#left would be okay because they aren’t bothered your absence already

[ccuriousmischieff]

.

[omgreally]

Hot Coffee ☕️ / Joel Miller/F!Reader / 1.5k-2k ish / E18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: This escalated quickly. Angst; Banter; Sexual tension that is most definitely resolved; Consenting adults getting carried away; unprotected sex; smut, little bit of a breeding kink if you squint.

Summary: When is a coffee date not a coffee date? When it’s with Joel Miller, of course. It’s about time both of you got the hint.

—

Joel tries not to think about creature comforts much. The world ended so suddenly that most of them became a thing of the past in a single afternoon. By the time the next day dawned, he forgot about things like Sunday mornings and coffee and watching TV and playing board games; all that mattered was survival.

He often wondered why he bothered. There didn’t seem to be much to live for, after - after Sarah. Tommy kept him going a while, and sheer spite after that; anger at the whole world, anger that manifested itself through the impact of his fists or from the barrel of his gun. Bloody knuckles and the metallic tang of of gunpowder and copper the only taste left in the back of his throat. Things like coffee and pancakes? A thing of the past. Forgotten.

Tess cooled him down some, reminded him of something other than emptiness, but the space between her and Ellie coming along was too narrow, the grief too fresh, so he locked it away. He was pretty sure he’d never be close to someone like that ever again.

It was inevitable, though. Humans always sought out companionship; it was pack instinct more than anything else. At least, that’s what Joel tells himself as you sit across from him, drinking coffee.

He tells himself he isn’t getting comfortable or complacent, because if he let himself think that, then he’d start to think he doesn’t deserve it, and he knows where a thought like that ends. But he can taste something other than blood now, and he’s not sure why, but that scares him - more than his anger does.

Joel lets the silence stretch between you, and you seem comfortable with it. He imagines a time years ago when this would be a date. Now it’s just two humans sharing a space and a time where they don’t have to fight to survive. When he stops to think about it, he realises it feels…nice.

So nice he almost didn’t want to let you in when you came to his door, but you had a bag of coffee beans- real coffee beans - you pilfered on a patrol and you were offering to share them with him, no one else, him - and he’s not sure if it’s because he was the only person you knew who owned a coffee grinder in Jackson or not.

Joel’s not sure he can handle the implications otherwise.

“Finished already?” You raise a brow as he drains his chipped mug and sets it down on the table between you. “Jesus, Miller. You’re gonna be bouncing off the walls for hours. That shit’s Colombian.”

“Thirty-year-old Arabica beans,” he corrects, pointing a finger at you, making you smile. Making you smile is always easier than it should be. Easier with him than with others, he’s noticed. It worries him. “Probably full of more E. coli than caffeine.”

“You fail high school chemistry too?” You tease him often, because the man takes himself too damn seriously. Joel hates that he likes it, and he hates that you can tell.

“Okay, it’s oxidised,” he drawls, “It tastes like shit but it won’t kill me. Happy?”

“Only when you’re miserable,” you say brightly. He scoffs and shakes his head, and the quiet builds between you, its presence suddenly large and uncomfortable in the absence of more coffee. You sigh, and give up. “Ah, never mind. I should get going. Sorry the coffee was shit.”

You stand up and move towards the door. Joel catches your wrist, and you pause. Look down at the man. More greys than when you first met him, but his cheeks aren’t as hollow. Jackson suited him, even though he makes any excuse not to settle down.

Ellie’s happy here, so he doesn’t have a choice.

“Thanks,” Joel says, making eye contact. Your turn to look away. Too serious. “I haven’t had fresh-ground coffee in…” he pauses to think, going back. Too far back. “Ages,” he finishes. His fingers are still on your wrist.

“Well, you were the first person I thought of when I found it. Haven’t had a good supply run like that in ages. But it wasn’t fresh. I think you said something about E. coli?”

“Sorry. You know I-“ He fights for the words when you take his hand. You’ve never done that before. Flirted with him, sure, but you’ve never touched him unsolicited like this. You’ve got more boundaries, more walls up than he does sometimes.

“You remember coffee dates?” You smile at his frown. “You know, some asshole buys you a coffee, expects you to sleep with him after. Happened all the time to the girls I worked with at the bar, back before the world ended. Never to me though. So one day, I brought an asshole a cup of coffee. Know what happened?”

Joel shakes his head, mute. He’s stroking your wrist with his thumb, turned his body towards you. You could just sit right on his knee if you wanted. You could lean down and kiss him.

“We sat and drank coffee for twenty minutes and neither of us said a word.”

Joel lets you go like you’ve bitten him. He wonders if he’s blown it, and he’s surprised to find out he really hopes he hasn’t. You put up a lot but he’s always known it was inevitable he would ruin any chance at friendship - or more - with you by pushing you away. He’s been doing it for weeks, months even, ignoring your hints, responding with taciturn silence, expecting you to figure out it was habit drilled into him by years of only his own loneliness and anger for company.

“I’m sorry,” Joel says, not meeting your eyes. You touch his shoulder and then he looks up.

“Don’t be. Best coffee date I’ve had in ages.”

He tastes like bitter, burnt beans when you kiss him, and you imagine you don’t taste much better. But Joel reacts as if he’s drowning and you’re his only source of air - rising to his feet, his hands on your waist - he kisses you back like he never forgot how.

He didn’t know how much he wanted you until you were about to walk away.

Joel prays to god Ellie’s still out with that girl she likes because if she walked into their house right now she would see her surrogate father figure with his tongue down your throat and his hands in your pants. Your thoughts go down a similar road as you fumble with his belt.

There’s no need for words or what-ifs between you; you don’t need to say anything because you both know it doesn’t matter. All that matters is now, the press of Joel’s mouth and tongue, the solid promise of his body.

Joel touches you at first as if he can’t believe you’re real, that this is happening. But he’s quick to grow bold, hands kneading at your breast, fingers pinching at the peak of your nipple when he finds out it you like it - rewarding him with a gasp. Joel grins that cheeky fucking grin you see on him sometimes, when he thinks you aren’t looking, and suddenly all that matters is the stubborn zipper of his fly, the buttons of your shirt, and your sneakers which you just can’t seem to kick off fast enough before either of you stop to think that this might not be the best idea after all.

Joel can’t remember the last time he had a good idea, but this doesn’t feel like a bad one. Not with the heat of your mouth at his throat, the firm, pliable curves of your body pressed against him. He knew you weren’t the shy type but he almost chokes when you palm the outline of his stiffening dick before you even get his zipper all the way down.

It’s like a spell the two of you are too reluctant to break by speaking. There’s just the combined sound of your breathing, the press of your mouths, the intoxicating buzz of caffeine mixed with arousal so painfully strong it’s like a cramp. You need to fuck Joel right now as much as you need to breathe. He seems to feel the same, if how hard he is is anything to go by.

When you finally free his cock the animal part of Joel’s brain starts snarling and clawing at the walls. He grabs a fistful of your hair and spins you around, bending you forward over the table. You manage to kick one of your sneakers off, your jeans hanging off one leg - he doesn’t even pull your panties down, just drags the soaked fabric aside to make room for him.

Everything up til now has been frenzied. Coffee cups and clothes all over the floor. But when he pushes into you, time slows; and for a moment there’s no apocalypse outside Jackson. There’s just the feeling of Joel feeding your pussy every inch of his cock, slow but steady, as if he already knows you can take it. And you can, and you do, holding your breath as your entire focus narrows to the delicious ache between your legs as Joel stretches you open.

Then you feel his warm, wide palm on your back, long fingers stroking almost soothingly down your spine. He doesn’t speak but you can almost hear the dark molasses of his Texas drawl, lifting the hairs on your neck - Relax. Breathe. So you do, and Joel rewards you by pulling out slow - and thrusting in again quicker, finding a new angle that has the blunt head of his dick striking some nerve inside you that has you seeing stars, and then he does it again. And again.

You want to sob his name and drag claw marks into the table but you just hold onto the edge of it and arch your back, closing your eyes. You haven’t been fucked like this in years - maybe ever - and it feels right that it’s now, that it’s Joel Miller.

Thank God for coffee dates.

Joel’s thighs slap into the back of yours, the table jumping beneath you. You can hear him panting like distant thunder. When your legs start to shake beneath you, he loops an arm around your hips and finds your clit in seconds with two fingertips, as instinctive as pulling a trigger. You know you’re not going to last much longer, and he seems intent on it.

You moan his name then - without meaning to, without your permission - and Joel’s pace stutters. He starts grinding into you, barely pulling out before surging back in again, almost lifting your feet from the floor. You’re so wet you can hear it with each impact but you don’t give a fuck and Joel loves it; the reaction of your body only spurring him on.

All too quickly, you’re quivering on a knife’s edge, straining towards it, and you let go of a sob when you come, and the sudden fluttering, wet clench of your cunt around his cock finally does Joel in.

He knows he shouldn’t but he just needs to be inside you, deep enough to bruise, to replace the taste of coffee with the taste of him in the back of your throat - an instinct he just can’t hold back. He snaps his hips forward one last time, the slick wet heat of you welcoming him home, and his vision goes white as his cock pulses rhythmically inside you, filling you with his come.

You twitch and shiver through it, moaning weakly, encouragingly. You push back against him with the grip of your toes on the floor, murmuring wordless little sounds in time with the aftershocks.

Joel’s knees feel weak when awareness finally returns. He leans over you, breathing hard as if he’s just been running from a pack of Clickers, pressing his forehead against the back of your neck.

You know you should be pissed that Joel Miller just fucking came in you, but, well, you let him - and you liked it. A lot. You wanted him to. In fact, the predominant feeling you have now is one of satisfaction. In more ways than one.

You reach back on instinct to touch his face, as if to reassure yourself he’s still there. Joel flinches - but then you feel his beard, his lips against your fingers, your neck, your temple.

Yeah. He wanted this too. Maybe even needed it, too, as much as he needed the coffee.

“Definitely the best coffee date I’ve ever had,” you croak when you can speak again. And you think you can feel Joel smiling against your neck.

[makoodlesarchive]

bad dragon

here i am delivering content that NO ONE ASKED FOR !! this is nasty and i got super embarrassed just writing it but i hope you enjoy it anyway

honestly no one look at me, just let me indulge in this in peace

pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

word count: 10k

warnings: blowjobs, penetrative sex, virgin kirishima, lots of cum (like, a ridiculous amount), breeding (kinda), size kink?. it’s not exactly anthro bc everyone is human here but uhh non-standard genitals, i guess? kirishima has an unusual dick: pls see here for reference      OR     check out the amazing fanart for kiri’s dick !!

Tip Jar!

  dragon dick kiri masterlist!

                            »»————-　♡　————-««

Kirishima Eijirou was a perfect gentleman. He bought you flowers, he opened doors for you, he gave the sweetest goodnight kisses, he ate you out so good he had you seeing stars. You had the biggest, fattest crush on him, and you would be embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the fact that it seemed, at least for the most part, to be reciprocated.

The problem was Kirishima never let you touch him.

Whenever the two of you ended up in bed together, with the door firmly locked behind you, Kirishima insisted on sliding under the blankets and eating you out so enthusiastically he had your legs shaking in no time. It’s not like you would ever complain about that, but it definitely bothered you that he was never up for doing anything else. You would see the blanket shifting around as he jerked himself off furiously under the sheets as he tongue-fucked you, but whenever you tried to coax him out from beneath the sheets you were turned down with a soft, apologetic little smile.

You figured it must have something to do with his apparent commitment issues. Everytime you brought up the possibility of being a couple, or anything more than what you currently were (which, tragically, was nothing; just two friends occasionally getting hot and heavy) he brushed you off or changed the subject with a beautifully sunny smile and a laugh, so bright and cheery that you were successfully diverted every single time.

And it was fine, really. You liked Kirishima a lot, so you were totally willing to put up with a few odd idiosyncrasies. And okay, sure, if you were being totally honest with yourself, of course you wanted to be more than friends that flirt and kiss and mess around a bit. You couldn’t even technically call each other fuck buddies because he wouldn’t fuck you. But he was so sweet, and so handsome and kind and his tongue was so so good, that you would take whatever you could get from him. 

At least, that was until one afternoon.

April had brought with it blue skies and sun showers and warm breezes, and as the weather begins to improve your friends take to lounging out the front of the apartment complex. After graduating, renting places in the same neighbourhood just seemed like the next logical step. On days like this, where you all come together just to chill out in front of the complex, it seems like the best idea in the world. As you watch Kirishima chase Kaminari around the lawn, the two of them howling with laughter, something a little wistful twists in your stomach. It’s a familiar feeling, easy enough to shove away normally, but today for some reason you just feel… melancholy.

Maybe that’s why you do something you would never normally do. You turn to Bakugou, who’s aggressively chewing on candy as though it insulted his mother, and say, “Hey, um. Does Kirishima… does Kirishima ever talk about me?”

Bakugou’s jaw stills, and he turns his head very slowly to look at you. He looks mildly disbelieving, which is understandable. The two of you get along just fine, but you’ve never asked him anything personal before. “Why the fuck are you asking me that?” he demands through a mouthful of half-chewed toffee.

You shrug jerkily, suddenly mortified. Why are you asking something like that of Bakugou, of all people? “Never mind.” you say quickly, praying that he’ll just let it go and you can both move on and forget that you had ever asked such an embarrassing question.

A silence stretches between the two of you, long and taut, broken only by Mina giggling as she shows Sero something on her phone a few metres away. You could curse yourself for making things awkward between the two of you when you had been on relatively good terms, but then Bakugou turns to look at you so abruptly that you startle a little. “Look,” he says, jaw working absently as he chews his candy. “He likes you just fine, okay. Why aren’t you having this conversation with him, huh?”

You can’t quite meet Bakugou’s eyes. You don’t know how he can be so forthright all the time. “Um. I’ve tried, but he always changes the subject.”

Bakugou swears softly, glaring out across the lawn at Kirishima as he chases Kaminari, throwing grapes at his back. “I ain’t a relationship counsellor, okay? I get that it must be hard that he doesn’t cum when he’s with you or whatever, but you seriously need to work that out with him. What am I meant to do about it?”

“Right,” you wince, your body hot with embarrassment. Your mind sticks on something he just said though, and you turn back slowly to frown at him. “He… he doesn’t cum?”

“Hah?” Bakugou scowls at you, clearly annoyed that you’re still having this conversation. You’re not about to let up though, because you hadn’t known that.

“I-I didn’t realise that he didn’t-?” you trail off, mortified and horrified in equal measures. You had assumed all those times that he was jerking off under the sheets that he was getting himself off but just didn’t want you to see. You had never questioned the lack of mess because as soon as you were done he always left for the bathroom, returning a few minutes later with damp towels to clean you up with -- you had assumed he cleaned himself up in those moments of absence. How the fuck had you never noticed?  Why did Bakugou know when you didn’t? Oh god, had he and Kirishima talked about this?

Bakugou’s expression shifts as he apparently realises that he had just revealed something you hadn’t been aware of. “Oh.” he says, and his annoyance seems to have evaporated, only to be replaced by an intense discomfort. “Well. It’s not that big a deal, or whatever. I’m sure he still, uh, enjoys himself- fucking hell, can we stop talking about this?”

“Yeah.” you say a little numbly. You feel so stupid. Why had he never said anything to you? You had been under the assumption that he liked you back, but maybe you were totally mistaken. Maybe seeing your naked body turned him off to the point that he couldn’t actually cum even if hidden under the sheets and not looking at you. Maybe he never actually wanted to do any of that with you in the first place. There’s a stinging pressure building in the back of your eyes, and you have to look down at your lap and blink hard to stop yourself from doing something stupid like bursting into tears in front of Bakgou -- you don’t think either of you would live that down. “Uh. I think I’m gonna head up to my room, I’m really tired.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened a little, “Wait, are you-”

“I’ll see you later,” you smile and try to keep your voice as normal as possible, but even you can hear how forced you sound. You stand quickly and brush yourself off before heading back inside; you have to consciously slow your pace so that it doesn’t look like you’re running away, because you really don’t put it past Bakugou not to chase you down for cutting him off like that.

You bump into Jirou on the stairs and babble out an apology, escaping back upstairs to your apartment before she can ask you if you’re okay. The last thing you need is an audience for your imminent breakdown, but thankfully you don’t see a single other person on the way to your place. You shut the door to your room tight and lean your forehead against it to take a deep breath. It doesn’t do much to calm you down, so you turn and make a beeline straight for the bed. Throwing yourself dramatically on top of your bed covers feels a little cathartic, so you allow yourself the luxury of being dramatic as you bury your face into your arms and sigh. 

God, you wish Kirishima would have just talked to you instead of grinning that stupidly bright smile of his and changing the subject anytime you tried to talk or ask about the thing the two of you had together. At least then you would have been able to deal with any upset that may have been caused by that conversation by yourself, and you wouldn’t have had to get all upset in front of one of Kirishima’s best friends. God, how were you ever gonna look at Bakugou again?

You know that stewing by yourself like this isn’t going to help sort this situation out, but you just can’t find the energy to start thinking about what you’re going to do next. You don’t want to start thinking about that at all. You just need some time to yourself, just a little while to relax and breathe and just not think because if you start thinking you’re pretty sure you’re going to cry. You feel impossibly stupid.

When you hear a knock coming from the door, you want to bang your head off the wall. You can’t imagine anything worse than having to talk to someone and pretend that everything is fine right now.

“Y/N? Hey, is everything alright? Bakugou said you ran off.”

Aw, shit. Maybe you can imagine something worse.

You sit up sharply, staring at the door. This was so typical. Of all the people in the building, Kirishima is the last person you want to talk to right now. So of course it stands to reason that he would be the one to follow you straight to your apartment. “Everything’s fine,” you call back quickly, trying hard to sound like you meant it, “Hey, I’m just tired right now. Can we talk later?”

“Bakugou said you were upset.”

That traitor. You clench your jaw and scowl at the wall. “I’m-”

“I’m coming in, okay?”

“Wha-?” you stand up quickly, but Kirishima is already coming in and closing the door behind him. “Kirishima, I don’t-”

“Okay look, Bakugou said you were upset with me and I’m really, really sorry,” Kirishima blurts quickly, hands up in the air as if he’s being held at gunpoint, “He’s actually pretty annoyed at me right now, but he’s right, and-”

“I’m not-” you start, then pause to gather your thoughts. Bakugou was right, especially when he said you had to talk. And it was important this time that you didn’t let Kirishima divert you like he had been doing. “It’s not that I’m upset with you. Not really. I just- what are we even doing?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, so softly that it’s almost a whisper.

“I-” you swallow hard, brace yourself, “I really like you. I like spending time with you, and I’ve told you, or at least tried to, that I’d really like to, well, be- um, be more than whatever this is. And obviously I would totally get if you don’t want that, a relationship and stuff, but I want you to just tell me! Just say it, instead of changing the subject.”

“Wait, baby, please.” Kirishima steps forward quickly and stops just short of touching you, a bare few inches between you. “I like you so much, I never wanted you to feel this way. I just- it’s difficult to explain-”

“Do you...” you start to say, then sigh. You can’t believe you’re actually going to ask this, because it makes you sound so desperate, but you really need to hear him say it, “Do you not find me attractive?”

Kirishima makes a startled choking sound, “Wha-? Are you kidding? I find you so attractive! You’re so pretty, and your body is- is really nice, why would you think-”

“You never look at me when we’re in bed and-” you start fidgeting, horribly awkward. “I just want to be able to touch you.”

Kirishima steps forward, closing the distance between you and dropping to one knee. “Baby, I’ll do whatever you want,” he says, his hands coming to rest on your hips as his thumbs stroke circles into your skin. “You want me to touch you?”

“No.” you squeeze your eyes shut in frustration, realising that he had misunderstood. “I mean. Bakugou told me that you never cum when we’re together.”

When you open your eyes again, you see that Kirishima has gone stock still. His mouth is a little open, and you can see his throat working as he seems to fight for something to say. Very slowly, he gets back to his feet. “He shouldn’t have said that.”

You stare at him, at a loss. “Is it because-” you start, then trail off as you realise that you don’t even know what you’re trying to ask. You just want him to start talking so that you can stop asking all these stupid questions. “If you don’t want to have sex with me, you only have to say so, I would never pressure you into-”

“No!” Kirishima blurts, jolting forward. The suddenness of the movement seems to startle the both of you, but Kirishima recovers faster. “God, no, that’s not what this is!”

“Then, why?” you whisper, thoroughly confused. You had hoped that talking it out would help get some answers, but if anything you’re even more confused and insecure than you had been before he came to your room. “Did I- I mean, if I’m doing something that’s-”

“It’s not you.” Kirishima interrupts, covering his eyes with one of his large palms and leaning away from you. His hand is trembling a little, almost imperceptibly. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

The statement hangs in the air between the two of you like it’s a tangible presence. You stare hard at Kirishima, but he doesn’t remove his hand from his face. He looks a bit like he’s going to be sick. “What do you mean?” you ask quietly.

You’re guessing that this is where you get the ‘You’re great and all but I’m just not ready for a relationship. It’s got nothing to do with you though, I need to work through my own stuff’ sort of speech, and you have to brace yourself for it. Instead, Kirishima says something that you had not prepared yourself to hear in the slightest.

“I’m sorry.” you say, a little bewildered. You’re certain that you heard that wrong. “Could you- could you say that again?”

A flush has begun to crawl steadily across Kirishima’s face, made all the more prominent by the contrast of his hand pressed to his eyes. His ears are so red that they blend right into his hair. “I said,” he says, then takes an inhale, “That you’ll break up with me if you see my dick.”

You don’t actually know how to begin replying to that. For one, breaking up would require you to be in a relationship, which is something that he has been avoiding for a while now. You decide to address the bigger problem first. “Why would I want to break up because of your dick? Why would you even think that? Do you think I’m that shallow?”

“It’s got nothing to do with you being shallow,” Kirishima says slowly. You get the impression that he’s measuring his words, and his uncharacteristic reticence has you on edge. “It’s just that- I’m not, well, normal.”

You stare at him, a little taken aback. Kirishima had always had some issues with self-confidence, ever since middle school, but you’d always thought he’d worked through that in UA. You had never heard him talk about himself like this. “What’s that supposed to mean? Eijirou, lots of people are self-conscious about what they have going on downstairs. It doesn’t mean-”

“No, you don’t get it,” he interrupts. His hands have started twisting up the hem of his shirt, wringing it out and wrinkling the material. He’s frowning, and clearly starting to get agitated. “It’s not that I’m self-conscious about it- well, I am self-conscious about it, I guess, but it’s for a reason! I mean it, it’s not exactly… standard.”

Your face scrunches up in a frown before you can stop it. Not standard? “You’re worried it’s too small?” You guess. Your gaze drops to the crotch of his pants, where he’s subconsciously folded his hands. “Too big?”

“Um.” Kirishima lets out a nervous little laugh, several octaves higher than normal. “Yeah, I guess. It’s… it looks weird.”

“Eijirou,” your voice is soft now, most of your frustration melted away by the sight of Kirishima’s anxious fidgeting, “We live in a world where physical mutations are the norm; you really don’t have anything to worry about.” You pause for a moment, but Kirishima doesn’t respond immediately. The silence builds, until you try to break it with a light-hearted, “How weird can it be, really?”

Kirishima’s throat works as he swallows hard, but he’s nodding so you at least know that he’s listening. When he does speak, his voice is so low that you have to lean closer to him to catch what he’s saying. “I just don’t want to ruin this.”

Your heart twists, and the last of your frustration straight up disappears. You take a breath to steady yourself, then step forward and place your hands gently on his chest. A tremor works its way up his spine at your touch, but you don’t remark on it. “Kirishima.” you say firmly, and when he looks up and makes eye contact you try to keep your gaze as strict as possible. “You really have no idea how much I like you, do you? God, I like you so much, it’s stupid. I’ve wanted to be with you for so long. I mean, even if you never wanted to have sex I would understand, so long as you talked to me about it. Your dick is not gonna stop me from liking you, idiot.”

The fear of rejection is still plain to see on Kirishima’s face, but there’s something lurking just underneath that looks like hope. “I’ve never… I’ve never been with anyone like that.”

“You haven’t?” you ask, genuinely surprised. Not only is Kirishima perfectly sweet, he’s also extremely attractive. As an up-and-coming sidekick in Fatgum’s hero agency, you knew that he had no shortage of admirers. Even before that, in UA, you knew there were always people who had their eyes on him. He was so bright, he was hard to miss. 

He laughs, scrubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. “Uh, no. I mean, I’m not totally inexperienced. I mean, I’ve done oral and stuff, and I think I’m actually pretty good at it-”

“You are definitely pretty good at it,” you chime in, nodding and trying not to laugh at the flush crawling up his neck.

“I enjoy it, too!” he says quickly, as though trying to reassure you, “I enjoy it a lot. But I’ve never- I mean, no one’s ever touched me like that.” You feel your mouth drop open in honest shock. A little part of you couldn’t help but feel reassured that it wasn’t you he had a problem with, but that was mostly drowned out by surprise. Kirishima rushes on before you can speak, as though trying to say his piece before he runs out of steam, “It’s not that I didn’t want to, it’s just that it’s never seemed worth the fallout. Especially with you. I’m happy with being with you in whatever way I can, and I don’t want my stupid dick to scare you off or-”

“Oh my god, Kirishima, stop,” you say, and this time you really can’t hold back your laugh. “Your stupid dick isn’t going to scare me off. God, I can’t believe this is why you never let me touch you.” you step closer and press a soft, close-mouthed kiss to his lips. You hadn’t realised just how tense Kirishima was until he relaxed a little into your touch, the stiffness in his shoulders easing out as he sighed into the kiss. You pull back just a little, just enough that you can give him a cheeky smile. “Want me to give you your first blowjob?”

Kirishima’s whole body tenses right back up as his eyes shoot wide in surprise. “What?” he squeaks out, his ears turning scarlet.

You take his hand in yours and tangle your fingers together, before tugging him gently towards the bed. “I want to,” you assure him quietly, “No matter what your dick looks like, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Kirishima says as he sits at the edge of the bed. He’s breathing a little faster now, either from excitement or nerves. You’re guessing it’s a bit of both, because he’s clinging on tight to your hand even though he looks like he’s about to bolt. When you hook your fingers around the waistband of his shorts, he catches one of your wrists with his free hand. “If you- you know, if you change your mind after seeing it, just know that I won’t be mad or anything.”

He’s so quiet and earnest that you feel your heart melt a little looking at his nervously hopeful eyes. You take your hand back and climb onto his lap, pushing your fingers into his wild mop of hair. It’s the first time you’ve ever been close with him like this -- usually he would give you a sweet, gentle kiss and then dive between your legs, always keeping a frustrating amount of distance between your lower halves. This time though, he doesn’t try to divert you away. His hands grip your hips tight, and he leans his head into your touch. “I wish you would stop expecting me to push you away.” you murmur into the side of his neck, peppering little kisses into his skin. Kirishima lets out the smallest, choked off sounding whine at that, and tilts his head so that the long line of his throat is exposed. You take the hint, and start trailing kisses all along the soft skin at the base of his neck. “I told you, and I meant it; I want to be with you.”

Strong arms wind their way around your back and pull you close until you’re sat right over Kirishima’s crotch. You don’t even think it was intentional on Kirishima’s part, but you won’t pass up the opportunity when it presents itself to you. His shorts are bulging a little right in the centre where he’s starting to get hard, and you lower yourself down so that you’re grinding over him. He gasps at the contact, and his hips jerk up into you. “Oh, shit. I want you, so badly.” he gasps, his forehead dropping down to rest on your shoulder.

You have to admit, what you can feel through his shorts is… intimidating. ‘Yeah, I guess,’ he had said when you asked him if he was worried about his dick being too big. Judging by what you could feel pressing against you, that was a massive understatement, and he was only half-hard. You ghost your hands down over his sides, feeling his ribs expand with his breaths, sliding down until your hands reach the waistband of his shorts again. You push them down over his hips, and he lifts himself up to help you, and then he’s just in his impressively tented jockstrap. You smile reassuringly at him as you tug down the jockstrap, and then his cock springs free of the waistband and you pause.

“Oh.” you breathe.

“I know that it’s-” Kirishima begins to visibly panic, his hand reflexively shooting down to try and cover himself as he tries to sit up.

“It’s okay.” you say quickly, recovering from your surprise as quickly as possible. You still feel a little off-kilter as you slide off his lap to your knees in front of him. You know that you’re staring at his cock wide-eyed, but you can’t quite help yourself. It’s… well. It’s definitely not standard.

You reach out, your hand hovering uncertainly over his cock because you barely know how to begin. It’s thicker than a soda can, and long. Delicate ridges and swirls decorate the underside, with a series of bumps along the top. When you finally do grasp him in your hand, you’re rewarded with a barely stifled gasp and a hot spurt of precum that dribbles down his cockhead to your fingers. You use both your hands to explore his length, fingers trailing over all those strange ridges. The bumps along the top are apparently sensitive, because when you rub your thumbs over them Kirishima gasps and his hips thrust gracelessly into the air.

“Sorry!” he blurts as his cock dribbles even more precum. There’s so much of it that it looks like you actually used lube or something to slick up his cock, but you guess that this must be normal for him because he just looks embarrassed. “I- it’s sensitive, I guess, um- I usually put down a towel, because I tend to get, uh, messy.”

The way he says that and the connotations of it has your thighs squeezing together, and you take a deep inhale through your nose. It’s unexpectedly hot. “Gotcha.” you smile at him, trying to put him at ease as you return your attention back to his dick. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind if you make a mess.”

“Oh, shit. Uh, okay.” Kirishima says, and his breathing has gotten noticeably heavier now. He’s almost panting as he leans back on his elbows, craning his neck so he can get a look at what you’re doing. There’s a curious swell around the base of his cock that just seems to be growing. One of your hands travels down to it curiously, splaying over it and then rubbing it at it experimentally. His hips rock forward sharply, a huff of breath leaving him as he grunts a muted, “Fuck!”

The precum is oozing almost continuously now, spilling over with nearly every stroke, and your rubbing at the swollen base seems to be pushing even more out. It’s obscene, the copious amount of it and the way it’s stringing down onto your hands. If this is the amount of precum he produces, you can hardly imagine the amount of cum he’s going to produce. You wonder if ‘messy’ is another understatement.

You finally lean forward and lick an experimental stripe up the underside of his cock, lapping at the ridges and swirls. The moan that’s ripped out of him is needy and so desperate -- his stomach muscles are tensed with the effort he’s putting in to keep from rocking into your mouth, but his cheeks are flushed and his own mouth is lolling open, his eyes squeezed shut. You take that as your cue to take all of him in your mouth as best as you can, suckling at the tip before swallowing him down. You get about halfway before you have to pull back and try again. Your mouth is stretched obscenely wide around the girth of him, and you swear you can feel the weight of his dick pulsing on your tongue.

“Oh god, oh baby, oh Y/N,” Kirishima is babbling nonsensically, his head thrown as his hips make the sweetest little aborted rocking motions, like he wants nothing more than to let go but is trying his best to restrain himself for your sake. “Feels so good.”

You suck him as best as you can, but your jaw is starting to ache from being hinged so wide. You alternate between stroking his length and suckling on the head of his dick, tracing the swirls and squeezing the bottom. The swell at the base of his cock has engorged even further, and you prod at it curiously with one hand as you work his length with the other. It’s firm but oddly spongey, and everytime you poke at it Kirishima’s whole cock twitches.

When he gasps out your name you pull back and look up at him. He’s trembling, his shirt rucked up past his bellybutton and his gaze fixed unwaveringly on you. “You okay?” you ask softly, rubbing your thumb along one of the ridges under the head of his dick.

“Yeah,” he breathes, reaching down to cup your face. His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, and you realise that a string of saliva and precum is dripping down your chin. “But if you keep going I’m gonna cum.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point?” you laugh, and press a kiss right on his slit. His hips twitch and you dodge backwards just in time to avoid him taking your eye out with his hard on. 

“Sorry!” he looks mortified, and you can’t help but find his nervous fumbling absolutely adorable.

“Don’t worry about it.” you smile as you kiss your way down his shaft, prepared now for the intermittent jerking of his hips. You get to that swollen part at the base and place your mouth right at the bottom of his cock, before wrapping your lips around it to the best of your ability and sucking.

You had guessed that this swollen area was sensitive thanks to his reactions earlier, but you’re not quite prepared for the shout he lets out or the way his hand grabs onto the side of your head as he damn near rides your mouth. You’re totally startled by the reaction, but given the amount of times that you’ve done the same to his mouth you’re only too happy to indulge him. Plus, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen Kirishima fall apart like this. His cock is dribbling precum at a rapid rate the more excited he gets, and thick strings of it are pouring onto your cheeks. You think you should probably feel a little grossed out, but seeing Kirishima open-mouthed and panting as he rides your face like he’s hasn’t got a single other thought in his mind has you so turned on that your panties are getting sticky and uncomfortable between your legs. You stick your own hand between your legs to try and relieve yourself of some of the heat coiling up in your stomach, but the way that Kirishima’s rutting into your face throws off your coordination.

“Oh god, please, baby, please, put it back in your mouth, I’m gonna- fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna cum, please-” He begs, his head thrown back as he gasps.

How could you ever deny him when he pleads like that? You pull your head out of his grasp and sink your mouth back down on his cock, and then you just hold there and breathe as steadily as you can as Kirishima’s cock throbs in your mouth. His hips spasm, pushing his cock further into your throat. It almost feels like he’s getting bigger, as if he’s growing down your throat.

Kirishima is still babbling, a steady stream of senselessness about how good you’re making him feel, how beautiful you are, how lucky he is, until he cuts himself off with a gasp of “Baby, I’m- I’m-” and then he’s silent, his mouth hanging open as his whole body strains.

You try to suck him through his orgasm, but you are utterly unprepared for the sheer quantity of cum that erupts from his dick. Despite your intentions, you have no choice but to pull off his cock, choking a little on the cum that actually managed to get up your nose. You stroke him through it, feeling dazed as you watch him cum. You know it’s dripping from your chin, running in rivulets down your face. You wonder if it’s coming out your nose.

Kirishima seems to come forever, humping into your fist and whining and moaning the whole time. When his cock finally gives its last, exhausted spurt, his body falls limp against the bed. He’s gasping for breath and staring at the ceiling, looking like his soul had been ejected from his body along with the insane amount of cum. You notice the swollen part at the base of his cock has deflated almost entirely, to the point that it’s hardly noticeable anymore.

You climb up on the bed beside him and nudge him with your knee, a little concerned. “Eijirou? You good?”

When he looks at you, there’s a goofy smile splitting his face. “I have never been so good in my whole life.” His smile freezes as he catches a proper look at your face, caught between surprise, embarrassment, and something else. He reaches out to your face and swipes his fingers through the mess on your face. “Oh god, I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be!” you hasten to assure him, squeezing his wrists. “It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Kirishima stares at you as though he almost doesn’t believe you, but his cum is painted across your face and dripping down your chest, so he’s not in the best position to argue. “I told you I tend to get messy.” he breathes out a laugh, and then leans forward to kiss you, apparently not caring about the taste of his own ejaculate.

You hum into his mouth, your thighs clenching in excitement. “Eijirou,” you whisper into the kiss. When he pulls back, you bite your lip and smile at him, “Next time, will you fuck me?”

Kirishima inhales sharply, and his grip on your hips tightens to the point that the pressure is near bruising. “You really want that?”

“God, yes.” you blurt, shifting so that you’re straddling his stomach. You lower yourself down so that you’re grinding against his bare skin, and you can see the exact moment that he realises you’ve soaked through your panties.

He groans, and pulls at your hips to encourage you to grind against his stomach harder. “Shit, sweetheart. You don’t think it’s… kind of gross?”

“I didn’t expect the amount of cum,” you confess, wiping at your face with a helpless laugh, “But no, I don’t think it’s gross. I like it.” You whimper as Kirishima’s thumb slides over your swollen clit, the glide made smooth thanks to the slickness of your own arousal.

Kirishima is looking up at you as though you had hung the moon, and it’s hard not to get a little embarrassed under the intensity of his gaze. “Okay,” he whispers, “If you’re sure.” He glances down with a small frown, his lips twisted thoughtfully, “I don’t want to hurt you, though.”

“You won’t.” you kiss his nose, grinning as it wrinkles up under your lips. “We’ll make sure I’m stretched.” you glance over your shoulder at his still wet, softening cock. Even now, the size of it is intimidating. “And lube,” you conclude, “We’ll use lots and lots of lube.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, a smile starting to light up his face. He presses a sloppy kiss to the base of your throat, and you can feel the smile against your skin, “Yeah, okay. I’d really like that.” There’s still cum everywhere, all over your hands and chest and face and splashed across Kirishima’s legs and stomach, but he doesn’t seem to care about the mess in the slightest as he rolls the two of you over so that he’s hovering over you. The kiss he presses to one of your breasts is impossibly soft, and you tilt your head back and sigh as you feel his fingers trace over the lips of your pussy. “I’m so lucky to have you.” he whispers, then pushes himself down your body.

As his tongue flicks over your clit, you smile. It’s definitely you that’s the lucky one here.

_________________________

Kirishima’s complicated relationship with his genitalia had started in middle school. Up until that point, he had managed to remain blissfully unaware that there was any kind of abnormality in his nether regions. That changed one day in the locker rooms.

Having never paid any particular attention to what he had in his pants, Kirishima hadn’t thought anything of changing out with the rest of the boys in his class, as unabashed as any middle-schooler that hadn’t developed a sense of self-consciousness yet. He didn’t notice the whispers or stares until one of his friends nudged him hard. “Dude,” he said, glancing between Kirishima’s legs and then away, curiosity and mild revulsion mingled on his face, “What’s wrong with your thingy?”

“Wrong?” Kirishima had echoed, discomfort beginning to prickle beneath his skin. He hadn’t realised there was anything wrong with his genitals. He covered up quickly and finished getting changed, but the stares lingered.

No one said anything more about it to him, but by the end of the day rumour had spread that Kirishima was weird down there.

He had, like so many boys his age, taken to the internet to do his own research. It felt like a punch to the gut when he realised that his classmates were right -- his dick looked nothing like the dicks that all the guys in the videos he found had. There were exceptions, where the person’s genitals were affected by their quirk, but they were always full-body quirks that made it pretty obvious that what you were gonna find down below would be non-standard. His genitals didn’t match his body or his quirk, so his classmates must be right when they say that he’s weird with those grossed-out little laughs.

He learned pretty quickly to keep that part of him to himself, to change out quickly and efficiently in such a way that no one would ever see the parts of him that he’d rather keep hidden. He welcomes physical contact because he’s still an affectionate guy, but he’s always careful about the distance he allows between himself and others just in case they brush up against him accidentally and somehow feel that he’s different. When the boys in his class start excitedly talking about girls and other boys, and how nice it’d be to have a girlfriend or boyfriend, Kirishima tries to stay out of it. He doesn’t want to wonder about something like that when he knows that if someone were to find out his secret they’d be totally grossed out.

High school comes hand in hand with experimentation though, and Kirishima is lonely and touch-starved. He doesn’t want to avoid touch for the rest of his life out of fear that someone’s going to know. So he allows himself to indulge a little; he’s popular with girls in UA, a fact that surprises him. Unlike the girls in middle school, they haven’t heard the rumours that there’s something wrong with him, so they smile and chat to him and even flirt. It’s exciting and new and he allows himself to have just this -- he kisses them and he makes them feel good, and then he retreats when they look for more because he just can’t give it to them. 

When he tells you all this, you could swear that you feel your heart crack right down the middle. You hadn’t realised how lonely Kirishima was, wrapped up in a self-constructed blanket of self-loathing and disgust. You knew it had taken a lot of trust for him to open up to you like he had, but you hadn’t realised just how much. It makes your chest fill with some undefinable emotion, and you just want to hold him and never let go. 

You’re more determined than ever now to show him exactly how much you care about him, and exactly how much any physical anomaly doesn’t affect the way you feel in the slightest. You’ve been stretching yourself methodically and carefully every night of the week that has passed since you gave him his first blowjob in preparation to finally have sex with him. You just want him to feel good, and you don’t want him to worry about hurting you. And now, tonight, you’ve decided that you’re ready for it.

Bakugou’s the one that answers the door when you knock at their shared apartment, and his face does something funny when he sees you. He lets you in without a greeting, and yells for Kirishima as you shut the door behind you. It’s definitely a little awkward, because your last proper conversation was that day when he told you that your now boyfriend didn’t get off when you were together, but you smile and ask him how he’s doing all the same.

He just grunts at you and sprawls out on the couch, his attention fixed on his phone. You don’t try to make any further conversation, because you figure he probably won’t respond and you can hear Kirishima crashing around further down the hall anyway. You’re about to slip down the hall towards Kirishima’s room when Bakugou speaks again, surprising you. “You talked.”

You pause, confused for half a moment before the memories of your last conversation come flooding back. “Oh. Uh, yeah, we did.” 

Bakugou nods, still staring at his phone. You hover uncertainly, unsure of whether you should continue to Kirishima’s room or if Bakugou had something else he wanted to say. You don’t have to wait long; Bakugou puts his phone down and turns to survey you closely. “If you’re still here, then I guess you didn’t freak out.”

“There’s nothing to freak out over.” you say defensively, thinking of how sensitive Kirishima is about his body.

“I never said there was!” Bakugou snaps back instantly. You both glare at each other, but you don’t respond further. You came here for one reason, and that reason was not to start a fight with Bakugou when your boyfriend was waiting for you in the bedroom. When Bakugou speaks again, it’s with an awkward edge to his voice. “Whatever. Just don’t be an asshole to him.”

You realise that Bakugou is just trying to look out for his friend, and the revelation that you’re receiving Bakugou’s awkward attempt at a shovel talk is enough to have you reeling. “As if I would be,” you say, “I really like him.”

“Good. Fine.” Bakugou picks his phone back up and you take that as a dismissal. You’re just about to leave when he says, “By the way, keep it the fuck down. I don’t care if you’re taking dragon dick or if it’s Shitty Hair’s first time getting his dick wet, I don’t need to hear that nasty shit.”

His crudeness has you flushing hot with embarrassment, but you don’t dignify him with a response. You slip down the hall and up to Kirishima’s bedroom, knocking softly on the door before letting yourself in.

Kirishima is in the process of trying to stuff a pile of clothes into the bottom of his wardrobe, and he slams the door shut and whirls around when he hears you come in. “Hey!” he beams at you, trying to kick aside the pair of underwear that’s stuck in the edge of the wardrobe door.

“Hey, you.” you greet him. You’re still a bit flustered from Bakugou’s comment, but you hide it as best as you can as Kirishima sweeps you up in his arms and pulls you into a sweet, close-mouthed kiss.

In the week since you blew him the first time, the two of you have alternated between your apartments and spent almost every single day together. Some days you just touched each other with your hands, other days you used your mouths on each other. You still hadn’t gotten fully used to his enormous loads of cum, but he seems at least to be getting more and more comfortable with your touch. Even now, his hands trail up your sides as he presses eagerly into you; this boldness would have been unheard of coming from him only a week ago, but neither of you are under any illusions about what the two of you are going to get up to this evening.

You wind your arms around his neck and melt into the kiss, relishing the contact and the wet slide of his lips against yours. As his hands trail from your hips to your lower back to your ass, you feel the hard press of his lower abdomen nudge against you. You pull back and grin at him, “Someone’s impatient.”

Kirishima flushes, but he doesn’t pull away or deny it. Progress. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.” he confesses quietly, reaching up to nudge a flyaway tuft of hair out of your eyes.

“Yeah?” you grin, delighting in his openness. You take a small step back and look down at where his bulge is tenting the front of his sweatpants. “How long have you been like this, baby?”

“Pretty much since you texted me telling me you were thinking of coming over.” he says with a cheeky little smile, nudging his face into your neck and nipping at the skin there. “So, an hour and a half? Give or take.”

You hum as you cup his hardness through the cotton of his joggers. He groans and his hips jerk into your palm, as sensitive as ever. “Hey,” you murmur, “Wanna fuck me?”

Kirishima’s whole body twitches at that, and you swear you can feel his cock jump in his hand. “Now?” he asks, his voice gone a little hoarse from surprise and arousal.

“Unless you’d like to wait?”

“No! Now is good!” Kirishima says hastily, reaching out to hold your hips as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “God, now is so good.”

It’s really hard to hold back your laugh as you watch him scramble towards the bed, tugging you along with him. He’s excited, that much is obvious, and you really can’t blame him -- he’s gone so long thinking that he would never get to have this, that he would never be accepted like this. You want to give him everything.

His hands start fidgeting with the sheets as soon as he sits back on the bed. You straddle his lap and take his hands in yours before leaning in for a kiss, hoping to distract him from any nerves or self-doubts before they can take a hold of him. He hums happily into your mouth, squeezing one of your hands in his and using the other one to wrap around your waist and pull you closer.

“I’ve thought about sex with you so many times,” you admit when you pull away from the kiss. You reach up and stroke a line down the bridge of his nose, then push back a lock of his hair; it’s freshly washed and ungelled, lying fluffy and loose around his face. He’s looking up at you like you just hung the moon, open-mouthed and soft-eyed. It’s such a sweet look on him, and you love watching it contort into pleasure as you sink down to rub yourself against his hard on. “I want you to feel good.”

Kirishima makes a choked off whining sound in his throat as he grinds up into you. “You always make me feel good.” he says. You can feel his cock thickening and filling out against you, and judging by how clearly you can feel him, he’s foregone the usual jockstrap or protective cup he uses to try and hide his shape in his pants. 

You reach down and pull at his sweatpants -- you manage to get one leg off entirely, but the other gets stuck halfway down his left thigh and you’re too impatient to keep pulling at it so you just abandon it in favour of reaching for Kirishima’s now exposed cock. You’ve gotten familiar with the thick ridges and bumps of it over the past week, familiar enough for your fingers to seek out his sensitive spots without even looking.

He moans as you touch him, and dips his hands into your pants so that he can squeeze at your ass. His grip is a little too hard, bordering on painful as he bites at your neck. He pops open the button on your pants and shoves one of his hands into your panties, rubbing at your clit with his thumb and trailing his other fingers along your slit. 

You rub at the bumps along the tip of his cock, and you’re rewarded with a little squirt of precum. It dribbles down your hand and onto the sheets, and you wonder if maybe you should put down some towels to try and keep the mess contained. But Kirishima is letting out the softest little moans as he tries to rut into your hand and rub at your clit at the same time, and you decide that ruining the moment to lay down towels just isn’t worth it. A little mess is a small sacrifice to make.

When his fingers finally dip inside you, you feel his whole body tense up and still. “Baby,” he says, his voice soft and a little stunned, “You..”

“I stretched myself out before I came over,” you finish for him, pushing your hips back so that his fingers sink all the way inside of you. The lube still inside of you makes the slide effortless, and the look on Kirishima’s face is absolutely priceless. “I’m ready when you are.”

Those words elicit another little spurt of precum as Kirishima’s cock twitches in your hand. When you glance down, you see that the base of his dick is engorged and painful looking, and it only seems to be swelling. You only get to look for a moment though, because then you’re being flipped on your back and Kirishima is looming over you. “Oh, baby, oh shit,” he grits out through clenched teeth as his cock rubs up against the back of your thighs. “Are you sure you want to?”

“I want to, I want to so bad,” you promise him, kissing where you can reach on his face. You reach down and grip his cock, guiding it to your entrance, “Go slow, baby.” You’re so excited when you first feel the tip of his cock press into you that you’re not sure if the gush of wetness is from your pussy or his precum. You’re so turned on that you wonder if the amount of lube you had used was overkill, but then the length of him starts to stretch you out and you decide that yes, you absolutely did need that lube.

As soon as the tip is in, Kirishima stills over you. His head drops down, forehead making contact with your shoulder as he groans. You rock your hips experimentally, your breathing gone a little ragged as you realise that you can feel all those fleshy bumps and ridges, but Kirishima snatches at your hips instantly to still you. When he speaks, his voice is strained, “I’m not gonna last.”

Affection bubbles up in your chest as you look at his flushed face, his misty eyes. He’s practically trembling from the effort of holding back. “It’s okay,” you assure him, looping your arms over his shoulders and tracing little patterns into the skin of his back, “You don’t have to, it’s your first time. We have all the time in the world to go again and again, as many times as you want.”

Kirishima makes a garbled little noise in the back of his throat, and then he’s kissing you so sloppily and enthusiastically that drool begins to slip down your chins. It’s a little gross, but considering how much cum you’re going to be covered in soon enough you can’t be too fussy. When he pulls back, it’s so that he can look down and watch where his cock is entering you in increments.

The slow, inexorable stretch of it has your breath catching in your throat. You throw your head back on the bed and focus on keeping your breathing as steady as possible as he presses into you so, so slowly. After exploring the length of him with your mouth and hands, you knew he was big, but apparently knowing and feeling are two completely separate things. You feel like you’re being stretched impossibly wide, and when you glance down you see that he’s not even halfway in. 

Kirishima pauses suddenly, his breathing coming in short pants. You think that he’s just taking a moment to collect himself, to pace himself, but he’s frowning down at where the two of you are connected. “I dont- I don’t think I’ll fit.”

“Oh, you’ll fit.” you declare, jaw set stubbornly. His dick was already partly in you, and like hell were you giving up now. “Don’t worry. Keep going, Eiji.”

“You’re so…” he groans as he edges his hips forward, rocking his cock another inch inside of you, “So tight, you feel so wet and warm inside, oh god, so good, so good.”

The stretch is starting to sting, but you’ve prepared yourself well for this and it’s not so bad that you can’t breathe through it. When he bottoms out inside you, the tip of his cock hits your cervix and your whole body jerks hard at the dull ache it sends up your spine. “Fuck!” you cry out, your hips humping back into Kirishima’s of their own accord. You can feel every damn ridge and swirl grinding against your insides, and you clamp down hard around him, gasping. “Oh, shit.”

You’ve never felt so full in your life, and Kirishima’s cock doesn’t even fit all the way inside you. You wonder if you’re about to split in two. Your thighs are splayed obscenely wide, and you can feel your own body trying to suck him in further but there’s nowhere else to go because he’s filling you up so completely. Your chest is heaving as you pant for breath -- your thoughts have turned a little muddy, but even now you can see that Kirishima has frozen, his face tucked into your neck as he shudders with deep, panting breaths. Your shoulder feels wet, and you realise that he’s drooling on you.

“Eijirou,” you groan, “Move.”

His first thrust is hesitant, exploratory. He apparently likes what he feels, because he lifts his head up so that he can look at you properly. He looks totally blissed out, his eyes a little unfocused, and his expression alone shoots a bolt of heat straight between your legs. You breathe out a curse and move your hips down and into him, trying to encourage him to fuck you properly. When he thrusts forward again, the movement is accompanied by a vulgar squelching sound, and you realise that you’re probably being filled up with his precum. The thought makes you moan quietly, tightening up around him. 

Kirishima grunts and dives down so that your chests are pressed together, his arms pushing your legs up and to the side, and then suddenly he’s fucking into you for real. His moans sound like they’ve come straight out of a porn video as he shoves his cock as deep inside you as possible before pulling out and doing it again. All you can do is gasp against him as the breath is driven straight out of your lungs by his desperate humping.

His movements are nearly feral, jackhammering into you at a pace that probably should feel punishing but instead has you hiccuping out moans on every stroke. The size of him and the speed at which he’s fucking at you is overwhelming in the best possible way. He keeps gasping your name in between moans, his jaw lolling open as he pants for breath. “Oh, baby girl, you feel so good, so good for me. You like this?”

“Yes!” you wheeze, clinging to his shoulders as he rails you into the mattress. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. “Oh god, don’t stop!” You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly, and you practically throw yourself down to meet his thrusts. “Please, I’m gonna cum, make me cum, Eiji!”

Kirishima practically snarls at that, his hand snaking down to your pussy even as he keeps rutting into you. His hand finds your clit and starts stroking at it hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking. “Fuck yes, I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

You know you’re starting to shake apart, his cock and his fingers too much for you. Your body is strung taut, your orgasm so close you can virtually taste it. As he feels you clamp down around him Kirishima lets out a whimpering moan, and with that you’re totally gone, head slamming back on the bed as you let out mindless, breathless little choking moans. It feels like your vision totally wipes out as you convulse in Kirishima’s arms, hips twitching wildly. 

When the euphoria of your orgasm finally subsides, you feel so totally fucked out that you hardly know which way is up. It takes you a moment to become aware of the way Kirishima is humping into you desperately now, hunkering over you and groaning. Feeling his cock slide in and out of your over-sensitive and still twitching pussy is almost too much, and you know you won’t be able to take much more of his relentless pounding. You clench around him as tight as you can and cup his sweaty face in your hands, smiling at the open-mouthed look of pure need he’s giving you. “Are you gonna cum inside me, Eiji?”

Apparently that was the correct thing to say, because you can see the moment that he hurtles completely over the edge. He shoves his cock as deep as he can get inside you and then he’s crying out as he begins to empty himself inside you. He keeps rocking, even though his cock is crammed as far into you as it’s possible to get, and you tremble and gasp as you feel his cum spraying inside you. It feels totally filthy, and there’s so much of it that you can feel it leaking out and down your ass even though Kirishima’s cock is still plugging you up. There’s so much cum that you actually start to wonder if your birth control is going to still be effective. You almost expect it to start coming out of your ears.

It seems like he’s cumming forever, and eventually he has to pull out because you’re just too full. As soon as his gradually softening cock is pulled free, it seems like a veritable bucketload of cum streams out of you and makes a mess of the bedcovers. It’s simultaneously really gross and really, really hot, and you don’t have the energy to unpack that so you just lay back and watch as Kirishima’s cock continues to dribble cum all over his legs and your abdomen. The swollen base of his cock is deflated now, and his dick eventually gives one last twitch and then he’s finished. 

He collapses on top of you, sweaty and soiled with his cum, but you don’t complain as he wraps you up in his arms and kisses your temples, murmuring soft, mindless praise into your hairline. “Are you okay?” he whispers, “Did I hurt you?”

You laugh a little, still winded. Your pussy is feeling achey from being stretched so wide, and you’re definitely going to have trouble walking tomorrow, but it’s the best kind of hurt imaginable. “You did everything just right.” you say, giving him a tired smile. “How was it?”

“If I could stay in your pussy forever, I would.” he says solemnly, the barest hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

You laugh properly at that, and roll over so that you’re lying across his chest. “Yeah? Well, I think you’ve just ruined me for all other cocks in the world. No one's ever gonna compare to how good yours feels.”

With your chin on his chest, you have a clear view of the way he flushes at your words, and the vulnerability that creeps into his expression as he looks at you. “Really?”

“I just came so hard it felt like the world was ending.” you grin at him, then press a teasing kiss to one of his pecs. “Yes, really.”

A smile breaks out on his face, toothy and dorky, as if he can’t believe his luck. “So… Would you want to do it again, maybe? Sometime?”

The smile you return is so wide it feels like it’s about to split your face. “Yeah, Eiji. Without question.”

It’s hard to kiss when you’re both grinning like total idiots, but the two of you make a valiant effort all the same. The ridiculous amount of cum painting the two of you is beginning to dry and flake off your skin, and it's definitely kind of gross but you’re so happy and sated and tired in that moment that you’re pretty sure nothing on earth could ruin the moment for you. Not even Bakugou when he comes pounding at the door and yelling obscenities in the form of noise complaints.

[lavender-scent]

BBRae Week Day Two - Poolside

FF.net - AO3

Jealousy, Jealousy (Started Following Me)

“Azar, have mercy on me,” Raven said to herself as she tried to focus on anyone but Beastboy.

The Titans has found themselves dragged to the public pool by none other than their green teammate. He had been trying to get them here for a week now, always turned down by training or an attack somewhere in the city or something else occupying the titans schedule.

Raven was confused at first by his enthusiasm. They already had a pool on the tower, a huge one at that, and there was no need to go to a public one but once they all arrived there she understood why.

He was there for the girls... and Raven hated it.

Throughout the year, Raven had steadily developed a crush on Beast Boy. One she had been trying to keep a secret although her powers had demanded otherwise.

They have been going out of control lately whenever she's close to him. With all the new emotions she’s been experiencing around him, Beast Boy had noticed when objects exploded near him whenever they were in the same room but Raven always brushed off his concern as a lack of meditation.

He was a fan favorite Titan so of course girls liked him and thought he was cute (She did too but he didn’t need to know that.)

Raven was now dealing with a new emotion she never known before.

Jealousy.

Every time a girl approached Beast Boy her dark magic followed.

She really tried to control it but Beastboy flirting and laughing around pretty normal girls wasn’t helping.

Girls that weren’t her.

She had brought a book with her to distract her from him and keep her occupied but even that wasn’t working.

First she blew up his drink when she saw him flirting with the girl at the poolside bar. When he looked at her in confusion she blamed it on the burning sun.

And so it continued with every other girl that even looked at him.

Every girl he talked to was surprised by a explosion that Raven pretended didn’t happen. The blonde girl that was trying to get on his back to play some stupid game she probably made up herself wasn’t any different.

“I don’t think I’ll make it,” she giggled still nowhere near his shoulders.

“Just hold my hands,” Beast Boy laughed as he tried to help her.

Raven tried to look anywhere but them, but it was hard when they kept shouting and giggling like 5 year old kids. Finally her powers decided to take control.

A flying ball surrounded by black shadow came out of nowhere sending them both into water.

Beast Boy was not happy. She could tell by the look he had fixed on her.

“You got me wet,” he complained when he came out of the pool.

“We’re at the pool, Beast Boy. You’re supposed to get wet.”

“Not with a flying ball sent by your half demon teammate!"

Raven didn’t reply.

“Now what’s your problem?”

“I have no problem.”

“Yeah, that’s why your magic keeps either hitting me or exploding something in my face. Now tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Raven insisted.

Beast Boy knew she was lying. He knew something was up with her powers and he knew it had something to do with him but he couldn’t figure out why her dark magic was suddenly so interested in him. This had never happened before.

Whatever it was, it had to be fixed.

Beast Boy decided to sacrifice what remained of his pool day to help Raven with whatever was going on with her emotions. He was worried about her and he wanted her to be okay.

He tried to get her to swim with him thinking maybe that would help her calm down but she declined.

“What’s wrong Rae? If I didn’t know better I’d say you have a crush on me,” he teased sitting in the lounge chair beside her.

Raven froze, but before she said anything another girl showed up.

“Hey Beast Boy, can you help me put my sunscreen on? My arms aren’t long as yours,” she asked the changeling shyly.

Beast Boy replied grinning, “Of course.”

Raven watched as the girl fixed herself in front of Beast Boy showing him her back.

The brunette girl started giggling the moment Beastboy touched her skin, “I’m a little ticklish, you gotta apply it slow.”

“Okay, I’ll go as slow as I can.”

Beast Boy moved his hands slowly as he was asked but the girl kept giggling anyway.

Raven had seen enough, her powers acting by themselves before she could get a hold on them.

Before Beast Boy got to finish his task, the lounge chair broke and both he and the girl fell to the floor.

Beastboy turned to Raven giving her a glare, “What the hell?”

Raven got up to leave but Beast Boy held her wrist to stop her, “Not this time!”

“Beast Boy, let me go,” she said trying to hide her blush at the sudden contact.

“It’s getting out of control, Raven.”

Their intense stares got cut by the forgotten girl, “What the fuck, freak?”

At that, Beastboy snapped back at her, “Don’t call her that!”

Raven felt the sudden tears that had cropped unbidden almost falling and she didn’t want them to see her like that so she teleported herself back to the tower.

What she didn’t realize was that she had teleported Beast Boy with her. She removed his hand and ran to the hallway but he blocked her way.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“My room.”

“No, I don’t think so. Not after you ruined my pool day.”

“Ruined it? It’s not my fault you’re so invested in my business. No one told you to!”

“Which one of us is invested in the other one? Your magic ruined my every attempt to flirt with any girl!”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t flirt with them!”

Raven realized what she just said and she couldn’t stop the tears falling this time. Did she just admit she was jealous? Her worse fear had come true and Beast Boy knew how she feels now.

Her powers took over her once again and everything around them was either floating in space or exploding.

Beast Boy didn’t know what to do when basically his teammate was breaking down in front of him.

Beast Boy held her arms trying to calm her, “Hey, it’s okay I- I won’t flirt with them, I promise!”

Raven started gaining her control back and the levitating objects stopped moving around. For a moment they both just stared at each other not knowing what the next step is.

Beast Boy was confused and didn’t believe what had just happened. Was she actually mad that he was flirting with other girls?

Neither of them moved as they continued staring into each other’s eyes.

Before either of them said anything, Raven teleported herself to her room, this time without taking Beast Boy with her.

Beast Boy stayed there for long time before he felt his communicator vibrating. Great, now he had to explain what happened to their team.

Beast Boy was sitting in his room later when he heard a soft knock on his door.

He hoped it wasn’t Robin asking for a more detailed explanation on why he and Raven came home earlier than the rest of them but he opened the door to find none other than Raven herself.

She looked like she was trying to stop herself from teleporting back to her room right there and then. “I think I owe you an explanation.”

Beast Boy gave her a nod as she continued, “I know you have noticed my powers acting on themselves lately more than usual and it was because I was experiencing new feelings that I hadn’t full control over and meditation wasn’t much of a help. Today it was more intense because I was jealous.”

“Why were you jealous?” Beast Boy asked.

Raven took a deep breath, she knew he had the right to know especially when her emotions had been effecting him, but it was still hard for her to admit the truth.

“Because I have feelings for you. I have for a while now.”

Raven waited for his reaction. There was none. When he didn't reply she continued.

“I might need time to control these emotions but I promise they won’t bother you anymore,” she finished as she left his room.

He wanted to follow her. Every part of him screamed to, but what would he do after? What would he say to her? All this time she was dealing with her feelings for him and he was too oblivious to even notice.

That’s how it was when he was constantly trying to get her attention by constantly teasing her when she locked herself away. This was her way of getting his.

A week passed since they talked, and Beast Boy was officially losing his mind. When Raven said she'd need some time he didn’t think she meant away from him.

She had been avoiding him wherever he was. The only time she would come out of her room is when he was in his.

He hated this. He was annoyed with her powers before but if that was the only way for them to be close then he didn’t care.

Anything was better than this.

Even though she was very quiet, her absence screamed louder.

Beast Boy wanted nothing more than to have his friend back and that’s how he found himself standing at her door. He opened the door without knocking worrying that she would stop him if he did.

Raven was reading in her bed when he entered. She sat up when she saw him in her room surprised by the action, “What’s wrong, Beast Boy?” It was a testament to how strange she was acting that she didn't even yell at him.

“This, this is what’s wrong! I can’t take it anymore.”

“Beast Boy, you know I have to stay away because of my feelings.” It pained her to bring the subject back up again.

She had been pretending like it didn’t happen the first time for the sake of her sanity. Beast Boy knowing about her feelings was the last thing she wanted but the time she spent away from him helped keep a hold on them for a little.

Beast Boy frowned. “This doesn’t feel like you have feelings for me. IT feels like you hate me.”

“I’m only doing this for you.”

“I don’t want it! I don’t want you hiding in your room from me because you’re worried about your powers.”

“Then what do you want?”

Beast Boy looked conflicted for only a second then: “I want... I want you.”

And without a second thought, Beast Boy’s hands found themselves holding her small face and his lips chased hers. Raven’s eyes widened only a moment before she gave in and kissed him back.

It was a short kiss but it felt like centuries.

Raven was the first to pull away, her eyes fixed on the boy in front her.

Is this real? She wondered. Or have my emotions passed a new level of insanity?

But the smile he gave her was definitely real, “I don’t think your meditation helped much.”

She looked around to find all of her room very different than how it had been before she had closed her eyes.

She cursed her powers. “A new emotion. I just need to adjust.”

He brought her face closer to his, “I think a few more kisses might help.”

And he kissed her again.

nb: this was my first finished fic i hope u guys liked it! and thanks to @oceanspray5 for helping me and always supporting my writing, love u sm <3

my fic for sunny days

also don't forget to check her bbrae week fics coming on day3 and day7!

happy bbrae week everyone <33

(@bbraeweek21 )

[justapoet]

Can it be 43 for Tarlos

It sure can, Anon! I hope you like it! ♡

43. "Being a morning person does make you wierd, but it does not  give you the right to leave without kissing me."

Send me a prompt! | Prompt list

1.6k

read on Ao3

gleaming, twinkling (eyes like sinking)

The first thing people learn about first-responders is just how crazy their work hours can be. Not only the calls, because people find amazingly wild ways to do the simplest of things, but how their agenda bends and breaks to fit in the calendars.

Holidays aren't quite a thing, and forty-eight hours shifts at any moment can fill weekends. Some days go by without an hour of sleep, while others settle in boredom and a weirdly unfamiliar peace around them. It was something they had to learn to get used to as soon as the job begins, even if the frustrations would still remain.

TK knew that it was something he had to deal with, but it was his choice, and it was worth it. He grew up learning his father's crazy schedules and the exhaustion that followed him around, and it had been his choice to do that — to be like his father, to help people —, and he didn't regret it, not a bit.

Until the morning, of course.

The thing is — first-responders, for them to date, really, it took someone who understands the craziness and the problems and the burdens. Someone who didn't mind rescheduling dates and spent sleeping anniversaries, and that some days were just more arduous than others. Someone who wouldn't oppose, who would care enough to be in hospitals and wait for a life or death sentence.

TK pretended he had found that someone in Alex, blinding himself to any and every sign the Universe made sure to give him. He ignored the fights over the time he arrived home — even if they didn't even share one —, and the ones over how he was always too tired to go out with him. TK pretended not to see how Alex hated the interactions he had in the firehouse or the contact he had with his father — and, especially, he always found an excuse to excuse Alex's absence by his bedside at the hospital.

After so many times, it became easier to lie to himself. He would always believe Alex's words, and if not, he would just pretend to.

Pretending. That was it.

And after fooling himself so much over love and caring, it took TK a while, a few months, to get used to what he had found in Austin. In Carlos.

It began when he woke up from his coma after the gunshot, and his father told him that Carlos had spent most of his days after and before shifts beside TK, holding his hand and caressing his hair. Paul told him, too, that the cop had spent his two free days at the hospital as well, even if just sitting in the waiting room, waiting for something to happen.

It freaked him out a little — maybe a little too much. It had never happened before, with any of his boyfriends — and Carlos wasn't even his boyfriend. He was a friend, someone he could surely lean on, but he didn't have to be there with him.

TK understood, now, that it was just who Carlos is. Someone who cares, waits and chooses to have a conversation instead of ghosting someone or storming out on them. Someone who doesn't mind the bad days and understands them — he was a first-responder, too, after all — and always had a kind word to offer.

Someone TK knew he would eventually fall in love with.

And, honestly, he blamed his heart for being a sucker for deep, brown eyes and a smile that could make a butterfly appear out of nowhere in anyone's stomach. On it, and on Carlos' impressive morning disposition on free days — because, for God's sake, how?

TK was used to wake up alone, Carlos never being in bed with him when his biological clock decided he hadn't had enough rest, but he had a life to live. From the first days he had woken up on Carlos' sheets to the ones in which he was tangled in theirs, TK knew he would rarely find his boyfriend asleep beside him.

It was different than it was with Alex, though. He would wake up alone and feel as such, his heart sinking with regret and a feeling that he was only being used — a feeling that he, too, learned to ignore. With Alex, it was a reflex of the emptiness of their relationship, while with Carlos, it was just... Who he was, and he didn't need a visual guarantee that he would walk through the door at any moment.

And it was endearing how the cop would always make them some breakfast or go out for a run, coming back with a different flower every time and offering it to TK. But there was nothing that could beat the days in which Carlos was peacefully asleep, breathing smoothly and smashing his face on his pillows.

TK would stare at him with the most lovestruck look on his face and trace each one of his edges with his fingers. Then, Carlos would wrinkle his nose and wake up slowly, sometimes hiding his face on the pillows and sometimes smiling lazily at his boyfriend.

TK would fall in love every time.

But that wasn't one of those blissful, sweet mornings.

TK could feel the rays of sunshine against his naked skin, the blankets covering only down his waist as he laid on his stomach. The warm Texan breezing over his body denoted how Carlos was already up, for his body wasn't covering his side as it usually was when they fell asleep like that. He groaned, tapping the mattress in a vain search for the warm body that should still be against his, and then let out a disappointed breath. TK rolled over, the covers tangling around his waist and his position diagonal on the bed, his head sinking between his and Carlos' pillows. He took in a deep breath, inhaling Carlos' scent and the morning air that came through the window, and listened to the sounds around the house.

TK had his eyes closed when he heard the bedroom door open again, footsteps approaching the bed, and then the mattress deepening. He knew Carlos was putting his socks on and enjoying the time to look a little bit more at his frame over the bed, but TK didn't move a muscle about it.

When Carlos got up again, and TK could picture him opening the wardrobe to take his bag and gun, he opened one of his eyes to spy on the frame of his boyfriend. He had his uniform on, his curls a bit loose — looking even more beautiful than the day before — and his lips pressed together, something he always did when trying to be silent as if a breath could bother TK enough to wake him up.

TK could only think that each of Carlos' breaths was the lullaby he needed to fall asleep.

The paramedic inhaled deeply, opening his mouth to speak up, his voice hoarse and low but loud enough to be the only thing echoing in the room.

"Being a morning person does make you weird, but it does not give you the right to leave without kissing me," he said, and Carlos, who was concentrated on checking his bag, snapped his head in TK's direction.

Then, his earnest, frowned face melted in a smile that caused TK's stomach to twist in loops and his own eyes to open up slowly. Carlos' muscles seemed to relax, as well, and TK couldn't measure just how much it meant for him the comfort and the trust the two of them shared.

The cop approached the bed, bending down and scooting over TK's body enough for their noses to touch, but his arms holding him up enough so his uniform wouldn't brush the sheets or TK's body. Although it was perfectly cleaned, Carlos had a strange policy over it.

TK waited until Carlos pressed his lips against his, closing his eyes and sinking to the feeling until it lasted too short when Carlos leaned back.

"I wasn't going to," he said, and TK pulled him into another kiss, his hand going to the man's nape and caressing his neck carefully. Carlos smiled briefly, and TK whined when they lost contact again.

"Do you really have to go?" TK asked, looking at Carlos' face and then caressing his cheek with his thumb. Carlos gave him a caring, loving smile, and his hand brushed over the paramedic's waist.

"I'll be covering Collins for just eight hours, babe," Carlos said, his voice low and careful. "Then I'll be back, and we can cuddle for the whole day," he suggested, a smile brightly lighting his face.

TK smiled back and closed his eyes for a second.

"Promise?" he asked, and Carlos nodded, placing a kiss on each of TK's cheek, his chin, and nose, making him laugh. "Hmm... I love these kisses," TK grumbled, and Carlos offered one more over his lips.

"Don't I know it?" the cop asked sweetly, stretching his arm to take another of the covers and put it over TK, who basically purred with the caring act. "Your shift was long. Go back to sleep," Carlos suggest, and TK couldn't agree more than sinking himself on the pillows. "I'll be back soon."

"Okay," TK replied, sighing when his boyfriend pressed a new kiss to his collarbone, over what he knew it was an old scar. "Tell Collins he owes a whole weekend to the both of us," TK said, too, and Carlos laughed again.

"I'm pretty sure he knows, cariño," Carlos said, this time pressing a kiss to TK's forehead and watching while a sleepy, lovestruck smile spread across his face. "Sweet dreams, sweetheart."

And TK would've answered if Carlos' touch hadn't sent him to sleep like a sweet, divine lullaby he had only for himself. Carlos didn't need the answer, though, brightly smiling as he left their bedroom with a light heart and the sweet taste of TK's skin on his lips.

That was another morning worth it waking up for.

[rookie-ramsey]

Across the Universe, Chapter One

Description: All the medical training in the world couldn’t prepare Ethan for a terminal brain cancer diagnosis.

Warning: Major angst and eventual character death ahead.

Preview: “Ethan? What is it?”

Ethan didn’t meet her eyes. When he spoke, she had to lean closer to hear him. “Glioblastoma multiforme.”

The weight of his words almost took her breath away. Her chest tightened as she tried to convince herself she’d heard wrong. “That’s… that’s terminal…”

He was always the first one to wake up.

Ethan awoke before his alarm, to the early rays of sun bathing the room in soft golden light. He stifled a yawn and opened his eyes. His body curled around Olivia’s, his arm draped over the curve of her waist, the same way they’d fallen asleep.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. She’d been living in his apartment for over a month and each morning he still awoke in awe that he got to wake up with the woman he’d been longing for lying next to him.

Ever the heavy sleeper, she remained peacefully oblivious to his gaze fixated on her. Ethan pressed a soft kiss to the back of her head and quietly slipped out of bed. He made his way into the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker. As he started breakfast, he heard the alarm ringing in the bedroom.

A couple minutes later, Olivia shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and wearing Ethan’s shirt from the evening before.

“Morning,” she yawned. She hugged him from behind, squeezing his waist and pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “Something smells good. I assume it’s not pancakes.”

“Hilarious. I made eggs.”

“Not as good as pancakes, but it’ll do,” she teased, helping herself to a serving and taking a seat.

“I suppose it’ll have to. I don’t think pancakes will become a reality anytime soon.” Ethan reached into the cabinet and found the bottle of aspirin.

Olivia frowned when he swallowed a dose with a sip of water. “Is your head bothering you?”

“A little bit, but it’s not serious.”

Unconvinced, she watched him closely. “You wouldn’t be taking anything for it if you weren’t really uncomfortable. That’s the second headache you’ve had this week. They’ve both happened early in the morning, too.”

Ethan leaned down and kissed her. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If I were the one having headaches out of nowhere, you’d be nagging me.”

“That’s… not inaccurate,” Ethan admitted.

Olivia rolled her eyes, but dropped the argument. After breakfast, they dressed and left for work. Hand in hand, they walked into the hospital, crossing the atrium and making their way upstairs.

Ethan fought to suppress a groan when they found Bloom already waiting for them. “How can we help you?”

“I just thought I’d drop in to see how the case is going.”

“As expected. The latest test results ruled out several possible causes. We have another set of tests to run today,” Ethan explained as Baz and Tobias joined them.

“Ah. And is there a chance those can be expedited? Our patient’s willing to pay for faster results.”

Annoyed, Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. “The tests take a few hours. We’re not going to sacrifice quality to save a few minutes.”

“I see. I hope this team keeps solving cases the way you have been, because we have plenty of interest!”

“Fantastic. If you don’t mind, we have work to do,” Ethan dismissed. “Now that we’ve already been sufficiently bothered, let’s discuss the next steps,” he instructed when Bloom left the office.

XXXXXX

At the end of the day, Olivia clocked out and found Ethan in his office. He had his attention buried in their patient’s test results and didn’t seem to notice her entrance.

“Ready to go?”

Ethan looked up from the patient file on his desk. Nodding, he set it aside. “Yes. I’m on the verge of going cross-eyed from paperwork.”

“Sounds like you need a distraction.”

“Are you volunteering?”

“Maybe.” She grinned and winked, earning a low chuckle in response. “Let’s get out of here.”

As Ethan stood up and reached for his jacket, he felt the dull ache from earlier returning to his temples. He winced involuntarily.

The motion didn’t go unnoticed. Olivia frowned. “Another headache?”

Ethan shrugged. “It’s from stress. I can’t help but notice they seem to strike when Bloom meddles in our work.”

She gave him a sharp look.  “It worries me. I think you need to have it checked out.”

Ethan shook his head as he slipped into his jacket. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“Aren’t you the one who always says not to ignore any symptoms, because they could be part of a bigger picture?” Olivia countered, gently poking her finger into his chest.

At her adamance, Ethan smiled wistfully. “I should have known you would learn to use my own advice against me.”

“Yes, you should have. And you should get some scans. Even if the scans are completely normal, it helps us figure out what is or isn’t causing your headaches.”

Ethan arched a brow, mildly amused at the sincerity of her voice. “You sound remarkably like me.”

She smiled softly, but the determination didn’t leave her eyes. “We have state of the art MRI machines. Let me do one for you. Even if it shows up completely normal, it wouldn’t be a waste of time since we’d be able to rule out some causes.”

“I think I’ve created a monster.”

Olivia tried not to laugh. “Yes, you have. But you know I’m right."

There was no sign of her giving up, so Ethan sighed in defeat and nodded. “Fine.”

Satisfied, Olivia leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips. Ethan leaned into it, deepening it for just a moment before she pulled back and flashed a teasing smile that made his heart skip.

“Let’s do your MRI now while nobody’s using the labs. Nobody would ever know. It would be our not so dirty little secret.”

Ethan rolled his eyes but followed her in the direction of the MRI labs. “Now’s as good a time as any. Might as well get it out of the way.” He followed her down the hallway and to the MRI room, empty this time of evening.

When they stepped into the lab, Olivia closed the door. “You know what to do. Take off anything with buttons or zippers, so… strip.”

Ethan stripped down to his underwear. He sat down on the MRI table and leaned back. Olivia took a seat in the observation room and turned on one of the computer monitors. Then she pressed the button to start the scans.

Seconds later, the machine started. Ethan held still as the machine whirred with noise. “Anything?”

“The image is just starting. And… there. Nice and clear. I’ll take a look and-“ When a spot of light caught her eye, Olivia froze. She leaned closer and felt her heart quicken when she saw an illuminated shape on the scan.

Her silence spoke louder than words. Ethan frowned. “What is it?”

Olivia bit her lip, a hard lump forming in her throat. “There’s… there’s a tumor. Near the back of your frontal lobe. It’s close to the base of your skull.”

Ethan fell quiet as he took in her words. He barely contained a sharp breath. “Print the scans. I want to see them.”

Olivia processed the prints and ended the MRI. Once Ethan slipped back into his clothes, she handed him the films. She met his eyes for a brief moment, but he diverted his glance before she could get a read on him.

Ethan pinned the scans to the backlight and stared at them. Sure enough, a spot illuminated. “The shape isn’t particularly distinctive.”

“You’ll need a biopsy to determine what type it is.” Olivia gingerly rested her hand on his arm and hesitated before she spoke. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I’ll schedule a biopsy and work on determining if it’s operable.”

“That’s not what I meant…”

Ethan hesitated, not taking his eyes off of the MRI films. “I know. But there’s no point in getting worked up until we have a definite answer.”

She tried to take reassurance in his words. Letting out a long breath, she focused on everything she’d learned since med school. “There’s a seventy to ninety percent chance it’s benign. Let’s get your biopsy scheduled right away so we don’t waste time.”

“Right.” Ethan nodded tightly. “I’ll find somewhere else to have it done. I don’t want the entire hospital knowing until I know exactly what’s going on.”

“Okay... “ Olivia slipped her hand into his and squeezed. After a moment, he responded, curling his fingers around her hand. She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb and looked up, her eyes locking with his. His gaze remained almost unreadable, but she could just barely detect the worry he tried to mask.

Ethan cleared his throat and removed the films from the illuminator. He slipped them into an envelope and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll make some calls in the morning.”

“Alright.” Taking his hand again, Olivia urged him out of the room. Silence fell between them as they left the hospital. Neither of them spoke until they were settled in Ethan’s car and he pulled out of the parking lot. “Are you okay?”

Ethan nodded. “Like you said, there’s a seventy to ninety percent chance that it’s operable and benign.”

Whether he was trying to convince her or himself, he didn’t know.

XXXXXX

True to his word, Ethan made some calls and arranged for a biopsy two days later. He didn’t want to get people worked up too soon, so he ruled out Edenbrook and Kenmore and scheduled the procedure at Mass General.

He took days off so rarely that he knew Naveen suspected something when he filed for a day off on Friday, but the older man didn’t push him for information.

The procedure went simply enough, the only evidence of it being the small spot on his scalp that had been shaved and sutured. Once he combed his hair over the spot, it was unnoticeable. Nobody questioned his absence and Ethan planned to keep it that way.

Four days after the biopsy, Mass General called him to retrieve his results. Ethan picked them up on his lunch break. He couldn’t bring himself to open the envelope right away. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he didn’t open the envelope until he got back to his office.

Ethan’s hand hesitated over the envelope seal. He groaned and chided himself. Waiting and worrying wouldn’t change a thing, so he sent Olivia a text before he tore open the envelope and read the paper inside.

Reacting to the message the second her phone chimed, Olivia rushed to his office. She closed the door behind her. Immediately something felt off and the color drained from her face when she took in Ethan’s absent expression.

“Ethan? What is it?”

Ethan didn’t meet her eyes. When he spoke, she had to lean closer to hear him. “Glioblastoma multiforme.”

The weight of his words almost took her breath away. Her chest tightened as she tried to convince herself she’d heard wrong. “That’s… that’s terminal…”

Time slowed to a crawl. Neither of them spoke or moved. Olivia’s head spun as she rushed to him and hugged him tight. At first, Ethan didn’t respond.  After several moments, the tension slowly eased from his body and he leaned into her.

“What else do you know?” she whispered. “Maybe it’s early enough that they can get it removed.”

Ethan shook his head almost imperceptibly. “It’s inoperable. Since it’s grown into the brain tissue, complete removal would never be possible. The only option would be a partial removal and treatments that might shrink what’s left.”

The words left his mouth just as he would have recited them to a patient. But they felt peculiar, as if they carried no meaning. Maybe some part of him didn’t think this was real, or maybe he needed time to process, he didn’t know for sure.

“Oh god…” Olivia let out a shaky sigh and took a deep breath. Determination set into her eyes. She tightened her arms around him. “We’ll get you a second opinion. You never know.”

“Anybody else is going to say the same thing.”

“You don’t know,” Olivia repeated. We can ask Harper. She knows this better than anyone in the country. Maybe she’ll know of something else you can do.”

Ethan shook his head. “No. I don’t want to tell anyone else yet.”

“Ethan…”

“I mean it,” he insisted. “Until I know what the next step is, I want this to stay between us.” Uncertainty crept into his eyes, but it vanished as soon as it began. He cupped Olivia’s cheek in his hand and urged her closer, stealing a soft kiss. Ethan leaned into it, taking some comfort in the tenderness of it.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Olivia surrendered reluctantly. She gave him one more kiss as he stood up. Before he could leave the room, she touched his hand. “Promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“You won’t shut me out. I… I know you need time to think about this. It’s… I can’t wrap my mind around it yet, so I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you. Just promise me you’ll talk to me when you��re ready.”

His features softened a little and he nodded. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Olivia waited until he left the room. Then she found the extra set of scans she’d kept, the ones she’d removed his name from. Anxiety gripped her heart as she tucked the envelope under her arm and made her way to Harper’s office.

 Next Chapter

Note: This is a re-write of my series (under the same title) that I originally wrote in 2019 and never finished. I’m deleting the original one. I have my reasons for putting Tobias on the team and keeping Harper in her original job. Stay tuned!

Tags, part 1

@princess-geek / @lapisreviewsstuff / @silverlitskies​ / @paulfwesley​ / @dr-brianna-casey-valentine​ / @junehiratas​ / @choicesstanblog​ / @trappedinfandoms​ / @justanotherrookie​ / @bellcat2010​ / @desmaranj​ / @lion-ess24​ / @nooruleman​ / @caseyvalentineramsey​ / @xee-na​ / @edith-eggs1​ / @oofchoices​ / @schnitzelbutterfingers​ / @tefigranger​ / @jlynn12273​ / @laceandlula​ / @crazy-loca-blog​ / @somegdchoices​ / @briefdreamlanddream​ / @forthebrokenheartedthings​ / @lilyvalentine​ / @parkerattano​ / @drramseysownsme​ / @misswhit12​ / @drethanfreakingramsey​ / @juneiswriting​ / @macy-ray85​ / @swimmingauthordreamerbonk​ / @myusualnerdyself​ / @siaramsey​ / @takemyopenheart​ / @queencarb​ 

[cherienymphe]

Protect & Serve II (Steve Rogers x Reader)

WARNINGS: Cop!Steve, mentions of abuse, gaslighting, STALKING, HARASSMENT, eventual KIDNAPPING/NON-CON

IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DNI

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers​}

summary:  escaping an ugly past, you have no choice but to return home. While much has remained the same, Officer Rogers is a new addition who has won over the hearts of the town in your absence. And no one believes you when you start to see him for who he really is

~

The next day, you took the time to go outside and walk around your house. You stopped below your bedroom window, eyeing the wall and frowning as you looked around. You weren’t getting much sleep, so perhaps Officer Rogers was right. Maybe it could have been an animal…

Your thoughts turned sour as you thought of the blond man.

It was impressive really, how quickly his demeanor had changed in only a matter of hours. You didn’t know the man, at all, so perhaps it was a bit assuming of you to think such a thing, but you couldn’t ignore the evident shift in his behavior. Was he…upset that you’d turned him down?

With a shake of your head, you made your way to your car. As soon as you settled inside, something felt off. You looked around, unsure as to why that was, but something just did. Brushing it off as your own paranoia, you started your car and began your drive to Walmart.

You hadn’t brought much when you moved back, and you found yourself in need of the simplest of things like tape and a hammer…possibly even a machete. You shook your head, determined to swallow your paranoia. You had grown up here. You knew firsthand how safe this town was.

Your shopping excursion didn’t last long, but when you left the store and made your way back to your car, you noted a police officer behind it. You frowned, picking up your pace when you realized that he…was writing you a ticket.

“Excuse me,” you called.

He looked up, and the familiar blue of his eyes gave you pause, but other than that, he was completely unfamiliar to you. His neat brown hair was pushed away from his face, and light stubble decorated his jaw.

“Is this your vehicle?” he asked.

“Yes, it is. What’s going on?”

He didn’t respond, instead beckoning you forward before pointing. You stood beside him and blinked at your busted taillight.

“Normally, I’d give a warning to get it fixed as soon as possible, but the boss has been cracking down lately. Sorry,” he halfheartedly apologized before handing you the slip of paper.

You sighed when you realized that the man who towed your car to your house must have been extremely rough. You called out to the brunette as he turned to leave.

“Um… Look, this isn’t an excuse or anything, I promise, but my car was brought to my house yesterday. The man who brought it was clearly careless with it. I didn’t even notice…”

He sighed, eyeing you.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do. Just pay the fine and get it fixed as soon as possible,” he told you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but you were interrupted.

“Is there a problem officer?”

You turned towards the familiar voice with wide eyes and noticed the teasing grin on his lips as he stared at the other man.

“This man bothering you, ma’am?” he wondered, looking at you.

“Steve, let me do my job,” the cop huffed.

“It’s a broken taillight, Buck. Hardly a danger in this tiny town…”

With a start, you realized that they knew each other. Of course, they would. There were only so many cops in this town, and they all worked at the same station. Steve’s grin, however, told you that they were closer than just the average coworkers though.

“Giving poor women tickets for a taillight isn’t what the boss meant by do better, and you know it,” he said, taking the paper out of your hands before you could protest. “Besides, I’m responsible for it, anyway, so I’ll deal with it.”

Your eyes widened when he ripped up the ticket, but the officer, Buck is what Steve called him, didn’t protest. He merely sighed, tone filled with exasperation.

“It’s your ass,” he threw at Steve before glancing at you. “Sorry to bother you. Have a great day.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said as soon as the other cop was gone.

“Don’t be silly. I am responsible. Can’t let you pay for something so ridiculous,” he said, reaching for you. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

You hesitated with a frown.

“My car is perfectly fine. I can drive home but thank you though.”

Steve eyed you.

“You have a broken taillight. If another cop stops you, you will get a ticket, and I won’t be there to intervene that time,” he responded.

You wanted to tell him that you didn’t ask him to the first time, but you held your tongue.

“Really, Officer Rogers, it’s-.”

“My car is just over here,” he pointed to a sleek black vehicle.

Again, you were reluctant. He’d asked you out, and when you turned him down, it would be stupid to deny the 180 his attitude had taken. You didn’t want to send the wrong message by accepting yet another ride home from him. But unfortunately, he was making some points.

“Look, I’ll get your taillight fixed, and leave the rest to you so that you can make sure no harm comes to your car this time,” he offered.

Again, if you agreed, you didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s appropriate-.”

He cut you off with a laugh.

“I’m not gearing up to ask you out again. Scout’s honor. I just feel bad…”

Your heart clenched, realizing that he was offering out of guilt, and reluctantly, you agreed. He led you towards his car and opened the passenger door for you. He waited until you were settled in, but unfortunately, you were having trouble with the seatbelt.

“Here, it’s tricky…”

You sharply inhaled when he bent down to lean in, reaching over to click it in place. His hand brushed over your stomach when he pulled back, and you blinked, wondering if you read too much into that. He had closed the door and was slipping into the driver’s side in no time.

The ride to your house was silent. There was tension in the air, but you wondered if it was purely your own doing. You didn’t feel comfortable accepting rides from strangers, no matter what their profession was, and a few run ins with Steve didn’t mean anything to you. He was still a stranger.

You quietly thanked him when he pulled into your yard, exiting the car without a backwards glance. You waved him goodbye as you entered your house, but just like last time, he didn’t leave right away. You watched through the window as he sat there for a worrying amount of time. His windows were tinted, so you couldn’t see what he was doing, but you could’ve sworn you felt the heat of his gaze. Eventually, he drove off, and you sighed in relief.

The next night, you were woken up by a noise coming from behind your house. Rousing from sleep, you were convinced you’d imagined it. You had rolled over, determined to go back to sleep, but your eyes flew open when you heard it again.

You sat up in bed with wide eyes, listening for it. A few minutes passed with nothing but silence, but then you heard a noise coming from below your window. Frozen with fear, you listened as the bumping noises traveled around the house. Swallowing that fear down, you threw your covers back and slowly, but surely, descended the stairs.

One of your steps creaked, and you remembered to step over it. You glanced at all of the windows as you stood in the living room, not seeing any shadows through the thin curtains. You heard another noise coming from your left, and you slowly made your way into the kitchen. You didn’t hear anything else and considered going back to bed, telling yourself that it was just some animal.

You aren’t in the city anymore, you had to remind yourself.

However, when you turned your head to the right, towards the kitchen window, you could see a shadow through the curtains. A yelp left your lips, and you stumbled back before hurrying up the stairs. You could hear banging on your front door, now, but you were already dialing 911.

You locked yourself in your room as you waited for the police to arrive. Like before, it took no time to hear the sirens approaching, but this time, you didn’t open your door until you heard your name being called. You shakily exited your house, arms folded over your chest as you came face to face with Steve again…and the officer from earlier.

Steve approached you while you stood on the front porch, and you explained to him what happened. The other man stood by the car, looking around, gaze hard. Steve told you that they’d secure the perimeter of the property. You leaned against your door and waited while they did so.

Frustration bubbled up within you minutes later when Steve shook his head, approaching you. His partner slowly went to stand in between him and the cruiser, eyeing both of you.

“Can you…check again? Please? This is the second time this has happened, and I know I’m not going crazy,” you begged. “They were banging on my door.”

Steve exhaled before he slowly nodded. He made a gesture to the other cop, and you watched as he moved to scope out the property again.

“Bucky’s going to check out the place again. Are you getting enough sleep?” Steve asked you.

Your eyes cut to him, and you frowned, not liking his insinuation.

“Of course. There was someone here,” you told him.

He nodded.

“I want to believe you. You say you saw someone in your yard, and I’ll believe that you did. Its just…”

He looked away with a sigh.

“We don’t get a lot of crime in this town. Nothing more serious than some bored teens stealing some gas, anyway,” he told you.

You did your best to keep your voice even as you narrowed your eyes.

“I know that. I grew up here, Officer Rogers.”

His lips thinned, and he nodded.

“I understand. I’m just saying that it’s unusual.”

“Believe me, I know that its unusual. Hence, why I’m calling you guys because this isn’t okay. Someone is skulking about my yard and making noises and-.”

“It’s all clear,” the other officer, Bucky, said as he glided around the side of the house.

You heaved a heavy sigh at that, placing your hands on your hips as you looked to Steve again.

“So what are my options? What can I do about this?”

His lips parted, and he glanced away, seemingly hesitant to speak. You blinked and let out a scoff, a humorless chuckle escaping you.

“Let me guess… There really isn’t much you can do because, as far as you know, no crime has been committed. Am I correct? I’m not hurt, and no one has been caught on the property, so…until then, your hands are tied,” you recited the words you��ve heard on thousands of crime documentaries.

“Everything you’ve said is correct,” he confirmed.

“So that’s what we do? Wait for someone to break into my house and kill me?”

“I’m just doing my job,” he defended, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“Yeah…I know,” you murmured. “Thanks, anyway.”

You left him on the porch and closed your door just a tad too hard behind you.

Unfortunately for you, the nights that followed went much the same. You’d be roused from sleep sometime in the night, and again, you’d convince yourself it was some animal, but like always, you’d go downstairs. It would take some minutes, but eventually you’d see a silhouette through your curtains, and every time, you’d call 911.

It was always Steve who showed up. Sometimes he was alone, and sometimes he’d have that other officer, Bucky, with him. For some reason, you got the feeling that Bucky didn’t like you. You supposed that you couldn’t blame him. Night after night you called the cops on some perpetrator who they had yet to even see. It was probably frustrating, but you guaranteed it was a thousand times more frustrating for you.

On the 7th night, after walking around the property a total of 3 times, Steve approached you with a sigh. You already knew where this was going before he even opened his mouth, and you rolled your eyes.

“I’m not crazy,” you told him before he could even speak.

“I never said you were,” he responded in that placating tone that was becoming all too familiar to you.

It was starting to wear on your nerves.

“Someone is out here every night. They are messing with me!” you desperately said.

He pursed his lips, taking a step towards you, and you eyed him.

“Look, Y/N… I’ve seen this behavior before, and it isn’t uncommon-.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about victims of abuse.”

Your eyes widened, and your heart dropped to your stomach. You looked at him as if he’d punched you in the gut, and never mind how he knew, but the audacity to throw it in your face so callously. You took a deep breath before you spoke.

“Excuse me?” you gasped, a frown on your face.

He sighed.

“Your body language,” he explained. “I could tell from the first moment I met you. They train us for things like that.”

“I don’t care what they train you for. It’s incredibly rude of you-.”

“This is common with people like you. You’re paranoid, your thoughts get the best of you, you convince yourself of things that aren’t happening…”

Your head started swimming, and you felt like you were going to pass out. How dare he!

“You’re not crazy, just…traumatized, Y/N” he finished.

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him now. God, you wanted to wipe that look off of his pretty face, but he’d probably arrest you.

“Whatever has happened in the past has nothing to do with what’s happening now. Someone is tormenting me every night, and it seems like you won’t take me seriously until I’m dead,” you spat. “…and that’s Ms. Y/L/N to you.”

You turned and slammed the door in his face before he could respond.

You didn’t sleep much that night, too frustrated and angry. Why did he think it was appropriate to throw that in your face like that? It didn’t negate the fact that someone was prowling around your house almost every night, and no one was taking you seriously. You were growing worried, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before this started to affect your daily life too. You couldn’t be dealing with this when school started, and Wanda agreed.

“Have you tried talking to someone?”

You frowned at her.

“What? Like…a therapist?”

She rushed to continue at the look on your face.

“I’m not saying that you’re imagining it. We both know that nothing serious ever happens in this town, but I’m not naïve enough to completely write off any possibility. I just think that if you show that you’re dealing with whatever happened to you, and you have credible support to agree that you aren’t imagining things, maybe Steve and the rest will be more inclined to take this seriously.”

It sounded like a good idea, but you didn’t think it should come to that, and that’s what you told her.

“You’re right, but what else can you do? Eventually, they’re going to stop taking your calls seriously and might even charge you for a false 911 call.”

You groaned.

“God, I bet Officer Rogers is telling everyone at the station what a nut I am,” you whispered, resting your forehead on your hands.

“Steve’s not like that. He’s just concerned. Are you sure you didn’t misinterpret what he said?”

You scoffed.

“There was no misunderstanding about it. He threw my past in my face in the most callous way possible and proceeded to use it as evidence to support his claim that I am simply imagining things.”

“That just…doesn’t sound like Steve,” she hummed.

“Of course, it doesn’t,” you mumbled just as the bell dinged, signaling customers entering the diner.

Wanda looked up, and by the look on her face, you knew who had just come in.

“Welcome in,” she greeted, standing.

Her voice drifted away, and you assumed she was seating them to a table. You closed your eyes and rubbed your temples, mulling over what to do. You were preparing yourself for another sleepless night. You were pulled from your thoughts by the clearing of a throat, and you opened your eyes, gaze connecting with a familiar one.

Steve stood in front of you, sans uniform, and threw you a small smile. His hair wasn’t so neat today, a couple strands kissing his forehead. He was wearing a plain fitted white tee. The last time you saw him out of uniform, he’d had on a leather jacket, and it put your nerves on end to confirm that he was indeed as muscular as you thought.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” he greeted. “Can I steal you away for a moment?”

The hesitation must have been written all over your face, so he continued.

“I wanted to apologize for last night.”

You gave a jerky nod and stood, following him outside. You folded your arms over your chest as you waited for him to speak.

“I shouldn’t have said that last night. It was uncalled for, and while I had the best intentions, it was still wrong. I’m sorry,” he said.

You simply nodded and watched as he darted his tongue out to swipe over his bottom lip.

“…I was correct in my assumption though, wasn’t I?”

“I don’t really think that’s any of your business. Besides, you seemed sure enough in your assumption last night,” you told him.

Steve took a step towards you, and you eyed him.

“I know it isn’t any of my business, but it doesn’t have to be that way…”

Your brows furrowed.

“People in this town, they don’t just see Officer Rogers when they look at me. They see someone they trust…a friend. They confide in me, and I want you to feel comfortable to do the same.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that.

“I do want to help you. I know it may not seem like it, but it’s the truth. I imagine this is quite hard for you,” he continued.

“It is,” you confirmed. “…and that’s why its so frustrating that nothing is being done.”

“I wish I could do more, but my ranking prevents that. If I had it my way, I’d stakeout your house every night,” he confessed.

“You’d do that?” you wondered hopefully.

He took another step towards you.

“I would. My superiors don’t have to know everything I do at night…”

You only took note of his close proximity when you realized you could feel his body heat. You squirmed under his gaze, and he chuckled.

“Unfortunately, I can’t though. If they found out, I’d have no good excuse for being there so late at night. It would be a different story if we were, let’s say, seeing each other, but that isn’t the case…,” he trailed off.

Your heart skipped a beat, and your mind whirled, wondering if you were imagining the implications behind his words, perhaps misinterpreting the way he worded that. You blinked when he took another step closer, eyes gleaming.

“It’s really a shame too, because I know it won’t be long before they hit you with a charge for a false emergency call,” he admitted, and your eyes widened.

He tilted his head at you, a frown on his own face.

“If things were perhaps…different, there’d be a lot more that I could do, but unfortunately for you, they aren’t.”

No.

You weren’t crazy.

The man before you was definitely insinuating what you suspected he was, and your stomach churned. You stumbled back, away from him, heart going haywire in your chest as you ran your eyes over him.

“No…they aren’t. If you’ll excuse me,” you rushed out, jerking the door of the diner open.

You were quick to grab your purse, tensing when you heard him enter behind you. Wanda called out to you, but you were already out of the door, not sparing Steve Rogers a glance.

Days later, you were pushing your grocery cart to your car, glad to have it back. Your taillight was fixed, and you’d been the only one responsible for driving it home. Per your inspection, there was no more damage done to it.

You’d just parked it beside the vehicle, preparing to load your groceries inside when you heard someone calling for you. You didn’t realize they were trying to get your attention at first, after all “ma’am” wasn’t exactly specific. However, when you looked up, your eyes met the grocer who often bagged them for you.

He was holding a bag as he ran towards you, brown hair bouncing, and he panted as he slowed. He held the bag out, nearing you with a smile.

“You forgot this,” he said, short of breath.

“Oh! Thank you,” you told him, taking it from his hand. “I didn’t even notice. Sorry you had to run all the way out here.”

“It’s no problem,” he cheerily told you. “I wanted to anyway. Didn’t want you to miss them.”

You threw him an appreciate smile, and he opened his mouth to say something else when something over your shoulder caught his attention.

“How would May feel about you flirting with customers instead of doing your job?” a familiar voice teased.

You jumped, glancing over your shoulder to find none other than Steve there, in uniform as he leaned against the back of your car, a smile playing on his lips. The kid before you grumbled.

“I wasn’t flirting, Officer Rogers,” he mumbled, face flushed. “I was just returning some groceries she left.”

“Sure,” Steve mocked, making the kid’s face redden more.

You frowned at him, not liking the way he was embarrassing the teen.

“Thank you,” you told him again, throwing him a strained smile, trying to convey how sorry you were for the blond man’s behavior.

He nodded, throwing one last look at Steve before sulking away. You sighed, unlocking your car.

“You didn’t have to embarrass him like that, you know.”

Steve stepped closer, and you threw him a withering look.

“I was only teasing. Peter knows that. Here, let me help you-.”

“I’ve got it,” you interrupted, but he didn’t listen.

You huffed as he loaded your groceries into the backseat. When he was done, he stepped back, and he placed his hand on your waist to move you back while he closed the door, causing your eyes to widen. His fingers trailed from your waist to your stomach when he moved to push the cart away, and you stumbled back. The encounter happened so fast that you wondered if you’d imagined it to be something it wasn’t.

You were still stunned when he made his way back to you, and you made sure you were far away when he opened your door for you. Eyeing him, you tightened your grip on your purse and your keys before shakily sliding into the seat. You went to close the door, but he prevented you from doing so.

Your grip on the door handle tightened as he pressed one hand to the top of the door, stepping closer as he pressed the other to the hood of your car over your head. Goosebumps broke out over your flesh at his close proximity, and as you looked around, you realized that no one would think anything of it. Officer Steve Rogers, ever the helpful gentleman, was simply helping a woman with her groceries and into her car.

You looked away from him, staring through the windshield just as he spoke.

“I see you haven’t called the station in a few days. Does that mean everything’s alright?”

You swallowed.

No. Everything wasn’t alright. In fact, it was the opposite. The noises had never stopped, sometimes even escalating to knocks on your door. That never lasted long though. 5 to 7 minutes at the most, and each night you just had to force yourself to ignore it. What could you do? If you called again, and they found no one there, you’d be charged. Steve had said so himself.

“Yes,” you lied. “Everything’s fine, now.”

He hummed, leaning in, and you darted your eyes to meet his.

“I’m glad to hear that. I thought that maybe you’d heeded my warning. Either way, I’m happy. The last thing I’d want to see is you doing some minor jail time for a false 911 call. That’s a misdemeanor, you know,” he informed you.

You clenched your jaw.

“Yes, I know,” you bit out.

The arm that was above you moved, and paranoid as usual, you jumped, dropping your keys into your lap. Steve reached for them before you could, and your eyes widened, heart dropping to your stomach as his hand slid between your thighs. He was quick in grabbing them, hand grazing along the inside of your thigh just before placing them in your trembling hand.

He wrapped his own hand around yours as he did so, and you looked at him with glassy eyes, somewhat in disbelief of what had just happened. What was currently happening. His blue eyes sparkled as they bore into your frightened ones, and he leaned in.

“I’m glad you’re being smart about this. Believe me, I wish I could do more. I’d love nothing more than to protect you properly…”

His voice was scarily calm, and you attempted to pull your hand out of his grip, but he tightened his hold, the corner of his lips quirking upwards.

“…but the way…circumstances are right now, I can’t. But I am here if you decide to give it any more thought.”

You frowned, lips trembling when he finally let you go. You hugged your hand to your chest as he stepped back, refusing to look at him now.

“Drive safe,” he said, just before closing your door for you.

You immediately locked it, breath shaky and body trembling. You blinked back the tears that had started to collect, and it took you a whole 20 minutes to finally get your bearings and start your car. If you had doubts about Steve’s behavior before, they were long gone now.

~

tags: @harryspet​ @darkficreposter​ @mcudarklibrary​ @readermia​ @sebabestianstan101​ @villanellevi​ @nickyl316h​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @captainchrisstan​ @coconutqueen21​ @briannab1234​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @lou-la-lou​

[cozyenigma]

For You

Not sure how I feel about this one, it took me a While to finish

Pairing- Illinois/ Reader

Word Count- 2,426

Request?- Yes!

Summary- Illinois was lackadaisical with his own safety at the best of times. You knew this. You didn’t know how much worse he got when he had a plan in mind...

Tag List- @cookielover0001010 , @swag-droid , @watchoutforfrostbite​

Dangerous to Illinois was more like a suggestion. He'd read the warnings, sure, but then go on his merry way all the same. Adventuring came as easily as breathing. You were torn between being impressed and concerned at the disregard for his own safety.

"Some century old sticks and stones aren't enough to keep me down, darlin'" he'd said once. "Sweet of you to worry though."

Illinois was impossible.

Sometimes he'd even ham it up a bit, just to be a bastard. He'd duck at the last possible second to avoid a spear sailing over his head. He'd pinwheel his arms and act like he was about to fall off a shaky bridge. One memorable time he'd even let go while climbing a craggy rock wall. You remembered crying out. A broken leg would've been a good outcome if he fell from that height. Then Illinois shot you that same smirk and kept on climbing like it was nothing.

You'd have throttled him ages ago if you hadn't already gone and caught feelings.

"C'mon, it's fine."

No, at this rate you were still gonna throttle him. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"No, this is way too dangerous, even for you. We're lucky to have made it out the first time. I don't know why you're so insistent on this."

Illinois put his hands on his hips. "When did a little bit of danger ever stop you, hmm? It'll be easy. I'll just walk in, walk out. Done and done. I get the treasure and you get to watch the professional at work."

The cavalier tone only made you grit your teeth. "We almost died Illinois! Not in the usual whoo that was exhilarating way either! You can't avoid a cave-in like you can a trap!"

The cavern you two had been exploring wasn't too far off the beaten path. Rumors had been floating around that it was home to a forgotten pirate treasure hoard. Illinois had gotten excited almost immediately. He'd been regaling you with old tales of pirates who'd been in the area when you heard it. A deep, ominous rumbling. It had been all around you; you had felt the vibrations through your feet.

The next instant Illinois was shoving you. Your back was already sore from hitting the ground, Illinois using his body to try and shield yours. Illinois' luck seemed to win out though. The floor had collapsed in a deafening roar, the entire passageway caving in just barely ahead of you. You didn't relax until you were out again.

"But I did," Illinois argued now. "Look, I'll be fine. I know what I'm doing darlin'."

"That's not what I'm worried about." You glanced back towards the cave entrance. The sun barely touched the dark inside. "All it takes is one time."

For a moment, Illinois looked you over, searching your expression. Then he heaved a sigh.

"Okay, alright, fine. We'll... think of something else."

Despite his obvious disappointment you practically slumped over in relief. Traps you could deal with. The thought of an entire cave system collapsing on top of you?

"C'mon," Illinois grabbed his pack, tossing you your own.

Your relief was short lived though. The ride back into town was awkward and quiet. Radio was spotty at best out here so you drove in silence. You kept stealing glances at Illinois. The whole day he was talking up this adventure, wondering aloud what you would find down there. You couldn't remember the time he drove without saying anything at all.

"Sorry," you broke the silence. Illinois glanced over, confused. "About the cave, I mean."

Illinois huffed, shaking his head as he turned to follow the dirt road. "Not your fault."

"Well, I know you were excited about it."

Another glance. "Eh," he shrugged a shoulder. "There's always another adventure. You can't expect everything to work out all the time."

You hummed, watching his fingers tap against the steering wheel. The area had more to offer than just treasure. Maybe you could find something the two of you could do instead with the time you still had left. By the time you got back to the hotel though, you hadn't thought of much. Most of what you passed in the city amounted to tourist traps.

"Why don't you rest up, I'm gonna go grab some things," Illinois said, not even stepping into the room.

"Right now?" You turned, bag still in hand. "I can come along if you want-"

"Just gonna get some supplies," his fingers were drumming against the door frame. "Clear my head a bit."

Alone, he meant. You gave him a tired smile, trying not to think into it too much.

"Don't get into trouble."

The trademark smirk almost compared to his usual ones. "Trouble's part of the package deal, darlin'. I'll be back before you know it."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the hotel room. You sighed. Two or three days left in this city. Not enough time to plan much else or try to find a safer route to the pirate trove. Illinois wasn't much of a tourist but you could find something.

You went through the motions. Ditched your bag and jacket, cleaned up a bit, tended to your scrapes and cuts. By the time you could actually rest over an hour had passed. It wasn't that unusual for Illinois but something in your gut churned.

The sun had started to set already. When you peaked out the window you could see the parking lot cast in oranges and pinks. The truck was gone.

Okay. You figured he probably took a drive. Maybe. The anxious pit in your stomach only deepened as you took out your phone. Illinois' number was at the top. It rang once, twice, three times. You hung up in the middle of his cheesy voicemail message.

You cursed, calling again. He better not have. He wouldn't have, right? That damn cave was a death trap!

Even though you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, time continued to crawl by. One hour turned to two, bordering on three. Your bag was already packed and you were on the phone again. Hopefully you could manage to get another car. It'd take you way too long to try and hoof it. If only he'd pick up the phone! You were sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing your eyes as you waited for the call to go through when the door opened.

Illinois looked like hell.

His hat was gone, hair covered in dust and grime. A cut on his forehead had dribbled a red trail down his face. What your eyes landed on though was his arm. Half the sleeve was gone, wrapped up in a makeshift bandage. He held it close to himself as he opened the door with the other.

"Oh my god," you muttered, phone forgotten as you surged forward.

Illinois barely had time to get a word out before you were pulling him inside. Just grabbing him left a thin layer of dust on your hands. He let you lead him to the bed, sitting down.

"What the hell happened?" You hesitated, stopping just short of touching his arm. "Illinois-"

Despite doing his best to hide it, you could still see the obvious pain he was in. The grin on his face was strained. "Told you that trouble came along with me, didn't I?"

"You went looking for it, you idiot, did you go back to the cave? Did you drive back here like this?" Gently you reached for his hand only for Illinois to stop you with the other.

"Yes and yes," he answered, casual still despite the situation. "Cave-ins run in pairs, apparently."

"You- you-!" You pulled back, taking a breath. When that didn't work you started to pace, Illinois tracking your movements. "You could've been killed! Illinois I thought you agreed not to go back in there? I didn't even know where you were, what if you had gotten trapped in there?"

"I didn't."

"That's not the point!" You stopped in front of him, breathing hard. "You're lucky you just broke your arm. Do you think you're invincible, is that it?"

Illinois sighed, trying to get more comfortable and wincing. "No. Look, I know you're upset-"

"Upset doesn't even begin to cover it."

"I know you're upset," Illinois repeated, good hand up, placating, "but I don't get into situations I don't think I can handle. I made it back. Can't get rid of me that easily."

The teasing did not help. You didn't bother responding. Illinois watched as you shoved your phone into your pocket and grabbed your bag. He blinked up at you as you walked back over to him, hand outstretched.

"Give me the keys," your voice was flat, leaving no room for argument.

"Worried I'm gonna run off again?"

"No, you ass, I'm going to drive you to a hospital because your arm is broken. Keys. Now."

Instead of that, Illinois reached up and grabbed your hand, giving it a squeeze. "Hey, c'mon. This is what I do, sweetheart. I get hurt all the time. It's not a big deal."

You yanked your hand out of his. "I don't know how to get this through your thick skull, Illinois, but I care if you get hurt. This is a big deal to me! Why did you do this?"

For a tense moment, Illinois didn't answer. He wasn't even looking at you, eyes set squarely on the floor. Maybe it was the injuries or just the absence of his hat but he looked so far removed from the adventurer you knew then.

"Would you believe me if I said it was for you?"

Oh, that was it.

Your scoff got his attention. "You are such a bastard about these things. You want to get a reaction out of me? Okay, fine! I love you! Is that what you wanted to hear?! You scared the hell out of me because I thought you weren't coming back!"

Ignoring the stinging in your eyes, ignoring how your hands were so tightly clenched your knuckles burned, you glared poison down at Illinois. The adventurer had frozen. Opened his mouth only to close it again.

"You love me?"

The breathless words didn't do much to quell your anger. You rubbed at your eyes, looking away.

"Yeah, guess I fell for you like everyone else does, huh?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch movement. Illinois had reached behind him and was fumbling around with his bag. From the grimace on his face you guessed it wasn't a comfortable position.

"Illinois-"

"Hang on," he interrupted, finally pulling something out. It caught the light as Illinois held it out to you. In his hand was a thin square of gold and it took you a moment to even recognize that it was a compass. A very old one at that.

"You were right," Illinois said, "not really worth it. Most of the time the treasure pirates took were trade goods. Cloth, cotton, sugar, that kind of thing. Nothing that'd survive the whole buried treasure treatment. Found lots but most of it was just rotten. I'm guessing whoever put it all there planned to come back at some point and never made it."

Carefully, you took the compass out of his hand. It fit neatly in your palm. The compass was mounted into a small gold square, the glass cloudy from time. What you could see through it was dark and yellowed. The needle didn't move. Around the compass were hints of a design. What was surely once intricate work was practically worn completely off by now. When you looked up again, Illinois was studying your face.

"That was the only thing that survived." He leaned back on the mattress, looking as exhausted as he probably felt for the first time. "Guess even your favorite adventurer gets a dud every now and then, huh?"

You ran your fingers across the back of the compass. Swallowed and said, "So when you said it was for me…?"

"I was going to save it for your birthday. Or a better occasion than this anyways. Wanted to make it special." Illinois waved a careless hand. "Of course I thought it would be a bit more impressive than what I found. You deserve more than a tarnished old compass."

The whole reason he went back in there was to get you something. You weren't sure how to feel about that. The anger was still there, of course, but now you just shook your head and pocketed the compass.

"I'm keeping it."

"What?" Illinois lets you help him to his feet, luckily standing steady.

"You're going to get that arm set and I'm keeping the compass," you reached into his back pocket, snagging the keys despite his protests. "Then I'm going to yell at you some more because you're an idiot."

Illinois let out a short, surprised laugh. "You can't bully me, I'm injured!"

"That's exactly why I'm going to bully you."

Carefully, mindful not to jostle his arm, you wrap him up in a side hug. Illinois stiffened. Good arm pinned, he had no other option than to stare down at you. He said your name uncertainly. A question. You took a breath.

"We're going to talk about this later but," you held him a little tighter, "next time you don't have to make it special."

"Next time?"

You nodded. "It'll be perfect no matter what you do. Well, maybe without the broken bones."

When you pulled away, the usual smirk you'd come to expect wasn't there. Instead Illinois was giving you a soft smile. A little tight at the edges with pain but there all the same.

"Well, guess I could take that under advisement."

"Advisement," you rolled your eyes, taking him by the hand and leading him to the door. "Sure."

The new few hours were spent in the hospital. Illinois ended up with a cast, a few stitches, and a new story to tell. He didn't seem that put out by the experience, especially since he caught sight of you messing with the compass in the waiting room. You got payback by drawing on his cast.

In the end that "special moment" wasn't all that special. Illinois didn't even wait for the cast to come off, though he did complain about it plenty. Turned out kissing him in the middle of a rant was very effective.

[rowan-underthehouse]

Shot Glasses and Shadows

Pairing: Castiel/ Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 2,011

Warnings: slight self-harm, mention of blood

Additional Tags: hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, Abandon All Hope Coda, Mentioned Jo Harvelle, grief/ mourning

Summary: Dean struggles with the aftermath of Abandon All Hope. Castiel is there to help.

Read it on Ao3 here

It’s the moments between hunts where Dean starts to lose his balance. When there’s no monster to fight, and the adrenaline pounding through his limbs fades away.

There are things he can do to stop it. He can make dinner runs while he tries to list the name of every song he’s ever put on a mixtape, or blast the radio until the speakers crackle, or sprint until his lungs burn. As long as he keeps moving he can fight it off. But as flames lick the glossy edges of the closest thing to a send-off they can give Jo and Ellen, all Dean can do is root his feet to the ground and watch.

He doesn't walk away from the fire until the photograph is reduced to ash. The crumbling of Jo’s gentle features is almost beautiful here. He wonders if Jo could feel the flames in her last moments. If she still believed her death meant something. If it felt beautiful.

“I’m going to clean up.”

“Dean you don’t-” Sam follows his gaze to the cluster of shot glasses still spread across the table, not finding the right words until his brother is already gone. Sam knows better than to follow.

It shouldn’t take him more than fifteen minutes to finish the kitchen, but Dean’s limbs are heavy with guilt and the half bottle of whiskey he’s already downed. He’d expected it to feel different to be back here. Everything warm and homey and right should have burned up with Ellen and Jo, but Bobby’s kitchen somehow missed the memo. This is still the same place they’d laughed and drank and squeezed out smiles around the dread no amount of alcohol could quite wash away just the night before. It’s Dean who’s out of place. He shouldn’t be here, surrounded by a past already so long gone it aches. It’s going to collapse in on him at any second.

The first shot glass that shatters against the hardwood floor is an honest-to-god accident. Dean lets the second roll out of the crook of his elbow, watching with the closest thing to satisfaction he can muster as broken glass dusts his boots. The third, he smashes into the worn countertop. He feels the blood pooling under his palm before he registers the glass wedged there. It brings a sick, bubbling laugh to the back of his throat.

He’s watching the blood run along the edge of a fourth glass, rolling it over in his palm when a hand appears on his shoulder.

“Dean,” The unmistakable crunching of dress shoes on glass pulls Dean back to reality. “You’re injured.”

Dean tosses the shot glass in his hands into the sink, almost disappointed when it doesn’t shatter. He shrugs Castiel’s hand off his shoulder, doing his damn best to ignore how cold he feels at the tiny loss of contact. Cas has that effect on people. That warm sort of feeling that starts deep in your chest and spreads to your fingertips until it feels like everything might be alright. Sam feels it too, Dean’s sure, but it doesn’t seem to be burning him up from the inside the way it does Dean. The relief he feels when Cas grabs his shoulder again is humiliating. He wipes it clean off his face before Cas can turn him around.

“You’re bleeding, Dean,” there’s more force to it this time. Dean stares expectantly, waiting for the feeling of grace stitching the fibres of his hand together, but nothing comes. Cas’s eyes fall to the floor. “I’m...going to get the first-aid kit.”

“So, what? Not going to mojo me back together? Cas, is there something you want to tell me?” He squares his shoulders, taking a step toward Cas. Of course something’s wrong. Not even an angel of the lord could get that close to Lucifer and come out unscathed.

“Because if something happened, something that we should know about, you better spit it out before it gets someone killed,” Dean closes the distance between him and Cas, staring down with what he hopes reads as more malice than concern and waits. Cas should be snapping back at him or threatening to throw him back to hell or something but he’s just standing there, gaze cast at the floor.

“It’s not important. It won’t affect my ability to help in your fight against the devil,” Dean turns away with a scoff just loud enough for Cas to hear. Somewhere deep beneath two hours worth of whiskey he knows he’s trying to start a fight, but he doesn’t care.

Even turned away, Dean can feel Cas’ gaze burning into his back. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to do something useful?” He nods in the direction of the library where every piece of lore they could find is still strewn out on the desk. The words taste bitter on Dean’s tongue, but if it gets Cas to do something, anything, other than stand there and stare straight into Dean’s soul (Maybe literally. Dean hopes not) it will be worth it.

Dean doesn’t turn around until the footsteps have faded from the kitchen. He drops the remaining shot glasses into the sink and kicks Jo’s chair in as an afterthought on his way out the door.

Sam and Bobby are nowhere to be seen, no doubt already tucked away in their respective rooms trying to figure out how to get through the night. Dean doesn't bother asking how they got Bobby up to his old room now that the sofa has been temporarily dragged back to its place in the library. He suspects Cas had something to do with it.

The fire is little more than embers when Cas comes back around the corner, battered first-aid kit in hand. Dean’s stomach churns. He should apologize.

“Throw another log on.”

Again, Castiel fixes him with that stupid, sympathetic, stare and does as he’s asked.

“You’re grieving.”

Dean almost laughs. “Really, Cas? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You shouldn’t try to stop it. It won’t help,” Cas settles on the sofa and unpacks the kit, examining the contents carefully while he lays them out on the end table.

That old rage bubbles up in Dean's chest again. “So what am I supposed to do, huh? Just sit here and moan about it in the middle of the friggin’ apocalypse? We have work to do, Cas. Stow the Vincent Grey crap.”

“Give me your hand.”

He thinks about arguing. About trying again to stir up some kind of fight just to feel something other than hollow for a few seconds. Angry is easier. Safer. But then, this is Cas. He knows every atom of Dean’s body and can recite his earliest memories like the goddamn pledge of allegiance. There’s no point hiding. He lets some of the tension holding up his body seep back into the floor.

Cas is more gentle than Dean can handle. All calloused hands and careful touches that are anything but clinical. Letting him in is frighteningly easy. It’ll be letting him go when he finally realizes the Winchesters and all their problems aren't worth the effort that will be like pulling stitches.

“They trusted me,” It’s barely a whisper, but Dean’s throat closes around the words. “They trusted me, and I led them to their deaths.”

“You did the best you could. They knew the risks,” There’s a strain in Cas’ voice Dean has never heard before.

Dean’s eyes are burning. He can’t bring himself to meet Cas’ gaze until a thumb swipes across his cheek, brushing away the tears there. For once he finds himself thanking god in all his infinite absence that Cas doesn’t realize the intimacy of the gesture “You did the right thing, Dean. You tried.”

There’s a weight to his words that Dean can’t quite pin down, the teary smile plastered on his face making Dean want to either wrap his arms around Cas or make a break for it. He shoots for somewhere near a more reasonable middle.

“Are you uh…” Dean is struck very suddenly by just how bad he is at this, But he has to try. It’s Cas. “Are you holding out okay?”

“Human grief is different. It’s...heavier”

If tearing down heaven brick by brick could pull that weight off Cas, Dean would do it in a second. It terrifies him how far he’s willing to go.

“Yeah.”

The mess of bandages Cas eventually manages to secure around Dean’s hand isn’t pretty, but it’s a relief. He tosses the bloody glass in a trash bin and dries his now clean hands on an embroidered dish towel that may have been colourful twenty years ago. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

He’s halfway to the door by the time Dean swallows his pride enough to say something. “Cas, wait. Have you - eaten anything? It’s been a long day.”

“I don’t eat.”

Dean spends the longest ten seconds of silence in his life wondering if he could bore a hole through the floor with his eyes to crawl into. This may be the dumbest excuse he’s ever come up with, which is not an easy title to win.

“Are you asking me to stay?”

Maybe it’s the whiskey clouding his mind or the idea of spending the rest of the night drinking his way through whatever’s left of his liver alone that finally snaps a cord in Dean. He sinks back into the couch, exhaustion taking over.

“Please.”

With a creak of old springs and cushions creasing just enough for Dean to slide, Cas is back on the couch, a good few inches closer than the last time. Of course, it doesn't mean anything. Cas is an angel. He can’t understand the way the closeness makes Dean’s heart leap out of his chest. But the way he presses his shoulder against Dean’s is distinctly and undeniably human. He doesn’t want to be alone either.

The next few hours drift by in near silence, broken only by offers of whiskey and the occasional non-committal remark. When Dean’s eyes slip closed, his head lolling against Cas’ shoulder, Cas doesn’t try to wake him.

Once Dean does finally open his eyes, it’s with a pounding headache, and his face pressed against the rough fabric of Cas’ shirt. Through the fog of sleep Dean slowly becomes aware of his limbs tangled with Cas’ where they’ve sprawled across the sofa. He’s a split second away from launching himself onto the floor when he registers Cas’ hand resting loosely against Dean’s back. The slow tide of his breathing. He can’t be asleep but Dean’s never seen him this relaxed. His hair is a disaster where it’s rubbed against the arm of the sofa and his coat is more on the floor than his body. He must be meditating or praying or whatever the hell angels do to recharge their heavenly batteries. It would be rude to interrupt him, Dean reasons, and he’ll be awake again within a few hours. There’s still plenty of time before sunrise. A few hours can’t hurt. In the moment before he’s pulled back to a dreamless sleep, Dean swears he catches the shadow of wings cast against the wall, curled around his body.

…

It’s not unusual for Sam to be awake before his brother. He rolls out of bed some time after sunrise, stumbling toward the kitchen before he’s even finished rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He very nearly walks past the tangle of limbs on the couch before Bobby rolls into the room, gesturing for him to stay quiet.

“They haven’t moved since Cas brought me back down here. Let them rest. They need it.”

And they do.

When Dean finally stumbles into the kitchen, Cas having disappeared mere seconds before he woke up, Sam doesn’t say a word about it, just smiles into his coffee mug. It’s good to see someone keeping Dean steady for once, and if Dean isn't ready to admit it yet, that’s a problem for another day.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 29

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 5.5k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act four ➻ part four

​​​

Silence is like an old friend: always present and there for you even when everyone and everything else left you. You find comfort in the quiet, and as such, you normally wouldn’t find yourself so bothered by the absence of sound. Yet here you are, standing a few feet from Jongho’s bed in a room that is all too cold and all too quiet. Truly, there isn’t much to say, but that doesn’t keep you from wanting to speak up and offer some sort of weak attempt to get him to stay. Before you can, however, San beats you to it. You aren’t sure whether to be grateful or not because the lingering goodbye just hovers on your tongue now.

“Are you truly going to do this, Jongho?”

The Berserker hesitates where he stands near the bed, hands clasped around a small bundle of clothes. For a moment, you think he’s going to ignore San’s question and continue to pack in silence. Then, he offers a shrug.

“Hongjoong didn’t stop me, did he?” You shake your head with a certain fervor to your movements.

“There’s no way he wants you to leave,” you counter. Perhaps it is merely an attempt to cling to that hope, but the Hongjoong you saw in his quarters was a version of him you’ve never seen before. Jongho shifts to look at you, eyes a bit melancholy as he drags his gaze over your face.

“Obviously information is far more important than I am.” He says the words with a bit of a laugh to his tone, though all three of you know that there’s no humor to be found in this situation. Your lips fold into a delicate frown.

“Why is this even an issue? Is there a reason why Hongjoong is so adamant about bringing Mingi to the arena? Why can’t he just stay on the ship while the rest of us go on the mission?” You shake your head a bit as you ask the questions and drop your gaze to the floor. There is no reasonable explanation as to why Hongjoong would behave this way in your mind, no matter how many excuses you try to give in his defense.

“Because Vladimir plays dirty,” San says through a sigh. “He knows that Mingi is on this crew, and he’s been after Mingi for years. Offered countless deals and bargains for Mingi’s head, trying to get Hongjoong to give him up. Hongjoong has always turned down the offers without a second thought, but that doesn’t keep Vladimir from trying time and time again. He wants Mingi. And he is a man who is used to getting what he wants.”

“Do you think that what he’s after?” You inquire, blinking over to where San stands with arms folded neatly over his chest.

“If he has agreed to meet Hongjoong, then yeah. That means he, in the very least, has eyes on the ship. So if he sees every member of the crew leave the ship except for Mingi, his men will ambush and take Mingi by any means necessary. Even if someone stays behind with Mingi, the risk is still there. Thus… Hongjoong would rather risk Mingi having an episode in the arena or take the easy way out and wipe his brain.”

“But why?” It still doesn’t make sense to you, but at this rate, it’s seeming less and less likely that it will ever make sense. “That seems too pricy a cost for such a small risk, along with the assumption that Mingi can’t protect himself.”

“It isn’t about cost,” Jongho cuts in. “Nor is it a failure to believe in Mingi’s capabilities. It’s… deeper than that. Hongjoong always worries about something happening to Mingi when he isn’t there. He thinks it’s risky enough to send Mingi with San and me, but he can’t bring him to Vladimir. That would be the worst of all shitty ass ideas. Do I see the logic in bringing Mingi to the arena? Of course, I do. Having him be off to the side and in one of the wings – that would make it easier to keep him out of Vladimir’s sights. It would help him blend in with the crowd, hide from whatever guards Vladimir will have, more space to run if the need arises. You can’t do that on a ship with only a few exits. Hongjoong is thinking, and he’s thinking hard, yes, but at the same time, he’s being a complete dumbass.”

The steady thrum of silence follows Jongho’s explanation, and you can’t come up with anything to say in response. Neither can San, or so it seems, because he offers a nod but nothing other than that. Then, like a switch being flipped in his brain, he spins to face you with inquisitive eyes.

“You’re the only one here who has actually had the procedure done.” It isn’t spoken like a question, moreso a fact, but you find yourself responding as though it is one nonetheless.

“Yes? As far as I’m aware.”

“Well, that would also make you the only person who knows what it’s like to go through that even if the memories of it are hazy and foggy.” You press your lips tightly together, unable to look San in the eye any longer. The embarrassment of your earlier collapse and partial breakdown is still fresh, and as much as you don’t want to admit it, you also are struggling to get past the harsh memory. “Would you willingly subject another person to that?”

Ah, morality. An equally funny and tricky thing to handle in any situation. Now, it seems even more delicate and fragile, something you have to weigh ever so carefully to keep from saying the wrong thing. What is wrong when it comes to criminals though? Are there different rules to play by, a separate set of guidelines that all should follow to decide what’s best, or does one leave it to fate instead? Let the universe decide how morality should be weighed on the scales of justice?

You’ve never been one to listen to the universe, even when it stands in your path and screams for you to listen.

“Only if they want it,” you start in a whispered tone. “Never against their will obviously but… but if someone were to ask for it and agree to it, then yes.”

“So if Mingi truly wants it, then you would be okay with the method?” San’s question stops you in your tracks. Perhaps you have said the wrong thing or made a mistake in saying what you did — you are well aware of what San’s response would be, so maybe that is why he is so frustrated with yours. San would have you say that it is impermissible under any and all circumstances, even with clearly defined guidelines and consent. His morals make you question your own even though you know where he is coming from. To him, it is all a matter of relations. Having a relationship with a solid foundation means that it is perfectly alright to think that way. Yet using San’s moral guidelines, that would mean that the closer you get to someone, the more you take away from them. Their choice, their thought process, how they decide things, even their own moral standards. Can you truly permit that in good conscience? For once, your answer seems clear.

“Yes,” you relent after a few breaths of hesitation. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“Would you say the same if it were myself or Jongho? Or Seonghwa?” Again, you hesitate – this time longer than before, and you almost neglect to answer the question entirely. You muster up the courage at the last second, however, but you don’t think it’s the response San wants to hear still.

“Again, if it’s what you truly want, then why would it be fair for someone to stop you? Why take away that choice?”

“But Hongjoong is taking away Mingi’s choice now!” Jongho argues, stepping towards you with knitted brows. “He is abusing his power as Captain! He knows that Mingi would do absolutely anything that he told him to do. It’s not free will or a choice if someone only gives you one option.”

“And yet… it’s not all Hongjoong, is it?” San inquires through a delicate frown. “Yunho is the one who brought it up and made it an option in the first place.”

Jongho brings a hand to his hair, carding his fingers through the dark locks sitting atop his head. He drops his gaze to the floor too and refuses to look in San’s direction until he makes it back to where he was packing clothes.

“Yeah, I already ripped into him for that.”

“Do you know why he did it? It doesn’t make sense for Yunho of all people to bring it up. Out of everyone, he’s the one with the strongest moral compass, so why – no, how – how could he do something so immoral?”

“Morals are different for everyone.” Jongho huffs air through his nose and lets the sound fill the air without interruption for several moments. “What’s moral to one person could be wholly immoral to another. Look at how Mingi was raised, how he was taught that the way he thinks is right and that it’s the proper method of thought and morality. Others consider him to be an immoral monster with no concept of right and wrong, but in his own mind, that isn’t how it works. Yunho… Yunho genuinely believes that doing this is truly the only option. We’ve never seen eye to eye on Mingi’s condition, of course, but – or how to help, now that I think about it – but I know I can’t convince Yunho to change his mind. Hongjoong however? I can change his mind for certain.”

“What do y–” The door interrupts you, sliding open before you can complete the question, and you whip to face the source of the sound. San and Jongho move with you, eyes reaching the door before yours do. You almost expect to find Hongjoong standing there just based on the sigh that through Jongho’s lips, but you’re even more surprised to see that it is Seonghwa instead. He pauses midstride upon seeing you, no doubt expecting to find Jongho alone in the room. His mouth hangs slightly open as his eyes dart up to meet yours. The stare lingers too long, continuing to bore into you as he shifts his chin in Jongho’s direction.

“Lieutenant,” Jongho greets. His tone is cold and flat, almost like nothing is different about this situation. You know better than to believe that. Jongho’s next words only solidify that fact. “I suppose that’s the last time I’ll be calling you that.”

It’s like a knife in the chest yet somehow ten times worse. San’s expression visibly twists, and he turns away so that no one sees the extent of his pain.

“Don’t think so negatively, Jongho,” Seonghwa murmurs as he steps further into the room. “Hongjoong doesn’t want you to leave. Why would he ever want that?”

“Then why isn’t he here to tell me that himself?” Jongho snorts out a laugh following the harsh question. “Why is it that good Lieutenant Park always does the dirty work for him?”

“Come now, Jongho. Don’t get bitter now of all times.”

“Oh, fuck off! Let me be bitter! Mingi is the only fucking person on this ship who knows what it’s like to feel the way I feel and suffer the way I suffer. He’s the only person who I think can give me the redemption I need so desperately. He has always been my responsibility and mine alone. I know how to help him, I believe in him, and I put some damn faith in him getting better without any fucking procedures. I can be bitter all I want because Hongjoong is putting zero faith in Mingi.”

“I understand, Jongho.”

In the blink of an eye, Jongho has moved from the edge of the bed to the wall, the only thing between him and the metal being Seonghwa. His hand closes around Seonghwa’s throat while the other draws back as though he’s about to punch the lieutenant.

“You don’t understand shit!”

Seonghwa doesn’t dare to budge, but both you and San snap into action, rushing to grab Jongho and pull him off the other man. Before you have the chance to do anything, Seonghwa lifts his hand and makes a halting motion.

“You can hit me if it’ll make you feel better.”

Jongho’s fist wavers where it is, and he lowers it back down to his side after a moment without doing anything. His hand falls away from Seonghwa’s throat as well, letting the lieutenant breathe easily once more, and he steps away while heaving a deep sigh.

“You shouldn’t take everything for Hongjoong. If I’m gonna hit someone, it’ll be him.” Jongho waves a hand towards the door. “If all you came here to do was be a punching bag for Hongjoong, then you can go.”

“No, actually... that’s not why I came.” Seonghwa pushes himself off the wall, straightening the collar of his turtleneck as best he can. “I don’t want to use the serum, Jongho. I don’t want Mingi to go near the arena at all. Hongjoong and I -- we never came to an agreement about it after everyone left. He merely made the decision as the captain. I tried my best to change his mind, I truly did, but I couldn’t -- I-I don’t understand why I couldn’t.” Seonghwa’s gaze darts to the floor, looking over the patterns along the carpet before pulling back up to look Jongho in the eye. He stretches a hand out and clamps it over Jongho’s shoulder. The Berserker allows the touch, albeit begrudgingly. “I truly don’t want any harm to come to Mingi, but I can’t stop Hongjoong just by talking to him.”

Seonghwa glances past Jongho’s shoulder to stare San in the eye with such intensity to his gaze that you get a chill down your spine.

“The mission tomorrow cannot be successful under any circumstances.”

“Yes, you’re right.” San hums to himself for a moment, then looks off to the side. “The only way to stop Hongjoong from getting his way would be to fail to get the serum. What’s the plan then? We should destroy the serum if we find it, no?” San turns to you now, eyes expectant and waiting for some sort of input on your part, but you genuinely don’t know what he wants you to say.

Instead of saying anything, you shift your chin in the opposite direction and avoid his probing stare.

“What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

“Nothing,” you mutter back quickly.

No matter which way you look at the situation, you can only see it as taking away Mingi’s choice. No one is asking him what he wants, and while you understand the reasoning behind that, you cannot grasp how this is the just thing to do. Whether you give him the serum or not, he won’t have a say in the matter. Where is the line drawn? When it comes to morality, when is it okay to take away someone’s consent and leave them with nothing? Surely when it comes to protecting them, but both these options... both can defend him. What then?

No one presses you for answers, and you’re immensely grateful for that because it allows you to ask your next question with relative ease.

“How are we going to pull this off with Yeosang on the mission? Wouldn’t he tell Hongjoong?”

“Even Yeosang will see reason,” San argues. A sigh passes through Seonghwa’s slightly parted lips.

“I would take Yeosang’s place on the mission, but given my resistance to the plan... that would be suspicious. Hongjoong knows me far too well and would see through it in an instant. He picked Yeosang and San because they follow orders best and do what’s asked of them. And he picked Y/N because she’s the one with the most military experience. Yeosang has experience but… he was a prince, not a soldier. His specialty was out in the field, whereas yours was in teams, working in units, not being at the front of the line. That’s why you’re being put on the team, for that experience.”

“Experience that’s absolutely useless,” you snort, folding your arms over your chest. “I don’t remember what the serum looked like. And no offense, but I sure as hell don’t want to try to remember what it looked like either.”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Seonghwa shakes his head, barely sparing you a second glance in favor of looking at San. “In order to get the serum, you’ll be breaking into a military base.”

“Have you gone fucking mad?” San seethes, hands balling into tight fists at his sides. Seonghwa levels him with ease and sends such a heated glare his way that Jongho stands up a bit straighter.

“If you think even for a second that I did not try my damndest to get Hongjoong to change the plan, you would be horribly wrong,” Seonghwa hisses through gritted teeth. San shifts under the weight of his tone but doesn’t say anything in response. “The only reason I left Hongjoong’s quarters was to keep from knocking him out. If there was any other option, I would take it.”

Jongho clears his throat and effectively breaks the tension between the two men, shaking his head slightly as he steps closer to them.

“There is another option.” Jongho jerks his head towards you and San. He points a single finger in your direction, aimed right at your head, and you press your lips together tightly as confusion washes over you. “I’m leaving in the morning at the same time as you two and Yeosang are to leave for the mission. You will have comms on hand, obviously. Yeosang and San can sneak into the base, guided by you over comms, but you won’t have to set foot inside. And at least for your peace of mind and security, I can stay with you at a secure location while you guide them through the base.”

“That...” Seonghwa trails off and draws his lips together in a tight knot. “That might work, actually.”

“Wow, don’t sound so surprised.”

“No, I’m not surprised,” Seonghwa retorts through a scoff. “I’ll be in charge of listening over comms throughout the mission. If we can come up with a system – a sort of code word – to keep Hongjoong from catching on, we might be able to pull this off. I’ll be at the comms station on the bridge, so Hongjoong won’t hear anything except for what I say. Thus, I can’t very well say that it’s time to destroy the serum.”

“When I was – in my team in the military, we had a system for explosive and detonation squadrons,” you cut in, fingers snapping together in sudden realization. 

“I didn’t realize you were a part of an explosives team,” Seonghwa remarks. His brows draw together a bit as he speaks, and you can sense the question on his lips before he even asks it. 

“That’s the thing you’re most concerned about right now?” You don’t intend for the question to come out so aggressive, and the slight shock that passes over Seonghwa’s expression only serves to make you feel ten times worse about the slip of your tongue. “Anyway, there was always a worry of someone listening in on our comms, so it was a failsafe more than anything else, but we used ‘package’ as a keyword for a bomb. ‘Secure the package’ meant it was time to place the bomb, ‘package secured’ meant that the bomb was in place and ready to be detonated, and ‘come home’ was a go signal for detonation. A bit basic, yes, but useful nonetheless.”

“That should be a perfect plan, no?” San inquires, blinking over at where Seonghwa is standing. The lieutenant maintains his stare on you for quite some time; he almost seems lost in thought to a certain degree, and it takes San clearing his throat for Seonghwa to snap out of it.

“Yes, we’ll just need the package to be the serum rather than a bomb. Jongho—” he outstretches a hand to the Berserker, hesitating a few inches from his arm, “—does this mean that you’ll stay then?”

“Only if you manage to pull this off.”

“I’d like to think I know what I’m doing.” Seonghwa huffs out a light laugh and pulls his hand back to run it through his hair. “This isn’t the first time I’ve gone against Hongjoong’s wishes. Right now though, someone needs to go talk to Yeosang about this plan. Preferably one of you two.” Seonghwa angles two fingers towards you and San, and you glance over at the Spectre before saying anything yourself.

“Yeosang will never listen to me,” San cuts in with a sharp shake of his head. “And I’m not all too inclined to have a one on one conversation with him anyway.”

“Then I’ll go.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jongho mutters through a sigh. “I need to talk to Wooyoung about… this mess. I know he’s the most upset by it.”

“Right, that’ll be fine.” Seonghwa thumbs over his chin, seeming to drift off into thought once more. The wear is starting to show more clearly on his features; the way his blinking has slowed considerably and become a bit hard to keep up with. It’s more than evident that he is struggling to stay awake with each passing second, and that alone makes you wonder exactly how much he and Hongjoong have been up over this past week in preparation for this mission. “Y/N, inform Yeosang of the plan. If Wooyoung is there, it should be easier to convince him since Wooyoung will most certainly agree with the plan. Hopefully, this can be a smooth and painless mission for once, but nonetheless… good luck. I won’t be able to talk to any of you until we’re on comms tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk to Yunho about what the hell is going through his head in all this mess.”

Seonghwa turns to the door and readies himself to leave, but Jongho doesn’t let him get far, hand darting out to catch hold of the lieutenant’s arm. 

“Keep… keep working on Hongjoong, would you?” Jongho’s request is spoken in a soft tone, and he barely glances up at Seonghwa as he speaks. Seonghwa smiles back at him even though the other man can’t see his expression.

“Of course. We’ll get this worked out as best we can.”

Jongho’s hand falls away from his arm, and Seonghwa takes the opportunity to step out of the room without saying anything else. The silence that drapes over the remaining three of you is not welcome, but you relish in it while you can, knowing that these next few days won’t be peaceful in the slightest. San lets it linger for a few seconds, fingers combing through his dark hair, then he releases a deep sigh.

“Good luck with Yeosang. You’ll need it. I’m gonna head down to the hangar bay to get weapons sorted for tomorrow.”

Jongho nods, and you follow suit quickly when San’s gaze travels over to where you’re standing. He smiles a bit, gaze unreadable as he moves out the door and leaves you and Jongho alone. There’s an opportunity now – you could ask Jongho if he’s truly alright now that it’s just the two of you, but your voice dies in the back of your throat before you can even think about what to say.

“Let’s go get this over with. I’m not looking forward to chatting with Wooyoung.”

“Why not?” You rush to ask the question before you can second-guess yourself, falling into step with Jongho as he leads the way out of the room.

“Outside of Yeosang, I’m the closest to him but… if there was a way to avoid this, then I would have done it. There’s always too much collateral damage when it comes to fights like these. Hurting him is the last thing I wanted to do.” Jongho pauses, lips stuttering and remaining parted for quite some time before he speaks again. “The worst part about being a Berserker isn’t the – the rage or the violent tendencies I feel. It’s t-the pain. When I hurt someone I care about, I feel that pain so strongly, and I – sometimes I wish I could be like Mingi instead, not have the ability to feel bad when that pain comes or not be able to understand it because understanding is worse. This just… it has to work out.”

“It will,” you murmur. Your eyes trace the edges of Jongho’s features – his knitted brows and downcast gaze – and you are in the midst of reaching out to grab his arm when he halts all of a sudden. You forgot how short the walk would be; you’re already standing outside Yeosang’s door, the metal nameplate on the wall reading his name in small letters. Jongho knocks hard at the door with the back of his hand.

“Yeosang, you in there?”

A high-pitched yelp resounds, followed by a hefty thud that sounds something like a body hitting the floor, then Wooyoung’s squealing tone apologizing, and you and Jongho exchange confused glances. Whatever hit the floor – most like Yeosang from the sounds of it – groans and pulls itself up before coming to the door and heaving a deep sigh. The metal panel slides open to reveal a disheveled Yeosang, hair a mess but overall collected. Wooyoung seems to be in a much more scrambled state with his shirt haphazard and untucked, eyes bloodshot – no doubt from crying – and lips a bit swollen and redder than usual. 

“Oh, yikes, did we interrupt something?” Jongho asks, taking a step away from the door.

“Oh, shut up!” Wooyoung huffs as he shoves his way past Yeosang to tackle Jongho with a tight hug. “You’re a dick,” he mumbles into Jongho’s shoulder, and the Berserker laughs at the snarky remark.

“You got me there, I’ll admit it.”

“Why are you here?” Yeosang cuts through the intimate moment to question you, eyes glaring holes into your skull as you linger outside the room. 

“I – We need to talk about the mission,” you explain. Yeosang arches a brow at you and continues to stare without making a sound, then he draws his arms up to fold over his chest. “It’s important, Yeosang.”

“Hm, must be for you to actually call me by name. Come in.” He waves you into the room, eyeing Wooyoung as the man continues to cling to Jongho for dear life. You step in and wait for the door to snap shut before beginning to speak again. 

“Tomorrow, you and San are going into the military alone. I’ll be with Jongho at a different location guiding you over comms. Seonghwa is going to be listening in and helping where he needs to, as well as keeping Hongjoong from figuring out what’s going on. We’ll ne–”

“And what exactly is going on?” Yeosang interjects. His gaze grows colder by the second, hitting you with such intensity that you feel a chill rush through your body. 

“Keeping Hongjoong from getting the serum,” you counter. You’re pushing as much assertiveness as you can into your tone, yet Yeosang still seems unfazed. “We have to keep him from wiping Mingi’s mind!”

“And why is that?”

“Why is that? Are you being fucking serious? Why the hell wouldn’t you be okay with this?” Your tone practically burns your throat as you hiss the words out. You dare to take a step in his direction, but that quickly turns out to be a horrid mistake. 

Yeosang sneers, upper lip curling upwards, then suddenly his fist connects with your stomach. You double over at the impact, and Wooyoung is calling out Yeosang’s name, but the blond is already hellbent on giving you a piece of his mind. Lithe fingers curl around the base of your neck and push you back until you slam against the wall. There’s a striking sense of familiarity to this position – one that takes you back to the dusty desert of Medra where Yeosang left you with a thinly veiled threat concerning your intentions on the ship and crew. 

“You are on thin fucking ice as it is, Y/N. I only maintain civilities with you for Wooyoung’s sake, but honestly, I would have no qualms ending your life where you stand now if not for him. You had best take into consideration that you are not one of us. You haven’t been on this crew nearly long enough to be making such demands, and you haven’t earned an ounce of respect from me. If I were you, I wouldn’t dare to test my patience any more than you already have.”

“Yeosang, stop!” 

Wooyoung pulls away from Jongho and starts to move towards where Yeosang has you pinned. The fingers around your throat tighten to a dangerous degree. Black fills the edges of your vision. 

“Yeosang.” Wooyoung slips through the small gap between you and Yeosang, hands sliding up to cup Yeosang’s cheeks. Yeosang doesn’t relent in his grip. He stares past Wooyoung’s head in favor of glaring at you and doesn’t budge an inch as Wooyoung tries to push him back. “Stop it. Let her go. She’s right about this, and you know it. Are you really okay with forcing Mingi into this? All the progress we’ve made over the years would go down the drain, and for what? Absolutely nothing. Do you really think this is right?”

Yeosang’s grip wavers against your throat, but he still refuses to budge. Wooyoung pushes his head, the grip on his jaw tightening as he forces Yeosang to look at him.

“Look at me, Yeo. Look at me, please.”

“I’m an Elitist, Wooyoung, not some easily swayed Normie with a moral compass. It is in my nature to choose the most logical option. Getting on Hongjoong’s bad side isn’t logical. That won’t protect you in the long run. Taking away the most dangerous part of Mingi, taking away his aggression and hypersensitive trigger happy nature – that protects you.” Wooyoung snorts, head turning to the side as he laughs at Yeosang’s logic.

“Then tell me, Yeo, was shooting the chains of a prisoner and pushing him into an airlock the logical decision?” Yeosang’s eyes flash with barely contained rage. “Or was it the right thing to do?” 

Wooyoung drops his hands away from Yeosang’s face and tugs at the bindings over his injured hand. Yeosang doesn’t seem to process what he’s doing fast enough, and neither do you or Jongho because next thing you know, Wooyoung has his sleeve pulled up and is ripping at the barely closed wound. By the time Yeosang snaps into action, hand wrenching off your throat to stretch towards Wooyoung’s arm, blood already drips down the length of his forearm. Wooyoung smacks Yeosang’s desperate hand away from him and steps out of his reach.

“You can protect me from all sorts of things in the universe, Yeo, but you can’t protect me from myself. The logical thing to do would be to keep me from hurting myself, not allowing it, locking me up in chains and a straight-jacket. Put me in a room with padded walls and no sharp object where I can’t hurt myself. But you can’t do the logical thing, can you?” Wooyoung curls his fingers into a fist and extends his index finger towards Yeosang’s chest. Blood drips to the floor with the motion, and when Wooyoung jabs his finger into Yeosang’s torso, the Elitist lurches as though punched. “There’s a difference between a logical thing and a good thing. It’s time to do the right thing. If not for Mingi, then for me. Because I’m asking you to.”

Yeosang blinks down at the finger pressed to his chest without saying anything for what feels like an eternity. When he next looks up, his expression has lost every ounce of hostility. He matches Wooyoung’s stare with a considerably gentler one, and something akin to pride shines in his dark eyes before he shifts to face you once more.

“I’m on board for now. At least until it’s not the right thing to do anymore.” 

✧✧✧ a/n: hi guys wow this was longer than i anticipated??? i didn’t mean for it to be so long whoopsie bUT!!! big chapter kinda a filler chapter i was gonna make it longer but i decided to save that for the next chapter, so this one is more of an intimate in depth look at things 👀 how do we feel!!!

if you would like to be added to the taglist, just let me know!

taglist: @faeriewoobin​​​ @sugarrimajins​​​ @atinyinwonderland​​​ @2504-life @lil7bluedragon​ @sparklychangbin​​​ @jeong-uwu​​​ @jeonartemis​​​ @anothershorthuman​​​ @xxbluestrifexx​​​​ @haotheheckk​​​ @noonawriter​​​ @lostscenarios​​​ @nlost21​​​ @mirror-juliet​​​ @okokokok123-45​​ @purple-aeon​​ @theoinkypiglet​​ @toothlessshiber​​ @atinyarmyx1​​ @simpforhyunjin​​ @hwangwoosan​​ @takitaro​​ @vampire-jimin​​ @softyubi​​ @drumboydowoon​​ @chatsgotmytongue​​ @just-a-starfruit​​

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[earliebirb]

say your name like a prayer

steve/tony, au: mob, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 3005 words

From behind him, Steve hears the sound of the door opening and closing. 

He dog-ears a page from the book he was reading to mark his spot, but otherwise doesn’t bother getting up from his chair or turning around to look. There are only three people in the world that can enter a room with Steve Rogers inside without knocking and leave unscathed.

At the moment, one of them is already inside the room with him. The remaining two are the only people that can make it through the twenty-five men Steve has stationed throughout the hospital floor, the only two people on the clearance list approved by him.

Three people, if one were to count Helen Cho, the doctor Steve has personally handpicked to oversee everything. 

After all, Steve wouldn’t leave Tony’s care in the hands of just anybody. Helen is unfalteringly loyal to him—has been, ever since Steve took her under his wing ten years ago and paid off her family’s debts. 

Only a select number of people are aware of her true loyalties, of course.

The rest of the hospital staff won’t be able to make it through his men without thorough searching and his explicit permission, barring any medical emergencies.

Stationing his men throughout the floor wasn’t difficult to set up, considering the fact that his men have infiltrated various institutions, his network stretching over almost every single industry imaginable, including the medical field. 

“I brought you the extra blankets you asked for.”

“Leave them on the armchair by the door,” Steve orders, eyes fixated on the motion of his own thumb, moving in repeated one-way strokes across the ridges of Tony’s knuckles.

He hears some quiet shuffling, but when he doesn’t hear the sound of the door being opened and closed, he asks, “And why aren’t you leaving?”

Thumb not once faltering in its methodical stroking, Steve’s eyes travel up Tony’s wrist. His gaze lingers on the ugly mottles of black and blue forming a loosely connected ring around its circumference. Both of Tony’s wrists had been tied behind his back, rope pulled tight with enough force to bruise. 

“Boss— Steve. People are starting to talk. It’s been some time since you attended a meeting. They think you’re… unwell. I’m afraid further absence will cause something bigger than just flimsy rumors. I think it’s time that—”

His thumb stills.

“Get out,” he says, and to people who are not familiar with him, his voice is low enough to be mistaken as a request.

Bucky knows better, though. Should know better.

Steve is not asking.

“Steve—” Bucky tries anyway, and Steve clenches his jaw.

“Barnes,” he barks out.

Steve hears his right hand man immediately go quiet at the invocation of his last name, the very usage of it a scalding reprehension that kills any argument he might have thought to bring forward.

“I’ve made it very clear that in my absence you are to act as my proxy, have I not?” Steve asks, speech measured. 

“Yes, Boss.”

“Then that’s all you need to worry about.” Steve goes quiet after that, letting his answer sink in. The pregnant silence stretches out for a few moments, the air between them growing almost suffocating with tension. “Now, if you don’t have anything actually important to talk about, leave.”

Steve stares at the frail figure lying on the hospital bed, looking even smaller than usual in a loose-fitting hospital gown. Tony’s pallid complexion and state of restful sleep are even more jarring when juxtaposed with his usual lively demeanor—full of vigor and always ready with a witty remark. His right eye is a dark blue and purple mess, swollen shut. Sutures hold together a cut on the left corner of his upper lip.

This is everything he never wanted. His biggest fear materializing right before his own two eyes.

This is exactly what Steve had warned Tony of. Once Tony was in, he was in for the long haul. There was no going back from this, no ordinary life to return to once he was well and truly involved with Steve.

When Steve had voiced his concerns, Tony kissed him in lieu of a reply. 

Because Steve had always been weak and selfish when it came to Tony, he decided to keep him. He decided right there and then, that if he didn’t have the strength to turn Tony away, then he would pour his everything into protecting Tony instead. 

Clearly, his everything wasn’t enough. Maybe it would never be enough. Perhaps, in some ways, this outcome has always been inevitable. 

That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t make Steve’s blood boil and his bile threaten to rise up to his throat.  

Heart twisting with worry, he closes his eyes. He inhales and holds his breath, trying his best to focus on the slow and steady beeping of the EKG machine in the background, like the room’s own heartbeat. 

A grounding reminder that Tony is still alive and breathing. That he is safe now, right in front of Steve, within arm’s reach.

“You’re disturbing his rest,” Steve says, clipped tone brooking no further argument. 

It takes a minute, but eventually Bucky does leave. 

Steve gets up to gather the blankets on the armchair. He covers Tony’s body with one of the blankets, providing an extra layer of warmth on top of the sheets already covering him, making sure to leave Tony’s arms resting on top of the layers. He wraps another blanket around Tony’s bare feet, hoping it would keep them warm. He knows how much Tony hates having cold feet. 

“Sorry for the intrusion, sweetheart.” He leans down to press a kiss to Tony’s bandaged forehead, careful and tender. Sitting down in his chair, he opens the paperback copy of 1984 to the previously dog-eared page. He keeps the book open with one hand while the other takes hold of Tony’s, squeezing it to feel what little warmth is left to comfort him. 

“Now, where were we?”

***

Sixteen days since he was admitted into the hospital, Tony wakes up.

He comes to gradually, eyes opening and closing periodically. The first time Steve catches Tony opening his eyes, he struggles to breathe through the wave of sheer relief and calls out Tony’s name with his heart in his throat. Tony gives him no reply, blinks once, twice, and drifts back into sleep. 

Tony continues to slip in and out of consciousness for what seems like eternity.

Throughout it all, Steve never lets go of his hand.

Hours later, Tony lets out his first coherent word in over two weeks:

“Steve?” Tony’s voice is more breath than sound.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, a tight knot loosening in his chest. He squeezes Tony’s hand reassuringly. 

Tony blinks wordlessly at Steve, looking like he is trying to map Steve’s features with his eyes. The bandage around his head has been removed a few days prior, allowing Steve to brush his hair away from his forehead with the knuckles of his fingers.

At this, Tony swallows. He blinks once more, slow and languid, before closing his eyes with a weary sigh and falling back asleep. 

The next time Tony regains consciousness, he spends some time looking his fill of Steve before registering his surroundings, eyes darting around the room.

“Where?” he croaks.

“Hospital,” Steve answers. Tony takes in the answer quietly.

“Steve,” Tony says. “I’m tired.” 

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” Steve lifts Tony’s hand, holding it against his own face. The warmth of Tony’s calloused palm seeps into Steve’s cheek, solid and comforting.

The lines of Tony’s face soften almost imperceptibly, brown eyes gazing at him softly.

“Steve,” he breathes, eyelids growing heavy.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave.”

Steve swallows around a lump in his throat and turns to press a long kiss to the center of Tony’s palm.

“I won’t, sweetheart. I’ll stay right here,” he promises. 

Sometime during the long hours of his continuous effort to remain vigilant, Steve’s exhaustion catches up to him and without meaning to, he falls asleep.

***

At first, Steve thinks he is still dreaming in his sleep. He had fallen asleep with his cheek against the sheets, hand holding Tony’s. The next thing he registers in his slow drift back to consciousness is the feeling of fingers carding through his hair repeatedly. He squeezes his eyes shut, determined to stay asleep.

Then he feels the same fingers wander down to his unkempt beard and he hears an amused huff of breath.

The pad of a thumb presses the corner of his mouth gently. “I know you’re awake.”

Steve stills. Ever so slowly, he lets his eyes flutter open. It takes him a while to convince himself that Tony is indeed wide awake and that the fingers on his face are very much warm and real.

When he straightens up in his seat, his back muscles protest after having been bent at an unnatural angle for the past few hours in his slumber.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty.” Tony’s soft smile greets him, eyes crinkling at the corners. Steve stares at him with wide, unblinking eyes and finds it impossible to return his smile. 

“You’re awake,” he says instead, voice gravelly with the last remnants of sleep. Tony looks significantly better, like life has flooded back into him. Absently, Steve notes the new presence of a glass of water on the hospital nightstand, a straw sitting in it.

“Since around two hours ago. Helen even came by to check up on me.”

Steve bristles. “Why didn’t—”

“Shhh. It’s okay.” Tony’s fingers curl around his wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze and killing Steve’s anger before it has a chance to rise. “I told her not to wake you.”

“You look dead on your feet, Steven,” Tony says. Steve’s chest grows tight at the familiar way in which Tony says his full given name, a soft and fond cadence to his voice that turns the word into a personal form of endearment.

Tony’s brown eyes are fraught with worry. It’s all ridiculously outrageous but so painfully Tony. He has only been awake for a few hours and already treating his own condition with well-practiced flippancy, worrying about Steve like Steve is the one who just woke up from a two-week-long coma.

Steve’s mouth twists. He swallows audibly, eyebrows furrowing in an effort to stave off the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He directs his blurry gaze down at the hospital bed, upset and ashamed.

Tony’s fingers slide over his fist, which Steve has just realized is clenched tight around a handful of bed sheets, knuckles turning white.

“I’m here, my darling. I’m right here. I’m okay.” 

Unable to hold back for another second, Steve stands up and gathers Tony in his arms carefully, mindful of his injuries. He lets out a long and relieved breath before pressing kisses to the crown of his head. Tony buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck and inhales deeply.

“You stay. You stay right here,” Steve chokes, voice splintering.

“Not going anywhere,” Tony murmurs, pressing a kiss to the column of Steve’s throat. He slips his hands under Steve’s shirt, fingers gliding across his ribs, inches away from where he knows the initials of his own name are tattooed vertically down Steve’s breastbone. 

“Is it just me or did you lose weight? Have you been eating properly? And don’t even try lying to me ‘cause you know I can totally ask Bucky or Sam and they’ll tell me the truth, Rogers.”

Steve’s hand slides up to cradle the back of Tony’s head. Tony is warm, he is so much warmer now. Tony is okay. He presses another grateful kiss into Tony’s hair, eyes shut in silent prayer to whatever deity is kind enough to deliver Tony back to him.

“I’m never letting you go anywhere without my men ever again,” Steve whispers. 

Tony huffs, leaning back to look up at Steve and trusting Steve’s hand to take the weight of his head. “I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m right here, with you. Besides, no one saw it coming, okay? It’s not—”

Tony breaks off abruptly with a soft grunt, hand reaching up in an aborted motion to touch his own head. Steve pulls back in alarm.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” Steve hears his own voice turning even more hushed, panic wrapping tight like a vice around his vocal chords. “Do I need to call Helen? Hold on, I’ll—”

Tony catches his arm before he can press the button to alert the hospital staff, bringing it down. 

“Does it hurt, Tony? Tell me the truth.”

Tony shakes his head, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Tony breathes. He leans forward to rest his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. Steve hears him inhaling deeply before letting the air leave his lungs in one long and tremulous sigh.

“Let me get Helen just in case—”

“I’m fine,” Tony says breathlessly, pulling back with his eyes still closed, “just let me catch my breath.”

“Okay. Okay. Get some rest.” Steve plants one last kiss to his temple before sitting back down in his chair, hand holding Tony’s. “If anything hurts, tell me.”

Tony nods and continues to focus on taking deep, long breaths, sinking back into his pillow. Eventually, he swallows, eyelids fluttering open again. He lets his head loll slightly off to the side on the pillow, eyes roving over Steve’s face.

“I suppose I shouldn’t ask what happened to the people that took me?”

For a split second, something cold and hard lodges itself in the pit of Steve’s stomach and his grip on Tony’s hand tightens ever so slightly. He concentrates on the sight of Tony’s kind, brown eyes trained on him and the cold subsides, warmth trickling back in. He brings Tony’s hand up to his mouth.

“Yeah,” he whispers, lips brushing Tony’s knuckles, “you probably shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t say what Tony already knows—that he would give Tony every single detail of what he has done to them without even a moment’s hesitation if Tony really did want to know. Steve will tell him anything and everything he wants to know, because he keeps no secrets from Tony. 

Tony studies him for a long moment. Steve is unable to make out the thoughts running through Tony’s head, but his eyes stay warm and kind as they gaze at Steve through the companionable silence. When Tony pulls his hand away from Steve’s grip, it is to tuck a lock of Steve’s long and overgrown blond hair behind his ear.

Something shifts in his honey-brown eyes, like a puzzle piece sliding into place, and his hand cups Steve’s cheek, palm pressing against the bristles of Steve’s beard.

“Climb into bed,” Tony says. “You need to rest and I need to be held.” 

Steve ends up holding Tony close as he sleeps, arm secure around his waist. Contentment washes over him as he indulges in the warmth of Tony’s back pressed up against his chest. He takes his time in trailing light kisses from the back of Tony’s ear down to his nape, ending with a reverent kiss to the eagle tattooed on the back of Tony’s neck—a well-known insignia bestowed only to the inner circle members of Steve’s organization.

Tony’s tattoo has a distinctive characteristic that distinguishes itself from the eagle tattoos given to the other members. Whereas the eagle tattoos decorating the necks of the other inner circle members are simply black in color, the wings of Tony’s eagle have red and gold feathers interspersed with the black. It was an idea proposed by their resident tattoo artist, Clint, intended as an extra measure of protection.

Most people in Brooklyn and the surrounding boroughs know to look out for the eagle insignia, because it is in their best interests to avoid an altercation with one of the Captain’s inner circle people. 

People also know, however, to look out for the eagle with red and gold feathers in particular, because finding someone with that symbol tattooed on the back of their neck means you are dealing with the Tony Stark, and messing with Tony Stark is a guaranteed death sentence.

Everyone knows you don’t touch the Captain’s beloved. 

Still, Steve thinks grimly, some idiots try.

Sam and Bucky had offered to finish them off for Steve, but as far as Steve is concerned, people who don’t possess the common sense to not lay a finger on Tony don’t deserve the mercy of a swift death.

Steve knew that he needed to deal with them himself, for his own peace of mind. 

So, he had brought out the toolbox—the one he usually only brings out for special occasions—and spent a few gratifying hours in a secluded warehouse with the two men who had orchestrated Tony’s abduction. From pliers to knives of varying sizes, he took his time to find out which ones worked best, which tools were the most effective in eliciting screams from the men. With his own two hands, he made sure that they paid for their sins.

Maybe he shouldn’t, but he finds comfort in the thought of those dismembered corpses sinking down to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

In his line of work, Steve has cultivated a moral compass of his own. He has always marched to the beat of his own drum, other people be damned.

He is definitely not going to start developing scruples now, and especially not for protecting the one thing that he can’t live without—the only person on earth whose thoughts and well-being he puts before himself, before everything else.

With his power and status, there are no guarantees in the life he leads. Loyalties are fickle and ever-changing. Rules are bent and broken. Lives are lost on a near daily basis. 

Well, no guarantees but one: Tony Stark will always come first. No matter what, no matter who, no matter when. 

Always.

Even if Steve had to burn down the entire world to keep him safe and sound.

[writerwrites]

Little Town Street

Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: A college fling with Andy Barber is rekindled when you move back to Boston and you’re both single. 

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Smut 18+, language, tinge of angst, Defending Jacob spoilers / all the warnings that would go along with the series, fleeting mentions of divorce and bad breakups

A/N: *THIS IS A ONE SHOT* This is the Week 3 prompt to the Optimistic Captain Donut Challenge created by @captainchrisbaby, @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho , and @donutloverxo​ || The Week 3 Prompt was based on  All Too Well by Taylor Swift || I’m only 3 months late, minimum || Fall dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Boston. Your heart raced just thinking about getting back to the place you went to college. The glide of the tassel across your cap and the memories of late night conversations over pizza and beer while elbow deep in a tort. You’d loved the smell of law books and the haze of the green lamps on the library’s oversized and ancient oak desks. The magic of that place was lost on you while you were there, as was the magic of the few relationships you managed to establish while getting your law degree. But here you were, the little suburban town just out of the city, boxes piling up in the empty living room as you settled into your newly single life at a small firm that liked your big New York City success. This was a needed change after a painful breakup. This was your clean break.

Covered in sweat with your hair in a messy top bun, tank top slithering up the steep curves of your soft sides while the sun kissed the back of your bronzed skin, you heard a honk at the intersection in front of your house. The unexpected sound jolted you and the heavy box of books slipped from your fingers and landed on your foot. Hopping to the steps of your new brick home, you looked over at the intersection. It was a near-accident that was the cause of the ruckus. Both cars now at a standstill at the center of the four-way intersection. It took a minute for you to process the shock as you rubbed at your aching foot, but there he was, thick brown hair and bright blue eyes looking at you through the windshield of a black Audi A6. Andy Barber.

With such a public court case and the subsequent car accident, every news-viewing American knew who he was and knew a little too much about him. The problem was that while you’d sat in your own office in the Big Apple, trying to put yourself in Andy’s shoes, you watched a person you once knew in a new light and while your now-ex kept bringing up the commentary of obvious guilt, you couldn't help but sympathize with the collapse of his life. It was too easy for you to slip into the heartache of a family stalked and ruined, a person left so completely exposed and judged by everyone that you’d trusted. It was, after all, why you’d left New York. It was a miracle you’d gotten your fresh start, the Barbers certainly didn’t. You could picture it, but you never speculated, never stayed on the channel when the case came on. Every fiber of your being couldn’t look at him, not because of what broadcasters said but because of the too real memories of a love lost.

You were the one that ended the stare-off, your foot aching more with every passing second. Jaw clenched and lips pressed into a line, you were just about to convince yourself that there was no way Andy Barber, your biggest competition in college and your first love, was outside your new home… and then you heard him say your name. God, it always sounded so good coming from his mouth. The last time you’d heard it he was asking you not to go, drunk outside the bar you’d had your first date telling you that what you two had was bigger than the careers ahead. He didn’t see the tears streaming down your face once you turned away to get in your cab. Maybe, after all this time, he thought you didn’t hear him scream your name.

When you opened your eyes Andy was there at the bottom of your driveway on that little town street, brows knit together with concern as he locked his car that was perfectly parked on the steep driveway like he’d done it a million times. “Don’t look so worried about me, Andrew. You’re the one who just nearly crashed a bajillion dollar car.”

He laughed, despite noticing how you’d used his full name like you two were standing on opposite ends of a courtroom- and maybe you were. But that laugh, the warmth of it wrapped you up and you were thrown back through the magic and memories of that romance once more. The plaid shirts you stole in the middle of the night to run to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Your skin was covered in goosebumps despite the heat as you remembered how Andy had peeled you out of his shirts to warm you back up with his skin on yours, the metal of the fridge pressed to your back. Every moment with him was crystal clear in your mind the smells of autumn and taste of cider and beer when your tongues met, the feeling of his beard scratching your thighs, and... It took his hands on your chin to pull you out of the pain and want of those happier days that you’d ignorantly run from scared of settling. “Are you sure the box didn’t land on your pretty little head?”

The sound that passed your lips was practically a damn purr, you mentally cursed him for pulling it out of you with familiar ease. Opening your eyes to look up at him, you wondered if the emotions of that tumultuous relationship sat at the forefront of his mind too and if it was written on your face. “Nope, definitely landed on my foot.” Swallowing at the sandpaper in your throat, you looked at the swollen discolored mess. “You didn’t have to see if I was okay.”

“First, yeah, I did. It’s been fifteen or sixteen years since I’ve seen you. Second, I saw you hop over here clutching your foot. I can’t leave a wounded deer on the side of the road, can I?” His hands were stubbornly placed on his hips and that’s when you noticed the pale indent of a missing wedding band on his left hand’s ring finger. His blue eyes followed your gaze and he rubbed at the spot like he’d not gotten used to the absence of the cool metal. A similar thin, faded line from a discarded engagement ring on your matching finger. “I guess we’ve both been through it.”

Offering him a small smile, he helped you up and as Andy’s strong hands clutched your waist you wondered if he’d remembered just how ticklish the space between your ribs and hip were when he was careful to not touch you there. When you grabbed at the perfectly tailored coat trying to hop around the man let out an amused grumble and scooped you up. “Aren’t we a little old for grand gestures?” Your head rolled back as you laughed and he turned to get you through the door without smacking your injured foot on the frame. “Jesus are you hitting the gym and benching thick girls, Barber?”

The laughter filling the house was only amplified by his unceremonious dropping of you onto the love seat. The crooked smile looking down at you made you melt. That look, it was a drug that you’d had you first taste of in a mock trial, when he knew he’d won his case and looked back at you in the seats behind him, taking notes. “Other than the box on the lawn, are there any more?”

“You don’t have to..”

“But I’m going to and I want to. Besides, you can’t.” Andy was already pulling off his coat, loosening his tie, and buttoning his shirt before you could protest... not that you were capable of it. He bit his lip when he caught sight of you drinking him in. The slacks and the undershirt that clung to him. “Like what you see?”

“It’s rude.” You stated matter of fact, gesturing to all of him. Andy raised his hands as if to apologize, heading to the door to get to work. Closing your eyes, you could perfectly picture that one picture of the two of you at your graduation. Inadvertently, you mumbled to yourself. “I miss looking that damn good.”

If your eyes hadn’t been closed maybe you would’ve seen the way he froze in the doorway, biting his tongue before stepping out. It wasn’t until you heard the hefty thunk of a box on the hardwood floor that you peaked your eyes open. A clear sheen of sweat glistened on his brow and you bit your lip, the heat running over your body was hardly from moving boxes or the summer heat pouring in the front door. “Please tell me the rest of it isn’t boxes of books, Legal Beagle.”

Scoffing at the old nickname you sighed, “Nope, it’s just bottles of wine and liquor and pictures. The remnants that I didn’t want to break or misplace in the moving truck that came a few days ago.”

“You’ve been here for days and you didn’t call.” His tone was surprisingly wounded.

“Well, Legal Eagle, you didn’t exactly shoot me an email either.” Andy’s eyes burned into you when you used his old nickname back, but you couldn’t decipher what that look really meant. Before you could ask or apologize he was turning back out the door, leaving you there to chew the inside of your cheek raw.

Andy made quick work of the boxes in your car while you nursed your bruised foot trying to unravel the feelings bubbling to the surface of your mind in memories and regrets. When the front door shut, you couldn’t even bring yourself to look up, eyes fixed on the bruise while you thought about the emotional bruising you’d caused each other. It wasn’t hard to really know why he hadn’t emailed, nothing funny in the broken pieces you bother were left to pack up and move on from. When had you started crying? Cheeks wet when his hands cupped your face, forcing you to look up at him, thumbs brushing the tears away. “Hey, if it hurts that bad maybe we should take you to get it looked at.”

Reaching up you grabbed Andy’s wrists, but you found yourself hanging there, incapable of pulling him off of you. Instead, your thumbs brushed across the inside of his wrists just applying a little bit of pressure before skimming your hands up the firm muscles of Andy’s forearms. Each of you tried to translate the signals the other was putting off. If it hadn’t been for the haze of being so close to him, maybe you would’ve had the sense to pull away. With a sniffle and apologetic smile you shook your head ‘no’- or at least to the best of your ability when he was still comforting you like no time or pain had passed between the two of you. How long had you been holding on to this first love?

This close you could see it, the little creases of age at the corners of his eyes and a little salt and pepper in his beard. Despite the way those lines seemed to crease his face like words of chapters you’d not been privy to, his blue gaze was unchanged and every welcoming detail of them looked at you like you hadn’t changed either. The moment his knee pressed between your thighs to your core you realized just how needy you were, whimpering and parting your legs as he lowered himself onto you. His hands moved down your neck to your breasts and a firm squeeze and the brush of his thumb over your nipples elicited another breathy moan from your lips. How long had it been since anyone had looked at you like that? How long since you’d gotten off?

“Andy,” The weight of his name on your tongue was dizzying, but the way he said your name back was just as heavy. You pulled his mouth to yours and he parted his lips to wrap around  your bottom lip. His beard scratched at your chin, sending shivers down your body.

Picking your hips up from the couch, you satisfied the ache between your legs on his thigh. Smirking against your lips Andy pressed harder into your core. “You missed me.”

“To the bone,” The confession passed your lips and all you wanted was for him to stay, the thought alone so wholly selfish. Your eyes fluttered open, scared that it had been poison on his own tongue, noticing how he’d pulled away ever so slightly. “That wasn’t fair.”

Though it seemed like a poor apology, Andy was already shaking his head to reassure you that it wasn’t. That quiet, it wasn’t a trait in him you recalled. His hands moved down your frame and he pulled you onto his lap, careful to let you move your legs to straddle him and not hit your foot along the way. “Did you think I wouldn’t care that you were coming back?”

Before you could answer, he stole your air again. Andy’s lips pressed to your neck and he hummed as he tasted the salt on your skin. Then he found the spot he used to always mark, that spot that always seemed to peak just a little out of your favorite courtroom blouse. Gasping, your nails scratched softly at his sides. He took it as a hint and pulled off his undershirt, throwing it at the boxes that had his tie, coat, and button up. “Andrew. I’m trying not to assume anything here but…”

He looked up at you so sweetly that it erased whatever logic you were trying to pull on him with that one dopey smile. “Tell me this isn’t home.”

“I..” Your mouth bobbed open and you looked at him with wide eyes. Did he mean Boston or this moment on his lap like pieces were falling into place since you’d left.

Squeezing your thighs in his palms he repeated the question. “Tell me this isn’t home. Tell me you don’t remember the promise you broke. Tell me those boxes with pictures don’t have the pictures of us all over this town.” Was this a call out? If he hadn’t been looking at you with such heartache you would have looked away. “Maybe I asked for too much and maybe I was just as scared as you were about the future I saw for us… but tell me we didn’t just find our time.”

The tips of your fingers moved up his chest and settled at the sides of his neck, innocently tugging at his beard. Leaning forward you pressed your lips to his forehead and slipped off of his lap though your whole body seemed almost unamused by the cruel neglect of his warmth, your legs staying draped over him and one arm still linked through his. Looking over the boxes you found the stack with the bright blue sharpie, ‘winter clothes’ sprawled across the top as it sat halfway between the bottom of the stairs and the closet by the front door. “Grab that one.”

Andy untangled himself from you with his fingers burning across your skin, reluctantly slipping off the couch to grab the box. When he came back with it you noticed a hesitant look on his face. His eyes moved to his discarded clothes and you sighed and pulled him back to the small couch. “Want to tell me why you’re avoiding my questions?” Ignoring him you peeled the box open and moved a few things out of the way while you pulled out exactly what you knew you needed. “I don’t break over honesty anymo-”

Words seemed to escape him the moment he saw his scarf from the first time he’d gone home with you to meet your family. He didn’t do the meet-the-parents charade and the relationship had been new, but yours had welcomed him in and made him want his own one day. Andy never thought he’d settle with someone else, but that’s exactly what he’d done when you didn’t call, write, visit, or move back… he’d settled. That little trip was a memory he’d revisited often in the torment of waiting for you to come back. The pair of you had spent most of the holiday either studying for exams on your twin sized bed or pouring over old photographs from your childhood. Now you could practically see the memories flooding back as he reached for the scarf and brushed his fingers over the soft fabric.

So, it was your turn for a confession, an apology even. “I remember it all. I miss it all. We may have been young, but we weren’t wrong. No one knew me like you did. No one ever has. We grew up, but you lingered here.” Your fingers combed through his hair and tapped his temple before moving down his body to his sternum, tapping at his pulse, “... and here.” Andy covered your hand in his, drawing your fingers lower to the buckle of his slacks. Your cheeks went red and you nodded a ‘there too’ without being able to form the words.

“Do I get a hundredth chance?” The hope in his eyes was mirrored in your own, your racing heart no longer felt like a warning sign.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” A shaky laugh passed your lips. Andy wrapped his arms around you, tender, before he laughed too, his body shaking against yours. “Oh, this is a prank? Well, damn. That’s embarrassing.”

Andy looked at you and lunging forward, mouths ricocheting in a deep kiss, tongues hungry for the lost time. Only when you came up for air, the pair of you now buried in the couch cushions, did he speak up, “You deserve all the hell I’m going to give you for waiting this long to let me love you.”

“Does that mean you’re going to stay and rub my skin raw with this beard?” Squirming under him, the pair of you frantically reached for every clasp and zipper until there was nothing left between you. His lips moved down your frame and you surprised yourself, pulling him back to your mouth. “You’re staying with me Andy Barber.” Your fingers wrapped around his length and pumped him, brushing the head of his cock against your slit, already dripping. “You’re staying so beard on thighs can wait.” Pressing your mouth back to his as you continued to tease him you whimpered, not even needing to say it but recalling how much he used to love hearing it. “I need you. Don’t make me wait anymore. I need to feel all of you. I miss-”

The begging and pawing, he couldn’t take you slowly, not yet at least. Andy rutted himself into you, growling when your tight wet heat wrapped around him. He buried his forehead into the curve of your neck as he thrust into you over and over, savoring the way you gasped at his every slight movement. Andy worshiped the new softness of your frame and none of this felt like strangers trying to figure out how to get each other off. His thumb brushed back and forth across your swollen clit and, unlike anyone else, you stuttered his name as you got closer, clamping around him, hips bucking off the couch to meet every deep thrust as he slowed his pace to draw this out for both of you.

You loved the look on his face, the way he bit his swollen lips between a million kisses left on your sweaty skin. The way he lost focus when you said his name and how he gently grabbed your chin as you stuttered his name again; so close, so wet for him, so ready to finally get off. Permission, your legs shook and you whined as he kept you right there at the tipping point, building himself up to his own orgasm while he edged you. “Come for me, lover.”

The words were so welcome, just enough to push you over the edge and quickly chased by you begging him, “Stay inside me.” Andy throbbed inside you as you pulsed around his cock, your fingers digging into the meat of his thighs as your orgasm didn’t seem to stop, the room seemingly silent as the echoing thrusts and calling out of names tapered out to the sticky collapse of you both tangled up on the love seat.

Your eyes closed, exhaustion settling in, and Andy watched you breathing. Softly, Andy nuzzled his nose against the top of your head. “If you fall asleep, I’ll fall asleep.”

With a hum you nodded, reaching up to his hand that had settled on your breast, patting it, “Would that be so bad?”

More to himself, voice so low you almost couldn’t hear him. “I can’t lose you again. Can’t lose anyone else.”

“There’s probably a lot we can’t talk about, but this isn’t a dream, Andy.” Pivoting just enough to look at him you held his hand and kissed his chin. “I can’t lose you again either. I already lost a foot.”

There it was, that cheeky little smile. You both sleepy laughed and you watched his body relax. “You almost cost me my car.”

“I couldn’t run away again, even if I wanted to.” Crinkling your nose you smiled, brushing your finger over the smooth part of his skin where the missing ring marked him. He did the same. The scarf hung over the back of the sofa and looked up at him. “I don’t want to, if that wasn’t obvious.”

His blue eyes closed, his smile went soft, and Andy Barber fell asleep in your arms. If someone would have told you that this would have happened when you left New York you would have run back to Boston and spared the pair of you a world of pain. Though you were scared of bridging the gaps caused by the many roads the pair of you had taken to get here, you shut your eyes and smile at the reality that all those roads led home- to him. Like kintsugi everything seemed hopeful, incapable of breaking like the last time, stronger and made beautiful through the healing time of quiet apologies, verbal and physical.

It had been him all along, no denying it. Neither of you would ever have to ask the other to stay again.

All Content Tags: @tom-hlover​

CEvans Content Tags: @void-hoechlin​

[hutchhitched]

The Marrow of the Story

Written by: @hutchhitched​ 

Prompt 17: Everlark enemies to lovers, a long-standing grudge (could be anything, even simple) but somehow it is discovered that Katniss is a bone marrow match for Peeta. If she doesn’t donate he will die. [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone​]

Ratings/Warnings: E

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic and the world slowly ground to a halt. This is the eighth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. I wrote most of this a few months ago before getting stuck on some transitions. Since then, the teenage daughter of one of my closest friends has been diagnosed with B-Cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia and must undergo a bone marrow transplant this spring. As such, this story became much more personal than a prompt. I’m sure I’ve taken some liberties with the medical aspects and ethics of this story. They are intended for story-telling purposes only. K, I hope you enjoy my take on your prompt.

  “Ms. Everdeen, I need your signature,” my administrative assistant says briskly as she enters my office.

 “What’s this for?” I ask as I scribble my signature on the form.

 She takes the manila folder and hands me another, indicating that I need to sign it, too. “Maintenance orders. The library and those lockers in the freshman wing that don’t lock properly.”

 “Got it. Thanks.”

 “Oh, and you have a call waiting on line three. I told him you were busy, but…” She shrugs as she walks out of the room, and I sigh and drop down in my desk chair. It’s been a really long day.

 “Ms. Everdeen, Panem North. How can I help you?”

 A rumbly, entirely masculine voice reverberates through the line, and I wrap the phone cord around my left index finger. Even before he’s spoken three words, I’m already impatient for the call to end.

 “Ms. Everdeen. It’s Peeta Mellark. How are you today?”

 I narrow my eyes and resist the urge to slam the phone down in the receiver. Mr. Mellark is not my favorite person. He’s the principal at Panem South, my high school’s cross-town rival, and he and I have always clashed. It might be his smug arrogance when he explains his educational philosophy, or it could be the way he surveys me and then turns away in dismissal every time I see him. Whatever it is, I’ve never been able to stand him, and it’s obvious he feels the same if our interactions at every systemwide meeting and educational conference is any indication. My greatest fantasy consists of him being fired in disgrace. A close second is his forced transfer to another school—any school, so long as it’s out of state and I never have to see him again.

 “What do you want, Mellark?” I snap. I have so little patience today I’m afraid I might actually use profanity if he doesn’t hang up within ten seconds.

 “Doing that well, huh? Always good to hear a friendly voice when I have to contact you.”

 “I thought you were on medical leave,” I say with little compassion. It’s not my finest moment, I know that, but I really loathe this man.

 “I am,” he admits. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I really need your help. I know we’re not exactly friends, but—”

 “Friends?” I laugh. “Are you kidding me? I don’t even like you. There’s no way I’d be your friend. Not even if you were dying, and I had the cure.”

 Silence stretches across the line, and I cover my face at what I’ve said. The words are rather unforgivable, and I open my mouth to apologize when he says something I don’t expect to hear.

 “Well, I guess that answers my question. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

 “What question? You didn’t ask me anything,” I say, exasperated.

 He sighs heavily, and I almost throw the phone across the room. “Katniss—sorry, Ms. Everdeen—I don’t really know how to tell you this, so I’ll just ask you to check your email. I think you’ll find something there from me. It’s from my personal account, so you might have to look in your spam folder. It’ll explain everything. Have a good day.”

 And then he hangs up without even bothering to say goodbye. That complete and utter bastard hung up on me. I mean, I wanted him to leave me alone, but he could have at least had the courtesy to say goodbye before cutting off the conversation.

 I know I’m being unreasonable, but I don’t have time to deal with it at the moment. The last bell of the day is about to ring, and I hurry from my office to oversee students loading onto buses and wandering the parking lot as cars zip in and out of traffic. It’s one of the most nerve-wracking parts of my days, and I’ve almost forgotten Mr. Mellark’s phone call by the time I make it back to my office. If I’m lucky, I can finish within the hour and get home before dark. I hate it when the sunlight hours are so short the day quits before I do.

 I’m just about to shut down my computer when I remember the aggravating phone call. I consider forgetting about it and walking away, but something tells me to open my junk folder and see what that twit’s request is. And then I see it, and I want to throw up.

 Dear Ms. Everdeen,

I know we aren’t exactly friends, but I’ve always admired your ferocity and willingness to give everything you have for your students. Compassion in education isn’t hard to find, but the way you fight for your school, faculty, staff, and students has been inspiring to watch over the past few years.

I mean that. It’s not a ploy to win you over, even though I have a gigantic favor to ask of you.

You might remember that I’ve been on medical leave several times over the past few years. It’s difficult doing my job when I’m ill, so I’ve tried to hide the significance of my condition. The truth is I have a rare bone marrow disease that, without a transplant, is terminal.

Since this is not official business, I’m writing from my personal email, but the favor I’m asking does require your professional approval. With the upcoming blood drive in our district, health clinics have volunteered to be on hand to administer tests for the bone marrow registry. That would streamline the process and allow potentially myself and countless others in need of a transplant a match from someone who might not otherwise volunteer to be tested.

Please consider allowing your school to be part of this. It might save a life.

With admiration, Peeta Mellark

 ****

 Of course I end up giving approval. I’m not a monster, no matter what Mr. Mellark thinks. In good faith, I’m tested as well, and two weeks later, I get a phone call telling me I’m a match for someone in need. By a dramatic, ironic twist of fate, it’s Peeta Mellark who needs my marrow. Thankfully, I’m able to take some time to process, and it’s torture as I weigh the pros and cons.

 A few days pass before I work up the courage to call him. I haven’t heard from him since the phone call letting me know about the email. I’m sure his health takes up much of his energy, but I’m oddly saddened by his absence. I’m also angry with him, but that’s not fair. It’s not his fault that the favor he asked of me will result in me giving up a part of my body and DNA.

 “Hello?”

 “So, what is it you have exactly?” I ask and wince at how detached and unfeeling I sound. I’m anything but that. My squeezing heart is more than enough evidence to prove otherwise. Still, I’m barely holding it together. I can’t let go of the control or I might collapse, and then what?

 “Ms. Everdeen?”

 “Katniss. If you can ask me to consider donating bone marrow, then you can call me by my first name.”

 “Okay, Katniss.” There’s a long pause before he continues. He’s tentative when he finally says, “So, you decided to participate on top of allowing the clinic access to your school?”

 “I did, and I’ll repeat. What is it you have exactly?”

 The words sound just as cold the second time, and I hold my breath until he finally answers.

“I have something called aplastic anemia. I’ve had it since college. Been treating it with blood transfusions for the past decade or so,” he explains with no trace of self-pity or false bravado. His tone is pragmatic, which is almost heart-breaking considering what he’s facing. “There aren’t too many of us with AB- blood in the world, so, I don’t know. When I saw the option of getting more involvement, I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask for help. Directly, I mean. Instead of waiting for the system to work. The worst you could say was no, right?”

 “I’ve already said no to you several times,” I remind him, and he chuckles in response.

 “Yeah. You’ve fought me on every philosophical disagreement we’ve ever had.”

 “That’s because you have really stupid ideas about what works sometimes.”

 His chuckle morphs into a full-fledged laugh, and it makes my lips twitch. “You reject me with aplomb, too. Thanks for not holding back.”

 A grin quirks at the corner of my mouth. He’s funny, I realize. I guess I probably could have figured that out earlier if I’d ever bothered to listen to his words instead of merely hating him.

 “Well, you know. I’m not very good at making friends.”

 The words catch in my throat as I say them. It’s a true statement, but I hadn’t comprehended how much it bothered me until I heard them out loud. I don’t sound matter-of-fact like he does. Loneliness and sadness echo in my voice. I could take some lessons on self-pity from Peeta Mellark, apparently.

 “I’d like to be your friend,” he says softly.

 I blink away tears because my insides have melted into a very unprofessional puddle of goo. It’s a good thing we’re not interacting about anything regarding our jobs.

 “You just want my bone marrow,” I mumble, and my heart jumps at his soft chuckle.

 “Your bone marrow?”

 I inhale shakily and bite my lip. Finally, when I’ve regained a semblance of control, I answer in a quiet admission, “I’m a match.”

 “You’re my match?” His disbelief echoes across the line, and it breaks my heart to hear the trepidatious undercurrent in his tone.

 “I am.”

 “Oh…”

 “So, you want my bone marrow.”

 Silence stretches between us, and I hear rustling before he responds carefully. “I’ll start with that. We can talk about what else I’d like to have later.”

 His voice is warm and soothing, and I feel myself softening. I’ve known that I’m going to be his donor since I knew he needed me, but it feels more personal now. More like he’s my responsibility, my ally, and not my enemy.

 “Okay.”

 There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks tentatively, “Okay?”

 “Yeah. I’ll do it.”

 There’s almost no sound from his end of the line, just his breath in my ear. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking or feeling. It must be a massive amount of relief mixed with a hundred other emotions. Like me, I’m sure he hates asking for help, and to have to request it from me must have been terrible for him. I don’t want him to feel beholden. He doesn’t deserve to have to be grateful for the rest of his life just because he needs something I can willingly give.

 “Thank you,” he finally says, and the simplicity of it takes my breath away.

 I wonder exactly what it is he’s thanking me for—his life? For being willing to grant him a favor? For not being a complete bitch to him like I have been for the past three years? It’s the least I can do for someone who’s dying. I can’t be responsible for hitting him when he’s down.

 “Sure. Yeah, let me know the specifics. Or the hospital can or whatever. I’ll talk to you later.”

 I end the call before he can answer, or maybe he does and I just don’t hear it. I can’t bear to listen to his voice anymore. I don’t know how much I’m going to have to actually see him to complete this process, but I’m suddenly nervous. He’s melted me with just an email and a few phone conversations. If I’m in the same room with him, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up the façade of hating him, and I need to. I can’t afford to care about him.

 The next few weeks pass in a flurry of meetings with medical professionals and preparing for the surgery. I don’t see Peeta, and he doesn’t contact me. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, or maybe he doesn’t have any interest in actually being my friend, after all. I don’t allow myself to think about why that disappoints me. Instead, I tell myself that he’s likely dealing with his own illness and concentrating on getting as healthy as possible so he can recover quicker following the procedure. Maybe I’m just making excuses for him, but I remind myself that making a friend isn’t why I’m doing this. He doesn’t owe me anything.

 Suddenly, it’s the day of the surgery, and I’m terrified. I haven’t ever been on anesthesia before, barely been sick, and never had an IV. Now, I’m about to go under the knife for my mortal enemy. Okay, that’s overdramatic and hyperbolic, but I’m allowed that on the morning of a procedure that will result in me being cut open and part of my hip scraped away. I comfort myself by imagining the simple pleasures I’ll indulge in afterward—an overly sugared hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, some of those cheese buns I never allow myself to buy, highlights from a hairdresser instead of a box. Surely, I deserve those after opening myself up to…

 I shut down that mode of thinking and concentrate on getting to the hospital. As nervous as I am, I manage to stop thinking and let the medical professionals do their jobs. Before I can worry about anything else, I’m on a bed and being wheeled to surgery. When I count backwards, all I see are Peeta Mellark’s deep blue eyes shining at me.

 ****

 I blink awake to a concerned gaze. My sister’s next to my bed when I wake up and greets me with a smile.

 “Hello, sleepyhead. Welcome back to the world.”

 “Little Duck,” I slur with a lazy smile. “Hiiiii!”

 “How do you feel?”

 “Very fuzzy,” I admit after a sporadic inventory of myself. “And my ass hurts.”

 “I hear that happens when somebody cuts you open. I could be wrong.”

 My bubble of laughter is almost giddy, clearly an aftereffect of the anesthesia, but I still manage to ask the really important question. “When can I go home?”

 “A few hours, I think. Outpatient surgery, for the win!”

 “I’m already thinking about how long I have to sponge bathe instead of showering. An incision on my rear end is a new one for me.”

 “I bet the guy you’re giving your marrow to would be happy to help you. He must be pretty grateful,” Prim said slyly, and I roll my eyes.

 “I’m guessing he’s more concerned about not dying, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

 “I looked him up, you know. He’s very pretty.”

 “He’s also an arrogant ass.”

 “Speaking of arrogant asses…”

 “Hey! I thought I’d gotten past being maligned by the Everdeen girls.” Gale Hawthorne’s deep bass booms from the hospital room door. “Hey, Catnip.”

 “Gale! ’S so good to see you.”

 “Well, Prim called. I thought maybe I should cut my business trip short and pay you a visit.”

 I reach for him, and he crosses to me quickly. His hand wraps around mine, and the warmth grounds me. It’s been way too long since I’ve seen my childhood best friend, and his familiarity makes me feel like I might be able to handle anything. They both keep me occupied until I’m released and then help me get settled at home. Gale and I sit on the couch and catch up while Prim makes a run for takeout.

 “I couldn’t believe it when Prim called to tell me you were doing this,” he says. “Especially not for the guy you’ve been bitching to me about for the past few years.”

 “I haven’t been—”

 “I’m going to stop you right there. You have, and we both know nobody takes up that much space in your brain unless there’s something there.”

 “There’s nothing between us,” I insist and grunt when he nudges my shoulder.

 “Then maybe you should figure out if there could be. I mean, you have a vested interest in the man. You have a lot in common professionally. He’s going to live a long life because of you. Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you were part of it.”

 “He’s in a bubble for a few months. Recovery. No germs. All that.” I’m making excuses, and he knows it. He looks at me with pity, and I want to smack him.

 “Katniss, give the guy a chance. From what you’ve told me, he’s into you. On top of the fact that he made arrangements for that massive bouquet of lilies and wildflowers over there.” He motions to the vase we brought home from the hospital. The note provides thanks for saving his life and an apology for flowers being inadequate as repayment.

 “He’s not—”

 “Give him a chance.”

 Gale’s words wash over me, and it’s like all the painful moments and deep bouts of loneliness resurface at once. No matter what’s happened between Peeta and me, I have a connection to him now that’s deeper than our usual snipping and snark. Being forced to think about him as someone with real hopes and dreams and challenges has softened me to him, but I barely know him. Why does everyone assume he wants anything more than he’s already received?

 Prim returns with food, and I’m grateful for the distraction. I promise Gale I’ll think about what he’s said as I recover, but that’s only to get him off my back. Yet, as the days pass, I can’t get Peeta Mellark out of my head. Now that I’ve saved his life, he’s got a hold on me.

 ****

 I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I expect anything from him. I’m just stopping by to see how he is, and that’s it. No expectations, no nothing. Just an attempt to make sure he’s feeling better after the transplant. I shouldn’t even be able to see him, but I called the hospital, explained the situation, and found out I’ve been approved for visiting for the past couple of weeks. Peeta must have added me to his approved list, which makes me remarkably happy. It’s been a month since the bone marrow transplant, and Peeta’s body seems to be accepting it with no problem.

 Besides, no one can fault me for checking in on a sick colleague. It’s practically expected as part of my job. Except, that’s a lie. I’m not checking on anyone else who calls into work sick, but, then again, no one else called in because they had a disease that resulted in some of my own body inserted into them.

 Which sounds dirty and definitely not what I should be thinking as I knock on his hospital door and peer into the room.

 “Katniss!” he says as his beautiful blue eyes light up. “Please, come in.”

 “I, uh… I just thought I’d check on you. Make sure my bone marrow is behaving. Not giving you any trouble.”

 Oh, hell. I sound like an idiot.

 “Doing beautifully. It’s almost like it knows it’ll be in trouble if it acts up. Must be the principal coming out in us.”

 “Behavior issues are the least favorite part of my job.”

 “Same,” he chuckles and waves me to the chair. “Sit, if you have a minute. I’d like to thank you—”

 “No,” I insist. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

 “Katniss, you saved my life,” he sighs. “The least you can do is let me thank you properly. Let me take you dinner sometime or something. In fact, yes. I need to do that. No expectations, no nothing. Just dinner.”

 I feel an uncomfortable pang in my stomach as I hear my own thoughts repeated back to me. It’s almost like he can see inside my brain, and that’s terrifying.

 “Fine,” I concede. “Dinner, but not until you’re completely recovered. I don’t want to be cause for a setback.”

 “I can handle that,” he agrees and then gives me a soft, beautiful smile so incredibly shy that it feels like he’s only ever shown it to me.

 I don’t even want to think about why I’m floating as I leave the hospital.

 ****

 It’s another few months before Peeta finally insists he’s well enough and calls and invites me to the dinner I agreed to when he was in the hospital. His recovery has been rapid, and I hear through the grapevine he’s back at work and seemingly cured. I don’t know enough about his disease to know if he’s healing faster than normal or not, but I breathe easier when I hear the news. That is, until the phone rings.

 “Katniss Everdeen. My savior,” he says when I answer.

 “Oh, please don’t,” I gulp. “I’m no savior.”

 He chuckles at my discomfort but it’s clear it’s not with any sort of malice. “Sorry. That might have been hyperbole.”

 “You think?”

 “Maybe. Maybe not. I would like to see when you’re free for dinner. You’ve put me off long enough. I demand satisfaction. I mean, my belly does. In other words, I need food, and now that I feel well enough to consume copious amounts of it, I’d really love some company as I do that. Who better than the woman who made it happen?”

 He’s so charming it makes my toes curl, which is not at all what I want. Because how am I supposed to resist that adorable smirk I know is plastered across his face when he’s sitting across the table from me and plying me with delicious food? He’s supposed to be my nemesis, and I’m not strong enough to deny him when he’s not only good and kind but also a survivor of a rare disease. I mean, that’s not even playing fair.

 “You don’t have to buy me dinner,” I start, but he interrupts before I can get any farther.

 “If I remember correctly, you agreed to this back in the hospital, and I know you always keep your word. I wore you down, and you said you’d go with me. Don’t go backing out on me now,” he chides. His tone remains light-hearted as he speaks, but I detect a hint of hurt below the surface. My willingness to concur seems important to him. Why, I’m not sure, but the last thing I want to do is break the fragile truce that had somehow emerged between us.

 “I’ve got some back to school things coming up, so my nights are pretty full,” I protest feebly, but he just waits patiently until I relent. “Fine. Next Thursday. Does that work?”

 “Of course.”

 “Don’t you have meetings, too? You haven’t resigned, and I haven’t heard about it, have you?”

 “No, nothing like that,” he laughs. “I’ve just been given stringent orders from Superintendent Crane to take it easy. My assistant principal is covering anything at night until October.”

 “Lucky you.”

 “I have a good staff,” he deflects. “Next Thursday. I’ll pick you up.”

 “No! I can meet—”

 But he’s already disconnected the call. I don’t even bother to wonder how he’ll figure out my address. I don’t put anything past him anymore. Other than the life-threatening illness, he seems to have beaten, Peeta Mellark has the best luck of anyone I’ve ever known.

 ****

 “And then I lowered my hand and answered him in the most serious tone possible. I could hardly keep a straight face because I had fake buck teeth in. The poor kid looked at me like I was insane, but he didn’t ever wear the vampire teeth in class again.”

 I can’t help myself as I giggle at Peeta’s story. I never giggle. It isn’t like me at all, but Peeta’s so funny and disarming over dinner, regaling me with story after story of strange behavior modifications he’d tried when he was an assistant principal and mostly in charge of discipline issues.

 “I’ve gotta admit,” he says ruefully, “I don’t really miss that part of the job now that I’m head principal.”

 “No, I can imagine you wouldn’t,” I agree with a smile.

 Lifting my wine glass, I look at him over the rim and take a sip of the pinot. I dreaded this dinner all week, but it’s been the highlight of a pretty rough few days. I certainly wasn’t expecting to enjoy his company so much, not even after getting to know him a little bit better during his recovery. I thought his charm might wear off at some point, but he just gets more and more disarming the longer we talk. If I didn’t know better, I might think I actually like him, but that’s ridiculous. I’m just glad to have company over dinner. That’s all this is.

 My cheeks flush when Peeta grins at me and sits back in his chair. He’s kept up a steady stream of witty repartee throughout the evening, but now he merely surveys me as the soft sounds of the dining room echo around us. It’s almost intimate.

 “I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this,” he finally says. “And how grateful I am for what you did for me. I know it wasn’t an easy choice, but you… You’re an amazing woman, Katniss Everdeen. I’m in your debt forever.”

 I don’t know how to answer him because I can tell he’s completely sincere. He’s not gushing or trying to butter me up. He’s genuine in his words and actions, and I’m stuck feeling guilty for treating him so poorly before his illness threw us together.

 “You really don’t have to thank me anymore,” I insist. “It’s not necessary at all. I mean, what kind of an asshole would I be if I hadn’t agreed to help you? Besides, you’re a fellow principal. Administrators unite and all that.”

 “Stop deflecting,” he said. “You did something really great, and it’s okay for you to take credit for it.”

 Flustered, I fiddle with my napkin because I don’t want to say something stupid. He has a way of making me tongue-tied that I haven’t felt since I was a teenager. “Thanks,” I manage to mumble.

 “Thank you.”

 I hesitate but finally manage to choke, “You’re welcome.”

 “I’d like to do this again. If you’re willing.”

 His voice feels like a caress, and I lift my eyes to look at him. He’s studying me, unsmiling but not frowning, and I’m struck by how handsome he is in the dimmed light. He reaches across the table and holds his hand out to me. I stare at it for several seconds before I’m willing to reach out and accept it. He gives it a squeeze.

 “How about next week? Is that too soon?”

 “I— I need to check my calendar.”

 “I already did. No school activities.”

 “Are you—”

 “I’m sure,” he insists. “Please.”

 I don’t have a good excuse for saying no, so I agree. I’m still in a daze when he pulls the car to a stop in front of my house and gets out to walk me to the door. He leans in to kiss my check, but I turn my head at just the wrong time. His lips hover millimeters from my skin, and I struggle to breathe. After what feels like an eternity, he tilts his head and brushes his mouth over mine.

 The earth skews off its axis. There’s no other way to describe what happens because my entire world rearranges itself in that brief moment. Much too soon, he’s backed down the sidewalk and waves goodbye to me from his car before pulling away.

 ****

 I’m a mess by the next Friday when Peeta picks me up again for our second dinner together. I don’t know whether to call it a date or not, but the kiss the previous week indicates it could be. The night passes much the same as the previous week. He’s charming and funny and wearing the most stunning shade of green that makes his eyes sparkle turquoise. They do things to my insides. He’s a perfect gentleman as he drives me home again, walks me to the door, and kisses me softly. The situation repeats on the third and fourth and fifth time until I’m so wound up, I’m about to lose my mind. I don’t mean to complain, but my body wants more than what he’s offering.

 I can’t tell if it’s deliberate or just really bad luck that our schedules don’t align for another few weeks. The days pass slowly without seeing him, although we do talk often. Some of his messages and emails make me smile when I read them, while others make me wonder if he’s flirting with me or simply being his usual friendly self.

 I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out what’s happening between us. The conversation I had with Gale after my surgery flits in and out of my conscious thoughts. I don’t want to open myself up. I’ve been hurt too many times in the past, but Peeta’s wonderful—smart, compassionate, funny, respectful, and supportive. He’s also got a backbone and knows how to advocate for himself and others around him. In short, he’s exactly what I’ve always desired in a partner. It scares me to death to acknowledge that I want him to be a bigger part of my life. It terrifies me to realize I can also picture him in my bed.

 Finally, we both have an evening without a work responsibility, and he asks if he can come over and make dinner when I tell him I’m simply too tired to dress up and go out to a restaurant. By the time he shows up on my doorstep with bags of groceries, my stomach’s in knots. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, it feels like we’re starting all over again.

 He looks insanely good after having filled out a little since the transplant. His broad shoulders are strong underneath the soft cotton of his salmon colored sweater, and the jeans he’s wearing hug his thighs and hips like a second skin. When he turns around so I can inadvertently check out his ass, I swoon at the sight. I want my hands on that peach so badly my fingertips tingle.

 He leans in to kiss me hello, and time stands still. He pauses once he’s broken the kiss, and we stare at each other for what feels like ages. Something’s changed. We’ve evolved. Our relationship’s grown while we’ve been apart. The air crackles with anticipation, and I’m beyond ready. Finally, he recovers and surveys me, taking in my black leggings, forest green tunic, and braid with a whistle. I flush scarlet at the flattery.

 “Good thing I have these bags to occupy my hands,” he teases, but I swallow down disappointment. He doesn’t seem that interested in touching me, and that makes me feel like howling my disapproval.

 “Maybe I should help. Give your hands a chance to…uh…stray.”

 He whips his head around to stare at me, uncertainty mixing with something I can’t quite decipher. When I don’t drop my gaze, he gulps before heading into the kitchen and tossing the food on the counter. He makes himself busy while I flit around him, unsure what to do. When he finally turns his megawatt smile on me and asks me if I’d be okay cutting vegetables, I nod eagerly. If it puts me closer to him, I’m completely game. He positions me in front of a stack of carrots, potatoes, and mushrooms and turns to his own work.

 We keep up a steady stream of chatter that grows increasingly flirtatious as the minutes pass. He brushes against me several times, and I can feel the electricity sparking between us. When he reaches over to take some of the diced potatoes, our hands brush, and we both jump.

 “Peeta,” I sigh a second before he’s pressed against me, his chest hard against mine as he cups my jaw and kisses me.

 I growl in the back of my throat at the feel of his tongue tangling with mine, and he hauls me tighter against him. He wraps my braid around his hand and tugs my head back so he can lick deeper into me. I’m shaking with desire, frantic for his hands on me. We’ve been circling each other for four years. The months since I agreed to donate my bone marrow have all been foreplay. I’m ready to give into the craving I’ve denied for far too long.

 I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. My hands tangle in his hair, and I can’t stop the wanting whimpers that fall from me. He’s just as frantic, his hands caressing everything he can reach, until they both cup my behind and squeeze.

 I realize I want to climb him like a tree. There’s no shame in admitting it. His body’s hard under his clothing, and he’s rigid as iron against my hip. When he thrusts his right hand under the waistband of my leggings, I don’t even try to stop him. Instead, I moan when his fingers stroke the patch of hair between my legs.

 “Fuck,” he gasps. “Katniss, tell me to stop if this isn’t okay. This is— You’re… You have to stop me now if you’re going to.”

 I don’t stop him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My limbs aren’t working other than to cling to him. My eyes roll back into my head when he breaches me. His mouth works magic while his fingers plunder and stroke. I’m begging him, my voice hoarse and broken. It’s been so very long, and I don’t have the patience to wait anymore.

 I’m pressed against the counter, my back bent as he fingers me. I don’t care about dinner or anything else except the feel of his calloused palm cupping me while he dips in and out in an uneven rhythm designed to stop me from falling over the edge too soon. His breaths are ragged, and I wrap my left leg around him to pull him closer. It also gives him better access, which he uses to his advantage.

 I’m sopping wet, squelching as he thrusts in and out, his thumb circling my clit and forcing wrecked squeals I’ve never made until experiencing the glory of Peeta Mellark finger fucking me in my own kitchen. My whole body trembles as the tension builds. I just need a release. That’s all I care about in the moment. The entire world could be exploding outside, and I wouldn’t care. He’s driving me crazy, and I don’t want to be sane. I just need him.

 “I’ve wanted this for so long, sweetheart,” he groans in my ear. “Wanted to feel you on me, hot and wet and sweet. I’ve dreamed about making you come. Imagined it so many times. Wanted to feel you fall apart because of me. You’re almost there, aren’t you, honey? I can tell you’re trying so hard not to let go. I’ve got you. I won’t hurt you.”

 I’ve abandoned all sense of propriety. I’m moaning and rutting against him. I don’t know who I am anymore, but then everything makes sense in a rush of euphoria. I come with a scream that Peeta swallows with his kiss. He holds me close, rocking me through the spasms, grounding me, and cheering me on as I quake and shudder.

 I blink as I come back to myself, but he’s there. His face comes into focus, and I give him a dopey grin that makes him chuckle. He welcomes me back with a kiss as he frees his hand. My pants are moist, and I wiggle at how uncomfortable it is. Still, I think it’s worth the discomfort. I feel like walking liquid.

 “I think we burned dinner.”

 “Don’t care,” I tell him through a kiss. “We can order pizza. Not hungry anyway.”

 “Well, I am,” he jokes as he proceeds to devour me.

 We haven’t talked. I have no idea where we stand, but that doesn’t matter. Right now, Peeta’s here, alive and well, and with me. We make sure the burners are off and then I lead him to the bedroom. I don’t ever want to let go. If I could freeze this moment, I would, but I also want to see about all the others he has left simply because fate threw us together. We’ll get to the deep stuff. For now, I’ll settle for him deep inside me.

[ifmywishescametrue]

Hi love. I adore your work. Can you write for the prompt “You need to get out of there!” for stevetony? I’m a sucker for za *angst* and I can already imagine tiny Stark being his stupid adorable self and getting in trouble.

hiii thank you!! idk how this ended up being 3k words, but i hope that you like it!

It happens so quickly that Tony doesn’t even have time to really process it. One moment things are as close to fine as they can be in the middle of a fight. He’s close to breaking through the system, just a few keystrokes and a minute away from being able to stop the near army of robots right from the source. The next is filled with blaring alarms and dust starting to fall from the ceiling, though he hardly notices through the laser-focus. He hears Steve’s voice through the comm line in his ear and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t respond.

“Iron Man, you need to get out of there!” Steve says again, firmer and louder, and this time Tony opens his mouth to tell him off for being distracting right when he’s almost done, but the words die on his tongue at the first crashing beam. 

All he actually manages are a few ineloquent curses muttered under his breath while he scrambles to finish his task. Adrenaline and fear are coursing through him in equal parts, but the fear isn’t for himself. It’s for what happens if he doesn’t do this. If the building takes him out before he can take out the enemy, leaving the other five with far too many opponents to handle on their own. He can see it now - their blood on his hands because he wasn’t fast enough. Just one job to do and he couldn’t do it right.

There’s more shouting on the comm line, more than just Steve, but Tony can’t take the time to listen to it. The floor is shaking beneath him, and the dust in the air has accumulated to cloud his vision. He’s thankful he has the foresight to ventilate the suit through numerous filters, otherwise it would be getting hard to breathe. 

There’s flashing on the monitors in front of him, and he knows he’s done it by the way everything goes quiet for just a second, then explodes back into sound. He hears the relief in Clint’s voice, followed by the barely concealed panic in Steve’s as he urges him to get out of the building yet again. 

Tony powers up the suit to go back out through the shattered window he came through in the first place. No longer focused on dismantling the system, he realizes that the window doesn’t exist anymore. The wall has collapsed on itself, the left side of the room blocked off with rubble. His initial scan of the building showed another floor above him and two below, joined only by one set of stairs, but those were off to the left, too. The suit could probably make it through the wall directly, if he got enough power going. Might break a bone or two, he thinks, but with no other way out, he’ll take the risk. As he scans the walls again for the weakest point, he says into the comm, “Be out in a sec. Maybe, uh, get ready to catch me.”

Whatever Steve says next comes through layers of static, cutting in and out until the only word Tony can make out is his own name. It’s the last thing he hears as he turns up the repulsors to full speed and aims for the center of the wall. 

______________

All things considered, it could have gone worse. He has a concussion that makes him feel dizzy and a couple of large gashes in his abdomen from where the suit had caved in just a bit that required more than a few stitches. Two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder top it off, but he doesn’t need to be in the hospital for more than a day. A precaution to make sure his concussion doesn’t turn into something worse.

He tells himself that the short stay is why Steve didn’t show. Natasha was the first to come, with her own fresh bandages on her arms and stitches in a jagged cut on her forehead. She told him about the end of the fight from the outside, and the way all the robots suddenly came to a stop, just like Tony predicted when he told them his plan for going into that building in the first place. Clint and Thor come together after. Their loud voices make his headache worsen, and the laughter makes his ribs ache, but he can’t bring himself to be upset about it. Pepper ends up kicking them out when she arrives and notices that he winces a little every time Thor speaks. Bruce is last, arriving the next morning after he’s recovered from those few hours as the Hulk, but still looking tired from it. He sits with Tony while the doctor tells him about all the things he shouldn’t be doing for a while, then rides home with him. 

In the elevator, Tony thinks about telling JARVIS to take him to the workshop, but one stern look from Bruce makes him reconsider.

“It’s really not that bad,” Tony tries to argue. 

“You’re not allowed to move your right shoulder.”

“But my hands are working just fine.”

“You can’t even stand up straight. You’re actually swaying right now.”

Tony shrugs with just the left side of his body and grimaces when it pulls on his broken ribs. “So I’ll sit down.”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make me physically restrain you.”

“Kinky,” Tony jokes, but it falls flat because Bruce clearly isn’t in the mood for his humor and his own heart isn’t in it, anyway. He sighs and recognizes the losing battle. “Fine, take me to the penthouse, J.”

Bruce walks out of the elevator with him, hovering close behind like he’s prepared to catch him if he suddenly passes out. Which is fair, Tony supposes, because his vision goes dark around the edges a couple of times before he makes it to his bed. It’s why Tony only complains a little when Bruce kneels to take his shoes off for him when he sits down at the edge of the mattress.

“Alright, stop that, I can take care of myself,” Tony says, pushing on Bruce’s shoulder. Except the pain in his ribs and head that he gets when he bends over makes him audibly groan, and he feebly sits back up. “Okay, nevermind. You’ve got it covered. Even if this does make the top twenty most embarrassing list.”

“It makes it that high?” Bruce teases, and Tony weakly kicks at him. 

Out of his shoes, Tony maneuvers himself under the covers the best he can, trying to find a position that doesn’t make any of his injuries hurt. The pain medication he’s on is fairly low grade by choice, because he hates the stronger stuff, but he’s wondering now if the fuzzy head it gives him might be worth it. 

Bruce lingers a little awkwardly after, so Tony half-jokingly asks, “Are you going to stay and watch me sleep?”

Rolling his eyes, Bruce says, “No, but it’s my shift to make sure you don’t do something stupid, so I’ll be in the living room.”

“Your shift?” Tony raises his eyebrows. 

“Nat’s up next. Clint’s after her.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed babysitting.” He tries to sound annoyed, but he isn’t, really. It’s almost nice that they’re concerned.

“Thor’s on night shift,” Bruce smiles. “Figured he’s the one most capable of carrying you back to bed if needed.”

After his absence at the hospital, the lack of mention of Steve sticks out even more. Not that it wouldn’t have anyway. His life revolves around the presence of Steve a little more than he wants to admit, but no one else needs to know that he plans his appearances in the communal kitchen in the mornings based on when Steve will be back from his runs or that it’s never a coincidence that he only remembers to be on time for team dinners when Steve is the one that did the cooking. 

His face must reveal enough for him, though, because Bruce’s smile softens with just a touch of sadness and something that’s a little too close to pity for his liking. He doesn’t say anything about it, though. He just reminds Tony that he’ll be right in the other room if he needs anything, and Tony thinks about it while he’s trying to fall asleep.

It was almost something, he thinks. Him and Steve. It seemed like it to him, anyway, if the recent interactions were anything to go by. He didn’t think he was imagining the change in the way that Steve had been looking at him lately. The way the glances seemed to linger, eyes flitting down to his lips and back up again, and his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink every time Tony caught him staring. Then there were the almost dates - restaurants Steve always claimed he’d been meaning to try, movies, museums, baseball games. Always on nights all the others just happened to be unavailable, leaving just the two of them. He swears he saw Steve glaring at Clint the one time he actually said yes to one of those half-hearted invitations. Clint’s yes turned to a no just a moment later. 

There’s a new ache in his chest that has nothing to do with the injuries when he realizes just how wrong he was about it all. He must have read too much into it. Mistaken Steve’s friendliness for genuine affection. He would be here otherwise.

______________

True to their word, his friends really do stay around the clock, though the shifts aren’t exactly accurate. Natasha and Clint usually come together, and Bruce doesn’t usually leave for a while after they do. Someone’s always there in a way that would border on stifling if he didn’t secretly soak up all of the attention with fervor. It’s a few days before his dislocated shoulder no longer needs a sling and his concussion has mostly cleared up so he can do more than lounge around. Steve is painfully absent for all of it, and he finds out on the third day that he’s left for a mission without saying goodbye. Natasha distracts him from how badly that stings by asking him which shade of nail polish she should paint his toenails with. He ends up with glittery pink and a pit in his stomach. 

It’s a week after the bruises have already faded that Steve comes back, and Tony pettily decides that two can play the avoidance game. His hurt has morphed from sadness into anger, because even if Steve didn’t share his feelings he could have at least bothered to ask how he was. Even a text would have been better than this. 

Knowing Steve’s schedule pays off in the opposite way now. He knows when to avoid all of the common areas, like the gym and kitchen. If he needs more coffee in the middle of the day, he knows to go between one and three, because Steve will be in a training session with the new Shield agents. If he shows up a little late for movie night, the only seat left will be the uncomfortable armchair in the corner that no one really likes, but he won’t have to awkwardly avoid touching Steve on the couch. 

Days pass like that, with Natasha giving him tired looks every time she catches him sneaking around and Bruce bordering on annoyed with how many times Tony goes to his lab instead of his own just in case Steve decides today is the day he wants to start coming by again. It’s childish, he knows, and it grows even more childish when he reasons that Steve started it first. 

He shouldn’t be surprised when the rest of the team decides that enough is enough, though he is surprised that they choose the pantry of all places for it. The ambush happens on a Monday evening, right when Tony is coming back from a long day of meetings that already have him feeling drained. Natasha grabs his arm, and it seems innocent enough at first. Until she pushes him into the pantry and slams the door shut behind him. He nearly topples right into Steve, who catches him by the elbow and rights him before he can fall. There’s the sound of something being dragged in front of the door, then Clint’s voice on the other side. 

“Get your shit together, and then you can come out again,” he says. 

Tony sputters, flitting between glaring at the door and at Steve. The look towards Steve softens a bit when he realizes that he looks just as confused as Tony, then hardens again when he remembers that he’s still angry at him. 

He turns to the door and pounds his fist against it. “Guys, open the damn door. This is fucking ridiculous.”

“So is watching you two avoid each other like the plague,” Bruce says. 

“Just talk to each other and stop being dumbasses,” Nat adds.

Tony sighs, and when he turns around, Steve won’t even meet his eyes. He stares down at the floor, shoulders hunched and folded in on himself in a way that makes him look small. 

It might be childish again, but Tony doesn’t want to be the one to break the silence first. He slides down to the floor and leans back against the door with every intention of waiting it out. It’s Steve’s famous stubbornness against his own, though, and god only knows how long this could take. He starts counting things on the shelves. Two bottles of ketchup, four boxes of microwaveable popcorn, a jar of pickles. He makes it as far as the tenth different type of cereal before Steve finally says, “I should’ve been there.”

The admission is so quiet it’s barely audible, and Tony glances up to see that Steve still won’t look at him. 

“Yeah, you should’ve been,” Tony agrees, and he can’t quite keep the bitterness out of his tone. “Why weren’t you?”

Steve hesitates, and Tony rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Cap. It’s fine. We’re not those kind of friends, I get it. I mean, if you were in the hospital, I’d want to make sure you were okay with my own eyes, but you don’t feel the same. It’s my own fault for thinking that you -”

“I was scared,” Steve cuts him off, and Tony snaps his mouth shut. “I was scared, because you were - you could have died. You don’t even know what it was like watching you fall like that. You didn’t see all the blood. You didn’t have to carry your body to the medics because you were unconscious. All I could think is that you could have been dying, and it would’ve been on me. Because I couldn’t do enough, and I should’ve done more.”

Steve looks like it hurts to even say the words, like he’s reliving the memory of it, but Tony only feels angrier for it. “And how does that translate into ignoring me for weeks? You were scared, so what, you just left?”

Steve nods a little, guilt and shame on his face. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, and he’s quieter when he continues, “I ran, and then I felt like shit for running, so I ran some more. I thought -” Steve swallows, finally looking up to meet Tony’s eyes, and Tony can see that his blue eyes are rimmed with red. “I thought you would hate me for it, and now I know that you do.”

Tony tilts his head back, closing his eyes with a sigh, “I don’t hate you. I missed you, and I’m mad at you, but I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” Steve asks, and the hope in his voice is enough to make Tony’s heart clench. 

“I could never hate you.”

“But can you feel the same way about me that you did before?”

Tony opens his eyes, a fragile smile starting to form. “And how do you think I felt about you before?”

Steve’s cheeks turn red, and he looks away again, but Tony won’t have that. He stands up from the floor, and in the small space it’s only a step before he’s right in front of him. It’s nerve wracking to be the one to reach out first, but he does it anyway. He turns Steve’s face back to him with a hand on his jaw and asks the questions again. 

“How do you think I felt before?”

He gets another one of those now familiar looks. Steve’s eyes move down to his lips, lingering there, before returning to Tony’s own eyes again. 

“Tony,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Answer the question,” Tony whispers back. “What were we?”

“I don’t know what we were, but I know what I wanted us to be,” Steve says, and Tony quietly waits for him to continue. “I wanted to be yours, and I wanted you to be mine. I still want that, if you can forgive me for running.”

Tony nods, “But you can’t do that again.”

“I won’t,” Steve promises. His hand finds Tony’s hip to pull him in a little closer. “And if you could stop falling from the sky, I would really appreciate that.”

“I’ll do my best, but I’m not sorry for what I did. I hate that I scared you, but I can’t pretend that I wouldn’t make the exact same choice again. Not when it’s me or everyone else, especially you. Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same.”

Steve opens his mouth, and Tony can tell he wants to argue it, but instead he sighs. “I would sacrifice myself every time for you.”

Tony smiles, “I know you would, but I’d never let you.”

“Try and stop me,” Steve replies, teasing and light to make Tony laugh. His arm wraps around Tony’s back to press them together chest to chest. 

Tony tugs on the collar of Steve’s shirt to pull him lower, and Steve takes the hint to finally kiss him like he’s been wanting for so long.

[stardustskz]

Smile, For it Suits You

Title: Smile, for it suits you

Word count: 3.1k

Genre: best friends au, fluff, holiday au

Warnings: alcohol, drinking, sickness, typo errors (lmk of there are more)

Member: jeongin

Description: the four times Yang Jeongin ruined your new year’s and the one time you ruined his’

Notes: dedicated to @jeonginks for @districtninewriters ‘s winter exchange fic. first of all, i’m so sorry for it’s late. i was wondering on whether posting it on new year’s eve or on the morning of january 1st but thought of doing the latter. happy holidays eiko! i hope you had a blast holiday and i hope that you’ll like this one, i tried putting as much into it! 

ps. i forgot if there are any word count limit, i’m so sorry if there are

pps. i’m so b=nervous posting this idk why

i.

There’s this superstitious belief that has been going on every January 1st and you neither disagree or agree with it. Okay, scratch that… you are sensitive about it. Ever since your grandmother told your eight year old mind about it, you always made sure to make your first days of every year perfect. 

The following year, you were cautious of your entire January 1st as your parents took you out to the local theme park to celebrate the new year. The day went well with the self reminders that your young mind whispers every time you were about to lose your composure due to the small things that irk you. You went to every extreme ride that you like– perks of having the height to fool the staff for your age. You even won plushies multiple times from the crane machine and the huge human-sized bear that your father got you as a prize in that one fishing game. 

Night time was fast approaching when you decided to have an ice cream without your parents' assistance. Because you were in the age of bragging about how independent you've become seeing to it that you’ll be adding a number to your age in the following months. It was successful! You bought your chocolate coated vanilla ice cream after telling the vendor to have a happy new year. You’re on your way back to where your parents sat on a bench when you saw a boy running fast towards your direction. Your first instinct was to move away from his pathway but it seems that your mind and body forgot how to process your intentions as you fell on your butt, causing your ice cream to fall on the ground as well as stain the lower part of your favorite jacket.  

"Hey!" you called out to the boy who was now about a meter away from you. Your calm and optimism for that day gone. Because he didn’t even apologize or bother to stop from his tracks. 

The boy came to a halt from his frantic running, turned around, and yelled back,

"I'm sorry! But I'm really in a hurry!" he then looked at you apologetically then continued running to god knows where. And oh boy, you were so annoyed as he turned out to be Yang Jeongin from your class. Your everyone-loves-and-adores-him classmate. Everyone falls for his stupid cheeky smile and almost everyone in your class has a huge crush on him. Which is you think, stupid, you were all in fourth grade, how does one know who to like? After that incident your day went sliding downwards, from getting scolded by your parents for ruining your white shirt to losing your favorite hanky from riding the Vikings and you only have one person to blame and it was and still is, Yang Jeongin.

ii.

Quite opposite from your dislike towards Yang Jeongin, you gained the ‘honor’ to be his best friend during 7th grade. It just… happened. When Han Jisung decided to be a dear who made you audition, forcefully, for your school’s theatre club, it so happened that Jeongin was a part of it too. 

Now, during your junior year in high school, you were currently in one of your senior Minho’s parties before the new year. You were in the middle of talking to Jisung and Jeongin when you felt your surroundings started to spin, 

"Hey, I'll just use the bathroom for a bit" you said, excusing yourself from all the talking. You don’t have a clue why you’re feeling nauseous when you only had a cup or two of what seems to be a soda, well, it tastes like it.

"You okay?" Jeongin asked, his tone laced with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine" you replied, starting your way to where the comfort room was. It was when you started throwing out all the contents of your stomach when you felt a hand on your back, patting it in a calming manner while their other hand puts away the stray strands of your hair from your face. 

"Is this what you call fine? I thought you won’t drink tonight?" he jokingly said, chuckling a bit by your earlier tough act.

"Well, yeah I also thought I wouldn’t." you rolled your eyes at him through the mirror by the sink after you gargled with water. Maybe it wasn’t just a soda after all. You glanced at the door, furrowing your brows when you noticed that it was closed. 

"You closed the door?" you asked him.

"Yeah? I did?" he said innocently.

"There's a reason I left it open dumbass" you said, trying to call out for help but of course people wouldn't hear you due to the loud, obnoxious music blasting by the speakers in the living room, you even heard people shouting. 

"Oh… I didn't see the sign?" Jeongin said, a bit unsure of himself. Truthfully, he doesn't remember seeing it but he may have forgotten that Jisung told him something about not closing a door because the lock was not working well. Maybe this is the door he was talking about. Jeongin pondered.

It was dreadfully silent, but it was a comfortable one, with you frustrated of how the fuck are you both gonna get out before the countdown. You left your purse with Jisung containing both your phones. There’s no way you’ll be able to get out unless Jisung remembers the absence of your presence and he probably won’t do that until after the countdown. Because Jisung tends to get overly excited about fireworks that he’ll forget that you and Jeongin aren’t back yet.

"5 minutes until the countdown, are we really spending our new year here?" you asked, a bit sad to miss the fireworks display and spend your first minutes of the new year inside a bathroom. What a way to start the year.

"I’m sorry, we’re stuck here" Jeongin said, cautious of whether you’re mad or not. You went closer to where Jeongin sat inside the bathtub, planning to sit beside him.

“I’m not mad, just… annoyed?” You said, sitting beside him and laying your head on his shoulder, maybe it was the alcohol or how comfortable you were around your best friend but you soon drifted to a deep slumber after hearing the fireworks explode outside, remembering to greet Jeongin a “Happy New Year, Jeongin” before completely shutting down.

And if Jisung said something about you getting locked last year in Minho's bathroom and only managing to get out the following year, as if it’s a good joke, you definitely punched him for it.

iii.

The news of Jeongin and his family moving to your neighborhood the following year surprised you. Of course you were ecstatic about it, even more when you saw their moving truck beside your house. You were about to be neighbors! Ever since then, you’ve been spending most of your time with Jeongin, more than what you both used to, your moms also got a lot closer. Which is why they decided to celebrate New Year’s Eve with both families. 

A few hours before the countdown, you decided to hide away in your room, deciding to sleep before the clock strikes 12 because you sure are exhausted by all the preparations. You were lying in your bed with your feet dangling at the bottom, the happenings from earlier that day flashing in your mind. You heard the door to your room opened but you didn’t even bother to look at who it is. 

“Everyone’s looking for you” Jeongin’s familiar voice said. He went closer to your figure only to see that you have your eyes closed, he thought that you’re already asleep,

“I’m tired, let me sleep for a while.” you said, eyes still closed. You tapped the space beside you signaling for him to sit there if he wants. However, Jeongin chose to lie down beside you. And you never opposed it. 

“Wake me up before the countdown.” you said, tiredness completely settling in your system, the hazy figures in your mind beginning to be more vivid as your dream completely took over your consciousness.

Jeongin rolled his eyes at your command, but he will anyway. Turning on his side, his sharp looking gaze softened as his eyes landed on you. He carefully watched how your eyes are now closed, with your lashes curled adorably. You look like an angel whenever you’re sleeping. You were never this peaceful looking when you’re awake because you're the type to furrow your brows more than smile on a daily basis. But right now, your brows are not furrowed even in the slightest bit and the corners of your lips are lightly pointing upwards, a sign that maybe, you’re having a good dream. It continued like this when Jeongin realized that he’s also falling asleep, and even falling harder, as he kissed the night with a goodbye as well.

You both completely missed the countdown but it wasn’t like you were mad about it. When you woke up the next morning, with your best friend still beside you, you figured it was a shame to not witness the fireworks display for two years in a row but you had a great time with finally sleeping for more than eight hours. 

Despite that, yes, you still blame Jeongin.

iv.

It was the first time that you’ll be spending your new year in a different place than your own home. You were already in your third year in college and your group of friends decided to spend your new year at a vacation house near the provinces of your country. Of course, your parents only allowed you to go if Jeongin would be there and thank god you both are in the same circle of friends. 

The original plan was to go together as a group and ride Chan’s van all throughout your three day escapade. However, you have to attend a family gathering in the morning of December 31st, which was the reason why you were left with Jeongin and his truck. You had everything prepared, from the music for the road trip to the snacks that you two bought from your shopping two days prior. And the only thing left is the long journey. Your friends already arrived at the destination by the time you and Jeongin left your place. You were both jamming to different genres of songs, with you feeding Jeongin a chip or two from time to time,

“You can sleep, you know, we still have a long way.” Jeongin said, glancing at you as you yawn from the passenger’s seat. 

“No, no. I can’t leave you for yourself. You can also get sleepy anytime soon.” You said, cautious of possible incidents that may occur. 

“Suit yourself y/n” He said, as you blasted an even livelier song on his radio. 

You were both listening to ‘Wannabe’ with Jeongin doing the shoulder dance and his eyes almost disappearing due to all the smiling and singing when the car slowed down in a not so good manner, as you think.

“What’s happening?” you asked him, maybe panicking for a bit because you were both currently in the middle of nowhere and the sun was already setting. 

“I don’t exactly know,” Jeongin said, his bright smile no longer visible as he stared down on the steering wheel, wondering what the fuck is wrong with his truck. 

“It won’t start.” he said, after a few attempts of once again turning on the car’s engine.

“I should go find help somewhere nearby.” you said, because clearly, your phone’s signal isn’t working as well. 

“No, we should go together, it’s dangerous,” he said preparing to get off the car as well

“Help me push the car to the side of the road first.” he added, then you both worked on it. 

After grabbing all your important belongings, you both started walking forward, continuing the path of the road in hopes of seeing a gas station or an apparel or something.

“I feel like I brought upon misfortune with you whenever we celebrate the new year together.” Jeongin said, probably blaming himself for what just happened.

“It’s not like we can control everything that’s happening around us.” you replied, looking at Jeongin’s sullen expression. 

“Hey! Don’t frown, you look like someone who’ll eat me up alive” you told him. Well, he’s not particularly frowning but Jeongin’s scary whenever he’s not smiling. You noticed the sky slowly get dark and you managed to get sight of something bright at the road ahead.

“Still, I’m sorry this happened, y/n.” he said, coming to a stop only to lock his gaze on yours to sincerely apologize. 

“Stop apologizing dumbass, look I can see something ahead.” you said, mirroring his gaze and smiling as brightly as you can. Jeongin has been your support ever since you two have been attached to the hip. His bright personality is so much of a contrast to your snarly, hostile and strong attitude. And he brightens up your day almost everyday even though he can also annoy the hell out of you. But still, you can’t bring yourself to hate or get mad at him. Because a single smile from Jeongin, all your irritations and annoyance will surely melt away. It just does. The moment Jeongin smiled at you, with his cheeky grin that managed to show his dimples, as a reply, and nodded in agreement and determination, to walk towards where you were pointing out, all your worries for that night went away. Together with your belief that all new years are supposed to be spent in a perfect manner. Because this time, although you spent your new year by the parking lot of the gas station that you both found, you don’t blame Jeongin for all the things that went wrong in that specific year. And at the very least, you get to spend it with the person you cherish the most.

v.

“Why did you decide to spend your January 1st with me dumbass” you asked him, as you opened the door to your dorm, thanking your roommate who went home for the holidays. 

“Well, my also, ‘dumbass’ best friend stayed at the dorms for the holidays and worked themselves up because of finals and now they can’t go home due to a very high fever.” he rambled. You finally let him in because you can already feel your limbs giving up on you. 

“Look! You can’t even stand up on your own!” Jeongin scolded, wrapping his arm around you while he escorted you back to your bedroom. He managed to tuck you in your bed and placed a cooling pad on your forehead before he quickly left for the kitchen, without saying a word. Minutes later, he came back with a bowl of porridge in between his hands.

“You can cook?” you teased.

“Eat.” he said, his expression was serious so you had no choice than to immediately oblige on his command, yes, he was mad and you are kinda scared of this type of Jeongin. You quickly finished it and took the medicine that he gave.

“Do you not have any other plans today?” you asked him, your voice almost a whisper.

“Someone ruined my original plans for me.” he said with his tone a bit more harsh than usual. 

“If that someone was me then I don’t need you here.” you said, irritated by his tone, you turned around to face the other side of your bed in order to avoid seeing him. Jeongin must have figured out that you’re mad at him, due to the change of your tone. He took a deep sigh,

“It’s not like that,” he started.

“I already warned you a week ago about overworking yourself and look where it brought you!” he said, his voice now more calm than before,

“And check your phone please.” he added. Your phone? You haven’t checked your phone since last night due to this stupid fever and apparently- Oh. There are multiple calls and texts from him. 

“I asked auntie regarding your whereabouts and I knew from her that you’re down with fever because I thought you went home yesterday morning, to make it in time for new year’s eve.” Jeongin said, you turned around again with your guilt forming because you forgot to tell him.

“I was worried, y/n. I prepared something for you last night, we were supposed to-” you cut him off,

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you,” you said, trying to find his gaze,

“Are you mad?” you asked, taking his hand that was resting on his sides.

“N-no, I’m not. I just-” he took another sigh, “I was just so worried, we can continue whatever road trip I prepared for us anytime this year just please don’t disappear on me again.” he said, more like, begged as he held your hand between his’. 

“Okay,” you said, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

“I won’t do it again, now please smile?” you asked, hoping for him to please just smile again.

Because did he just see you act cute in front of him? Apparently, yes.

“Oh my god okay!” he said and laughed out loud.

“Don’t do that again, this is why I’m the cute one between us!” he said, holding his abdomen for his dear life from laughing too much. You frowned. But this is better. 

“I’m sorry for ruining your first day of the year.” you said, because he wouldn’t be able to go out as he chose to take care of you.

“It’s fine, I intended to spend it with you in the first place” he said, still recovering from the good laugh that he just experienced.

“Wait, so you’re supposed to take me to star gazing?!” you asked, your eyes widening in surprise.

“Yeah? I’m sure my truck won’t fail me this time but you did.” he said, you’ve been bothering him about this request of yours since last year due to his car ruining new year for the both of you. 

“Hey! You already forgave me for that!” Jeongin only laughed and told you to go rest and sleep already. At first, you refused to, but you remembered that you’re still down with a fever and your body gave up on you already. But that day, you fell asleep with a smile on your face. All these time, from the previous years that you had until now, you were searching for perfection for all your first days of the year. However what or rather, who you really need is someone that would stay with you no matter how much misfortune you get. And gladly, you have a dumbass of a best friend for that. 

[collecting-stories]

Tara - ep. 11 - Georgia

Summary: The reader’s birthday is right around the corner. Tara shares a secret with Daryl that only she knows. 

A/N: Someone recently asked about me posting pictures that inspired Georgia so I thought I would share the pinterest board I use for it.  (I’ll add more as the series moves along. If you wanna see anything specific like outfit inspo let me know lol).

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

“My baby! Look at her.” You cheered, standing in the parking lot of Dale’s autobody as Daryl drove the Jeep up and parked beside you. He had told you to come by after work to collect the Jeep at the shop, thinking it’d be better that way then you showing up at his house. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job.” He shrugged, handing the keys over to you. “Another tussle with the cat?” He asked, catching sight of the cut on your cheek. Without thinking he reached up and brushed his hand across the cut and you flinched a little.  

You smiled though, when you met his eyes, “yeah, can’t resist ‘em.”  

“Thought maybe ya were getting into it at the diner, heard ya got arrested,” he teased.  

“I wasn’t arrested! Who told you I was arrested?”  

“Calm yerself down. Michonne said she picked ya up Friday night with Maggie Greene.” He replied. Michonne had given him an earful about it on Saturday morning when she’d seen him in the parking lot of the gas station.  

“I was at Shane’s party, there was a fight.” You replied, “but I wasn’t arrested.” You wondered if Michonne told Daryl that she called you his girlfriend and whether or not that bothered him. If he corrected her everytime or if he didn’t say one way or another. “Anyway, I went cause Aiden told me he’d tell my mom we’ve been hanging out if I didn’t. I didn’t want you to get in trouble,” you admitted.

With both of the boys only in holding over night to ‘cool off’ as the sheriff called it, you were sure that Aiden had convinced his mom to tell yours about all the time you were spending with Daryl. You’d spent all last night laying in bed freaking out over the thought of Daryl getting in trouble because you were stupid enough to not just go talk to Deanna in the moment.  

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, ya shouldn’t be spending time hanging around me anyway.” He mused, leaning against the side of your jeep. “Don’t matter anyway, going hunting for a few days...sure they’ll forget about whatever gossip they got running out their mouths by then.”

“When are you going?”

“Leavin’ in the morning why?” He asked.  

“How long you gonna be gone?”

“Why?” Daryl asked again, “ya want me ta print ya an itinerary or something?”  

“No. I’m just asking.” You frowned, hoping it looked like a glare but positive it looked much more like a pout. The thought of Daryl leaving, even for a weekend, was all kinds of awful. It was already going to be weird not going to his house three times a week to watch him work on the car and you were afraid that he would stop wanting you around now that the car was fixed. Going hunting felt like the final thing before he told you to stop bothering him for good. “You still gonna teach me car stuff when you come back?”

“Told ya I would.” He said. When Tiny called his name from the back of the shop, Daryl stood up, wiping imaginary dirt off his hands. “I gotta get back ta work, ya stay outta prison til I’m back, ya hear.”

“I wasn’t arrested!” You stressed,  

“Course ya weren’t.” He hesitated for a moment, hands in the pockets of his coveralls as he stood there, waiting to say whatever was on his mind. “I’ll only be a few days, I see ya after. Teach ya how to drive.”

“I know how to drive!” You laughed, “you told me I was good driver.”

“When was that?”  

“Daryl!”  

He grinned, brushing his hair back with his hand before shaking it out. “I’ll be seeing ya alright?”

“I’ll see you when you get back.” You nodded, finally opening the door to your jeep as Daryl headed back into the auto shop to help Tiny. You waved to Axel as you peeled out, not headed far though, you had a shift at the diner to get back to.  

You hadn’t mentioned it to Daryl then though you had been planning to. It was your birthday soon. About two weeks and you’d be eighteen. It wouldn’t matter what Deanna told your mom or what Aiden said and maybe, Michonne’s teasing wouldn’t have to be just teasing. It was all wishful thinking though. There was still the unavoidable possibility that he didn’t like you at all and that when you told him how you felt he wouldn’t reciprocate. Maggie told you that you were crazy to even think that way, Daryl was obviously into you, according to her.  

You’d spent enough time with him though, you knew he wouldn’t come around easy. But that was okay, you were pretty willing to stick it out even if all you ever got was a glimpse of a smile.  

-

The diner was packed when you got there, almost unusually so for a Thursday night but you recognized the two girls sitting at the counter the moment you walked through the front door. You waved while you ducked in the back to drop your things and clock in, fixing the apron around your dress and coming back out the double doors behind the counter.  

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked, stopping in front of Maggie and Tara before you waited on anyone else.  

Maggie only came by the diner if she was driving you home and lately she hadn’t. Tara came even more infrequently so you knew they had to want something if they were sitting there, especially at the beginning of your shift.

“Wanted to get dinner, saw you across the street with your boyfriend.” Tara teased.  

“Shut up.”

“You tell him that you’re gonna be eighteen soon.” She questioned. “You guys can-”

“Tara! Shut up!” You smacked the back of her hand with the pad of paper in your hand, “my God.”

“We came over because we were talking party ideas and wanted to know what you wanted for your birthday?” Maggie cut in, bringing the conversation back to something more appropriate for a diner full of families.

“After the other night...no party. Just us, Glenn...maybe Eugene? No one else, please.” You laughed.  

“You know what would be more fun than a party?” Lori commented, stopping behind you.  

You twisted around, looking at your co-worker, “waiting on tables?” You replied. She was always on your case, it was no surprise that she would’ve been ease-dropping on the conversation.  

“Especially since you aren’t being paid to stand here chitchatting with your friends.” She retorted.  

“I’m going, I’m going,” you muttered, “discuss without me...no party.” You insisted, walking around the counter to go wait on the tables in your section.

Tara spun in her stool, watching you chat up tables of families. “Watch her, I’ll be right back.” She instructed, hopping off the stool. Maggie was about to ask where she was headed but Tara was already across the diner, the bell on the door clattering behind her as she left. Through the picture windows Maggie could see her cut across the street to the garage. You would kill them if you found out, surely.  

-

Tara walked up the small parking lot to the garage. She’d been there once to drop you off but had never been inside. She’d only seen Daryl a handful of times and only talked to him once. Not exactly the basis for inviting him to come to a birthday dinner for you that she couldn’t even imagine him agreeing too.  

“Can I help you?” T-Dog called, spying the girl walking into the open garage a little less confident now that she was through the door.  

“Is Daryl here?”  

“D! You got a visitor.” T-Dog shouted, looking back at Tara skeptically before walking off to go back to work.  

Daryl appeared on the other side of a four-door sedan, eyes narrowing when he realized the visitor was not you. Tara smiled a little too apprehensively, walking over to him and waving. “Hey, I’m Tara...I’m friends with-”

“Yeah, I recognize ya,” Daryl replied, leaning against the car. “What’re ya doing here?”

“Well...you might not know but she’s turning eighteen in two weeks and we were planning on having a party for her, nothing special but...” Tara shrugged, “I wanted to invite you.”

“I’m busy.”  

“In two weeks? I didn’t even tell you the date.” She pointed out.  

“Yeah and? She didn’t tell me herself, ain’t something she wants me ta know.” He replied. It seemed logical enough for him. You hadn’t mentioned your birthday to him at all. Maybe the party was a surprise but you hadn’t even brought up the exact date so why would you want him at a party with your friends?  

“I think she’s probably just nervous, you know?” Tara tried to argue. Considering how much you talked about Daryl on a daily basis she wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t mention anything to him out of sheer anxiety. You were eighteen...the implications were there.  

“What for?”

“Well,” Tara paused, was he joking? “She’s eighteen...you guys could like...date.”

Daryl brought his hand up, chewing at the tip of his thumb, cheeks going red at the word. He’d thought about it. Hell, he thought about it all the time. At Thanksgiving, in the parking lot on Christmas Eve, at the stupid winter fest, in his truck while you were driving to Woodbury, anytime he looked over at you while he was working on the car. What he wouldn’t give to have that, to kiss you whenever he wanted, to be close to you, but that kind of happiness wasn’t in the cards for him.  

You were a fluke, a weird accident that happened in his timeline and once the universe righted itself you would be fixing your eye on someone who was better for you. Someone who would live up to all the standards that people in King County had.  

“I got work.” He finally said, looking back down at the car in front of him.  

“Okay. Just, think about it?” Tara requested. “She really likes you and, I know my opinion is whatever but, she deserves some happiness.” Tara turned, leaving the shop to get back to Maggie, hoping you didn’t notice her absence too much.  

“What’d ya mean?” Daryl called after her.  

Tara paused, looking back at him, “don’t tell her I told you...no one knows.” She stressed, “things aren’t exactly...her parents aren’t what everyone thinks.”  

As she headed back to the diner Daryl exhaled, kicking the tire of the sedan as that feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. The same feeling he’d pushed away earlier when he saw the scratch on your cheek. The one he’d ignored just after Christmas when you told him you tousled with a cat at the Greene’s. It was that feeling, nagging, coupled with the smallest hint of something familiar behind your eyes.  

He knew the feeling. He lived it. But you shouldn’t have to.  

-

Taglist: @hopesxxhigh @coffeebooksandfandom @jodiereedus22 @tehfabbooty @thecaptainsgingersnap @of-storms-and-sadness @twdeadfanfic @alwaysadreamingoptimist  @mainokutan @sabertooth-potato @solllaris @bucky-barnes-babies @ly--canthrope @daryldixonandfrogs @jaycc7983 @easnuppa @imaginecrushes @tonystarkismyboy @watchmeaspire @harpersmariano @guccicloudz @sapphire-angel @buzzybhee @alexbealee @elodieyung @its-evita-here