, these three… Do you still keep in touch?” You asked him, watching as his green eyes searched yours for the reason behind your questions. The deep orange rays of the sunset peeked through the blinds to reflect against his blond hair.

He shook his head. “They were all me being stupid, basically. I didn’t really like any of them,” he admitted, making your stomach turn. “What about you? What’s your number?”

You shrugged. “Zero,” you snorted.

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Oh, that’s right. I knew that,” he recounted as if he were remembering what you’d told him when the two of you were trapped in the elevator. “Um… Why?”

You shrugged again. “I’ve never trusted anyone enough.” He barely bit his lip, nodding in understanding. You cleared your throat. “It’s not that it’s a big deal to me or anything, I just… I’d like to feel safe during it, at least,” you clarified.

“It’s okay if it’s a big deal,” he stated. “It was important to me too at one point. I just…” he sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I got caught up in the pressure of losing it.”

You nodded, letting a breath of silence pass between the two of you. “Would you want to…” You looked away from him, biting back a grin at how stupid you were about to sound. “Would you want to take my virginity?”

He nearly giggled. “You feel safe with me?”

You snorted. “Yeah. I mean, I like you,” you answered, biting back a laugh. The air between you was mellow and easy. You had thrown your awkwardness out the window after Sapnap had left. “I mean, you’re one of my best friends, you know. But it’s just an offer.”

He grinned, a dusting of red settling in his cheeks from the pride he was beaming at you. “No, I want to. I just… I want you to be sure.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. “Yeah, I’m sure. But if it’s too much pressure and everything, like I get it.”

He chuckled. “Quit. I’m honored honestly.”

You laughed. “Okay, then do it,” you stated.

And there the two of you were, Clay’s breath warm against your skin as he knotted his fingers with yours, moaning as you ground your hips against his. You could tell he was holding back for your sake, being as gentle as he could and trying not to crush you under his massive frame.

When you had pictured losing your virginity in the past, you’d always thought your body would be urging you to be thinking of something else, racing with pure terror as your partner got themselves off to get it over with. But Clay’s hands were careful, slowly introducing you to different sensations and testing the waters for you. Your mind was only focused on the fact that Clay smelled like lavender; the scent lingering on his clothes and in his hair.

You slipped your hands under the hem of his shirt, before pulling it over his head. You hadn’t seen him naked before, but heat flushed to your cheeks at the view of him, even if he had pressed you into another kiss as soon as he had discarded his shirt. As he pressed a leg between yours, you moaned, fingers traveling along the length of his spine. His taste of bitter coffee and mint was becoming your new obsession as his tongue pressed into your mouth, grinding his hips against yours.

He leaned off of you to remove your shirt, every instinct telling you to cover back up, but he brushed it off, pressing his lips to yours again as his thumb gently brushed against your side. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you’re hot,” he joked, making you giggle as he lightened the mood.

“You’re so charming,” you mocked, running your fingers into his hair as his lips pressed against your neck lovingly.

He chuckled. “Only when you’re around,” he answered, making you laugh again.

The next morning, you sat beside Clay at the breakfast table, the two of you chatting about a movie you were planning on seeing later in the day. Sapnap strolled in, eyeing you carefully with his lips pursed. You both looked up at him as if to motion for him to spit out whatever was bothering him.

Sapnap took to the chair on the other side of Clay after pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Okay, so am I supposed to pretend I didn’t see you sneaking out of Dream’s room this morning?” He gestured between the two of you. “And now you’re wearing each other’s hoodies.” Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Clay look down with a small “what?” whispering from his lips quietly. “I mean come on, that one was mine at one point,” he continued, his comments mainly directed at you.

You scoffed. “Am I supposed to pretend you didn’t come back until an hour ago and I know you don’t carry condoms?” You countered.

Clay let out a soft gasp. “Sapnap… safe sex.” At this point he was just the Sophoclean chorus; the peanut gallery.

Sapnap sent you a sarcastic grin, disregarding your statement. “Am I supposed to pretend like I didn’t tell you guys not to hook up and you did?” Clay sipped his drink at this. “I mean, look at you two!” He swatted his finger to point at where the two of your hands were joined together.

In reality, you weren’t even sure when Clay had grabbed your hand or even that you here holding onto him as well. “Am I supposed to pretend like you didn’t do that on purpose so we didn’t bother you for a few hours?” You shot back.

Sapnap’s mouth dramatically tilted, brows raised in shock. “A Few. Hours?”

You covered your mouth as Clay laughed beside you.

Tag List: (follow this link to be added :))

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 7

Chapter 1     Chapter 6

Marinette rubbed her head as though the action might actually have an effect on her throbbing headache.  It hadn’t any time she’d tried it in the last hour, but it gave her brain the illusion that she was doing something to help other than just waiting for the painkillers to kick in.  The action also gave her something to focus on other than the pounding hangover from not getting nearly drunk enough last night.  Because somehow despite the massive amounts she, Jason, and Roy had drunk last night, all of her problems still existed.  Utter bullshit, that.  And now she still had to deal with all her problems and felt like crap on top of it.  Double bullshit.

She adjusted her sunglasses again, fighting the urge to squint because squinting hurt.  Although honestly, she wasn’t sure which hurt more, the florescent lights, the sunlight beaming through the hotel windows, or squinting.  She was sure there was some way to settle the glasses on her face to block out all light, she just hadn’t been able to figure it out.  She now realized why people significantly smarter than her wore those godawful, ugly glasses that wrap around their head and cut out all sun.

She took a deep breath and braced herself for the full blast of a suspiciously sunny Gotham morning. Gotham has like three sunny days a year and one of them is today?  What the Hell did she do to Tikki to deserve the last few days?  She wandered out of the hotel still contemplating revenge. How does one get revenge against a god anyway?  How many ways can she destroy cookies?

She didn’t get more than a few steps before she sensed someone in front of her.  She weaved slightly to the left but quickly realized there was someone there too.  She weaved to the right and finally looked up when she realized there was someone there. There were people all around her, taking pictures of her, shoving phones in her face as they yelled questions at her.

She stumbled back a few steps and blinked at the group of reporters that had apparently been camping out in front of the hotel for her.  She quickly plastered on one of Adrien’s patented PR smiles and nodded to them. She tried to push through them, expecting them to move out of her way, as they did in Paris for Adrien.  But reporters in Gotham clearly did not show the same respect that Parisian reporters did because none of them moved out of her way.  

Her smile strained slightly as she looked to the one in front of her.  “Excuse me, please,” she requested in the most sickeningly sweet voice she could manage.

The reporter sent back an excited smile.  “Ms. Dupain Cheng, would you care to comment on your relationship with your family? Perhaps explain why Gotham hadn’t had the pleasure of your presence before?”

Marinette looked the reporter up and down.  She looked at the group surrounding her, noting how they had closed the circle to the point of touching her.  She’d been to raves with more personal space.  She moved to push through a small gap between reporters, but stopped when they quickly closed the gap.  Marinette gritted her teeth and widened her smile.  “There’s a reason we’ve chosen not to speak about this and that reason was NOT to discuss it in an exclusive with you at this exact moment.  Now if you will excuse me, I would very, very much like to get some coffee.  I’m sure you can understand the difficulty of starting a day without it.”

She gave them a conspiratorial smile, hoping if they felt like they were in on the joke they would let her through. Instead, her response emboldened the reporters, who started shouting out her name and more questions.

“Will you attend more Wayne functions now?”

Marinette didn’t even know which reporter shouted the question to address them if she wanted.  She huffed and decided to give up on pleasantries.  She was hung over.  She was hungry.  She wanted coffee.  “Why would people change a relationship that doesn’t involve you because you know about it?” she grunted as she tried to push through the cracks between people.  

The reporters closed ranks tighter around her, making it impossible for her to break through without injuring someone, which she was sure was the plan of at least a few of them.  Whether it was to get a more salacious story or to sue Bruce Wayne, she wasn’t sure.  Probably both.  She looked back to the hotel lobby hoping the concierge would see her predicament and help her, but he was determinedly ignoring the scene in front of the hotel.

She set her jaw and prepared herself to create a scene channeling her best imitation of an irate Chloe Bourgeoisie.  She’d deal with the fallout later.  Right now, she needed to get out of this situation before someone actually did push a little too hard and tiny gods decided to curse the city.  She opened her mouth to yell but instead heard someone else’s voice boom through the crowd.

“I think my sister told you to leave her the fuck alone.”

Marinette looked around to try to find the source of the voice but couldn’t see past the wall of reporters.  She didn’t have to wait long for him to push his way through the crowd like a wrecking ball, not worrying about injuring anyone as he shoved his way through.  Jason stopped in front of her with a smirk.  “She just says it in a much more polite way than I do.”  He held up a bag and a tray of coffee.  “I come bearing gifts so you don’t have to deal with this shit out there somewhere.”  

Marinette shot him a grateful smile and turned back toward the hotel.  “That sounds brilliant.  Thank you.”

Jason winked at her.  “I got you.”

They didn’t stop or even look at each other until the elevator doors closed behind them.  Marinette leaned against the wall and finally took a full breath.  She looked over to Jason with another grateful smile.  “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting that and I…” She looked down for a moment to collect her thoughts.  “I wasn’t prepared.  I’ll do better next time.”

Jason’s eyes softened.  The press was a lot for all of them to get used to.  None of them had taken naturally to it, especially Gotham’s press.  They at least had the advantage of starting young and knowing what to expect, not to mention since they were kids, the press didn’t have a lot of chances to get to them.  Marinette had just been thrown out there without a life preserver.  Bruce didn’t even send any guards.  “Don’t worry about it.  I thought you could use the save.”

Marinette laughed and narrowed her eyes at him.  “That was a socially acceptable version of a kidnapping.  I had no way of getting out of that without exposing that there is no relationship.”

“Should have just exposed it then,” he shrugged, not remotely nonplussed by her comment.  “I just thought you could use some sustenance after last night.”  He held up the bag for her as they exited the elevator and made their way to her room.  “I know you must be used to fancy French food so I got a variety of food from the best bakery in town.  And I didn’t know how you take your coffee or if you prefer tea so I got both and lots of sugar and creamer.”

Marinette giggled as she opened her door.  “You’re not wrong.  My parents owned a patisserie.  I grew up on the best baked goods in France.”

Jason blinked a few times at her before setting the drinks and food on the coffee table.  “That’s it, next family reunion is at your place.”

“Not so sure that’s going to be a thing,” she said quietly.  She reached for one of the croissants and ripped off a small piece, popping it in her mouth.  “Not really sure I count as family.  That’s kind of been made clear.”

“Yeah well, we didn’t know and we’d like to get to know you, if you’re okay with it,” he said biting off a chunk of cheese Danish. “Look, I’m not looking for family dinners and brunches and shit, I just… want to make sure you’re okay.”  He looked up at her earnestly for a moment before his eyes turned mischievous.  “Although if you grew up in a bakery, I might want all that at your parents’ place.”

“At least you’re asking.  That’s something anyway,” she grumbled as she took another small bite.  

“Speaking of family, where is model boy?”

Marinette puckered her lips in disapproval as she watched the crumbs fall from Jason’s mouth as he spoke.  She looked away before she snapped at him.  “He and Max went apartment hunting.”

“Without you?” Jason asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Neither of them were suffering from a raging hangover that took double the normal dosage of painkillers just to take the edge off of,” she said pointedly.

“Coffee,” Jason grunted, motioning toward the coffee. “Lots of coffee and food and water.” He pushed the bag toward her. “Not the bird bites you’ve been taking.”

She studied the croissant in front of her with a furrowed brow as though it had some kind of answers for her.  She nearly dropped it when she heard a knock on the door. She looked through the peephole and gasped, flinching back from the door.  Jason immediately jumped up and ran over to her.  “What is it?  Another reporter?”

“No,” Marinette rasped out, her eyes never leaving the door.  “Worse.” Her heart started racing and her breathing became labored.  She wasn’t ready for this.  She wasn’t ready to speak with him.  What was she supposed to say?  How was she supposed to speak with him?  She didn’t even know how she felt yet.  She hadn’t sorted through this all yet.  Tears threatened to fall from her eyes.  She wasn’t ready.  This was happening too fast.

She flinched visibly when he knocked again. He’d had time to prepare.  He’d had time to think this through.  He knew how he felt about this.  He’d had time to plan and prepare.  She had none of that and here he was on her doorstep.  He knew about her and she knew nothing about him. He was ready and she wasn’t given that chance.  

She was just expected to deal with it.  She was just expected to handle it.  She was just expected to accept it.  He’d created this entire situation and she was left to pick up the pieces and move on.  And now he was here.  He was on her figurative doorstep in person and now she had to deal with it, on his timetable, according to his preference, because yet again it all had to be done on his terms.  Her preferences didn’t matter.  Her feelings didn’t matter.  Her opinion didn’t matter.

“Want me to kick their ass out?” Jason offered already reaching for the handle.

Marinette shook her head and let out a calming breath. He thinks he can come in after twenty years gone and act like everything is fine and expect her to play nice, he has another thing coming.  He wanted a detached relationship?  She could do that.  She’d seen it enough growing up with Adrien and Chloe’s parents.  She knew how to play the game.

She shook her hands to get the tension out before finally reaching out to open the door.  “Mr. Wayne.  This is an unexpected pl… experience,” she stuttered.  She mentally grimaced.  She was showing weakness.  She needed to be strong.  She plastered on a clearly fake smile.  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being weak.  She wouldn’t cry for him.  She hadn’t cried because of him in the twenty years he’d been absent, she wouldn’t do it now.

Bruce took a breath.  “Marinette…”  He froze for a second.  He hadn’t thought hard enough about this.  He knew what he wanted to say, what he wanted to tell her, but he hadn’t thought about how to tell her, how to lead into it.  “I was hoping to speak with you,” he rushed out, wincing internally at the sound of it.

“Well, that’s a first,” she scoffed before she could stop herself.  She slapped her hand over her mouth and mentally berated herself.  What was she doing?  She was supposed to be calm not cruel.  She was losing this game!

Jason grinned and propped his arms behind his head as he kicked out his legs, the very picture of relaxed.  “I like her.  I’m keeping her.”

Marinette shot him an appreciative smile but Bruce did a double take, frowning at the sight.  His mind raced as to what it meant that Jason was there.  Was it good?  It was good, wasn’t it?  She was getting close to one of her brothers already.  But that brother was Jason, and despite the fact that he loved Jason, he was well aware their relationship was still contentious at best.  Not exactly the best brother for her to get close to. And he was already encouraging her hostility against him.  Not that he didn’t deserve it, he knew he did, it was just that any of the other brothers would help mitigate that hostility.  Jason would fan it.  “Jason, what are you doing here?”

“Brought baked goods and coffee,” he answered casually, a smirk making its way onto his face.  “You?”

Bruce let out a heavy sigh through his nose and smoothed out his face.  Getting annoyed now would do nothing for his goal.  If Marinette was connecting to Jason, getting frustrated with him would just push her further away.  “As I mentioned, I was hoping I could speak with Marinette about the… situation.  I wanted…”

“‘The situation’,” Jason mocked shaking his head at Bruce.  God was he always this bad with his kids?  He thought it was just him.  “Way to sound sincere, B.”

Bruce’s lips pursed until they were no longer visible. He didn’t need Jason sabotaging him right now.  He was doing a good enough job of it on his own.  “I’d like to speak with Marinette on our own, please.  Why don’t you go home?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide and her chest clenched. She didn't want Jason to leave.  She wasn't ready for Jason to leave.  Once Jason left it was just her and him.  Just thinking about it suddenly she couldn't breathe.  Suddenly the air felt too thin and too heavy at the same time.  No.  She needed somebody else here.  

Jason shot a look over to Marinette, letting his eyes pass over Marinette like he hadn’t been noting her body language.  He let his eyes wander for a second before returning to Bruce with a tilt to his head.  “No.  I’m witnessing this, unless Pixie tells me to go home.”

Marinette could have kissed him… on the cheek. Because he was her br… it was complicated.  But she was beyond grateful he had spoken up for her.  She let out the breath she’d been holding and raised an eyebrow at him. “Pixie?”

“Small, violent,” Jason grinned at her.

Marinette laughed and playfully narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine, whatever, Goliath.”

Jason leaned back again.  “Oh, no, that one’s already taken.  By a dragon bat, no less.”

Marinette’s face scrunched in confusion.  She tried to search through her Americanisms for what a dragon bat could be.  It had to be a species of bat right?  Maybe? But then again it was American English so for all she knew it could be a flower.  “A what?”

“Jason!” Bruce admonished.  He was really not looking forward to trying to explain what a dragon bat was or how Damian came to be in possession of one.

Jason rose up enough to grab one of the croissants and shove half of it into his mouth before he spoke.  “I’ll introduce you sometime, or Damian will have to actually… which he won’t.  I’ll show you a picture, you seem like the kind of person who likes terrifying animals as long as they’re fuzzy.”

“I… fair,” Marinette conceded easily.

“If I can bring us back to the topic at hand,” Bruce interjected loudly, cutting off any more discussion of dragon bats.

“Family bonding, right?”  Jason cut him off with a pointed look.  “Isn’t that what we were doing?”

Bruce glared at Jason for a few seconds, which did nothing to wipe the smug smirk off his face.  Giving up on Jason, Bruce focused on Marinette.  “At the gala you mentioned you didn’t plan on being in town much longer, leaving today actually.  I was hoping I could convince you to stay a bit longer.”

Marinette examined him with a dour curiosity.  She cocked her head to the side.  “And why might that be?  You don’t need me here to make an announcement that we prefer to keep our relationship private, hence they didn’t know about me.”

Bruce let out a deep sigh.  That was fair.  It was a fair response.  Sabine had warned him she would be suspicious of him.  “This isn’t for the public,” he assured her.

“Isn’t it?”  She blinked a few times at him, her face blank.  “Are you sure?  It feels like it is.”  She turned to Jason.  “Doesn’t it feel like it is to you?”

“It does indeed,” Jason nodded in agreement, keeping eye contact with Bruce as he did.

“Jason…” he started threateningly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you relying on me to make fixing your fuck up easier for you?  Wrong kid.  You’re looking for Dick or Tim… actually I wouldn’t rely on Tim for help explaining why being an absentee father isn’t actually that bad.”

“Jason, I think it’s time for you to go home,” Bruce growled.

Marinette straightened up and moved between him and Jason.  She wasn’t going to let him bully Jason for standing up for her.  “I don’t think so.  So far he’s the only member of my family I like.”

“Ooh, you should totally give Cass and Steph and Duke a chance too,” Jason offered with a faked enthusiasm as though the confrontation with Bruce didn’t just happen.  He kept his eyes on Marinette but relished the increasingly frustrated scowl on Bruce’s face as they ignored him.

Marinette nodded.  “I’ll consider it.”

“Oh and Alfred… and I guess Tim too.  He’s a prick but he’s alright I guess,” Jason continued.

Marinette blinked at him.  It was like a never ending list of people.  An ongoing list of people he had taken in after walking away from her.  A long list of people he’d cared about and for without having to be pressured into it by the press.  A mile long list of people he wasn’t pretending to care about.  “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“We have a lot,” Jason corrected her.  They were in this together and he’d remind her of that as many times as she needed.  “Alfred isn’t a sibling though.  He’s like a grandfather.”

Marinette paused at that.  She hadn’t considered that.  Another grandfather figure.  Another grandfather that didn’t want anything to do with her.  Sure now Grand-père Roland loved her but for the first fifteen years, he’d known about her and didn’t care.  Maybe it was her.  It had to be her right?  Two grandparents, that isn’t coincidence.  That’s a pattern and the only commonality was her.  She pursed her lips together to focus on something other than the tears welling up behind her eyes.  “Sounds like the kind of person who definitely would have known about me.”

Jason’s eyes widened.  “I… don’t know the answer to that,” he answered slowly.

Marinette nodded, slowly going numb.  “So, what I’m getting from this so far is I have a another grandfather-type figure that knew about me and didn’t feel any kind of interest in me and a ton of people that my father decided were worthy of his love and affection when I wasn’t.  So it isn’t that my father didn’t want to be a father, just that he didn’t want to be my father.”

“That isn’t…” Jason started.  This was going down the wrong path.  He was trying to show her he had her back, not remind her about the pain.  But instead, now Marinette was getting hurt, remembering the pain.  She’d lost her sass and impertinence and now was moving toward hurt.  And she was blaming Alfred.  Alfred was one of the only good things about being a Wayne!

“Jason!  I think it’s time for you to go home.  Now!” Bruce roared.

Marinette contemplated Bruce coldly, numbness consuming her fears and insecurities and morphing into cold, analytic contemplation.  He was blaming Jason.  Her frustration wasn’t because of Jason or anything he said. Her pain wasn’t because of Jason, it was because of him, because of his decisions.  And instead of taking responsibility for it, he was blaming Jason.

Jason blinked a few times, no longer certain of his role in this interaction.  He looked back and forth between Marinette and Bruce, noting Marinette’s hardening features.  She was getting ready for a fight.  He could see it developing, but he wasn’t at all sure Bruce did.  He held up his hands in surrender and sat back down calmly. “I promised I wouldn’t leave unless Pixie asked me to.  I intend to keep my promise to her,” he said calmly.

Bruce glared at him again and faced back to Marinette, a fake smile plastered on.   “As I was saying.  I’d like a chance to get to know you, if you would let me.”

“And how many members of the press did you want to be there when you do?” she inquired sharply.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his forehead.  “That’s not fair.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped and she shook her head at him incredulously.  “Wow. Way to pull the rich, white guy entitlement card. ‘I know everything about this situation has been unbelievably unfair to you, but now I’m being inconvenienced in the mildest way possible and I don’t like it,’” she mocked. She rocked back on her heels and narrowed her eyes at him.  “Rest assured M. Wayne, I do not intend to speak out against you.  Your reputation will not be harmed by me.  Tell the press whatever you want.  I won’t contradict you.  You can relax.”

“Marinette…” he started, unsure of where to go. Everything she had said was so far from the truth, he didn’t know where to start.  Her view of the situation was so skewed, he didn’t know how to put it back on kilter.  His shoulders sagged in defeat.  “This has nothing to do with the press.  I had put plans in motion to get in contact with you before any of this started.  Mr. Fox will confirm that for you if you don’t trust me.  You seem like quite an impressive young lady and I would like to get to know you better, if you’ll give me the chance.”

His tone was contrite and quiet, but Marinette wasn’t done being upset yet.  She wasn’t ready to move on and let go of the anger.  “And if I wasn’t, you would continue to ignore me?  If I was a problem child, if I had social issues, if I couldn’t find a job, you’d continue to treat me like I never existed?  I’ve finally done enough to gain your attention. Oh thank you so much for letting me know.”

“That isn’t what I said,” Bruce rushed to assure her. “I meant to compliment you not say you had to earn my attention.”

Marinette pursed her lips and looked over to Jason. He was looking back at her with sympathetic, concerned eyes.  She let out a long sigh and looked away from them both.  “Look, I meant what I told the press earlier.  I had no intention of you seeing me at the gala.  I had no intention of anyone finding out about me. I didn’t even know there was anything to find out when I made the plan to come here.  And I have no expectation of anything about our relationship changing.”

Bruce perked up slightly, but focused on keeping his body language the same, so she wouldn’t see the difference.  That was an opening; expectation instead of intention. It wasn’t that she intended not to change it, it’s that she didn’t expect it.  “I do,” he assured her, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice, keeping it calm and even.  “I would like to change our relationship.  I would like the chance to explain and try to start to make it up to you.  If you would like to try.  

“If you’re open to it, I can extend your reservation until you are ready to move on, or if you would prefer, you are more than welcome to stay at the manor.  I would love to have you stay with us but I understand that may be overwhelming.  Or, WE has have some flats available, with multiple bedrooms.  You and your friends could stay there for a while.  Your friend is going to need a place to stay while he looks for an apartment, right?

“I’ll leave the choice to you.  Whether we pursue a relationship, if you stay, where you stay; they’re all your choice.  Here,” he handed her a paper with several numbers hand written on it. “These are my numbers; office, home office, cell phone, manor.  You can use any of them to contact me.”

Marinette took the paper impassively.  She squeezed her other hand in an effort to keep the tremble from being too obvious.  “Thank you, M. Wayne.  I will consider your words.”

Bruce nodded, letting the very formal use of his name wash away.  This was still progress.  This was still movement in the right direction, even if it wasn’t as much as he would want.  He knew it could take a long time.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to fix this today.  “Thank you, Marinette.  That’s all I can ask for.  And I’m sorry for ambushing you here.  I tried to call and text you all yesterday to set up a time to talk in person so you could prepare but it seems like your phone was off.”  

He let out a small breath seeing her eyes widen at his admission.  That had to be a good sign.  Maybe he actually said the right thing for once.  He nodded to her and left her to think, hoping Jason would urge her to call. He seemed to want a relationship with her as well.  Hopefully, he would realize this was the best way to get that.

Jason sighed and looked up at her as soon as the door closed behind Bruce.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not.  It’s… it’s a lot.  I think I want to be alone,” Marinette said absently staring at the numbers in her hand.

Jason nodded.  “It is.  I understand. If you want to talk, at all, about anything.  About where to drink in town, best burger, anything, give me a call.”  He gently took the paper Bruce had handed her out of hand, letting her decide if she gave it to him or not.  When she let go, he put his number on it as well.  “I only have one number, but now you have it.”

Marinette nodded at him.  “Thank you, Jason.”

Jason hesitated briefly.  “For what it’s worth, if you decide to stay you should take him up on the flat.  The hotel is stupid expensive and WE offers the flat to visiting collaborators all the time, so it’s not like it’s all that special… if you want to avoid being treated special.”

Marinette nodded at his words, barely taking them in as her mind tried to fight the numbing process.  Jason watched her tentatively.  “You look like a hugger,” he said uncertainly.  “Did you… do you want a, um, a hug?”  

Marinette looked over at him and blinked a few times, not sure how to take his words, partly because he seemed unsure of them himself, but partly because things were having a harder time permeating her brain right now.  Jason took her curious look as doubt.  “Oh come on. It’s fine.  I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.  Trust me.  I tell Dick to fuck off enough when he tries to hug me.  I have no problem saying no to hugs I don’t want.  I’m offering because I mean it.”

Marinette blinked a few more times but finally nodded vacantly.  Jason pulled her into a warm, comforting hug.  After a few moments he pulled away.  “It will all be okay.  No matter what you decide, it will all be okay.  And no matter what you decide, I’m here.  Nobody’s replacing you as my sister.  So get ready for some completely inappropriate Christmas presents this year.”

Marinette smiled absently at his joke, her eyes never meeting his.  “Thanks, Jason.”  She leaned against the door after she closed it behind him and slid down it, staring blankly at nothing.  The room felt colder than it was before, but she couldn’t manage to care enough to get up and get a blanket.  She thought there might have been ambient noise going on around her but none of it registered.  Nothing registered.  Not the numbing sensation that was rapidly overtaking her body from her fingers and toes up to her head until she stopped feeling anything.  Not even the point she was staring at.  She didn’t know how long she stared at the nothingness before black overtook her vision and she passed out.

Chapter 8

Tags:

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[shortkingvi]

How was bumbleby's first time with a strapon?

you really do attract the energy you put out into the universe 😔😔

sxhsgvdgvsdchsdv but fine,,,,,,,,,,, i'm writing a little drabble just for u anon

edit: i was halfway through writing the first version of this and it got deleted so just know this is fuelled by SO MUCH ANGER right now

blake and yang find a... very interesting shop in vacuo and take full advantage of its wares:

Vacuo was different, that was the Yang's immediate thought when the group first made it to Shade. It was unlike any other continent she had seen; there were less rules here, less expectations, less concern for the decorum and appropriateness that had plagued them in Atlas. People were more open and free here and she understood why Sun spoke so highly of it back at Beacon. So yeah, different, but not bad, and maybe better than anywhere else Yang had seen so far.

Then again, that might have something to do with the dark haired woman to her left, currently searching through a clothing rack for a more weather appropriate pair of pants.

The island had been terrifying for all of them. Monsters, beasts, Neo, had snapped at their heels the entire time they were there. More than once, they found themselves facing down the very death they had miraculously avoided when they all fell off those narrow pathways. No one was sure if they'd make it out, and it took a toll on them all.

And yet, in the midst of the monstrous, beast-filled, Neo-ness of it all, Blake and Yang managed to find their way to each other. The island was terrifying, sure, but it had also given Yang so much at the same time. She now knew the taste of Blake's lips, the feel of her soft skin against Yang's hands, the sound of her quiet moans as Yang's fingers worked patiently inside of her.

Biting the inside of her cheek to break herself out of thoughts she most definitely should not be having in the middle of a clothing store, Yang settled her palm at the small of Blake's back, leaning in close.

"You almost done?" she whispered, her lips glancing against Blake's ear with every word. "I was thinking we could head back to the room, relax for the night."

Yang felt more than saw Blake's smirk, cheek pressed against hers in an attempt to feel every inch of her she could.

"Relax, huh?" Blake teased. "I was actually planning on getting some exercise in. A little cardio, if you're interested in helping out with that."

Nipping at Blake's ear, Yang sent her away and towards the storefront with a swat on her ass. Blake paid quickly, tossing some lien onto the counter without waiting for her change and pulling Yang out the door.

They walked through the main square quickly, tracing the increasingly familiar path back towards Shade in their haste and excitement. Yang found it hard to focus on much aside from Blake's swaying hips just a few steps ahead of her, but a brightly lit storefront suddenly caught her eye.

Yang came to a stop, reaching out and catching Blake's hand in her metal one before she could lose her in the crowd; The White Rabbit, the sign read, illuminated in neon reds and yellows. Yang studied the shop, chewing on the end of her nail as she peered through the window. It was covered by dark red velvet, hiding what was inside and making Yang want to find out.

"Yang, what are you doing?" Blake asked, squeezing her hand a couple of times to get her attention.

"Nothing, I just... I think Coco was telling me about this place. She didn't tell me what it was though, just that you and I might like it. I kinda wanna check it out."

"Yang, have you forgotten what we were all but running to go do just a minute ago?"

Yang sighed, weighing her options and somehow deciding on the one that wouldn't be getting her laid within the next half hour. "Yeah I know, but we still have plenty of time. Come on, just a quick stop. I promise I'll make it worth your while."

Looking up to the sky for a moment - probably wondering what gods had cursed her with such an infuriating girlfriend - Blake relented, letting Yang tug through the dark oak door and into the shop.

Stepping into the dimly lit space, it took Yang a moment to figure out where they were. Her first thought was that it was another clothing shop, with bras and panties and some very revealing nightwear lining the front of the store. Just as Yang turned to study the walls, she heard Blake let out a gasp and dropped her hand.

"Yang, are you kidding me? This is a sex shop!"

Feeling her face flush scarlet, Yang realized exactly what sinister trap Coco had joyfully let her walk into. Yang tried desperately to settle her eyes on something that would bring her temperature down, but it seemed that every place she looked was designed specifically to make her crave the sweet release of death.

There were things she had never seen before, in all shapes, sizes, and colours, and she didn't know where she would start even if she was familiar with... these kinds of wares.

"Blake," she started. "Nothing you can say to me in this moment will be any more torture than what I'm feeling myself. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be in the corner beating myself to death with my own arm."

Turning to finally make eye contact with her girlfriend, who she had pretending was invisible up to this moment, she found her a few paces away, studying a small bottle on a shelf.

Yang gaped. "Blake! You're browsing? Here?"

Turning to look over her shoulder, Blake bit her lip, any previous reservations she might have had completely gone, it seemed. "I mean, if we're here, and our earlier plans still stand, we might as well make the most out of an interesting situation. Look, they have flavoured lube!"

"Okay, first of all, I don't need any help getting you wet. Second, cherry is a horrible flavour. And third, you do realize Coco will never let us live this down right?"

"Relax, I wasn't buying it. And, respectfully, fuck Coco. If she wants to play ball like this, we're gonna make sure she hears it. Her room is connected to ours, isn't it?"

Running her hands over her face, Yang studied her girlfriend in disbelief. Blake was many things, but predictable was not one of them.

"Alright, fine." she said, slinging an arm over Blake's shoulder. "Lead the way, you."

Together, they walked further into the shop, waving off the clerk when she asked if they needed any help. They studied the walls, which boasted about every sex toy one could imagine. She was overwhelmed, if she was being honest, unsure where to start and not wanting to make the wrong decision for their first purchase as a couple.

Just as Yang was ready to give up and head home, make use of the hands and mouth that hadn't failed her yet, she heard Blake let out a gentle "oh!" from the next aisle over. Turning the corner, she found the dark haired girl holding a medium sized box in her hands. Yang stepped closer, hooking her chin over Blake's shoulder and peering at the words scrawled across the white surface.

Realfeel Dildo with Authentic Leather Harness, the label read. Yang's eyes widened with every word hands tightening against Blake's hips.

Finding her voice, Yang swallowed before beginning to speak. "Do you- is this the one?" Not trusting herself to say anything further, she looked to Blake for an answer.

"Yeah, I do." Blake replied, turning in Yang's grip so they were face to face. "It's... it's a strap on, but it's some new technology that'll let you feel everything that, um, that it feels."

"Oh, it'll let me feel everything? And why do you assume I'll be the one wearing it?"

"You've got the core strength for it. And you called me a pillow princess once so I'm cashing in on that, you bitch."

Laughing quietly, Yang leaned in and caught Blake's lips in a gentle kiss. They drank each other in for a few moments, box held between them as their lips moved together, not in any of the rush they were in earlier.

Pulling away from each other - it could have been seconds, minutes, hours, longer even - they shared a smile.

"Then let's get it," Yang said, taking the box from Blake. "I can't wait to fuck up Coco's night with this one."

[parvuls]

fic: need seek no further

Jack shrugs. “Eh. Bittle likes Cabot butter best.”

a disgustingly fluffy, plotless ficlet about how well jack knows bitty and how he perfected the skill of nonverbal communication through the force of sheer will. also, the frogs.

read on ao3

.

.

Dex called Bitty one evening in early May, let Bitty shower him with hellos, and then stated, “We won the NCAA championship.” He said it matter-of-factly, like maybe Jack and Bitty hadn’t been there when it happened, like Jack hadn’t watched him cling to Bitty for a full minute after the stands had spilled onto the ice.

“You did,” Bitty replied, raising his eyes to meet Jack’s with confusion wrinkling between his brows. His phone was set on the kitchen island between them, Dex’s voice filling their kitchen through speaker phone while Bitty’s floured hands were busy kneading dough. Jack was keeping him company on another last-minute testing session for his rhubarb pie recipe, even though the last proof of his book had been approved by his editors over two weeks before. Jack was running out of team members to send leftovers to.

“And Whiskey got voted captain,” Dex continued.

Jack watched as Bitty squinted down at his phone. Bitty had spent half an hour on the phone with Whiskey the night of the banquet; he hadn’t disclosed the details of their conversation to Jack, but his face when he’d returned to their room, had sat down next to Jack on the bed and had leaned his forehead on Jack’s bicep for a long while -- Jack had seen that face before. Had known that expression meant pride.

“So we were talking about it just now,” there was the sound of more people whispering furiously in the background, and Jack thought he could maybe hear Chowder’s unsteady voice calling out, hey Bitty!, and only then he began contemplating the solid possibility that Dex may have been a little drunk. “And -- so we won last year, with you, and now we won again, and we wanna keep winning, right? So we gotta make sure to keep doing everything that’s working.”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Bitty said agreeably, faintly amused. It was obvious to Jack from his tone that Bitty, at least, had already realized Dex was a little drunk, but was only too happy to play along.

“‘Swawesome,” Dex said fervently, like Bitty had agreed to something very important. “So you see why Whiskey’s gotta learn to make a pie.”

That stopped Bitty in his tracks. Jack blinked, watched Bitty’s long fingers halt their motions in the dough, the pressure of his fingerprints leaving crescent grooves behind. “William Joseph, that doesn’t make a lick of sense,” he said, and narrowed his eyes at the screen of his phone like Dex could feel their weight on him through the line. But then he seemed to think it over again, and the pitch of his voice rose as he demanded, “Wait, are you sayin’ Whiskey’s willing to learn how to bake?”

“He says he’ll do it for the win,” Dex said, and Bitty gaped at the phone, then gaped at Jack, and with his cheeks pink and his eyes wide he exclaimed, “Of course I’ll do it!”, like there’d ever been any other option to consider.

Jack kept it to himself, but he had no doubt in his mind that there hadn’t been.

.

.

.

Dex, Chowder and Nursey wait for them at the doorway of the Haus, broad shoulders wedged together in the narrow doorframe.

Bitty had said before they left home, “You don’t have to come, sweetpea,” and Jack had said, simply, “I want to,” and had meant it. It was only in the summer months that Jack had the privilege to see his friends whenever he wished to, and now that the Falconers were out of the playoffs -- well, Jack was feeling a little more withdrawn lately, even quieter than usual, but this felt like something he genuinely wanted to do with the time on his hands. There was also the fact that soon the frogs would graduate, and with them gone Jack would be too far removed to visit the Haus comfortably, even if Bitty still could.

Right now Jack could, and he wanted to, so Bitty and he got in Bitty’s car and drove the forty-five minutes down to Samwell, Bitty’s phone hooked through the aux and his hands tapping on the wheel to the beat. He was nervous, although Jack wasn’t sure exactly why -- only knew it was obvious in Bitty’s restless hands and the frequency he switched songs midway through. Jack reached out and placed his hand on Bitty’s thigh, squeezed, and let Bitty burn his nervous energy whatever way he deemed best.

“We did all the shopping!” Chowder announces as Jack and Bitty walk up the porch steps, and then immediately bounces forward and wraps Bitty in a hug. His long limbs envelope Bitty within them, and soon Jack’s dragged into their circle, too, feels Nursey’s arms fold around his shoulders and Dex’s tentative hand patting him on the back. It doesn’t overwhelm him like it could’ve, maybe, a year or two ago -- it just feels nice, familiar, welcoming. A display of affection he readily returns.

When the huddle breaks, the five of them shuffle through the door and head straight into the kitchen. It looks about the same as it has since Bitty took over it five years ago -- no longer just a room with a fridge full of beers and a broken down table, but a real kitchen, with Suzanne’s hand-sewn curtains and clear countertops and the oven that Jack is still irrationally fond of. Although it seems like it’s been revamped in the months since Jack has last seen it; the cupboards’ hinges are no longer busted, and there are actual shelves stacked along the walls. Jack assumes the likely suspect is Samwell Men’s Hockey current captain, and has to curb a revealing smile that would surely draw questions. It’s another unspoken team tradition, Jack thinks, recalling freshman Will Poindexter: no one leaves it entirely unchanged.

“Y’all are joining us for some baking lessons?” Bitty asks Nursey and Chowder, hand almost unconsciously drifting over the edge of the counters. He looks good there, really, looks right. He’s not the same as he was when he graduated and certainly not the same as when he first claimed this kitchen, but to Jack, Bitty would always look right in the sun streaming through the Haus’ dusty windows, puttering between pots and pans.

“Nah, C and I will get out of your hair for that, but Whiskey isn’t back yet so we’ve got some time. And anyway --” Nursey glances sideways at Dex and Chowder, fails at stifling a smile, “uh, the waffles heard you were coming today, Bits.”

“Going by their reaction, they’ve definitely missed you,” Dex says, arms crossed over his chest, his face serious but a single upwards quirk to the corner of his mouth. It could be a chirp at the waffles, maybe, but Jack is almost certain that it’s sincere nonetheless.

Bitty turns to the shopping bags spread across the counter and starts picking them apart, taking out the ingredients for inspection before setting them down with that same nervous energy, the one that rarely ever follows Bitty into his domain in the kitchen. Jack watches him smile at Dex, honest but jittery, and realizes what he should’ve already known -- how very important it is to Bitty that this goes perfectly.

“Oh, bless them, I’ve missed them too! I’ll tell them hello so we can get started right after,” Bitty says, setting down a bag of brown sugar and taking out a packet of butter from the bag. He looks -- momentarily disappointed, and Jack frowns, searches Bitty’s face. It’s probably only visible to Jack, who recognizes the subtle shift in Bitty’s jaw and the fleeting movement of his eyebrows, but still. He follows Bitty’s eyes down to his hands and to the butter in them, and surveys it for a moment, deep in thought.

“You’ve got two seconds to prepare yourself, bro,” Nursey warns, and then Bully, Hops and Louis descend loudly into the kitchen, flock around Bitty like ducklings. Bitty’s always had that effect on hockey players, on people, even before he got the C. It’s with intense fondness that Jack thinks it, knows the feeling intimately as someone who’s lucky enough to experience that affect every day. He can’t blame them for the way they beam down at Bitty, fight for his attention, laugh when he laughs at the rising volume of their clashing, simultaneous stories.

It’s a good opportunity if nothing else, though, so Jack shoulders his way between Bully and Louis, brushes two fingers over Bitty’s elbow to get his attention. When Bitty turns his head, Jack takes advantage of his height to lean in and say into Bitty’s ear, “Hey, bud, I’m stepping out for a moment.”

Bitty smiles at him, reaches up to stroke a hand down Jack’s cheek just warmly enough to be soothing, just quickly enough to be appropriate. “Yeah, of course. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and thinks, it will be. He pauses, looks down threateningly at the waffles, and leans in to kiss Bitty's temple swiftly, before someone he can’t intimidate as easily as these sophomores could try fining him for it. The space he leaves between Bully and Louis closes as soon as he leaves their side, Bitty disappearing from sight behind their tall forms, but the sound of his cheerful laughter rings after Jack as he walks out of the kitchen and exits through the front door.

.

.

.

When Jack comes back he has to open the door one-handed, the other one busy clutching the handles of a grocery bag. His cap is pulled down low, a protective measure from the crowd that swarmed the Stop and Shop on Pemberton, so it takes a few steps into the Haus’ hallway for him to notice Whiskey hovering in the kitchen doorway, apparently stopped right on his way out of it.

“Jack,” Whiskey looks surprised -- or maybe still mildly star-struck, Jack has always had trouble telling with his face. “You’re here. I haven’t seen you.”

“Got some stuff from the shop,” Jack raises the bag by way of explanation, adjusts his hat, and after a brief moment of stillness hunches his shoulders to bypass Whiskey into the kitchen.

Whiskey bends his neck to peer down into the bag as Jack passes. He looks somewhat horrified at what he finds, as much as Whiskey ever betrays his emotions -- a slight frown, a barely noticeable widening of his eyes. “We need more groceries for this thing?”

Jack shrugs, noncommittal. They don’t, really, but. “Eh. Bittle likes Cabot butter best.”

The frogs and waffles have moved to the den while Jack was out -- he can hear them now, Bully’s low voice and Chowder’s quick speech and Hops’ rolling laughter -- but Bitty must’ve heard Jack come in, because he appears next to Whiskey in the kitchen doorway. His gaze darts between the two of them before it lands on the bag hanging from Jack’s fingers, and Jack reaches in to pull out one stick of butter, holding it out so Bitty can see the brand. Bitty’s eyes light up when he realizes, go round and bright, and he declares, “Sweetpea, you shouldn’t have!”, in the tone that means he’s beyond pleased that Jack did.

“That's more butter,” Whiskey says, staring at Bitty and then at the butter already stacked on the counter from the frogs’ shopping trip, clearly bewildered.

Jack twists his body, turns his back to them to find an empty spot somewhere on the counter. “Cabot has a half percent more fat, and Bittle likes his crust flaky,” he explains absently while emptying the contents of the bag onto the spot he chose. It’s important to Bitty that this goes perfectly, and while Jack can’t control Whiskey's abilities in the kitchen, wouldn’t be able to fix baking mishaps if those occur, this is something he can do. Make sure Bitty has the best conditions to work in, grant him a little peace of mind.

When he turns back around Whiskey is gone, and it’s only Bitty standing behind him, his eyes twinkling and his lips parted slightly.

“What?” Jack asks, confused.

There’s a long stretch of silence while Bitty just looks at him. Jack’s rarely comfortable with intense scrutiny from others, but Bitty -- Bitty’s gaze is soft, and he looks at Jack like he’s something good, something to admire. It’s a look he gives Jack often, usually accompanied by the gentlest of kisses, the warmest of hugs, the kindest of words. Sometimes Jack’s mind is slow to catch up, too stubborn to be convinced of his own worthiness, but this is the look Bitty gets when his emotions are broadcasted so loudly that even Jack’s mind has to pipe down and listen.

Bitty takes a few steps closer, grabs Jack’s palm between both his hands. “Marry me?” he asks breathily, with a smile curling at his lips.

Warmth flutters in Jack’s stomach at the words, and an answering smile grows on his own lips. The ring glints on Bitty’s finger whenever he moves his hands, is glinting now, where his fingers are curled around Jack’s in the sunny kitchen. It’s been a distraction many times in the past year, but each time Jack sees it he’s reminded of what Bitty and he have promised to each other. The future that is still to come.

There’s no one in the kitchen but them, and the Haus residents sound busy enough in the other room that no one would notice if Jack stole a lone moment. “Sorry, I can’t,” Jack deadpans, grabs Bitty by his hips and gathers him into his arms. His fingers slide over the soft fabric of Bitty’s clothes and find the gap between his top and his shorts, dipping inside to rub against Bitty’s warm skin. “It’s a tempting offer, but I’m already engaged.”

“Leave him, then,” Bitty says without missing a beat. He tilts his head up to nudge Jack’s cheek with his nose, wraps his strong arms around Jack’s neck. His face is so close to Jack’s that Jack can count his pale eyelashes, can see the splotches of fading pink on his skin. He’s been spending a lot of time editing his cookbook on their balcony since springtime has arrived, and his body tans nicely but the bridge of his nose has been reddened and peeling for a while. “Run away with me.”

Jack can’t help the temptation, kisses Bitty’s right cheek and then his left one. “Sorry, bud.”

“Why ever not,” Bitty sighs, most dramatically, and uses his grip on Jack’s neck to lean his upper body backwards. “A man who knows his butters? You better believe I’m willing to fight for you, mister.”

It’s the sincerity in his voice that has heat prickling across Jack’s skin, raw pleasure squirming in his chest. It’s a futile battle, though, a battle Jack realized was lost when he dropped Bitty off at this very Haus after their very first summer together, longingly watched him skip up the stairs and thought, oh, I wanna marry him. “I can’t,” he tells Bitty quietly, pulls him closer so the words stay trapped between them, rough and intimate like a secret. “I love my fiancé too much.”

“Oh,” and Bitty flushes at this, red blossoming on the apples of his cheeks like he’s flattered -- like the ring around his finger hasn’t been there for a year, like Jack hasn’t taken to kissing it before kissing Bitty goodbye on nights he leaves for games; like Jack loving him too much to ever consider anyone else is still a novelty, a compliment, after all this time. “Well. Lucky him.”

Lucky me, Jack thinks, and bows his head to fit his mouth to Bitty’s in for a lingering sweet kiss.

[pa-panda-heroes]

Gimmie (a man after midnight)

Dabi x Female!Reader [NSFW] Songfic

Song: Abba - Gimmie! Gimmie! Gimmie!

Aha, I had a lot of fun writing this but it’s not quite what i envisioned, so I hope it turned out okay! :’>

Minors, DNI! Go. Away.

Warnings: alcohol, hookups, slight degradation, choking—Dabi’s belt, anyone? ;), unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, spanking, fairly rough sex ig?

Words: 2,739

Half past twelve And I’m watching the late show in my flat all alone How I hate to spend the evening on my own

You groaned, sprawled out across your sofa and terribly bored. You worked your ass off all week just to go out and have some fun with your girls over the weekend. But alas, they canceled on you, saying they were “busy” doing “adult things” and having “responsibilities.” Bleh! What the hell! You even text a few others not initially involved in your plans, but they let you down, too. That was fair, though. Your invitation was definitely last minute, so you couldn’t blame anyone.

Your eyes dart to the clock. It was still pretty early in the night, half past midnight. Your eyes narrow. You’re an adult, you’re fully capable of going out on your own, right? You wouldn’t look like a poor soul with no friends... right? Fuck it. You’ll leave your apartment all alone and gloomy, but who’s to say you won’t come back not alone?

You bolt off the couch so quickly you nearly lose yourself and slam into the floor, but you recover and make a run for your closet. You had your outfit planned out three days ago, so the agony of looking for what to wear and trying on who knows how many outfits and discerning what paired with what was already over with. You dress quickly and throw on your preferred method of makeup before doing your hair as you pleased for the occasion. You hum at yourself in your success and head out, heading to your previously chosen club.

Autumn winds Blowing outside my window as I look around the room And it makes me so depressed to see the gloom

As soon as you walk in, the air is dense and brimming with smoke and moisture. It’s darker than you expected, although the neon purple, blue, and red lights flashing all around you stood out more this way, looking more pleasing to the eye as a result. The music thrums loudly in your ears, the bass kicked up nearly to a teeth-chattering degree. The violin you could hear through it all sounded intense and emotional, the entirety of the song upbeat and fast and so adrenaline-inducing for your current emotional state.

The mixture that was your boredom and gloom followed you as though it were your shadow itself, trailing behind you with every intention to lunge out and strangle you as you passed through dancing and grinding bodies. One couple was more than happy to let you join between them. For a smooth, lascivious moment you did, letting the male stranger grab onto your waist and grind against you, his (apparent) girlfriend following suit at your front, but you decided alcohol would be a good start first.

There's not a soul out there No one to hear my prayer

Gimmie, gimmie, gimmie a man after midnight

On your way to the bar you just happen to glance through the crowd and meet the gaze of mesmerizing turquoise hues, captivating eyes which stood out like iridescent glimmers in a sea of pitch black after the sun hid itself away. Your step slows as you hold your gaze firm, your own smirk a clear contrast to the stoic features of his own. Bland and non-contorted as his face may be, you tell by the dark, predatory glimmer to his eyes that you’ve caught his attention.

Your favourite drink is ordered and fully downed in no time before you slither back into the cluster of sweat and saliva in favour of dancing your worries away.

Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away Gimmie, gimmie, gimmie a man after midnight

You bounce and move your hips with the music all by your little lonesome in the crowd, others in a situation similar to yours. Try and find those turquoise masters of your captivation as you might, the fiery enigma you saw earlier was nowhere to be seen.

You bite your lip and pout as you carry on your merry way. What a bore you think this night has ungraciously become, your hopes of finding a good time dwindling away like dust in the wind! You almost consider going back to your previous “dance buddies,” but before you can even stop dancing, hands slither onto your hips and torrid breath teases your ear.

“Lookin’ for me, doll?” you hear a smoky, smooth voice purr, and immediately you’re weak in the knees.

You jut your ass out against him, closing the already bare-minimum space between the two of you, courtesy of the stranger himself. “You tell me,” you tease, grinding against him and realizing he’s wearing a massive belt, and your mouth waters. “I’m just lookin’ for a good time.”

Take me through the darkness to the break of the day

A chuckle erupts from behind you, slow and sure, one of the hands on your hip slithering up your waist to ghost over your tit. “I think you’ve found it,” he whispers to you, a call for sex and detachment as his hand - much larger, lither, and bonier than you anticipated - roams your chest freely. He’s careful not to catch the staples holding together the flesh of his hand catch on your clothes where applicable.

It’s clear he’s not playing around, though it doesn’t matter, because neither are you.

You giggle and reach back around for his hair as he moves in sexual tandem with you, while your fingers glissade through strands of pure abyssal silk and latch on. “Do tell,” you taunt, grinding particularly slowly against him and trying to reach for his thigh with your free hand. You can’t help the bratty smirk that parts your lips.

“Here? Really?” he asks, though it’s clearly rhetorical. “You want other people to hear me tell you how I’m gonna pin you against a wall and fuck that tight pussy ‘til you can’t walk, do you?” His voice is deep and low, haunting, and appearances be damned. You’d fuck him just to hear his voice alone.

A shiver wracks your body, much to his pleasure.

Movie stars Find the end of the rainbow with a fortune to win It's so different from the world I'm living in

The stranger’s hand dips down and finds its way up your skirt, giving your asscheek a tight squeeze. “Wonder what they’d say if they heard me tell you I’m gonna wrap my belt around that pretty little neck so tight, I won’t even have to touch you to make you cum.”

“Oh, fuck.” The hiss that comes out of you is laced with a clear moan, and you bite your lip, the growing wetness devouring your lacy panties making itself fully known to you when your cunt clenches around nothing. “Hey, you got a name, stranger?” you breathe, resisting the urge to clench your teeth when his lips find your neck.

“Just Dabi,” you hear him mumble into your skin.

Oh, like the Dabi? The villain Dabi? The Dabi who could very well burn the place to the ground in a matter of minutes and laugh it off like he saw some corny joke graffiti’d on a sleazy bathroom stall?

Oh. Well, alright then. You’re not bothered by it. Seems like he actually just wanted a good fuck and who were you to blame him for it?

Tired of TV I open the window and I gaze into the night But there's nothing there to see no one in sight

“I’m y/n, but feel free to call me whatever the fuck you want.” You sigh, leaning back against him.

Dabi chuckles at you, finding what comes off as a willingness to please quite delicious, if he were being honest. “Let’s head out, then.”

“Patience is not your virtue, is it, Dabi?” you jive at him, the clear pinch on your ass telling you the comment was not appreciated. You giggle at that. “Alright, follow me?”

You grab his hand and drag him through the other patrons, walking by a particularly heated makeout session on the way out. You’re pretty certain the exit you take is supposed to be an emergency exit, but you don’t much care, and it’s not like going through the door set any alarms off or anything.

As soon as you’re out into the cold air he spins you around, quite aggressively stealing away your lips in a loveless kiss and feeling you up like his life depends on it. Your squeak is swallowed right up and you latch onto the lapels of his jacket. It’s now you realise his upper lip is too soft to even be legal, the scarred and marred lower lip, held together by hot staples, is so rough and hot. Fuck, what you wouldn’t do to feel the conflicting textures between your legs.

There's not a soul out there

Your tongue toys with his - rather, your tongue is toyed with - as his hips grind against your pelvis, the clear outline of his hard cock prominent against your clothed cunt, bringing you enough friction to moan unabashedly into his mouth. Dabi’s hand grabs onto of your hair and tugs your head back to break your lip lock with him so that he could plant hot, slow open-mouthed kisses and sucks all along your neck. Oh, the hickeys you’d have to cover up for work.

You sigh and bite your lip. Ignoring the hard concrete clawing away at your back while you fumble with unclasping his belt (you hoped his talk from earlier was bite and not bark), you try to free his dick from its denim confines, only for your hands to be swatted away.

“Hey,” he growls at you. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

“Who said I needed permission?” you sass, egging him on. Oh, you should’ve known better. Your mouth always got you in trouble no matter what aspect of life.

No one to hear my prayer

You hear him click his tongue at you before he spins you again, this time shoving the front of your body against the wall. One of his hands grabs the belt do your skirt and yanks your ass toward him, the other hand pushing forcefully at your neck, your cheek against whatever building lies in front of you. “Who said you could do whatever the fuck you want, brat?” Dabi snarls at you, and you gulp. The villain is quick to unfasten his belt and unzip his jeans to let his cock spring free, before your skirt is thrown over your hips to expose your favourite lacy panties, and Dabi lets out a low whistle, pulling them to the side and exposing your dripping cunt to him. “Not bad, y/n.”

Biting back sass, you instead jut your ass out against him.

“And you said I was impatient,” Dabi goads. “Here you are, drooling and ready for me to fuck you into next week, eh?”

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away

Your resistance dies as you try to glare at him. “Shut your trap and fuck me already!” you hiss. “...or are you all bark and no bite, Dabi?”

A hard slap smacks into your asscheek and you yelp, though the soft kneading of the flesh pulls a whine out of you.

“Keep this up and you won’t cum, doll.”

“Hey-“

Dabi plunged his cock into you without warning, sheathing himself straight to the hilt in one push of his hips, and you gasp, not having the opportunity to adjust to his size or the piercings adorning his dick.

“Dabi, fuuuck.” Your fingernails claw at the concrete, sure to scratch them up and end up in plenty of tears down the line, but you don’t care. The barbells of his piercings and the utter girth of his cock fill you up so full you almost feel like you’re going to split in half. “So big...!”

“Real fuckin’ wet for me, aren’t you?” Dabi slowly draws his hips back and quickly fucks into you again, drawing a gasp from you as he then sets a steady pace thrusting into you. “And tight-“

You keen as his hips piston into yours repeatedly, one of his hands firmly grasping your hip enough to leave bruises, and you hear an unknown metal jingling about, though you realise exactly what he’s done when you feel tough, cool leather wrap around your throat. Your cunt clenches at the implication his belt brings. Dabi is quick to notice and leans down toward your ear to utter a single, gravelly word: “Slut.” He thrusts into you especially hard and fast as if to prove his point, and you cry out when he hits that spongey spot, your throat dry. You can hear the lewd squelching and erotic song of skin slapping against skin.

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight Take me through the darkness to the break of the day

The belt tightens around your neck so much that it deprives of you enough oxygen to reach utter bliss as he pounds into your cunt, your cheek getting scraped up from the friction of the concrete wall. Any attempt you make at saying anything amounts to nothing as you begin to feel lightheaded and filled with pure ecstasy, your eyes trying to roll back into your head and drool creeping out the corner of your mouth.

A choked gasp comes out of you when his hand smacks at your ass cheek again, then again, then again, slow kneading of the flesh following thereafter and lulling the sting away. You moan loudly at his ministrations, nearing the height of bliss. “What, are you a painslut, too?” he jabs, though you can’t respond, and so he does it again, coaxing a cry of pleasure and pain out of you and tears into your eyelids, threatening to overflow and stain your cheeks. Another slap has you cumming on his clock with little warning, Dabi’s groan behind you mixing with your mewls and squeals. “Fuck!” you hear him curse, and he doesn’t stop fucking your poor pussy even after you came down, throwing you into a state of whiny oversensitivity.

“Too mu-uuch!” is all you can manage through the hazy fog of bliss.

Dabi doesn’t seem to care and keeps pounding into you anyway, though he does go for a change in scenery as he pulls you upright by tugging back on the belt around your neck, pulling your back to his chest and giving him room to slip his hands to your cunt. You cry out and squirm when his digits begin rubbing fast circles on your clit, your fingers instinctively flying toward the belt and clawing at the leather as you gasp and keen away. Squirm and wiggle as you want, he holds you tight. Tears run down your cheeks and pressure in your abdomen builds, threatening to break away like a damn and letting the flood crash through. You cry out his name, though it only seems to egg him on and he pounds into you faster, fingers still abusing your puffy clit. Head foggy and mind hazy, you orgasm again already, and your cunt squeezes his cock again, clenching repeatedly as if to milk him for all he’s worth and coating him in your juices.

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away

Dabi lets out a string of curses and loses the rhythm of his hips, his grunts fucking music to your ears. Begs and pleas filter out of you for no apparent reason as his hips keep slapping against yours, your sobs and moans filling the alleyway and reverberating off the walls.

“Fuck! Shit, shit, shit!”

Your clenching cunt hugging onto him like it does sends Dabi over the edge, and he cums inside of you, milky hot cum coating your fleshy walls, eliciting a blissed-out sigh from you as he finally stops fucking into you.

The pressure on your neck is alleviated and you fall back against him, legs weak and head spinning. Dabi nuzzles your ear with his nose, one hand still cupping your pussy and the other gripping your tit.

“Whaddya say we head back to my place, y/n?” he croons.

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight Take me through the darkness to the break of the day

[drxwsyni]

Paths That Lead Home

Yandere Fae!Tooru Oikawa x f!Reader

Synopsis: In returning home for a family reunion, you’re rescued from being lost in the expansive forest behind town forever. The saviour who calls himself Tooru offers to help you make it through the night of awkward small talk and prying relatives, only for a small thing from you in exchange.

a/n: This is my part for the Lovesick server’s October collab, with the theme of Monsters & Mythical Creatures! Be sure to go give the other super awesome stories in this collab a read!!

5.2k words

Warnings + Themes: Dubcon (w/ praise, dry humping, oral [receiving]), alcohol use, stalking, implied captivity, predatory behaviour.

_____

“Have you settled down with anyone yet, dear?”

“How are your studies coming?”

“My, you look exhausted―are you getting enough sleep?”

“Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“Sweetheart, if you’d like I can introduce you to a few people―you’ve got a beautiful personality.”

• • •

God, you hated family reunions.

Somehow your relatives always managed to be so blissfully unaware at the way their words jabbed at your self esteem. Or maybe they were aware, and truly liked seeing the hints of pain flickering across your face at the intrusive and backhanded questions.

Normally you’d be able to stick it out, but tonight’s gathering had truly brought the worst of the worst. Your hometown was small, and word got around quick that a gathering was being hosted in your uncle's home. It was his fault you were being unceremoniously weighed down with such negativity.

It was his fault you had to run from it.

Maybe if he didn’t not-so-subtly wrap an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to the side and whispering, “Why don’t we go somewhere a little more private, sweetie,” you wouldn’t have fled into the forest behind the large abode.

You all but shoved the greatly unwanted attention away, feeling sick to your stomach as you sought fresh air and un-suffocating surroundings.

The sun still hung in the sky, casting a warm orange hue against the clouds as it slowly set for the night. You crossed your arms over each other, hugging your frame in an attempt to stave off the fall chill as you ventured into the forest’s clear cut path.

Ever since you were a child, the stunning natural beauty of the thick woodland area behind the town always amazed you. It offered an escape, a place to restore your innocence in losing yourself with the rustle of the trees, the breathtaking and vibrant colours of untouched nature. You’d venture down the path, and each and every time, you’d return feeling anew. Whatever ailed you upon breaking past the forest wall was casted out of your body as you happily soaked up the calming atmosphere.

Right now, it was exactly what you needed.

You were practically on the verge of tears as your feet carried you out of the house, twigs snapping underneath the soles of your shoes as you drew further away from civilization. The wind blew past you, cold stinging your eyes and making you wince as you hurried into the woodlands.

It was so easy to get lost in the passing surroundings, trees tall and nature alluringly overgrown. It looked almost ethereal, the sight pulling you deeper.

Before you knew it you’d slowed into a walking pace, heart settling in your ribcage, calmed by the refreshing air and secluded space.

But you were no longer on the trail.

Once you sensed a tinge of panic swelling in your chest, you knew it would only serve to make things more difficult, distracting you as you tried to make sense of where you were.

It was fine, you were fine. You’d explored these woods countless times when you were younger. Surely finding your way home wouldn’t be hard. Just head back the way you came, no problem.

The brisk run you took certainly did something for you, a wave of exhaustion sedating nerves that may have you breaking down under the weight of your own self hatred. For getting lost, which would never have happened if you’d refused the invite to your family reunion. Which you would��ve never received if you cut off those toxic relatives the moment you left town.

And now you were trying to go right back to it, because you couldn’t stay in this forest forever, and you’d got the relief you came for.

With the setting sun, it became increasingly tasking to discern the ground you walked upon. Your search for the narrow path yielded nothing as of yet, and you could’ve sworn that you passed by the same cluster of trees three times now.

While before you may have thought you could still be heading in the right direction, the sudden appearance of hills in your way would prove otherwise.

When you turned around, the area you came from looked quite similar, valleys of thick foliage and steep inclines.

It wasn’t reassuring, to say the least.

You had your phone, but upon closer inspection you found that there was no cell service all the way out here. In any normal case it’d just be best to stay where you were and wait for someone to find you. But these woods were greatly unknown, condensed enough where visibility was dangerously limited, and screams for help would be muffled with the bush.

Your only option was to keep moving forward, and pray that you’d find your way out somehow.

Travelling across the landscape was slow―you fearful of losing your balance on the uneven terrain. The last thing you needed was a sprained ankle, and so you treaded carefully up and down the hills. Nothing that met your eyes was recognizable. With the natural light dimming fast, you knew it wouldn’t be long before you would have to pull out the flashlight on your phone.

When your searching eyes landed upon a flickering light in the distance, you didn’t know whether the feeling of shock or gratitude was more powerful.

Almost blindly, you made your way towards the beacon of light. You watched as it grew brighter, and the closer you got, more gleaming appeared.

What you once thought was a single source was actually many smaller ones.

It was a house built into the side of a steep hill. Lanterns hung from posts and nearby trees, lining the cut walkway all the way to what must have been the front door.

In a place of seemingly unending forest, the existence of life was truly baffling.

Seeing it’s light, the warm illuminate coming from the windows and contrasting the harshness of the encroaching night—it had your feet moving before your mind could make any sense of what to do. A shaky and cold hand came up to the wooden frame of the door, prepared to inquire on whoever was living in this strange little abode.

As your knuckles rapped against it, the door pushed open with ease.

Instantly, the smell of homemade baking and the warmth of a lit fireplace washed over you. With a glance over your shoulder, it wasn’t hard to favour the welcoming atmosphere of this strange home over the foreboding and thick woodlands behind you.

In turning back to the front entrance, you peaked your head in before stepping through the threshold. “Hello? Is anybody home?”

Silence continued to hang in the air as you ventured further, curious eyes swiping over the visible rooms. You ended up in what you assumed was a living room, finding the place to be authentically rustic. Wooden furniture, cozy knit blankets and shiny lit candle sconces hanging off the walls.

The home was quite honestly breathtaking, such a cozy environment. It made you wonder who could be living h—

“It’s been quite some time since I’ve had visitors.”

The sudden smooth voice came from behind you, prompting you to startlingly turn its direction. At a loss for words, because you’d blatantly trespassed onto someone’s property, and they’d caught you in the act, you stared wide eyed at the man before you.

Brown hair, matching the colour of his eyes, tall and fit, his long sleeve shirt that was rolled up to the elbows being tight enough to highlight his lean frame along with dark denim jeans―overall dressed quite nicely for living in the middle of nowhere. He was regarding you with an almost playful look, confusing you as you’d expect him to be downright appalled at your unwarranted intrusion.

The man awaited an answer for a few seconds, and in finding you still speechless, he let out a light chuckle. “Perhaps I should introduce myself—you can call me Tooru. I suppose you’re quite lost, little wanderer?”

He slowly drew closer, taking cautious steps, moreso to not scare you off.

His approach did break you out of your stupor, and suddenly there was no filter on the words tumbling from your lips. “Oh, god. I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude or anything. It’s just I went too far into the forest and I couldn’t find my way home and then out of nowhere I found this place. I should’ve never just walked in but the door was open, and I called out to see if anyone was here but—”

“It’s alright, it’s alright. No need to fret, I’m not upset—quite the opposite in fact. These woods are dangerous, you were lucky to have found my home before nightfall, dear.”

Nervously, you toyed with the ends of your sleeves, opening your mouth to apologize further.

But he had other ideas.

An inquisitive look crossed his strikingly handsome face, “You seem troubled, perhaps I could ease your mind?”

Dismissively, you waved your hands. “N-No, I’m fine, really. Just concerned with finding my way back is all…”

That gleaming smile returned to his face, “Oh well I knew that, cutie. I was talking about something else—what made you come into these woods.”

Still standing in the place he found you, you watched as Tooru walked past and took a seat on the couch. He patted the spot next to him.

A slight crease formed between your brows at the proposition. “It doesn’t really matter, it’s kind of stupid to be honest, so…”

“Don’t be silly, it has to be serious if it had you fleeing into the forest.”

The comment made you pause for a second, because you never told him you ran away. But, judging by your disheveled appearance, and how panicked you were in general, the assumption was technically understandable.

Before you could question it, Tooru spoke up once again.

“Tell you what, cutie. I’ll make you a deal—you explain to me why you ended up here, and in return I’ll help you get home.”

Now, you questioned his sanity more than you questioned your own. “That’s hardly fair, I mean...what do you get out of that.”

Quite comfortably, the man leaned into the couch, legs spread and head tilted back ever so slightly. He gave a small shrug of his shoulders, “Your company, it’s lonely out here after all, and I don’t think I wanna see you off just yet.”

At that, you realized that without his help, the odds of you getting home were slim to none. If all it took to get back was some idle chit chat, then so be it.

With a respectful distance between the two of your bodies, you sat down onto the cushiony couch. Hands folded on your lap, you began reciting the ailments of the night to his strange request.

Tooru listened patiently as you went on, gently encouraging you to keep going when you felt shy under his gaze. At the times you felt you were oversharing, he only reassured you that you were doing everything but the sort. It was the deal, after all.

Almost thirty minutes had gone by, you detailing the detestment you held for your relatives, what they’d said and why it was entirely offensive and unwarranted. How you’d escaped into the expansive forest once you reached your breaking point, remembering how the atmosphere always used to calm you when you were upset as a child. Maybe you rambled a bit too much at your appreciation for the entrancing backwoods, but Tooru didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

If anything, you could almost see a hint of genuine warmth flash across his features as you noted how you admired the natural and effortless beauty of the place. How it seemed to overflow with tranquility, and that you were immensely thankful it remained untouched for so long.

By the time you were done, Tooru was forced to hide the intense swell in his heart at your innocent adoration for the forest he watched over.

You hadn’t changed one bit...

He was devastated the day he learnt you had moved out of town, fearing the worst for your impressionable little self. Tooru only knew you as the young girl who would frolic in the forest to and fro using the path he built so you wouldn’t get lost. Before he could do anything about the growing obsession he had, you slipped right through his fingertips.

He was so sure if you ever did return, that hopeful gleam in your eyes would be turned dull. But here you were, sitting right next to him, only thanks to him subtly scooting closer. Telling him all about how much you found solace in the woodlands, like he didn’t already know that fact in great detail.

The fae sensed your energy the moment you stepped foot past the tree line almost an hour ago, like his own personal breath of fresh air.

He regarded your bashful face at how you once again unintentionally rambled. Tooru wasn’t complaining in the slightest, since the reason you’d returned to him also served as the perfect opening.

“Well, in any case I know you don’t deserve to be treated like that. Such a shame how hurtful people can be.”

Averting your eyes and instead focusing on the lit fireplace, you responded. “I’m guessing most of them just don’t realize what they’re saying is hurtful. But even then―my uncle really couldn’t be any more creepy.” You laughed off the admission, even though the reality had a nervousness stirring inside of you.

“Hmm, I think you just need a little something to ward them off. Why don’t I sweeten the pot a little?” Tooru leaned forward, suddenly much more seriously engaged. “I’ll head home with you tonight, get them off your back. It’d be weird if you left and never returned, and there’s no way you’re going to survive the night if your family acts as nasty as you say they do. I only need one small thing in return, it’s a good deal if you ask me!” While the offer sounded very enticing, him knowing just as much as you that his presence would certainly fend off much unwanted attention, the last part did unnerve you.

“What exactly do you want?”

Tooru stood up from his spot, holding out a hand for you to take. “That’s a surprise for later, my dear. I promise it will be worth it, what do you say?”

Unsure, you hesitated to accept him. But the fearful emotions of throwing yourself right back into the cesspool of prying family members was powerful. Tooru seemed like a good man―he didn’t freak out in finding you uninvited in his home, nor did he push you away when he found you were quite clearly distraught. He was offering to help you make it out of this god forsaken family reunion alive, and only for an apparent small price. Although you didn’t exactly know what that price was, the part of you dreading what would happen should you return alone was more than willing to take your chances.

Gingerly, your smaller hand took hold of his, letting him help you up from your seat.

Quite pleased with your reaction, Tooru took the unspoken agreement and gave you a reassuring smile.

“Perfect, let's get going then.”

_____

The music playing around you seemed like a distant noise, reverberating through the room but not really being something you could focus on. Not when you were so wrapped up both mentally and physically in the way Tooru had you held against him. He spun you to the beat of the song a couple times, his smile wide at the way you carelessly giggled at the action.

Since the both of you returned to the reunion, which by now had turned into a small party, you’d certainly had more than a few drinks.

Neither of you seemed to mind, as your newfound caretaker only facilitated your energy.

In seeing you with this man who was certainly more than easy on the eyes, your once greatly offensive relatives suddenly were behaving the exact opposite as they once had. Most of them left you alone in fact.

Keyword: most.

As the upbeat song came to an end, Tooru could tell you were growing quite tired. He was a great dance partner after all, and it genuinely felt like a workout to keep up with his stylish moves. In an eased motion, he pulled you back into his chest, leaning down to speak into your ear as another song began playing over the speakers.

“How ‘bout we take a break, huh pretty girl?”

With a gentle and reassuring squeeze of your hip, you somewhat mindlessly went along with the suggestion, nodding in response and letting him lead you away from the dance floor. Granted, the ‘dance floor’ was just the outside patio, large enough to serve the purpose as it was no secret your uncle had the wealth to own such a large estate. Tooru kept your hand in his as you both made your way back into the home.

At least you were doing that, until the host of the party, owner of the house and irritatingly touchy uncle that served as the main force which drove you away once tonight stepped into your path.

“Hey there, sweet pea. Where ya headed to?” It was clear he too wasn’t anywhere near sober, the stumble in his step, along with the beer bottle in his hand giving him away.

Before you could answer, Tooru made a point in gently pushing you behind him.

The consideration warmed your heart―but maybe it was just the booze.

“Just taking my girl inside, excuse us.” He made a point to step around your uncle, only to get a warning in the form of a sweaty hand on his shoulder.

Your uncle pushed him back slightly. “Now hold on there, I wanna talk to my niece.”

“And she doesn’t want to talk to you, fucking pervert.”

While your reaction was a little delayed, your uncle’s certainly was not.

He reared his arm back, the one with the bottle in hand. “Why, you little―” As he swung the makeshift glass weapon, a look of pure shock cemented in his features as Tooru gripped the man’s wrist in one hand, still holding your’s with the other.

You hadn’t a clue what Tooru was doing, but somehow the defensive act brought your uncle to his knees. He let out a wordless scream, dropping the beer bottle and letting it shatter against the stone patio.

“She’s not your anything, you’re nothing to her. Just a creepy piece of shit old man―got it?”

He tried wrenching his arm from Tooru’s grip, but it didn’t budge an inch. “The fuck? You her boyfriend or somethin’? Let her decide for her damn se―”

With a particularly harsh twist, you hear something pop in your uncle's arm, before Tooru let him crumple to the ground. You couldn’t even make a single move to stop what was unfolding, the tight grip Tooru had on your own hand a deterrent enough.

With senses still dulled with the influence of countless drinks, you weren’t sure whether to be horrified or relieved that your uncle was getting what he deserved.

The scowl across Tooru’s face as he sneered down at the pathetic man was blood chillingly harsh. “She means more to me than she’ll ever mean to you―that’s all that matters.”

With that, you stayed tormented with conflicted thoughts as you were pulled away from the party. Tooru kept his hold on you firm, unrelenting as he pushed past your relatives and finally away from the house.

At the tree line, right where the path you went down earlier tonight started, you finally tugged at his hand. “S-Stop, Tooru..” It came out as more of a whine, backed up by the way your feet dug into the ground.

He halted abruptly, turning to face you, causing you to lightly crash into him. You could feel his amused chuckle vibrate in his chest, no signs of whatever deeply unpleased vice that once held him still existing now that the two of you were alone.

“Night’s not over yet, cutie. Gotta take you home, we made a deal remember?”

Placing your hands against his broad frame, you pushed yourself away from him, which wasn’t very far when his arms were securely wrapped around your waist. “But, m-my uncle. He looked hurt…”

Slender fingers held your chin, tilting your head up so that your glassy eyes met his soft brown ones.

“He’s fine, don’t worry your pretty little head over that, alright? Just let me look after you for now.”

You knew he was talking about the way you were nearly falling over under the influence, but it didn’t stop the frustrated look from forming on your expression. The way he so casually brushed off how he effortlessly laid out your uncle didn’t sit right with you.

Quite tenderly, Tooru switched to cup your face, thumb absentmindedly swiping across your cheekbone. “You look so cute when you pout like that.”

To his declaration, you pouted more.

Not before a quick pinch of your cheek, Tooru swiftly scooped you up bridal style, starting down the path of the forest. The sudden action made you squeal in surprise, not expecting the sheer strength he exhibited. It was like you weighed nothing more than a feather, him playfully hoisting you further into his arms.

“Hey! Put me down, I can walk jus’ fine!”

He kept his entertained gaze fixed ahead as he responded. “Not gonna happen, just enjoy the ride, we’ll be home before you know it.”

In a final attempt, you annoyingly and weakly pawed against his chest.

“Quite your squirming, it won’t get you anywhere, little wanderer.” Pointedly, you felt his arms constrict around you, effectively pinning you against him, as if you weren’t already stuck before.

A deep and tired sigh escaped your lips. “S’not my home, whatever…”

Having resigned to his will, you slumped against him.

Tooru’s lips quirked up into something a little less soft, more mischievous. Eyes glinting in the moonlight, if not a little brighter now that he was going home.

Not that you saw, having closed your own in favour of a small cat nap while he carried you away from the stresses of the night.

_____

It’s been maybe an hour or so since you decided that you were grateful for not just the way Tooru handled your repulsive relative, but really for spending the whole night with you in general. From making sure you weren’t lost in the forest forever, to playing the dutiful knight, and now, how he was so hospitably entertaining you back in his home―Tooru really did feel like a dream come true.

He was charmingly charismatic, held an almost innate concern for you, honestly making you regret how once you sobered up, you’d have to part for your return back to your own home in the city.

But right now, that’s not what you wanted to think about.

Especially not when you were so comfortable, unable to remember at what point you clambered your way into his lap on the couch, but not really caring. Tooru looked at you like you were the sun, stars and moon, and you returned that gaze through dazed eyes and wetted lashes.

More tears pricked as you straddled his hips, intaking a sharp breath as his mouth slotted against yours once again before he lightly nipped at your bottom lip. It wasn’t the first time he’d done that tonight, you having been in this position for quite some time now.

That didn’t stop Tooru from greedily pulling you closer, fingers digging into your hips as you unconsciously ground against him, a familiar warm sensation budding inside you.

“Such a pretty little thing, you are.” He leant in for a chaste kiss, leaving you wanting more as he pulled away once again. “So goddamn pretty.”

A high pitched whimper tumbled from your lips as your hips picked up a shaky pace, dragging your clothed heat back and forth. Tooru let his hands slide down your body and under the hem of your dress, you shuddering at the heat of his palms when he pushed the fabric up, returning his grip to your bare hips. Still dangerously intoxicated, you didn’t mind the way he pulled and pushed you down on his hardened length in the slightest.

Speaking in between the small kisses he was leaving across your jawline, his breath had goosebumps rising on your skin. “Feel what you do to me?” Tooru met your movements by grinding up against you, the harsh fabric of his jeans pressing against your sensitive clit and earning a mewl from you.

“So needy for me, aren’t you?”

He let out an airy snicker, seeing your desperate expression as he lifted your hips up just enough so that your bodies weren’t touching. His strength was unrelenting as you tried to keep moving.

“Ah, ah, ah. Not yet―first, you hold up your end of the deal―” Tooru leaned forward, whispering in a low and teasing tone, “―and then I’ll give you what you want.”

He was right, you really were needy, because the question of your obligation came out almost instantly. “Please, whatever you want, it’s yours.”

Before answering, Tooru gave pause to land a soft kiss right under your ear.

“Tell me your name, pretty girl.”

A bout of confusion washed over you, causing you to pull back. You regarded him with curious eyes.

“...That’s it?”

The wordless encouragement of the reassuring smile he gave you didn’t do much to ease you.

“That’s it.”

Tooru was clearly waiting for an answer.

Meanwhile, you pondered why this moment spurred a distant and nearly forgotten memory. Maybe it was the strange glint in his eyes, but a moment of clarity washed over you at an all too familiar event.

Back in your old home in the very town you were subjected to travel to for the reunion tonight. When your grandma would scold you as a child for venturing too far into the woodlands you were currently so deep in. A bedtime story that you tried not to take seriously, because part of you knew it was just meant to scare you into submission.

Tales of monsters that looked like humans. Mischievous beings who prayed on innocence, hiding in the forest and luring people deeper. Promises of a better life just being a clever play of words, twisted to hide the true meaning.

“Nasty creatures indeed, my dear. Once they get you, we’ll never see you again. You don’t want that to happen, right? You’ll get snatched up, lost in their games of power when you least expect it, and it’ll leave us devastated. You wouldn’t be so selfish, let those tricky things without a soul take you from us. You’re smarter than that, I’m sure…”

Those warnings instilled fear into the hearts of your peers, their parents and elders telling them the tried and true tale.

Not for you though.

Back into the thick of the bush you would go, and you’d return every time. Just like tonight, you thought you were lost, but even then you found your way home.

While you reminisced, Tooru’s hand drifted lower, playing with the waistband of your panties. The light brushing against your skin brought you back.

“Why do you need my name?”

When Tooru hesitated to give an immediate reply, a voice resembling the cautionary tone of your grandma’s warned of danger to be had in his presence.

Yet with his words, the concern for wariness vanished.

“Well, I think it’s obvious―” In a swift motion, Tooru brought your clothed heat back down, need stirring inside of you and building once again, “―that you’re staying the night.”

“And…” Careful, so as not to startle you, he laid you down on the couch, taking his place above you. “...You know my name, so you know what you’ll be screaming later.”

Nimble fingers hiked up your dress even further, you remaining wantonly complacent as he left a trail of kisses down your stomach.

You felt your body flush with heat, squirming as he slowly made his way lower, peppering every inch of your skin with equal amounts of attention.

Tooru gave you a look filled to the brim with lust, one that was dark, but that fact only made you want to clench your thighs together if he wasn’t holding them apart. “Don’t you think it’s fair that I know the same for you?”

The way his gaze flickered to the wet spot forming on your panties, that cocky smirk he held in knowing just how much he was affecting you made you feel restless.

He began littering the inside of your thighs with small marks, latching on to spots here and there before stopping completely.

“Your name, and then I’ll make you feel better than you’ve ever felt before.”

Lower lip quivering, you wracked your mind in a final moment of decision making. But as his thumb slipped beneath the thin fabric, a soft pad pressing down on your bundle of nerves, there really wasn’t anything you could do to hold back.

“(Y/n).”

For a second, neither of you moved. But Tooru was a man of his word, and you’d been so good for him.

He didn’t want to waste any more time than necessary. Not after all these years of waiting for you to come home.

“Oh…” Leaning up, his fingers hooked under the waistband of your thin covering, whispering smoothly. “(y/n), (y/n), (y/n)...”

Perhaps it was just your inebriated mind playing tricks on you, but as Tooru slowly and teasingly removed your panties, eyeing the string of arousal that clung to the fabric, it seemed like he was nearly glowing. Yet, you didn’t really care, passing it off as the flickering light of the fireplace, much more concerned with the way his hands glided up your bare legs, parting them with a firm grip.

Tantalizingly so, he dipped back down to your heat, watching as you clenched around nothing when his breath fanned against it.

Finally, his tongue delved in between your folds, dragging a long and languid stripe up and causing your breath to hitch. He let out his own groan of relief, the taste of you flooding his mouth, being the sweetest nectar to ever grace his senses.

Now it was his turn to look up at you through beautifully long lashes.

Tooru soaked up the way you waited patiently for him to keep going, behaving so well for him, being exactly where he wanted you to be. Melting right into his hands, in his home, where nobody would ever find you―deep in the territory of his forest.

So compliant, not even realizing the deciding moment of your fate, naively and unknowingly giving yourself up to him.

It was only fair that he rewarded you for such good behaviour tonight. Over and over again, until you’d be begging for him to stop.

You failed to notice how his eyes lit up, swirling with newfound power, and all because of you.

“Just relax, (y/n). I’ll take good care of you.”

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

Grey Rope.

*Grey Leather*

*Grey Uniform*

*Grey Dress*

*Grey Vase*

*Grey Blanket*

*Grey Jeans*

*Grey Socks*

*Grey Boxes*

*Grey Balloons*

*Grey Singlet*

*Grey Cocktails*

*Grey Keys*

Thanks always @beccabarba​ xx

Warnings: Episode based, but with my twist. Angst, talks of guns and gun shots, kid nap, Mayan’s doing what they do with the help of Miguel and Soft Bishop smut.

WC: 1802

Enjoy x

Bishop hadn’t seen you; you were still asleep when he left and he didn’t get a chance to catch you before you started your night shift. He checked his phone way too many times between doing things at the scrap yard, visiting Coco and dealing with Mayan’s business to no messages or phone calls other than your last one in the afternoon after you woke up from your nap. He was surprised when he rode around the corner seeing your car in the drive way and when he walked inside you were nowhere to be seen. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, as it buzzed with a new message from an unknown number.

He opened the message, a picture appearing on the screen and he filled with panic, his stomach dropping to his feet and his heart hurting. You were in your uniform, blind folded, sitting on a chair, grey rope tying your feet together and your arms tied behind your back. On the chair next to you was Adelita in the same position. Bishop clicked out of the photo dialing Taza filling him in and telling him to get the rest of the guys to the warehouse. He took a deep breath, knowing he had to make the next call,

“Yes” Miguel’s voice answered “Is there a problem?”

“They have her, they have Y/N and Adelita”

“Meet me at the warehouse” Miguel blurted over the phone.

By the time Bishop got to the warehouse everyone else was there, Taza and Ez had computers set up trying to work out different locations and Creeper tried to trace the burner cell the photo was sent from,

“Hank, Angel, we need more weapons” Bishop barked at them “Do you have more men?” Bishop looked over at Miguel.

“I’ll make some calls” Miguel nodded back “I want her back safe, just as much as you do”

Bishop looked at him narrowing his eyes at Miguel,

“You didn’t deserve her”

“I know. That was the biggest mistake of my life” Miguel muttered back.

The sun slowly started to creep up over the hills and wash over the warehouse. Miguel and all his men standing by armed and Bishop and all the Mayan’s in their black hoddies, all armed and ready to bust in. Angel crotched down and slowly moved towards the big brick wall around the building. He jumped over the fence and pushed the button next to it, the sliding gate opening for the others to movie in.

You were only blind folded and tide up when they grabbed you that afternoon, they took you as you walked out to the car and for the photo they sent out. They knew that by taking you and Adelita, they would be effecting both sides of business, the cartel side and the Mayan’s side. They had locked you both in a large cage, one mattress between you both, one blanket and one meal a day. They hadn’t touched you, very rarely spoke to you, they just keeping you to use as lavage. The sun had started to run in through the windows filling the space in sunshine.  

You and Adelita sat on the mattress when you both heard a rattle of the main warehouse door, you gave each other a look and then you saw Ez run past a small window. She gave you a little nod and you both laid back down on the mattress back-to-back and pulled the blanket you had up over your heads and you held hands tightly. You both jumped when you heard loud smashing, yelling and gun shots breaking out all around you, squeezing each other’s hands tighter and holding in tears.

“They’re here” You heard Marcus voice.

You heard a couple more shots and the sound of chains falling to the ground. You both sat up quickly, the blanket fell off your heads, Angel and Ez standing over you both, Marcus just outside the gate. Angel put out his hand to Adelita pulling her up into his arms and Ez done the same to you, kissing the top of your head. Nestor walked in, patting your shoulder and handed Ez and Angel blind folds,

“You guys need to put these on. No one wants you to see this”

You nodded, the brothers moving to put the blind folds on you both, they handed their weapons to Nestor and they both moved to scoop you both up bridal style carrying you both out,

“I want Bishop” you said into Ez’s chest.

“I know, Y/N. Let him sort this out first”

Ez and Angel sat you both in the back of the van, blankets around you and giving you both a sugary drink and water. There was really no conversation, just you and Adelita sitting shoulder to shoulder and Angel and Ez on the lookout for everyone heading back up to you all. Your head shot up when you heard voices and boots crunching on the dirt, you stood up and walked around the van door, Bishop locked eyes with you, tears coming to his. Bishop handed Taza his weapon and he rushed over to you, his hands going to your cheeks and he searched your face, your hands wrapping around his wrists,

“Baby, did they hurt you?”

“No” you shook your head.

Bishop pulled you into him, his lips on yours kissing you sweetly and then he wrapped you in his arms, your face nuzzling into his neck and kissed the side of your face, one hand rubbing your arm and the other brushing through your hair,

“Y/N”

You pulled away from Bishop looking over his shoulder, Bishop moving to stand next to you. Your eyes met Miguel’s and you raised your eye brows at Bishop, his hand going to your lower back,

“This isn’t his out for what he did to you baby, but he helped us find you”

You nodded and walked slowly towards Miguel. Miguel wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him, your hands resting on his back,

“I’ am so sorry for everything”

“Ok. Thanks” You muttered back pulling away from him and walking back over to Bishop.

The rest of the day was a blur, Bishop rang your partner giving him the low down of what happened, he telling him he would cover for you and you applied for some time off to clear your head. Bishop took everyone to the table discussing what happened, what the next steps were, that he would be taking time off with you and wasn’t to be called unless absolutely necessary.

Rosa took a long work lunch and dropped over your favourite take away before heading back into the office, telling you to ring if you needed anything and if Bishop got called in by the club she would come and stay with you.

You let the water run over your head, although you were shaken by what had happened you were doing ok emotionally. You were actually more unhinged by the fact that Miguel was part of the rescue party, rather than the whole situation. You heard the bathroom door close and the shower curtain slid open, Bishop standing their naked and he climbed in.

Bishop’s arms went around you, pulling you into his solid body, his hands spread over your back and your arms around his neck. You both stood there for a long while, the water running over you both and Bishop’s lips on your shoulder,

“Baby, I’ am sorry I let this happen. I wasn’t on top of it”

You pulled back and looked at the tears running down his cheeks,

“Babe, it’s not your fault. No one knew that was going to happen”

“I would have never forgiven myself-“ he trailed off

You grabbed his face titling it back and his eyes met yours,

“Nothing happened and you came for me as quickly as you could. None of this is on you Bishop or the club. You saved me, saved us. You all did. Your my hero, the love of my life”

You both stared into each other eyes before you slowly started to lean into him, your lips meeting. The kiss started soft and loving at first, Bishop’s arms tightening around your wet body, pulling you into him more. You moved your head to the side and you slowly pushed your tongue into Bishop’s mouth. Bishop took your lead his tongue starting to roll with yours, the kiss deep and rough. Your hands ran up into Bishop’s hair, your fingers threading up into it.

You felt him start to harden against your thigh and he groaned into your mouth. One of his hands left your middle, coming down to give himself a few pumps and then moved to your core, his fingers brushing through your soaking wet folds. You gasped into his mouth when they ran over your clit, a shiver ran down your spine.

With the one arm around you, Bishop lifted you up slightly off the shower floor and moved you so he could push you into the wall. Bishop broke the kiss, his hands going to the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up, your legs wrapping around him. Bishop moved his hips back slightly, one hand going around him again to line himself up to you, sliding into you slowly.

You were both panting into each other faces, his hips stilling for a moment before he started to roll them into you in long deep thrusts. Your head fell back on the wall and your hands into his hair curled into fists as he hit the spot you needed him to hit the most,

“I love you so much, baby” Bishop groaned and his grip on your thighs tightened.

One hand came out of his hair and went down to your centre finding quickly where it needed to, rolling over your swollen clit fast. Your eye’s slammed shut, your mouth dropping open as you came around Bishop, your legs tightening around him and your hand tugging his hair slightly, Bishop’s name running out of your mouth filling the room.

Bishop’s lips landed on the front of your shoulder, his hips getting sloppy as he slammed into you. Bishop grunted loud into your skin, his grip on your thighs almost painful, his cock twitching in you as he came deep inside you, the sweat on his forehead mixing with the water from the shower. Bishop lifted his head back off you looking up at you with a soft smile on his face. You dipped your head, kissing him deeply while he slowly placed your legs down on the wet floor,

“I love you Bishop, so much”

“I love you baby, and I promise I will do everything in my power to always keep you safe”

Tags: @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo​​​ @alwaysachorusgirl​​​ @withmyteeth​​​ @frattsparty​​​ @justchillin-inhell   

[yeojaa]

( VELVETEEN RABBIT. )

What do you get when you mix Thumper and Bambi?  Answer:  Jeon Jungkook.

pairing.  french lop bunny!jjk x ragdoll cat f!reader.

genre + rating.   hybrid!au set in college.  super fluffy, a little angsty, with a dash of smut to balance it all out.  explicit towards the end because i just can’t help myself.  oops.

tags / warnings.  honestly, this jungkook should just come with his own warning.  but more realistically, mentions of kook using a scrunchie, kook being cute, kook railing his date after using the world’s worst puns...  the usual.

wc.  4.4k

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ as always become, c’mon.  i’m me.  she’s her.  

author note.  this was written as part of @thebtswritersclub​‘s a hybrid fest and is gloriously late (i’m so sorry @ditttiii​​).  i’ve never written anything hybrid-related before so hopefully you enjoy.  feedback goes a long way!  xoxo

He orders the same thing every time he’s in.  Iced Americano, no room for cream, and a single almond croissant.  (Every once in a while, he switches it up for matcha but that’s exceedingly rare.)  He always pays with a tap of his wrist - a sleek black AppleWatch with rubber band - and flashes his trademark slightly too-big smile.  All the girls swoon.  So do the guys.  Everyone except for you.

He’s unnervingly handsome, with long dark ears that sometimes hang in front of his eyes.  You’ve caught him with them pulled back Lola Bunny-style, knotted with a loose silk scrunchie that looks nearly as soft as his fur.  His hair’s usually unkempt, tossed into a little sprout of a bun, overly long fringe falling all over his big round eyes.  He wears butterfly clips sometimes, though that’s usually on days where he isn’t freshly sweaty and carrying his gym bag.  They appear in his hair when it’s damp from a shower, the smell of papaya and honey clinging to every inch of him.  You know, because you have a great nose - one that’s sensitive to every smell under the sun but especially his.  (You try not to think about it much.)  

It’s a Wednesday morning when you notice the change.  It doesn’t register at first, acknowledgement coming in a curious sniff at the air.  Weird. 

“Thanks,” he says like clockwork, a well-oiled polite machine, deceptively slender hands receiving the exceedingly hot cup without a care in the world. He’s got his usual bag over his shoulder - overly big, black, almost tactical - and a pair of comfortable looking pants on that seem more like they belong on your beloved grandmother.  Somehow, he rocks it (but he always does).  “Have a nice day.”

Because of course he says that.  Of course he steals the words right out of your mouth, turns them back on you as easy as he makes your heart rattle around in your chest like it’s a Friday night bingo ball. 

He moves toward the bar - he only ever grabs three napkins, tucks them into the slot on the left side of his bag - but pauses halfway there.  Rooted to the same spot as always, sleek ears following the imposing line of his shoulders.  

One, two—

The thumping starts, so quiet it’s almost negligible.  But you catch it, because you always do and because you’re the reason for it. 

He turns then, levels you with a look from the corner of those pretty, pretty eyes and you can’t help but laugh, openly, unashamedly, with the back of your hand plastered to your mouth. A true ojou-sama. 

His mouth quirks - does that funny thing where he sucks in his cheek then rolls it back out with his tongue - and you think he might finally say something.  Call you out for writing his name wrong for the past five weeks, finding more and more creative ways to do so every time.  Even occasionally using nicknames - silly things you’d come up with while on the walk home, or during lunch, or in bed.

“Good one,”  he states, laugh lines threading over his face, prominent around his eyes.  His nose wiggles with the sound - another of his traits that comes out to play often.  Your favourite of them all, if you’re being honest.

“Anytime.”  

You don’t realise it’s him until it’s too late, until you’re practically running into him, bouncing off the broad expanse of his back with a startled squeak.  Lucky for you, you’re quick on your feet, catching yourself before your skull can become too well-acquainted with the red brick wall to your right.

“You okay?”  Though he asks, you have a sneaking suspicion he knows you’re not and an even stronger suspicion that he’d been waiting for you, hovering past the entrance of the cafe with his big university hoodie on.

“Barely,”  you manage around a laugh, straightening the backpack slung over your shoulders, packed to the brim with goodies you got to bring home at the end of the night and two of your textbooks.

“Should watch where you’re going.”  

This is the most conversation you’ve had - ever.  But it’s fun, easy, organic and natural.  You wonder why that is. 

“You should watch where you’re standing, actually.”

He’s so much bigger than you, imposingly tall (especially being part of the Leporidae family) and wide in the chest.  Not bulky by any means, but big.  Strong.  Threaded with a strength you don’t normally see in hybrids of his kind.  It probably has to do with how often you see him covered in sweat and panting, basketball hooked under his arm, soccer cleats tied to his bag.

When he speaks again, it’s full of mirth, squeezing his round eyes near shut.  “Got a problem with me standing here?”  

You nod, solemn as ever (which is really never, but that’s besides the point).  “It’s dangerous to block entryways, didn’t you know?”  You’re gesturing to the awning, the dark interior just past the window of the shop.  “You’re loitering, Jungkook.”

“So you do know my name.”  You can tell he’s not surprised - that he’s hamming it up for dramatics, softly pink lips rounded in a little ‘O’.  He’s cute like this, you think.  Playful in a way you’ve never seen before.  

“I do?” 

There’s that cheek thing again.  It’s even more attractive up close, the shape of his jaw thrown into prominent relief when he sucks in a breath.  

“You just said it.”

You nod, thoughtful, finger tapping upon your chin.  “I guess I did.”

“Say it again,”  he states, expression inscrutable, eyes bright.  They’re so glossy even under the dimmed streetlights, impossibly big and undeniable.  So easy to get lost in - if your attention weren’t caught by something else.

“What is that?”  

You’d noticed it earlier in the day, caught the scent in passing sometime during the early hours.  You’d been unable to place it then, too distracted by freshly ground coffee, a girl’s three too many spritzes of Daisy by Marc Jacobs, and baking banana loaves.

It’s heady, masculine.  A strong musk that sinks into your nose and makes it twitch, ears rotating as if that’ll help pin the smell down.  

“What’s what?”  You hadn’t realised how close you’d become, your face five seconds from planting directly into his chest.  (It’d probably be nice - you know how soft your school’s merchandise is.)  “Are you okay?”  He asks because you’re now, actually, planting your face right against the worn navy cotton.  It’s terribly nice, silk upon your cheek.  

You answer more to his clothes than to him, nosing into the fabric. “You smell different.”

You feel more than hear his laughter, the sound barreling past his teeth seconds later.  The vibrations running along his spine jostle you from your position face first upon him but you don’t mind.  It doesn’t send you far, dark eyes peering up into the face of the bunny hybrid.  True to his kind, his nose is twitching, puffs of laughter expanding his cheeks when he meets your stare. 

“No I don’t.”

“You do.”  Tone firm, a finger lands upon the neatly embroidered N on his hoodie.  The white stitching stands in stark contrast to your baby blue nails.  “You smell… off.”

Whether Jungkook’s offended or not, you can’t tell.  He’s got that same strange expression on his face - the one from this morning when he’d received his coffee.  It’s made up of too many moving parts:  the flutter of his lashes, the coil of his jaw, the minute tick of the corner of his mouth.  You can’t read him for shit, somehow more confused now than in your 300-level art history class.  (You’d taken it as one of your optional electives assuming it’d be an easy A.  You were wrong.)

“Sorry you think so,”  he hums, looking down at you.  You’ve seemed to fully forget the meaning of personal space, edged up beside him as if you’re best friends and not just two ships passing in the night. 

“It’s not bad.”  Really, it isn’t.  It’s strong and sensual, vegetal in a way, calming in another.  But it isn’t unwelcome. 

In fact, you think you might like this scent a little more - less sweet than what normally clings to his skin, natural honeycomb rather than processed sugar.  It zings across your teeth, pieces broken up and scattered behind your molars.  You can practically taste it.  Him.

“Is that so?”  

“Yep.”

You share a look - one that says more than all the words you’ve ever spoken, that threads together all the silly laughter, narrowed stares, (written) flirtations.  It settles between the two of you, filling the spaces with something akin to cotton, light and airy and soft.

The desire to speak lingers, hidden just beyond the cotton candy dusting.  Should you?  Shouldn’t you?  You still have no idea what he’s doing here, a street urchin making his rounds on the campus village.  

He beats you to it.  “Can I walk you back to your dorm?”  

You don’t think you could want anything more.  “Sure.”

Silence falls again but it’s comfortable, a caress rather than a crutch.  The grounds are surprisingly quiet - wayward students on their way to the library or heading home from lectures.  There are no picnic blankets spread across the grass, no gaggles of girls dressed in school colours.  It feels like the first day of fall, change sitting heavy in the air. 

“So—”  You start.

He finishes,  “do you wanna go on a date with me?” 

That’s surprising.  (Or is it?  You’re not really sure.)  You nearly trip over your own two feet in your haste to look at him, entire body swivelling on the spot because apparently you can’t just turn your head like a normal person.  Something something all or nothing. 

“What?”  

“Do.  You.  Want.  To—”  He’s being insufferable for the hell of it.  You can see it in his eyes, glossy things shining down at you like he’s got the entire fucking nightsky hung in them.  

“Not if you keep that up,”  you retort, though you both know you’re lying.  You’ve been waiting - wishing, wanting - for this moment since the day you laid eyes on him.  Since Yuri had elbowed you so hard in the ribs you’d thought you’d be bruised for days, since Jae had rambled on and on for his entire shift about the cute new bunny who’d come in that morning.  Since that very first wrongly spelt name on his plastic cup and every visit since.  

“Is that a challenge?”  

“You won’t get it in.”  

He scoffs, loud and drawn out, cheek rounding with disbelief at your disbelief.  How can you possibly doubt him - school basketball star and all-around athletic freak of nature? 

“What do I get if I do?”  The ball rests in his palm, poised to be shot through the hoop, sunk without making contact with the rim.  He’s confident - he’s done it a million times.  

“A pat on the back?”  As much as you tease him - loop mockery around nearly every syllable you speak, you’re endlessly supportive, already carrying the fruits of his labour under your arms.  A Pikachu shoved haphazardly into the purse slung across your body, a Snorlax tucked under your arm at an awkward angle that crushes his poor head, a Sylveon tucked into the side pocket of his joggers.  (The arcade was really into Pokemon, apparently.)  “Me saying thank you?”

“Not good enough.”  He leans in close - those big galaxy eyes practically swallowing you whole - and taps a single finger upon your nose.  It makes your nostrils flare, an itch blooming under his touch.  “Gotta sweeten the deal.”

You must look hilarious because Jungkook’s biting back a smile, smirking down at you.  Then, all at once, without breaking eye contact, he’s extending his arm, flicking his wrist, and— swish!  

In goes the ball, leaving him with a perfect score.  

“I want you to stay the night.”

You think he’s joking.  He must be joking.  This is your third date.  

But he’s staring at you like he’s completely serious, gaze expectant, lips pursed around something that reads like a smile but has your heart doing a strange little one-two step in your chest.  It soars for a moment, high above the clouds like the string orchestra of a choral work - Beethoven’s Ninth in D minor. 

“Are you propositioning me, Jeon Jungkook?”  It’s the same reaction he always has when you say his name: a twitch of his ear, the corner of his bottom lip quirking and then resetting, eyes so sparkly it’s almost absurd.

“No.  I’m just telling you what I want.”

“Huh.”  You should say no.  Guys like him - with charm that oozes out of every pore, whose offhanded smiles break more hearts than you ever have - are almost always bad news.  Too sweet, too funny, simply too much for your feeble heart to take.  

“Is that a yes?”  He’s got you in his clutches - a viper rather than a hare, with a smile so dangerous you’re paralysed by just the sight of it.  (Who needs venom?)

Your words catch in your throat, stick to one another like the deformed gummies at the bottom of the movie theatre bag.  What comes out isn’t what you expect.  “Okay.”

Damn you.  Damn him.  Damn how good he smells and the big dumb grin that spreads over his lips, sunshine in human form, undeniable and warm and cute enough to start a war over.  (That’s probably what’s happening - a vicious battle between your head and your heart.)  

Damn his stupid thumping foot that you can make out over the sound of the video games, the boisterous din.  It’s so cute you can’t help yourself from smiling, mouth pulling and pursing around the delight that begs to be freed.  

“Cool,”  he says, and you almost think that’s not very cool.  He’s so nonchalant, cavalier about it as if it means nothing.  You’d be bothered if you felt like you didn’t know him so well - hadn’t learnt his idiosyncrasies over the last two months.  

How he looks when he laughs really hard, his slightly too-big front teeth taking up all the real estate in his mouth.  How he sounds when he’s tired (groggy, with a lisp that rarely sees the light of day otherwise) or when he’s told he’s wrong (pouty, with his bottom lip jutted out so cutely you want to scream).  How he runs every morning, hits the gym every night, and eats double your protein because fitness, bro!  How his cheat meal of choice is soy garlic fried chicken from the place off-campus and he hates tangy, tart desserts (your lemonade lip gloss not included, he insists).  How he can’t sleep if he’s too hot - which he often is - and he spends way too long combing through his ears with a specialty brush he doesn’t let anyone touch.  How he’s secretly raindrops and gummy bears and hand holding in the car, so much more than his high school superlative of most likely to grace the cover of GQ.

You wonder, because you know those things, does that make you special?  Does it make you immune to the heartbreak that you swear you imagine whenever your mood drops (not often, but often enough)?  

You hope so.

“Let’s go shoot guns?”  He’s tearing you from your reverie, planting an open-mouthed kiss to your temple.  It’s sloppy and not very refined, much less suave than what you’d expect from your school’s soccer captain (and basketball small forward and swim team stand-in).  You suppose that’s why you like him so much - because he’s always surprising you, keeping you on your toes. 

“Let’s.”  You agree, letting your date drag you toward the Time Crisis machine.  It’s blissfully unoccupied, allowing the two of you to slide into place.  He takes the blue gun, you the red.  

He squeezes your hip when you take up position, one eye squeezed shut as you look down the barrel of the plastic weapon.  “Better not let me die.”

“Better not get shot,”  you return.  

He doesn’t listen - failing halfway through the helicopter scene, his shot missing and resulting in some sad miserable death in the form of Continue? blinking across the screen.  Neither of you mind that much though.  He occupies himself on his phone, free hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans.  You play better when he’s not shouting terrible call-outs, nearly crashing into you because he gets so into it.

(How he’s never got a concussion on the basketball/soccer/etc. field before, you’re not sure.)

By the time you’re done - a good five minutes later, you think - Jungkook’s growing restless, tugging at your belt loops enough that you stumble with every shot, nearly knocking yourself out when you have to steady yourself on the centre console.  

“Kook!”  Your glare is barely that, too affectionate to dissuade him from his childish antics.  

He pulls you forward, traps you between his thick thighs, tattooed hands settling comfortably on your hips.  “Let’s go home.”

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

Of course, he doesn’t deny that.

It’s not the first time you’ve been over.  Not even your second or third.  You’ve met up with him before his games, thrown his jersey overtop and helped him wrap his fingers before hitting the court.  You’d even had to grab his cleats for him once, running across campus as he did drills in his socks as punishment.

This time feels different.  You know why but it doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow.  It lodges somewhere in your throat, makes it hard to breathe when you kick off your shoes and tuck them neatly beside Jungkook’s.  

“Are you hungry?”  He’s already in the small kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at you as you linger in the adjoining hallway, bag halfway over your head.  

“I’m good.”  You are, really.  You’d eaten one donut too many at the arcade, indulged in a little too much disgusting nacho cheese goodness.  You don’t really understand how your date’s still hungry, a cucumber crunching between his teeth when he turns back to you. 

Standing there, vegetable devoured in quick, decisive bites, he looks every inch the French lop bunny he is.

You reach him in the same instant he finishes his midnight snack.  Arms fold around you like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, head dropping to rest comfortably upon yours.  Like this, his ears tickle your cheek - velveteen fur lost to the silk of your hair.  “Are you tired?”  

Another no comes - spoken into the fuzzy fabric of his sweater - and he hums above you, whole frame rattling with the noise.  

“No bed then?”  

At least he’s transparent, you think.

“One track mind much?”  You’re only teasing.  A part of you looks forward to… whatever it is that sits over the horizon, lost past the creaky bedroom door and somewhere beneath his surprisingly soft sheets.  (You’d asked about them once - he’d told you his mother liked to send him housewares to remind him of home.  He was a real mama’s boy that way.)

The monster only laughs, snuggles into your hair like it’s home.  “Can you blame me?”  

You can’t do much of anything when he’s like this - so utterly adorable and enticing and good for your heart that it feels as if you’ve taken a straight dose of morphine.

“Let’s go to bed, Wookie.”  Another nickname, recently coined after you’d spent an evening watching Star Wars for the first time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You whack him on the way to his bedroom, smack a hand over the arm curled around your shoulders.  He pretends like it hurts, howls in a way he he thinks resembles a wounded animal but really just sounds stupid.  “Not a ma’am.”

“Sir?”  He asks, just to make you laugh. 

“If you don’t shut up—”  

He pushes you through the door of his bedroom while giggling to himself, sound puffing out of his cheeks.  “Don’t be mad, kitten.”  The two of you drop to the bed, a tangle of limbs and silken fur and squeaking laughter.  “You’re so purr-ty when you’re annoyed.”

He’s doing it again.  Dropping those stupid cat puns that make your nose wrinkle, ink-tipped ears folding back against your head.   

“I think I’m hiss-terical, don’t you?”  

Face adamantly buried into his sheets, you don’t give him the time of day.  You don’t even care that your mascara is probably rubbing off against the charcoal fabric, lipstick tint doing potentially irreversible damage.  He knows how unfunny you find these jokes, how you’ve heard them your whole life and roll your eyes so hard your optic nerve might sever every time you face another.  

What’s the point of sharing your pet peeves with him when all he does is lean into them?  Use them against you like it’s the cool thing to do.  Make you wonder what you’d seen in him when he was just another customer, another boy in Seoul National indigo and bedhead so dishevelled it begged to be managed.  

(You’re not sure why you’re so irritated suddenly, caught in the clutches of a moodswing as you curl into your side and ignore his bad jokes.)

Stupid Jeon Jungkook.  Annoying, silly, too-cool-for-his-own-good Jeon Jungkook.  

Jeon Jungkook who makes you second guess your choices, leaves you breathless and confused with just one dumb look.  Who has convinced you into his bed and teases you mercilessly, snickering to himself as his foot bounces against the floorboards because he finds himself that funny.

“Baby?”  The pet name comes, presses itself past your curtain of hair and invades your thoughts.  

You say nothing, adamantly faced away.

He doesn’t like that, sneaking his hands around you and cradling you into his chest as if that’ll lighten the mood.  (It does, a little bit, but you don’t tell him that.)  “Don’t ignore me,”  he mumbles, warmth breath tickling your ears, fingers dancing over the rungs of your ribs as if they’re ivory and not bone, playing a tune only he can hear.

“Stop with the shitty jokes,”  you retort.  You’re being difficult - can feel the vinegar turning your blood even as he tries to will it all away.

You feel the intake, the rise and fall of his broad chest.  You can only imagine how hard he’s biting his tongue, careful to keep his next errant pun at bay.  People don’t tell him no - only you.  Maybe that’s why you do it, to remind him you’re not just like everyone else.  

“Sorry.”  

You don’t tell him to show you how sorry— but he does anyway.

You’re astounded by him, utterly entranced by the way he moves.  How power runs the length of his frame, manoeuvres each of his limbs and turns your own to jelly.  

He’s got you face down, ass up, hands cradling your hips like they’re his home and he can’t bear to let go.  Every upward stroke feels like heaven - feels like a million lifetimes of pleasure you can barely wrap your thoughts around.  He’s impossibly big, thick and long.  The first thought you’d had when he’d stripped his black Calvin Kleins was pretty.  

You realise now there’s nothing pretty about him.  He’s filthy - the devil come to collect as he fucks you across his bed, nearly loses you to the pillows at the head with each snap of his hips.  (What they said about rabbits was true, you think.)

“B-Bunny,”  you sob, scratch over cotton that’s worn soft and smells exactly like your favourite sweater of his.  The linens are defenseless, tangled up and wrinkled with each flex of your fingers, bunched up within your palms every time he buries himself like he’s looking for the answer to life, thinks he might find it within the fluttering walls of your pussy.

“Not my name.”  When he sounds like this, he’s more predator than prey, a thousand volts of electricity shooting up your spine.  He’s demanding and unrelenting.  It makes your head spin.

“Wook—”  

“Not.”  Bunny teeth are just as painful as a feline’s, doing their job as they dig into the flushed skin over your back, marking his territory with two prominent indents right between your neck and shoulder.  “A.”  He ruts into you as if he’s got something to prove, snaps his hips to a beat you can’t keep up with.  “Wookie.”  Grips you so tight you might snap, red blooming beneath his hands.

You sob under him, drool against the pillows because you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut.  (You feel like Jungkook post-win, spewing nonsense as he prattles on about game winning plays with his teammates.)

“K-Kookie.”  It’s what he wants to hear - hits him right in the chest, a bull’s eye to the thing that beats wildly and in tandem with your own.  

His rhythm stutters.  The bed is shaking and not because he’s practically breaking the weak wooden frame.  No, his foot’s thumping, bouncing across the sheets even as he tries to regulate the roll of his hips, return it to the assured, teeth-numbingly good tempo it’d been at.  

It doesn’t work.  You love it anyway.  Like it more, because it means he’s just as affected by you as you are him. Your heart sings, leaps out of your chest on hummingbird wings, and dances around your head.  You’re a goddamn cartoon - Pepé Le Pew in ragdoll form - animated pink shapes circling like a crown.

You don’t care.  You can’t.  Not when he plasters himself to your back and asks you to say it again, begs you to tell him how good he is, tells you how he wants to make you his.  

Who cares if it’s three dates in, if your meeting was cliched and silly and he’s the campus heartthrob?  

You don’t - because he’s yours and when he flips you onto your back and you curl your fingers into his hair, it’s your name he stutters out.  It’s you who has him coming apart beneath your hands, the feel of his ears like velvet, the little whines he huffs growing louder each time you tug at the base.  It’s you who knows what he sounds like as he falls to pieces, throws himself against you as if gravity demands it.  It’s you who holds him to sleep, whose skin acts as a canvas for the doodles he traces as he drifts off.  

It’s you and it’s him and that’s enough.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​ @codeinebelle​​

[esmealux]

You know how someone’s home says a lot about them as a person? That definitely applies to Lucifer Morningstar.

At first glance, his penthouse may just seem like a luxurious bachelor pad, a testament to his wealth and style, but like the person living there, there is so much more to it.

The space is open and wide, with a high ceiling and no doors. Sure, a lot of space is always nice, especially if you host a lot of parties, and why would you need doors when you live alone? But it also makes a stark contrast to Hell, with its narrow corridors and thousands and thousands of doors and small rooms—chambers of torture whose doors may not be locked but nevertheless hold the souls in there captured. So, no doors. Not even the entrance is an actual door, and it isn’t locked. Only rooms bleeding into each other in one, big open space (much like in Heaven).

And he lives in a penthouse, high above the ground, as close to the sun (and Heaven) and as far from Hell you can get. With the big panorama windows, he can always see the sky—the actual sky, not the clouds of smog and ash that made for a ‘sky’ in Hell. But the sky that holds the stars he made. The sun he so carefully formed, because he knew what it would mean to the humans, and what the humans meant to his dad. There are big windows because Lucifer loves the light. He loves it when the morning glow covers the naked bodies in his bed with gold. Loves to lie in the afternoon sun and bask in the warmth like a fat cat. Loves the sunset, and the colours of twilight, and the twinkling city lights, like low-hung stars in the night. He can’t really see the actual stars, his stars, but when he steps out on the big, open balcony for a smoke and looks out at the night sky, he feels the threads, thin and old as they may be, between the suns and their Creator. Out there, on his balcony, there is nearly nothing but sky and light, and he loves that. Even more so after spending eons in darkness.

And then there’s the interior. There’s no kitchen and no dining area, because who would eat with him? Who would want his company outside of his bed (or his couch, or on the desk, the banister, the floor, on the piano)?

When he does have people over for something other than sex, they’re offered a drink (if they deserve it) of one of his carefully selected top-shelf spirits, displayed on his impressive bar, a monument to the tastes he loves.

And in the middle of the penthouse, at the heart of his home, we have the piano, the best money can buy. Because besides light, whiskey, and sex, Lucifer loves music. When he came to Earth in 2011 and he heard the sound of music, it was the first time he’d heard music like that since Heaven – this is what he says in 3x11 at least, but we know he’s visited Earth before 2011, and I think he, at one point, says he taught all the greats? Either way, he’d been deprived of good music in Hell, and upon hearing the piano, his fingers immediately itched for the keys and the sweet melodies he could draw from them. So, when he bought Lux and the penthouse, he bought two pianos. One for his club, for entertaining, because he does love an audience, and one for his home, for playing whatever his mood inspires.

He doesn’t have much furniture, but he does have an extensive library, filled with original copies he’s been gifted from authors, poets and thinkers. Unlike in many other luxurious LA homes where the books on the shelves are curated by interior designers, Lucifer’s books are not there for display, or to make him appear intellectual. They’re there because he treasures them, because they’re humans’ intriguing and complex minds materialised. Tokens from encounters with interesting and inspiring people, such as William Shakespeare and Sigmund Freud. Likewise, the gift from Napoléon Bonaparte is not one he keeps because of its aesthetic, but because, even 200 years later, he’s still amazed that someone would like him enough to give him a gift. Many of the humans he’s met over time may be dead now, but their souls live on in his library, in their gifts, in the music he plays, in his ancient Assyrian walls. (He did meet some of them again in Hell, but it’s not the same. They were not the same. They never are.)

So, essentially, Lucifer’s penthouse, Lucifer’s home, is everything Hell wasn’t. Where Hell was dark and cramped, his new home is light and open. Instead of living in the abyss, he now practically lives in the sky. In Hell, there was nothing but pain and torture, so his penthouse is built for nothing but wine, women, and song—for pleasure. Decorated with fine taste (Italian leather and silk sheets) and memories of great humans (Assyrian carvings and gifted books).

But while his home is ideal for parties and one-night stands, it’s also built for a rather lonely existence—someone who doesn’t need a table big enough for a family dinner, or a kitchen to cook for or with friends in. His home has everything he was deprived of for millennia—music, flavour, pleasure—except for one thing: Love.

Until that changes, it’s just him, his whiskey, his piano, and his books.

[latenightsandbrightdyes]

One Way Or Another

Summary: A misunderstanding interrupts a snowy getaway with your boyfriend and his brothers.

Jungkook x reader. 

Angst. Fluff. Some Smutty Activity. Bangtan Shenanigans.

Welcome to a very random drabble that I wrote at some point and just found the courage to post. Thanks to the lovely @xjoonchildx who not only brightens my days with her amazing stories, and witty intellectual lists, but listens to my random nonsense I message her, and answers back with such sweet welcoming encouragement. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you! 

                                 .......................................................

Your heart was racing. Sneakers squeaking out like a beacon on the hardwood floor as you turned a corner, the quick action propelling you forward into a large living room. Your eyes taking in the beautiful room as you mentally curse this gorgeous house in the woods. Feet still moving, trying to find anywhere that could hide you. Hearing his boots on the floor caused your heart to thunder in your chest. Eyes pinging around the room, landing on couches, a glass coffee table, gauze curtains. Nothing that was going to help. Brain apparently on a whole other level, had you exiting the living room. The hallway options were better but still not ideal. You pass up the idea of going upstairs, not wanting to make one of those fatal horror movie cliched decisions. The kitchen was to the left, that was the one place you knew you would be cornered. “This a maze or a house?” You sounded more winded than you actually were, the adrenaline making itself present in the air. His chuckle echoed from behind you somewhere and you squeaked, feet taking off like a rocket to the right. The chuckle got deeper and louder but not closer. He was in no hurry, confident that he would catch you. It wasn’t until the third or fourth slap of your sneakers on stone that you realized you had taken the stairs down. With a shake of your head, you paused unsure of what was down there. It was bright and only got brighter the further down you could see. Your feet slowly and quietly went down another step, then another and another. A noise from above had your head snapping up, as your hand gripped the railing. Your eyes narrowed, “was that...?” The cheeky bastard was whistling One Way Or Another. It felt like your heart was trying to match the beat, and you decided you didn’t care about the echo of your footsteps as you took the stairs quicker than ever. The room was open and brightly lit up with sunlight streaming in through floor to ceiling windows. Only a hot tub in the giant space, currently occupied by two of your friends. “Hey-“ You flapped your arms and aggressively shushed Hoseok, who looked even more startled than he had when you first burst into the room, intruding on his relaxation. “I’m sorry! I-“ Your head snapped up again, hearing boots on the stairs. Your wide eyes scanned the room again before they met Jimin’s amused ones. You hastily whispered “I was never here!” Before running and practically diving behind the hot tub. “What the hell is-“ “SHHH!” You hissed out at Hobi. “Just go about your business, bestie.” The whisper wasn’t as harsh this time, mostly because you felt bad but partly because you were trying to get your breathing under control. As you tucked your legs close and curled into a ball on the floor, you heard his whistling abruptly stop as his boots slapped loudly against the floor, announcing his arrival into the room. Slowly you pulled the hood to your onesie over your head, wishing it was an invisibility cloak. “Hyungs, have you seen my traitor of a girlfriend?” Jungkook’s voice was smooth, too smooth, as the words caused you to shiver. “What... No!” Hobi’s reply was too quick and had you squeezing your eyes shut. Jungkook’s chuckle and mocking “No?” Had you biting your lip. “Funny ‘cause I’m willing to bet you’re hiding the little sneak.” “What’s going on..?” Jimin’s quiet tone was full of confusion as more footsteps could be heard on the stairs causing you to curl into yourself tighter. “C’mon, just accept-“ “Accept what?” JK’s voice lashed out, cutting Jin off. “Accept that my girlfriend played me?” His tone was incredulous and had your heart sinking. “Wait, what’s...what happened?” Hoseok sounded so lost you couldn’t help but tilt your head to the right and look up at him in the hot tub. His hand held out in the air as if indicating Jungkook and Seokjin. A big huff of air was released adding to the already tense atmosphere. “We were just playin-“ “Playing? You and that little temptress were-“ You couldn’t take it anymore and popped up from behind the hot tub. “I couldn’t resist, okay!?” The pleading whine of your voice ricocheted off the walls as all heads snapped to you. Hobi jumped up from his seated position, turning so fast that he hit his knee in the hot tub. “Oh shit!” He hissed. The look on Jungkook’s face as he took a step towards you had you stepping back automatically. His eyes narrowed, “Oh, it’s my fault then?” Your hands flew into the air like you were tossing a pizza, before pointing at him. “YES! Just be glad that I restrained myself. The situation was under control until you-“ “Until I?” Jungkook ripped the beanie off his head, twisting the material with a harsh laugh before yanking it back on. “Nothing is under control if you’re picking anyone over me.” The force of your head shaking had the onesie’s hood falling down. “I didn’t pick anyone over you!” His shoulder lifted as he motioned to the right, “You took Jin hyung up on his offer.” You looked between Jin and Jungkook, “I wasn’t going to... I love Seokjinnie and all, but I love you so much. And you’re so-“ Jungkook scoffed, “But what do you love most, hmm?” Your eyes narrowed, “I do NOT love ice cream more than I love you!” “Ice cream, the fuck?” Ignoring Yoongi, Jungkook took a step, his voice taunting, “Your actions say otherwise...” You almost screamed, “It’s not my fault!” Your hands were moving all around as you ranted. “Jin offered me ice cream if I helped him win, yes, but I wasn’t... I thought about it for like a second. A. SECOND, okay? But then you bent over the pool table in front of me, and your ass was just THERE! I didn’t know where the pool balls were. Or that you were about to hit, and damn sure didn’t know you’d sink the 8ball!” Jungkook mocked your hand motion which had been a bit wide apparently. “Oh, there?” You jabbed your finger in the air at him indignantly, “Your ass looks great in that onesie, so don’t even!” He smiled at you, which is when you finally took notice that he had been slowly moving closer as he provoked you. Eyes narrowed, and head tilted to look for an escape, “Be glad I restrained myself, because I wanted to bite, but instead I only grabbed.” The shift in his body was clear, he hadn’t been expecting that but he sure seemed to like it. A smile played on your lips, “Oh, did you hear something you liked, Jeon?” lightly snapping your teeth at the end. Jungkook suddenly lunged at you, arm out stretched. You squeaked out a laugh as you hopped back and to the right. Your arm reaching the glass doorhandle and yanking it open, before charging out into the cold. The snow under your sneakers made you nervous but you pushed it down as Jungkook’s  boots crunched loudly in the snow. You quickly realized you were more trapped outside surrounded by the frozen forest than you had been in the house. Your foot slid in the snow, causing you to start to fall. Decision made for you, you turned and slid even more landing down on one knee with the other leg stretched out into a half split. With your arms out in the air at your sides for balance, you looked up to face your boyfriend. His handsome face was beaming with a victorious smile, his breath creating puffs in the cold air. All black onesie, beanie, and boots overshadowing all the snowy white. It really wasn’t fair how he looked so good in snow. All you wanted to do was launch yourself into his arms but you refused to give up your little game. You reached down and grabbed a handful of snow, ignoring the cold burn before tossing it at Jungkook. You watched as the snow scattered in the air, a few stray clumps only missing him by inches before they fell to the ground. Laughter bubbles up inside you, and you could feel yourself tipping over. Eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back as your laughter danced with the breeze, you gave in falling back into the snow, only to have a strong arm wind around your shoulders, cushioning your head from impact. “Caught you.” Jungkook’s warm hand on your cheek had your eyes opening, His smile brighter than the sun behind his shoulder. You tilted your head to the side, kissing his palm, as you brought your hand up to rest over his heart  before your eyes met again. “Hi.” His thumb slid along your cheek, touching the corner of your lips. “Hiya sweetheart.” Jungkook leaned down, and touched his nose to yours. “I knew you were there.” You leaned your head up to soak in the warmth of his breath as your other arm came around his back, nails tracing random patterns on his broad shoulder. “Damn, Hobi is a shitty alibi.” Jungkook chuckled, “Nah, babe, well yeah” he leaned closer, his lips ghosting over yours, “but I could see the reflection of your pink onesie in the window.” “Well fuck me and my hiding skills.” You breathed on his lips. He leaned his head back and to the side, “We can’t really call them skills, now can we, love?” Your nose scrunched up, “Excuse you, I am very skilled in the art of hide-“ Jungkook’s hand came up, and pulled lightly at the zipper of your onesie, stopping once he exposed where your cleavage and the cup of your red bra met. “Very skilled, indeed.” The gasp that escaped you had nothing to do with the cold air hitting your exposed flesh, and everything to do with Jungkook’s hips pushing into yours. You licked your lips as you hooked your legs around him. “We’re both very skilled, some may even say blessed.” His smirk was intoxicating, and the mischief in his eyes had your breath stalling in your lungs. If your hand would have been anywhere else, you would not of known he was up to something. But as you felt his back muscles shift slightly, you looked to his side and saw snow in his free hand. “Gguk…” The breathy tone of your voice had his smirk widening, and his nose wrinkling. He brought his snowy hand up, and over your bare chest, holding it there. Your eyes met, before you both watched his still hand, and the slowly melting snow shifting along his fingers. Your hand tightened on his shoulder, nails biting in as soon as the first drop of snow started to fall. It hit your chest with a searing silence as your lungs tried to take in all the air around you at once. Jungkook caused all of that air to rush from your lungs in the next moment, as he leaned down and slowly licked the melted snow off your chest. His dark eyes on yours, he placed open mouthed kisses along to the next snow that fell, before his hot tongue came out again to lick the liquid up. The shiver that rocked your body felt like it would of been felt through the very earth beneath you. His lips feathered lightly over to your galloping heart, resting there, as he brought his wet hand up to your throat. He tilted your chin up, before using his three long fingers to paint down your throat with melted snow. The whimper that managed to escape your throat was desperate and eager. Jungkook’s answering noise rumbled from his chest into yours, animalistic and proud, as he leaned up tongue starting at your collarbone, and slowly gliding up toward your chin. Snow fell as his teeth nipped at your pulse point. Your legs tightening around his hips, head thrown back further as your hands pulled him as close as possible. Snow forcefully hit your hand that was on his back, causing you to let go of Jungkook and had him pulling back looking down at you confused. Your brows furrowed as Jungkook shifted up onto his forearms quickly, covering you, right before the sound of snow hitting could be heard. You stared at his chest, as realization dawned, then brought your hands up to cover his exposed neck. A slow clap could be heard as the snow stopped. “Playing grab ass in the snow like a couple of horny teenagers!”  Jimin’s voice sounded so proud and amused. “Doesn’t feel good having people storm into your private moment, huh?” Hobi taunted as Taehyung’s laugh rang out just before another smash of snow sounded. Jungkook shifted his head to look behind him, your hands tightening around his neck with the movement. “The hell..?” “Just thought you could use some audience feedback,” came Jin’s reply, “Can’t see shit through your big ass head.” Hoseok’s wheeze was unnecessarily loud, and caused your irritation to skyrocket. “That shit’s not cool, bestie!” You called from under Jungkook. “Shit’s not cool to disrupt my down time, AGAIN!” Hobi shot out. “You and Jungkook with your kinky games…” Jin tried to sound disappointed but his laughter was too clear as another snowball hit your boyfriend’s back. “It wasn’t intentional, EX-bestie! This is kinky? Broaden your horizons to match your shoulders, bitch.” Your annoyance had you letting go of Jungkook’s neck to quickly zip up your onesie, then tapping him so he would move off you, which he ignored. As Jimin and Tae’s giggles rang out, you felt Jungkook tighten himself over you just before the thud of more snowballs hitting his back could be heard. Your hands quickly went back up to his neck, only to be met with clumps of erupted snowballs.  You quickly scooped as many pieces as you could and tossed them aside. Jungkook leaned back, his eyes dipping down to see you had zipped up, before looking at you with raised eyebrows. Just as he opened his mouth, you saw a snowball hit the back of his head, the broken pieces scattering around him as his head tipped down with the force. Pushing lightly at Jungkook’s chest, he actually moved back this time into a Half crouch half standing position, amusement written all over his face as he extended his hand to you. Once your hand was in his, he effortlessly pulled you up and into his body, still shielding you. “I’m gonna kick their asses.” You declared fiercely. His hand came up to cup your cheek, fingers tucking some hair behind your ear. “I fucking love you.” Jungkook’s voice was like warm honey sticking to your skin. You leaned up on your tiptoes, hands going to his cold wet neck, “I fucking love you too.” Jungkook’s  thumb slid down to your chin, to bring your lips together in a quick promise filled kiss. He pulled back as another snowball hit his back. Your glare was instantly back and aimed in the direction of the snowball launcher, even though all you could see was your boyfriend’s strong chest. His radiant smile had you looking up and ignited your own. “Seems like a good day for war.” Your smile turned into a massive smirk at his competitive declaration. “That’s what I’ve been saying all day!” “Tonight, we celebrate.” Jungkook winked as he stepped back and turned to face his brothers, missing the way your eyes lit up. “Oh shit, Jiminie woke the beast!” Hoseok called out, your eyes easily finding him further back from Tae and Jimin, a pile of snowballs on the ground as he used his gloved hands to make more at an alarming rate. Tae was also trying to stockpile snowballs, but wasn’t getting very far ahead. “Was that a toucan!?” Jimin yelled while turning quickly, stomping on more than half of Taehyung’s snowball collection, squinting at the trees. “Stop, Jiminah!” Tae grumbled as he hunched over, hurrying to make more. “Did you hear that?” Jimin said seriously as he turned, kicking out his leg taking out the rest of the pile. “Whatcha hearing, Jimin-shi?” Jungkook asked from your left. You looked down to see him squatted in the snow, sleeves of his onesie pulled over his hands making his own ammunition. “Sounds like Jiminie’s trying to save himself.” Jin laughed out. You hid your laughter behind a cold hand, wondering where you could grab some gloves for you and Jungkook, as Taehyung reached down, pulled up an arm full of snow, and dumped it on Jimin’s head. The yell that pierced the air sounded like a quack and actually caused birds to fly from the nearby trees. “Forget this, I’m going inside!” Jimin shouted as he turned toward the house shaking loose as much snow as possible. The chorus of boos we all let out were quickly accompanied by snowballs launching at Jimin’s retreating back. Causing him to tuck and roll to hide behind a pile of wood. “It was his idea, wasn’t it?” You asked no one in particular. Hoseok nodded and pointed at Jin too. The grin on your face was full of mischief and anticipated victory as you bent down to start another pile of snowballs. Jungkook sending your eyes to the pile he had been working on, as he placed a snowball into each of your hands. “Let’s get it, babe!”

[hargrove-mayfields]

Harringrove April Day 29- Pillow

The first time Steve is allowed to visit Billy’s new place, a tiny fixer upper paid for with his government checks, all of the in-home nurses are gone, and he’s independent enough to at least answer the door when Steve shows up.

But there’s still something off with him, and Steve can tell the whole time he’s there. He asks him, “Is everything alright? Your new place treating you well?”

Billy scoffs, goes on a tirade about how much it is very much not treating him well, “The floors are creaky, the bathroom grows mold, I can hear everything that happens outside through the walls. It’s a piece of shit.”

Steve sees the look in his eye that says he’s holding back, so he probes, “And?”

“And it’s fucking hell being on my own here all the time.” Billy says, not looking at Steve.

“Tell me about it.” Steve says and Billy scoffs in agreement, but he wants to hear more, so he tells him, “No, I’m serious, I wanna know so I can see if I can help you.”

“I can’t look out the windows at night, so if I hear something I’m just holed up in here terrified ‘til the sun comes up. I can’t use the stove. I shower cold and the water pressure sucks.” Billy sighs, and shrugs his shoulders, like he doesn’t care even though he’s very obviously bothered by his living situation, “I hate it here. Strike me down now, but I’d almost rather be in Neil’s house.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say other than, “Why didn’t you tell anybody it was so bad?” but that must strike a nerve with Billy, because he snaps, sounding exhausted, “Because I can handle myself, Harrington.”

Steve doesn’t take the bait though, he knows better than to do that anymore, knows why Billy ever threw the line out in the first place, so he offers instead a genuine, “But you shouldn’t have to.”

“Look it’s not a big deal. Life goes on, you know? I can’t ask everybody to focus all their attention on me 24/7.”

“If that’s what you need, then you absolutely can. It’s not your fault if you need help, and not everybody’s going to be bothered by giving it, you know.”

Defensive, Billy asks, “Yeah, well, you offering?” and again Steve shuts down his attempt at arguing, telling him,“I was getting there actually. Would you be into having a roommate?”

The thing that shocks him is, Billy doesn’t say no, he narrows his eyes and asks him, “You gonna baby me?”

“Not unless you want me to.”

“I only have one bed.” Billy says to try to talk him out of it, but Steve says immediately, “I can sleep on the couch.”

“Do you really wanna deal with all this ?” This one Billy asks pointedly, motioning to the medications lined up on his coffee table, the oxygen tank sitting next to him.

“I don’t think helping you out counts as ‘dealing with’ anything.”

“Fine. But I have ground rules.” Billy says after thinking about it for a long while, then lays them out, “No hogging the bathroom, no leaving shit around, no playing shitty music on my player, and absolutely no inviting the brats over.”

“Fair enough. Can I throw one suggestion out there though?” Steve asks hesitantly, continuing when Billy nods at him, “No pushing each other away. We’re gonna be living together, we’ve got to leave behind all our high school bullshit.”

Billy looks up at him, and says simply, “I already left that all on the mall floor.”

So it was decided. In what was probably the most spur of the moment choice he had ever made, Steve would be moving in with Billy. Two days later he shows back up at his door with a trunk load of his things, Billy waiting for him on the porch while he get out the two suitcases he’d been able to fill.

“S’that all you brought?”

“I only own like, a handful things in my house. My parents didn’t let me take much.” Steve feels uncomfortable suddenly, worries this was a bad choice and he made it too hastily, “Is that a bad thing? I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to mooch off of you or something.”

“Nah, I was just expecting you to have a bunch of rich boy luggage or something.” Billy opens the door for him, letting him drag his suitcases in and adds,“Think it’s better like this anyhow.”

“It is a pretty small space.” Steve points out, to which Billy agrees, “Yeah, but… I think- I think it’ll be better with you around.”

That makes Steve smile, reminds him of how things are going to be now that he was going to be living with Billy, and he assures him, “I think it will be.”

Because there was pretty much nothing to unpack, they make quick work of it, all he had room (or permission) to pack was his clothes, anything personal, and a single pillow off of his bed anyways.

Steve gets his first taste of what helping Billy take care of himself ensues, only an hour after getting settled in having to hold Billy’s hair back when an especially bad coughing fits makes him sick, and help him through a panic attack when he turned on the stove; he thought that before Billy had meant it didn’t work, not that he was terrified of it.

His first night there, after Billy slinked off into his room to get some sleep, Steve takes his one pillow and lays down on the couch, but he can’t sleep. It’s a thrifted feather couch, and not only does he think it’s disgusting, sleeping on pretended furniture, but he’s pretty sure he’s allergic to the feathers inside.

Steve’s in the kitchen, just sitting at the table with a glass of water from the fridge when Billy pops his head into the room, announcing his presence with a “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

“Well you’re not in any shape to.” He says back, making it known he was absolutely not going to be talked into making Billy sleep in his own living room, “It's fine, Billy.”

“No I meant that you could sleep in my bed. I-If you wanted to.” Billy rambles, staring at the tiled floor instead of at Steve while he talks, “You don’t even have your own blanket so I thought you’d want to.. I don’t know, just forget I said anything man. My meds must be makin’ me loopy.”

“No I want to.” Steve dumps his cup in the sink and grabs the singular pillow from the living room, telling Billy with a soft smile, “Like I said, no shutting each other out, right?”

“Right, uh, it’s probably smaller than what you’re used to, but it’s a bed I guess.”

The bed is big enough that they don’t have to touch, laying back to back in a pile of comforters too hot for Steve, but perfectly suited to how cold Billy was anymore. It’s tense, feels like there’s some energy between them until Billys scratchy voice, muffled by the CPAP breaks the silence, “Steve?”

He responds, rolling over onto his back in the bed, “Yeah?”

Billy does this same, his voice cracking as he asks, staring up at the ceiling, “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because you deserve it, Billy and I care about you.” Steve admits honestly.

“Don't flatter me, Harrington.” Billy mumbles in response, but then his hand is finding Steve’s between them, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently. He whispers into the dark, “I care about you too, Steve. Thank you.”

[maruzzewrites]

Every breath you take. - 10

cw for a bit of gore in this one.

Driving with tension in your arms and legs proved to be dreadful, the anxiety of not knowing what was happening to your darling felt like a sharp pain that disappeared at intervals, only to return more intense and barbed a few seconds later.

It was always a possibility, but never a reality, the fact that one of them would have enough of your obvious love for someone else, someone better than them and that they couldn’t beat with simple courting or vile obsession. Your fiance was an obstacle, even when not in the picture as your husband-to-be, and you wanted to vomit at the mere thought of being the cause of his problems with them.

Your drive, while filled with the desire to be short and quick, was slower than usual. No cars passed you on your way home, no one directed towards the city from the same direction of the house. Even when someone was behind you, you would check through the rear-view mirror to see who was driving. Men, women, old and young, with families or friends, alone or someone in the backseat; no one seemed to match the physiognomy of those men.

At some point, the anxiety grew to the point of being unable to even take gulps of breath. You were driving exceptionally slow, slower than needed, and cars upon cars would honk at you or yell at you from open windows. But you didn’t care, you wanted this. You waited for them to surpass you and give you a better view inside their cars to check thoroughly, methodically, and then switch to the next vehicle in line.

At some point, the terrible strain on your body and mind of hypervigilance made you almost steer to the side of the road. And you had to stop, pull over, and let your limbs tremble and shake with more violence than they ever did in your life. Despite your need to relax, you found it impossible to control your eyes, raising every time a car passed by.

The answer was always the same, no one was following you. Nowhere those men could be seen. Yet, it didn’t help the hollowing fear enveloping your actions, making you lean into the window to watch closer, and closer. You spent like that a good hour, you assumed, but you couldn’t estimate an exact time because you didn’t check the clock of your car when you stopped. The sun shifted, so did the shadows, so you could only presume.

You wondered if you could try again. You picked up your phone from the seat, gripping it with more force than necessary, and you could imagine it breaking between your tense fingers. Cancelling any possibility to call for help, but getting rid of their torment at home. The way your entire life was a puzzle of choices that carried both good and bad consequences, always walking hand in hand, always ready to hit you when you least expect it.

If there was the probability to have something your way, there was also something ready to push you back into the dark corner and keep you there, one inch closer to the wall than before. The negatives were always too great to even be brightened by the vague light of positivity an action could bring. So you stopped holding the phone so strongly, felt your hand ache less as tension left the muscles, traveling back up your arm, in your shoulder, all over your body. Settled in your chest, and you felt almost like your lungs couldn’t contract properly.

You dialed your darling’s number slowly, keeping an eye on the road and any direction that could provide them with easy access to you. The ring in your ear came once, twice, then you heard his voice confirming he was listening. Cordialities, but immediately he questioned if you needed help somehow, and it was implicit he would run to help you however he could.

And he did. Even if he was still away from you, still waiting for your answer, he really did ease your mind. It was only temporary relief, you knew, but your mind held the possibility to feel at peace for once for dear life. Because it really felt like you needed it to keep going, or everything would come down crumbling around you. Having blood on your hands, on your conscience.

You could hear your own voice shake, struggling to crawl out of your throat, but you managed to let him know you were well and you just needed to hear a familiar voice, that you were glad to be talking to him. He didn’t question you, but you could detect a hint of wonder and worry in his next words.

He was in class, he was doing his last bits of project before the exam session. And that made you understand how much you lost in those months, when you would face this part of the year with a bit of loneliness because of his attention to studying. Soon enough, he would have a degree and maybe, just maybe, you could ask him to move away from this city. Move as up north as possible, maybe even leave Italy altogether.

There, you could be happy and shielded by those monsters. In a cozy little cabin, without anyone bothering or threatening you both, ready to pick up your life where you left it. The fantasy in your head only made the return to reality even worse, a drop from a high too sweet. That was how you were reduced, to exorcize and refuse any attempt at happiness only because the cold feeling growing in your chest was crushing to bear.

You made small talk with your former fiance, but he figured soon enough you weren’t in the mood to speak too much. You were really forcing yourself, not wanting to bother him more than necessary, but he reassured you that he would pick up the phone later. He was about to go to another class anyway, the last for the day. By the time he would be on his walk back home, you would have probably been in your room for a while.

You said your goodbye, and then there was only silence. Before your brain could regress into the compulsive inspection of whoever passed by, you started the engine again and drove off into Naples. You were uncharacteristically slow, and drivers would continue to honk and yell at you to do faster, but you wouldn’t dare when your mind was as fogged and overworked as that moment.

When you arrived under your apartment building, you turned off the car and waited in the new stillness. You slumped down, curled up almost, as much as the narrow space in the vehicle would allow. Despite taking this defensive stance, your ears and your eyes were on guard; to notice anything, a step or a voice, a figure or an outfit, anything out of the ordinary that could signal their presence around you.

When enough time passed and you were feeling yourself spiral into darker and darker places, you stumbled out of the car and were careful, like you often did now when returning home, to check every corner of the shared inner space. Not as obviously and thoroughly as you wanted, because otherwise you would seem suspicious and, in the eventuality they were actually observing you, they wouldn’t be as convinced about your changed feelings.

Everything in your life had to be orchestrated around their actions, their thoughts and the possibility of both of those things, because at this point your very existence was put on hold. It didn’t belong to you until you could shake off those chains for good, and you couldn’t wait for the moment they would turn on each other or spit you out after chewing you into dust.

Even as you climbed the stairs, you were jittery. You had to take several attempts at opening the door between them slipping from your fingers or you would miss the keyhole due to the shaking of your hands, still too tense. You even let the door slam with how clumsy you became with the electricity shooting from one end to the other of your brain, too many emotions and information traveling your exhausted head.

Rest called upon you, the sweet embrace of your bed and the secure bubble of sleep, where you could be absent from the world, simulate a reality where nothing ever happened. But you couldn’t retire in your room just yet, you had to go through the motions of a simple and normal life: shower, talk to your family, have dinner, and some downtime. A perfectly average evening for the least average of lives, you assumed.

When your mother was busy watching frivolous programs filled with mundanity and pettiness, you declared how tired you were and wished her a goodnight. It was bitter how seeing those examples of ordinary events, for how much everyone acted as if their problems were so much bigger than reality, would leave an ache inside of you. You were turning into something you didn’t want to be, something filled with resentment and antipathy for anyone suffering less than you.

The ways those men’s influence snaked into your life to poison any aspect of it, how they managed to leave an indelible mark on your psyche and your mentality to the point you couldn’t even imagine how you were before; it hurt, it stung worse than you could put into words and thoughts.

They refined the smooth marble surface with sandpaper until it left nothing but edges and ruined colors, dull without possibility to restore it. You wanted to hope that you could come back from it all, repaint your skin with colors even brighter and even more beautiful, but the muted doom hanging over your head prevented you from keeping up those thoughts for long. The only positive note in the drone that became your life was the plan you were hatching, even if it would take you long enough for everyone else to forget about you and abandon you to fight for yourself.

And even then, what were you to do after? Beaten into a broken shell, ready to release the waste boiling inside and corroding the feet of those around you. If they wouldn’t leave you before those men were gone, they would after the fact: because you would shatter and have to put the pieces together, for no apparent reason to those outside.

Yet, you persevered. You had to, because the alternative was losing yourself. Losing friends and family could burn your soul, but not having one to begin with couldn’t allow you to build your life again. If they’re gone, one day, you would be free. And that meant the freedom to collapse, to be torn apart, to wail and cry until your throat was dry, but it would be your freedom.

You closed the door behind you as you thought. You had been in your mind so long those past months, you built a world made of horror and left everything else outside to be picked up on your way back, when everything would be alright. You laid on the bed with exhaustion cold on your skin, crushingly heavy on your bones.

You didn’t know the exact moment when you fell asleep, but you could swear you rested awake for several hours into the darkness and the silence. But for all you knew, you could have been dead to the world the moment your head touched the pillow, into something dull and aphonic that parodied the ease of sleep.

All you knew was that you were awakened by the filtering light pouring inside, warming you up into the spring air and the early summer notes it carried. You had a week of masks ahead of you, dense, impenetrable, but to endure to the best of your capabilities.

One day it was shopping with your mother, the other talking to friends. One evening it was going to meet family members you had neglected to visit, and the following morning you would walk around the beach to experience something long gone from your life. And every night, it was talking to your fiance and listening to him talk about his studies, forgetting about what your existence was and being everything you wanted to be again.

“What do you want to study?” He asked, once. And you stayed silent for a long time, indifferent to the way your mind couldn’t work on thinking about yourself as someone in a future that belonged to you. You could conjure the hope for it, overwork your spirit until you could put on a façade for everyone, but the concrete result of your plan and all its consequences were alien, distant, and nothing but the damned apple in the coils of a snake.

Your fiance asked again, you blinked the disbelief away. Or so you thought, because the words still wouldn’t come and your brain was failing you with violent rapidity. He wouldn’t suggest anything else, just wait and wait, and your head was a blank slate void of ideas in those seconds. When he assumed enough time had passed, he came to fix the situation a bit, “You remember when we talked about you going to university?”

You did remember, suddenly. You confirmed your memory and felt relief in his voice when he continued with his thought, “I wanted to know what you would like to study.”

You had to think about something, yet you couldn’t find a single spark of life that could guide you. You lost so much time to demented tormentors that you couldn’t even consider the possibility of pondering on that question. Your fiance did propose, long ago, to support you through school, and you remembered dreamingly waiting for him as you admired the building where he took classes.

When you still felt a bit more control, when autonomy wasn’t something so foreign and unfamiliar yet. Maybe that was the start of the end for you, when their presence started to spill even more into your mundanity that it replaced it. When you started to think about them from morning to evening, even when you were far away from their cove.

You stammered, he noticed. He didn’t fault you for the indecisiveness, as he explained, because he was nervous the months before his enrollment as well, unsure if he would pick the right path for himself. However, he didn’t care if you would change your mind once, twice, three times in your first year; you would need time to settle into a future, because it had to fit you as you wanted, not as others demanded.

And despite the desire to have everyone else shut up about their normalcy, so that you wouldn’t be reminded of your plight, you accepted what came from him. Maybe it was because he knew what he was saying and he was choosing his words with attention, with all the concern of someone intent on staying. He was taking an oath, with light words and solemn intent, and you were conflicted between your desire to cave to your need for comfort and your crave for his safety.

But what was the point in demanding from him to forget you along with everyone else? Loneliness and lack of options were deadly in this battle, and even if he was merely a man with no connections and no power, it was still soothing the way his voice could mend your soul and calm your mind. It made you hold that mask with less belligerence, cracking it less between your fingers.

You spent the hours of that evening talking about faculties, classes and possibilities, and your heart could beat again in that atmosphere. Made of risk, opportunity and the allure of everyday that you lost like sand between the fissures open along your body.

It was corrosive, scraping along the burning flesh and leaving tears in its wake, but you wanted it. You wanted that ache, you wanted to feel the white-hot anger along with the fear. You wanted to hate them for what they were stealing from you, or you may end up forgetting how to feel that resentment. There were times when it melted, escaped the confines of your brain, and you were left numb to their actions; and you didn’t want that, you desired the depths of hatred in your soul, the disgust and the anxiety, the pit under your feet as you walked.

And thinking about that lost future with your beloved, drawing the lines smudged by the side of your hand, it served you well in that intent. Because when he handed you a brink, it would fall, and leave the wall incomplete. Because when you were about to rebuild it, they were there to stomp on your hard work and tear down anything else.

Menaces, menaces, there on Earth to torment you until your mind would break and your muscles would give in. And even the soothing sound of your darling’s voice wouldn’t shoo away the whispering enveloping your being, their voices echoing, thundering, bouncing on a wall, on another, splattering on the floor and leaving behind a mess.

It was as if something cracked, letting everything pour and flood the husk left behind by their attentive, meticulous carving. If you had to carry their scars, their markings, may they be reclaimed with the bile and the scalding blood levigating them. Until those men’s passage was nothing but a memory, and then nothing anymore.

You closed the call with the flames of rage licking at the edges of your body, burning you, burning their images. It sealed the pact you made with yourself, of enduring whatever stretch of torture you were left ahead of you. Freedom was your goal, however you would obtain it – be it death, be it abandonment.

That night, the first one in a while in which you wanted to be awake, you observed the sky with new eyes. Not hopeful, not resigned, but incensed and mad. And your quest may be doomed, you may be the pitiful man screaming to the heavens and challenging those impossible to fight, but you needed it. You needed to find the motivation, the motion in your steps, and the force inside your performance.

Your workday came, the usual routine: get ready, take your car, drive to the house. Each moment was a bucket of gelid water over the fire you tried to preserve, with your own breath as fuel, the oxygen alimenting it to height you couldn’t even imagine before.

Your weapons were lousy, meager, worthless, and you hoped they would stay like that – because they weren’t to be used. But until you could, until that flame roared, you begged yourself to resist and fight with what you were given. If you did, you could return.

The day morphed between morning and afternoon, the men around you buzzed and pried. A request, a demand, nothing new and nothing odd. They continued to bother you for your entire stay, and you were ready to jump to attention. There was still rigidity in your steps, you had to summon all your willpower to even look them in the eyes, be cordial, act like you cared or like you even considered them.

Your fervor dimmed in their presence, returned to its glory in the few moments of calm you could make for yourself between one order and the other. Constant, always on your feet and never thinking too long, or you would lose your nerve and let it all slip away.

Your triumph was close, though. The door was a promise made by the end of the day, by the pink hues of the evening waiting beyond the threshold and down the road to your house. You survived another day, you survived with your spirit intact and still burning, even if it was but the minute sparkle of a match struggling to keep alive.

Only a handful of steps separated you from the first victory you could consider your own, the first drop in the vase after the drought. An outcome to keep close to your chest, let it warm your poor limbs, guard and shield with jealous frenzy from the tendril of those jackals. Yours, and only yours, digged up between your hands withered down to the naked bone.

But to that light, there was a shadow imposing itself from behind. It didn’t touch you, it didn’t demand, but you knew you had to stop when you acknowledged it; and it was aware of you knowing, because when your movements stopped, his started.

It was as if everything else fell down, into a void. It was you and it was Risotto, the only two being who ever existed. You breathed in, deep but controlled, to not alarm him and to feed that dying flame, those last ribbons of warmth deep inside your stomach. Air in, air out, slow as you could as Risotto arrived right in front of you.

Despite your knowledge about his involvement with the entire plot and obsession they had with you, you could hardly picture Risotto curved on his desk to watch picture after picture of you, listening to every hushed secret of yours the others were to confide him, scheming the next move and the future he wanted with you. But when those hollow eyes stared down at you like judgment was nigh, you could at least believe the demented corruption that mind held.

He bowed his head in pretend gratitude, in mocking politeness. Yet he was imperturbable, and cold, a glacier on your way to the sun on the horizon. His mouth was bringer of nothing, but misery; in that moment too, he could report nothing but foreboding omens, “Thank you. For everything, today.”

Each word was a pause, each syllable a meaning. Spoken with caution and with perfect delivery, an old actor basking into the applause of the public for his last exhibition. And like the bow to finally depart, Risotto’s arms raised and reached for you. Fangs ready to bite and tear the tender meat, leave it raw against the air.

He held you, more than a hug. It was a famished, desperate clawing at your soul to make it bleed, and bleed, and bleed dry. Head against his chest, calm heartbeat in your ears, drumming away against the membrane until it was as symbiotic as that of your mother the day you were born.

Your blood rushed to that rhythm, and the tide extinguished the last attempt to live on of that match. As if Risotto reached into the depths of your soul, and his fingertips closed around the head until the flame was suffocating around the lack of oxygen.

It ended there. Like every other time, you were left boneless and without yourself, between the arms of a man you didn’t want to see as human. Warm, and you hated it, that he was flesh and blood and brains and bones, that he was there and that he was breathing what you couldn’t gulp down as you were suspended between life and hell.

He left you shattering on the ground, wished you a good evening, and pushed you towards the door. The fragments breaking, hitting the floor, you on the carpets of that house. You looked behind into the hall, some of them there to watch the scene like critics, like judges, like birds of prey ready to hoard what you were leaving behind. You hoped with everything in you that those shards left cuts on their hands.

The drive back home started as badly as you could imagine: halfway, you had to pull over and double down to dry heave at the side of the road. Your throat contracting, releasing, tight and bound as your ribs felt like they were closing in to shield you further. On hands and knees on the dirty, long enough that someone stopped near your car to help you.

What could you do? How did you end up sobbing and step back from a stranger with concern deep inside their eyes, a hand on their phone ready to call for help? You begged, begged, down where you were. It was a simple, sudden illness that would disappear as soon as it came; you staggered on your feet, let them hold you up and leave you on your car seat.

After countless questions, to be sure you would be fine, they drove away. You watched the rear of their car pass, not before they slowed down near your position to check on you. Then silence that came after the asphalt was grinding under the wheels, cracking in the emptiness.

Only then, only in solitude, you fell apart piece by piece. Your head between your hands, between your knees, fingers tense and red for the strain to pull at your hair. The stress against your hairline, tugging once then twice, just to feel something else than the humiliating frustration and bottomless despair brought by that one, single embrace.

It took so little, so very little, and they could destroy any prospect or plan you wanted to build. For days took out of your life to pose as a monument, they came and raided and pillaged, left beaten earth under their feet and you to rebuild the incomplete ruins of what was left. Nothing, as usual, and each time the houses were a bit more crooked, a bit more bare, a bit more empty and useless against their attacks.

The problem was that, was it not? That you invited those barbaric acts inside your life, you didn’t stop and you couldn’t stop. You would have to endure invasion after invasion, in a lone effort of rebellion, unheard and unseen. You could do nothing to stop them efficiently, so you had to simply deal with the consequences and hope they found greener pastures.

However, you hated it with all your might. Because it was easy for them, it was impossible for you, and you deceived yourself in an everlasting instinct of seeking hope and reason to that chaos made of fear, impotence and resignation. An eternal struggle between wanting to keep that nature, that humanity behind a lock, but wanting to get rid of it to feel it pass and go, so that you would not be drowned anymore.

In your desperation, you truly wanted help once more. Who else could do so, if not the man who was there with you for the entire way. Sharing your pling, feeling it with you, your former fiance was a few keys away from you, in the palm of your hand. You dialed his number without thinking, with all the intention, as a second nature now that you could count on no one but him, and yourself, and whoever is beyond you looking down.

The line is hooked, it rings. You never noticed how long, resounding and echoing those sounds are, atonic and dragged to travel from one end of your mind to the other. Finally, the sound of the phone being picked up and your beloved’s voice greeting you with a yawn and a sigh.

It anchored you slowly, the exchange you had with him was calm and measured. You never vented or let your emotions take over when you were talking to him, but he was aware of the heavy note behind your words. He was aware of what you were carrying on your shoulders, but somehow he knew not to push a conversation about the topic, to just talk to you normally as he did months and months ago, before everything.

It was selfish to demand anything out of him, you should have done the most graceful act of care towards him and let him go towards a brighter future, but you craved so much the only feeble light like in that void. If you couldn’t ignite those flames inside of you for long or ever again, at least you wanted to rely on the external source of guidance. No matter how lost he was too, at least he was with you.

As your mind returned to progressive stability, you heard the weariness in his voice. He talked about projects and groups of students awake until the early hours of the morning to complete assignments and study. It wasn’t the substance that interested you, as much as the simple thought that he was fine and well, still living and still growing.

He would be there with you, in that growth. It wasn’t like the others, because he stuck around and he would share it. It wasn’t like those who simply flaunted normalcy, who craved abnormality and would remind you of the spiral of events, of circumstances and complete, utter, all-consuming horror you were in. He was different, he would lull you back into everyday life when everything ended; one in the arms of the other, ready to rebuild or renovate as you both changed, and grew, and matured – with this tragedy too.

“I have to go,” the conversation ended there, with a soft departure. You blinked exhaustion and daydreams away, just to listen once more to that calming voice, “I’m tired, sorry. I don’t think I can talk more tonight. Can we meet tomorrow to catch up?”

Your heart was beating in your throat, suddenly aware and awake. It had been a while since you met up with him, since you allowed that piece of your life back in its rightful place. Were you truly so egotistical to indulge that request of his, put him in grave danger only to satisfy your own need for reassurance? But then, who were you to deny it, who made you decisor of everything and anything?

You accepted, told him you would meet him in front of his house. He giggled with the tune of your early days, when you were still young and only starting to know each other. When you were naive, and happy, and unaware of anything that would come – be it a prosperous relationship or a declining situation.

With the promise hanging over your heads, you both said your goodbyes.

Despite the call, it took more time to recollect your complete calm, reconnect the wires. You couldn’t allow yourself the recklessness of driving without paying attention to the road and the other drivers. When you were ready, you adjusted your place inside your car and drove off.

That evening, you didn’t force yourself into any type of conversation and your mother understood you were more tired than usual. She didn’t insist, leaving you to sink into a deep sleep as soon as you were done with dinner. As always, your rest was devoid of anything.

You woke up unrefreshed, but pushed forward so that you could see your sweetheart. There was no special effort in your preparation, but each brush of your hair and each step closer to his home brought a sense of freedom and apprehension together to weigh down your soul. Even when you called to make sure he was still willing to meet you, you could feel something gripping your airpipe until you weren’t conscious.

It was ringing. Ringing, ringing, still ringing, and he didn’t pick up. You assumed he was showering or getting ready, maybe having breakfast and forgetting all about his phone for the time being. You retried a few times before deciding that it wouldn’t matter anyway, he was a man of his words.

You walked with somber silence, despite the rumble of the city all around you. You knew where he lived, he knew who you were looking for, yet your brain didn’t register much when you arrived at the right place, seeing the right man.

You moved as if everything was slowed to an almost-alt, just like those past few months felt. You unable to make sense of it all, struggling to even twitch, while the world moved on around you and without you. And despite it all, there was someone right behind you to walk in your steps and reach out to you.

A man, with a skull cracked open against a wall, a few steps right of the door to his apartment building. A man, with vacuous eyes staring ahead of him into the mob all around him. A man, cold to the world and stiff on the ground as he fell ungracefully on the floor with his brains spilling.

Someone was moving to cover him up, so that the public wouldn’t see the spectacle of macabre. But  you continued walking over the scene, until a policeman stopped you in your tracks. He was young, evidently so, but he already carried hair white as snow. Besides that, you couldn’t catch any other detail of his appearance.

You raised your eyes to his face, then dropped them back down to the mass under the cover. You moved slowly, your hands holding onto the uniform of the person right in front of you, your knees giving out right under you.

You didn’t cry or wail, just vomited all over his shoes, on the floor and under the eyes of everyone present. You were sure some reached the corpse mere feet away from you. The policeman was not as concerned at the mess as he was at your weakened body collapsing right in his arms.

You didn’t know what to feel for a while, despite the questioning around you. You felt like you were walking under the rain, torrential, frustrated and furious about ruining your clothes and your hair and your bag and everything else that could be ruined. And you wanted to seek nothing but shelter, a place where you could feel the rain growl and rage, then dim and fade.

And you reached it, a shelter. Under it, you stopped for solace, only to find a gelid wind outside that fuming rage and that sustaining energy. Cold, unforgiving, aided by the roar of the thunder and the flash of the lighting, the rain progressively louder and stronger.

You felt cold for the first time since your climb towards a solution. It was always a possibility, it now became a reality. They had to eliminate him, and they put in your mind that dread of the potential – the potential to hurt those around you, for real and without remorse.

And when it clicked, you were aware of how to feel. You screamed enough to empty your lungs of air, until you couldn’t breathe anymore.

[fawniewithorangejuice]

Confessions, Coffee, Kisses - Part 2

"After you, my liege."

He bowed.

Whenever this happened, the white haired male got a little flustered, though he masked that with laughter.

"Ah, some Reserve Course Students might have some manners after all~"

Hinata snickered as he went in after Komaeda.

"And you're saying we are cocky."

Komaeda chuckled, and Hinata was never so happy by hearing it before.

He was really glad he could be a good friend to Komaeda, just helping him out in any situation.

Hinata never thought he was good at comforting people in general, but Komaeda always seemed to get calm just by his presence.

It was... flattering, to say the least.

And mutual. Hinata could always see things clearer when with the lucky boy, even if some obvious hints went unseen.

Hinata turned to Komaeda, and asked him what kind of coffee he wanted.

The Thanks a Latte café belonged to a small family, but that's exactly what Hinata loved about it. It was tiny, cozy, didn't have many customers - perfect for the introvert Hinata, and the quiet-loving Komaeda.

The sun was beginning to set, soon orange and pink colours painting the spring sky.

Komaeda looked as if he came from a fantasy world, with all this warm backlighting.

The sun shone on his rosy pink cheeks, accentuating his handsome features.

Hinata couldn't help but blush at the sight, and had to blink himself back to reality to hear Komaeda's actual answer.

"...as usual."

He saw the lucky student pause, tilting his head.

Which Hinata found adorable.

"Hinata-kun?"

Oh, the way he said his name. How much he loved hearing it from his mouth.

Hinata knew Komaeda was attractive. What he missed is putting two and two together; if he thinks Komaeda is attractive, then he is attracted to him.

While that could be platonic, it didn't feel platonic between them.

The way the white haired boy raised his eyebrows, his curious yet worried facial expressions... wait, worried?!

That's what got Hinata snapping back to the moment, and he bowed his head in an apology.

"It's nothing, s-sorry..."

Komaeda pouted.

"Why does he have to be so cute?"

"Hinata-kun, it's pretty rude to space out when someone's talking to you!"

Though a hint of worry was still present on Komaeda's face, it bothering Hinata.

"Hmpf, you probably didn't sleep enough tonight either, did you, now?"

Oookay, Hinata didn't expect that.

As usual, Komaeda just hit the bullseye, or at least a certain truth.

Hinata didn't really sleep, due to his schoolwork, and the amount of extra work he volunteered for.

He looked down, guilty.

"Komaeda, I... I told you I am sorry... I really didn't sleep much... but why does that matter?"

Komaeda just looked personally offended, crossing his arms, and leaning closer to Hinata... which seemed a little intimidating because of the slight height difference.

"K-Komaeda...?"

Hinata blushed at the short proximity between them, but he was also a little afraid.

"Hinata-kun! Why shouldn't it matter? How can you say something like that... your sleeping schedule matters because You matter."

He looked a bit betrayed, if I'm being honest.

Hinata felt awful, though quite flattered at the same time. Feelings sure are confusing, aren't they?

If anything, Komaeda just looked upset now, mixed with sadness. That might've been the reason he lowered his voice, and changed his posture.

"Hinata-kun, I care about you. Is it... really not obvious?"

The brunette nodded at his response.

"I-I know that... you're my closest friend, after all..."

The white haired boy gave him an unamused expression, and sighed.

"Guess I am... now, seemingly you not catching it before, I'll have a latte macchiato with vanilla flavour."

As Komaeda stepped back, Hinata could let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"The usual, huh~?"

Hinata teased good-heartedly.

"What else did you expect, it's the best one."

Komaeda declared with confidence.

"Mmm, sure sure. Then I'll order that too, see if it's really the best."

The lucky student narrowed his eyes at Hinata, his expression saying "are you testing me?"

Which the brunette responded to with a shrug and a "maybe~"

They sat down to their usual spot, in one of the corners.

Hinata really adored the aesthetic of the café; the walls were made out of wood, fairy lights hanged all over above them, with the wide windows and comfortable seats... if anything, it felt like a wooden cottage straight out from some fairytale.

After they placed their orders, Hinata couldn't help but gaze at the other boy in front of him. He looked so ethereal, backlit by the setting sun...

Komaeda was no different, once he locked gazes with Hinata, he just couldn't look away. Not that he wanted to.

The two only came back to their senses when the waitress arrived, and handed them their coffee. They both bowed and thanked her, and Hinata awkwardly put some sugar in his.

"We legitimately just stared at each other for at least 4 minutes... friends don't do such, right? Not this way, at least..."

Hinata was slowly piecing things together.

Komaeda, on the other hand was really flustered, he just locked gazes with his friend and crush.

After taking a sip of his coffee and thinking over if he should really try this -he broke the silence.

"Hinata-kun."

The brunette looked at him curiously, tilting his head like a puppy.

"Hmm?"

Komaeda blushed. This is it. He just have to play his cards well.

It was a part of his act, so he looked to the side, embarrassed.

"I hate to ruin the mood like this, but I have to be honest with you."

Hinata's heart skipped a beat.

"You wouldn't ruin anything... so go on?"

After a dramatic sigh and a pause, Komaeda looked at him with sad eyes.

"I lost my keys somewhere in the academy... s-so I ugh..."

He blushed.

"I c-can't sleep in my room tonight."

Hinata was sort of disappointed. That was not what he wanted to hear.

"Wait, why was I expecting him to-"

"So... I-I wouldn't want to be rude or anything, I-I know better than anyone else that I am ultimately worthless, b-but I was hoping...  maybe! B-because we're like... friends... and all that w-we could... maybe... uhm..."

Hinata smiled at the flustered behaviour of Komaeda, and decided to have mercy on the poor guy.

"You want to have a sleepover?"

Komaeda gave him a cautious nod.

"I-if that wouldn't be t-too much to ask for..."

Now, Komaeda was sly, he had a plan to show Hinata his feelings towards him, but he didn't "act" nearly as much as he thought he would.

He did plan some of this out, such as the lie about his keys - he'll still have to drop those in a nearby bush as they head to Hinata's place - but he certainly was not acting his flustered state.

The brunette gave him a reassuring smile.

"Of course I wouldn't mind."

He chuckled.

"You act like you've never been to my place before. It's kind of cute."

That last sentence kind of worked his way out on his own, Hinata didn't mean to say it, but nor did he regret it.

To mask that, he drank some of his coffee.

On the other hand, Komaeda was blushing hard.

"D-did he just indirectly call me cute-?"

Hinata did his best to keep his calm demeanor, though seeing a flustered Komaeda was strangely enjoyable.

He took another sip of his coffee, declaring that it indeed was good; he still preferred cappuccino.

As the sun fell under then horizon, both boys were finished with their coffees.

Hinata argued with Komaeda, because it was "his turn to pay",  but the other argued back at him.

Puffing his cheeks, the white haired boy scoffed.

"Hinata-kun did so many nice things to me today, let me repay you!"

"Komaeda, I didn't do this because I am nice, I did it because you're my friend."

"You're my friend too, aren't you? So why wouldn't you let me pay, Hinata-kun?"

The brunette sighed. Technically, Komaeda had way more money than he did, and he knew sooner or later Komaeda is going to use that dirty card...

"Y-yes, I am your friend, but why are you getting so worked up about money- It's just money!"

Hinata didn't understand at all.

The lucky student took the initiative, and got them enough money so he could pay for both.

The shorter male didn't approve.

"K-Komaeda, what are you doing?! I didn't agr-"

He got a death stare.

And a grin.

"Hinata-kun would never agree to me paying for him. I just had to be faster."

The way Komaeda said that last word sent shivers down on Hinata's spine.

...which he got weirded out by pretty quickly.

"W-what kind of reaction was that-"

"But K-Komaeda... I offered to buy you a coffee first."

The brunette said it in a whine-y and disappointed tone.

"I know, but it's alright, Hinata-kun. This is my expression of gratitude."

When the white haired boy gave Hinata that smile, he couldn't argue anymore.

After our protagonist gave in, and made peace with the fact that even though it was his turn, Komaeda paid for his coffee, the journey to his apartment was tranquil. The taller boy did make sure to drop his key in a nearby bush, just so his luck wouldn't get him found out.

"Hinata-kun."

Hinata turned to the other male as he heard his name.

"Hmm?"

"Won't I be a bother?"

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch54: The Time Heist

Intro: The team split and head to their various places and points in time to retrieve the stones. But of course, it doesn’t all go to plan and one of them pays the ultimate sacrifice…

Warnings: “Language!”, Character death- we all know what’s coming with this one, angst.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: Will the real @angrybirdcr​ please stand up...and take credit for those edits!

Chapter 53

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“You’re wearing that?” Tony looked Thor up and down, taking in the scruffy grey-zip up hoody and red sweater he wore.

“Yes, what’s wrong with it?” Thor glanced down at himself.

“You look like Santa Clause with a crystal meth addiction.” Tony replied. Thor frowned, his eyes narrowing as Rocket began to laugh. 

As they continued to bicker about Thor’s appearance, Steve looked up  to see Katie emerging from the locker room, dressed in the first cat-suit he could remember seeing her in. His pants instantly felt a little tighter round the crotch as it clung in all the right places, especially now her figure was slightly different to what it had been eleven years ago. Mind you, she still looked extremely passable as a 2012 version of herself and Steve found himself wondering how on Earth he had managed to actually fight any aliens back then when she looked as hot as she did. 

She caught his gaze, flashed him a smile which he returned and she took one of the GPS bands off Tony as he handed them out to the assembled team. One by one, as the bands were activated, the red and white Quantum Tunnel suits formed around each of the Avengers. Steve picked up his shield, and nodded around to his team.

“Let’s go.” Together they strode through the hangar, Steve leading them towards the large, glass platform with the early morning sun cascading through the large glass hangar doors from where it was just starting to peak over the trees. As they walked, Katie looked over her shoulder at Natasha, winking and the red head grinned back at her, biting her lip excitedly.

As everyone took their place around the glass platform, Banner behind the control panel, Steve looked around and cleared his throat.

“Five years ago, we lost. All of us. We lost friends, we lost family, we lost a part of ourselves. Today, we have a chance to take it all back. You know your teams, you know your missions. Get the stones, get them back. One round trip each. No mistakes. No do-overs.” He took a breath and Katie smiled to herself as he continued “Most of us are going somewhere we know. But it doesn’t mean we should know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other.” Another breath. “This is the fight of our lives. And we’re gonna win.”

At that point Tony gave Steve a look, his eyebrow raising slightly, a soft smile playing on his face. Steve met his face, with a determined expression of his own. “Whatever it takes.” He nodded to his Brother-in-Law before he looked around at the team. “Good luck.”

“He’s pretty good at that.” Rocket conceded, his arms folded.

“Right?” Scott jerked his thumb towards Steve and Katie smiled.

“All right. You heard the man. Stroke those keys, jolly green.” Tony called to Banner.  

“Trackers engaged.” Banner nodded before joining them on the platform.

Katie took up her position between Natasha and Steve, making sure her GPS was set to the right time and date.  

“You okay?” Steve asked softly, turning to look at her.

“As okay as I can be given I’m about to time travel back to an alien invasion.” She muttered back and Steve chuckled as she turned to her left to look at Natasha. “When we get back you and me are cracking open that bottle of Kauffman vintage that I know you hid from Thor in your room.”

Natasha gave a grin. “Deal. Hey Rogers!” Steve turned to look at her, his brow arched.

“See you in a minute!” Nat wriggled her shoulders and eyebrows excitement and he huffed out a laugh at her enthusiasm. This was the most animated he had seen her about anything in the past five years.

The machine began to whir slightly as it lit up, glowing like spotlights, and the mechanism above their heads shifted. Their helmets all engaged and a second later they were sucked from the platform and hurtling through the Quantum Tunnel, back through time.

It felt like her entire body was being squeezed through a very small space, and just as it was starting to become really uncomfortable, the pressure released and Katie’s feet landed on the ground in the middle of a side street in New York, a block or so away from the tower. She stumbled a little, Steve’s strong hand catching her arm to steady her and she blinked, shaking off the dizzy feeling. As she turned to look for the rest of her group, the sounds of cries, screams, gunfire filled her ears as the red and white suit vanished from around her.

“All right, we all have our assignments.” Steve looked at everyone. “Two Stones uptown, one Stone down. Stay low. Keep an eye on the clock.”

At that point they all whirled round as 2012 Hulk passed, smashing everything in his way. Bruce put his hand on his face, embarrassed, as Steve turned to look at him.

“Maybe smash a few things along the way.” He suggested.

“I think it’s gratuitous, but whatever.” Bruce muttered, tearing his shirt off. He walked over to a car and lightly punched it, making a small dent, all the while making growling noise which Katie doubted would scare a kitten. Then he picked up a motorbike and threw it at a wall, wincing as it smashed before he continued his journey down town.

The rest of them parted to their own assignments, Tony and Lang taking off, Katie and Steve making their way to the entrance of Stark Tower.

“First rule of not being seen?” Katie stopped at the door and looked at her husband.

“Don’t hide by any chance?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You got it.” “Yeah, well I kinda figured it might be the same as the whole going on the run mantra.”

“Got to hustle, guys. Things look like they’re just about wrapped up here.” Tony’s voice sounded in their ears.  

“Got it. We’re approaching the elevator now.” Steve replied, following Katie as she strode confidently across the Tower Lobby.

She was right, no one paid them the least bit of attention as they stepped into the lift, everyone was too busy running around in a blind panic. Katie smirked to herself as the door shut. Pressing her palm to the pad at the side, she selected the button for the floor which housed Tony’s office, where they were going to hide until it was their time to make a move.

“Uh, Mr. Rogers. I almost forgot that that suit did nothing for your ass.”

Katie sorted and Steve rolled his eyes.  

“No one asked you to look, Tony.” He snapped, exasperatedly.

“It’s ridiculous.”

“I think you look great, Cap. As far as I’m concerned, that’s America’s ass.” Scott chipped, and that was when Katie gave in and began to laugh as the elevator stopped.

“I like your ass.” She grinned up at him and it was his turn to laugh as he followed her out.

“It’s all yours, Baby.” 

***** Up on the Party Floor, Tony was smirking to himself at having managed to successfully wind Steve up again on a job. Well, would it really be an Avengers Mission if he didn’t?

He and Lang ducked out of the way as the elevators opened and the SHIELD-slash-HYDRA team lead by Rumlow and Sitwell entered the floor.

“Who are these guys?” Lang asked.  

“They are SHIELD, well, actually Hydra. But, we didn’t know that yet.” Tony explained

“Seriously, you didn’t? I mean…they look like bad guys.” Lang continued.

“You’re small, but you’re talking loud.” Tony said, an edge to his voice. He was getting kind of tired of people pointing out the various flaws in judgement or errors to their methods when they went back over past missions.

“On my way down to coordinate search and rescue.” 2012 Rogers spoke. Tony had to smirk. Steve always denied he had changed that much, but he really was as far a cry from that pompous, stick-up-your-ass jerk as he could get.  

Tony watched Loki transform into Steve for a second in imitation and the Billionaire had to snort. As far as imitations go it was pretty flawless. Then, as Loki was gagged and lead way by Thor he spotted that his 2012 self was tapping at the security pad on a briefcase which contained the Tesseract.

“All right, you’re up, little buddy.” He spoke to Lang “That’s our stone.“

“Alright.” Lang nodded, speaking from Tony’s shoulder. “Flick me.”

There were so many things wrong with that instruction, but Tony didn’t have time to unpack them right there. Instead he did as he was told, flicking the ant sized Lang straight towards the box where he scrambled up Tony’s arm, to his beard and then down his top.

Tony remembered with amusement the next bit. This was when Hulk had tried to take the elevator. Grinning he watched as his 2012 self-informed Banner that the maximum occupancy had been reached, and 2012 Thor told him to take the stairs. In a fit of temper Hulk punched at the elevator door once it was shut, before grumbling to himself as he headed to the other side of the floor to get to the stairs. With a smirk, Tony backed up, threw himself out of the window, his suit reforming round him. 

*****

Katie and Steve found their floor completely deserted. As such, they’d been stood, hovering by the elevator waiting for the signal which came over their radios not long after they had heard Lang tell Tony to ‘flick him’- yeah, Katie and Steve both thought there was a lot wrong with that instruction.

“All right, Cap, Kiddo. I got our sceptre in the elevator just passing the 90th floor.”

“On it.” Steve hit the call button.

“You remember what happened last time we were in an elevator full of HYDRA dickheads?” Katie looked up at Steve. He snorted, and was just about to answer back to assure her he didn’t intend on flinging them out of the side of this one from almost twenty storeys up, but he didn’t get chance. The elevator doors stopped and then opened. Katie and Steve both glanced at the STRIKE-slash-HYDRA agents, Sitwell and Rumlow both doing a double take as they saw them. Steve gestured for Katie to go in first, and she did, turning to the button pad.  She randomly selected a floor below them before she moved to the middle, standing by Steve.

“Captain. I thought you were coordinating search and rescue?” Sitwell looked at Steve.

“Change of plan.” He stated simply as he turned to face the elevator doors as they closed.

“Hey, Cap. Nova.” Rumlow spoke, glancing over his shoulder at them both.

“Hey, Brock.” Katie smiled. It fell silent for a while, the situation feeling familiar to the two Avengers, as they noticed that the agents were sharing nervous glances. Steve looked around, before he spoke again.

“I just got a call from the Secretary. Agent Stark and I are gonna be running point on the scepter.”

“Sir?” Sitwell frowned, turning to face him. “I don’t understand.”

“We got word there may be an attempt to steal it.” Katie supplied, holding his gaze.

“Sorry, guys, but I can’t give you the sceptre.” Rumlow shook his head and Katie saw he was reaching for his gun.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to call the Director.” Sitwell began.

“That’s okay. Trust me” Steve insisted as Katie reached out and wrapped her hand around Rumlow’s wrist, fully anticipating there was going to be a struggle, but thanks to Steve’s quick thinking, it never came.

He leaned forward, his mouth close to Sitwell’s ear. “Heil HYDRA.”  He whispered, loud enough for the agents around them to hear. Sitwell looked up at him, Steve simply gave him a knowing nod and Rumlow glanced at Katie. She released his wrist smiling at him.

“You kept that quiet, Stark.” Rumlow looked at her.

“Isn’t that supposed to be the point?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Touche.”

The elevator stopped and Katie nodded to Steve.

“If you’ll excuse us.” He gestured to the case which held the sceptre. With a slight hesitation, Rumlow handed it to him and Sitwell moved to allow them to step out. They began walking away from the door, exchanging a smug glance as they went, taking care not to hurry or appear suspicious. Then, as soon as they were out of view, Katie turned to Steve grinning.

“Heil HYDRA? You clever bastard!”

“I have my moments.” Steve shrugged. “What floor are we on.”

“Errr, twentieth.” She said as she spotted the floor number on the wall. “Oooh, if we head down the stairs to the fourteenth, that’s where the ceiling of the atrium starts. There’s glass walkways and exposed stairs down to the lobby so we should be able to get a decent view of where Tony’s at.”

She led Steve over to a heavy door which housed the maintenance staircase and they both winced as they could hear Hulk yelling.

“SO MANY STAIRS!” His words echoed and Katie glanced down to see he was a few floors below them. Nodding to Steve, they began their descent.

***** In the Lobby, Tony was watching with amusement, the slight difference of opinion his 2012 self and 2012 Thor were having with Alexander Pierce.

 “Loki will be answering to Odin himself.” Thor shook his head when he was instructed to turn his brother over.

“He’s gonna answer to us. Odin can have what’s left.” Pierce shook his head. “And I’m gonna need that case, that’s been SHIELD property for over seventy years.”

“All right, move it, Stuart Little.” Tony said from his place in the lobby, he was dressed in a SHIELD Tactical Kit, one he had stolen of some guy he’d had to knock out. “Things are getting dicey up here. Let’s go.”

“You promise me you won’t die?” Lang shot back.

“You’re only giving me a mild cardiac dysrhythmia.” 

“That doesn’t sound mild”.

“Do it, Lang!”

“Get your hands off!” 2012 Tony began to yell yelling.

“Window’s closing. Pull my pin!” Tony insisted.

“Here goes!” Seconds later 2012 Tony dropped the case, clutching at his chest.

“Stark? Stark!”  Thor bellowed as Tony watched himself fall to the floor. 

 “Look, he’s convulsing.” Pierce shook his head. “Give him air! Medic!”

“MEDIC!” Tony called, some amusement as he watched his past self, writhing on the floor “This guy needs some help, some help please!”

In the rush and melee that followed, the case suddenly slid across the floor to Tony who grabbed it hastily with a smile.

“Good job.” He spoke into his comms. “Meet me in the alley. I’m gonna grab a quick slice.”

Only he never made it, as right at that point, Hulk mashed through the door from the staircase into the lobby, sending Tony flying to the ground, the case dropping from his hands.

“NO MORE STAIRS!!!!” Everyone began to run from Hulk’s rampage and then all hell broke loose.

Tony sat up, looking round, giving a groan as he realised that the Tesseract, and Loki were gone. 

“That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?” Scott asked, as he stood on Tony’s chest. Tony sighed and looked around as the 2012 Thor and Tony began frantically talking into their coms.

“Oh we blew it.”

****

“Tony, what’s going on?” Steve demanded as he followed Katie round the corner towards the walkway. “Tell me you found that cube.” 

At that point he bumped straight into his wife who was stood stock still in front of him staring right at his 2012 counterpart.

 “Oh, you gotta be shitting me.” Steve groaned, his jaw ticking.

“Cap,” a familiar voice from behind 2012 Steve spoke and Katie’s mouth dropped open as her 2012 self sprinted onto the walkway, skidding to a halt behind the Steve from her time. “What the fuck?”

2012 Steve’s eyes flitted around at the other four people, before he drew himself up tall.

“This is clearly some kind of spell.”  2012 Steve spoke, and 2012 Katie nodded in agreement as he continued this time talking into his coms. “We have eyes on Loki. 14th floor.”

“I’m not Loki.” Steve put the case containing the sceptre down taking a step forward so he was level with his Katie. “And I don’t wanna hurt you.”

In a flash, 2012 Steve engaged. Steve raised his shield, the clang loud as the Vibranium discs clashed against one another. Katie ducked past the duelling captains to stand in front of her younger self.

“How did you escape?” 2012 Katie looked at her, taking up a fighting stance. 

“I’m not Loki.” Katie shook her head. “And neither is Steve. My Steve, I mean, the other…whatever.” She sighed. “It’s a really, really long story. And also a crazy one so…”

“You’ve seen what’s going on out there?” The 2012 her scoffed. “I doubt there’s anything that could surprise me anymore.”

“Fine, you asked…” Katie groaned. “Look, I’m you, from 2023.” She shrugged as she looked around. “Tony invented a time machine so we could come back and get something we need.” 2012 Katie raised her eyebrow before she laughed. “Whatever,” and with that she launched forward.

Through the corner of his eye, Steve saw his wife starting to engage with her 2012 self, and his moment of distraction cost him. His younger self kneed him in the chest, knocking him down harshly.

“I can do this all day.” 2012 Steve looked down at him, smirking and Steve inwardly groaned.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighed, shaking his head as he waved him away whilst he stood up again. Had he really been that lame? “I know”

 With another flick of his arm, Steve threw his shield as the other him did the same, and with a loud clang the Virbanium discs ricocheted off one another flying over the side of the walkway. Without their shields the men began to fight, furiously. Blows were traded and kicks landed, and one of them, Steve had no idea who, managed to send the case containing the sceptre through the glass side of the walkway, causing it to shatter.

Katie heard the smashing behind her but she didn’t look round, she was too busy going toe to toe with her past self. She was just about getting the upper hand too as eleven years on she knew a lot more moves thanks to Natasha and Steve’s training. As her younger self leaned in with a pretty savage right hook Katie stopped it with both hands and then used her 2012 self’s arm as leverage to push up from the floor. Swinging both legs round in a scissor action she managed to lock her knees round 2012’s neck using the momentum and strength in her legs to bring her past self crashing over backwards to the ground, hard. Before she could get up Katie flicked a widow bite at her and winced as she watched her younger self convulsing on the floor.

She didn’t have much time to contemplate it however, as the sound of a loud yell made her look up just in time to see both Steve’s falling off the walk way, smashing through several glass landings and down a few of the exposed flights of stairs until they eventually came to a halt a few floors down.

Wincing, Steve managed to push himself up, taking a deep breath he swayed slightly and glanced over to where 2012 Steve was brandishing his compass at him, his mouth open and brow furrowed. Of course, he won’t have even gotten the compass back yet, and he wouldn’t do until the following year when he went through his stuff for the Smithsonian exhibit.

“Where did you get this?” 2012 demanded, his voice low. “And why does it have a picture of me and Miss Stark in it?”

Steve didn’t answer instead he ducked trying to retrieve the sceptre, and he might have been successful if he was up against a normal opponent, but 2012 Steve was quick and he placed his foot on the sceptre, throwing Steve off balance slightly. In a flash he was behind him, putting the older Soldier into a choke hold. Steve threw all his power backwards, taking the pair of them to the ground where they began to writhe along the floor, both trying to get the upper hand as Steve tried to manoeuvre them to the sceptre. Unfortunately for Steve, 2012 was just as clever and, as he reached out with his right hand his past self jerked him backwards, his legs round his waist, arms tight round his throat.

Steve knew he had to distract him, so in desperation he spluttered out something he knew would have made his 2012 self stop dead in his tracks. “Bucky…is…alive…” Almost immediately he felt the grip around his neck release, and he fell forward coughing.

“What?” 2012 Steve asked, but he never got his answer as Steve sucker punched him right in the face with his right hand, before he grabbed the sceptre, pointing the tip of it at his chest. 2012 Steve froze in mid-air before collapsing forwards, face down on the ground.

Steve let his head fall back in relief. Jesus that had been brutal. His face, ribs, neck, back all hurt like hell. At that point he heard loud footsteps and jerked his head up to see his Katie vaulting over the side of one of the staircases and landing a few feet away from him, his shield on her arm.

“You okay?” She asked, offering him her hand. She pulled him to his feet and gently cupped his face with her hands, her thumb stroking the bruise that was forming on his left cheek.

“Yeah, you?”

“Had to knock myself out with a widow bite” She grinned, before looking down at the Unconscious Steve and frowning. “What did you use?”

He held up the sceptre, before he reached down and grabbed his compass. Sticking it back in his pocket he took another deep breath before he noticed Katie was looking down at him, or rather his 2012 self.

“Lang’s right,” she mused, “that is America’s ass.”

Steve rolled his eyes, taking his shield from her as a smile tugged at his lips, “Let’s get out of here.”

****

The news they Tony and Scott had lost the Tesseract was devastating, and, as Katie watched her soldier who was glancing down at his feet, she could see he was trying to think. As he raised his head to look at her she could see the utter disappointment on his face and she swallowed, feeling it too.

They’d come so far, and looked to be set to fall at the final hurdle.  

“Are there any other options with the Tesseract?” Steve’s voice was pleading

“No, no, no. There’s no other options. There’s no do-overs.” Scott said loudly “We’re not going anywhere else. We have one particle left. Each. That’s it, alright? We use that– Bye, bye. You’re not going home.”

“Yeah, well if we don’t try, then no one else is going home, either.” Steve’s voice rose a little.  

“Wait,” Katie looked up an idea suddenly popping into her head, “we need more Pym Particles, right?” “Yeah, that’s what I said.” Scott began but Steve silenced him, recognising the look on his wife’s face. She was running through an idea.

“Let’s just go back and get some.” She breathed, astounded the idea hadn’t come to any of them beforehand.

“What?” Scott frowned.

“There has to be some point in time and space that we can get more.” She shrugged. “Let’s just go, steal some, and try again for the Tesseract.” “I can go one better than that.” Tony scrambled out of the trashed car he’d been sat in. “There’s a way to retake the Tesseract and acquire new particles at the same time.” He looked at Steve “Little stroll down memory lane. Military installation, Garden State.”

Katie and Steve looked at one another, instantly understanding before they looked at Tony.

“When were they both there?” Steve asked.

“They were there at a–“ Tony paused. “I’ve a vaguely exact idea.”

“How vague?”  Katie pressed.

“What are you talking about? Where are we going?” Scott frowned.  

“I know for a fact they were there–“ Tony began again but was cut off.

“Who’s they? What are we doing?” Scott’s voice was gathering pitch as he got more and more frustrated.

“And I know how I know.” Tony looked at Katie and she took a deep breath.

Dad.” she said, swallowing and Tony nodded.

“Guys, what’s up? What is it?” Scott demanded to know.  

“Well, it looks like we’re improvising.” Steve spoke, as the Stark siblings were still looking at one another.

“Right. What are we improvising?” Scott asked as Steve turned to him, handing him the sceptre.

“Scott, get this back to the compound”.

“What’s in New Jersey?” Scott tried again.

Katie and Steve began to program their watches to the date and location Tony was telling them.

“Are you sure?” Scott pressed again, before he stepped forward. “Cap. Captain. Steve, sorry, America. Rogers. Look, if you do this, and this doesn’t work, you’re not coming back.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, piss ant” Tony glared a Scott and Steve swallowed. Lang was right, if they were wrong, he’d never see his kids again. They’d never see their kids again. No, he couldn’t let Katie come, not knowing that. Their kids needed at least one of them…

“Katie.”

“Oh no!” She folded her arms. “You are not benching me.” Steve shook his head. “It’s too big a risk.” “So is going just the two of you! Your face is too well known, even more so back then and there, at the first SHIELD base?” She sighed “Don’t forget, half the people in that place are already HYDRA. If you’re recognized…” she trailed off. “Soldier, this needs three heads. Just in case.”

“Do you trust me?” Tony spoke, looking at his brother-in-law.

Steve looked at him, with a deep sigh he nodded. “I do.”

“Then it’s your call.” Tony glanced back at him, then to Katie. Steve was torn, he really was.

“Whatever it takes, Steve.” Katie reminded him. She wasn’t scared in the slightest, she had utter faith in Tony.

Steve took a deep breath and against every bit of better judgment he had in his body he gave her a short nod “Here we go.”

*****

Using some stolen clothes and ID Badges from the locker rooms, they managed to get into the building reasonably easy, aided by the fact that Katie and Steve knew exactly where the secret SHIELD HQ was, having already been there before they took down the Triskelion.

Steve was dressed in an old military uniform, Tony in just a plain suit and Katie in a skirt and blouse, with her hair pulled up into a high seventies style pony tail. They didn’t get challenged, although there was one woman that was definitely giving them a very attentive look over in the elevator. They hit the floor Tony needed, and wishing them luck in a coded message he left, and shortly after it was their turn.

Wasting no time, they exited and as they passed a chair outside a room, Katie noticed some files someone had left behind. Quickly, she scooped them up in an attempt to make herself look like any other normal office worker that was mooching around the area.

Eventually, thanks to Steve’s photographic memory being able to recall a floor map that was on the wall outside the elevator after one simple glance at it, they found Dr Pym’s laboratory and continued down the corridor until they reached an office that wasn’t occupied. Katie distracted everyone in the corridor by dropping the files she was carrying all over the place and making a general load of fuss, whilst Steve slipped inside, unnoticed. He looked down at the phone on the desk and gave a little groan. This hand set was something completely alien to him, but he scanned the various buttons and saw one labelled ‘operator’.

“Not that different, after all.” He mused softly to himself. He picked the phone up and hit the button, asking to be put through to Dr Pym and a few minutes later he was connected.

“Hello. Dr. Pym?”

“That would be the number that you called, yes” 

Sarcastic asshole…

“This is Captain…Stevens from shipping.” Steve winced slightly at his unoriginal name. “We have a package for you.”

“Bring it up”.

“Well, that’s the thing, Sir. We can’t.”

“I’m confused. I thought that was your job.”

“Well, it’s just– Sir, the box is glowing and, to be honest, some of our mail guys aren’t feeling that great.” He paused, waiting.

“They didn’t open it, did they?”

“Yeah, they did.” Steve smiled as the man took the bait. “You better get down here.”

He placed the phone down and glanced out of the door through the small pane of glass. As someone handed Katie the last file they’d helped her tidy up, she thanked them and looked at Steve. He gave her the thumbs up and she smirked, before turning her head to see a frantic looking man in a white coat shoot out of the lab a few doors down and run off towards the elevators.

“Excuse me! Out of the way!”

Once he was gone, Katie headed to the empty lab. She hastily looked around, searching as she passed various filing cabinets, ant farms and numerous desks piled high with research. She stood, hands on her hips, biting her lip as she pondered where else the particles could be. She glanced to her right and her face cracked into a grin.

“Bingo.”  She walked towards the large, class cabinet which bore the radioactive warning symbol on the front. Opening the door, she hesitated, and selected five of the tubes. One each for her, Steve and Tony, and then two spare just in case. She tucked them into the pockets of the skirt she was wearing and headed into the corridor, Steve joining her as she went.

“Got em.” She informed, not looking at him, as the two of them strode towards the elevator, quickly and quietly. 

And they were so close, so close…

“Shit.” Katie hissed as she stopped dead. Steve, who had been checking over his shoulder, looked round and saw the lady from the elevator talking to a number of military security guards.

“And you’ve never seen these two men, or this woman before? “

“No, I’ve got an eye for this. They looked fishy.”

They hastily turned and began to walk back the way they had come when Steve spotted an office to his left.

“In here.” He opened the door and gently guided Katie in before he stepped in after her. He flattened himself against a book shelf, watching through the frosted glass for the figures to pass.

Meanwhile, a photo on the desk had caught Katie’s attention and she felt herself still as she stared at it. She knew that photo…

…because she knew the person in it inside out.

“Steve,” she whispered. He glanced over to see her staring at something on the desk. It took him a few seconds but when he realized what it was he too frowned. It was a photo of him, the one from his SHIELD file. It was his pre-serum self in a white T-Shirt, his dog tags hanging out of his collar.

Katie had a copy of that very same photo in her office because she loved it, but what the fuck was it doing here?

The pair of them looked at one another, before they turned and read the name that was etched into the glass on the office door. And even backwards it was easy to see what it said.

Margaret Carter. Director

He’d steered them into Peggy’s office.

“Katie, honey, I swear, I didn’t-“ Steve began but they were both cut off by the sound of voices behind them causing them to spin back round and watch through the spaces in the blinds which covered the large window into the other side of the office.

Steve stepped forward whilst behind him Katie hung back, not quite sure how to deal with this. She’d been with Steve now for ten years, married for almost eight and she knew he loved her, she truly did but still she couldn’t help that feeling of trepidation which flooded her system. She watched her husband smile as his first love stalked around the other side of the office.

This was Nineteen Seventy, some twenty-five years after he had been lost in the ice. Katie found herself wondering if Peggy ever truly let go of Steve, or if she had merely spent however long in a marriage pining for a man she could never have.

Peggy was shouting at another agent for something, shaking her head in frustration and generally thundering around in a manner Steve could recall very well, and he couldn’t help the fond smile which spread across his face. It was a far cry from the old, frail lady he had imprinted on his mind.

“She looks so, well, good.” He muttered gently. “She’s not ill.” It might have sounded stupid but that was the only way he could explain it. It was nice to see her so happy, healthy and doing what she did best.

When Katie didn’t reply, Steve turned to see her watching him, her arms folded across her chest as if she was hugging herself.

“Yeah,” she whispered, managing a small smile, “she does.”

Steve threw one last glance over his shoulder to see Peggy leaving the room. He walked towards his wife, dropped an arm round her and kissed her forehead, curling her into him. Her body remained a little stiff as her hands slid round his waist.

“You know I love you.” He whispered softly, nuzzling into her hair. “There’s never been anyone who’s come close.”

“Yeah.” Katie nodded, simply to appease him more than anything. She wanted to get out of there now, and back to the compound as soon as she could, she was done.

“Good.” Steve sighed, as he released her and reached for the door handle. “Now let’s go find your brother.”

***** Getting the Tesseract had been easy. What hadn’t been easy was bumping into his dad. Tony had fumbled over his words, walked into chairs, basically lost any of the Stark suaveness he prided himself on having and had introduced himself as Howard.

Howard fucking Potts.

His Dad, however, didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, and Tony had managed to walk right out of the lab with the Tesseract in his suitcase because being with Howard Stark was keeping him from even being looked at. 

All in all, it was the perfect cover and he couldn’t have planned it better if he had tried.

“So, flowers and sauerkraut. You got a big date tonight?” Tony asked.

“My wife’s expecting.” Howard replied and Tony’s mouth fell open. Of course she was, with him. “And, uh, too much time in the office.”

“Congratulations.” Tony smiled at him

“Thanks. Hold this, will you?” Howard asked, passing over the flowers and sauerkraut.  

“Yeah, sure.” Tony took them off him “How far along is she?”

“I don’t know– Uh– “ His dad held his hands out indicating the size of his mother’s bump “She’s at the point where she can’t stand the sound of my chewing. I guess I’ll be eating dinner in the pantry again.

“I have a little girl” Tony stuttered “Well…I kinda have two actually.” “Kind of?” “Yeah, the eldest, well she’s actually my sister. Our parents died when she was very young and I ended up with Custody of her so.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” “I’m not.” Tony shook his head and as Howard raised an eyebrow he started to explain. “I mean I am sorry our parents died but not that I ended up looking after her, you know, wouldn’t have had it any other way. She’s an incredible person, smart, funny, beautiful. Married to a soldier now, couple of kids of her own.”

The other man smiled. “You know, a girl would be nice. Less of a chance she’d turn out exactly like me.”

“What’d be so awful about that?” Tony asked.

“Let’s just say that the greater good has rarely outweighed my own self-interests.”

Tony nodded for a moment, before the elevator stopped and the walked out of the bunker. “So, where are you at with names?”

“Well, if it’s a boy, my wife likes Almanzo” Howard looked at him. What the fuck mom? 

Tony shook his head as they crossed to the middle of the road in between the various military vehicles and troops that were running down it. “Huh, Might wanna let that stew a while. You got time.”   

“Let me ask you a question.” Howard turned to him as they reached the middle. “When your kid was born, were you nervous?

“Wildly. Yeah.” Tony smiled, and he had been. He’d been a wreck in the delivery suite, Pepper at one point ordering him out until he calmed down.

“Did you feel qualified? Like you had any idea how to successfully operate that thing?”

Tony shook his head. “Well, I’d already looked after my sister but this was different, you know. Kiddo turned out well despite me, not because of me so with the youngest, well, I literally pieced it together as I went along. I thought about what my Dad did, and– “

At that point, over his Dad’s shoulder he spotted Steve and Katie stood in the distance and Steve gave him the thumbs up.

“My old man, he never met a problem he couldn’t solve with a belt.” Howard shook his head.

Tony looked back to him from where he had been watching Steve and Katie glancing around cautiously before he spoke to the man again.

“You know, I thought my dad was tough on me. And now, looking back, I just remember the good stuff, you know. He did drop the odd pearl.” Tony smiled.  

“Yeah? Like what?”

“No amount of money ever bought a second of time.”

“Smart guy.” Howard nodded.  

“He did his best.”

“Let me tell you.” Howard smiled gently. “That kid’s not even here yet, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for ‘em”

Tony felt his eyes beginning to well, he simply nodded as Howard walked past him towards his car.

In the distance, Katie squinted and jerked her head questioningly at Tony, trying to figure out why he was holding a bunch of flowers. He raised his briefcase pointing to it, the expression on his face telling her to calm down. She heard Steve let out a breath and a smile crossed her face, their plan had worked. They had the tesseract and the particles. She was about to jerk her thumb over her shoulder to instruct her brother to leave whatever it was he was doing, until she saw the face of the man he had been speaking to. 

“Oh my God,” her voice was a gasp, “that’s, that’s my dad.”

Steve had realized the same thing the minute the guy had turned around to shake Tony’s hand. Besides him, Katie took a step forward and he made to gently grab her arm.

“Katie, you can’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do Steve.” She snapped, her eyes blazing. “You just took your trip down memory lane, and you’re not gonna stop me from taking mine.”

She jerked her arm from his grasp and headed over to where her brother was handing over the flowers and a tin of sauerkraut, of all things, to her dad, before they embraced.

“Everything’s gonna be all right.” She could hear Tony as she approached. “Thank you–“

“Thank you?” Howard frowned.

“He means for everything that you’ve, err, done, for this country.” Katie finished, swallowing slightly as she reached her brothers side. Tony glanced down at her, shocked for a moment, before he hastily re-arranged his face.

“Howard, this is my sister the one I was telling you about. Virginia, meet Howard Stark.” Virginia? 

Katie smiled and shook her Dad’s hand, taking a deep breath. “God it’s good to see you, I mean meet you, you know, after hearing all about your work.” She hastily recovered.

“Your brother tells me you’re married to a soldier. He based here?” “Used to be.” She nodded, her eyes studying her Father’s face for a moment. The man paused and his head tilted to one side, giving her a curious look.

“You know, you look a lot like my wife, only with different coloured hair, she’s blonde.” “Yeah I know.” Katie replied, before she spluttered. “I mean, from photos, I’ve seen, I mean I’ve been told that before so-“

“You’re a lucky girl.” Howard smiled. “She’s a stunner. Now I really have to go. Nice to meet you both.” He shook their hands again and then turned and headed away.

As they watched him go, Tony slung his arm around his sister’s shoulder, as she leaned into him, wiping a rear from her eyes. “Hey, Kiddo, see the guy by the car?”

“Yeah?”

“Edwin Jarvis.” Tony replied simply, and she grinned. Then, with a final look at their father, the siblings turned and made their way back towards Steve.

“We good?” He asked a little tentatively, noticing that Katie was avoiding his gaze a little. He felt his heart sink, but they didn’t have time to go into that now. It was going to have to wait.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.” Tony mumbled, shooting another look round.

They made their way round the corner to a deserted part of the base before they each tapped their wrist bands to activate the suits and, with a fresh container of particles each they were ready. Keying in the correct time, date and location, they were sucked once more into the Quantum Realm and, as they sped through the void, Katie felt that familiar squeezing sensation again, which suddenly stopped as they emerged onto the platform, her suit disappearing.

“Did we get them all?” Bruce asked. Scott held up the sceptre, Tony waved his briefcase and Rocket was holding a vial containing the Aether.

“You mean to tell me this actually worked?" Rhodey shot back, tossing his own item lightly in the air before he caught it again as excited murmurs rang around the group. Katie looked around eagerly, but paused when she got to the space that Natasha had occupied beforehand.

She wasn’t there. 

Biting back the panic that was rising in her throat she looked to Clint. He was soaking from head to foot and, as she watched, he took a step forward and dropped to his knees.

“Clint, where’s Nat?” Banner asked as the rest of the group caught up with the fact they were a person short. 

Clint’s head remained bowed. He swallowed thickly and, when he finally did look up, his eyes met Katie’s first, then Steve’s. He didn’t speak, he didn’t need to, his broken expression told them everything. Steve looked down, taking a deep breath as his heart plummeted through his chest. Besides him, Katie shook her head frantically.

"No, no, no. She’s not gone. She’s just delayed right?” She swallowed, “Clint, tell me Natasha is going to be here!” 

There was a loud thud as Bruce knelt down, his large fist pounding the platform angrily. Katie looked helplessly from Clint to Steve, her soldier’s eyes were full of tears as he reached out to her.

“Sweetheart.” His voice cracked and she shook her head, moving out of his reach as she turned back to Clint.

"Clint?” This time it was a plea. A plea for him to tell her that her best friend was fine, and that there was just a temporary glitch, one which they could fix.

Clint looked up at her, his own tears now falling as he shook his head.

“She’s gone, Nova.” And with that his head dropped and his shoulders began to shake.

Katie’s jaw began to quiver and she felt two large hands on her upper arms, which gently turned her round as Steve pulled her to him, one hand firmly on her back, the other tangling in her hair. He held her, gently rocking her side to side as she began to cry, looking over her head at Tony who locked eyes with him, wiping his face with his hands.

It was then that Steve’s vision became blurred by his own tears and he buried his face in his wife’s hair, allowing her sorrow to hide his own.

*****

Chapter 55

**Original Posting**