#its barely a stubble anyway it feels like its annoying her more than me

[appetiteofapplpleaser]

on one hand i rly want to just get it over with and know whether i have pcos or not but at the same time like. i dont know what this will change. if i do turn out to have it, i was right, again, and i guess its just more flex points that i was able to tell i have an issue before the doctors were. if i dont turn out to have it, i will have to get off metformin which im not happy about either, bc im paranoid getting off of it will make me gain weight back and i swear i will kill myself if that happens.

[fullmarvelheart]

Crossing Lines (6/?)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x fbi!mob!Reader

Word Count: 5,199 

Recommended: 18+ readers

Summary: A sudden and unsettling event rocks the underworld, and Y/N is immediately called in to prepare for what’s to come. What she isn’t prepared for is James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, also known as the new head of the Brooklyn mafia clan. When these two get shoved into a world of danger and deceit, will they ever learn to trust each other? Or will they be doomed from the start?

Warnings: Swearing, angst, a wee bit of fluff?, Grant Ward (because he’s his own warning), mentions of violence

A/N: Happy Black Widow Day! I’ve been waiting for this movie to come for so long and unfortunately I won’t be able to watch it tonight😢. But anyways, here’s part six with a surprise character😉 (literally didn’t think of adding her until yesterday). Hope you guys enjoy! This has not been beta read at all. All mistakes are my own. The GIF is not mine, so credit goes to the original creator!

Series Masterlist

“Skye, come on! Why the hell did you drive off to the middle of damn nowhere?”

“Just trust me.” She says calmly as she parks the car, completely ignoring my outburst in the process. “And stop complaining, Y/N/N. I know you had another fight with your dad, so I know you wanted to be out of the city.”

“Fine, ok. But what is going on? I’m guessing Ward has no idea what you’re doing.”

“You’re not serious, right? You know he hates me doing anything remotely dangerous.”

“Not that I’m against going behind your boyfriend’s back, but what did you do?” I ask my, running my fingers through my hair.

“So, you know how Ward mentioned HYDRA’s top runner, Crossbones, the other day?” I nod. “Well, I got curious. We know nothing about him, and Ward thinks he can set a trap for him. I just, I just don’t want him to get hurt when I could have done something.”

“And you know if you did this at the Bureau, he’d find out somehow and stop you. Or Gonzales would.” Now she nods. “Alright, but I’m helping you with this. I’ve got a weird feeling about the whole thing and as your partner, it’s my job to keep you safe.”

“You worry too much.” She chuckles. “Besides, I’ll practically be behind my computer screen the whole time. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“You’re right, I guess. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop worrying though. And why are you still with Ward?” I groan dramatically, causing her to laugh.

“Oh, be nice. He’s not bad once you get to know him.”

“I don’t know. Something about his arrogance just doesn’t settle well with me.” I shrug.

“You’re being over dramatic. He’s great!”

“He better be, he is dating my best friend after all. Now let’s find the next exit, I’m hungry!”

Her laughter echoes in my head as the car moves along the highway.

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

I stomp through the halls on a mission. The office was empty, and disturbingly dark and stuffy for nine in the morning. If he’s not in his office there’s only one other place I could imagine him in, his bedroom.

“Please, don’t kill me for this.” I mutter to myself before taking a deep breath and throwing the door open.

My eyes scan the room and zero in on the lump underneath the covers.

“Go away, Steve.” His usually pleasant rough voice is mixed with hints of sleep and something else. I can’t help it that my inner self finds it sexy while I try to stay concerned rather than turned on.

Now’s not the time for a daydream. Focus.

The door shuts with a soft click, giving him the impression ‘Steve’ left. You aren’t that lucky today. I’m no push over! My boot clad feet thud on the wooden floor as I march straight towards the end of the bed. With one strong grip at the end of the comforter, I yank the sheets off his body before turning towards the curtain clad windows.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He screeches, trying to pull the blankets back up to cover himself from the cold air of the room. That was nothing. “Hey! What the hell is this, Rogers?” I pull the curtains open; the intense sunlight illuminates the room causing even me to briefly squint.

After successfully finding a single blanket to cover back up with, I notice the fact that Barnes had curled himself into a human ball in the middle of his mattress to block out the light.

“Oh, for fucks sake.” I groan, grabbing onto an edge piece of the fabric. “Get up, now!”

I try to yank it off him in one swift motion, again, but he’s faster than I thought. He springs up into a sitting position, latching on to the blanket I almost had off him, commencing a tug-of-war over the stupid thing. The muscles and veins in his arms flex and bulge, and in normal situations, I’d be impressed. But I’m getting irritated.

“You’re an absolute child.” I grunt as I fight with him.

“Let go, you heathen.” He counters.

At his command, I let go, causing him to fly backwards and bounce slightly on the mattress.

“Dangerous mob boss my ass.” I chide, crossing my arms as he just looks at me with disbelief.

“What do you want, Fury?” He groans, rubbing his eyes.

“Too much for you to comprehend at the moment but let’s start with this. How about you get your head out of your ass, get out of bed, and do your damn job?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“You wouldn’t understand, Fury. And you’re crossing a line here. Get out.”

“It’s Maximoff to you right now. And what don’t I understand, Barnes?” I ask, ignoring his other remark.

“You have some nerve, coming here, into my room. Now get out.” He growls, tossing the blanket away, exposing me to the fact that he sleeps only in a pair of boxers. Damn, suits really don’t do his body justice, but damn does he look good in either.

“You have some nerve thinking this doesn’t concern me.” I snap back, regaining my focus, glad he didn’t catch me staring or was too annoyed to notice.

“And how,” He starts, finally standing up and slowly walking towards me, “Does this concern you?”

His muscles bulge as he crosses his arms, stopping at the foot of his massive king-sized bed. Though, there is an unsway of his body, and the shakiness that was in his hands that doesn’t evade my attention. Where I once noticed stubble, an unkept beard lies in its place. His hair looks knotted, unwashed, and greasy. Overall, he looks like an absolute train wreck.

“How does it not? Furthermore, how does it not concern you?! Barnes when did you last have a full meal, let alone showered!?” I exclaim, looking him over more closely. I can barely see the fact that he’s lost weight, but it’s there, it’s noticeable. The lack of a hot shower is more than just noticeable though.

He scoffs again.

“This is none of your business. Leave.”

“Stop being so fucking defensive with me. And this is my damn business, or have you forgotten the deal you have with my father? With Brooklyn on uneasy ground, especially after losing their last leader, you’re a target for HYDRA to attack. Not to mention the threat of the other mafia clans. And you know damn well that if my father has any idea that your alliance will cost him more than benefit him, he’ll watch you be fed to the sharks. But it just so happens that his daughter is in your territory, which gives you just a bit more wiggle room. However, if you put me in danger, he won’t just watch, he’ll feed you to the damn sharks himself!”

“I know!” He yells, walking closer to me.

“Then start acting like it.” I hiss.

“You don’t understand!” He argues, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Understand what?!”

“I can’t do this without him!”

The room falls into silence, and I stare at him, stunned.

“Okay? I can’t do this without my father. Yes, he’d been preparing me for years. But I always knew I could get advice from him or help if I needed it, once I took over. But this, all of this. I don’t know how to lead my men; I don’t know how prepare us. I don’t even have time to grieve the fact my father, not my boss, is gone forever, and I don’t know how to do this without him.” He chuckles dryly, hands on his hips. “I told you, you wouldn’t understand.” And he’s turning away from me.

“You’re wrong.” I cringe at how shaky and quiet my voice comes out.

“What?”

“You’re wrong.” I repeat firmly. “To think I don’t understand.” The sting of tears forming in my eyes has me pausing to close them and take a deep breath.

When I open them again, Barnes faces me properly with a look of confusion and mild concern.

“No one knows exactly what to do in these situations. But from one ally to another, you have your training, and the people you trust to help you figure it out. And you have your friends. It might not always work the way you planned, but nothing ever really does. You aren’t the only one grieving the death of your father, the men also adored him. Keep that in mind.” I pause, watching him work through what I said to him. “But don’t you dare ever assume I don’t understand grief.” I sneer. “Or how to continue on with the weight of it constantly on my shoulders. You don’t know me. So don’t act like you do.” He gapes at me, like a fish. “Get your shit together Barnes, and get to work.”

I walk out of his room as quickly as I can, letting the door slam behind me. Two corners later and I finally let myself slump against the wall. I gasp for air I didn’t know I needed as I fight back the tears trying to escape. It’s been six months! It was just a stupid dream! Get it together!

When my breathing returns to normal, I pull out my phone. The message from the unsaved number glares at me as I ignore it, again, and type out a message to another party.

“Meet me at the shore this afternoon. More details will be given soon. Bring the info you have gathered and don’t tell the boss.”

The response is almost immediate.

“Understood. He’s getting antsy about the report...”

I groan to myself as I push off the wall. He’ll just have to wait longer.

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

The zippers of my backpack nearly shriek as I pull both of them together quickly. I’ve been frustrated with my more legal job before, but this is something different.

Why the fuck are they making me go to a check in with the case officer this early? A month! I’m supposed to have a month to gain traction and trust in the role they requested of me! They should know that it isn’t safe to possibly expose an undercover operative at all, why would they risk it this early on?!

I growl to myself under my breath as I lace up my boots, aggravated that they’re risking the objective of this mission. If I get made, my father will also lose the alliance, HYDRA might learn of my role in the government and go into hiding, and that’s a lot of fuck up that doesn’t need to happen. Gonzales better either know what he’s doing or have good intel for me.

I swing the backpack up on my shoulder, just as someone knocks on the door.

“Give me a second.” I call, letting the pack flop onto my bed.

I’m surprised to find Natasha on the other side of the door, waiting with her arms crossed patiently.

“Come on in.” I say before she can speak, nodding to the inside of my room.

She raises an eyebrow in suspicion but walks in anyways. She turns to face me just and the door closes.

“All I was going to say was that Barnes is requesting everyone to head to the warehouse, but I’m guessing there’s something else?”

I nod. “I got called for a check in.” I tell her with an eyebrow raised, not needing to tell her who I’m referring to.

“This soon?”

“I’m hoping to get something worth the risk for this, but my gut says otherwise.”

She hums to herself in thought as she processes.

“I can get you a cover this time.” She states sharply. “But they need to get their act together. The cover might work just enough, but there are still people in here who don’t trust you, yet.”

“They might never.” I shrug. “But I agree with your risk assessment. I’m prepared to chew out whoever it is.”

She smirks, then motions towards my door. “Get to the warehouse and leave your things here for now. I’ll make the arrangements.”

I give her a small smile before we’re both walking off in different directions.

The warehouse is packed with people, many of which I don’t recognize, all of whom are engaging in loud conversations. I begin to push my way through the crowd, though I don’t make it too far as I feel a hand grab onto my arm. When I turn towards the pull, Drax smiles at me, motioning for me to follow him. I laugh quietly to myself as people practically jump out of Drax’s way. When we stop, I spot Carol not too far away and walk over to her.

“For the record,” She says, not even looking at me. “This is odd for us too.”

“Is this everyone?” I ask, confused.

She scoffs. “No, there are still those on patrols or jobs that aren’t here. But I’m sure they’ll be brought up to speed, on whatever this is, later.”

I hum as an answer, my eyes scanning the crowd of faces, seeing who I’ll recognize. I just make out Rollins’ silhouette as the voices begin to fall silent. Barnes stands in front of the gathering on a small platform, Rogers and Wilson flank him on either side. He looked a lot better than what I saw earlier. His beard trimmed back to a five o’clock shadow, his hair washed, brushed, and tied into a small bun behind his head, and there was strength in his body showing that he was able to eat since I last saw him. If I hadn’t seen him this morning, I wouldn’t have believed anything was wrong in the first place.

Standing behind the three mafia men, I see Barton, the two Odinson brothers, and five other men and one woman that I don’t recognize. Natasha casually merges in with the group at the last second.

“Many of you have taken note of my absence recently.” Barnes starts talking, his voice booming across the warehouse, commanding everyone’s full attention. It sends a thrill down my spine that I suppress. “And I am aware of the rumors that have been spreading regarding such absence.

“I was reminded earlier today that I was as close to my father as he was with many of you, maybe just a little closer. And yes, I’ve been grieving. But that grief has not blinded me to the enemy that is still out there, just as it has not blinded you.

“The enemy that has let their guard down because HYDRA thinks it has weakened us!” Grumbles of disapproval make him pause. “But they have not weakened us! This clan, this family, is not weakened by the grief of our leader. We are angered, enraged, that they dare try to cross us.” He pauses, listening to the murmurs of agreement of his people. “They have no idea what awaits them. Since the fall of George Barnes, they’ve expected us to kneel before them, begging for mercy. But they will be the ones begging. Their days are number because we will find them, and we will bury every last one of them as we watch HYDRA burn!”

The men begin to shout out their support, the roar almost sounds deafening to my ears, but I follow their lead, yelling with them. Barnes holds up his hand, and the crowd silences.

“Get a move on. We have work to do.” The warehouse erupts in applause, shouts of affirmation, threats to HYDRA, and anything of the sort.

The men begin to clear out of the warehouse, and Carol motions for me to follow her before walking towards Barnes.

“It’s good to see you again, boss.” She tells him with a smile, one he reciprocates before glancing at me. “I was wondering if I’d be able to take new girl around for a drive. Just to show her around our territory.”

“That’ll have to wait, Danvers.” Natasha cuts in, before turning to me. “Let’s go.”

She’s walking away before Barnes or Danvers, who both share a curious glance with me, can say anything. I only slightly hesitate before hurrying after her.

“Thank you.” I mutter once we’re out of the warehouse.

“Don’t thank me, yet. The boss will have questions.”

“Hopefully it’ll be worth it. If it isn’t, I’m gonna chew out whatever unlucky soul is sent.”

“I have no doubt of that.” She replies, and I can hear a hint of a smirk in her voice.

We near one of the doors that serve as an exit to the base, and I see my backpack sitting at the bottom of it.

“Know you way around?” She asks as I swing the backpack over my shoulder.

“Well enough. It shouldn’t be too hard.” I say, shrugging.

“Good. If you do get lost, call me,” She hands me a piece of paper with a number on it. “And I’ll sent someone for you. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I nod, folding the paper up and slipping it in the back pocket of my jeans.

She nods back, then walks away. I take a deep breath before throwing the door open and walking out in the direction of the nearest subway. When I’m a decent way away from the warehouse, I pull out my phone.

“Brooklyn Bridge Park, Pier 2, two hours.” I press send on the text before placing a call, one I admittedly should have done earlier.

“About damn time!” I cringe at the tone in his voice but carry on as if I didn’t piss him off.

“I thought I wouldn’t have any contact with the Family. But everything’s going well. There was a slight issue, but I handled it and everything’s back to the way it should be.” I say over the noise of the street traffic.

“What issue? And why are you calling in public?”

“I was called in.” I grumble into the phone.

“Already?”

“Yes, but I swear if this is a waste of time, whoever I’m meeting is getting an earful.”

“I’d be concerned if they didn’t. But what issue?”

“It’s been fixed, it doesn’t matter, but I need a copy of the contract.” I state firmly, hopefully distracting him from the other thing.

“Y/N, you know-”

“Father!” I take a breath, so I don’t start arguing with him in public. “I need that copy. If I’m going to be doing this, I need to know every single condition, and every term.”

The other end of the line is silent, and I know he’s thinking things over.

“Alright. But in turn, when I ask for an update, you give me one that fucking day. Understood?”

“Yes.” I mumble, hating feeling like a scolded child.

“Good.”

“I’m getting on the subway, I have to go.”

“I expect an update tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.” I hang up the phone and let out a deep sigh before walking down the stairs.

As the subway approaches, my phone chimes and I glance at the text.

“Understood. I’ll see you there.”

The meeting place my case officer chose, a quaint little coffee shop, is two blocks away from my stop. The amount of people on the sidewalks has me wishing for my bike as I squeeze in between people, and there are several times I wished to shove the slow walkers out of my way when I couldn’t pass. Honestly being stuck in traffic was a bit more enjoyable to being stuck behind of group of gossiping women.

I come up to the corner of the street, where the shop is located, and spot its cute little sign. As I cross the street, I happen to take a glance in the window and immediately find a face I recognize.

“You got to be shitting me.” I growl to myself.

The door chimes as I walk through, and I head towards the table.

“Fancy seeing you here.” I grumble as I take a seat, using the heel of my boot to put pressure on the toes of his foot.

“Right, well,” He coughs, covering up a wince as he pulls his foot away from mine. I smirk to myself. “Considering I called for this, I’m not really surprised.”

“Ward, you son of a bitch.” I hiss, quiet enough not to draw attention, as I kick his shin sharply. “You’re an idiot. You better have a good reason for doing this Grant.”

He visibly winces and adjusts himself before clearing his throat to address me.

“As your case officer, I don’t need to explain this to you.”

“You do when you compromise my position. This was way too early!” I hiss before clearing my throat, remember not to cause a scene. “Do you have information for me or not?”

“We’ll get to that in a second. Look, if Skye was still alive, she’d want-”

“Yeah, well she’s not here. How does your new girlfriend, what was it, Kara, feel about you still being hung up on your dead ex?”

“Do not bring her into this.” He hisses, before straightening up and burying any hint of annoyance until there is barely any emotion visible on his face. I hate when he does this, it unnerves me how easy it is for him each time. “Here.” He states before putting a thin file on the table for me to grab. “This is everything that we’ve been able to find out about them recently.”

I swipe it off the tabletop and gently toss it into my backpack, without opening the folder.

“Hopefully, I don’t see you again anytime soon. This better not become a regular thing with you.” I mumble before getting up and ordering a cup of coffee to-go.

As I walk out of the store, I almost bump into a blonde woman that was on her phone. Luckily for both of us, the coffee didn’t spill. After a few seconds of hurried apologies, and foreign curse words on her end, I hurry to the station, hoping I won’t have to wait that long for my ride.

When I get to the park, I decide to wander around for a little bit. It feels good to be out in fresh air inside of being inside a building for the entire day. The clouds look fluffy and soft, the breeze is cool on my face, and the sun feels just warm enough to enjoy without sweating to death. I stop once I get to Pier 2 and just find myself leaning on the railing of the pier, looking out onto the river and the skyscrapers on the other side.

While I wait, I decide to enter Natasha’s number into my phone, then letting the piece of paper fall into the water of the river, the safest way to dispose of it. After I can no longer see the white of the paper, I return my gaze to my father’s city.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this.”

“Like what?” I ask, looking towards the voice.

“Content. Happy, even just a little bit.” She says with a small smile while moving to stand beside me.

“It’s the little things like this that make me happy, May. It helps me forget about the mess that is my life, even just for a few minutes.”

She hums and we just stand in silence for a moment.

“What have you been able to find?” I ask, breaking the silence and going into business mode.

“Not much. I doubt it’ll be much help to you.”

“A little may be what I need. I still have some of her research. At this point I just need anything on him.”

“Having nightmares about her again?” She asks, concerned.

It causes me to smile, even just a little bit. Sure, my father hired her, but she has always remained loyal to me, more so than to the family. Though, I have no doubt that if she had any concern about me, she’d go talk to my father.

“More like memories. Still, they leave me feeling restless because I haven’t been able to find a lead on this guy. Skye was getting close, I know that. Which is the only explanation as to why she was killed.”

She hums again. “Still not planning on telling your father?”

I scoff. “After he basically called me paranoid for looking into Ward? No. If he finds out I haven’t let this go like he thinks, he’s going to ask questions. Questions I’m not ready to answer. Not only that, but if he finds out I contacted you while on assignment, I’d get my head chewed off. I’m technically not even allowed to contact him, yet here we all are.”

She nods with a slight chuckle, then pulls a file out from underneath her jacket and hands it to me.

“I’ll keep checking in with my contacts on the street to see if anything new about him surfaces, but until then, this is all I have.”

I stare at the closed file for a moment, before sliding that into my backpack as well.

“Thank you again, May.” She smiles briefly before nodding.

“You should get out of here, before anyone questions why you’ve been gone for a while.” I nod and push away from the railing. “Oh, and Y/N?” I turn back around. “Stay safe.”

“You too, May.” I call back, walking away.

A flash of blonde hair in the corner of my eye has me pause for a second, but when I see nothing, I shrug to myself and keep going. It must have been in my head.

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

The door to my room shuts and I feel my body sag from the exhaustion of the day. I let my backpack slip to the ground with a soft thud and shuffle towards my bed. When my back meets the cool sheets of the mattress, a deep sigh escapes my lips and I close my eyes, finally enjoying a bit of rest. But, there’s a knock at my door that has me groaning loudly.

“Of course.” I grumble under my breath.

When I open the door, I’m very surprised to find Thor standing on the other side with a slight scowl on his face.

“Follow me.”

I do so, hesitantly, letting the door slowly click shut before catching up to him. The walk is silent, and for some reason, I feel uneasy for the first time since I walked in here. He leads me through the halls, and I find myself recognizing where we are going. James Barnes’ office.

Thor opens the door and motions for me to step inside, and I do, trying to maintain a façade of confidence. And I’m grateful for it, because the glare Barnes wears as he watches me enter almost has me reeling backwards. He sits behind his desk, looking regal, deadly, and in charge. No trace of friendliness shows on his face.

What really throws me for a loop is the petite redhead curled on his lap, her well-manicured nails raking through his hair in almost a possessive manner. The sight makes something churn uncomfortably in my stomach, and by the smirk on her face, she knows it too.

I look away from her, finding Rogers and Wilson in their places behind Barnes, leaning against the wall. Natasha stands off to the right, near the only window in the office.

“Dot, leave.” He says stiffly, not removing his gaze from mine.

“But Bucky Boo-”

“Now.” He growls, ignoring her high-shrieked protest. This is the infamous Barnes I’ve heard about on the streets.

She huffs in irritation, untangling herself from Barnes’ lap and starts stomping out of the room like a child throwing a small tantrum. She brushes past me, giving me the death glare on her way. I simply raise an eyebrow at her retreating form until the door shuts behind her.

“Lovely person, Bucky Boo.” I mutter under my breath, turning back around. “I haven’t looked at the information I was given, yet. I only just got back to the compound.” I say to Barnes, assuming that’s what got him so miffed.

“How was the meeting?” He asks, completely ignoring my remark, irritation still evident.

“I wanted to shove Ward’s head through the window only a few times. So, fairly well, I guess. Still pissed off he’s assigned as my case officer though.” I shrug still not seeing the point of this.

I see Barnes’ eye twitch and hear the soft click of the door closing. I turn around to see the blonde that I almost walked into on the sidewalk from earlier, and everything falls into place. With a click of my tongue in understanding, I turn back around towards Barnes.

“You had me followed.” I state.

“Yelena Belova, Nat’s sister, was sent to keep an eye on you. Make sure you stayed safe.”

“Hmmm. Interesting.” I hum towards the ground, frustrated that I didn’t see that coming earlier, as my hands find purchase on my hips, my nails digging into the fabric of my shirt.

“Imagine my surprise when I got a message saying you weren’t on your way back after the drop off, but was going to meet someone else.”

“Yeah, and I’m not telling you why.” I fire back stubbornly, my hands still on my waist.

Barnes blinks rapidly, shocked, because I didn’t deny it, that I said no to him so easily, or maybe because of something else completely. Whatever the reason, he recovers quickly. A scowl now twisting up his features.

“We had a deal with your f-”

“I’m not the one that needs reminder of that deal, it seems.” I snap. “What I did today, was for reasons you aren’t entitled to.” His scowl deepens. “Now, I could give you some information about it. If you were to tell me something in return.”

“And what’s that?” He growls, but willing to play my game.

“The last crate I picked up on my assignment.” Recognition dances over his eyes. “Yeah, it’s about that. Tell me what was in there because I know for a fact it wasn’t the shit on the manifest. That was just a cover. You tell me what the shipment was, and I’ll tell you what I was given.”

He clenches his jaw, but doesn’t say a word. I wait for a moment before nodding, more to myself than him.

“You’ll get the info the Bureau sent me, once I make sure it’s actually useful.”

I turn and exit the office quickly, no one saying a word to me before the door closes. My nails dig into my palms as I stomp back to my room, pissed off at the day I’ve had. My door slams shut, and I begin pacing the floor of my room. Anger flows through my veins like a fire that can’t be stopped. I had at least thought I was gaining some ground with Barnes and even some of the others, but apparently not. The only reason he let me go free is because of that stupid deal.

One thing’s certain after tonight, though. James Barnes is not to be trusted.

 Part 7

Tag List:

@the-ss-horniest-book-club

@broco8

@tcc-gizmachine

@miraclesoflove

@ladyacrasia

[cakesunflower]

Two’s A Party [C.H. One Shot]

A/N: So basically I read this sentence prompt that went “If you don’t get turned on by having your neck kissed, something’s wrong with you” and instantly thought of Calum and viola this was born. Funny how I was legit talking to @5sosnsfw last night about how writing smut is so bleh and then I wrote this about 24 hours later. Calum just does it to me, man.

This is written in 2nd person which I rarely ever do in a proper one shot so enjoy it while it lasts LMAO. This is all just smut/situations leading up to it. 

It’s only about 4k words so...... Happy reading!

The party had died down around two-thirty in the morning, your apartment engulfed in a pleasant, calm lul as opposed to the enjoyable rowdiness your friends brought with them. Besides, it wasn’t even a party, per se. More so a get together with your closest friends where you watched movies, ate lots of food, played board games, and drank even more alcohol. It was a fun way of winding down from the week and getting ready for the weekend, jobs and other adulting commitments making it difficult for you to see your friends as often as you’d like.

Especially those who didn’t stick around for too long, given their lifestyle, vastly different from your own, had them constantly traveling.

“Are you still going?”

Your eyes flickered away from the TV, which was playing an episode of Vampire Diaries—you weren’t sure why; you vaguely remembered one of your friends wanting to watch an episode just for Ian Somerhalder—and you looked up at Calum emerging from the hallway. He was eyeing the glass of wine you were sipping from, his own eyes a bit glassy from the hits he’d taken, curls ruffled a top his head as he slowly made his way over to you.

He was the last one still at your place, the rest of your friends having climbed into their Ubers after bidding goodnight, and you didn’t mind at all. You loved Calum’s company, sober or otherwise, and you didn’t have to tell him he was welcome to stay over for him to know.

You lowered the glass after swallowing the bittersweet sip, a lazy, tipsied smile gracing your lips. It was your second glass of wine—thought that was after a round of ill advised shots Luke wanted to take and a couple of hits from one of your other friend’s pen. You weren’t drunk, but a pleasant, enjoyable buzz hummed through your veins and tickled your skin. Your head kind of felt heavy on your shoulders, nothing you weren’t used to, but it was a welcome feeling.

“Don’t judge me in my own home,” you responded, watching as Calum snorted as he stepped over you. You were sitting on the ground, on a floor cushion that was softer than your couch, back against it as you absently watched the show with a throw blanket on your lap.

You felt the couch subtly move behind you, hearing Calum grunt gently as he laid down, legs dangling over one side of the arm rest as his head rested on the couch near where yours was as you remained seated. “Why’re you sitting on the floor?” Calum asked, voice raspy and just a little bit muffled due to his cheek pressed against the couch.

You licked your lips, tasting the wine, wondering if you should pour some more as you drawled, “Why are you asking so many questions?”

You knew why, of course. He wasn’t entirely sober, and whether he was drunk or high—especially high—it was when every question that ran through Calum’s mind was voiced. His need to know things always took over, asking, asking, asking. And you were always patient with him, always answering, wanting to do your best to feed his hunger of knowing. That’s how it also worked when you told him about the classes you were currently taking in grad school, and he asked you about the lectures and readings. He couldn’t go back to school like he wanted, not yet anyway, so you let him live vicariously through you. Calum always did the same when you asked about his life on the road, the wanderess in you never silenced.. Give and take, always.

Calum was silent for a few moments, the only sound in your apartment coming from the TV as the show continued on. You watched with slightly hooded eyes, unable to truly focus. At this point, you may be more tired than high. But you wanted to enjoy Calum’s company for as long as you could.

“Can I ask you another question?” he finally spoke up, the lazy drawl in his deep voice enticing. When you hummed in response, Calum asked, “What the fuck is sexual abandonment?”

You let out a groan, throwing your head back, just barely grazing Calum’s side where he lay as you felt and heard him chuckle at your reaction. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as thoughts of your ex flashed through your mind, more annoyed than pained. There was no love lost, but Calum was really blowing her shit right now. “Listen, shut up. I can’t believe I dated someone who used that as a reason to break up,” you huffed, straightening your head with a shake of it. Calum’s chuckles were deep behind you, all too amused, as your face scrunched up at the mere thought of your ex-boyfriend. He really had said he was dumping you because of sexual abandonment. You figured that’s why you’d never date a law student again. Or someone named Greg. You snorted as you raised your glass of wine. “I’m surprised he didn’t sue me.”

That only had Calum laughing harder, your smile growing as you swallowed your wine and looked over your shoulder. He was pressing his face on the couch cushion, shoulders shaking from his raspy laughter, and you could see the crinkles by his eyes as he did so. He was fucking adorable.

You bit your smiling lower lip, forcing yourself to look away from him and back at the TV screen, face scrunching up once again in distaste as you sounded disapprovingly, “Ugh.”

“What?” Calum questioned through a somewhat squeaky and endearing voice as his laughter dissolved into chuckles, taking a breath to calm himself down.

“That,” you answered, pouting at the TV as you watched one of the characters kiss the other’s neck, the recipient of it looking far too much like she was enjoying it. You couldn’t relate. “Not fun. Does absolutely nothing.”

From behind you, you heard Calum let out a disbelieving scoff, and without even looking at him you could hear the frown he wore as he said, “If you don’t get turned on by having your neck kissed, something’s wrong with you, doll.”

You finished off your wine with a roll of your eyes, putting the glass on the coffee table and blinking back some focus as you realized you put it a bit too close to the edge and pushed it further to the center of the table. Settling back against the couch, you informed your Australian friend, “No one I’ve ever been with has turned me on by kissing my neck. Either they just suck at it, or something really is wrong with me.”

Calum clicked his tongue in disapproval, and you felt his right arm wind around you, settling across your collarbones as he remained behind you. You enjoyed his warmth, the closeness not unfamiliar, until he shifted and you felt his lips brush along the shell of your ear as he murmured lowly, “They didn’t know what they were doin’. You need someone who does.”

Either you were drunker than you initially thought, or this was starting to take a turn you hadn’t been prepared for. Still, the sound of his husky voice sent a shiver down your spine, stomach flipping excitedly as you played with him for a brief moment, perhaps as a way of testing to see if you were right about the direction this was headed in. “Let me know if you find anyone willing.”

The hand that was wrapped around you was settled near the nape of your neck, throat working when Calum dragged a finger along the side of it in a featherlight touch. “Already have.”

Yeah. This was definitely going where you realized you desperately wanted it to go.

You inhaled deeply, the anticipation suddenly buzzing your veins more than any of the drinks had, biting the inside of your lower lip as Calum hummed, “Come up here, yeah?”

You moved without much thought, getting up from the floor to scoot up to the couch as Calum had moved, the blanket falling to the floor. Without having you face him, he had you settled between his legs, relaxed, hands settling at the juncture of your thighs where the heat of his touch seeped through the thin material of your leggings. Your heart was thundering your chest, in overdrive as you breathed in the scent of his familiar cologne deliciously mixed with the faint scent of weed, feeling Calum sit up behind you as his chest pressed against your back.

“Relax, doll,” he murmured, voice all too enticing, “just watch your show.”

It had been challenging to focus on the damn show before; did he really think you’d be able to now?

Still, you did as he said, ridding of any tension built from anticipation as you leaned into his sturdy chest, gaze on the show playing on the TV as you felt the first soft pressure of Calum’s lips. He started on your left side, where your neck met your shoulder, and you reveled in the coincidence of your decision to wear a tank top tonight.

Calum’s movements were slow, purposeful, as he pressed close mouthed kisses, starting a trail leading up the side of your neck, and each touch of his soft lips against your skin had you lightly biting your bottom lip. It was embarrassing how the sensation of his lips already had you realizing that, yeah, this was better than anyone else who’d ever tried this on you.

His hands were on your hips, teasingly sliding to the juncture of your thighs, the brush of his fingers flipping your stomach desirably. You weren’t oblivious to the way your heart was picking up its pace, already starting to find it difficult to focus on a bunch of vampires on the TV screen as Calum’s lips reached the spot where your jaw and neck met. The added sensation of his stubble scratching gently against the previous kissed spots, along with the tickling brush of his curls, had you biting your tongue as you tried to keep your breaths steady.

The wine that buzzed in your veins only heightened everything you were feeling, taking in a soft breath when Calum teased your skin with a nibble. Your eyes fluttered as his kisses trailing down started slowly becoming more intense, more playing with your skin with the use of his teeth and tongue, heart leaping in your throat when he chuckled against you. You felt his deep, quiet laughter in his chest against your back. With a squeeze of your hips, Calum murmured, “I can tell you’re already enjoying this.”

You didn’t want to give in too easily—give into what, you weren’t sure—despite leaning your head back just a little against his shoulder, hooded eyes still on the TV as you breathed, “Only a little.”

Calum, of course, took that as a challenge.

He scoffed lightly, bringing his left hand up to cup your right jaw, turning your face towards his as he lifted his head to look at you. The distance between you two was practically nonexistent, and you wondered if his dark, blown out pupils were because of whatever high he may be riding or because of what he was doing to you. You knew yours damn well had to do with him.

There was a boyish, wicked smirk growing on his lips, his hand warm against your cheek, thumb brushing along your lower lip as he leaned in close. You tried to ignore the way your heart jumped when Calum’s lips brushed against yours, just barely, so close but not entirely, as he whispered arrogantly, “You’re a shit liar.”

And then his head was ducking once more, and this time as his lips trailed to your collarbone, you felt the newfound passion behind his kisses—one that you welcomed wholeheartedly.  

The enticing burn of his stubble was soothed by the warm press of his lips, only to be teased unforgivingly with his teeth and tongue as he bit and sucked at your skin, determined to leave marks you both knew you’d wear proudly. Your breath caught in your throat, eyes still on the TV but not at all in focus, head leaned back to willingly give Calum access. Your right hand gripped the edge of the couch, digging into the soft material, while the other had a mind of its own and reached up to bury your fingers in the back of Calum’s head, lost in the strands of his curls.

He took his time with the kisses, never dialing back on the fervor, knowing just how much he was picking up your heart rate as he felt your body react to him. It drove him crazy, hearing the small gasps and sharp inhales you sounded every time he added a new mark to paint your skin with, wondering if you could feel just what you were doing to him, too. You could.

Calum’s hand that was gripping your jaw shifted, just a fraction, enough to allow for his thumb to slip past your lips, grip on your thigh tightened when you, without hesitation, wrapped your lips around the thumb and sucked. “Fuck,” Calum groaned breathily, lips dragging on your skin as you didn’t even try to hide the smirk that threatened to grow.

He kissed another mark he left on you before lifting his head, lips no longer on your skin and thumb no longer in your mouth. Your eyes met his dark ones, his no longer glazed from the weed but solely because of you, barely giving you a chance to let out a breath as Calum used the hand that held your jaw to turn you towards him more, closing the gap as his lips that had been teasing your neck for God knows how long finally met yours in a searing, toe curling kiss.

The two of you moved, lips never leaving one anothers as you turned to straddle Calum where he sat, the TV in the background drowned out by the sounds of your sharp breathing as you kissed, suddenly feeling a bit too constrained by the clothes that you both wore. You felt yourself easily getting lost in the feel of Calum’s lips against yours, working perfectly as the kiss deepened and the tongue that had been teasing your neck effortlessly slid against yours. Your fingers gripped the hem of Calum’s shirt, and he easily got the message as he reached behind to grip the material off his back and lift it off of himself completely, the kiss breaking for a brief moment that you used to take off your own tank top.

You grinned lazily at the sight of his unruly curls, messed up by your own fingers and the act of taking off his shirt, biting down on your lower lip as you noticed Calum watching you watch him. The incredulity of this whole situation wasn’t lost on either of you, but it wasn’t something you wanted to think about. That would come later.

So for now, Calum wrapped his arms around your waist before getting up effortlessly with your legs around him, smirking at the startled exclaim that fell past your lips as Calum lowered you onto your back on the couch, getting on his knees above you. Reaching your hand forward, you gripped the pendant of the necklace he wore, tugging him down to connect your lips once more, mouth craving to slant against his as Calum eagerly returned the kiss. He used one hand to plant by your head to keep himself above you, the fingers of the other digging under the band of your leggings and panties and giving them a quick tug downwards.

You couldn’t help the giggle that fell past your lips as you helped him in taking off the offending materials, the kiss breaking as he sat up to rid himself of his own pants. Both of your movements weren’t as frenzy as the pace of your heats, taking your time in ridding the clothes despite the pressing urge to once again close the gap between the two of you.

You looked up at Calum, your breathing heavy, as he sat on his knees between your legs, gaze never leaving yours as he rolled on the condom he’d taken out from his wallet. You wondered if his lips once again craved yours, wondered if his felt electric from the kisses shared while yearning for more, admiring the pinkness of his mouth from treating you so well.

There was a heat firing up your body as Calum openly admired you as well, laying bare all for him. Did he also find this turn of events unexpected? Was he also grateful things had taken this path, just like you were? Because fuck it if you never imagined getting to be with him like this, savoring every piece of him for as long as you could.

He leaned down to kiss you again, your eyes fluttering shut as you felt his chest press against yours, gasping into his mouth when his finger teased your slick folds. Calum’s lips curled into a smirk, the rasp of his voice chilling as he groaned at your wetness and mused, “No one could’ve turned you on like this except for me, doll.” Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails sensually dragging across his skin as he added another finger into you. “Always remember that.”

As if you could ever forget.

You were lucky that Calum took mercy on you, hearing the whimper you released and he swallowed amidst your kiss, pumping his fingers a few times, dragging them against your walls, admiring your tightness before pulling them out and teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock. Being verbal wasn’t something you found yourself capable of, all of the sensations starting from the second Calum had pressed his lips to your neck to now overwhelming you, but you knew Calum and you knew he would wait until you gave him the go ahead.

So you kissed him, tugging at his lower lip with your teeth, the press of his chest against yours syncing your heartbeats, as you begged, “Please, Cal.”

He reveled in the moan you let out as he buried himself inside of you, the kiss breaking as your eyes shut and head tilted back at the sensation of him filling you. Calum dropped his lips to your throat, curls and eyelashes brushing against your skin as he squeezed his own eyes shut at the feel of you around him, snug and right. He cursed under his breath, guttural and blissed, feeling the confirming squeeze you gave his bicep a moment later that allowed him to create a pace that effortlessly drove you both crazy.

One leg on the couch while the foot of the other planted itself on the ground, Calum so easily hit that spot that had your heart jumping and head dizzying. You were overwhelmed by him; by him filling you up so well, by his lips on your throat, by the hand that wasn’t holding him up reaching between the two of you so his thumb could toy with your clit.

Calum lifted his head, taking in the flush of your cheeks and blissed out look in your eyes as you looked up at him through a hooded gaze, and he couldn’t be more entranced if he tried. He smirked breathlessly, nipping at your lower lip, grunts falling past his throat as he praised, “Take me so well, baby. How’s it feel knowin’ only I can get you like this?”

You let out a sharp breath, the urge to feel his lips against you strong as you confirmed breathlessly, “So good,” before kissing him like your life depended on it because, honestly, it felt as though it did.

The familiar coil in the pit of your stomach tightened as Calum kept his pace, thumb still circling your clit, and you knew that Calum knew you well enough at this point. You didn’t realize how well until he urged, “Let go, baby.”

Stars exploded behind your eyelids as you felt yourself do just that, the satisfied, blissed out sounds you let out music to Calum’s ears as his own release soon followed, burying his head in the crook of your neck so you could feel the press of his lips and scratch of his stubble. Even the pendant of his necklace dragging across your skin sent shivers down your spine, the mix of all these heavenly sensations taking over in the best way possible.

Your breathing was labored, as was Calum’s, whimpering softly as he pulled out of you and rid of the condom in the makeshift garbage bag made from one of the empty takeout bags. Calum then picked up the blanket and you lazily shifted over as much as you could towards the back of the couch, letting Calum settle next to you—though you ended up a bit on top of him. Neither of you minded.

You stared up at the ceiling, willing your heart to calm down as you reveled in the warmth of Calum’s bare body against yours in the minimal space your couch offered. The blanket reached up far enough to cover your chest, Calum’s toes just barely peeking out from the other end. He’d propped his head on the armrest, your own laying against his chest as his fingers lightly trailed up and down your arm as his own stayed wrapped around your shoulders. The TV was still on, as was that damned show, though neither of you paid it any attention. How could you, when you’d just done what you did?

Your stomach was still fluttering, lips electric, biting them before breaking the silence between you two. “So I guess nothing was wrong with me. Everyone else just sucked.”

Calum let out a deep chuckle at that as his fingers that had been dancing on your arm trailed over to your neck, brushing against the sensitive spots that were blooming into the bruises he’d intentionally left. Voice a low murmur, the smirk ever present, he responded smugly, “I know.”

You scoffed, lightly smacking his chest with the back of your hand, earning another laugh from him. Reaching your hand up, you took Calum’s that was trailing along your neck and played with his fingers, a thought popping in your head as you bit the inside of your cheek. Watching your fingers play with his, you dared yourself to hum, “Know what I’ve been wondering?”

He allowed you to pull off one of his silver rings before taking it between his fingers and sliding it over your thumb, the only place it’d fit. “What’s that?”

You took a silent breath, preparing yourself as the anticipation started building up without much doing. Tilting your head, you looked up to meet Calum’s curious gaze, his eyebrows quirking at the not-so-innocent smirk tilting at your lips. “If the rumors about your head game are true.”

His eyes darkened and you knew you had his attention—not that you’d ever lost it. And when your smirk widened, biting your lip, Calum’s own wicked one came out to play, already pulling off the blanket to make his way towards your sensitive heat. Your heart jumped, gasping as he got to his knees on the floor and gripped your hips to turn your body towards him, smirking up at you from between your legs as he taunted, “Only one way to find out.”  

--

tags: @irwinkitten @sweetcherrymike @meetashthere @loveroflrh @softforcal @astroashtonio @hereforlukescruff @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @calntynes @calumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @spideyseavey @imfuckin10plybud @pastelpapermoons @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @sunnysidesblog @cocktail-calum @miahelizaaabeth @madelynerin @dramallamawithsparkles @theagenderwhocriedwolf @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex​ @inlovehoodx​ @calistheloml @aestheticrelated​ @bloodlinecal​ @sublimehood​ @madbomb​ @raabiac @britnicole11​ @outofmylimitcal​ @wildflower-cth​ @bloodmoonashton​ @vxidhood​ @tea4sykes @wildflowergrae​ 

[cordytriestowrite]

Excuses and Uses

Bucky Barnes x Reader

One Shot

Summary: Excuses were all you got from Bucky. Uses were all he wanted from you. (Aka I need a world where F&WS exists and until then I make up my own plots thanks)

"Bucky, what a surprise."

Your greeting was laced heavily with sarcasm. It was in fact not a surprise to have Bucky Barnes knocking on your door long after it was appropriate to receive visitors. You were in your sushi pajamas for Pete's sake! Despite those comically cute pieces of sashimi littering your clothing Bucky looked at least a little guilty to be standing in front if you, even if he had a not so cute arsenal of guns and knives littering his body you weren't intimidated. 

"I need your help."

Rolling your eyes you turned around and left Bucky in the doorway of your studio apartment. You picked up a few pieces of scattered clothing so you wouldn't attempt to wrap your hands around his thick neck and squeeze the annoying life right out of him. 

"You never come over to hang out you know. Not even to see your son!"

Bucky closed the door behind him and almost immediately Alpine was winding between his legs, rubbing and purring, happy to see his true owner. Alpine, in his snooty cat way, made sure you knew where you ranked on the totem pole despite filling his food bowl every day. 

Bucky picked up the feline and buried his face into his fluffy white fur. When he spoke again his words were muffled.

"He knows I still love him. Even if I can't see him all the time."

You honestly weren't sure if he was telling you or the cat but you felt like arguing anyway.

"I have Mario Kart. It's like, your favorite game and you don't ever come over to play."

Alpine jumped from Bucky's arms as he moved further into what was designated as the living room, even if there were no walls separating the couch from your bed, refrigerator, or washing machine. 

"I don't have time to play." 

"Bullshit." You muttered under your breath, tossing a misplaced fork into the sink, letting the loud clang of metal on metal hide the curse. Excuses and uses were all you got from Bucky and all he wanted from you. You took a few seconds to settle down before turning to face him.

"What can I do for you Bucky?"

He was in his usual spot. Not quite in the living space, not close enough to the door to be heard by a nosey neighbor, not quite close enough to you. 

"I have a lead I need you to look into."

You just didn't have the strength to keep doing this. It was late, you were tired, and honestly if Bucky wasn't going to treat you like anything more than a human search engine then you weren't interested in moving forward with this conversation.

"Go ask Sharon." You said dismissively, walking around the couch and putting more distance between you and Bucky.

"Sharon can't know about this. Sam either. You're the only one. I need you."

You ignored him. At first you there was a thrill in being Bucky's confidant, in having a secret mission just you and him, but all you ended up feeling now was lonely and more than a bit bitter. You pulled back your blankets, slid out of your slippers, and crawled into bed. 

"Agent-"

Your back was turned to Bucky. You spoke loud and clear so it would get through his thick skull, because obviously your physical dismissal of him was a bit too subtle. 

"I'm no longer an agent, Soldier. I quit remember? For you."

You turned over, the comforter pulled up to your chin so the parts of you that were exposed were cold and hard; your eyes and mouth set with stubborn lines of tension. 

"And I have a name. Do I need to remind you of it? Goodnight."

You turned your back to him again, hitting the light switch near your head and plunging the studio into darkness. You could feel Alpine's paws gently press against your toes as he joined you.

What should have come next was a few footsteps leading away from you then the opening and closing of your front door, but instead you felt the mattress dip near your hip, then a matching weight on the other side as Bucky briefly straddled you before wedging his large, fully armed and armored body between you and the wall. You could barely see him in the dark, but you could hear him clearly utter your name. You let out a hollow laugh and hoped it hid how nervous Bucky's proximity was making you.

"So you do know it. Could've fooled me."

Bucky was quiet for a long time. That combined with his uncanny ability to keep entirely still meant you drifted off and only realized it when he spoke.

"I'm sorry. I'd love to play Mario Kart."

You smiled, blinking slow as sleep made your eyelids heavy. 

"Too sleepy. In the morning." You muttered, lips barely moving to form the words. 

Gentle fingers brushed through the hair at your temple, lulling you further into an unconscious state. You resurfaced at the feeling of Bucky moving over you. Your body followed him as he made his exit

"Buck, the lead."

If the cold metal palm against your cheek wasn't enough to wake you up the press of lips to your forehead would have raised you from the dead.

"It can wait."

A few footsteps, then the opening and closing of your front door and he was gone. Your thoughts stayed on him long after he left and until the thinnest strip of sunlight colored the dark sky a dusky blue-grey. 

You woke up late the next day, much to Alpine's displeasure. He made sure to dig his claws deep enough to scratch your feet as he stretched and sauntered toward the corner kitchen. 

"Not even my cat." You grumbled, pulling back the covers and following the small white ball of attitude. He waited impatiently for his breakfast, meowing and batting at your hand when he deemed the task was taking too long by his standards. He didn't even wait for his bowl to be moved to the floor, digging in the second you finished scraping the lumpy, wet chunks of fish and carrot out of the can. 

You watched Alpine chow down without really seeing him. Your mind was back to last night and the way Bucky said your name, the way his fingers carded through your hair, the way he pressed his lips to your forehead. It all seemed so unreal, unlikely to be something that could ever happen, so you assumed your mind had made it all up. It was the only way it made sense to you.

Bucky wasn't the guy from last night, he was a super soldier with a super chip on his shoulder who happened to like Mario Kart but refused to play because God forbid he experience any joy in life. You were his pet sitter, his informant, the woman who went rogue from the new and improved S.H.I.E.L.D. the moment those big blue eyes sparkled in your general direction and just happened to steal a high tech laptop on her way out. You and Bucky Barnes weren't friends. You were just the idiot who allowed yourself to be used. You understood that now.

A knock on your door pulled you out of that head space. You shook your head and rubbed the sleep and bit of teariness from your eye before you opened the door.

It was Bucky, no longer decked out in leather and weaponry. His hair fluffy and productless, and his black and gold arm covered by a slightly baggy navy hoodie. He looked normal and that made it so odd.

"Didn't know you took days off Barnes." You greeted sarcastically, arms crossing over your sleep wrinkled sushi pajama top. 

Bucky started to smile, bit his lip to hide it, then relented to a playful smirk.

"I didn't either."

You eye him skeptically before turning around and walking into your living room, bending over to pull your stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. laptop out of its hiding place between the couch and the wall. You sat down and powered it on.

"What's the name?" You asked plainly, knowing your tone was clipped with anger despite your best efforts toseem unaffected.

Bucky closed the front door behind him before bypassing his usual spot just beyond reach to sit next to you on the couch. He was close, granted it was a loveseat and the man was thick in all the best ways, but he was closer than necessary. Knee to shoulder you were connected and in the light of day at this proximity you could see flecks of grey growing at his temple. Of course he would be a silver fox, you thought.

"Mario."

You accessed the database and typed in the name.

"Got a last name?" You asked, desperately glaring at the screen as to not give in to the desire to keep looking at Bucky up close.

"Kart."

You typed in the word and hit search and Bucky was already deep in laughter before it hit you. Slamming your laptop closed you leapt up from the couch and pulled the joycons off the dock.

Alpine, finished licking his bowl clean, finally noticed Bucky and had bounded over to claim his attention. You passed Bucky a controller and plopped back down next to him, purposely tucking yourself surely into his side. You looked at him excitedly, no longer attempting to hide behind a mask of cool indifference. He was looking back with something in his eyes that made your whole body flush with a sudden warmth. 

"So the lead can wait then?"

He nodded, happy expression turning a tad too serious as he searched your face.

"Thank you for always taking care of Alpine. And helping me with missions even though its dangerous. And introducing me to Mario Kart. And-"

You would have let him continue if your heart could handle it. It was pounding so hard against your sternum. And your mouth, it hurt with the intensity of your smile. Your eyes were misty again and before could think it through you planted a solid kiss to Bucky's stubbled cheek, silencing him instantly. It was as you pulled away, an apology already waiting on your tongue, that Bucky turned his head so his lips met yours.

Your lips tingled, numb from elation and nerves. It was a firm and warm and chaste and, while totally unexpected, perfect kiss. So maybe Bucky was the guy laying in your bed last night, maybe he was also kind of an ass who forgot that life wasn't always about the mission. People can be multidimensional!

Alpine, realizing he wasn't the center of Bucky's world at the moment, stretched up on his hind legs to swat a tiny paw against your joined lips. You separated with laughter, giving Alpine scratches behind the ears while he purred in contentment. You couldn't be upset when Bucky picked up his controller instead of kissing you again, seeing his easy smile and bright eyes was enough.

"So, Rainbow Road?"

"Oh, I'll kick your ass Barnes!"

Alpine was a great ally in distracting Bucky from beating you to the finish line and kissing was a great weapon both of you wielded excessively to the point the game was long forgotten in favor of making out on the couch. 

Before Bucky departed later that evening, after an entire afternoon with no talk about a mission or a lead and without any brooding or far away gazes, you wondered if it was too good to be true. He had to feel the change in your posture when he asked between open mouth kisses against your neck.

"Take a look into that lead for me?"

You pulled away, your glare intense.

"Just tell me if you're just using me. With Alpine, intel, or now being your fuck buddy, whatever. I don't want excuses, Bucky. I don't want to be lied to."

Bucky didn't have to have to open his mouth to say anything, his eyes so expressive in initial surprise, then anger so great it tightened the muscle in his jaw, his expression settled into a somber determination and when he opened his mouth you wished you had never said anything and just enjoyed the attention.

"No excuses. I'm not good at...I spent so long being used I don't think I know…"

You wrapped your arms around Bucky. It was awkward with your position on the couch and how broad his shoulders were but it seemed important to just hold him. He held you back in strong and solid arms  you weren't sure you would ever be held by again. You had your cheek pressed against his shoulder and eyes steadfast on the coffee table as you took a deep breath and tried not to cry. If this was a hug of comfort you weren't sure who was supposed to be feeling comforted. To you it felt like a hug goodbye, because no way could you keep doing this. 

"Figure it out, okay."

Bucky left not long after, untangling from you while keeping his head down, scooping up Alpine on his way out. 

You thought that was going to be it from him. You didn't expect Bucky to recover from decades of abuse anytime soon so you went on with your life. Sharon stopped by to collect the stolen laptop, promising no one would know where it snuck off to in the last few months. You stayed home a lot, willfully ignoring the reason you stayed home every night was in case Bucky stopped by. You bought new pajamas with little white kittens on them, then promptly shipped them back after opening the box.

You finally got off your ass and got a new job. Private and slightly sketchy, but confirmed by Sharon it wasn't the world dominating kind of sketchy, the job was right in your comfort zone. Bright and early you were dressed and ready to head out for your first day of work and when you opened the door you almost ran into the wall of metal and muscle that is Bucky Barnes. 

"Bucky? And Alpine!"

A small white head poked sleepily out of Bucky's worn leather jacket. Alpine yawned before meowing up at Bucky who instinctively stroked a few fingers between his ears.

"Sharon said you were starting your new job today and I-we, me and Alpine, wanted to come wish you luck."

You tried not to frown, not wanting to give the wrong impression, so you turned around and locked your door at a deliberately slow pace. Had he been keeping tabs on you or was it just some small talk with Sharon? By the time you turned back around you couldn't help but smile at the sight before you.

Bucky, short hair combed neatly, leather riding jacket zipped up to hold his kitten securely to his chest, hands gloved, jeans dark. He looked cool and confident until you looked into his eyes and saw how out of his depth he really was. 

"Walk me to work?"

Bucky nodded, shoulders sagging in what seemed to be relief. You spent the walk catching up and laughing. It felt like Bucky and you had finally reached a friendship that wasn't based on how you could be benefit to him. 

Until Bucky moved in for a goodbye hug while you leaned in to kiss his cheek. Then it was more like a two idiots fiercely making out in front of one of those idiots new place of employment until the receptionist asked you to move the show somewhere else. But the two idiots agreed to talk later over a game of Mario Kart.

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[raleighcarrera]

May I possibly request either #32 or 46 from the NSFW prompt list for my obsession... I mean, Mason lol? Pretty please? 💕

32. “if you don’t like my teasing then why are you moaning?” 46. “you’re going to regret that, sweetheart.”

and several other people also asked for 33. “i’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever even met that asshole.”

50 NSFW starters 

like most of their conversations, it comes up in bed.

they’re laying around, relaxing for so long after a fuck that they’re probably coming up on the time for their next turn in the sheets, but for some reason, mason finds himself unwilling to initiate anything more than the light touches kira’s currently tolerating, her body canting greedily into each place his hand rests on her, like she’s wordlessly asking for more.

he likes her like this -- close by. smiling at him. quiet, for once.

plus, the way she hums when he digs his thumbs into her arm or the inside of her thigh or a tense shoulder sounds pretty nice in his ears.

so they’re talking about work, when she says it -- going over the details of a case that he can’t be bothered to think too closely about when the shape of her naked breasts is so clearly visible under the thin sheet, drawing his eyes in. 

but the mention of her shithead ex, who won’t stop stalking her in the interest of trying to play reporter, certainly captures his attention. mason snaps his gaze up to her face to search for any sign of distress on her expression. sooner or later he’s going to have to have a talk with that guy about bothering kira so much, but for now, mason only snorts, his amusement clear when he asks, “what did you ever see in him, anyway? he’s a loser.”

she shrugs. mason can practically feel his grin drop straight off his face when she simply says, “he was good in bed.”

it really shouldn’t bother him, especially not as much as it does. he knows he’s the best kira’s ever had -- not only because of his own self-confidence but because it’s obvious in the way she comes apart for him, like she’s stunned by how good it feels every time they get together. her wonder at what he can do to her never goes away, and he likes that about her, so -- fine, he was good in bed, but -- not as good as mason, clearly.

still, the rational part of his brain refuses to engage and save him from his spiraling. he knows it’s stupid and ridiculous, but he’s jealous all the same. “well,” he says finally, the words thick with distaste, “you’re easy to please.”

“awwwww.” the sheets shift as kira crawls closer, her smile a mile wide on her beautiful face. “are you jealous?”

“i don’t get jealous,” mason answers with a scoff, like the notion is too ridiculous to even dedicate his attention to. it is. he doesn’t.

never mind that he never did or felt a lot of things, before her. 

there’s something unidentifiable in her eyes when their gazes lock. her look reflects in the dimmed light of her bedroom like a sparkling star, and he’s helpless to turn his face away. “there’s nothing to be jealous of, you know.”

“then it’s a good thing i’m not jealous, have never been jealous, and never will be.” for some reason, that answer makes kira’s smile grow even larger. 

with a growl, he surges forward and catches her lips in a kiss. it’s meant to cut off whatever snarky, sexy thing she might be gearing up to say next, but it has the added affect of hiding her smile, for all the good that does for his sanity -- her stupid grin has been seared into his brain for months.

mason rolls on top of her and presses her down into the mattress effortlessly, the answering low moan that kira gives unlocking something primal within him. “you know what?” he mutters against her lips in between kisses, “i’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget you ever met that asshole.”

a full body shiver trips through her. he can feel every one of her goosebumps pressed against his skin. “mason.”

“hold still.” she does, near-immediately. with her presence dampening the sound of her neighbors and the street below and the humming of her air-conditioning and every other random noise that’d otherwise be an affront to his senses, he can hear her heartbeat and its uptick loud and clear. he can almost even hear the way her pupils dilate with desire. 

mason peels the sheet back slowly, trailing his fingers down her body as he does so. it slips away and the figure that’s revealed makes his cock twitch, just like it does every other time he gets to see it, bare like this or wrapped in too-tight jeans, without fail. kira looks so perfect, to him, that it makes every other time he’s fucked before her seem inconsequential in comparison, even though he’s had some pretty memorable experiences.

his hands wrap around her thighs and pull them apart, and he slides down her body without fuss, making himself comfortable between her legs.

her breath catches as soon as his head dips down, and once his hair falls into his face and obscures his expression, mason grins as hugely as he can. 

this is going to be fun.

he kisses up the sides of her thighs slowly, each press of his lips a lingering, sucking nip that leaves a mark against her skin that’s just the right shade of red. kira kicks her legs restlessly in the sheets while he works -- up from her knee to the crease at the top then back down again, hands tight on her calves while he winds her up as tightly as he can.

“mason,” she groans, after it’s gone on for probably way too long, “i swear to god, if you don’t quit teasing --”

“you’ll what?” he asks, leaning back to drag one fingertip up the wet trail he’s left on the inside of her leg, touch so light her body shakes again. “scream?”

“i’ll never fuck you again, you bastard.” 

he snorts again. her arched back and the breathless way the words are said around a sigh tell him everything he needs to know, but even if she wasn’t constantly groaning his name, the way she keeps pushing her hips forward insistently would do the trick nicely.

“if you don’t like my teasing then why are you moaning?” he asks, just because he can. just because it’s worth being an asshole for the way kira groans even louder, her sigh markedly more exasperated, this time. 

annoying her is almost as good as making her come. that’ll probably never change.

“it obviously feels good, idiot,” she bites back, despite the waver in her voice. he ducks his head on another grin. “but it’d feel better if you used that mouth for something produc -- mason!” 

his tongue delves into her without warning, parting her folds and immediately experiencing just how wet she is, tasting that explosion of sensation that’s uniquely kira and troublingly addictive. 

her hands wind into his hair and pull when he employs all his best tricks right off the bat, and that starts the rhythm that’s familiar to them -- he squeezes her thighs to leave behind the bruises he knows she likes, and she chants his name in a way that has him grinding his cock into the mattress, achingly hard just from hearing her sob out those two syllables over and over again while he takes her apart with his tongue.

“oh, fuck,” she gasps, when she starts to get close, grinding her hips down against him and doing her best to ride his face given the position they’re in, “oh god, oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, mason --”

he pulls back, licking the taste of her from his lips. spread out on the bed, when he pushes up onto his knees, kira looks absolutely wrecked, her chest heaving and her body flushed, the tops of her thighs wet where her arousal had simply been too much to contain.

mason rubs his jaw, smirking pridefully down at her. let’s see bobby marks do that.

without even having caught her breath yet, kira tilts her head on the pillow to look him in the eye. like always, she has him pinned with just a gaze. “i thought you were going to fuck me.”

his eyebrows lift. kira looks like she can barely handle a light rainstorm, right now, let alone what he wants to do to her. “is that what you want?”

she pushes up onto her elbows, moving her messy hair out of her face. her eyes are still a little dazed with pleasure. “if you can deliver.”

oh, he knows what she’s doing. still, mason narrows his eyes at her, crawling back on top of her body and ignoring the look of delight that jumps onto her face as he does. one hand grabs her chin, the other fumbling between their bodies to keep her legs pushed wide.

“sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning in close so his stubbled cheek drags across her much smoother, much warmer skin, “i’m going to fuck you.” 

the hitch in her breath is audible when his fingers slide back between her legs, making her hips jerk where she’s still so sensitive. 

“i’m going to watch you come on my cock over and over again.” 

kira’s groan is choked off, stuck in her throat with surprise. she’s so unbelievably wet where he’s touching her.

mason grins at her. “roll over.”

before her, this wasn’t a position he favored. something about it seems so intimate -- her back to his chest, her body gathered in his arms with her head on his shoulder -- but with kira it just feels right, an extension of what they already do. a new way to get even closer.

he wants to get as close as possible.

plus, his cock always slides in so easily like this, and the stretch or the angle always makes kira moan just a little bit louder than usual, her thigh trembling in his hand where he’s holding it up for her.

mason kisses her shoulder and then bites her hard enough to leave a mark. “you feel so good, kira.”

it’s enough to drive him out of his own mind. nothing has ever felt as good as her, as this -- sex wasn’t sex before her. all the other people he’s been with are something else entirely. 

“please,” she whines, “mason, oh god.”

that means faster. they’ve been at this for long enough that he knows what each please is asking for just by the way the word is pitched. 

he gives up on trying to be careful with her and gives her what they both want -- something that will last. something that will make her ache. something she’ll feel when she moves the wrong way at work and something that will leave her thinking about him in the middle of her day, so that when he sees her later on she jumps on him and practically tackles him to the floor of his room at the warehouse with frantic kisses.

his goal is always to fuck her hard enough to get those kisses, because he sure as hell isn’t asking for them.

true to his promise, he makes kira come twice before finally bottoming out inside of her, slamming his cock home viciously and enjoying the way she shakes around him when he does. 

it’s more than just the way she tightens around him that makes him come. it’s having so much of their bare skin pressed together, it’s the sound she makes when he rolls a nipple between his fingers while nosing at the side of her neck over her scar, it’s the way the smell of her shampoo is the only thing he can focus on when his vision whites out from indescribable pleasure. 

there’s pretty much no way he can ever fuck anyone else ever again, now that he knows what this feels like.

she makes a sleepy noise of protest when he pulls out, digging her fingertips into his arms to keep him from moving too far away unnecessarily -- he’s not going anywhere.

in fact, he’s the one to drag her in closer, tightening his hold around her and spooning up behind kira without an ounce of shame about how nice it is, burying his face in the soft curtain of her hair. 

she twists to kiss his arm, pressing her lips to any bare patch of skin of his she can reach without wiggling too much. the heavy sigh that leaves her is a rush of cool air against his hand. “that was nice,” kira murmurs.

the pointed pause that follows the words lets him know she’s grinning without having to look at her.

“...but i definitely still remember meeting all of my ex-boyfriends.”

brat.

and she knows it, if the yelp of laughter she gives when he nips at her neck in retaliation is anything to go by. mason rolls them both over, fighting her playfully in the sheets until she goes slack and lets him pin her to the mattress. 

well, they’ve got all night. if she wants to provoke him, he can absolutely give in -- especially since it looks like this argument is headed somewhere he very much wants to be regardless of the low-level annoyance he still feels towards that dirtbag who made her so much as frown.

mason leans down until they’re nose-to-nose, doing his best not to smile back when faced with her big, bold grin. “oh, you’re going to regret saying that, sweetheart.”

kira’s impish smile stretches wider in challenge yet again. she’s ridiculous. 

and his eyes are drawn to the way she licks her lips like a magnet. he’s helpless to ignore the way his body reacts when she curves them upwards and smirks, “promise?”

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: The Promise

(A/N: Way way WAAAAY Pre-Eragon. It’s rough and a majority of it was lurking in my drive folder for weeks. I wanted MIC!Brom and MIC!Arya interacting alone (aka without Izzy hovering and smothering Arya’s personality) together for the first time. The ending is shit and makes no sense, but I literally just wrote it and I’m having a hard time switching off the Japanese sentence structures (Japanese Sub-Obj-Verb vs English SVO) and whatnot and it’s just…a to-be-cleaned-later mess. But y’all gettin’ it anyway!!

Oh, also. I wanted Post-Fall Brom to be an angry jackass. Donno if that came across enough.)

{Secondary A/N: Ever go back read your stuff and thing ‘damn that feels clunky?’ Posting all these to the new side blog has me really thinking that way too often. As I’m literally doing this as a way to avoid an end of semester presentation project, I don’t have time to rewrite at the moment, but maybe one day....} 

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

“You’re leaving already?”

Brom’s head snapped back, eyes narrowed as he searched the trees for the source of the voice. So the person– or thing, as you could never be sure in the heart of Du Weldonvarden– that had been following him for the past week was finally ready to reveal itself.

Keen as he was, the Rider couldn’t pick out his second shadow from the mottled greens and browns above. They seemed content for him to answer before speaking again.

No way around it then. Brom shifted his pack on his shoulders, and dropped a hand to the pommel of his borrowed sword. His pistol and rifle were dismantled in their cases tied to his backpack, a precaution Oromis and Glaedr had insisted on ever since their former student nearly attacked Rhunön more than a decade ago. “I have things to do.”

“Well, yeah.” There was the scuff of dried outer bark crackling as it was compressed. Brom whirled to the sound, blade halfway out of its sheath before he stayed his hand, now more annoyed than ever. “But it’s not like you’re finished here, are you?”

Crouched upside down with her bare feet planted on the bottom of a pine branch and fingertips digging into the bark, was an elf. She cocked her head at him, dark hair waving as she observed his nearly threatening stance and foot of naked steel that was still exposed at his side.

And she gave him a sly smirk.

“Are you going to draw on me, ebrithil shur’tugal?”

Brom felt his blood pressure jolt up several levels. “What do you want? Either say your piece or go away. I don’t have time for this.” He slammed his sword back into the sheath, locking the hilt in place.

“Fine, fine.” The elf let go of the branch and twisted in the air, landing deftly on her feet. “I wanted to talk to you but couldn’t with everyone else around.”

He wanted to say that the time for talk was over. That he was done playing politics in this damned forest and he was going to back to fix the problems the elves had abandoned when they retreated there.

But his voice died in his throat as the elf came closer. No, not a full grown elf. An elfling, a child. He could see the faint silver of her skin now that she was not haloed by the dappled sunlight dripping down the tree.  

She bowed slightly, hand twisted over her heart in the elvish greeting before straightening and hesitantly held out her hand, almost appearing unfamiliar with the second gesture. “Stars watch over you. I’m–”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are, girl.” Brom ignored the offered hand and stepped around the elfling. Now that she was on the ground, she didn’t even reach his shoulder. “Does your mother know you’re here?”

There was a sudden snap in the air. Brom felt the hair on the back of his neck rise but refused to turn as the girl jogged to his side, obviously piqued. So she was still young enough to be bleeding uncontrolled magic into the world. “I was going to say, I’m Arya and my mother is not me and does not get to introduce me.” There was venom in her tone, something that the Rider had honestly not expected. What he had seen of Arya before was only a glimpse, usually several strides behind the Queen and watching the goings on quietly with wide, dark eyes. “And I want to talk to you.”

“Go home.”

“No. I’m not letting you leave without talking to me.”

“We’ve talked. A conversation with several back and forth utterances has taken place. You can go.”

“Master Glaedr was right about you. Look, just take me with you.”

Brom stopped. Now that was something he had not expected. The request, that is, not the comment about Glaedr. He turned slightly, one eyebrow raised in question. “What?”

“You heard me.” Arya crossed her arms, firmed her stance and glared at him with brilliant fire in her dark green eyes. “Take me with you.”

For a moment, Brom saw Evandar again. The elvish king’s rage at Galbatorix’s mindless slaughter of the dragons and innocents was something that was not easily forgotten.

For the briefest flicker of time, Brom saw that rage again, barely contained within the small, half grown elfling planted defiantly before him. It was simmering just beneath the surface, threaded through with the innate defiance of youth and stubbornness that all but screamed Islanzadi’s name.

There was conviction there as well. That, it seemed, was Arya’s claim alone.

He turned to face her fully. “You want to go out there and fight?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m sick of hearing about people dying.” Despite having to tilt her head back to keep steady eye contact with the Rider, Arya stepped forward into Brom’s personal space. “It’s time someone in this forest did something to fix the problems we brought about instead of moaning about the how Golden Age is gone while people out there die! So make no mistake, ebrithil shur’tugal. I’m going to help you stop this war so that no one else has to die for it.

“I’m going to help kill the Forsworn and Galbatorix, and help to end this war.”

Unlike any other who could have heard them, Brom did not laugh at the young elf’s words. He searched her face, letting the ring of the bond in her last statement, forged in her switch the Ancient Language, cool in the air. In all that time Arya did not flinch. She did not back down nor show any flicker of doubt on her face or in her eyes.

The elfing still did not move when Brom nodded slowly and rubbed at the stubble that patched his face. “Alright then. Seeing as how you just royally screwed yourself at…what, eight years old?”

Another snap of static flicked the air, this time pinging Brom on the neck as Arya’s eyes flashed. “I’m twelve.”

“Right, right. Royally screwed yourself and your entire life by magically forcing yourself to join a war and probably get yourself killed, then fine.” Brom put his finger up to halt the growing excitement he could see rising in the little elf. “But. Not now. Give it a few years. Ten, maybe twenty or so…and I’ll see if you’re ready to start working on your promise.”

The near feral grin that split Arya’s face startled him. This was something he had not seen before in Islanzadi nor Evandar. The wild, vibrant spirit waiting to be unleashed on the world was all Arya’s own. He shook hands with the elfling to seal their agreement.

“Tell the Forsworn I’m coming for them, yeah?”

Brom grinned despite himself. He knew that the girl had likely signed her own death warrant this day. But something about that half crazed smile she wore told him otherwise.

[toohardtoforgetcth]

Too Hard To Forget

Chapter Four

Warnings: swearing, dirty sexy naked smutty smut !

6,518 words

A/N: Hi angels! Here’s chapter four even though no one asked for it *insert nerd face*, and fuck it I might just post the rest over the next few days ‘cause I got sentenced to self-isolation (fuck COVID) and I can’t go to work now :( Hope you love it! Feedback is encouraged :)

» » » » » »

Friday night, Calum knocked on the door of Parker’s apartment. He had sent her a cryptic text earlier that morning to be ready for 8:00 and to wear something sexy.

She opened the door and Calum made no attempt to hide the way his eyes took in every inch of her, starting with her long legs in a pair of strappy black heels. He lingered a little too long at her chest, and how it was spilling out of the short black dress she had on. He finally brought his eyes up to meet hers, and she blushed when she noticed the hunger flash in his dark eyes.

Parker let her eyes wander over Calum’s outfit—his curls were unruly as always and he had his usual stubble on his face, but he had dressed up, too. He had traded in his scuffed black boots for polished ones, with a pair of fitted black dress pants, and a black silk shirt with red polka dots, topped with his leather jacket as always. He looked despicably, unfairly, mouth-wateringly, sexy. Parker let out a little huff of annoyance at his apparent inability to ever not look good.

“I feel stupid,” she muttered. She never dressed up, and she felt like Calum looked far better than she did.

Calum took a step closer to her, trailing his fingers down her sides, stopping at her hips. “You look incredible, love,” he murmured. “I said wear something sexy,” he let out a low whistle, leaning back to appreciate her once more. “You did not disappoint.”

He took her hand and opened the passenger door to his Charger. He dropped in beside her, starting the engine.

“So why did I have to wear this dress, then?”

“Purely for my benefit,” he said honestly. “So I can admire you.”

Parker rolled her eyes, but she smiled a little. It felt good to be wanted the way Calum wanted her.

Parker felt Calum’s hand come to rest on the bare skin of her thigh, giving it a squeeze, the cold metal of his rings biting into her skin. The contact sent a rush of heat through her body. It was almost shameful how one innocent touch from him set her whole body on fire.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled into a roundabout in front of Del Dente’s, the city’s fanciest and most expensive restaurant. It was situated completely on its own ten minutes out of the city, perched on top of a cliff overlooking the water. Only the wealthy ate here—Parker had never even stepped foot inside. Calum opened the car door for Parker before tossing his keys to the parking attendant.

“Calum,” Parker whispered. “This place is crazy expensive. I can’t afford this.”

“Quiet, doll,” he shushed her, resting his hand on her lower back and guiding her inside. “You think I would bring you here and make you pay? Let me treat you. And don’t complain about it.”

Parker couldn’t help but get a little turned on by Calum’s assertiveness. She was a perfectly capable and independent woman, but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy being taken care of. He ushered her in through the large glass doors and into the foyer where a pretty girl around her age was standing at a podium, ready to greet them. She smiled politely at Parker, but her gaze drifted to Calum and stayed there. Parker was annoyed, but she couldn’t blame the girl—Calum was nothing if not easy to look at.

“Do you have a reservation?” she asked him sweetly, smiling too wide.

“8:30 for Hood,” he said shortly, barely meeting the girls’ eyes—he couldn’t take his own off Parker. She knew it was petty, but she felt the tiniest bit triumphant knowing Calum only had eyes for her.

“Right this way, please,” the girl mumbled quietly, defeated. As they followed her into the main dining area, Parker took in her surroundings. There were two floors, separated by a set of shallow stairs and an intricate wooden railing wrapping all the way around. The entire restaurant was very dimly lit and reeked of high class. There were chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the tables all covered in a crisp white linen tablecloth, decorated with expensive crystal and silverware. There was a large dance floor in the middle of the tables on the main floor, complete with a slightly elevated stage, on top of which a man sat playing the piano and a middle-aged woman was singing into the microphone. A few couples were scattered over the dance floor, swaying in time to the music. Calum pulled out Parker’s chair, tucking her in before shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over his own chair. They were seated at a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, floor to ceiling windows next to it. If she looked to her right, she could see the lake below them, illuminated by the city lights. It was a breathtaking view. She wondered if Calum requested this table.

“This place is insane,” Parker exclaimed. “You know I would have been just as happy eating at McDonald’s—I just wanted to see you,” she admitted.

Calum chuckled. “I know. I get the feeling you don’t get treated often, so I wanted to do something special.”

The food was nothing short of spectacular, and Parker concluded that she would probably never taste anything that delicious for the rest of her life. To finish it off, Calum ordered a slice of classic New York cheesecake, giving Parker a bite after every one he took for himself. She supposed she could have asked the waitress for another fork to share, but somehow it tasted better with Calum feeding it to her.

Parker sipped at her glass of wine. She had never had a date like this before, and she likely never would again. She watched as Calum pushed his chair back and stood. He walked over to her, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet.

“Dance with me,” he murmured in her ear.

Calum laced his fingers with hers as she let him lead her to the dance floor. He turned, and in one fluid motion, pulled her tight against him, her right hand clasped in his left. Parker closed her eyes and rested her head on Calum’s shoulder. She followed his lead, swaying gently to the soft music. Parker was in heaven. She was so relaxed, so at ease. If someone had told her six weeks ago she’d be here, slow dancing with Calum, she would have called them crazy. But this night couldn’t get more perfect. She let herself get lost, feeling nothing but complete and utter contentment in Calum’s arms.

For the second time in less than a week, Calum felt truly at peace. Coincidentally, or maybe not coincidence at all, both times were when he was with Parker. Holding her in his arms, dancing with her, he wondered what it was about her that made him forget everything he ever believed about love and relationships. This felt good. It felt good to care for someone other than himself, other than Gram or his boys. He’d spent his entire adult life hating the idea of love and pushing away any girl who tried to get close to him. But Parker had walked into his life unexpectedly, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why she was so different. What was it about her that made all his insecurities melt away? Calum didn’t know, but he didn’t really care. There was nowhere else he’d rather be right now. So he held her tighter and let himself feel.

By the time they left the restaurant, it was nearing eleven and getting cold, being that the restaurant was at a high altitude. As they waited in the foyer for the valet, Parker shivered from the cold air blowing inside. Calum didn’t hesitate for a second before he shed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“I’m okay, we’re getting in the car anyway,” she protested, but Calum shook his head.

“I don’t need it, love,” he replied, fingers gripping the lapels and pulling it tight around her frame.

A few minutes later, the valet pulled up with the car and opened the door for Parker. She smiled and thanked the kid before he shut the door. She watched as Calum tucked a bill into the breast pocket of his vest and shook his hand, before rounding the front of the car and settling in the driver’s seat.

Parker reached over the center console and laced her fingers with Calum’s, smiling. “Thank you for tonight,” she said honestly. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I know you don't care about the money, Parker. I just wanted to do something to prove to you that I’m serious about this,” he said seriously, squeezing her hand. “And I hope you’re not tired, angel, ‘cause I’m not ready to take you home yet,” he smirked, shifting his gaze forward and pulling the car back onto the road.

• • • • • •

“Where are we?” Parker asked after fifteen minutes of driving in silence as Calum pulled into a spot in an underground parking garage. He cut the engine and turned to her, grinning wickedly.

“I’d love to take you out and show you off, but I’m feeling a little selfish tonight,” he said, watching the path of his finger as it trailed from her knee to her inner thigh, disappearing under the hem of her dress. He planted a firm kiss to her lips, holding her cheek with his free hand. He pulled away, getting out of the car and coming around to her side to open the door.

“Come,” he said, holding his hand out for her to take.

“Is this where you live?” Parker asked curiously as she took his hand and stepped out of the car. His hand was soft and warm when it surrounded hers, and it felt like it was made for her

Calum said nothing, nodding simply. She followed him to a set of heavy metal doors, watching as he punched a code into the keypad next to it.

“After you,” he said, sweeping his hand out and directing her inside. He pressed the button for the elevator and grasped her hand while they waited. The doors opened, and they stepped inside, Calum pushing the button for the seventh floor.

Parker was nervous. She wasn’t sure why—she had been alone with Calum before—but he was so secretive and she didn’t know what to expect.

They stepped out of the elevator, rounding a corner and stopping in front of the only door in the hallway. She waited impatiently as he keyed in a code on another keypad next to the door.

Calum stepped inside and flicked the light switch on the wall, holding the door open for Parker to follow him in. She took in her surroundings. Calum’s apartment was gorgeous—not at all what she was expecting from him. It was much bigger than hers, decorated very tastefully. Lots of black, white and grey, with an open concept living room and kitchen. She could see a hallway to the left of the kitchen which she assumed led to the bedroom and the bathroom. In the corner of the living room sat three different guitars on stands, along with a piano and a wall-to-wall bookshelf filled with vinyl’s, CDs and books. Parker was distracted from her appreciation by a sharp clicking sound on the laminate. She turned her head in the direction of the noise to see Calum crouch down and scoop up a fluffy little black and white dog, scratching his ears and talking to him as the dog licked at his face and wagged its tail.

Parker’s heart swelled. “I didn’t know you had a dog,” she remarked, walking over to him. The dog stopped as she approached, eyeing her warily and sniffing at her.

“This is Duke,” he said, setting him down so he could sniff around Parker’s feet. “He’s an old man, so he can be grumpy. He’ll get used to you,” Calum chuckled as Duke let out a little sneeze and trotted away when Parker bent down to pet him. She frowned, standing and watching as Duke left the living room and headed down the hallway where she assumed he had come from.

When she looked back at Calum, his eyes were hooded, gaze dragging up and down her body shamelessly. It made Parker blush.

“Your place is really nice,” she forced out, suddenly self-conscious of his eyes on her. “You really love music, huh?” she asked, gesturing to the instruments and records in the corner.

“I work at a record store, love,” he chuckled. “Of course I love music.”

Parker rolled her eyes at his sarcastic comment. “Speaking of work,” she commented, “and I mean this in the most polite way possible, how do you afford all this?” She wandered into the living room, taking in the artwork decorating the walls and the shelves. “This place is amazing. And your car,” she trailed off. “I mean, it makes my place look like a cardboard box,” she laughed.

Calum shrugged. “Gram takes good care of me.”

Parker looked over to the corner where all his instruments sat. “Are they just for show, or do you play?” she smirked.

Calum shot her a dry look.

“Play something for me.”

He grinned. “Guitar or piano?” he asked.

Parker considered his question. She loved the sound of an acoustic guitar, but there was something sexy about a man who played piano. “Piano,” she replied confidently.

“Any requests?” he asked, sitting down on the bench and lifting the lid. He flexed his long fingers, drumming them lightly on the keys.

“Surprise me,” she smiled, plopping down on the couch and resting her arms over the back to watch him.

Calum’s back was to her on a slight angle, so she watched the set of his shoulders and the movement of his nimble fingers as he played a soft melody that caused a wave of calm to wash over Parker. It made her want to close her eyes, but she didn’t, because she wanted to see him. Then, unexpectedly, he started to sing, and Parker was mesmerized. He had a beautiful voice—deep and raspy. Parker wondered how much more there was to learn about Calum—he was full of surprises. He sang a verse and a chorus and then stopped, turning to face her.

She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. “Wow,” was all she could say.

Calum chuckled, standing and walking over to join her on the couch, tucking his arm under her knees and pulling her legs over his own as he sat down.

“You keep surprising me,” she mused thoughtfully. “I had no idea you could sing. That was—you’re amazing,” she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief.

Calum leaned forward in response, closing the distance between them and kissing her softly. It had been too long since he kissed her, and he missed the feel of her lips on his. Parker let him lead her, deepening their kiss and letting their tongues dance together. He moved his hand to cup her cheek, his right hand resting on her leg. After a few minutes, Calum slid his right hand to the underside of her thigh, pulling her onto his lap so she was straddling him. She still wore his leather jacket, and he was painfully aware of how hard she was making him.

“You look so fucking sexy in my jacket,” he murmured, grabbing the lapels and pulling her even closer to him.

“So you don’t want me to take it off, then?” Parker questioned slyly, her lips swollen from kissing and her eyes half-lidded.

Calum let out a low growl. “Don’t tease me, doll. I was gentle last time. I won’t be so forgiving this time around.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to be gentle,” she challenged.

“Careful what you wish for,” Calum warned as he tore the jacket from her shoulders, tossing it carelessly to the side. He leaned down and attached his lips to Parker’s neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her skin, sucking and biting and leaving his mark on her. He unzipped her dress from the back, letting it fall off her shoulders. He lifted it by the hem and tugged it over her head. She had forgone a bra tonight, so she sat on Calum’s lap in nothing but her panties.

“Fuck,” he swore, his large, tattooed hands skimming over her bare back and then moving to her front. Parker moaned as her head fell back, Calum’s lips and tongue exploring every inch of her upper body, littering her skin with marks. His hands slid down to grip her ass, squeezing hard and landing a firm slap against her left cheek. She jumped at the surprising but not unwelcome sting. He rubbed his hand over the sensitive spot. “I can play dirty if you want me to, love, but I need to know you want it,” he murmured, kissing along her jaw.

“I want it,” she whispered.

“If it’s too much, tell me and I’ll stop, okay?”

Parker nodded.

“Up,” Calum commanded abruptly, gripping her hips and sliding her backwards on his lap, forcing her to her feet. He stood, wrapping his arms around her thighs and throwing her over his shoulder. She shrieked in surprise, protesting for him to put her down, which landed her another hard slap on the ass. He carried her to his bedroom, throwing her down on the bed forcefully.

Parker scooted back, leaning back on her elbows and watching him with hooded eyes as he undid the buttons on his shirt, one by one. Calum was teasing her, and she was enjoying every minute of it.

God, he was so sexy.

Calum shrugged the shirt off his broad shoulders and moved to the button on his pants, flicking it open and stripping his pants and his boxers off in one swift movement. His cock sprang out, already hard and waiting for her.

He knelt down on the bed, moving towards her with a wicked grin on his face.

He let his fingers trail up from her knee to her thigh, slapping the skin of her inner thigh and causing Parker to yelp. He let his fingers ghost over her most sensitive spot, feeling how already wet she was, soaking through her panties.

He clicked his tongue. “Naughty girl.”

Parker tried to lean forward, desperately wanting to touch him, but he shoved her back down on the bed.

Calum hooked his fingers in the waistband of Parker’s lace panties, ripping them in two pieces and exposing her naked center to him. He tossed them to the side, moving up the bed to press a bruising kiss to her lips. Parker moved her hand between their bodies to grab him, but he caught her hand in his own, using it to pin both her wrists above her head.

“Not yet, doll,” he whispered. Calum reached his free hand between them, dragging his middle finger through her heat. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned. He rubbed small circles on her clit before thrusting his finger inside of her, his mouth never leaving hers. She moaned loudly into his mouth, and Calum took it as an invitation to add a second finger, pumping them in and out. Parker’s kisses turned sloppy, unable to focus while he was stimulating her.

“Please, Calum,” she whined, thrusting her hips towards him.

“Please what?” he taunted, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth, licking them clean one at a time. Parker groaned at the loss of contact, trying to wiggle free from where his hand was still holding her wrists above her head.

“I need to feel you.”

“Soon,” he replied, pressing one more kiss to her lips before letting her hands go, sliding down the bed and burying his face between her legs. Parker’s hands flew immediately to his head, tangling her fingers in his curls as he licked at her core. Her breathing became shallow and ragged, and Calum could tell she was close. He pulled away abruptly, denying her release and bringing his face level with hers once more. Parker cried out impatiently.

“I can’t wait anymore. Please,” she whined.

Calum wanted nothing more than to see Parker’s pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock, but he had to admit, he didn’t want to wait anymore either. He rolled over her, landing on his back.

“Go ahead, then, doll,” he encouraged, smirking as she scrambled up onto her knees, swinging one leg over so she was straddling him. She grasped his shaft, lining him up with her entrance, and sank down. She threw her head back in ecstasy at finally having Calum inside her, and it made him even harder, if that was possible. Parker leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest as she bounced up and down on his cock. He rested his hands on her hips, guiding her and jerking his hips up slightly to meet hers so he could bury himself deeper. Every so often, he would land a slap on her backside, grinning devilishly at her reaction. His hands rested on her breasts, squeezing and pinching, leaving shallow red marks from how hard he was squeezing her. After a few minutes, Calum lifted Parker off him and flipped her roughly onto her back again. He lined himself up and pushed in, ramming his hips into hers. He paced himself slowly for a few seconds, then set a fast pace, thrusting hard and hitting her g-spot. He had to stop a few times to keep himself from coming, wanting to make it last.

When Calum could feel himself getting close and unable to hold off any longer, he wrapped his right hand loosely around her throat. He met her eyes in a silent question, making sure she was still okay with it. She nodded, and Calum tightened his grip, the cool metal of his rings biting into her neck.

“I want you to come for me, angel,” he told her, picking up his pace and slamming into her. Parker moved her hands up, raking her nails down his back. He hoped there would be streaks there tomorrow, a reminder of Parker on his skin, the same way he was leaving his mark all over her body. Calum thrusted a few more times before he watched as Parker’s body started to shudder, a scream ripping from her throat as she came all over his cock. Watching her come undone was all it took to push Calum over the edge, collapsing on top of her and groaning loudly as he pressed his face into her neck, spilling inside of her.

Calum stilled, both of them breathing heavily and a sheen of sweat coating their skin. He rolled off of her, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he cursed, lifting a hand to push the damp curls off his forehead. “You’re somethin’ else, doll.”

Parker stared up at the ceiling in Calum’s bedroom. She sighed heavily, entirely content in this moment.

Calum moved closer to her, stretching his arm around her left shoulder and pulling her into his chest. He pressed a kiss to her head, breathing in the smell of her shampoo. He felt so at peace with Parker. He was happier than he ever remembered being. They stayed like that for a while, Calum trailing his fingers up and down her naked back, Parker’s legs wrapped around his own with her cheek on his chest.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he murmured quietly.

Calum felt her smile against him. “Please,” she replied.

He hesitated. He was about to cross a line with Parker he’d never crossed before, and he wasn’t sure if there would be any coming back from the honesty and vulnerability he was about to divulge in. In this moment, Calum didn’t care. He wanted more with her.

“I’ve never brought a girl here before.”

She rolled on top of him, folding her arms under her chin and resting them on his chest. “What do you mean?”

Calum stared down at her.

“Like, never ever?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t know if I believe you,” Parker tilted her head, furrowing her brows.

Calum chuckled as he held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor, baby.”

She giggled at his gesture—somehow she couldn’t picture Calum as a boy scout. “Why?” she questioned.

Calum thought about this for a moment. He didn’t want to scare her away, but he wanted to be honest with her.

“It was just a promise I made to myself. I’ve never stayed the night at a girls’ house, and I’ve never brought one back here. Until you. I think it’s pretty obvious I’m not a very open person, and I just didn’t want to share my home with someone I didn’t care about. I did it to make sure things never got serious. So I was always in control.”

Parker wasn’t sure if Calum’s confession alarmed or flattered her. On the one hand, it was obvious that Calum was, for lack of a better word, experienced. She’d gathered that on the few occasions she’d seen him leaving the bar with some of the most beautiful girls Parker had ever seen, and the confidence he carried when they were being intimate. But on the other hand, it was clear Calum felt differently about Parker if she was the only one lucky enough to be invited into his home.

“You don’t fool me, you know,” Parker said knowingly, continuing when Calum quirked a brow, his interest piqued. “You have this intimidating front that you put on, like you want people to be afraid of you so no one gets too close. But I can see right through it. You have a lot to give, I can tell. You just haven’t found the right person to give it to.”

“Or maybe I have,” he replied, smirking.

Parker blushed. He grasped her chin in his hand and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers in a soft, gentle kiss. Nothing like the ones they shared earlier in the night. It made Parker dizzy how he could switch from being dominant and aggressive in one second to soft and sweet the next. As she got to know him better, she realized that part of the thrill of being with him was that he was always surprising her. Being with Calum was unpredictable and exciting.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” she asked suddenly.

“I thought you could see right through me,” he challenged playfully.

Parker shot him a dry look.

He chuckled. “What do you wanna know, love?”

“How come you have an accent and Grace doesn’t?”

Calum laughed, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t born here. Grace was,” he said simply. At the intrigued expression on Parker’s face, he elaborated. “My granddad’s from Australia. He met Grace while she was over there for work, only she never left. Not until recently. I only moved here when he passed away, when I was eight or so.”

“I’m sorry,” Parker said quietly.

“S’alright, love. It was a long time ago. Anyway, that’s why my accent’s so diluted. Some words you can still tell, though, I guess,” he shrugged.

Calum rolled Parker over onto her side, the front of his body pressed against her back. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close and reveling in the feeling of the skin-on-skin contact. She drifted off to the sound of his breathing, steady in her ear.

» » » » » »

Calum woke the next morning still naked, Parker sleeping soundly and taking up most of the covers. He took this moment to admire the softness of her features while she slept, her blonde hair a mess on his pillow, her pink lips slightly parted. She really was beautiful.

He woke her up with featherlight kisses up her arm and her shoulder. She peeked her eyes open, smiling as she snuggled closer to him.

“Come shower with me,” Calum murmured.

“I’ve already had enough of all the energy you have in the morning,” Parker groaned. “I’m not ready to get up yet.”

“Fine. Five minutes,” Calum chuckled, letting her cuddle up to him and wrapping her in his strong arms.

Twenty minutes later, Calum tried again to wake her up. He could hear Duke pacing around the kitchen, meaning it was time for breakfast, and he needed a shower.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Time’s up.”

She mumbled incoherently, rolling over and tugging the covers over her head. Calum smiled mischievously. He was done playing sweet and innocent—if she wanted to play games, fine. He rolled out of bed, stretching his arms over his head before moving to the foot of the bed. He ripped the duvet off of Parker and yanked her down the bed by her ankles, until his face hovered over hers. She gasped in surprise, curling up to cover her naked body. Calum wasn’t sure if it was because she was cold from the sudden loss of the blankets, or if she was embarrassed, but he didn’t care.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he grinned, face just inches away from hers. “Shower, now.”

Parker rolled her eyes, wiggling out from underneath him and shuffling past him towards the bathroom. He followed, landing a swift slap on her naked backside. She jumped in surprise, whipping around to face him.

“I’ll fight you. I swear I will,” she warned, giggling.

“I’d like to see you try, angel.”

• • • • • •

After a long, hot shower with more giggling and fooling around than actual showering, Calum and Parker made their way to the kitchen, Calum shirtless and in sweats and Parker in a pair of Calum’s underwear and one of his t-shirts, since he ripped hers to shreds the night before. Calum busied himself with making breakfast while Parker tried to convince Duke that she could be trusted, but Calum’s little dog wasn’t having it.

Calum dug a scoop of dog food out of the bin under the sink and dumped it into a bowl. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Parker. “Maybe he’ll like you a bit more if you feed him. After all, the way to a man’s heart is his stomach,” he winked.

She made a face, snatching the bowl from his hands. She crouched down, setting the bowl on the floor in front of her, a few feet away from where Duke was sleeping. “Come here, handsome. I’ve got breakfast,” she called.

Duke eyed Parker suspiciously as he made his way slowly to the bowl. He started eating, looking up every few seconds to eye her up again. She backed away, giving him space.

“He’s old, cut him some slack,” Calum laughed when he saw the disappointed expression on Parker’s face as she jumped up on the counter beside him.

“Maybe he wouldn’t be afraid of me if you weren’t such a recluse,” she teased, poking him in the side. “He clearly inherited his dads’ sunny personality,” she said sarcastically.

“He’ll warm up to you eventually,” Calum promised. “I did, didn’t I?”

“That’s ‘cause I’m amazing.”

Calum moved over to where she sat, wrapping his arms around her and slotting himself between her legs. Even sitting up on the counter, he was still taller than her. He placed a kiss to her lips. “That you are.”

She smiled against his lips when he didn’t pull away, their foreheads pressed together. Calum smelled so good. She had her arms wrapped around his neck, lips moving against his, when the door to Calum’s apartment opened, and in walked three boys, chatting animatedly amongst themselves.

Parker pulled away, blushing, trying to tug the t-shirt down to cover herself. Calum merely turned his body towards them, eyebrows raised, one hand on his hip and the other on the counter beside Parker’s thigh.

“Mornin’, boys. Any particular reason why you’re in my house?” he asked nonchalantly. He didn’t seem bothered at all by the fact that Parker was in little more than underwear in front of them.

They looked up in unison, surprise registering on the faces of two of them when they realized Calum had a guest. The third, the tallest one, seemed entirely unfazed. He sauntered over to them, taking Parker’s hand. She giggled, blushing as he placed a kiss to the back of it.

“Pleased to meet you, babe. I’m Luke,” he said smoothly. He was ridiculously tall. At 6’1, Calum was tall, too, but this guy was still another three inches taller than Calum, with shiny, golden curls, a pixie nose and the brightest blue eyes Parker had ever seen.

“Do you mind, mate?” Calum questioned, though he didn’t seem angry; he just shook his head, letting out a laugh.

Luke flashed her a charming smile, swiping a breakfast sausage out of the frying pan on the stove and popping it into his mouth before flopping down on the couch.

“Hey, you made breakfast!” one of the other boys exclaimed, mimicking Luke’s action and grabbing a sausage, too. He hopped up on the counter next to Parker. He turned to her, blonde fringe poking out under a black snapback and partially covering his sea green eyes.

“I’m Michael, by the way,” he smiled warmly, holding his hand out for her to shake. He had the most contagious smile, and his eyes sparkled with genuity. Parker could tell she was going to like Michael.

“Parker,” she smiled back, shaking his hand.

“Sorry, man, didn’t realize you had company,” the third boy said to Calum, jet-black hair falling in his hazel eyes. He turned to her. “I’m Ashton,” he said. “You must be Parker,” he guessed, holding his hand out. Parker was surprised that he seemed to know her, though she figured Calum must have mentioned her.

Calum just laughed, facing her again. “Well, these are the boys,” he said, gesturing to the three of them. “No boundaries, as you can clearly tell.”

Parker laughed. “Nice to meet you all. I’m just gonna go, uh—put on some pants,” she jumped down from the counter and tugged the shirt over her barely covered behind, rushing down the hall to Calum’s bedroom, which earned her a low whistle from Calum, and a wink when she turned around to glare at him.

“Cal, there’s a girl here. In your house,” Michael stated dumbly.

“Good observation, bro,” Luke replied sarcastically, leaning over the arm of the couch and giving him a dry look.

“I just—I mean, you never have girls over.”

“She’s different. This one’s special, ain’t she, Cal?” Ashton grinned, elbowing him in the side.

Calum ran a hand through his hair, smiling. “Yeah,” he breathed. “She’s special, all right.” He glanced down the hallway as Parker emerged from his bedroom in a pair of sweats she must have found in one of his drawers. They were miles too big for her, but he really liked seeing her in his clothes. It made him feel things he’d never felt before. “Can you animals be nice? You’re gonna scare her away.”

Luke put his hand over his heart and shot him a fake wounded look. “I’m always nice,” he countered.

Parker re-entered the room to the four of them goofing off, shoving each other and laughing, acting like a couple of teenagers. It made her smile, seeing Calum so happy and carefree. He loved his boys—that was obvious. Instead of interrupting, she decided to take over Calum’s abandoned pancake mix and continue making breakfast. Calum glanced over and caught her eye, giving her a lopsided, boyish grin before shifting his attention back to the boys.

“Pancakes, anyone?” she called out after frying the first batch, setting a stack onto a plate and pushing them to the edge of the counter. Michael scrambled over and claimed them before anyone else could, stuffing his face. The other three boys joined him on the stools lined up along the island.

Michael leaned over to Calum. “I like her,” he said with his mouth full.

Calum laughed. “Me, too.”

Parker smiled, eyes down on the stove. She could get used to this. She had known them for all of ten minutes, and they already made her feel welcome. The boys were like a little family, and it was so easy to picture herself being a part of it.

After breakfast, Calum and Ashton cleaned up while Luke and Michael sat on either side of Parker on the couch, bombarding her with questions.

“It’s different with her, isn’t it?” Ashton questioned, noticing the fond look on Calum’s face watching Parker with his two best friends.

Calum turned to look at him, grinning. “I don’t know what it is, mate. She’s just—she’s incredible.”

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” Ashton observed, helping Calum load the dishwasher.

“Like what?” he questioned, tilting his head.

“Happy.”

Calum sighed deeply. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I guess I am.”

taglist: @treatallwithkindness @oopsiedoopsie23 @tunnnelvision

[dweetwise]

yes hello i am back on my bullshit again, presenting you yet another felix x ace! (also i’m taking the creative liberty to call the ship riconti because it sounds like a cheese or something and i found it funny) anyways, this one is just me thirsting over the oktoberfest skin through ace, ft. some suggestive language but no nsfw!

word count: 2781

Felix X Ace: Clothes make the man

The whole thing starts as an offhand comment.

"—I mean, it's clearly tailored. He pulls it off,” Ace is telling Meg, who has been complaining about Felix's stuffy suit and even stuffier attitude for five minutes straight. “But it's so impractical!” the girl argues. “Wasn't he on some kind of field trip when he was taken? What kind of guy wears a suit to that?” “I don't know, but I'm not going to complain about free eye candy,” Ace smirks, and Meg rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah, I forgot rich snobs are your thing. Sucks you can't scam him for his money in here,” Meg snarks. “Excuse me for having taste,” Ace shoots back. “I wish I had a suit like that. Do you think it's Gucci?” “Burberry,” an increasingly familiar voice answers from behind him and Meg whips her head around to look at its owner, eyes wide in shock at having been caught gossiping. Meanwhile Ace, liking to think he has more self-control, schools his face into a pleasant smile and slowly turns around to face Felix. “Would have been my next guess,” Ace says, trying not to let it show that he's mentally slapping himself for essentially thirsting over Felix when the other was within earshot. “I like the cut. You've got good taste.”

He’s feebly trying to save some of his wounded ego, but probably ends up laying it on too thick. Felix fidgets a little, maybe not used to getting compliments, before he seems to catch himself. He meets Ace's eyes and the hint of a smirk tugs on his lip.

“Wish I could say the same,” Felix says, pointedly looking at Ace's flamingo sweater, before turning around and walking away and leaving Ace to gape at the unexpected sass from the normally serious man. “I take it back, I like him!” Meg snickers beside him.

The Entity seems to share Ace's enthusiasm for Felix's fashion sense, and only a few trials in Felix is already in a different suit, this one a grey plaid.

“Hmm…” Ace pretends to mull over when they're working on a generator together. “Did you see something?” Felix asks, hurriedly glancing over the top of the machine to try, in vain, to spot the killer. “I think the navy blue suits you better,” Ace smirks at his own pun. “Though the plaid certainly makes a statement. Shame that statement is ‘I'm a grandpa at thirty years old’.” “You know, in my job, gold is really only used for trims. Any more than that is just tacky," Felix deadpans, not even sparing a glance at Ace's obnoxiously golden silk outfit. “And it's thirty-eight.”

Ace doesn't bother suppressing his grin over the fact that Felix seems happy to go along with his silly banter.

It becomes sort of an inside joke between them, and when Felix shows up to the campfire in a porn stache and driving gloves, Ace chokes on a laugh.

“I’m sorry, is this an 80's theme party?” Ace jokes. “Careful you don't end up on a propaganda poster with a stache like that.” “Why are you wearing an eye patch?” Felix immediately shoots back. “Is this the 16th century? Should we break out the rum and set sail?”

Ace hears Quentin snort beside him.

“It's a pilot outfit,” Ace argues, pulling his jacket with the pin-up print tighter against himself defensively. “No, mine is a pilot outfit,” Felix deadpans, and Ace can't really argue, not when the other is wearing a bomber jacket and pilot glasses and leather gloves. “Yours is a blind truck driver.”

Bill coughs out something akin to a laugh on the other side of camp and Ace bites his lip to stop himself from doing the same.

“Can I borrow the shades some time?” Ace forfeits the argument, and Felix smiles just the tiniest bit. “Sure.”

And Felix actually follows through with the promise, switching sunglasses with him when Ace later complains his own don’t go with his outfit. It’s a pretty cute gesture, like they were close friends or even a couple, and when Felix snorts and tells him he looks ridiculous it just serves to make Ace smile brighter.

It’s not like the exchange or the ones before it mean anything, it’s just harmless joking with the occasional flirt. Ace still thinks Felix is attractive, but he doesn’t have any illusions that the man would be into him like that, with what having a girlfriend and unborn baby back home, not to mention Ace having a good ten years on him in age. Still, he appreciates that Felix goes along with his cheeky comments, at least not grossed out by or taking offense to Ace’s flirting.

He only gets to keep the shades for one trial, because the Entity has blessed Felix with another outfit for Ace to offer his unsolicited opinion on.

“Oh my god,” Ace comments when he spots the horrendous, grease-streaked mop in place of Felix’s normally expertly styled hair. “Are you a closet hipster? Is an avocado smoothie going to fall out of the hat?” he quips, eyeing the fedora that is, in Ace’s humble opinion, vastly inferior to all of his own hats. “I needed a disguise to lay low for a while, and what better way to hide in plain sight in a big city?” Felix defends his unkempt hair and dirty t-shirt. “What’s your excuse?” he shoots back.

Ace glances down at his generously open shirt—gold again, just to annoy Felix—and tacky sequin pants.

“Vegas, baby,” Ace grins. “If you’d ever been, you’d know.” “I’ve never been happier to say I haven’t,” Felix chuckles. “I don’t think I could handle more of… whatever this is,” he says, gesturing to Ace’s outfit. “When we get out of here, I’m definitely taking you,” Ace quips. “I just want to see you cry over all the flashy satin and fake gold.”

Felix doesn’t roll his eyes or make a sarcastic comment like Ace expects. Instead, he stares blankly in confusion for a few seconds, before his expression settles into a smile Ace can’t quite place.

“Alright,” Felix simply says, and combined with the soft smile it’s enough to make Ace nervously look around camp for a distraction. “Hey, Kate!” he hollers, spotting the songstress braiding Meg’s hair. “You got a hairband for our friend and his questionable hair style over there?”

He ends up regretting the question as soon as Kate insists on braiding Felix’s hair and the normally standoffish man, somehow, goes along with it. He can’t believe he’s jealous for someone getting to touch the grimy, unkempt strands, and it sure as hell doesn’t help that Felix seems to like it. Kate looks thrilled to get to spend some quality time with the man, chatting about this and that and taking way longer than necessary to make the hairstyle, and Ace ends up walking away and pestering Dwight to play some cards with him so he can at least win at something.

His win streak over the poor boy is interrupted when Felix later sits down with them, gesturing for Ace to deal him in, and Ace can’t quite hide his pleased grin that Felix would rather spend time with him than the beautiful girl who just played with his hair for half an hour.

“Better?” Felix asks him, turning his head to display the most pathetic French braid Ace has ever seen, ending in a ponytail that’s barely an inch in length. “Much better,” Ace says, definitely referring to the company and not the state of his hair, and even the normally diplomatic Dwight gives him a weird glance over his cards after taking in Kate’s handiwork.

Only a few trials after the incident, Ace has the pleasure of spawning together with Felix in one of the Yamaoka maps. When he sees a horrendous checkered pattern from the corner of his eye, he knows he’s in for a treat.

He quickly turns to face the man, nearly tripping over some shrubbery as the Entity decided to place him in some inconvenient bamboo. He meets Felix's eye, opening his mouth to start a snarky comment, when his thoughts come to a complete halt upon seeing the entirety of the outfit.

“Well? Get it over with,” Felix demands, crossing his arms self-consciously and—lord have mercy—blushing a little.

Ace's brain is reduced to white noise in the equivalent of ‘hhhHhhHHhh’ while he just stands there, feet still in the stupid bamboo, and stares.

Felix's hair is now an impeccable undercut, a few loose strands framing his features beautifully, and the perfectly trimmed stubble adds a rugged charm to his handsome face. The vest is stylish, a navy blue similar to the suit Ace likes, and the checkered shirt shouldn't work with it but it does, and there's even a matching handkerchief in his breast pocket. Ace's horny brain immediately goes to hanky code and shut up brain it's in the wrong pocket—

Ace mentally shakes his head and looks at Felix's pants instead. And that was a bad idea, because he’s wearing fucking. Leather. Pants.

Again, it should look ridiculous, but Ace feels himself start salivating at the idea of them hugging Felix's ass—ugh, focus!

The pants have small ribbons on the sides and the entire ensemble is so goddamn adorable and sexy that he can't even deal. And Ace has seen a lot of handsome men during his life, mostly in the mirror, but right now, Felix takes the cake.

Felix's attitude shifts from embarrassed to curious when Ace isn't immediately opening his big mouth like usual.

“If this is how all Germans dress, it’s a tragedy I’ve never been,” Ace flirts, his dick having taken over his brain and his mouth running on autopilot.

Instead of insulting Ace's panama hat and favorite pink shirt, Felix clears his throat and averts his eyes.

“You don't look too bad yourself,” Felix mutters, cheeks heating up again as he twiddles with the cuff of his shirt.

Ace idly wonders if the bamboo bush is big enough for them to make out in without being spotted—brain, focus! The guy is just being polite, no need to jump his bones!

They've got the usual back-and-forth out of the way, but Felix still isn't moving to start the trial, regarding Ace warily and fidgeting, and he's just so fucking hot—ugh, he needs to say something, doesn't he?

“God, the things I'd let you do to me," Ace thinks while he says ‘We should find a generator’ because he's not going to creep Felix out any further—

Felix chokes on nothing and his face flushes bright red, and Ace belatedly realizes his brain got its wires crossed and he definitely said the first bit out loud. Shit, that was definitely out of line, and if Felix hasn’t been offended before he sure as hell should be now.

There’s a screech from his left and Ace has never been so glad to take a bonesaw to the shoulder as when the Nurse teleports next to him and interrupts their awkward conversation, Ace finally running out of the goddamn shrubbery while clutching his injured shoulder. Strangely enough, the Nurse doesn’t follow him as he runs up to the temple, and soon after he hears Felix yelp instead, the killer chasing him around the shack.

Damn, now he somehow needs to make it up to Felix both to apologize for his foot-in-mouth syndrome and for him taking the Nurse off Ace’s back.

Unfortunately for them, the Nurse isn't playing around this match, and when she returns to tunnel Felix right off the hook, Ace barely even gets the chance to yell out a “Move!” and throw himself in the way of the attack, much less talk to him about what happened earlier.

Soon Ace is walking back into camp, the second to last to have been sacrificed, only Claudette remaining in the trial and trying to find the hatch. He's already prepared an apology, and hopefully he'll be able to joke it off and Felix won't be weirded out by him. Well, at least not more than usual.

But then he spots Felix talking to Dwight by the edge of the camp, and Dwight freezes mid-conversation upon seeing Ace, before his face twists into a—smirk? Since when has Dwight smirked?—and he says something to Felix before taking off, walking over to where Steve and Ash look to be engaged in a game of tic-tac-toe.

Ace doesn't even have time to ponder why Dwight suddenly seems like he knows way too much, because Felix is approaching him and he knows this is a make or break it situation.

“Dwight seemed awfully smug, huh?” Ace jokes to buy himself some time after his carefully crafted apology flies out the window when he sees Felix’s serious expression. “We need to talk,” Felix says, looking and sounding every bit the stern businessman Meg thinks he is. “Yeah, alright,” Ace agrees and tries not to deflate too much upon essentially being shut down before he can even try to make things right.

As he follows Felix out into the woods away from prying eyes, he considers whether it's even worth apologizing if their friendship is done with anyway. He just hopes this won't cause unnecessary drama within the group, the others sure as hell don’t need to get involved.

His train of thought is interrupted when he's suddenly pushed against a tree, letting out a startled yelp that he’ll later vehemently deny. Shit, is Felix going to beat him up?

An arm wrapping around his hip is finally enough to pull Ace out of his racing thoughts, and when he looks up at the man he finally realizes that Felix is definitely not upset with him, and his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline upon seeing the clear bedroom eyes thrown his way.

“Is this not okay?” Felix asks, his dark gaze faltering from insecurity. “Naw, baby, just took me by surprise,” Ace practically purrs, a lazy grin spreading over his face as the familiar confidence returns, his hands running over Felix's shoulders appreciatively. “I thought you were upset with me from before, not that you'd take me up on the offer.” “Well, I—” Felix starts, clearing his throat self-consciously. “I've wanted this for quite some time, and Dwight said you probably wouldn't be opposed, so…”

That's what they were talking about? And Dwight convinced Felix that Ace is down to fuck? Shit, he needs to get the kid a fruit basket or something to thank him.

“He's definitely not wrong,” Ace says, trying for a seductive look but probably ends up leering stupidly from the anticipation instead. But apparently it gets the job done, because Felix pulls him tighter against him and leans in for a kiss.

And okay, wow, apparently he wasn't lying about really wanting this, because there's an urgency in the way he practically devours Ace's mouth, letting out an appreciative groan when Ace parts his lips and encourages him to deepen the kiss.

So maybe he should be worried about Felix's girlfriend or his sudden interest in men or whether he's looking for more than a casual fuck. But Ace has never been good at thinking certain things through and he's not about to start now, not when he has a breathless and flushed Felix pulling away from the kiss and looking at him with lust-blown eyes.

“I've wanted to do that for a long time,” Felix breathes, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a half-smile. “You really should have just asked,” Ace smirks, a little amazed that he managed to miss all the signs, because there’s nothing subtle about the way Felix looks at him now. “I was working up to it,” Felix argues. “But then you started practically eye fucking me—” “I was looking respectfully,” Ace corrects, causing Felix to snort. “You stood in a bush and drooled, and then propositioned me,” Felix points out. “Yeah, and you liked it so much you blushed like a virgin and started flirting and took the killer off of me—which, thanks for that, by the way—” Ace starts. “You're welcome.” “—and… why did I think you were mad at me again?” Ace realizes. “No idea. I thought it was pretty obvious why I dragged you here to ‘talk’,” Felix emphasizes, gaze roaming appreciatively over his body. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Ace encourages, flashing his signature smirk in challenge.

And Ace learns that no matter how much he likes Felix's outfit, getting to help Felix out of it is even better.

[helaintoloki]

Ghost

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: light nsfw content, physical violence, angst, themes of insecurity and self-hatred

notes: not sure what this is but it popped up in my head one night and out came this

summary: Bucky is y/n’s protector, a fellow runaway much like himself. She loves him, but to her dismay Bucky does his best to keep her at arm’s length for he thinks she deserves a better man then he could ever be.

based on the song ghost by Halsey

“You say that you’re no good for me cause I’m always tugging at your sleeve”

“Where are we going?” She asks, fingers clutching at the rough material of his jacket sleeve as he weaves her along through the city. It isn’t safe out in the open, too many prying eyes and lingering gazes follow their path as the pair attempts to enjoy a normal outing. Guilt weighs heavy on his shoulders as he’s reminded of his constant failure to provide her with an ordinary, comfortable life. Always on the run, always hiding from something, always afraid- that was no life for someone like her. Maybe he deserved it after all the destruction and agony he’d brought to those around him, but she deserved better.

“Safe house,” Bucky grumbles under his breath, pace increasing and steps hastening in an attempt to shorten the mileage of their journey. If they hurried now they could make it before sundown. He notices her gaze lingering towards a mother and baby sitting on the street corner begging for food, steps slowing as she reaches for spare change in her puse, and the soldier tugs her forward. A small, warning grunt escapes him. His tone is firm with an underlying sense of urgency as he calls her name. “Y/N.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, but she isn’t really. Not for wanting to help someone. It irked the man at times; she could hardly save herself let alone ever save anybody else. Trouble maker. Stubborn. Strong headed. All words said with an annoyed fondness for the girl. She was a fighter, that was for sure, and she reminded him of a muddled face from a foggy past he couldn’t quite remember.

“Next time,” he promises like he has every instance before. A promise of normalcy and another chance that will soon be broken by his paranoia and his requisite to run. Y/N knows this but says nothing, only nods in acknowledgement as she scrambles to match his pace.

“Next time,” y/n repeats. Bucky’s grayish blue eyes are clouded with anxiety, lips set in a firm line, brows creased with calculation, and metal arm whirring soothingly under his clothing as he clenches and unclenches his fists. Her pinky finds its way around his own, and this time the man only flinches slightly at the skin to skin contact. Progress. She’s worming her way into his heart and he’s letting her. Because he is her protector. Her savior. Her guardian. Because he cares about her.

Because he loves her.

~~~

“And I swear I hate you when you leave, but I like it anyway”

Y/N observed the outside world from the safety of her seat by the window. Coffee mug in hand, she sipped the hot liquid and watched the fog pass through the trees. It was a quiet afternoon in the woods much like it always was whenever they took refuge there, but it was a peaceful type of silence that made all her troubles and fears go away. Safe house was a good term for their little cottage.

Bucky had found the home long before he had found y/n. It had been a rundown, gloomy, old little thing that was sufficient enough to provide shelter but lacking in warmth. Y/N had changed that. With new pieces of furniture and a newfound love for the cottage, the girl had made it seem like a regular home for a regular couple rather than a hideout for two runaways.

He had never really told her exactly what he was running from, but he had explained that he was soldier, and there were bad men- and good men too- looking for him. He could protect her, but there would always be a lingering sense of danger hovering over them no matter where they went. And she trusted him blindly, desperate at first then understanding with time. James was not a bad man, he had so far kept his promise of keeping her safe, had always made her comfort come first even if it meant bringing about his own suffering, and had been more gentler with her than he had ever been with anything in his whole entire life. Bucky was her friend, her protector, and she loved him.

“Fire’s ready,” he announces from his spot by the fireplace. The gentle flames that lick at the fresh pieces of wood cast the tired man in a warm glow that makes him look a lot younger than he is, like a peaceful woodsman enjoying his creation after a long day’s work. Y/N wonders what life would be like if he was just that. Not a soldier, not a man on the run, not a man terrified of his own shadow, but a regular man with a simple life. Would she fit into that equation? Would he still be with her if that had been the case? She decides she doesn’t want to think of it anymore and instead joins him in front of the fire.

“You look tired,” y/n comments, handing her mug to the man and watching with a discrete fondness as he downs the rest of the lukewarm liquid.

“No time for sleep,” Bucky responds quietly as he wipes his mouth with the back of his flesh hand. “Perimeter check. Keep watch so you can sleep.”

“James, it’s okay. No one’s out there, you don’t have to kill yourself with worry. Stay here. Sleep. Don’t leave me alone,” y/n pleads, fingers grasping at the sleeve of his maroon colored Henley in an attempt to anchor him down to his spot on the ground. His eyes glance at her fingers, the way her trimmed nails dig into the fabric and fingers clutch at him. Her touch is gentle but desperate, longing and fretful, and Bucky knows he does not deserve to have her. How could someone so soft, so kind, so compassionate ever bother with a monster like him?

“Only for a little bit,” Bucky consoles, metal fingers delicately prying her fingers away before holding her hand up to his face. A cool digit traces the lines of her fingers and palms, maps out her life line so that even if Hydra does return again, they won’t be able to erase the significance her life holds in his heart. He handles her with care, with love, and y/n sits back in silence and watches his therapeutic trance.

Stubble tickles her skin as he brings her hand to his mouth, chapped lips pressed against her palm in the ghost of a kiss. Stormy eyes flutter shut as he keeps her there, savoring the warmth of her presence and her touch. He needs her, he loves her, he aches for her. He would die for her.

“Stay,” y/n repeats again in a hushed whisper, free hand coming to rest against his cheek as a nervous breath leaves her lips. His eyes flutter open to find her own filled with so much emotion it makes him dizzy, and he does not protest when she moves to straddle his lap. “Stay.”

Hot mouths mesh together in a sloppy kiss, stray hands desperately grabbing at one another to feel something, to confirm that this is real and that they are real. His left arm lingers stiffly at his side until she’s guiding it to grope her breast underneath her shirt. A soft sigh leaves her swollen lips at the feeling of the cool metal against her hot skin, hips rocking back and forth slowly on his strong thigh.

This must be heaven, Bucky thinks as he lies her back on the fur throw rug beside the fire, and as he gets a taste of her between her legs he wonders how a sinner like him could ever be gifted with such an angel.

~~~

“My ghost, where’d you go? I can’t find you in the body sleeping next to me.”

Staring up at the wooden ceiling, y/n finds that she cannot sleep. Her body is full of physical bliss, but her heart weighs heavy as she glances over at the man sleeping beside her. He is peaceful, all previous worries melted away from his features as he dreams of freedom and the future. She reaches out to trace a gentle line along his cheek with her index and he does not stir like he once would have before.

It had been five days since they had arrived at the cottage, each night filled with soft passion and loving touches. Bucky was evolving emotionally, slowly opening up to the woman he’d spent months protecting as he came to realize that it was okay to confide in others, confide in her. He talked more, hesitated less, stopped hiding his biggest insecurity from her. But there was still a sense of lingering fear, as if he was anticipating his next mistake. Waiting for his next slip up. But what accident could he cause?

Y/N did not know of the blood spilled by his hands or the red in his ledger, but she wondered if he was afraid to hurt her like she’d been hurt in the past. If he’d become the very thing she was running from.

His name was Thomas, a Hydra agent disguised as Shield- y/n was unaware of both- who had knocked her around and threatened her with everything under the sun. He had almost killed her once, and that was when she had decided to run. She hadn’t the faintest idea of where she was going at first, only concerned with getting as far away from the man as possible until she had gotten lost. Bucky had found her, cold and tired and hungry and struggling to continue running. Like a stray dog, he took her in and nursed her back to health. And much like a stray dog, she stuck around even when he tried to shoo her away until finally he couldn’t bare to part with her.

Her counterpart begins to stir beside her, murmured words escaping past his lips in a language she can’t quite understand. But she can sense his distress and turns to look at him in worry.

“Bucky,” she whispers, fingers gently brushing against his cheek. “Bucky, are you-“

Metal fingers wrap around her throat and squeeze the words out of her mouth as Bucky, still half asleep, straddles her body and begins to choke her. Wide eyed and frightened, y/n begins to beat at his chest and struggles under his iron grip.

“James,” she wheezes, gasping for air as she desperately tries to pry his fingers away. Her vision begins to blur and lashes begin to flutter as the lack of oxygen begins to kick in. “James!”

Reality punches the soldier in the gut as he stares down at his girl in horror. Now wide awake and aware of his actions, Bucky is quick to yank his hands away and scramble out of the bed. His eyes are full of tears as he watches her cough and splutter, chest heaving as she sucks in air. Y/N’s neck is red and purple, the imprints of his fingers on her skin confirmation of his presence there.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“James,” y/n calls softly, afraid to scare him as if he wasn’t the one who had just almost killed her. “Honey, it’s okay. Baby, come here.”

“I’m a monster,” Bucky whispers, and y/n’s heart breaks in two at his words.

He stays huddled in the corner of the room for the remainder of the night, ignoring y/n’s calming whispers and gentle pleas for his return. Her Bucky is gone, and it’s back to square one.

~~~

“My ghost, where’d you go? What happened to the soul that you used to be?”

On day seven Bucky deems it safe enough to continue their travels. He secures their bags to the back of his motorcycle, ignoring her lingering gaze. He has not uttered more than two words to her so far, has kept his distance at all times, has shied away from her touch, and refuses to look at her. Y/N aches for him, longs for his companionship, misses his warmth.

Ugly blotches of blue and yellow stain her neck, but y/n is smart enough to hide the reminder of Bucky’s mistakes with a scarf. Seeing his physical marks on her skin is just another reminder of his irredeemable qualities, of the fact that he is and always will be the Winter Soldier. He could have killed her, would have killed her if not for the gasping breath of his name that barely managed to tumble out of her lips. She is no longer safe with him, never was safe, and now Bucky must decide how to protect her from himself.

“Here,” he says, handing her the helmet. He pulls away before her fingers can so much as brush up against his skin, ignoring her defeated gaze and heartbroken face.

He is not her Bucky. Not anymore. He is once again the man afraid of his own shadow, afraid of his past, the closed off man who realizes he cannot love for he was made to destroy. He tells himself he is a monster, and so he shuts her out to protect her.

Bucky sucks in a breath as her arms wrap around his torso, revs up the engine, then drives down the open road. He cannot hear her cries or feel the way her arms wrap tighter around his figure, afraid to let go and savoring the long awaited contact.

You are a monster, he tells himself.

“I love you,” she tries to say, but the engine drowns out her sentiments so that he can only hear the voices inside his own head.

[fantasyoverreality98]

Now You Know

Pairing: Ethan x F!MC (Isabelle Rosenberg)

Book: Open Heart

Summary: Isabelle remembers a romantic moment shared with Ethan a few days earlier, and makes the decision to confess her feelings for him.

Author’s Note: Inspiration struck very late, and this was the result. I’m sorry for any potential typos, editing in the early morning is not a good idea. As always, thank you so much to anyone who takes the time to read, like, comment, and/or reblog! You guys are the reason I continue to write, and words could never do my appreciation for you justice.

Tag: @aylamreads

Warnings: None really; slightly suggestive

Word Count: 1,610

----------

Six months had passed since Isabelle and Ethan had addressed their feelings for each other. For the most part, the two were able to keep things professional. Until one small moment of weakness.

Then, it was game over.

Isabelle sat on the train, chewing on her bottom lip as she tried to think of what to say. Words seemed impossible to convey her emotions. How could she ever tell Ethan that she loved him without sounding insane?

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

She glanced up at an elderly woman, and shook her head, picking her bag up and placing it in her lap. The woman took a seat beside her and they lapsed back into silence.

There was no way that Ethan would feel the same. He might drop hints, do whatever she asked, find any excuse to spend time with her…but that meant nothing.

At least, for six months it had meant nothing.

“Ethan, do you think you could look over some files for me?”

He looked up from his computer, his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. “Sure. What’s the problem?”

Isabelle started to explain, but she found herself distracted by his closeness. She took a shaky breath, aware that the way she stared at his lips was hardly professional.

“Rookie?” Ethan’s eyes widened a bit, and his face flushed pink. “Sorry. Dr. Rosenberg. Are you okay?”

It would be so easy to kiss him. “You know, you can still call me Rookie.” Her lips twitched when his eyes met hers. “I’ve grown rather fond of the nickname.”

He shook his head, clearing his throat as he focused back on the files. “Anyway, I think that you should run a test for—”

None of his advice registered in her brain. Isabelle was too busy staring, remembering what it felt like to have those lips on hers. She thought of the night in Ethan’s apartment, and how no one else had ever made her feel the way he had.

His lips against her skin, the way he’d gripped her hips as they moved in sync, the sound of—

“Isabelle, are you even paying attention?”

Screw it. She leaned forward, hesitating for just a second before kissing him. Ethan jerked forward, banging his forehead against hers. Wincing, she started to pull back, but he grabbed her face and brought her lips back to his.

Butterflies swirled in her stomach, and Isabelle held onto Ethan as if he was her life force. Every moment without his touch had been worth it for this kiss. She had always been the type of woman who knew what she wanted.

And she wanted Ethan Ramsey. Unapologetically, uncontrollably, undeniably.

Before things could escalate, just as he pulled back to kiss her neck, there was a knock at the office door.

The two of them sprung apart, and Ethan cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “Come in.”

Baz peered inside, grinning when he saw Isabelle. “Ah, Dr. Rosenberg. Fancy meeting you here. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

At the question, Ethan’s face turned an even darker shade of pink. “We were just looking over some patient files. How can I help you?” He looked over at Isabelle, who was sitting several feet away now. “Is it alright with you if we discuss this at another time?”

“Sure.” She could feel heat spreading across her own face, mumbling goodbye to Baz before grabbing the files and hurrying from the room.

A laugh slipped past her lips as Isabelle stood from her seat to get off at her stop. Baz knew about them, she had no doubts about that. The same went for June. In fact, the chances of most of the hospital staff having some sort of awareness about their short fling were high.

“What’s the smile for? Thinking about me?” Bryce sidled up to her, giving her a playful nudge in the ribs. He winked when their eyes met.

Isabelle laughed and shook her head. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not.”

“Aw.” He gave her a fake pout, and she rolled her eyes. “So, who is making you grin like that? Someone I know?”

There was no way someone hadn’t told him about the morning she’d been caught trying to sneak Ethan out of the apartment. If there was one person that Isabelle knew without a doubt was aware of her past with Ethan, it was Bryce.

“Maybe,” she said, humming to herself as the two of them walked into the hospital. “See you later?”

Bryce nodded, his attention on the other surgeons gathered at the end of the hall. “Definitely. See ya, Iz.”

“See ya.” She waved at him before making her way to the locker room.

Eventually, the initial excitement wore off, replaced with a sense of dread. What if Ethan rejected her again? Or, even worse, what if he laughed at her confession? It seemed extremely likely that he would react that way. They hadn’t been together in nearly a year.

The fear haunted her for the rest of the day. When the time came for her to go to his office and lay her feelings bare, Isabelle had to force herself to walk in the right direction. Every muscle, every instinct, screamed for her to run away.

“Yes?” Ethan’s voice was muffled when she knocked on the door.

Isabelle opened her mouth to answer, but the door swung open before she could get a word out. For a moment, the two of them stood facing each other, locked in a strange wordless exchange.

This was it. She had promised herself to come clean, consequences be damned. It was time to tell the truth, even if it left her feeling empty, scared, alone.

“Can I talk to you?” Somehow, she managed to keep some strength in her voice.

Ethan watched her a moment, nodding as he stepped aside. “Of course.”

When Isabelle turned around to face him again, she noticed the tension in his shoulders. He stood near the door, pausing for several seconds before he shut it. A clock ticked somewhere on the wall while they looked at each other.

Finally, Isabelle risked a step closer. “I think we need to talk about—well, about us.”

“There is no us.” Ethan responded immediately, though his face betrayed his words. “There can’t be, Isabelle. We’ve had this discussion several times already.”

She shook her head, taking another step closer. “Fine. I just came here to say something.” Fear began to claw at her, but she shoved it back in its cage. “I—”

Ethan shook his head, the pleas reflected in his eyes when he looked down at her.

Isabelle carried on. “I’ve been thinking about the kiss for the past three days. And it made me realize something.” This was it. This was the moment when six months of keeping a distance would crumble. “I love you, Ethan.”

He exhaled loudly, his hand trembling slightly when he started to reach out for her. But before he could touch her, Ethan pulled back, standing up straight as his eyes darted around the room.

“And I know that you probably don’t feel the same, but—”

“What makes you think I don’t feel the same?” He seemed to snap out of his trance, looking up at her again.

Isabelle frowned. “You’re always saying that we can’t be together. I assume that means the feelings aren’t mutual.”

Ethan laughed, taking a step closer to her. “Is that really what you think? That I don’t have feelings for you?”

Now, she felt annoyed. Isabelle glared, realizing that he hadn’t responded to her saying she loved him. She took a step closer to him. There was now less than a few feet separating them. “Well, what am I supposed to think? You keep pushing me away.”

“Isabelle—”

“Just give me an answer, Ethan! I’m tired of running around in circles with you. Do you care about me at all, or is this just some kind of game to you?”

Ethan sighed, staring into her eyes. Her frustration with him only increased. Isabelle tried her best not to groan, opening her mouth to take her annoyance out on him further, when he grabbed her and pulled her into a kiss.

Immediately, she relaxed, committing this moment to memory. Just in case.

They kissed with urgency, six months of holding back bursting in one swift movement. Isabelle ran her fingers along Ethan’s jaw, savoring the feel of his stubble underneath her fingertips. He gripped her by the waist, fingers digging into her sides as he kissed her repeatedly.

“Damn it, Isabelle,” Ethan groaned against her lips, but he didn’t stop.

Her hip bumped the corner of his desk when they backed up, but it didn’t bother her. For too long, Isabelle had been dreaming of a moment like this. Even if it was just for a few minutes, Ethan Ramsey was all hers once more.

All she could think of was his lips against hers, memories of nights spent entangled flashing in her mind. She wanted him. She needed this.

“I’ve dreamt of this moment for so long.” It surprised her to hear Ethan say those words, his hands fumbling with her lab coat.

Isabelle helped him slip it off, her heart pounding when Ethan lifted her onto his desk.

Any second now, someone could walk in on them and shatter the illusion. They would have a lot of explaining to do if they got caught. Still, she didn’t care. Now that Ethan knew how she felt, there was no turning back.

All she could do was hope that there would be a happy ending.

[klarriel]

Nimrod

Dean Winchester spends his life working two jobs to make ends meet. In the small town of Smith Center, he keeps to himself, his father's words in his head a never-ending reminder of the past he'd rather forget.

When Castiel Novak moves into Apartment 7, guitar case in tow, Dean realises that maybe life isn’t just about surviving, and sometimes all it takes is knocking a few walls down to hear the music.

A story about love, set to the soundtrack of its inhabitants.

(multi-chapter, ao3 link under cut) 

Dean knows it’s not going to be a great day the moment  he wakes up 30 minutes late, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and almost collapsing to the floor, his breaking bedframe throwing him off balance.

He doesn’t even have time to stop to complain when his key jams in the door again, but that sonofabitch Zachariah will definitely be getting a piece of his mind - that’s if he’s ever around, at least trying to pretend that he’s performing the basic duties of a landlord.

He’s on the opening shift at the shop, as he is most days. As he unlocks the doors and switches on the Harvelle’s General Store sign, illuminating the still lightening sky, he wonders if the change in the wind he feels this morning is some sort of misplaced optimism, or maybe he’s just looking forward to his weekend off. As he’s getting supplies to restock the candy shelves and a box of canned beans falls, almost hitting him on the head, and spilling its contents all over the stockroom floor, he realises it’s probably the latter.

The day is filled with the middle-aged residents of Smith Center. The men are usually looking for spare parts for their tools or household machinery. Some of the women that come in wink at him suggestively as he cashes up their items, but today he’s in a pretty crappy mood, and so most of the time he doesn’t have the patience or the willpower to play along, shooting them quick, fake smiles as he hands them their bags. When the school day ends a flurry of teenagers pours in, counting out enough coins to buy packets of Sour Patch Kids and gummy worms. One boy complains moodily that the slushy machine still isn’t working - ‘-and it’s been four weeks now! - but Dean just shrugs with an apathetic ‘ Sorry kid ’ , asking if there’s anything else he can help him with or if he’s done taking up space in his shop.

Kevin calls in sick for his shift, and so Dean begrudgingly agrees to cover until Jo comes in at 5.

When she arrives, she can barely get out a ‘Hey Dea-’ before Dean is running out, grabbing his coat and throwing up a hand in a wave. She shakes her head softly, brow furrowing and drawing her lips into a hard line as she watches Dean slide into the driver’s seat of his Impala.

‘Excuse me dear, I was wondering when you’ll next be stocking up on your canned beans?’

- - -

As he pulls up, Dean’s too engrossed in figuring out the meaning behind the flashing light on the Impala’s dashboard to notice the U-Haul parked outside his apartment block. As he gets out the car, staring down at his phone to type in the number for Billie’s Pizza Delivery, he also doesn’t notice the guitar case falling towards him

‘Oh, look out!’

Dean barely has time to look up, before the hard case smacks him on the head. He falls back a few steps, one hand catching the guitar before it falls to the ground, the other holding his head.

“Ah-!”’

Dean looks up to see a girl who can’t be much younger than Sam was the last time he saw him. A strand of her red hair that has escaped her messy bun falls to drape around her face as she bends towards him, worriedly checking over his head as she reaches to grab the case from him.

“I am so, so sorry,” she rushes out, drawing the case towards her body as they both stand, “I pulled it out and it just flew completely out of my hands. I guess I don’t know my own strength…’

She laughs nervously, and Dean gives her a short smile, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead.

“Hey, don’t worry about it” he sighs, and all he wants right now is his couch, Dr Sexy reruns on TV, a triple meat feast deep dish and a four-pack of beer, “happens to the best of us...”

Before he has a chance to escape the conversation, she smiles excitedly and nods towards his apartment building

“You don’t happen to live here do you?” She asks, biting her lip worriedly, the slight blush across her cheeks a hint of the embarrassment she was still feeling.

“Who’s askin’, you the FBI or somethin’ ?” he replies, raising his eyebrows.

She laughs, her nose crinkling.

“Nah, just want to get to know the neighbours. Me and my brother just moved into Apartment 7 today!”  She says, jostling the guitar into one hand and throwing the other out in front of her and smiling, “Anna Milton”

“Dean”, Dean replies sceptically, looking down at her and dropping the hand from his head to shake her own, “And yeah, I'm in 5.”

“Ah that’s just below us!” She smiles, before looking back at the U-Haul, still mostly full of what looks to Dean like a mix of musical equipment and cardboard boxes, “Well, I better get back to that, these boxes won’t move themselves, nice to meet you Dean!”

Dean watches her turn and grab a guitar amp with her free hand, heaving it onto the pavement. She stands and enthusiastically wipes her brow.

His dad’s voice - Never let a lady carry her own luggage -  echoes in his head.

Dean sighs. This day just gets better and better.

“You want any help with that?”

“Wow! Yes, that would be so kind of you!” Anna replies instantly, before picking up a microwave and waiting expectantly, smiling widely.

He clears his throat awkwardly, picking up the amp and the guitar that he had just been viciously attacked by, and follows her into the building.

- - -

As the door to Flat 7 creaks open, he glances around. He’s never been in another apartment in his building before - it’s kind of disturbing to see an apartment identical to his that isn’t his. The identical shelves of the kitchen alcove on the left are packed with kitchen appliances not yet stored away. A ratty maroon couch sits to the left of the main room. A rolled-up rug leans against the far wall, between the two windows looking out onto the street below. The golden glow of the evening sun streams in, basking the floor in warmth.

“You can just put them down wherever” Anna smiles, placing the microwave on the kitchen shelf, before calling out, “Cassie, I met our neighbour!”

Dean places the items down and glances towards the source of rustling noises coming from the room on the left -  judging from the layout of Dean’s apartment , the bedroom. The door is closed just enough that he can’t see who’s there. As the door opens, the golden light filtering in through the bedroom window illuminates the figure from behind, casting a shadow over them so Dean can’t see their face, but can make out through his powers of deduction that it’s a dude.

‘Oh, hello…? ” A gruff voice tinged with surprise.

“Dean!” Anna interjects, “Dean, this is my brother Castiel.”

Castiel walks over, and Dean can make out his blue eyes, and the hints of stubble covering his face topped with a mess of brown hair. He holds Dean’s gaze, his expression not quite readable.

“Hello, Dean” Castiel says, smiling slightly before his eyes drop down to linger on the items Dean has discarded on the floor beside him

“Anna!” Castiel scolds, turning to her, “Please tell me you have not shirked your responsibilities onto someone you met mere moments ago.”

She wordlessly drops her gaze to the floor, guiltily scuffing her shoe on the wooden floorboards.

Dean could get mad, especially considering the guitar-to-head incident, but if he’s honest he just doesn’t have the energy. Plus, the kid looks like she could use a break.

“It’s fine really, I was just walking in and she looked like she could use a hand,” Dean says, turning to meet Anna’s gaze, “No biggie.”

Castiel huffs out an annoyed breath, running his hand through his hair and furrowing his brow, but he smiles anyway.

“Well… thank you Dean.” he says, before rushing to pick up the items, “We really won’t keep you any longer”

Dean doesn't let himself think that Castiel looks kind.

He takes the opportunity and leaves with a wave, hearing a “Thanks, Dean!” from Anna as he walks downstairs.

- - -

Dean doesn’t see a lot of the Milton’s for a while. Every now and then he’ll bump into Anna or Castiel on the stairs, and they’ll share polite smiles but nothing over the top. Sometimes Anna will be on her phone and won’t notice him, or Castiel will be searching for something in his bag and will be too focused to shoot Dean a glance.

Six weeks go by before he enters Apartment 7 again.

His recent car repair expenses mean he’s had to pick up some evening shifts at Benny’s bar, and as he lies awake at 2 AM having only got home an hour an a half ago, he realises booking one of these shifts before a 7AM Saturday start at the store could have been a massive mistake.

In all honesty, he’s never been that great a sleeper, but the intermittent bangs and cackles, and the faint thump of bass shaking the ceiling aren’t helping at all.

He waits half an hour before he decides to drag on his dressing-gown - yes dressing gowns are extremely manly - and trudge upstairs, rubbing his hand groggily across his face. Knocking on the door, he stares at the golden 7 for a few moments until the door opens, a woosh of warm air laced with the scent of cigarette smoke and sickly sweet cherry introducing him to someone he’s never seen before. She’s shorter than Dean, with thick brunette hair and red lips curved into what looks like more of a smirk than a smile.

She leans on the door frame, studying his face for a few moments before speaking

“Well hello there Freckles,” She says, her voice a sweet drawl, although she can’t help slurring her words slightly.

Grabbing his hand, she drags Dean towards the group in the centre of the room, his protests seeming futile.

“Found a straggler outside” she announces to the group, who all look up. There are only three people, sat sprawled in a circle: Castiel, Anna, and another man Dean doesn’t recognise sit surrounded by half-full bottles and glasses, with a deck of cards distributed between the members of the group. The man smirks up at him at the same time as Castiel’s face changes from tipsy to tipsy and alarmed. Castiel, Anna and the man speak simultaneously at the sight of Dean.

“Oh my gosh Dean I am so sorry, I told them to keep it dow-”

“Well, well, well… who do we have here then?”

“DEANNNNNNNNNNNNNN!”

Exclaiming excitedly, Anna jumps up and wraps her arms around Dean, squeezing him. He has a few moments to register the embrace, sleep still not allowing him his normal reflex time, before Castiel swiftly follows her up, dragging her arms off of Dean.

“Anna!”, he whispers, looking apologetically at Dean

“Sorry folks,” Dean continues, holding his hands up, “don’t want to intrude and ruin your little get together, just wondering if you could keep the noise down a bit? I’m up early tomorrow is all”

Castiel nods emphatically, Anna just smiles brightly at Dean. The others don’t act so enthusiastically.

“So… what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” The unknown man drawls, coming to stand next to the woman, leaning on her shoulder as she lets out a chuckle.

“This is Dean!” Anna interjects, “He’s our neighbour! Well, he lives downstairs …. Dean, this is our brother Gabriel, and our friend Meg. Guys, this is Dean!”

“We get it, name’s Dean,” Meg says, smirking at him again, and he feels the unsettled pit in his stomach grow, “Pity, I so preferred Freckles.”

“My little brother hasn’t told me much about you  Dean,” Gabriel says, as Castiel walks over to the speaker to turn the volume down, glancing to look at his brother at the mention of his name, “Stud like you could be living it up in the city, why you certainly wouldn’t be out of place at a frat party - plenty of boobs n’ beer amirite ?”

He chuckles, slapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder, before tilting his head, his expression quizzical. Dean doesn’t know why he doesn’t just leave the room.

“In fact, even Kansas city has enough of that. You don’t exactly seem like a layabout, so tell me - how do you end up in a town like this? Amazing job prospects? Excellent options for first time home buyers?”

Gabriel smiles.

“Running away from something?”

Dean’s face hardens.

“Not tryin’ to be rude, “ he says, gritting his teeth, “but that’s none of your business.”

He looks at Castiel.

“Like I said, ” Dean shrugs the hand off his shoulder, feeling himself get more annoyed by the second, “try and keep the noise down.”

He walks out before he can hear any more.

Keep to yourself, stay out of trouble, don’t get attached

If this is what he’s got for neighbours, he doesn’t want anything to do with them.

Continue reading: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26394898/chapters/64296610

[foxy-lisard]

Aaaahh, I’m so sorry for the delay! But, hey, at least I managed before the deadline. Really sorry, though, life has been kicking my ass in a multitude of ways.

Anyway, here is my @bnhanewyearsfanfictionexchange gift for @jeanscigarettes ! I hope you’ll like it! I went with the Fantasy AU bc Fantasy AU is good shit.

“What do you mean ‘the dragons have returned’?” Momo finally looks up from the book she was reading to look at her conspiracy theory loving friend. “They are extinct. The last one has been killed by your-”

“By the prick, yes.” Shoto sighs, his leg bouncing. “I have seen the proof, though. The woods are more alive than ever. The dragons have returned.” He pushes his own book to her over the table. She raises her eyebrow before picking it up and reading the page it is open on.

“Shoto, I know you would love this to be true…” She puts it down again after a minute, having read it already. “But it’s such a small chance, it barely even exists. And yes, I know a small chance is still a chance,” She continues before he can jump in with his favorite retort. “but why risk your life? You’re safe here, you can practice your magic all you want, you have books and comfort.” She lists some of the positives of living in the big city.

“But what if I don’t want that?” He stands up from his chair and walks to one of the many windows in Momo’s personal library. “What if I want adventure? Excitement? And a big fat finger to that prick, for everything he did?” He turns around to show her the ice rose he made. “For Touya, Fuyumi and Natsuo.” The rose disappears in steam as he clenches his hand around it.

She bites her lip before nodding. “Alright. But I will come with you, to ensure your safety.” He softly chuckles in response, making her frown. “You know I can fight. Being with two will always be safer than just one.” She places her hand on his shoulder. “And who knows? Maybe I can find out some new things while out there.” She smiles.

“Fine. Thank you, Momo.” He returns the smile, looking out of the window again, at the forest he can just barely see over the city wall. “I was planning to leave tomorrow morning. Will that be long enough to gather everything you need?” In response she simply nods, retreating back to her chair.

-------------------

“I told you something like this would happen! Multiple times!” Momo hides behind a tree, peeking out for a second before hastily pulling her head back, an arrow sticking out from the bark where it just was. “I hope you have a plan, because I’m out of potions.”

“I do.” With a swift movement Shoto is up in the tree he was hiding behind, looking out over somehow unsuspecting assailants. With a deep breath, he spreads his hands out in front of him, and a fine mist spreads over the clearing before it suddenly freezes, a thin layer of ice over everyone but him and Momo, although he could feel the cold spreading over fingertips.

“Shoto!” She catches him as he falls out of the tree, dizzy and exhausted. “That was extremely risky and unnecessary! If you wanted to do something like that, you should’ve just done it from the ground.” She sighs, feeling his temperature. “You’re lucky I have the right herbs for this…”  She mutters as she searches through her pouch. “Here.” She shoves something disgusting in his mouth and holds it closed. “Swallow.” She commands, and with a shiver he does.

Almost immediately heats spreads throughout his whole body, fighting off the dizziness, although the exhaustion remains. She helps him up and he gags. “What was that?” He croaks out, thankful for the water she offers him now. He carefully takes a few sips, sighing as it washes away the taste. “It was absolutely revolting.”

“Your own fault for doing something so reckless.” She wipes her hair out of her face. “I suppose we will need to move camp again.” She gestures to the frozen ground and ice statues that are technically people. “Well, at least this time I didn’t get stabbed.” She grabs her bag from the ground and pulls Shoto along without even waiting for any kind of reaction from him.

They walk through the forest, trying to find another clearing while animals settle down around them for the night, or wake up to hunt. No matter how far they walk, or in what direction, there is no other clearing. Momo opens her mouth but shuts it again when another voice rings out. “I’d fucking freeze if I were you.” It’s calm, but there’s a hint of danger in there, even if the obvious threat would be ignored.

Shoto clenches his fists as he reaches for his magic, warily looking around. With how dark it is by now, he can barely see anything, so he decides to do something risky. Again. He sets his hand on fire and lifts it above his head, shining its light around them. “Who goes there?” He calls out, eyes narrowed.

The fire on his hand dies out and a sudden empty feeling makes him stumble, falling to the ground when someone pushes him during that. “C-careful, Kacchan! You don’t know what they can do…” Another voice joins the first one, to the right.

“Shut up, Deku.” The first one – Kacchan? – scoffs as he places his foot on Shoto’s back, pushing him further into the dirt. “Aizawa is watching them, and I’m a fucking king, it’s not like these weaklings can do anything to me.”

Weaklings? With a quick move, Shoto has Kacchan pinned beneath him. “Not every mage relies on magic.” He lowly hisses, preventing the man beneath him from being able to breathe probably, although it doesn’t seem to bother him, if the feral grin is anything to go by.

“Not everyone who seems human is human.” Is shot back and within a second he is back on the ground again, this time on his back instead of his stomach, giving him a bit more breathing room. “So don’t you fucking underestimate me, weakling.” The feral grin is even closer now, red eyes aimed at his own.

“Bakugo.” A third voice, tired and stressed. “Don’t do this again.” The man is lifted off of him and an older man with eyebags and stubble offers a hand to Shoto, which he takes after a second. Once he stands again, he looks at Momo, who is staring wide-eyed at a person holding her wrists.

“Shoto…” She meekly begins, her eyes finding his, a childlike wonder in there. “I think you were right after all…” Before he can reply, he is pushed away from her by the scruffy man. “Don’t be reckless.” She calls as she is pushed the other way by the redhead holding her.

--------------

Shoto doesn’t know how long he’s been in this… cave. Cell. Whatever. He gets food and water, and he’s allowed in the sun every now and then, so he should probably be thankful, but it’s just so boring. Nothing happens and he hasn’t seen Momo in… God, what is it? A couple weeks? A couple months? Time is hard when it’s dark most of the time. He just hopes she’s alright. After all… She came with him to protect him. She’s in danger because of him.

As he’s musing all of this, the rock at the entrance gets rolled to the side, and after his eyes adjust, he can see the scruffy man who helped him up back when they got captured. “Bakugo wants to see you. Get up.” Once again, he is offered a hand, which he takes. As the man leads him out of the cave and through the underground tunnels, he can see people walking around, and someone around his age playing a song for some children with a soft smile. As he looks at her a bit longer, he realizes it’s one of the most famous bards of the continent, Jiro Kyoka.

Her gaze flickers up to meet his, and she gives him a wink as she mouths something. ‘Momo… alright’ is what he can understand from it, but it’s enough to let some of the tenseness seep from his shoulder. He doesn’t know why she bothered to do that, or how she even knows about it, but that doesn’t really matter.

A few seconds later he is pushed through a door into a big room with an oval table in the middle, a lot of chairs around it, but only one occupied. Messy blond hair, magic swirling around him like he’s stronger than any mage Shoto has ever met, and still the same feral grin as when he had him pinned. “Todoroki Shoto. Son of Todo-”

“Shut. Up. About him.”  Shoto narrows his eyes at the attractive annoying man. “I guess you’re Bakugo…” He trails off as his eyes wander around the room. “What is it that you want.” His voice is flat and emotionless as he looks at everything but him.

“I’m the king, yes.” He can hear the chair move and footsteps drawing closer, stopping right in front of him. “You should consider yourself lucky we didn’t kill you when we found out who you are. After what your father did to us…” A strong and warm, very warm hand grabs his chin and makes him look at Bakugo again.

“What do you mean, after what he did to you? The only time he-” Shoto cuts himself off as he finally really looks at Bakugo. Skin that’s not quite skin… Too warm… Red eyes with slitted pupils… The magic… “You’re… You’re a…”  He can’t quite bring himself to say it as his eyes grow wide.

“Yes, I’m a dragon, would ya fuckin’ keep up?” Bakugo snaps as he pushes Shoto to a chair. “Sit. I just want you to answer a few questions. Like, why the hell were you in my woods? What the fuck were you planning to do? Exterminate us?”

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages to speak again. “What? No! Of course that wasn’t my plan! I’ve never had anything against dragons!” He crosses his arms with a scoff. “I was wandering through the woods with Momo because I wanted to find and study dragons.”

“Study our dead bodies, no doubt.” Bakugo scoffs as he sits on the table instead of a chair, his fingers restlessly drumming on the table as small sparks shoot from them. “Oh, and don’t worry about your friend. Since she’s not considered a threat to us, she’s free. Well, kept under observation and not allowed in certain areas, but really just about as free as it gets.”

He glances away, slightly guilty now for snapping. Of course they would assume that he’d try to kill them, that’s what everyone does. And still… They hadn’t killed either of them… Momo was alright and Bakugo had actually bothered with telling him so… “I’m not like my father. He only cares for fame and strength. I… I’ve always just… been intrigued by dragons and the likes.” He softly admits. “So, when I heard rumors about the dragons having returned… Well, I had to take my chance.”

------------

“Shoto!” Momo jumps up from the chair she was sitting in, right next to the bard, and tries to tackle Shoto in a hug, even though he easily catches her and stays standing. “I’m so happy you’re alright! Did they give you a bodyguard as well? Well, I say bodyguard… But Kyoka just makes sure I don’t try to escape or kill anyone.” She softly laughs, her black curls bouncing as she moves.

As answer he simply points to the redhead who had led him here. “Oh, Eijiro.” Momo sounds a bit surprised to see the laid-back half-dragon right behind him. “I do hope Shoto doesn’t give you too much trouble, he can be a real handful.” She gives a teasing wink as she sits down again.

“Oh, he’s no trouble at all!” Kirishima is quick to reassure her. “Really, it’s kind of like being around Izuku. Just… a bit more silent and stand-off-ish?” He shrugs. “But Katsu asked him the questions a bit ago, and Hitoshi was using his magic on him, so he has the same amount of freedom as you, now.” He smiles, one foot bouncing a bit. “Oh, Kyoka, did you know? Neito and Hitoshi are now a couple!” He starts to ramble to the bard about the two and how it was a surprise, but Shoto is quick to ignore him.

He sits down next to Momo, rubbing in his eyes and feeling the skin around his left eye pull because of it. “I’m tired.” He mumbles. “Kirishima says it was ‘a bit ago’ but it has been at least 14 hours since then, and I haven’t slept at all.”  The evidence of this is how he doesn’t bother with pulling away when Momo pats his back carefully.

“You’ll probably go to a room, soon. Dinner should be ready in just a bit, and they either go back then, or they go and do something like training or reading. Their technique in fighting is really interesting to witness. One of them, Monoma Neito, can copy the magic of others, and he is really good at using it. Someone else, Shinso Hitoshi, is really good at controlling people.” She brightly smiles.

“None are as impressive as the king or Izuku, though. Izuku is kind-hearted, but incredibly dangerous. His strength…” She trails off for a bit. “And the king… He can make explosions with his palms in his human form, but in his dragon form… He is incredibly strong.” Her eyes show her wonder as she speaks. “Not even your father could bring him down, I think.”

“I sure hope not.” Shoto rolls his eyes as he sits straight again. “If he was, I would be long dead by now, with the training he put me through.” He runs a hand through his messy and now way too long hair. 

----------------

Months pass in the castle, Shoto and Momo getting more and more freedom as time goes on. Watching people grow closer and form relationships, or watching them grow apart bit by bit until they break it off. By now, both of them are just as much part of them as anyone else born into the kingdom.

“Oi, Icyhot.” Shoto rolls his eyes at the nickname Katsuki gave him after having seen his magic in action. “What do you say we go for a walk, outside? You’ve been cooped up in the library for weeks, and no fucking way is that healthy.” It’s not like he’s given much of a choice when Katsuki grabs his arms and pulls him along, forcing him to abandon his books.

“You could’ve at least let me put them back.” He mumbles as he easily keeps up with him, his eyes wandering. “Now someone else will have to do it, and I won’t remember where I left off.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine, ya fucking crybaby.” Katsuki gently slaps the back of his head. “You’re just as much of a nerd as Deku. I don’t doubt that you’ll be able to find it within a minute.” Shoto glances down when a warm hand takes his own, surprised to see Katsuki holding his hand like that, for no reason. “Anyway, I wanted to show you something.”

They walk in silence for a few minutes as Shoto just enjoys the fresh air and sun on his skin, noticing how Katsuki stares at him for a bit every so often, but not commenting. Slowly, they go higher up the mountain in which the biggest part of the castle is, until they reach a beautiful viewing point. “Is this what you wanted to show me, Katsuki?” Shoto softly asks, his eyes wide in wonder as he takes in the nature around them.

“It’s part of it.” The unusually docile blond sits down on the grass as he stares at some point in the distance. “But yes.” He doesn’t look when Shoto sits next to him, although bi-colored man could swear he saw the slightly pointy ears twitch a bit. They sit in silence for a while, enjoying the clouds and dragons above them, the sun shining on their skin and keeping them warm. “The other part…” Katsuki softly begins after a while, turning his head so he is looking at Shoto, “was this.” He leans closer, and, after peering into his eyes for a second, kisses him.

It’s just a peck, really, but it’s enough to shake Shoto’s entire world. “I- I…” He stammers as his face starts to be the same color as the left side of his hair. He tries to say something more, but all that ends up coming out is some incomprehensible words as he tries to process it. Katsuki kissed him. Katsuki kissed him. Katsuki kissed him.

Apparently satisfied with the reaction, the dragon king leans back again, focusing his gaze on the sky. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while now, you know?” He admits. “The way you look when focusing on your magic… Or when you try, and fail, to kick my ass… It’s hot.” He grins as he briefly looks at Shoto again.

“I- what?” He tries to make sense of what’s happening, but he doesn’t come very far before he is kissed again, this time longer and deeper. “K-Katsuki…” He softly murmurs as they break apart. “I- what do you mean with all this?”

“Isn’t that obvious, Icyhot?” He softly laughs as he runs a hand through the bi-colored hair the other sports. “I love you. And I wanted to do better than Momo confessing to Kyoka in that stuffy library… So, I thought I’d do it here. It’s beautiful here… But of course, it’s nothing compared to you.” He grins at the splutter he gets in response.

“You… love me?” Slowly a smile starts forming on Shoto’s face as Katsuki nods, and he leans closer. “I love you too.” And then it’s his turn to kiss the other.

[cygnetofthesea]

The Fight In Us: WA AU Fic

A fic I started writing exactly a year ago but never posted for some reason. Hope you guys enjoy it! On AO3

High school-WA

There was a loud crash of what sounded like bodies colliding that jolted Iris out of her thoughts.  She looked over to the source but a crowd had already formed, blocking her view of what she imagined was yet another fight at Central City High.

With a roll of her eyes, Iris looked away and resumed picking at her lunch.  It was a beautiful day out in the quad and she was feeling a little peeved that some idiots decided to settle scores with their fists.

"Holy shit, Iris, that scrawny kid is pummeling the big dude," Linda exclaimed.  

Linda was new to the school and didn't quite know everyone's names yet but Iris knew exactly who she was talking about as her heart thudded in her chest.  She looked over and sure enough, as the crowd spread out, Iris caught a flash of thick brown hair and pale hands before disappearing from view again.

"Who is that?" Linda asked.

Iris sighed deeply and rolled her eyes even as her heart fluttered.  "My ex."

"Wait, what?  You dated that guy?"

Iris didn't answer, watching as the crowd cheered, her legs suddenly bouncing up and down anxiously.  She wrung her fingers, contemplating, before letting out another sigh that sounded more like a groan and getting up.

She marched up to the crowd her jaws set, eyes flashing in irritation.  It was that anger and frustration that fueled her strength as she manhandled bodies out of the way, ignoring the cries of "Hey!"

By the time she made it to the front of the crowd, her ex-boyfriend Barry Allen was straddling Tony Woodward, his fist raised, rearing back to land another punch into him.

"Barry!"

Barry's fist stopped abruptly halfway toward its target, his head snapping up to look at her.  And like a switch flipping, his eyebrows relaxed from their previously furrowed state and a wide grin formed on his split lips.  There's a bright red splotch on his cheekbone where she knows a bruise would be blooming by the end of their lunch period.  Her stomach twists at the sight.

"Iris," he said breathlessly.  "Hey, baby."

The endearment slipped past his lips so effortlessly despite the fact that by conventional definitions, she was no longer his, just as he was no longer hers.  Iris hates the flutter in her heart at the sight of his happy smile, that smile that was reserved just for her.  But, she ignored it as she crossed her arms and looked at him sternly.

It took great effort to keep the scowl on her face and to ignore the flutter at his starry gaze upon her face. He was looking at her as though he was in awe of her and it simultaneously frustrated and thrilled her. But thankfully, she was able to shove aside her treacherous heart and use her brain.

"Barry, what are you doing?  Get off of him."

Barry clumsily got off of Tony, his eyes on her with that same damn heart-melting smile.  He steps over Tony's prone body as he made his way toward her while the crowd around them dissipated with disappointment. He trips over his own feet before straightening and Iris absolutely hates how that makes her heart squeeze in a way only Barry could.

(She actually really loves it.)

"Iris hi," he breathed, his eyes dazed and taking her in, flickering across her face.

"Barry," she said airily.  "Up to your old antics, I see?"

His eyes widened as he looks behind him where Tony Woodward lay, groaning.  His buddy was crouched over him, sending a glare Barry's way.

"No, I-that's not, that's not what it looks like, Iris."

"No?  Because it looked like you were pummeling Tony Woodward.  That's not what happened?"

"I mean, it is," he relented anxiously, "but it's not-what I mean to say is that I haven't been in a fight in a really long time. The whole time you were gone, I've been good, I promise."

Iris looked at him skeptically through narrowed eyes. "Ok, so do you want to tell me what that was all about?"

Barry fidgeted under her gaze, fiddling with the hem of his plaid button down as he shuffled his feet nervously. He glanced around before taking Iris's wrist softly in his hand. Iris had to suppress the gasp that threatened to slip out at his touch. It was the first time in too long that she had felt his hands on her skin and her heart ached at just how much she missed it.

"Um, is it alright if we talk somewhere else? I have a feeling Tony's going to be pissed and go for round two when he comes to."

"Yeah, sure," she said shakily, failing to sound nonchalant. She slips her wrist from his hold and ignored the hurt look on his face even as it cut through her.

They walked quietly side by side away from the loud cacophony of the courtyard as they made their way inside the school. After what feels like an eternity in which Iris had to fight the urge to burrow herself in his embrace, he finally spoke.

"Um, it's really good to see you.  You look great."

"Thank you, you do too." And he did.  He didn’t look much different since she last saw him seven months ago, but there were small changes like the thickness of his hair, the slight stubble that apparently was finally appearing.

Iris remembered when Barry would complain about being a late bloomer in the ninth grade while fellow male classmates were already sporting scruffs and his face remained baby smooth. She had giggled and slid her palms across his soft cheeks, telling him how much she loved his face anyway as she punctuated the words with kisses on his skin.

It was strange to see the stubble now, months later. It felt like years had passed instead of mere months.

He blushed at her compliment and looks at her with a smile. "How was the program in France?"

For a moment Iris forgot all about the awkwardness between them as her eyes lit up in excitement.  "Oh, it was amazing!" Iris exclaimed. "Seven months was definitely not enough. But, by the end of my stay, I was able to speak to the locals in almost perfect French, so I’m pretty happy about that."

"That's amazing. Now you can curse at me in French and I'd never know," Barry laughed.

"I wouldn't do that.  But, Barry it was just unbelievable and my media studies teacher was incredible. So smart, so witty, and funny. I swear, everyone should aspire to be like her." And before she could think about it, the words slipped out. "I wish you had been there."

He stopped abruptly in place and looked at her with an unreadable expression. After a moment of hesitation, he took her hand and pulled her closer to the lockers away from any passerby.

"Iris, there's something I need to tell you."

"Bar—"

"Allen!"

Barry and Iris looked to their right in unison at the sound of the voice, only to see the school's security guard walking toward them.

"Hey Mr. Albert," Barry said sheepishly.  "Guess you heard, huh?"  

Mr. Albert planted his hands on his hips, making him appear more imposing than he already did. He always had a snobby attitude that most students hated, but somehow over time, Barry and Mr. Albert developed some kind of camaraderie. Although, at the moment, it looked like Mr. Albert wasn’t in the joking mood.

"Yup and so did the principle.  He wants to see you in his office.  You too, West, you're a witness."

Iris furrowed her brows.  She had barely seen anything, but as she took in Barry's glum face she sighed inwardly, knowing there was no way she'd be able to ever turn her back on him in a time of need.

Barry sighed and glumly nodded his head walking toward Mr. Albert who ripped out a slip from his notebook and handed it to Barry.  "Come on, Allen, I thought you knew better than this."

"I know, I know," he mumbles.

“You were doing so well. What the hell happened?” Mr. Albert asked.

Barry shrugged and simply looked down at his feet. Mr. Albert looked at him in pity and nodded toward Singh’s office. “Off you go. There’s only so many times we can let you off the hook, Allen.”

Barry nodded and took the slip before heading toward Singh’s office. Mr. Albert looks at Iris with raised brows before huffing out a laugh and walking away.

As Iris followed after Barry, she couldn't help admonishing him. "See, this is what fighting gets you.  How many times have I told you, using your fists in not the way to solve problems, Barry. People are assholes and will always be, but it doesn't mean you start pummeling them to prove a point. You think Tony's going to suddenly see the error of his ways after gaining a couple of bruises? That he's going to suddenly go 'Ah Barry, man you were right, I'm going to stop being a dick'?"

Barry brushed his hands against his hair with anxious fingers, a tick Iris recognized as a nervous habit.  "I know it was wrong. And Iris, I really have been working on controlling my temper.  I just…" he sighed before letting out a groan, scrunching his eyes shut. "He's just…what he said, he's just fucking scum."

Iris watched as he balled his hands into fists, his hall pass crumpling in his hands. She put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it soothingly. "Hey, Barry, just take a breath. It’s ok."

Barry inhaled deeply before slowly letting it out, his fingers relaxing.

They finally made it to the principal's office and braced themselves. Principle Singh looked up with a bored expression.  

"Barry Allen, the star student with a temper." He turned to Iris. "And our other star student who intervened is what I hear through the grapevine."

"Hardly. I didn't get in the middle of the brawl if that’s you're thinking."

"No, not at all," he said with a smile. "But, maybe you can add to Mr. Allen's story."

"I thought I was here because I'm in trouble," Barry said.

"Oh you are, but I'm a believer of hearing all sides of the story. So why don't you start and tell me just what went down?"

Barry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, sneaking furtive glances at Iris.  "Uh Tony was um, just mouthing off and it…made me angry?" he finished lamely.

Iris shot him an annoyed look at his pathetic excuse.

"Well, Allen, judging by the fact that Mr. Woodward is currently in the nurse's office with a black eye, yeah I'd hazard a guess that he made you angry. What was it that he said to provoke you?"

Barry stammered, "It's-it's nothing, it was just stupid stuff that he always says. I mean it's Tony Woodward, he's a bully."

"Well, some would say you're the bully in this case."

"What?!" Barry exclaimed. He sat up in his seat, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair.  "That is not true. How is self-defense considered bullying now?"

"Yeah, I'm failing to see how when pitted against Tony Woodward, Barry would be considered the bully here," Iris interjected. "That kid has a reputation that precedes him and Barry is actually someone who stands up to him."

She felt the tension rise on her back at the thought of Barry being accused of being a bully. Barry Allen may be a little too quick to throw a punch, but he was the sweetest guy she knew. If only he knew how to get his temper under control.

"Now, I'm not accusing you of being a bully Barry, I'm fully aware of Mr. Woodward's history.  What I'm trying to say is that if you stoop to the level of bullies, how are you any different?  How are you going to set an example of what the right thing is?" Singh asked giving him a knowing look. "Answer me honestly, who threw the first punch?"

Barry's leg bounced up and down rapidly before he finally sighed and relented.  "It was me."

"Why?"  Singh opened a folder on his desk and brandished a sheet of paper. "See this? You've gone nine months without incident. Nine months and no fights. What was it that backtracked that progress?"

"Look, I understand the error of my ways, do we really need a play-by-play? Can we just skip to my punishment?"

"Why aren't you telling me what he said?"

Barry's eyes flickered to Iris and she furrowed her brows in confusion as Singh looked between them. His own face cleared and he nodded in understanding.  "Ok. You can take it up with Ms. Horton in guidance, but don't let it happen again, Allen. You're too good of a kid to have his permanent record be tarnished by suspensions. You've got detention for the next two days."

Barry looked up in surprise.  "Whoa, t-thanks Principle Singh."

"Don't mention it.  Just," he lets out a sigh and looks at Barry meaningfully.  "Look, Barry, you're a good kid and I know if you channel that energy and anger into helping people like I know you want to, you're going to achieve great things. I see a really bright future for you and that makes me all the more disappointed when I see you getting into these kinds of trouble. If Tony gives you trouble, come to me and we'll deal with it. That's my duty, just as it is yours to get the most of this school and set a positive example for your peers. Do you understand?"

Iris turned to look at Barry and it appeared he was just as surprised by the meaningful speech as she was.  She knew Singh was one of the good ones, but she never saw him as expressive as in that moment.

Barry nods in jerky movements. "Yeah, of course. Thanks, Principle Singh.  I-I'm going to do better."

"I know you will. You're both free to go."

Iris led the way as a dazed Barry followed behind. She looked at him and could see the shame on his face and felt her heart clench in her chest.  She took his hand in hers.

"Hey, you ok?"

Barry cleared his throat and blinked rapidly. "Yeah, I'm ok." He was quiet for a moment. "Just reminded me of dad for a moment there."

She looked at him in concern and pulled him into an empty classroom. "You know he would have been so proud of you."

Barry scoffed as he leaned against the teacher's desk, looking away from her. "Dad was happy I knew how to stand up for myself and others, but he wouldn't exactly approve of this. Multiple detentions and almost-suspensions? Not exactly a star of a student as Singh thinks."

"I mean, yeah the fists need to stay down," she said, watching as his lips curl the tiniest bit. "But come on, Bar, you always, always have the best of intentions. You're always looking to stand up for people and it's honestly why I fell in love with you."

He looked at her hopefully.  "Yeah?"

She rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder. "Oh you really didn't know that?" she teased, hopping onto the desk beside him.

Het let out a light laugh as he straightened and moved closer to her, the clouds in his eyes fading.  

"I miss you, Iris and I have changed. I know I didn't do a good job of showing it by getting into a fight on the first day of school, but I was mad that you had heard what he said and I just…" he sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. "I couldn't stand it and I know that's not a good excuse, but Iris, I really am trying."

Iris looked up, her legs swinging back and forth as she took in his words. A soft, warm glow filled her heart at the sight of his earnest face. That sweet face that was hard not to love.

"I know you are," she said quietly. “Even before I left, I saw it."

"Because you were right, Iris. I wasn't dealing with what happened to my dad, but I'm working on it."

"Yeah?"

Barry nodded, playing with his fingers. "Yeah, I've um...I’ve been seeing someone. Mom found this therapist a year ago and I finally decided to go."

Iris looked at him, her heart filling with happiness."Oh, Barry, I'm so happy to hear that.”

She reached over and placed her hand over his fidgeting ones until they stilled.

He let out a deep sigh. “I think I was scaring mom. I finally saw it when I caught her crying over the family album. I knew she wouldn’t want me to see but I couldn’t leave her that and we finally talked. I realized that she was trying to spare me and it hurt me to see her hiding her grief and I imagined she felt the same about me. "

Her heart clenched in her chest thinking about Mrs. Allen. She always had that beautiful smile on her face for as long as Iris knew her and when Mr. Allen died, the smile dimmed. She put on a great act for her and Barry, but Iris could see that it wasn’t as bright as before, like a light had been turned off. It broke her heart to see Barry broken, but it hurt just as much to see the woman who had become a maternal figure in her life lose her soulmate and try to raise an angry boy on her own. But Iris was determined to be there for Mrs. Allen just as much as she would be for Barry.

“I’m really glad for you both.”

Barry looked down at their joined hands and slowly laced his fingers with hers. "Iris?"

She held her breath, savoring his touch. She hadn't realized how she had been starved for his touch until that moment. There wasn't a day that went by she hadn't thought of him, but in the midst of exploring France and keeping up with her classes, she couldn't think about being in a relationship. While her classmates gushed about meeting French boys and wishing for romantic evenings, Iris only allowed Barry to invade her thoughts for a brief moment before she scolded herself about getting distracted.

But sitting there so close beside him, his soft, warm hands against her own, Iris felt her heart ache as she let those feelings wash over her.

"Yeah?" she finally responded.

"I've really missed you."

"I've missed you too."

He hesitated before gripping her fingers tighter. "Do you…do you think that maybe, I don't know, that we could maybe…go get some ice cream tonight? Or I don’t know, we could go to that Thai place we like instead of ice cream, or we could do both. I mean, that's if you're in the mood for either or there's that Turkish place too. I haven’t had kebabs in ages and they have that great spinach pie you like, I mean we can do any of it or all of—"

He broke off at her gentle laugh.  "Ice cream would be good. Mom already made her famous spicy chili so I can meet you after."

He nodded agreeably before slowly shrugging his shoulder.  "Or I…I could pick you up?" he asked tentatively, looking at her from under his lashes.

Iris nodded with a soft smile. “I’d like that,” she said. “Can you promise me something, Barry?”

“Of course,” he said eagerly.

“Can we make a promise to each other to be open and always communicate with one another? I love you, but I can’t watch you hurt yourself and not talk to me about what you’re going through. No one is invincible and we should be able to talk to each other. Deal?”

He brought her hand to his chest and rested his forehead against her while keeping his gaze steady on her. “I promise you, Iris. I’ve hurt you and my mother enough and I’m done with that.”

She closed the distance between them, her lips touching his. She can feel his gasp against her just as well as she could hear it.

“Ok,” she whispered.

“Ok”

[adventuresloane]

“Dont Look away from me. “ Blupjeans??

“Hey…don’t look away from me, please.”

Lup attempted to clear her throat but instead triggered a coughing fit, which she tried to smother with a gulp of water. “I said I’m gucci,” she croaked.

Barry huffed and crossed his arms, hoping that he looked sufficiently stern. “Lup, I’m serious. You need to go to bed.”

She sniffed and hunched further over the rune-filled parchment on her desk. Waves of hair fell over her cheek, shielding her face from him. Usually smooth and shiny, it now appeared dull, or as dull as it was possible for hot pink to look. Her hair had been pink all day, he realized. Normally she changed the color with magic some five times before dinner. “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “Year’s over in a few days anyway, and then we reset. I can deal that long. This cold can suck my ass.”

He let out his breath slowly and dropped his hands to his sides. She looked smaller than he had ever seen her, tucked up into herself. That seemed almost perverse. She should have been as she always was, bigger than her body, expanding to fill any space she was in the way light did.

Quietly, he walked around to the front of her desk, so he was facing her, and placed his palms onto the top. The surface was scattered with rings left from from a year’s worth of coaster-less coffee mugs–his and hers both. He waited until she reluctantly looked up at him. Her eyes were dull, and the sclera, normally lavender, had begun to turn gray. A sure sign of sickness in elves, he had learned over the years. “You shouldn’t feel worse than you have to even if it’s only for a few days,” he said gently. You don’t ever deserve to feel anything less than fantastic, he didn’t add.

She frowned and made one last attempt at resistance. “I’ve still got so much to do. We could still find the Light, maybe.”

He smiled and raised an eyebrow at her. “And what would you say to me if I tried to keep working while I was sneezing my guts out?”

Her frown deepened and her right ear flicked, jangling the hoop earrings that hung from it. She always did that when she was annoyed.

“Come on, what would you say?”

“That you’re a delicate little human and you should get up from this desk and get your lily-white ass to bed,” she grumbled. “That you’d done enough already.”

“And you have,” he said, reaching out to her.

“You don’t wanna do that. I’ve got snot hands.”

“I’ll survive,” he chuckled.

She glanced at his hand, then up at his face, before she went with him. She leaned against him just a little on the way to her bedroom.

The trouble with specializing in necromancy was that he really only knew how to make people better after they were already dead. He could stitch a soul neatly back into its body, but taking care of that body? That was Merle’s prerogative. Except, he realized with a familiar pang of remembering, Merle had died much earlier this cycle.

When he got sick, his solution, if it could be called that, was usually to drink even more coffee than usual, blow his nose into the equation sheets that he had discarded, and keep on working until his eyes watered too much for him to see his casting circles. Sometimes he downed a third of a bottle of Fantasy NyQuil at once to knock him out for a few hours in the night. Needless to say, Lup would not be doing any of that. He would make sure of it.

But what, then?

“Do you need…soup?”

“Will you be making it?” she smirked even as her eyelids began to droop. “Because I don’t trust a man who thinks ketchup is spicy anywhere near a stove.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said with a quiet laugh.

Her giggle was interrupted by a sneeze that threw her own body forward. She landed back on the pillow with a barely suppressed groan. Barry reached for the tissue box and handed her a wad, pretending not to notice the globule of yellow mucus peeking out from her nose.

“Thanks,” she muttered as she wiped.

It hit him in that moment. “Oh, shit, hold up! Merle showed me something. Let me see if I can…” Carefully, he contorted his hands into the positions that the cleric had shown him. He stared at his hands as he casted, like the apprentice magician he had been at the age of six, hoping that he was getting the movements right. This type of magic felt foreign to him, moved through him differently than his necromantic powers did. He found it harder to get a grip on it, like he was trying to grab a thread slick with oil.

But it got the job done. The air soon sparkled with water vapor suspended over the bed.

Lup looked at the little clouds forming above her head, then turned to him. “You’re gonna be my personal humidifier, Barold?”

Sheepishly, he smiled and shrugged. “As long as you need me to be.”

“You don’t need to…” She paused to yawn. “Don’t need to stay long.” The last word dragged on into a tired sigh, and her eyes fell shut.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest for a long time in the waning day. 

The following morning, she woke to dried snot caked around the edges of her nostrils and the same muscle ache that had persisted for days. But something was different. Her throat didn’t feel so sandpapery. The migraine had faded.

And one other thing was different, too. She heard a sound, something like the purr of an old motor, but inconsistent. It came in spurts.

Snoring.

She turned her head to find the form of a large, stubbly man sleeping upright in the chair next to her bed. His hands, sagging into his lap, were still vaguely positioned in a spell-casting stance.

Lup smiled as she rose, only a little unsteady, to her feet. She pulled a clean blanket from the linen closet and draped it over his shoulders. Near-silently, she mouthed, Thank you. You’ve done enough for me.

((I love sick fic and don’t write enough of it tbh. Hope you enjoy!!!))

[kiruuuuu]

Buck/Fuze oneshot (?) in which there’s a broken sink, almost a broken heart, and no broken bones (but only because Kapkan had no say in the matter). (Rating M, fluff/humour/very light angst/a little sexy, ~4.8k words) - written for @yovelie! Thank you so much for commissioning me, this was a blast to write ❤ Find my commission info here!

This has also been posted to AO3, and here’s a link 💞

.

Buck returns home to a dirt-streaked Fuze lying on the kitchen floor, soft curses in his mother tongue half swallowed by the cupboard into which he’s shoved most of his torso in order to either repair their sink or alternately turn the awfully cramped room into a questionably functional swimming pool. He’s so engrossed in his task that Buck dropping his bag of groceries onto the table makes him jump, hit his head and increase the volume of his swears.

“Is it broken again?”, the Canadian wants to know superfluously, but maybe striking up a conversation will distract Fuze from his imminent headache. A disgruntled noise is his reply. “The only thing missing from this being a Sims household at this point is the spontaneous combustion.”

He doesn’t need to see Fuze’s face to know he’s grinning: the torch he’s holding between his teeth slips slightly and lets him know of the Uzbek’s amusement. “Is craftsmanship in your home country as shoddy as here? You’d think most English plumbers were born with feet for hands.”

“Are you telling me it’s better in Russia? What about Maxim’s story about his uncle’s pipes exploding in the middle of summer?” Buck hasn’t yet started unpacking because he’s too caught up in the view before him – Fuze is wearing a grey wifebeater which is just as greasy as he is, and together with the loosely fitting sweatpants and naked feet he really is a sight to behold. For a moment, one of his arms comes into view, tan skin sweaty and melting Buck’s knees slowly but surely. Fuze’s solid body is distracting enough even without it being presented on a silver platter like this.

“You’re forgetting that he hails from a long line of dumbasses”, comes the murmured reply, making Buck snap out of his reverie with a laugh.

“Well, fortunately at least he fell far from the tree.” A prolonged silence. Buck grins. “Come on, are you really throwing your friends under the bus like this?”

“Don’t tell anyone. But yes, I heard a story of someone fixing their power line with a fork. To my knowledge, it’s holding up to this day.”

“If you start wrapping our sink in sellotape, I’m calling a professional”, Buck threatens and finally turns to the reusable bag, starting to put away the foodstuffs he bought. In the process, he has to step over Fuze several times and barely avoids getting tripped, lightly kicks him in this ass in retaliation and thinks he hears a chuckle. “Our kitchen is too fucking small.” It’s a complaint both of them have uttered many times before.

“I wouldn’t mind so much if its infrastructure wasn’t totally screwed up. And by the way, I’m covering this.”

“What, the shopping?” A grunt. “No, not this time. Most of it is for me anyway, you never have breakfast.” This conversation, too, is familiar and they repeat a variation so regularly for it to become annoying enough to warrant establishing a proper system – and yet they still haven’t done so. It’s as if fighting about who gets to pay for groceries is a game they both enjoy playing, even if the outcome is usually muddled and probably works out fifty-fifty in the long run but neither of them can really be sure. The rent, water, heating, all of it they split evenly but food remains a topic of debate.

“I asked you to get some of my vodka though.”

“Yes, but they didn’t have it.”

A disbelieving pause. “So you bought nothing?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I got a different one.” Which cost noticeably more than Fuze’s favoured brand, but Buck is not about to tell him. Movement catches his attention and he interrupts his stocking of the fridge to look over to where Fuze is crawling out from under the sink: his hair is damp and sticking up, a dark streak dirtying his cheek and stubble visible, betraying a day off work. His own personal smell is triumphing over whatever cursed product he normally uses to mask it and it drives Buck wild, makes him forget whatever it is he was doing and instead stare at Fuze’s heavy, attractive and most of all masculine form.

Without even a single glance at Buck, Fuze unselfconsciously reaches for the bottle of clear liquid and reads the label, unhurried and unaware of the effect his naked, almost unnoticeably paler upper arms are having on Buck; he’s exuding a kind of energy to which Buck is painfully receptive. If anyone asked him a few years ago about his ideal domestic kind of wet dream, he’d have no answer, but now all he’d do is point at the man in front of him.

Fuze unceremoniously opens the bottle and takes a long swig and Buck nearly has to sit down because his brain is too preoccupied with the line of Fuze’s throat, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows and the lack of care about arbitrary social norms to focus on ensuring his legs don’t buckle under him. Raw, unadulterated desire roars in his ears and deafens him, makes him miss Fuze’s verdict entirely.

When he receives no response, Fuze finally looks over and understands immediately what must be embarrassingly visible on Buck’s face as he smiles, lazy, self-satisfied, flattered. “Is it the undershirt?”, he wants to know, voice slipped an octave lower and of a decidedly more gravelly quality. Buck is starting to come apart at the seams.

“It’s the everything”, he replies hoarsely.

And he’s so, so grateful that the times when a concession like this would’ve left Fuze uncomfortable instead of smug are over. It was a few long months, filled with uncertainty and awkward silences, and he fought so hard to get to where they are now. To the point where Fuze’s grin turns predatory as he stalks towards Buck. He absent-mindedly closes the fridge door and steps back, pretends to retreat from Fuze’s advances until the windowsill digs uncomfortably into his back. He awkwardly puts down the yogurts he’s been holding, just in time to throw his arms around the Uzbek crowding into his personal space. A deep inhale muddles his mind further as Fuze’s smell is much more intense up close, his collarbone too inviting for him not to lick a broad stripe over the salty skin and hum contentedly at the taste.

Fuze seems happy with simply standing there, allowing Buck to lavish him with caresses, cover his skin in eager kisses and grope him unashamedly and this, too, is a success. “I need to buy a spare part down at the hardware store”, he mumbles into Buck’s hair and stretches into blunt hands exploring his torso under the wifebeater, fingers digging into his abs.

Buck nods, understands what he’s really saying and relents. Not now, is Fuze’s implication, but his body language adds: But I want it too, later. They kiss, languid and sloppy, the sharp tang of vodka unexpectedly welcome and helpful in grounding Buck. If there’s anything he’s learnt over the past year, it’s to give Fuze space when he demands it. “Then go”, he says softly and without reproach after they’ve separated. His want is transforming into deep adoration which leaves him just as breathless as his need did. Now and then, Fuze is in a mood and takes control, rides with abandon and clenched teeth, less vocal and quieter than normal but merciless. The look he shoots Buck before withdrawing lets him know that he is in one of these moods today, will refuse to let Buck do all the work for once.

“Otherwise the sink will never stop dripping”, Fuze adds with an indication to the opened bottle of alcohol, “and how else am I going to dispose of this swill?”

His laughter echoes in the hallway after he catches sight of Buck’s outraged expression, and half a minute later he’s gone, still without socks in his shoes and probably sporting a semi but he’s too practically-minded to worry about either of these things. It’s one of the reasons why Buck has become so enamoured with him: his efficiency and dislike of anything needlessly complicated or fancy resonate with Buck’s own views. They moved in together to save money, have worked out a system of who does which chores and stick to it religiously, and it’s functioning wonderfully.

Buck finishes his task while singing to himself, some catchy tune Frost was playing on her phone earlier, and realises not for the first time how happy he really is in their bubble. At work, the two of them generally hang around their own friends, but the rest of the time belongs to them and he feels like they’re putting it to good use. Daydreaming about what Fuze is going to let him do to him, the ringing phone registers almost too late.

And once the person on the other end has said a few words, he almost drops it, scrambles to leave immediately and while he does so, suddenly remembers once more how all of this started.

.

“You could’ve died.”

Buck is at his wit’s end and the mindless repetition of something he’s been told numerous times today into the cool space separating him from one of his colleagues-turned-reluctant-friend-recently-turned-nuisance isn’t helping in lightening his mood. He doesn’t know why Fuze insists on following him around without stating clearly what it is he wants – he already got an apology, a rundown of how and why the mission went sour and an admission that yes, he’s indeed right in his assessment. Buck could’ve died today. And inexplicably Fuze won’t leave him alone because of it.

“But I didn’t”, he replies patiently, gently rocking the canopy swing on which he’s perched. He hoped for a minute of peace, wanted to fiddle with his phone to calm down from the earlier excitement of a successful hostage rescue, wanted to enjoy the unusually cold Nevada night by himself.

“But you could’ve”, Fuze maintains stubbornly, not moving an inch from where he’s standing in the breeze, a shirt apparently warm enough for him. Even Buck has donned a light jacket. They’re outside their motel, the others congregating in different places.

“Sit down.”

He does. Carefully sinks onto the wooden bench a laughable distance away but at the very least gives in to Buck’s rhythm of back and forth, back and forth. They’ve begun interacting more as of late, Buck couldn’t even say what the catalyst was, and now that he’s become better at reading the Uzbek’s silences, his mild expressions, between the lines he utters, he’s appreciative of his uncomplicated company. Irritating him is easy and amusing, genuinely upsetting him hard, and entertaining him worthwhile – Buck prides himself in his ability to befriend anyone he sets his mind to, but with Fuze there was surprisingly little resistance. He’d even call his efforts reciprocal.

Right now, however, he’s being an idiot and Buck doesn’t know why. Something is on his mind and the only obvious explanation is the nearly botched mission. “We were successful. We did it. Why does it matter if I almost kicked the bucket?”

“I don’t know.” The lilting accent always becomes more forceful and pronounced when Fuze is troubled. “That’s the point. I don’t know.”

Buck frowns in confusion. “What do you -”

“I want to know why it bothers me so much.”

They stop. Wind carries over the echo of someone’s laughter though it sounds haunting rather than contagious. “I do consider you my friend”, Buck tries, “and I’d also be upset if you got hurt.”

“No.” The word is final, decisive. Fuze has thought about this, is getting angry that Buck doesn’t understand. “Sasha got hurt last time, Timur before that, it’s part of the job. They don’t do the same things.”

“The same things?”

“To me.”

He forgets how to breathe. Automatically, he nearly asks what do I do to you but they’ve reached a point where it’s obvious and he needs to decide: go down this path and gently coax it out of him or… or not. Squash his hope before it blossoms.

The Uzbek isn’t looking at him, has started swinging them slightly again, gaze on the folded fingers in his lap. His general determination wavers rarely and makes him seem sure of himself, but right now he looks helpless and frustrated. Probably dissatisfied with what he can’t control. Of all the people Buck knows, Fuze is the only one he’d call honourable – moral, yes, most of them are reputable too, but none of them track so meticulously what they owe others in order to repay them like he does, most of them do allow certain deviations from established rules where Fuze doesn’t for himself. Never has. In his heart, he carries around values which form the foundation of all his actions and interactions and he adheres to them.

And isn’t this the whole problem? The fact that Fuze himself is now deviating from one of his core beliefs? Doesn’t this explain his worried side glances, all the times he flinched when Buck accidentally touched him, the way he hovers around Buck like someone who fails to find the right words?

“Can I… touch you?”, Buck wants to know quietly and waits, reaches out when he receives no answer. Only reluctantly does Fuze surrender one of his hands, leaves it balled into a fist even as Buck strokes the back of it. It’s remarkably warm, a welcome source of heat in Buck’s palms and slowly, slowly he massages it to relax, uncurls Fuze’s fingers, interlaces them with his own and simply holds it. A small sun, just for him.

He knows Fuze is undyingly loyal. Accepting him is a responsibility Buck isn’t sure he can carry and so he asks: “Can I sleep on it?”

Fuze’s fingers twitch but he doesn’t pull them back. Concern is written on his face and he still hasn’t returned Buck’s gaze. “I didn’t – I wasn’t sure you’d consider -”

And he looks so lost that this is the moment that Buck knows: even if he goes to his room with the intent to mull it over, he’ll stay for five minutes at most before rushing out to knock on Fuze’s door. So he might as well not bother at all.

.

When Buck barges into the hospital room, Fuze’s scowl drowns out the sunshine with its ferocity. He’s sitting upright on his bed, a stained bandage wrapped around his head and a flustered nurse by his side who seems to have missed her vocation as overzealous talk show host who asks decidedly too many questions.

“Bastien, finally, please tell this woman that it’s perfectly normal for me not to know which weekday it is”, Fuze addresses him and doesn’t even try to hide his annoyance, much like the nurse next to him.

“We have odd working hours”, Buck reassures her. “Which date is it today?”

“25th of May.”

“Anything else you need to know?” The woman merely rolls her eyes and storms out of the room, leaving them alone and allowing Buck to breathe freely again. “Are you alright?”

“Some fucking idiot ran me over and gave me a goddamn concussion, of course I’m not alright”, Fuze spits back and reaches up to his wound, sighs when Buck catches his hand halfway. “I can’t see straight, I’ve got the worst headache of my life and I have absolutely no confidence that you’ll be able to repair the sink even if I gave you detailed instructions.”

This is when the last of Buck’s worry dissipates, accompanied by a genuine laugh. When he received the call about Fuze being in hospital, his insides twisted and he almost caused another accident on the way here, but seeing the irritated Uzbek and being met with his dry sarcasm is refreshingly heartening. “I’d probably find a way to set the kitchen on fire, you’re right.” They both know he’s more than capable of fixing it but it brings Fuze joy to tinker around in their flat and who is Buck to take this away from him?

They chat for a few more minutes, Fuze outlining how the accident happened and ranting a little more, much to Buck’s delight – he usually suffers in stoic silence, so him opening up and complaining is a good sign Buck welcomes. Still, whenever he expresses worry, Fuze waves him aside as he���s wont to do. Despite how far they’ve come, expression of feelings remains uncomfortable to him. He jokes about how he had to explain that all the dirt on his arms and clothing had nothing to do with how far he flew but rather a broken sink and Buck only narrowly resists running his fingertips over the still stained, pronounced muscles.

Eventually, he promises to dip back home to fetch a few things to do as Fuze is required to stay the night and Buck wants to ensure he doesn’t start dismantling the various devices in the room, as well as spare clothing and toiletries. He’s about to head out when a hand closes around his wrist and holds him back, even pulls a little.

Cautiously, Buck allows the other man to hug his waist while not moving his head too much, and gingerly cards his fingers through dark hair during the short embrace. Fuze isn’t generally very physically affectionate, but any and all reminders of their own mortality bring out his clingier side. Not that Buck is complaining.

“Thanks”, Fuze murmurs into his shirt and the Canadian is pretty sure it’s not only the spare clothes for which he’s grateful.

Much more relieved and with a secret smile on his lips, he leaves the room and is in the middle of making a mental list of things to bring when he comes across three familiar faces in the hospital’s lobby.

He stops dead in his tracks. The three Russians stare at him.

“… how is he?”, Glaz eventually asks.

Buck isn’t sure yet why they’re looking at him as if he’d insulted their grandmother but feels his pulse quickening nonetheless. Even singularly, they’re intimidating, and together they’re downright terrifying. “He’s alright. Are you going to visit him?”

“That’s why we’re here”, Tachanka’s voice booms, “but we were just told to clear our visit with Shuhrat’s husband.”

Oh. Oh no.

“Well”, says Buck, panicking internally. “A funny mistake to make, isn’t it?”

“Because apparently for right now, only visits by close family members or spouses are allowed”, Kapkan adds without missing a beat, glaring a hole into Buck’s skull, “but his husband is apparently fine.”

Maybe he can run. The exit is behind them, but if he dodges Kapkan, he can -

“Don’t even think about it”, Glaz advises him politely and Buck just accepts his fate.

.

“Las Vegas”, Kapkan repeats, deadpan, apparently still not understanding it the third time whereas Tachanka continues his full-belly laugh which already made him sit down on the floor. By now he’s wheezing and suffering from oxygen deprivation, judging by the colour of his face and the receptionist’s worried glances in their direction. Glaz looks like he’s not sure whether to facepalm or simply leave.

“Yes”, Buck sheepishly confirms for the third time. “You remember that we stayed behind to do some sightseeing for a few days?”

“I can only imagine the fucking sights you saw between his legs”, Tachanka croaks and starts coughing from laughing too much.

“Why in the world would you get married though?”

Glaz’ disbelief does nothing to lessen Buck’s embarrassment. “It seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“How the fuck did you convince him to go through with it?”

“Well, he was going through an intense phase of euphoria and unhindered self-expression.”

“Also, he was piss drunk”, Tachanka translates helpfully and Buck nods with a grimace.

“I’m going to gut you”, Kapkan hisses and alright, it seems the niceties are over now.

“To be fair, I was also piss drunk”, he attempts to defend himself and watches a little helplessly as the murderous glint in the Russian’s eyes does not disappear.

“And this entire time everyone thought you were roommates.” For some reason, Glaz sounds disappointed.

“You’re not wrong. It’s a more… permanent arrangement though.”

“Divorce him.” All eyes land on Kapkan whose stony expression nonetheless betrays his anger. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re doing, you’re not in love, you’re not planning to stay together for the rest of your lives. It was a mistake. Haven’t you thought of the possibility that he’s staying with you out of a sense of duty, and not because he wants to?”

Of course he has, and not only once – but this is a thought which he didn’t allow to penetrate their bubble filled with lazy evenings and rare cuddling and occasional hour-long conversations, a bubble Buck protected with all his might and which now has burst to leave behind… not much, really. Getting his fierce denial rubbed in his face by one of Fuze’s closest friends, by someone who knows him well and understands his motives, is disillusioning, produces a bad taste in his mouth. The thought of having bound Fuze to himself purely through a drunken mistake they made together is uncomfortable. Not an achievement about which he’ll ever brag.

“You’re acting like he doesn’t have a brain of his own”, Tachanka starts berating Kapkan after having gotten up with Glaz’ help, but Buck stops him with a shake of his head.

“No, it’s – I’ll talk this through with him.”

.

He doesn’t talk it through with Fuze. That evening, he takes stock of their odd friendship he hesitates to even call relationship and tries to look at it from an outsider’s viewpoint. They’ve never brought up their spontaneous wedding again, merely drifted towards each other until Fuze moved in as a logical next step, and while they’ve been opening up to each other, there’s no way Fuze would actively want for their marriage to last. It’s a miracle he even let it go this far.

Another irate call from Kapkan convinces him that there’s really only one conclusion to draw, one decision to make, and so with a heavy heart, he makes it.

Fuze returns home two days later, occasionally colliding with a door frame and complaining about the staff which kept him for much longer than necessary, doesn’t mention the perfectly functional sink and immediately starts his ritual of clumsily seducing Buck with a series of thinly-veiled innuendos and pretty obvious gestures. The second time he bends down to pick something up, marvellous contoured backside directed at a highly amused Buck, he nearly faceplants and so Buck drags him to bed once he’s regained his balance. He makes love to him more gently than usual and swallows all the little noises Fuze makes, worships his body as if this was the last time he’d get to do so, and ignores the possibility that it might be. They gaze into each other’s eyes as they come, Fuze biting his own lip with such a reverent expression that Buck is overcome with a sudden surge of emotion prompting him to wrap himself around the Uzbek when they go to sleep and keep him in his bed instead of letting him escape to his own room.

The next day, Buck receives mail.

.

“Much better”, he informs Frost with a distracted smile. “His vision is still a little messed up and he’s voiced his intent to off the guy who hit him several times, but his usual sunny disposition is making a comeback.”

“I’m glad to hear it”, his teammates beams. “You were very worried about him, I could tell.”

“Yeah”, he confirms and tries his best to concentrate on their conversation which is ultimately hopeless. When he left this morning, he placed the papers on the kitchen table, impossible to overlook, but he’s heard nothing from Fuze so far. “He’s – yeah. I’m always worried.”

This earns him a warm smile and for a moment he considers whether Frost knows just how true his words really are and in which emotion they’re rooted. “And he’s back at work already?”

“No, he’s meant to stay at home for at least -” And suddenly, someone slams a stack of papers onto his table, right next to his lunch, nearly giving him a heart attack with the loud, unexpected noise.

“What”, Fuze says and points accusingly at the offending sheets, “the fuck.”

At first Buck doesn’t recognise them because they’re in an extremely sorry state, a corner burnt off, most of them crumpled in some way and potato peels as well as egg shells pieces clinging to the top one wetly as if the stack had spent an undisclosed time in the garbage. It’s not hard to figure out who maltreated the papers this way because Fuze is seething, not to mention that he drove to the base purely to toss them under Buck’s nose. “Let’s talk about this privately, shall we?”, he suggests and gets up to appease the furious Uzbek, knowing how much he hates scenes of any kind – and a half-full canteen certainly is the worst place to discuss the matter at hand.

“No. I’m not signing this. The hell is wrong with you?”

People are looking now. “Listen, it’s for the best and you know it. We didn’t really know what we were doing back then and I don’t want to hold you back in the future. I don’t want there to be a sense of obligation or -”

“No”, Fuze repeats coldly.

Frost isn’t the only one who’s following Buck’s hushed whispers with interest. “Please, be reasonable. It’s insane and the sooner we rectify -”

“There’s only one thing I need to know”, Fuze interrupts him, standing tall, chest puffed up and eyes boring into Buck’s, civilian clothing out of place and the sole focus of everyone’s attention at this point. “I’m bad with words, but I understand actions. I only sleep in my bed because the way you move around at night drives me insane, but if you want me to share your bed, I will. I don’t touch you all the time because just being in the same room with you makes me happy so it’s enough for me, but if you want me to do it more, I will. I don’t talk about how I feel because I’m scared and I don’t want to drive you away, but I trust you, so if you want me to try and do it, I will. But I need to know whether I misunderstood your gestures or not.”

He’s hurt. Buck realises too late that it’s not Fuze’s pride which he wounded but his feelings, his trust. He thought he’d set Fuze free while Fuze interpreted it as being cast away. “It’s not about that”, he begins to explain but Fuze once again doesn’t let him finish.

“Do you want to divorce me?”, the Uzbek asks loudly in case anyone present hasn’t caught on yet.

Buck shakes his head without hesitation. It’s the last thing he wants, if he’s honest.

Rather unceremonially, Fuze grabs his collar and smashes their mouths together, Fuze still with his bandage and in casual clothes, Fuze who tried to destroy the divorce papers in several ways before accepting their reality, Fuze who hates scenes and grand gestures and public displays of any kind, who told Buck to keep their entanglement a secret and convinced him to lie – just kisses him right then and there.

It doesn’t last long but leaves Buck breathless still, gasping for air and possibly more because Fuze rarely initiates their kisses. “Then we’re not getting a fucking divorce, end of topic”, Fuze snarls, “and buy some eggs when work is over, we’re out.” He snatches the stack off the table, turns on his heel and dumps it in the bin on his way out.

Buck’s face is burning hotly and he feels three pairs of eyes glaring daggers into his back. He doesn’t meet any of them.

“What are you waiting for?”, Frost wants to know, not at all looking surprised. “Go after him and apologise.”

The catcall trailing after him as he hurries towards the door behind which Fuze just disappeared does nothing to quell his embarrassment but doesn’t change his resolve either. He really should address a few fundamental topics with Fuze which he’s been avoiding ever since that fateful deployment in Nevada, he supposes, but right now all he wants to do is kiss him until they’re both light-headed.

[philipronans]

go where you breathe free [1/7]

this was meant to be a oneshot for @gxldentrio‘s birthday but as per usual things ran away from me and now i’m in hell. this also isn’t what i originally intended, hence why it’s late so for that i’m sorry! sirius is pretty depressed in this, just in case anyone needs to take care of themselves - i don’t think trigger warnings are needed, he’s just very in his own head about it

the first week

Sirius wakes up to the smell of something floral wafting through the open crack of his bedroom door. He battles, briefly, with the exhaustion pulling at his eyelids, and kicks his legs free of the duvet, pushing it towards the bottom of his bed. It’s hot, even for late May, and although his curtains are drawn tightly across his window he can already feel sweat starting to prickle against the backs of his knees. Sitting up is a task in and of itself; there’s a lethargy settled in the very marrow of him that means it takes him a few attempts before he succeeds.

Finding clean clothes quickly becomes another adventure, hidden amongst everything else on his floor as they are, like flakes of gold buried in the sand. Not that he even needs to get dressed, really - it’s not like James, or Lily for that matter, have never seen him in his underwear before - but there’s a voice in the back of his head whispering with the volume of an earthquake to do it. So, he roots around for a pair of jeans that aren’t obviously stained with anything, and then has to sift through several t-shirts before managing to find one that doesn’t smell like three day old Chinese.

Sirius kicks wearily at the pile - more like mountain, if he’s being honest - closest to him, and sighs. He doesn’t bother promising himself to clean it up later, just turns around so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore, and picks his way over to the mirror in the corner. The Sirius in the reflection is wan, dark circles taking up residence under his eyes, and he prods at them with the pads of his fingers. He flicks idly at the sleep gathered on his eyelashes and then scrapes a hand through his hair to pull it into something resembling a ponytail. It’s been a few days since he last ran a hairbrush through it, and it shows. Pursing his lips, Sirius rolls the hairband from his wrist and double ties it.

Lily is already in the kitchen by the time he wanders in, scratching at the stubble lining his cheek and trying to ignore the way it catches on his fingertips. A huge bouquet of flowers - that he won’t even begin to pretend he knows the names of - lays on the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room. A vase stands at her elbow, filled halfway with water, and she’s got the sachet of flower food in one hand, a pair of extremely large scissors in the other. She doesn’t look at him until the last drop of food lands in the water, but when she does, her smile is brilliant.

“Good morning!” She says, stepping away from the counter so she can drop the packet and the cellophane wrap in the bin.

Sirius watches her for a few moments before the smell of whatever the flowers are gets him to edge a little closer. “Mornin’. Where’s James?”

“Nipped over to Tescos.” She says, letting the lid of the bin clang shut again. Then she shifts a little so she can quickly wash her hands. Lily’s eyes are kind when she glances over her shoulder at him. “You sleep okay? James said you might have trouble because of how sodding hot it is.”

There’s a warmth in his chest that Sirius doesn’t have the words to explain, so he shrugs. He shuffles over to the fridge and doesn’t even bother getting out a glass before taking several long pulls from the carton of orange juice (without pulp, he’s not an animal). “It was… okay.” He says eventually, ignoring the face Lily pulls when he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s been worse.”

There are parts of him that Lily’s missing, that he refuses to let her see no matter how much he trusts her, but just this once she seems to hear what he’s omitting because she’s smiling again. “That’s good.”

It doesn’t take long for Sirius to grow itchy with the way she’s looking at him, so he quickly sets about getting himself breakfast instead. He has no idea what the time actually is, but in his humble opinion, there is no wrong time for a bowl of coco pops. No matter how many times James tries to convince him they’re rank. Sadly, there’s only one box left - the variety pack he’d bought slowly dwindling until all he’s left with a rice krispies. He pulls a face, even as he resigns himself to the fact he’s going to have to get more at some point.

Lily waits until he’s got his head buried in the fridge again, with his bowl tucked against his chest, before saying, “There’s no milk left.” The smile she gives him is mischievous, and he can’t even find it in himself to be annoyed about it.

Sirius would be lying if he said he doesn’t briefly consider using the orange juice instead. Briefly. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Instead he lets the door fall shut with a thud and stares forlornly down at his cereal.

“James should be back soon, I think. He wasn’t going out for much.” Lily offers, and when he lifts his head long enough to look at her, she’s leaning against the edge of the sink with her arms crossed loosely under her chest. Her smile is kind. He tries not to see the pity in it, and ducks his head back down.

Instead of answering her, he moves over to the dining table, footsteps inneringly soft against the floorboards even now. He slumps into the nearest chair, bowl sat in front of him, taunting, and he reaches out to grab a handful. Popping a few into his mouth, Sirius starts chewing hard enough to feel it in his jaw. His eyes are unfocussed, staring aimlessly at the photograph hanging on the opposite wall. None of it gets processed, it’s all just one swirl of colour bleeding into another.

An undetermined amount of time later - although it’s probably only a few minutes, given the meagre dent he’s made in his coco pops - Lily places a tall glass of orange juice at his elbow.

Sirius manages to drag his attention from the wall long enough to meet her eye. “Thanks.” He mutters, voice barely more than a croak.

Lily hovers for a moment, clearly unsure of whether to sit down with him or not. It doesn’t take her long to make her mind up, though, because she leaves him alone - he’s grateful for that, too.

The quiet isn’t… nice, exactly. But it’s peaceful; gives him time to come back to himself. It happens slowly, as it so often does; colours bleeding into each other until they become tangible - things he can reach out and touch if he wants to. For the moment he just focuses on the table, the wood worn smooth from countless days spent just like this one.

The universe is a metronome and Sirius the pendulum, tick tick ticking through his own existence without hope of ever slowing down or stopping. Sometimes he falls out of rhythm, whenever life decides to knock him off kilter, but he always manages to find his way back eventually. Today is no exception, and once he feels present enough in his own head to actually do something, he fiddles with the glass of orange juice for a brief moment before downing half of it in one go.

He takes it with him, dangingling it loosely from his fingertips, when he finally gets up. The bowl gets left behind, but he makes a silent vow to actually eat as soon as James gets home. Their flat isn’t exactly small, especially given they’re in London and the rent is cheap, but there aren’t all that many places he can go other than his room. So when he ends up in the living room, Lily doesn’t so much as blink as she puts her book down and reach for the remote. She doesn’t even seem to notice the magazine that goes careening off the coffee table onto the floor.

Instead she raises an eyebrow at him and gestures with the remote. Her nail varnish is chipped around the edges, jagged electric blue in stark contrast with how pale she is. “Wanna watch something?” One of the wonderful things about Lily, and there are several even if Sirius is loathe to admit it, is that there is never any expectation. He’s free to do, or not, whatever he pleases whenever he wants - it can be overwhelming sometimes, just how free she lets him feel.

For the first time this week he doesn’t feel like he has to escape back to the safety of his bed, so he sets his glass down on one of the free coasters and picks the magazine up as he sinks into the sofa cushions. It’s not a big sofa, by any means, but sometimes it feels like they’re on opposite sides of a very large chasm. Sirius meets her excited little grin with the smallest twitch of his own mouth. Maybe not quite a chasm.

“What did you have in mind?”

-----

They’re only half an hour into their chosen movie when James gets home, but Sirius is barely paying attention anyway. There had been a brief, albeit passionate, debate on the merits of shitty horror versus shitty sci-fi, before they’d settled on a low budget, straight-to-DVD slasher.

The only noise James makes for a few minutes is the rustling of plastic shopping bags - more Bags For Life, from the sounds of it. Just their luck. Sirius finds himself glancing over at Lily when cupboard doors start banging, and he isn’t entirely sure why, even as she sinks further into the cushions.

“I’m too lazy to move.” She says by way of explanation, and it’s enough to get a laugh out of him. It’s rusty, catching in his throat in its desperate bid for freedom, but it makes Lily’s eyes soften. Sirius pretends he doesn’t notice, even if there is a heat in his cheeks he can’t quite ignore.

Thankfully Lily turns back to face the screen, leaving him time to try and make his body do what it’s told. The murderer lumbers out of the woods just as Sirius manages to push himself to his feet, hatchet swinging from their hand as they hunt down one of the incredibly dumb teenagers that somehow always seem to be the protagonists.

“Want anything?” He asks, because despite everything else that might be said about him, he still has manners.

Lily watches him for several seconds, but just as it starts bordering on too long she shakes her head. “No, thanks.”

Nodding, Sirius snags his glass and then quietly pads out of the room, followed by the sound of the first kid being hacked to death.

There are a lot of things Sirius is ready and willing to brag about being good at, but one of the few things he truly prides himself on is his ability to be very quiet when needed. The noise in his head is so loud, all the time, that he’s always used his own silence as a weapon. Even now, it’s no different, and the way James smacks his head on the open cupboard door is both validating and hilarious. Sirius doesn’t do anything more than snigger as he pads over to the sink so he can rinse his glass out - experience has taught him more than once just how disgusting dried juice is to clean.

“You have got to stop doing that.” James grumbles, rubbing at the vaguely pink mark on his forehead. Sirius has to fight down the urge to wrap his fingers around James’ narrow wrist, something strange coiling in his belly.

He tries not to think about it too hard. “You’re gonna make it worse.” He says instead, rocking back on his heels and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I thought being blind meant everything else was enhanced, anyway?”

“That only works if you abide by regular human physics.” James says, voice nearing on a whine. There’s a glint in his eye that suggests mischief, though, and Sirius feels something in him settle. James shakes his head, roots around in the nearest bag for a moment, and before Sirius gets a chance to see what he’s doing, something sharp hits him in the chest. He has to scrabble to catch it, but when he looks down it’s to see a new variety pack of cereal against his chest. “You’re almost out, right?”

Sirius eyes him curiously for a moment, that same strange feeling settling heavy in his lungs and making his breath painful. It eases as Sirius smiles. “Cheers, mate.”